Son of the Shadows
“Knowing your penchant for the severing of the extremities,” he observed smoothly, “I’ve decided to start with the smallest finger and work my way gradually inward. Interesting, to see how much pain a man can bear. But perhaps a black man does not feel it as we do.”
Bran’s voice was quiet and level. “I will not bargain for his safety, nor he for mine.”
Eamonn gave a derisive laugh. “I had not planned to allow room for negotiation. You gave me none when you butchered my men before my eyes. I thought only to keep you informed of your friend’s progress. You’re going to need something to occupy your mind, where you’re going. Oh yes, I’ve plans for you. The two of you will provide me with good entertainment before the end. I’m told you have a certain distaste for enclosed spaces, a reluctance to quench lights. Who’d have thought it? The Painted Man, afraid of the dark?”
There was a brief silence.
“You disgust me,” said Bran. “You’re a traitor, just like your father. Did he not turn on his allies as you have done? They say he was despised and reviled on both sides of the water. No wonder Liam arranged his demise before he could do more harm. Heard that story, have you? It’s a very public secret. Your own grandfather was party to it, as well as the dubious Hugh of Harrowfield. They thought to see you grow up a better man than your father. A futile hope, as it turned out. What price did you pay for the two of us, Eamonn Dubh?”
“Don’t use that name.” Eamonn rose and stepped toward his captive. He moved cautiously, as if constrained by some injury. There was, perhaps, a strapping around the ribs, concealed by his shirt. His hand came up and delivered a stinging blow, hard across Bran’s face. I saw that Bran’s hands were tightly bound, and that his ankles were hobbled together; and that for all his apparent control, this blow made him sway where he stood. “Liam is dead,” Eamonn went on. “There is a new master at Sevenwaters, one who is young and untried. Their position is greatly weakened.”
“Dead. How?” Bran’s eyes narrowed. This, he clearly had not known.
“That need not concern you, for you will never leave here, outlaw. I will have my sport with you and the black savage you call friend, and then you will be—disposed of. You’ll simply vanish without trace. Folk are saying you betrayed Sevenwaters to the Britons. Later, they will say Liam’s people moved swiftly to avenge his loss and remove you permanently. Don’t think to question my actions. What could a man such as yourself know of alliances and loyalties? Surely you could scarce comprehend the meaning of these terms.”
“If I have no loyalties of my own,” said Bran, never taking his eyes off Eamonn’s face, “at least I have none to betray.” He seemed to be thinking very hard indeed, as if trying to solve a puzzle.
Eamonn gave a little cough. “What has occurred is—un—fortunate. But it may work to my advantage. What if my grandfather, and the Uí Néill, learned that young Sean had made a bargain with the Painted Man? What if they learned his sister had lain with an outlaw, spread her legs for him under the bushes as they camped by the wayside? The reputation of Sevenwaters might not well recover from that.”
Bran held his voice level. “In time, you will regret these words. You may hold me captive now, and believe me helpless. But each foul word you speak of her brings your death a little closer.”
“You are foolish if you do not understand why I paid such a high price to have you within my grasp. From the time you killed my men, I marked you for death. But once I knew it was you who had taken Liadan from me, once I knew it was your filthy hands that had touched her, I’d have paid a king’s ransom. I wonder what her mother thought, hearing on her deathbed that her daughter had thrown herself away on gutter scum? Once I knew the truth, it was only a matter of time for you. I would have paid whatever it took for the satisfaction of watching you suffer and die. Feeling a little faint, are you? Your man will be in pain tonight. The touch of hot iron on a fresh wound does sting. He never cried out. Not once. Amazing fortitude.”
There was no response. Bran’s eyes were remote, as if he had somehow distanced himself from where he was and what he heard. Eamonn was pacing now.
“You don’t like to hear me speak of Liadan, or of the child, do you? That’s odd, considering the way you treated her.”
“Choose your words with care.”
“Huh! And you trussed up like a roasting chicken, unable to shuffle a step without falling. A man who cannot endure a moonless night without a lantern by his side; a man who fears his own dreams. Your defiance amuses me, mongrel.”
“I have warned you. You tread on thin ice when you speak of her before me.”
“I’ll speak all I want, miscreant. This is my home, and my hall, and you are my prisoner. I’ll tell you what I have long wished to tell you. You think you have some claim on the daughter of Sevenwaters because you corrupted her; because you took advantage of her innocence, and turned her against me. But she is not yours, and never has been. If she told you that, she lied to you. A woman tells the truth only when it suits her. Liadan was promised to me long since, when we were no more than children. And she’s a generous girl. I knew her body, every sweet part of it, before ever you laid your ugly hands on her.” He paused for effect. “Amusing, isn’t it? There’s really no telling if the child is yours or mine.”
There was complete silence, and now Bran could no longer keep the fury from his eyes or control his ragged breathing.
“No. Oh, no,” I whispered, and I caught Finbar’s silent warning. Be still, Liadan, if you would not lose this image.
“You’re lying,” said Bran. His voice had lost its steadiness.
“Am I? I think you would find it difficult to prove this one way or the other. Where is your evidence?”
Bran took a deep breath and made an attempt to square his shoulders. It seemed to me there were other bruises there that were not visible. He looked Eamonn straight in the eye.
“I need no evidence,” he said quietly, his voice now under precarious control. “Liadan would not lie to me. I would trust her with my life. You cannot poison what is between us with your foul words. She is my light in the darkness, and Johnny is my pathway ahead.”
Tears were streaming down my face as I watched Eamonn summoning his guards and Bran being dragged out of the hall. “Get the mongrel out of my sight.” Eamonn’s voice was cold. “Put him in the dark where he belongs. Let him rot there.”
Then Eamonn was alone, and his face was less than calm. He poured a tankard of ale and drained it, and hurled the empty cup across the room with such violence that the metal split on the stones of the hearth. “You’ll swallow those words before I’m done with you,” he whispered. Darkness spread across the surface of the pool.
Breathe deeply, Liadan. I felt the comforting calm of Finbar’s thoughts as he wrapped my shuddering mind in his, showing me light on water, the bright flame of oaks in autumn raiment, the torch on my mother’s little curragh, a candle burning, the rays of the afternoon sun shining on the sleeping form of my small son, quiet under the willows.
Now. Better? That was very hard. What will you do?
“There’s no choice,” I said aloud, rubbing my wet cheeks with my sleeve. “Sean asked me to go there for Aisling. I must ride out straightaway, and when I get there, I must …” My mind shrank from the prospect. I could not tell Sean what I had seen. I could hear his voice now, Such a man cannot be trusted … who was ideally placed to pass this information straight to the Britons? Who would believe the word of the Painted Man over Eamonn of the Marshes? Who would accept the shadowy visions of the Sight as evidence? Sean had said, You bear a portion of the blame for this, Liadan. I could not tell Sean. I longed for Father to be home. He would know what to do. But Father had not returned from Harrowfield, and there had been no word, and now there was no time. I would not seek help from Conor. I knew what he would say. That man has fulfilled his purpose. Don’t waste your energy on him. The child is the key.
“What will you do?” Finbar’s clear gaze was
compassionate. He did not offer any advice.
“Right now,” I said, “feed the child and change him, and walk back to Sevenwaters. In the morning, I’ll ride out for Sídhe Dubh and hope, when I get there, that I will know what comes next.”
Finbar nodded. “I did wonder,” he said, “I did wonder … it is a long time since I dwelt in a world of alliances and strategies and betrayals. But it did seem to me that there was something unspoken here.”
“Something I might use to my advantage, if it was correct.”
“Indeed. We had the same thought, then.”
“It is hard to believe Eamonn capable of such treachery,” I said, but in the back of my mind I saw the look in Eamonn’s eyes as I refused his offer of marriage; the look of a man who sees only what he wants to see; a man who cannot bear to be defeated.
“Best tread carefully,” Finbar said. “I would help more if I could. Still, you have an Otherworld messenger already.” He was looking at Fiacha, where he sat perched on the low branch of a rowan, close by where Johnny now stirred among the bracken.
“I have a messenger, yes.” I bent to change Johnny’s damp clothing. He was awake, but quiet, for once not urgent for sustenance. It was as if the secrecy and serenity of this place had set its imprint even on his infant consciousness.
“A very powerful one. I need not ask who sent him to you.”
“He came to Sevenwaters,” I said, knowing that Finbar was the one person to whom it was safe to speak of this. “Ciarán. On the night of Mother’s wake. He left the bird, and he told me the truth about who he was. Uncle—”
“What’s troubling you, Liadan?”
“It was a terrible thing to do, not to tell us the truth as soon as it was known that my sister and Ciarán loved one another. At least if they had done that, Niamh would have understood that Ciarán had not abandoned her without a thought. She could have held onto that in the dark times. And I might have come earlier to the understanding of the threat to my child.”
“Is it Ciarán you fear, though he gave you this gift?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if he is friend or foe. Ciarán said—he said his mother offered him power. That she was waiting for him to make a choice. He was very angry.” I shivered. “Angry and bitter.”
Finbar nodded slowly. “He’s young yet. But his years of discipline must count for something. Conor would say, it will unfold as it must.”
“Exactly what Ciarán said.”
“Like father and son. That’s the pity of it. There was good reason for our silence, Liadan, both then and earlier, when the child was brought back to the forest. None of us wished to see our half brother raised by Lady Oonagh, and turned into a weapon for our destruction. Conor sought to strengthen the boy against these influences. But the old evil is very strong. Oonagh is but one of its tools; perhaps there is a darkness within Ciarán’s spirit that must always come forth, despite him, to wreak havoc among his mother’s enemies. What happened was not simply chance. Each of us recognized that the thing we thought we had defeated was again alive and among us, and we doubted our strength to combat its power. Each of us felt the same terror, the awakening of a fear such as we had known but once before in our lives. To many folk, the evil thing Oonagh did to the children of Sevenwaters has become the stuff of legend, an oddity from some magical tale of long ago; yet I need but close my eyes to see her standing there before me, laughing in my face, her hair a dark flame, her eyes like poison berries, to feel myself beginning to change, to tremble with terror as my human consciousness slips away from me. I will never be the same; the path I once saw before me is shattered forever. In what happened to Niamh and to Ciarán, I saw again Lady Oonagh’s cruelty and my sister’s pain. The work the Sorceress wrought that day is lifelong; the fear, the guilt, the hurt of it are with us for all our days. How could one begin to share his burden with a son or daughter? How can one bear the grief of seeing it begin to blight your strong young lives? Perhaps we denied the truth, even to ourselves.”
“You saw my vision; if I do not go to help him, Bran will die, and others too, and that will truly be a triumph for the powers of evil. But I’m afraid. Not for myself, but for Johnny. The Fair Folk warned me not to take him away. And there’s the prophecy. Mother would not have wished me to go against that.”
“You are strong. But what you attempt will be perilous, make no doubt of it.”
“I don’t feel strong right now.” I put my son to the breast and willed my breathing slower. “I feel powerless and afraid. I fear that I will be too late.”
There was a silence; then the voice of Finbar’s mind, unusually tentative. I believe I will not see you for some time, Liadan. Do not forget me. For my future is bound up with this child’s. I have seen this. It’s important, my dear. Don’t forget. There will be many distractions.
I won’t forget. And I thank you for your help. You have a great skill in keeping these visions under control. In holding the terrors of the mind in check.
Your skill, too, is considerable. And you are learning to harness it. You are indeed a remarkable young woman. Your man spoke true when he called you a light in the darkness. Ah, now you weep again. Best shed these tears now, for after today you will have no time for weeping.
Chapter Fourteen
It would be a long ride. Once before, Sean had covered the distance in less than a day, hastening through the dark to answer my urgent call for help. But with a baby, there would be a need for stops along the way, to feed him and let him rest, and I myself would tire more quickly, bearing him on my back as I rode. A cart was unthinkable, too slow, and too hard to maneuvre and to defend on the narrow ways.
We had laid Liam to rest at dusk, under the great oaks of Sevenwaters. Discreet messages had been sent; Conor was coming, but he had been away and could not reach us in time. Padriac had moved on from Seamus Redbeard’s home at Glencarnagh; perhaps he was already embarked on some new voyage to distant lands. His visits were rare; he had never wanted a part in the guardianship of lands and community. But it was sad that no brothers, no sister stood there in the fading light under the ancient trees to bid this stern chieftain farewell.
We made a fire and burned wolfbane and pine needles. Sean spoke of our uncle’s strength and courage; I of his dedication to family and túath. The people of household and settlement stood by, silent. It was a somber departure for such a great man; in time, perhaps we would be able to celebrate his life and his passing with the gathering of folk, the feasting and music he deserved. But not yet. These were dangerous times, and the news of this sudden death could not be spread indiscriminately abroad.
Afterward we took a quiet cup of ale in the kitchens around the fire. Outside, through the night air, a terrible sound rang forth, a howling of grief and abandonment that echoed the emptiness in our own hearts. This lament went on and on until my head rang with it and I could not keep back my tears. Then Sean got up and went to the door, and, looking out into the darkness, he called, “Neassa! Broc! Enough now. Inside, the pair of you!”
And after a little while, the howling ceased, and my uncle’s two wolfhounds came in from the dark, their whiskery heads lowered, their tails between their legs. Sean sat down again, and the dogs went to him and settled one on his left side and one on his right. It was at that moment, I think, that my brother became lord of Sevenwaters.
Johnny and I were ready at dawn, and Sean stood on the steps to bid us farewell. I rode the strange, small horse that had once belonged to the Painted Man, and it seemed to me she showed an eagerness to be off that was more than just the anticipation of exercise and fresh air. Fiacha waited on a post nearby, his head to one side. Watching him, the horses shifted uneasily.
“I’m grateful for this, Liadan,” said my brother gruffly. “Bring her back here if you can. And tell Eamonn I need to talk to him. You’ll have to break the news of Liam’s death. After that, he must surely see the urgent need for another council. The alliance must regroup, and swiftly. I must e
stablish my own place, make it clear I am my own man. Ask him if he will come here and see me. But first, make sure Aisling is safe.”
“I’ll do what I can. Now we must go. It’s a long way. Farewell, Sean. May the goddess light your path.”
“Safe journey, Liadan.”
A day and a night and part of the next morning it took, and every step of the way I was willing the pace to be faster, and gritting my teeth every time my son woke and wailed and we must stop yet again to tend to his needs. I bit back words of frustration as my men at arms told me Lord Sean had insisted we stop to sleep, for a while at least, and that they prepare me a proper meal. A lady could not be expected to travel rough, as a warrior might. So they set up a small shelter for me and the child, and stood guard while I lay there, open-eyed in the night, watching small clouds cross the face of the waning moon. And on the morning of the second day we rode across the causeway to Sídhe Dubh, with Fiacha flying dark-winged above us.
We had passed the outer guard posts with no great difficulty. The men there knew me and recognized my men at arms, who wore the white tunic of Sevenwaters with its symbol of interlinked torcs. They let us through with no more than a raised eyebrow as Fiacha circled, squawking. Nor were we turned back at the entry to the causeway. But one of the guards shook his head doubtfully and said, “You’ll not be given admittance. He’s letting nobody in, and he’ll make no exceptions, not even for a lady.” There was something in his tone that suggested he was not entirely comfortable with the situation. But clearly they had their orders.
So we crossed to the inner gate, the entrance to the long, curving underground way that led up to the courtyard with its high, encircling walls. As before, there were two very large guards with axes in their hands and two massive black dogs, growling.