Heir to Sevenwaters (41 page)

I mustn’t plan too far ahead, I cautioned myself. That was to set myself up for sorrow. But I couldn’t help it. This was nearly over. By nightfall today I would have my brother back. By tomorrow or the next day, all three of us could be home again. Today there had been terrible sadness. Tomorrow there would be hope. There would be love. There would be a future. Fair Folk or no Fair Folk, I would make sure of it.

CHAPTER 13

L
ater we lay down awhile with Becan between us. The baby was drowsy, but Cathal and I could not sleep. “You know that song?” Cathal murmured.

“What song?”

“The one you were singing last night, about a handsome young man. Did you find a rhyme for
tangled and wild
?”

“I thought you were asleep, or I’d never have sung it out loud,” I said, embarrassed. “And yes, I found a rhyme, but you wouldn’t like it.”

“Try me,” Cathal said.

“It’s too personal,” I told him.

“Go on, Clodagh. I want to hear it.”

At least he was sounding more cheerful. I sang:

“Where have you wandered, my dear one, my own
Where have you wandered, my handsome young man
I’ve strayed in a wilderness tangled and wild
I’ve raved like a madman and wept like a child
And still I can’t find my way home
I still cannot find my way home.”

“You think me handsome?” queried Cathal.

“It’s a traditional ballad,” I told him. “The young men in such verses are always handsome.”

“Ah, that explains it. I never thought, when you and Aidan played music together in your father’s hall, that one day you would make a song about me.”

“The word handsome is not adequate to describe you, Cathal. You are unlike anyone else: a rare creature. I put this in the form of a ballad because that makes a sad story easier to set down.” I must not go down that track now. What we both needed was something to give us heart. “Cathal, what was Aidan like as a boy, when the two of you were growing up? Did he love music even then?”
Talk about him
, I willed him.
Talk about the good times, the happy times.

“He liked to sing, just as you do, Clodagh. When we were out fishing or trapping he’d suddenly get an idea and start whistling or burst into song. It’s no wonder we didn’t catch much. We spent a lot of time out of doors. Built a tree house; camped overnight; had adventures in boats. Lord Murtagh didn’t expect us to act like miniature noblemen. He let us run free when we needed to. But we had tutors as well, some to teach us our letters, others to make sure we could ride and shoot and use weapons. Aidan didn’t like being second best at that. He didn’t realize he had talents I could never match.”

“Like music, you mean?” Between us, the baby had fallen asleep; his slight form took up so little space that I could feel Cathal’s thigh against mine, a disturbing sensation.

“That, and the ability to charm folk with his warmth and good humor. He was well loved. Because of that, people accepted me despite my . . .” His voice trailed away.

“Oddity?” I suggested.

“My inability to play the right games. My failure to behave in the way people expected. Aidan was a staunch friend. Over and over I hurt him, upset him, made things difficult for him. Over and over he forgave me, stood by me. He wasn’t perfect. Some things he did, I found hard to excuse.” He fell silent, perhaps feeling it was wrong to criticize a man so newly lost.

“Aidan did have a temper,” I ventured. “I saw it when the two of you were fighting, and it surprised me. He got jealous. And yet at other times he was such a sweet man.”

“He killed my dog,” Cathal said flatly. “Fleet. There’s a strip from her collar in your bag, among the things from the cloak. Even as a child he got jealous. Lord Murtagh gave me Fleet not long after my mother died. I’d never had a dog before and I loved her. Aidan resented that. Perhaps he thought it unfair that his father would make such a gift to me, the bastard foster son. At any rate, Fleet was kicked in the hindquarters. The injury didn’t mend. She went lame, then sickened and died. Aidan swore he hadn’t done it, but he was seen. That cruel streak in him was one of the reasons I tried to warn you off.”

“One of them?”

“My own feelings had more than a little to do with what I said to you.” A fleeting smile played across his lips.

Now was not the time to speak more about this, though his words made my heart beat faster. “What else was on the cloak, Cathal?”

As we lay there quietly and the day passed, he told me the story of each small item: a white pebble that had formed part of a childhood game, skipping stones across the stream, then using them in an elaborate competition of throwing and catching. An eagle feather, trophy of a climb up a perilous, forbidden rock face. Aidan had wrenched his ankle; Cathal had caught a pony from a nearby field and somehow conveyed his friend home. A piece of shimmering multicolored cloth: part of a gown once worn by Aidan’s mother, relegated to the scrap bag, retrieved by a small boy who had thought that this exotic fabric must surely have real magic in it. “She was kind to me,” Cathal said simply.

The plaited hair was his and Aidan’s, twined and fastened. “We did that when we were quite small,” Cathal said. “A ritual; we swore that we’d be true friends until death.” He choked over the words.

“And you were,” I said softly. “It doesn’t matter that you were on the run or that he had been sent to hunt you down. I saw his face as he watched us disappear on the raft. He wasn’t resentful that you’d escaped him. He was sad to be saying goodbye, and pleased that you wouldn’t be brought back to face charges that were based on lies.”
And jealous
, I thought, but did not say it. “He argued your case to the last. But he was dutiful as well—that’s a lesson a chieftain’s son or daughter learns early. Johnny threatened to send him away from Inis Eala if he didn’t obey the order to go after you. He had to do it.”

“Perhaps I was not such a bad influence as I thought. He never learned to enjoy breaking rules.” His hand came across and curled around mine. “You’re such a wise person, Clodagh,” he said.

“Actually, I make it up as I go along most of the time,” I said, blushing. “Cathal, can you hear something?” My ears had picked up a soft rustling, a steady beat as of horses’ hooves, a faint jingling beyond the safe confines of the thorn hedge. I sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant, and Cathal did the same.

Someone was approaching. Beyond the hedge I could see lights and movement, and I could hear voices, high and strange, calling and laughing as they neared our sanctuary. Cathal put his finger to his lips, signalling silence. I gathered up the baby and we rose cautiously to our feet. The light had begun to fade. In keeping with the oddities of time in the Otherworld, dusk was coming fast.

The gate creaked open, then banged shut. A small figure came across the grass toward us, silver mask before its face. Behind it were two others. One had something of the look of a mossy stone, the eyes round patches of lichen, the mouth a chink; the other was of indeterminate shape, changing each time I looked at it. It put me in mind of water.

“Oh dear,” said Dog Mask, halting a few paces from us. Beyond the hedge, a procession was passing now, though I could not see it clearly through the tangle of thorn. There were lanterns; stately folk on horseback; a shimmer of sumptuous, sparkling fabrics; and the voices again, speaking almost as human folk would, save for a note whose strangeness jarred even as its beauty enticed. A harp rang out, its music surpassing in loveliness any tune my own world could hold, and behind it I could hear something crying, desperate, bereft.

“What do you mean,
oh dear
?” I challenged. For all the defiant words, a chill apprehension was creeping into my bones. I held Becan close. “You told us to be ready at dusk. We’re ready.” At least this would soon be over.

“I told you to prepare yourself. You look as if you’ve just emerged from a tumble in a haystack. Wash your face and comb your hair, Clodagh. Straighten your clothing. You’re about to ask Mac Dara a favor. You don’t want to fail for want of a little tidying.”

Cathal began an angry retort, but I hushed him. There was no point in protesting. I went to the pond and knelt to splash my face with my free hand. Back at the fireside I got out my comb, but Cathal took it from me before I could start the process of restoring my curls back to the order I had achieved earlier.

“Let me,” he said.

His touch was gentle. With Becan cradled in my arms, I stood watching the cavalcade pass by beyond the hedge—here a tall woman whose silver hair was studded with tiny twinkling stars, here a man of arrogant appearance with a pitch-black owl riding on his shoulder—and felt the careful movement of the comb through my hair and the brush of Cathal’s fingers against my neck, my forehead, my temple. He made the simple task an act of tenderness that turned my heart over.

“It’s done,” he said eventually. “You look lovely, Clodagh.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Any time,” he said, and I heard the tremor in his voice.

“You must stay here,” I told him. “Let me do this on my own.” I glanced at the three small beings who stood in a row, watching me. “These are friends; they’ll help me. Wait for me here and we’ll go home together.”

“Very wise,” said Dog Mask. Its odd companions uttered what seemed assent—the stony one made a grinding sound and the other a liquid gurgle. “If you want our help, leave him behind. We will not walk with
his
kind. Now come, Clodagh.”

Cathal had fetched my bag, into which I’d tucked the special things from the cloak, the talismans to keep me safe.

“You won’t need that,” said my guide. “The way home is shorter. That bag is ugly. Mac Dara won’t listen if you look like a vagrant who carries all her worldly possessions with her.”

“I’m taking it,” I said sharply, and turned so that Cathal could help me hitch the pack onto my back. “If Mac Dara makes his decisions based on how folk look, it’s time he learned there are better ways to do things.”

The watery being let out a bubbling sound that might have been laughter. Dog Mask sighed. “Mac Dara’s a prince,” it said. “He’s powerful. He’s wayward. You’re an ordinary girl without the least magical ability. If you won’t follow simple advice—”

There was a rumble from the rocky one, and my guide fell silent. Perhaps it had been a reprimand, who knew? Beyond the hedge the last of the procession was passing. I judged that the folk in it were moving along the path and back to that broad avenue under the trees, the place that was like the grand entry to a royal hall. I heard the tinkling of little bells and a woman’s laughter, high and giddy. The sounds faded. The light had turned to the purple-gray of a spring dusk and in the clearing all seemed hushed. The birds had fallen silent. Our fire had died down, its remnant coals a faint glow beneath a pile of shifting ash.

“It’s time to go now,” said Dog Mask.

Cathal was standing two paces in front of me, still and silent. I cleared my throat. “I won’t be long,” I said, trying for a confident tone.

Cathal’s eyes told me he had seen right through me. He knew I was terrified. He knew I wanted more than anything to have him with me when I confronted the Lord of the Oak. I turned away quickly. He mustn’t come. This was my quest, whatever Cathal believed about the reasons he was here with me. He shouldn’t put himself at risk because of my weakness.

My small guardians were already walking toward the gate, the three of them forming a procession of their own.

“No,” Cathal said behind me. “No, Clodagh! You mustn’t go alone!”

“You can’t come with me,” I said, tears starting in my eyes. “They said so. Please don’t argue; it just makes this harder.”

“Come!” Dog Mask called from beside the gate. “The lamps are lit in Mac Dara’s hall! If you would attend his audience, follow me!”

“I have to go,” I whispered. Despite myself, I turned back, taking Cathal’s hands in mine.

“Wait, Clodagh!” He released my hold to fumble with the pouch at his belt, reaching for something. “Here,” he said, and I felt him slip a ring on my finger. I did not need to look at it to know that it was made of green glass. “It was hers, my mother’s. I want you to wear it.”

For a moment I was speechless. Then I protested. “You must keep this, Cathal, you’ve given me all the other things—”

Cathal lifted my hand. His lips brushed my palm; his fingers clung a moment longer, then let go. “I want you to have it,” he said. The quiet words drifted away into the night. “Clodagh, I can’t bear to see you go on alone. We don’t know what you might be facing. I’ll come after you. I’ll keep a safe distance behind and stay out of sight unless you need me. I can’t wait here while you do it on your own. That would be wrong.”

My heart was filled with a confusing blend of relief and fear. Maybe he was right about unknown forces pursuing him; perhaps his theory was true, that I had been brought to the Otherworld solely as a lure to entice him after me. But Cathal was a warrior of superior ability. He was strong, brave and resourceful. He was quick and clever. He was unafraid to break rules. Without a doubt, he was exactly the companion I needed to face a foe such as this Lord of the Oak. I did not tell him all this, only laid my hand against his cheek and said, “Thank you. You’ve been the best, the truest friend . . . Please make sure you stay out of sight.”