Daughter Of The Forest (21 page)

“We are assembled, and it lacks but a few minutes to daybreak,” said Conor.

I felt again the presence of others, wiser, stronger, older ones, settling around him like a mantle. Instead of a dark-haired youth in a white robe, it was as if some ancient sage stood there before us, and the clearing seemed in some way to open up around him.

“Soon we will begin. But I warn you all. We stand together, we seven; she who tries to sever the bond between us does so at her peril. This is a great mystery, and may achieve our end. But in all things, we draw from the spirit world only such aid, and such strength, as its dwellers are willing to give us. Beyond that we must rely on our own wit and courage and resolve. Now, we begin our ceremony. And when it is ended, we part for a while. You, Sorcha, and you, Padriac, must go into hiding. Father Brien will shelter you and see you to a place of safety. When all is finished here, we will come for you. And whether what we do this morning brings help or no, the rest of us will act today for better or worse. We have the proof; our father must confront the truth and make his choice.”

We made a formal circle around the small tree as we had done many times before, standing close enough so that, if each had reached out an arm, he could have touched hands with the next. But there was no need to touch. This was our place of ritual, of oneness; the old oaks and beeches here had heard our childish rhymes, our tender secrets, had witnessed our communion with our mother’s spirit. Sometimes we had been solemn and serious, and sometimes we had joked and laughed. These trees held in their hearts the tale of our growing years, and now they were to witness a mystery greater than any in our experience.

The first glint of the rising sun lightened the rim of the sky. Conor faced the south, and held the birch wand up before him.

“Creatures of fire, darting salamanders,” said Conor, “children of the cleansing flame, steadfast of purpose, we salute you!” It seemed there was a stirring of the air, a momentary flickering of light; but the clearing was mist shrouded still.

Liam stood on the western side, and he looked out over the lake waters. Diarmid could not hold his place in the circle, but sagged against Cormack’s shoulder, blinking in the growing light. Cormack held his errant brother’s arm in a fierce grip. Liam raised the bowl to catch the pale dawn.

“Water spirits, changing and turning, deep-hearted, knowing ones, keepers of mysteries, we salute you,” he said, and lowered the bowl again.

Finbar faced north, where the tumbled boulders made a sort of giant’s pathway between the great trees. His long hands held the mossy stone; the wakening light showed its surface etched with tiny marks and symbols.

“Earth dwellers, holders of secrets, truth tellers, wise and worthy ones, we honor your presence,” he said. He turned inward and placed the stone carefully on the grass.

“Now. Sorcha,” said Conor quietly. I looked up at the mighty trees, stretching before me into the east. A lark burst into song high overhead, and Padriac, standing next to me, grinned with pure pleasure at the sound. The lightening sky showed dawn was upon us, though the forest masked the exact moment of the sun’s rising.

The knife was in my hands, and flowers about my feet. “Sylphs of the forest,” I whispered. “Spirits of oak, beech, and ash, dryads of rowan and hazel, hear us. You who have guided and guarded our every footstep, you whose canopy has sheltered our growth, we honor you. Lady of the Forest, Lady of the blue cloak, hear me now. Come to us in our time of need, come to us in our time of darkness. Come to us if you will.”

I lowered the knife, turning to complete the circle. Birdsong rippled around the clearing, filling the air with fluting sound. Around our feet, and over the lake surface, the mist began to dissipate with the rising sun. We stood silent, our heads bowed. The circle must not be broken. We waited as the sky turned from gray to blue, and the shine of the lake waters broke through the trailing tendrils of vapor.

And then she came. It was as if she had been with us all the time, a slight hooded figure standing alone just where the rim of the lake touched the sand; and behind her, a low dark boat drawn up next to the other. She had heard me, and she had come. She took a step across the shore toward us, and another. The curling mist clung about her skirts. But something was wrong. Linn gave a growl, deep in her throat. And then, a sudden, silent flash of warning from Finbar, from Conor.

Run, Sorcha, run!

The forest. Now. Run!

I saw the first predatory fingers of mist stretch out and writhe around my brothers’ bodies, holding them fast, and then reach out toward me where I stood on the far side of the tree, and then I saw her eyes, dark mulberry under winged brows, and the curl of auburn hair under the deep hood. She raised a white hand to slip back the covering from her head, and triumph was written bold on the lady Oonagh’s delicate features. I turned and fled, terror giving wings to my feet, over stone and boulder, scrabbling through mud and gravel, up, up the hill until the forest hid me in its still shadows. Ahead of me ran Linn, tail between her legs.

When I had gone as far as I could, I scrambled up into a great oak tree that cradled me in its massive limbs as I fought to get my breath back and still my pounding heart. Linn cowered in the undergrowth, giving tiny whimpers of unease. I had no need to see the lakeshore, for I could see through Finbar’s eyes, feeling with my brother, moment by cruel moment, the inevitable unfolding of the story.

Run, Sorcha, run! Our sister turns and flees across the clearing like a little white owl, and some power unknown shelters her into the safety of the trees. But we, we six, are held immobile as the clammy shreds of mist move like some live creature up our bodies with inexorable purpose. Our legs are rooted to the ground, our arms pinioned, our tongues silenced. Only our minds still struggle, powerless, to free themselves
.

She slips the hood back, and the morning light dances on her curling hair. She throws her head back in triumphant laughter
.

“Oh, if you could see yourselves, little brothers! So comical, so droll!” Her voice darkens. “Did you think to outwit me with this paltry playacting, this pathetic attempt at sorcery? Shame on you! You would have better kept to your war toys, and left off dabbling in matters beyond your understanding. Well, you have your just desserts now, my boys; let us see how well you fare when I have dealt with you. For I am afraid you have underestimated me quite badly.”

She paces around the circle where we stand helpless. Before each in turn, she stops and speaks
.

“Liam. Protector and leader, isn’t that the role your unfortunate mother intended for you? You have done a poor job of it today, firstborn. But never mind. Your father can get more sons as he got you. These lands will never be yours. Oh, Colum will mourn your loss, I doubt it not, but only for a while. I will comfort him. And he has already forgotten your warning.”

She moves onto Diarmid where he still leans on his brother’s shoulder, barely comprehending. “Well, my sweet lover, my tender one. Thought you could take your father’s place, did you? But you are nothing, nothing.” She emphasizes the insult by snapping her tapering fingers under his nose. Diarmid blinks. “Why would I dabble with an infant like you, when I can have a real man in my bed?”

She turns to Cormack. “Did you enjoy the twist of your knife in living flesh, pretty warrior? You might be interested to know what your sister gets up to, when you are away from home. For you do not all share the same enemy, I fear. You learned your father’s lesson well—smite first, ask questions later. Perhaps you should have tried that technique on me.”

I see Conor’s eyes, for he stands directly opposite me. They blaze with courage. He summons every scrap of will to resist her. But he is young yet, and it is not enough
.

“You have failed, little druid. Failed them all. And there are no second chances for those that cross me. Did you really think her power was greater than mine? How little you know, yet think yourself so wise. We are one and the same.”

She whirls around, and now she faces me. I will not be afraid. It comes to me again, the cold, the strangeness, the great beating of wings. I see the face of death
.

“You would have challenged me before your father,” she says. Ice creeps up my spine. “You would have saved your sister at any cost. But I have your measure, and I see you for what you are, my old enemy. Your sister will never be safe from me; I will find her and she will suffer till she longs for death. And I will send you where there are no brave ideals, no moral heights, no right, no wrong. There is only survival. What price your fine heroics then, I wonder?”

Last, to Padriac, standing slack-jawed in shock. “You wanted to know it all. The secrets of flight, the turns and twists of everything that moves and has being, the patterns of all living creatures. You shall know what it is to fly, and you shall feel the terror and pain of a wild beast. You shall live it until you beg to return to the human world. You will suffer and you will die thus; and there is no remedy.”

I lay curled in the great tree, my eyes squeezed shut, my hands tight over my ears. The pictures played through my mind for now I could not shut Finbar out if I tried. His anguish overrode any control he might have over his thoughts, and I was one with him as the terrible tale unfolded.

She raises her hands slowly. The dark cape falls back to show her blue gown, her filmy scarf with its delicate tracery of petals and butterflies. Her hands point to the sky, and her dark eyes seem to draw shadows down. She begins to chant, high, eerie, in an unknown tongue, dark with menace. Suddenly, darting light begins to flicker around our bodies as we stand immobile. The light comes from her hands, from the sky, from the earth. The whole clearing is full of sparks and flares. The birds are hushed in fear. The chant reaches its peak, and ceases. And then it happens. The cold, the rushing, the changing. Where there were sturdy leather boots, the webbed feet of a great water bird. Where the cloak shielded muscular young arms, a stretching, arching, white-feathered wing. Last to go, the mind, the spirit. Farewell, Sorcha. Farewell, little owl. The lightness, the morning, the water. We are swans. We are one with the lake. We are…

They were gone. My brothers were gone. But her voice went on, ringing in my head. “
I have not forgotten you, Sorcha, little sister. When you are tired and hungry, when the forest no longer shelters you, I will find you. When you least expect it, I will be there. For without your brothers you are nothing. First I will deal with your father; and then I will come for you
.”

My passage through the forest that day to Father Brien’s is a blur in my memory. I tore my clothing, and cut my knees, and bruised my body clambering from rock to rock, from tree to tree. Linn kept pace with me, watching me anxiously, waiting for me as I struggled across the river, as I crept my way up the cliff face. My head was a blank, my vision blurred with tears that would not stop flowing, my throat swollen and dry with anguish. I climbed and wept, and wept and climbed again, and at last I came to the hermit’s cave.

The sun had stayed out and the day was warm. It was midafternoon; my blundering journey had been a quick one, and at some cost, for I was dizzy and breathless and my whole body ached. It was Linn who saw the dark figure first, the figure of a tall woman sitting quietly on the bench under the rowan trees, her black hair flowing down her back. Her long cloak was the blue of distant mountains at dusk. The hound paused, then moved slowly forward, tail wagging hesitantly. The woman stretched out a hand.

“Come forward, daughter of the forest.” Her voice was deep and resonant. I did not move. Linn submitted to the caressing fingers; she too was tired from our headlong flight, and gave the woman’s hand a brief lick before heading for the water trough to drink in long, thirsty gulps.

“Come forward, Sorcha. Do you not know me?” She made no move toward me. I sniffed, and raised a hand to wipe my nose. Where was Father Brien?

“Come, child. You called me at your time of need. Now I am here, and I will help you.”

Anger rose in me then, and I moved at last to stand before her and met her deep blue eyes with mine.

“You did not come! We called you, all of us—and now my brothers—my brothers are gone—and she said, she said you were one and the same, it was her we called.” I could not erase the image of each of them in turn, changing, changing from man to swan, and the terrible emptiness as their minds slipped away from me and were lost forever. “How do I know which of you to believe?”

Her gaze was sharp. “Her kind will tell you there is no black and white, only shadows. That any way can be wrong or right, that good and evil are two sides of the same coin. Believe her if you will. Perhaps she tells the truth, and I a falsehood. You must decide that, and you must choose your own path. You must choose it now.”