Heir to Sevenwaters (27 page)

“That’s true enough; you can’t help me,” Cathal said flatly, his eyes turned away now to stare into the darkness under the oaks. “But I think I can help you.”

“You?” I could not keep the incredulity from my voice. “A fugitive? A man known to scoff at the least mention of the strange and uncanny? I don’t see how, even if I could trust you enough to accept your assistance.” This was perhaps a little unfair. He had heard Becan’s voice; he had accepted my explanation of the infant’s nature and origins. But maybe this was all part of some piece of trickery.

“You accepted the cloak,” he pointed out.

“Here, take the wretched thing.” I got up, fumbling with the clasp, and something within the garment’s folds caught the firelight, flashing green. My hands stilled. I peered closer. A ring, glass by the look of it, plain and unadorned, sewn securely into the lining. Close to it, an owl feather, a white pebble, a fragment of bright silk. Precious things. A man’s past, carried on his back for want of a real home to keep it in. Green, the sign of a traitor. There was much wisdom to be learned from stories. But their interpretations were many and it could be hard to choose which one was right.

“Wear it, Clodagh. You won’t get a good night’s sleep if you’re cold. Maybe we should talk about this in the morning.”

“No, now,” I said, hugging the cloak back around me and sitting down again. I decided not to ask him about the ring. “In the morning there will be folk out looking for both of us. I need to find a portal to the Otherworld. I know such doorways exist in the Sevenwaters forest. If I’m meant to do this, I should be shown one before anyone catches up with me. I thought it would be today, but . . . Cathal, what is it?” His expression had changed abruptly. His thin features wore a look I had seen there before. I had found it as unsettling then as I did now. It was both grim and amused, as if he saw some irony in the situation that was quite lost on me. “What’s wrong?”

“You read me too well,” he said. “Why not today, one might ask; why tomorrow? So that you would not make the journey alone, perhaps. Clodagh, I can find your portal for you.”

“You? What utter rubbish. How can you find something if you don’t believe it exists? Don’t play games with me, Cathal.”

“I’m an Inis Eala man. We’re well trained. I know how to find all sorts of things.”

“I’ll wager the training on the island does not include dealing with the powers of the Otherworld,” I said. “True, Johnny was once the subject of a prophecy. He’s long been destined by the Fair Folk to become Lord of Sevenwaters one day. But I’ve never heard that he or his men had abilities beyond the natural.”

“But you were trying to find this doorway on your own, Clodagh. You can’t be telling me that
you
possess such abilities.” His gaze reflected me back to myself, a young woman whose best talent lay in running a perfect household.

“You know I don’t, Cathal. But I think I’m meant to try. I think it’s a task that’s been laid on me.”

He regarded me quizzically, dark eyes intense in a face whose pallor was warmed by the firelight. He was sitting on a fallen branch with his long legs stretched out toward the flames. His hands were restless, the fingers twining together. “You don’t have a lot of time,” he said quietly. “I can find it for you. It’s up to you to let me do it or not. If you prefer, I’ll go off at first light and leave you to your own devices. My prediction is that your father will track you down before midday. If you’re serious about this quest of yours, you’ll trust me, at least until I’ve found what you seek: a way in.”

I slept rolled in Cathal’s cloak with Becan tucked up next to me. Whether Cathal slept or not, I did not know. My last waking glimpse was of him sitting on the far side of the fire, staring into the flames, his arms around his knees, his blanket thrown over his shoulders. He looked deeply unsettled. I suspected his impulse to help me, perhaps in an attempt to compensate for the wrongs he had done, was warring with the entirely sensible desire to put as many miles between himself and Sevenwaters as he could. In the morning, I thought, I should tell him to go. Then I slept.

Before dawn he woke me with another brew, this time wild onions in hot water, and while I ate, then fed the baby, he covered the remnants of the fire with earth and packed up our things with a warrior’s efficiency. I went briefly into the woods to relieve myself. When I returned he was squatting down beside the changeling, examining him closely without touching.

“Becan, did you say?”

“It’s as good a name as any. It didn’t seem right not to give him one. It was bad enough that everyone dismissed him as just a . . . thing.” I was surprised that he had remembered the name; I must have mentioned it once or twice at most.

Cathal gave me his quizzical look. “You don’t think this is taking family loyalty to too much of an extreme?” he asked.

“I’m doing what seems the right thing, that’s all.” I found his scrutiny unnerving, and looked away as I unfastened the cloak. I made myself say what was necessary. “You’d better take this back. I think you should leave us, Cathal. I had hoped you might turn yourself in and offer my father some explanations. Perhaps you don’t realize how much trouble you caused by leaving so abruptly. If you won’t go back and account for yourself, you could at least offer me some explanation. You dismissed that as unimportant. It’s important to me.”

Cathal shrugged, saying nothing at all.

“Well then,” I said, disappointed even though this was more or less what I had expected, “you’d best get off Father’s land as quickly as you can.”

“You don’t want my help?” he asked, and his dark eyes were still fixed on me, assessing.

I did want it. I didn’t believe for a moment that he knew how to get into the Otherworld, but I shrank from the prospect of another day of wandering, another night in the open, this time without fire or the warmth of the cloak or companionship to stave off the myriad troubles that crowded my mind. “I think it’s best if you go,” I said.

“Best for whom?”

I could have lied, but I didn’t. “For you,” I told him. “Maybe you think you can find a portal, but in the stories people don’t do it easily. Usually these ways only open when the Fair Folk have reasons for wanting someone to go in. Sometimes people need a charm or token to let them pass one way or the other. Or they have to chance on something, a mushroom circle for instance.”

“There isn’t time to argue the point,” Cathal said. “I know Aidan and he knows me. He almost caught me yesterday. He and his men will have camped up here somewhere overnight. They’ll be out again as soon as they’ve had a hasty bite to eat. In other words, they’ll be in the forest when we are. Aidan may not want to be the one who apprehends me, but he’s Johnny’s man. If Johnny’s given him an order he’ll execute it efficiently even if it breaks his heart. For all sorts of reasons, I don’t want him to do it. That means we have to move quickly.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” I was startled that it was not the fear of being captured that troubled him, but the fact that his friend would have to take him in. “I said go. On your own, now, while you still have time to get away.” I thought perhaps I could hear dogs in the distance. So early. By midday I could be back at the keep and facing my father’s excoriating questions. I could be seeing the sorrow and disappointment in his eyes; I could be looking at the pathetic, sunken remnant of a woman that was all that was left of my mother.

“I know you don’t think much of me,” Cathal said, flinging the cloak on. He hitched his pack onto his back and picked up mine. “Believe me, when you’re being as pig-headed as this the feeling is mutual. Listen, now, and don’t interrupt. Here are three reasons to trust me. One, I told you about the attack on Glencarnagh in a genuine attempt to warn you. That it was ineffective is not my fault. Two, I recognized that unprepossessing infant for what it was and I heard its wretched voice. I believed you when nobody else would. Three, I’m here, I’m willing to help, I have certain physical skills that could come in handy for protecting you and the child while you get to where you’re going. And I do know how to find a portal.”

“That’s more like six,” I said, wondering what it was that was making him put himself out to help me. Not altruism, that was certain; not a misguided desire to win my affections, despite that kiss. There was nothing soft in his expression. All I could see in it was impatience to be off. “Are you saying that you’ll not only find this portal, but actually come with me when I go through it?” How could I accept such a mad offer? It would be risky enough to walk across that perilous margin myself. It would be beyond all sense to take someone else with me, someone who had no part at all in this particular mission. And yet, a profound relief had washed through me as he spoke of protection. If I ever got to the Otherworld all manner of dangers would face me. A warrior who could fight as Cathal had that day in the courtyard might be the best companion I could have.

“That’s what I’m saying, Clodagh. Make up your mind quickly.”

“Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

Cathal sighed, rolling his eyes. “I imagine even Johnny would find me hard to track down in the Otherworld,” he said dryly. “Is that a good enough reason for you?”

“I don’t know,” I said, wanting to say yes, sure I should say no.

“Can we start walking, at least? Or do you plan to stand here arguing the point until Aidan’s hounds come running up and sink their teeth into us?”

“All right. Take me to wherever you think the portal is. Let’s put that to the test and worry about the other part later.” I had fastened Becan into the sling. I reached out for my bag, but Cathal put it under his arm.

“I’ll carry this; you’ve got him to manage. Ready?”

“No. But I’m going anyway.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Come on, then. I have a feeling it won’t be far.”

I followed Cathal in a direction I judged to be roughly north-west. We did not go by visible tracks, but took a dodging, swerving, zigzagging course between the rocks and trees. Cathal moved as if he knew where he was going. I suspected his apparent confidence had more to do with maintaining a semblance of control than anything else. No outsider knew the way through the Sevenwaters forest. They couldn’t. For them, the way never stayed the same. Silently, I prayed that the Fair Folk would reveal a portal to us sooner rather than later.

From time to time I heard the dogs somewhere behind us, not getting much closer, but not moving away either, and I wondered if Aidan was using the same techniques as Cathal for finding a path across the difficult terrain in this part of the woods. There were deceptive slopes that proved far steeper than they looked; rocks that jutted out in just the wrong places to provide secure purchase for hand or foot; sudden patches of sucking bog hidden beneath dark mats of last autumn’s decaying leaf litter. We crossed a stream on a narrow log, Cathal taking the two packs over then returning with sure-footed confidence to grasp my hand and guide me across. I remembered him balancing along a dry-stone wall with Eilis and Coll. Eilis . . . I had not seen my little sister since Finbar was taken.

“What?” asked Cathal, scrutinizing my face as I stepped down to safety on the far bank.

“Nothing. Are we getting any closer?”

“I’m heading for the river. It can’t be far from here.”

My heart sank. “What river? There is no river, only the seven streams. The outflow from the lake is at the eastward end, far from here.” I remembered what Sibeal had said about the meeting of earth and water, and how doors to the Otherworld would likely be found where this occurred. A moment later I recalled something else she had said: that I would not be undertaking my quest alone.

“No river,” said Cathal flatly. “I was certain . . . Never mind. I think it’s this way.”

My memory of Sibeal’s words stopped me from questioning his judgment, and we moved off again, down a hill through a grove of young birches, our feet sliding on the muddy incline. It began to rain. The narrow trunks of the trees were useful for slowing our dangerous progress, but their delicate foliage provided little cover from the weather. My hood refused to stay up over my head. The sling protected Becan for now, but it would soon be wet through. I could hear the dogs, and they sounded closer.

Near the foot of the slope I lost my balance and came down heavily on my hip. Becan squalled in fright. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“Quick, Clodagh!” Cathal spoke with a new note of urgency. He seized my hand and hauled me to my feet. “Can you hear it?”

Up the hill behind us someone shouted. I glanced back, but said nothing.

“Not them, the river. We’re nearly there. Run!”

I could hear no river. There was no river, not on Sevenwaters land. But I ran, my body protesting at every step. The shouting came again, Aidan’s voice urging the others on and the dogs clamoring. My hand was still in Cathal’s. Rather than fall headlong I forced myself to keep up with him. Becan maintained a screaming protest, making my belly clench tight in sympathy. We raced along a narrow way under an arch of bigger trees, their pale trunks flashing by, the rain drizzling and dripping from every leaf to drench our clothing and our hair. Cathal swept his dark locks back from his face with an impatient hand. The pace never slackened.

We pelted out from the birch wood and into a curtain of rain. Suddenly there was no seeing the way. Water before, behind, on either side, a silver-gray veil obscuring rock, tree, path, everything but the little patch of ground at our feet. We slowed; to run on was to invite disaster. Cathal’s grip tightened on my hand.

“Cathal!” Aidan’s voice, somewhere within the downpour. “Don’t make me set the dogs on you, you fool! Give yourself up, I know you’re down there!”

“Good sign,” murmured Cathal, moving forward into the rain and pulling me after him. “He hasn’t let the dogs off yet. What are you doing, Clodagh, move!”

I moved, the alternative being to relinquish his hand and wait until the dogs arrived. The ground sloped down again, sharply. We could have been walking into anything at all. Three times, as we descended, Cathal had to brace himself and grab me by the arms to stop me from falling. I could feel Becan’s cries vibrating through his small body. And then, above his wailing, above the drumming of the rain, I heard something else: a surging, rolling, washing music, the sound of a great body of flowing water. The veils of rain parted oddly and there before me, in as many shades of gray as there are stars in the sky, was the river.