Sevenwaters: Seer Of Sevenwaters Part 16

Cathal takes the things out one by one and lays them on the bench. The length of fabric is a shadow of what it was; the sea has turned its original rich violet to a faint red-blue, and salt crusts the delicate folds. The silver arm-rings and torc are tarnished, the pages of the great book are blank of calligraphy. The sea has drowned all its wisdom. It was once a book of tales, scribed in half-uncial, with tiny ill.u.s.trations of creatures and flowers. A lovely thing. There are smaller items, trinkets for the Jarl's wife and daughter: a flock of tiny bronze birds, a little coffer bound with silver and decorated with bright enamels, an elaborate finger-ring. I was there the day Eoghan chose that cloth. He said it would look fine on the Jarl's daughter, she being of Norse blood and fair as a spring morning. I know the man who made the little bronze birds. I remember my brother's delight when the prince showed us the book. Paul cannot read. Could not read. He smiled at the tiny foxes and owls and badgers, the fierce-eyed crow and the white pony.

In my mind, Knut draws his finger across his neck. Shhhhk! Even as the memories of that time flood back-ah, Matha, wise councillor, it seems you, too, were lost to the sea-I say to Johnny, "I am most grateful for the kindness and care you have shown me. But I cannot tell you anything about these items." I will not lie to him, and that is not a lie.

"Let me put another question," Johnny says levelly. "Sibeal believes you are a man of some education. Imagine these goods before they were damaged by the sea. For what purpose might such items be on a s.h.i.+p traveling from Ulfricsfjord to the Orcades, do you think? You can answer that question without the need to be specific."

"I am no trader."

Cathal reaches out, takes me by the arms and hauls me to my feet. He does not let go once I'm up. "Answer the question," he says. In the quiet of that tone there is a menace that chills my heart.

"Costly items," I say. For a moment I consider telling them what I have just remembered: my time at Muredach's court, my acquaintance with his son Eoghan, prince of Munster, the mission to the Jarl. Can there be anything there that would cause Knut to make his threats? I do not know. I cannot know. I remember nothing after I first stepped onto Freyja, save the storm, and Paul, and the wave. It is too great a risk. I hold Sibeal's life in my hands. "I imagine they might have been a gift," I say. "All seem of very fine quality. Such a gift might be made by a king or prince, an influential chieftain. The book suggests a monastic involvement, perhaps."

"Let him go, Cathal," Johnny says, not raising his voice, and Cathal complies. My arms hurt where he held me. Why is he so hostile? "Have you any idea which king, prince or influential chieftain might choose to send such gifts to the Orcades, Ardal? Are you quite sure you have not seen them before?"

"I am sure of very little." G.o.ds, those others-there were five others with us, Artan and Donn, Fiac and Demman, young Colm on his first sea voyage, all of us set out from Muredach's court-were they on the s.h.i.+p when it foundered? All gone, all drowned? My knees stop supporting me and I slump back onto the bench, willing the two men to go away and leave me with my tangled thoughts.

Perhaps I have turned white, for Johnny says, "No more for now. Pack the things up, Cathal. I want another word with Muirrin, then I'll walk back over with you." He goes into the infirmary.

Cathal packs. It does not take long. n.o.body comes. When he is done he moves to lean against the wall beside me. It is a casual pose, almost lounging. His eyes tell me quite a different story. This is a man I do not want as an enemy.

"I have something to say to you." Cathal is keeping his tone level. "I'll say it quickly. I have family here on the island. I have a wife I love more than life itself, and a child yet unborn. If someone has sent you here, someone with ill intent toward me, know that I have the capacity to destroy you and that I will do so without hesitation. Sibeal's fondness for you will make not a sc.r.a.p of difference. Now tell me the truth, Ardal. On whose orders have you come here? What fell master set you in our midst to wreak your havoc on our dreams?"

I am too surprised to respond. Cathal believes I was sent here to do him harm, to injure his loved ones? Why would he think that? I open my mouth to tell him his suspicions are nonsense, then close it again. While any part of my past remains forgotten, I cannot know why I am on this island or for what purpose. Yes, I traveled north on a mission for the king of Munster. We bore betrothal gifts from his son to the daughter of the Orcadian Jarl, lovely things she never received. It was a peaceable mission, and my role in it merely that of interpreter. But until I can remember what went awry, what left us broken and sinking on the rocks off Inis Eala, I cannot a.s.sure Cathal that I am blameless. I cannot tell him anything. And I want to tell, not because he is formidable and I fear him, though that is true, but because I hear the sincerity in his voice, and the pain.

The silence has drawn out. He is waiting, night-black eyes fixed on me. "I do not remember everything, Cathal," I tell him. "If your enemy seeks you out, I think it unlikely he would use me as his agent."

"Unlikely." His tone is flat. "That answer is inadequate, Ardal. I don't trust a man who holds back information when he need not. You've remembered something. I see it in your eyes. It was there the moment I lifted those things out of the box. I can think of only one reason why you won't talk, and I don't like that reason. Why were you on the s.h.i.+p? Who sent you, and for what purpose?"

I say nothing. I will Johnny to come back. A moment later, I hear his voice from within the infirmary, bidding Muirrin a courteous farewell. I breathe again.

"If anything happens to Clodagh," Cathal says in a furious undertone, "or to the child, I'll make you talk, Ardal. I can do it, believe me. Another warning. You'd best step back from your friends.h.i.+p with Sibeal. She's young, she saved your life under extraordinary circ.u.mstances, and she feels a bond of sorts, no doubt. It can't be good for her to get involved with a man who won't tell the truth. Whatever it is you're doing, don't embroil my wife's young sister in it."

I swallow my rage. In a way, his attack is justified. "As soon as I am strong enough I will leave this place," I said. "I wish you and your family nothing but good, Cathal. But don't you see, I can't-" My voice cracks; I am not yet as strong as I need to be. "Until I remember all of it, there is no certainty," I say more quietly. "Not for you; not for me; not for anyone here. That's the curse of the ill luck man."

His eyes have narrowed. "What do you mean?" he asks, his tone quite different.

I do not answer, for across the garden someone else is approaching: Knut, tight-jawed, striding fast. As he comes up to us, Johnny emerges from the infirmary.

Knut's ice-blue gaze sweeps over us, pausing on the box, which is now closed and strapped. "Look for wife," he explains. "You see her?"

"No," says Cathal.

"Svala's not here," adds Johnny.

Knut looks at me. "None of us has seen her," I say in Norse. There is an unspoken question on his face. He's been shown this box before; he knows what it holds. He's seen me with Cathal. His eyes ask: What have you told, ill luck man? He turns on his heel and leaves.

I see the jetty at Ulfricsfjord, men loading supplies, the crew readying the vessel to sail. One of them has Knut's face. Paul is keeping guard over the box that holds the gifts and the chest with its cargo of silver pieces. Colm is excited, his gaze going everywhere, his enthusiasm spreading to the rest of them, even the weathered Norse crewmen. The others tease him, saying he'll be sure to meet a buxom Norse girl and achieve another first along the way. A girl. A woman. But not on the s.h.i.+p, because there are no women on Freyja. A crew of Norse sailors, a party of Irish courtiers, and with them a pair of brothers, Breizhiz both.

I'm on the verge of saying it to Johnny and Cathal. This woman, Svala-she was not on the s.h.i.+p when it left Ulfricsfjord. What the significance of that is, I have no idea, but the need to tell is strong in me. My memory of Knut's eyes stops my tongue. There is peril in that last, lost memory. In this moment I understand what Cathal is feeling, the turmoil that has led him to threaten me. Misery washes through me. I look up at Johnny, and he looks back at me. A strong, clever, just man; a true leader. A man who would listen, I think, if I told the truth. But what good is an incomplete truth, one in which the missing piece might place them all in peril, the wife and child for whom Cathal so fears, generous Gull, and Sibeal, most precious of all?

"I want to leave the island," I tell Johnny. "The moment I can fend for myself, you must send me away."

*Sibeal*

I would tell Ardal about Svala's vision first. He might interpret it as something cryptic, needing scholarly consideration. After all, the scene had been like something from an ancient story, with its lonely isle, its ma.s.sive seas, its fearsome monster and desperate men. But perhaps Ardal would tell me it was true. Perhaps he would remember.

I walked briskly back to the settlement. As I pa.s.sed the dining hall, the door opened and Clodagh stuck her head out. "Sibeal! Come in here!"

Inside, I was somewhat surprised to see Muirrin seated in the kitchen corner with a cup of mead before her on the table and her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink. Biddy sat beside her, and Brenna opposite. "What's this?" I asked, seating myself beside Brenna and accepting the mead I was offered. Muirrin was hardly seen outside the infirmary during the day, and for a moment I had been concerned that some misfortune had occurred, another disaster for which the community could blame the ill luck man. But there were smiles all around.

"Tell her, Muirrin," said Clodagh.

"Tell me what?"

My eldest sister looked at me across the table. I saw the joy that lit her eyes, and guessed the news before she spoke. "Sibeal, I'm expecting a child. At last! I thought it would never happen, and now . . . " She had tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Muirrin, that's wonderful. Congratulations." I went around the table to embrace her, thinking how far my mind had drifted, these last years, from the concerns of hearth and home. I had never considered it unusual that after more than six years of marriage Muirrin and Evan had no children. It had not occurred to me that they might have wanted them, perhaps badly, and have faced the possibility of never being parents. I had simply thought of them as healers, dedicated to their profession.

"I've suspected it for a while," Muirrin said, "but I didn't tell anyone except Evan, because . . . well, we've been disappointed before, thinking I was with child and then . . . But I'm sure now. I even have a little belly-look."

Muirrin was a small, slender woman, like all of us sisters. Under the practical homespun of her gown, her stomach was indeed very slightly rounded. Even I knew this meant her pregnancy was a fair way on, three turnings of the moon or four. Looking at Clodagh, whose form currently resembled that of a very ripe fruit, I felt a deep s.h.i.+ver of unease. The dreams, the visions, the murmurings among the islanders . . . G.o.ds, keep my sisters safe, I prayed. Let their children be born whole and healthy.

"We're all taking the afternoon off work, even Muirrin," Clodagh said. "We're going to find a nice corner in the sun and sit there doing absolutely nothing. You, too, Sibeal."

A protest was on my lips, but I held it back. I had never seen that look on Muirrin's face before, save perhaps when she told us Evan had asked her to be his wife. Her happiness was a gift of great worth, and I would do nothing at all to spoil it. "Biddy, you'll be a grandmother again!" I said. Clem and Annie had three children, Sam and Brenna one.

Biddy's amiable features were pink with pleasure. "And that man of mine will be a grandfather," she said. "Not that he doesn't think of my lads as his own, of course. But this is different."

Evan was the only one of Biddy's three sons who had been fathered by Gull. Sam and Clem were the offspring of her first husband. It was easy to imagine Gull as grandfather to a tiny child. I saw him singing songs; telling tales; holding a small hand in his big, maimed one and leading his grandson down to the sh.o.r.e to watch the boats come in. Yes, it was a boy I saw: a curly-headed mite with almond skin and mischievous dark eyes. A st.u.r.dy, healthy child. I remembered my vision of Clodagh's infant, tiny and frail, naked in the forest, and suppressed a s.h.i.+ver. "Has Gull heard the news?" I asked.

"Muirrin told him earlier," Biddy said. "He needs time to come to terms with such tidings, welcome as they are. Brings back the past, you see. He doesn't talk about it, but a long time ago, years before he and I were wed, he lost his whole family, mother and father, sisters and brothers, wife and children, all slain by raiders. He'd have done away with himself, but for the Chief's intervention. Gull's content here. He loves the family he has now. But that sort of thing never goes away. The shadow lingers. He'll look at his new grandchild and see the babes he lost." I saw a trace of that shadow on her own face, and wondered how many times she had gentled Gull through his nightmares.

The apple grove would have been a good place to sit and talk, but Clodagh could not manage such a long walk today. The baby had s.h.i.+fted and was pressing down awkwardly, her back was aching, and between her discomfort and Cathal's dreams, she was short of sleep.

"Not the kitchen garden," said Brenna firmly. "If Muirrin's in sight of the infirmary she'll be wanting to go back up there and start brewing something. Nowhere near the work room, or Clodagh won't be able to keep her hands off the loom. I don't know what it is with you Sevenwaters girls, but you seem to like being constantly busy."

"It's our mother's influence," Clodagh said. "She never was comfortable with idleness. Why don't we go to that sheltered area out the back of the married quarters?"

"Take some of those oatcakes with you," said Biddy, who evidently did not plan to come with us. "And a bit of cheese. Sibeal, I'll give you a basket."

It was no surprise to me that Clodagh went to her chamber and fetched her embroidery, so she would have something to do while we talked. She was working a border on a tiny tunic, fronds of seaweed and curious goggle-eyed fish. "You won't have to sew a st.i.tch for your baby," she told Muirrin with a smile, settling on one of the two wooden benches placed in this sunny corner. The wall of the married quarters screened us from one side, and a lone blackthorn from the other. "Everything I've made for mine can be handed on."

"Just as well," Muirrin said wryly. "I may be able to st.i.tch a wound, but I doubt if I'd be up to such delicate work as that. My infant will be proud to wear your handiwork, Clodagh."

"I've already pa.s.sed Fergal's smallest garments on to Annie's youngest," Brenna put in. "He's grown apace. Takes after his father."

"Where is Fergal this afternoon?" I asked idly.

"With a clutch of other children, under Alba's care. By the time she settles down and has a child of her own, she'll be expert." Brenna's tone changed. "It shocks me to think Alba liked that fellow, Rodan, G.o.ds rest his spirit. I saw through him the moment he tried to worm his way into Suanach's favor. According to her, Rodan a.s.sumed she'd be ready to open her legs as soon as he asked her." She glanced at me. "I hope I don't offend you, Sibeal. We women can be rather frank in our discussion when there are no men around to hear us."

"Rodan must have thought himself irresistible." Clodagh stabbed her needle into the linen with more force than was strictly necessary. "No sooner did he get a refusal from Suanach than he was trying again with Flidais. We should not speak ill of the dead, of course. But I'll be happy when these Connacht men are gone. It hasn't been a good time. There's unrest everywhere."

The seed of an idea had started to grow in my mind, and I did not like it much at all. Svala naked on the sh.o.r.e, playing with sand as if she were a child. Something half-seen in the bushes on the cliff top. I had dismissed my thoughts of a watcher. Svala earlier today, on the cliff's edge. My heart tightened. I must be wrong. Surely I must be wrong. "Brenna," I asked, "do you think it was true, what the Connacht men seemed to be saying about Rodan at the time of the burial, that he didn't care much whether a woman was married or single? That if he was attracted to her he'd approach her anyway?"

Three pairs of startled eyes turned in my direction; n.o.body had expected such a question from me.

"I heard a few remarks along those lines," Brenna said. "Flidais was of the opinion that it was her husband's ident.i.ty that put Rodan off, rather than the fact of her being wed in the first place. n.o.body in his right mind would want to get on the wrong side of Rat. Why would you ask such a thing, Sibeal?"

"I had a strange encounter with Svala today and I was just thinking . . . I was wondering if Rodan might ever have tried to . . . "

Brenna looked at Clodagh who said, "Anyone who made advances to Svala would have Knut to contend with. Everyone's seen how Knut can fight. And everyone knows he's very proud of his handsome wife, unusual woman that she is. According to Cathal, Knut talks about her in a way that makes some of the men quite jealous. He almost brags about her."

"She's the kind of woman men l.u.s.t after," Brenna said. "What fellow's going to care if she's a few stalks short of the full haystack, when she's built like the G.o.ddess of love?"

"Sibeal," said Muirrin, "you can't be suggesting Knut had something to do with Rodan's death."

"Not exactly, but-"

"Even if Rodan did take advantage of Svala," said Clodagh, "and I don't suppose we'll ever know if that's so, Knut couldn't be responsible for his death. Rodan went missing during the morning's combat session. Knut was present the entire time."

But Svala wasn't. My mind showed me that magnificent figure on the cliff's edge, spreading her arms to the wind, hair like a wild banner, eyes bright with . . . vindication? It was all too easy to reshape that scene into one where Rodan, drawn to the place by desire for a woman who was, without a doubt, the best prize on the island, met her, embraced her, felt the sudden pressure of her strong hands and found himself falling, falling to oblivion on the rocks below.

"What are you thinking, Sibeal?"

I would not say it. There was no proof. Svala was mute and Rodan was dead. We would never know what had happened. That did not stop my mind from showing me Svala with her arms around Rodan, offering him her mouth. An instant's distraction, that's all it would have taken, and he would have been over the edge. I remembered the day when she had shared her fish, and the moment when I had thought she was going to drown me. "I'm thinking about Svala," I said. "I spent some time with her this morning, at the seer's cave, and she told me a very strange story."

"Told you?" said Clodagh. "You mean she finally spoke?"

"Not told in words. She showed me, in a vision." I had not intended to tell them the story but suddenly I needed to get it out. Rodan was gone; it was too late for his tale to be told. That made it all the more important to share the other, stranger story. "In the cave, with Svala, I believe I saw images that came from her mind, not mine," I told them. "I couldn't tell if it was a true vision of something that had happened to her or more of a . . . myth. It was frightening. And odd, almost like a dream. Svala became quite distraught when I didn't understand properly. One thing I am sure of: she's desperate to leave Inis Eala. She wants to go home. And home seems to be . . . somewhere impossible."

"Tell us," Brenna said, moving closer.

I related the tale as best I could: the brutal storm, the stark rocky island, the cliffs, the narrow pa.s.sage. The relief on coming through to safe water, and then the monster. "A sea serpent or water dragon," I said. "It reared out of the waves and put its claw right through a man's chest. I wonder now if it was there earlier, harrying the s.h.i.+p forward through the gap so the men would be trapped in the bay."

My audience of three had been captured by the dramatic tale.

"You mean it was . . . fis.h.i.+ng." Brenna's tone was hushed.

"Sibeal, it sounds more like an old tale than anything," said Clodagh. "I can imagine such a story as part of the adventures of Cu Chulainn or another hero. You're sure this s.h.i.+p was the same one that was wrecked on the reef here? The one that brought Svala and Knut to Inis Eala?"

"I think so. A substantial s.h.i.+p, with a hold for cargo and the capacity to go by sail or oars." I wished now that I had paid more attention to details. "But they weren't under sail. There were men rowing, a lot of men. Knut was one of them. When the storm drove them close to the rocks they panicked and lost control. Ardal's brother-the man I think was his brother-kept his head and started shouting orders. He maneuvered them through the gap. After the monster attacked he managed to get them in to sh.o.r.e."

"And then what?" asked Clodagh with some eagerness.

"I don't know. It finished there. A vision doesn't always show the whole story, or even the true story."

Muirrin had listened in silence. A frown of concentration creased her brow. "And Svala showed you this," she said.

"I don't know whether she has the ability to scry and to share her vision. Perhaps the feelings she had pent up inside her were so powerful that they took control over what appeared in the water. I'm certain those images came from her."

"I thought she was sad because of what she lost when the s.h.i.+p foundered," Brenna said. "Her child in particular."

"You mentioned Knut and Ardal," Muirrin said. "What about her? Was Svala in the vision?"

"I didn't see her. But it was a big s.h.i.+p. I suppose the women and children might have been down in the hold for safety." I could hardly imagine how terrifying that would be, below deck, buffeted by wind and waves, listening to the men's panicked screams as they lost control of the oars.

"If she'd been in the hold she wouldn't have seen what happened," Clodagh pointed out.

"True. But visions don't usually show a picture of something just as it was. They are not the same as memories. Perhaps that was what she thought I needed to see."

"What did you mean, Sibeal, about Svala wanting to go home?" asked Muirrin. "What has that to do with this vision?"

"She couldn't tell me, of course. But I felt what was in her heart." The power of Svala's yearning was still with me. "She wants to go back to that place. I'm sure she was trying to tell me that inhospitable island is home."

There was a lengthy silence.

"That's crazy," Brenna said eventually. "It makes no sense. Who'd live out in the middle of the ocean on a rock? With sea monsters on the doorstep?"

"It seems unlikely," said Clodagh. "The s.h.i.+p came from Ulfricsfjord, headed for the Orcades. That's a well-traveled sea path. Traders use it all the time. If such an island lay between Ulfricsfjord and the north coast of Erin, we'd know about it. If a giant sea serpent lurked there, there'd be a hundred tales of it."

I was starting to think I should have talked to Johnny before I aired any of this before others, even if those others were the trusted women of my family. "What if they were not going to the Orcades when the s.h.i.+p hit our reef," I suggested, "but coming back?"

Everyone looked at me as they digested this.

"You mean Knut lied to Johnny?" Clodagh said, brows up.

"Svala was quite sure the island lay due north of here. It isn't between Ulfricsfjord and Inis Eala."

"Why lie about something like that?" asked Brenna. "A storm, a monster, nearly losing the s.h.i.+p-Knut would have spilled out everything."

I was still considering sea paths. "There's another possibility. If they were heading to the Orcades and had already traveled quite a distance to the northeast, past Dalriada, and were driven off course by the storm, they could have ended up due north of here. Perhaps the s.h.i.+p was damaged. Perhaps they lost so many men they gave up the original plan. They might have turned back and made for the nearest land. That would have brought them straight to Inis Eala."

There was something uncomfortable about the silence that followed. I guessed what Muirrin was going to say before she came out with it.

"Sibeal, this is conjecture. For Knut to lie about something so significant seems extraordinary. Besides, if he and Svala lived on a lonely isle all by themselves, what was he doing on the crew of a vessel heading out of an Irish port and bound for the Orcades? Given his account and this one, side by side, there's no doubt at all which people would believe." She was scrutinizing me closely. "You're close to Ardal, I know. Have you told him this story?"

I was annoyed to feel my cheeks flaming. "No. I was on my way back from the cave when Clodagh called me to join you in the kitchen. The only person I've seen since Svala showed me the vision-apart from you-is Knut, and I said nothing about it to him. Muirrin, you can't be suggesting I'd alter the facts so Ardal's story will be more credible than Knut's when it finally comes out." I was hurt and dismayed. I deeply regretted sharing the vision with them. I should have learned by now that such insights are best kept to oneself. "Besides, this is Svala's story, not Ardal's. As far as I know he still can't remember anything about all this."

"As far as you know?" Brenna asked, glancing from me to my sisters and back again a little nervously. It was unusual for us to argue.

"I think perhaps he's remembered more than he's told," I said. "But he won't talk about it. All he cares about now is getting strong again, so he can leave."