Sevenwaters: Seer Of Sevenwaters Part 11

"We need not speak of this now, Ardal," I said, moving to crouch by him and laying my hand on his knee. Fang stirred, growling in her sleep. "It's good that you are starting to remember, but there's no rush." Knut had said those two drowned men, the nameless pa.s.sengers, were traveling with Ardal. I shrank from the need to tell him what I knew; yet as a druid I must summon the fort.i.tude to do it. I remembered Knut suggesting Ardal's memories would be confused when they returned, the truth wrapped up in the garments of nightmare.

"As we've told you," I said gently, "there were only three survivors from the s.h.i.+pwreck: Knut, Svala and you." There was no kind way to say this.

Ardal lifted his head; took away the screen of his hands. "In the water . . . how long was I in the water?"

"A long time. The s.h.i.+p struck in the morning. Knut and Svala were picked up not long afterward. I found you late in the afternoon, close to dusk. But they say you couldn't have been in the sea all that time, not even if you were holding onto floating timbers. No man could have survived so long. Johnny thinks you may have been on that beach for some time before I found you."

For a moment, Ardal's thin features looked ferocious. "He was strong. He could have swum to sh.o.r.e. They killed him. They drowned him. The knots . . . "

"So your brother was on the s.h.i.+p?" Gull asked. "The two of you were traveling together?"

A long silence.

"When I go home," Ardal said, "perhaps he will be waiting again, on the step, and he will laugh at me. Tricked you, F-" That catch again, before he could say the word he did not want us to hear. His name? "He will get up, a tall man now, and put his arm around my shoulders. Dry those tears, brother. The Ankou doesn't take me so easily."

I had to tell him. I had to say it. "Ardal, we brought some men here for burial; nine of them in all. There was-" My voice cracked. "According to Knut, two of those drowned men were traveling companions of yours. He did not know their names. One was young, a tall, well-built man with brown hair and pale skin. He looked quite like you, Ardal. If it was your brother, I'm deeply sorry that you have lost him. There was an older man, too. Knut said you were going somewhere as a group."

"Older . . . I do not know . . . " The strong planes of Ardal's face were bathed in tears. "I do not know what came before. Only the wave, and Paul . . . If my fingers had been quicker, if I had untied it . . . So strong, he would have swum to sh.o.r.e . . . I could have saved him."

"Untied what?" asked Gull after a moment.

"The-the-" Ardal faltered. "No, I cannot speak of this. No more, no more of it."

"I'm sorry," I said inadequately. "Your brother was laid to rest with prayers and respect. I'm sorry it had to be done before you were well enough to know, and to be there. When you can walk outside, I'll take you to see the place." I wondered why Ardal blamed himself for his brother's death. I had seen the s.h.i.+p crash onto the reef. I had seen how quickly the sea devoured it. Doubtless there had been other strong swimmers among the crew, but they had drowned nonetheless. "I understand how sad you must be, and I won't talk about this any more, not tonight. But I would remind you of the runes and what they said for you, Ardal. A mission. Courage in the face of adversity. As the memories return, as they stir in your mind, fix on that. You were saved for a purpose."

Gull had got up and was quietly preparing for the night, checking the door and the shutters, quenching the lamp so we were left in candlelight and firelight, tidying Ardal's bedding.

"You truly believe that, Sibeal?" Ardal's voice was a murmur. He dashed a hand across his cheeks. "If there is a mission, a quest, why not Paul? Why me?"

"Here, take my hand. There is no saying why one man dies before another. The G.o.ds make their choices, and we are powerless to gainsay them. All we can do is live our lives the best we can. With love and courage and goodness. I can see you loved your brother very much. He would want you to go on in hope; to fulfil your mission, whatever that may be."

"What if I do not remember? What if the past is lost forever? There are so many pathways, mazes, traps. I could wander until I am old, and never find a way out."

I could feel the fine trembling in his hand. "It is not lost," I said firmly. "Already it is coming back to you. You will remember. You will fulfill your mission. We believe in you, Gull and I. Believe in yourself; make it so."

None of us slept a great deal that night. Each time Gull got up to visit the privy, with Fang pattering after him, I woke. Twice I heard the two men talking and went through to see if all was well. Ardal had been disturbed by dark dreams whose details he would not share. My own dreams had been of an endless search along twisting pathways, for what I did not know. I had heard Ciaran's voice saying, The true mission lies within you, Sibeal. If you have not learned that, you have learned nothing. After that, I was glad to sit awhile before the fire, my cloak around my shoulders. Gull heated up the rest of the soup and the three of us shared it.

"Had some odd dreams myself," said Gull. "Past acts of violence. Sorrows best left sleeping. It feels as if we're stirring up monsters."

The day dawned fine and sunny. The wind had died down and the sea around Inis Eala sparkled under a cloudless sky. I made my way to the dining hall, yawning, to find Clodagh in excellent spirits.

"I thought we might gather mushrooms this morning, Sibeal."

"Mm."

"It's an ideal morning for it. I can show you a part of the island where you've never been before. You'll like it; there's a little grove of apples, circled by hawthorn."

"Really?" The rocky sh.o.r.es and whipping winds of Inis Eala did not seem conducive to the growth of anything beyond the gra.s.ses that nourished the hardy island sheep. I had seen twisted thorn trees, their roots lodged deep in rocky clefts; I had seen a few lone junipers leaning before the gale, like bent old men. Apples, I had not seen.

"Bring a basket and I'll show you."

By the time we had gathered baskets and cloaks, most of the men were heading off to another day's hard work in the practice yard. On the way out of the infirmary I met Kalev coming in. Knut was behind him; both men bore swords.

"You're starting early," I observed. Gull would be as tired as I was. Just as well he was not required to give practical demonstrations.

"I am sorry to disturb you." Kalev was as courteous as ever. "The Connacht men learn certain tricks with the sword today, and my services will be required soon. Now is the only time to work with Knut."

"Of course. Knut, I didn't see Svala at breakfast."

Kalev translated this, but Knut answered me direct, in Irish.

"Wife sad. Not want food." He took in the shawl tied around my shoulders and the basket over my arm. "You go walk?"

"With my sister. I'll bid you both good day." Was I wrong in thinking his question somewhat inappropriate? Since he had begun training with Gull, Knut had been unfailingly polite to me, but I was finding that each time I met him I liked him a little less. That made no sense; there was no foundation for it save a casual remark or two and an oddity in the way he dealt with his wife. And Svala was odd enough in herself to make that almost inevitable.

Clodagh was waiting for me, her basket over her arm.

"Are you sure you're up to a long walk?" I asked.

"I was the one who suggested it, remember? If I had to lie down and rest all the time I'd go crazy. Even Cathal can hardly disapprove of a gentle stroll to pick mushrooms."

We made our way along the westward path, leaving the settlement behind us. Years had pa.s.sed since my last visit here, and I realized the island was bigger than I had remembered. We skirted the place of the boat burial and headed across an area of gentle dips and rises carpeted by scrubby gra.s.s. For some time we walked in companionable silence. Sheep exchanged quiet bleats as they grazed; a flock of geese honked warnings at us from the sh.o.r.es of a reed-fringed pond.

"There's a spring over this next hill," Clodagh said. "The fresh water brings all kinds of birds. I knew you'd like this walk. You miss the forest, don't you?"

"Inis Eala is very different. A challenge."

Clodagh smiled. "Spoken like a druid, Sibeal. You treat every experience as an exercise in learning. You never seem to lose your temper or feel doubt or have a bad day as the rest of us do; you think everything through like a wise old person. But then, even as a child you were unusually self-possessed."

I considered this remark. "You say that as if it's a bad thing."

"I don't mean it like that. I always admired you for it."

"But?" I had heard the reservation in her tone.

"I don't know. I just . . . well, I suppose I wonder if it's entirely good for you to keep such control over your feelings. Feelings can be uncomfortable, but they're part of being alive: joy and sorrow, excitement, fear, hurt. Imagine a story in which every character was in perfect control of himself all the time. It would be somewhat lacking, in my opinion."

I grimaced. "I'm beginning to suspect a conspiracy. Everywhere I turn, someone's challenging my vocation, either by outlining the delights of marriage and motherhood, or by suggesting there's something amiss because I don't scream and shout when I'm upset."

"I didn't mean-"

"Clodagh, believe me, I have plenty of doubts. About myself, about my future, about my suitability to follow the druid path. I have no doubt at all that the G.o.ds have called me, and that means I must do my best. As for self-control, I've been trained to maintain it, outwardly at least. Not showing emotion doesn't mean you don't feel it." After a little I added, "Your story would be one in which every character was a druid, I suppose. In fact, people have been known to lose their tempers in the nemetons. You'd be surprised how heated the debate can get over the correct way to conduct a ritual."

We walked up a slight rise and paused. Below us lay a secluded hollow, a sudden surprise of many greens amidst the dun and gray of the island. A ring of hawthorns sheltered the grove of apple trees, which put me in mind of graceful women in verdant gowns, perhaps preparing to dance. Short gowns; the sheep had nibbled as high as they could stretch. It was a lovely place, full of calm and sweetness.

"These trees give remarkably good fruit," Clodagh said. "Crisp and juicy. You'll be gone before this season's crop ripens. The mushrooms are over on that side."

An impressive crop of broad, cream caps rose above the gra.s.s. I made Clodagh sit and rest while I picked, filling both baskets quickly.

"How is Ardal doing?" she asked as she watched me work.

"Better. Remembering one or two things. It seems his brother was on the s.h.i.+p, too. He is quite confused. I had to explain that if his brother was on board, he must have drowned. Ardal seemed to believe that was somehow his fault."

"Oh, so he's remembered the wreck? What did he say?"

I sat back on my heels, seeing Ardal's shadowed eyes and tear-stained face. "I don't think he remembers much. Just a wave coming over and swallowing them up. He said he couldn't untie something, but he wouldn't explain what. His mind jumps around, one moment in childhood, the next dealing with something recent. And he mixes old tales with real life." Or perhaps it was that the old tales helped make sense of real life. "We did learn that he comes from Armorica, only he called it Breizh. A long way."

"They'll go home quite soon, I suppose," Clodagh said. "The three of them."

"Not for a while yet. Ardal can't walk more than a few steps."

"Speaking of walking, we may as well head back. Biddy should be delighted with that harvest."

I helped Clodagh to her feet. "What's she planning to do with them?"

"Put some in a fish stew and string up the rest to dry," Clodagh said, reaching for her basket. "Nothing's wasted here. No, no, Sibeal, I can carry it. I'm not completely helpless."

"I'd never dare suggest such a thing," I said, laughing. "But I wouldn't want to risk Cathal's displeasure by tiring you out. Shall we walk back the other way, round by the cliffs?"

It was as we walked above the third cove that we saw her. She was on the beach below us, standing with hands on hips and legs apart, looking down at something. Along the sh.o.r.e, at around the tide line, stretched a winding shape of piled-up pebbles and coa.r.s.e sand, decorated here and there with patches of weed or large sh.e.l.ls. Its creator regarded it with concentration, her hair in wet strands over her shoulders and down her back. Under its meager concealment, Svala was stark naked.

"What is she doing?" whispered Clodagh as we stood staring, paralyzed with shock. Summer it might be, but this was hardly a warm day. And there were men all over the island.

"It's a snake," I murmured, taking a better look at Svala's creation. "Look, she's given it sh.e.l.l eyes, and-no, perhaps not a snake. It's too fat, and it has legs. A dragon? She must be freezing. And anyone could come past and see her. We'll have to go down and talk to her. Or maybe just I will go; that path looks rather steep."

"I'll manage. We can leave the baskets here."

Partway down the path, I halted suddenly.

"Watch out!" Clodagh was behind me. "I nearly walked into you."

"I saw something." My eye had caught a slight movement, up on the cliffs at the other side of the bay, where bushes screened the path. A sheep? Whatever it had been, it was gone now. "I thought . . . For a moment, I thought it was a man. Someone hiding, watching her. But surely n.o.body would do that."

"Not if they heard Johnny's speech to the new arrivals. It must have been a sheep."

We headed on down to the sh.o.r.e. Svala had heard us. She turned to watch us approach, making no attempt at all to cover herself up. Her clothing lay strewn on the ground, sand and pebbles scattered across it as if she had gone about her work of digging and building with single-minded concentration. As her gaze went from me to Clodagh and back to me, I wondered if she might flee like a wild creature, leaving her garments behind.

"Don't go too close," I whispered to my sister. "Good morning, Svala," I said, halting a few paces from the Norsewoman. "What have you made?" I gestured toward the sand creature. Now that we were close, I realized how big it was; she must have been here since sunrise.

Svala regarded me for a few moments, then reached out her hand, beckoning me closer. She did not speak, but walked the full length of the creature, gesturing busily all the way, and as I followed her I thought I understood: See how bright his eyes are, how s.h.i.+ning his skin. See his strong legs, his fearsome tail! And the teeth! Like a little child wanting its mother's praise for something fas.h.i.+oned with painstaking care. The teeth were of pointed sh.e.l.ls, and gave her dragon an expression somewhere between ferocious and comical.

"Fine, very fine," I said, nodding and smiling. "But you-cold." I mimed s.h.i.+vering, wrapping my arms around myself. In fact, Svala showed no sign that she was either cold or embarra.s.sed by being discovered naked. She stood beside me, a proud figure of a woman, b.r.e.a.s.t.s high and full, waist narrow, hips generous, the hair on her body of the same gold as her long tresses. Her skin was uniformly pale and unblemished, and there was not a goose b.u.mp on her. She did have a certain amount of coa.r.s.e sand stuck to her here and there, and I wondered if she had been swimming before she began her labor of love.

Behind us, Clodagh had gathered up Svala's gown and was attempting to shake off the sand. The shawl that had lain beside it looked drenched. There was nothing else for Svala to put on.

"You should get dressed." I ill.u.s.trated. "Cold. And men could see you." I gestured to the top of the cliffs. "That path, men walk. See you, no clothes. Not good."

In response, Svala knelt down by the creature's head, looking into the blank sh.e.l.l eyes. She crooned a little tuneless song.

"Svala," Clodagh said, coming up, "I will lend you my cloak. Here." She untied it and held it out.

"Best come back now," I said. "Come with us. Or at least put your clothes on, so the men don't see you like this."

She must have understood; our gestures were quite clear. Still, she made no move. The little song went on, rising and falling; it was perhaps a lullaby, perhaps a lament.

"Your creature will be washed away when the tide comes in," I said. "That is sad. So much work." Her song held the sorrow of a child when the sea swallows its creation. It was a goodbye.

Svala rose to her feet, her eyes closed now as her song came to an end. She reached out, blind, and put her hand around my arm. My ears heard the child's grief, and my eyes saw the magnificent woman, like a G.o.ddess from ancient story. But my heart felt, deep within, a terrible loss, a thing too wrenching ever to be expressed in words. My body was filled with her anguish. Dimly, I heard Clodagh cry out, and then I was on my knees on the sand, my hands to my head.

It was Svala who helped me to my feet. I felt the strength in her arms, the power in her hands. And when I opened my eyes and looked into hers, I knew that what I had felt for a little, she felt every moment of every day. She wore her sorrow as she wore her own skin.

I did not tell her that I understood. I knew n.o.body could, save perhaps someone who had experienced what she had. I tried to show her with my eyes, and with my hand on her shoulder, that I had felt something of her grief, and that I was a friend. After that, she let Clodagh help her on with the wet gown and slung the warm cloak casually around her shoulders. But she would not come home with us. Instead, she seated herself cross-legged by the sand creature's head, laid her hand on its neck and stared out to sea.

From the cliff top we looked back down. Svala sat motionless, as if keeping vigil. Perhaps she was waiting for the tide to come in.

"Are you all right, Sibeal?" Clodagh asked. "For a moment down there I thought you were going to faint. You're still very pale."

"I'm fine now." The wave of feeling had ebbed quickly, leaving my heart numb. To hold so much within her . . . no wonder Svala seemed sometimes to exist in a different world from the rest of us.

"We should tell someone about this," Clodagh said as we walked on. "She's like a small child, with no sense of danger. Let alone propriety."

"Mm." If she wandered about without her clothes, Svala had the capacity to cause mayhem, especially with the Connacht men on the island. I tried to imagine telling Knut what we had seen and knew I could not do it, either directly or-still more embarra.s.sing-through Jouko or Kalev. Faced with such a task, I was far more unwed young girl than wise druid. I was not even sure I could bring myself to broach the subject with Gull.

"You can leave this to me, Sibeal," Clodagh said. "I'll speak to Cathal, he can pa.s.s it on to Johnny, and if Johnny thinks Knut should know, he'll tell him. This adds to the urgent need to get them off the island."

"I have seen her behaving rather oddly before, but not like this. Last time . . . Knut came, and he dealt with it. But he seemed embarra.s.sed by her, almost ashamed of her. It makes me wonder if even he understands."

"Understands what?"

"I know Svala's behavior is strange. But I don't believe she's out of her wits, Clodagh. When we were down there, just for a moment I felt the force of her grief, and it was overwhelming. I know she lost her son; I know how terrible that must be. But I wonder if something else lies in her past, something more than the s.h.i.+pwreck and her son's death. I sense there's a story that needs to be told, and that until it comes out, we won't be able to help her."

"If there were, why wouldn't Knut have told it? It's not as if Svala can tell us in words."

It was a reasonable question. "Maybe it's something only she knows about. Or Knut could know more than he's chosen to tell."

"If you're right," Clodagh mused, "it could be tied up with Ardal. Perhaps when he regains his memory it will all come out, whatever it is."

"Maybe."

"You know what the men are saying, don't you?" Clodagh gave me her basket to hold as we negotiated a stile. "That he has brought ill luck to the island. That wherever he goes, he casts a shadow."

"Ardal?" This shocked me. Cathal had not suggested the talk of portents and omens was a.s.sociated with anyone in particular. "Why would they think that?"

"I don't know, Sibeal. Don't sound so upset; it's probably just idle talk. Maybe it was the odd way he was found, or the fact that he reached sh.o.r.e alive at all after such a long time in the water. The s.h.i.+pwreck unsettled everyone. Folk are edgy. It's not just Cathal who wishes he had done more, it's all of them. They don't like to see men lost when there's a chance to save them. If so many perished so quickly, they're saying, why did that one man survive, especially after so long in the water? Then there was the freak storm that caused the wreck; there are plenty of theories about that."

"You mean people are saying it was Ardal's presence on board that made the sea carry Freyja onto the rocks? What do they think he is, an evil spirit?"

"They just think he brings bad luck, Sibeal. Don't look so worried. They'll realize soon enough that there's no foundation for such superst.i.tions."