Juliet Marillier - Child of the Prophecy

There was a dark bitterness in his tone. He put his ale cup down on the hearth and twisted his hands together.

‘That’s terrible,’ I whispered. ‘Terrible and sad. Is that what happened? Did they send her away?’

‘She married, and travelled far north to Tirconnell. Her husband treated her cruelly. I knew nothing for a time, for I was gone far away in search of my past. That is another story. At last Niamh escaped. Her sister saw the truth of the situation and aided her. I was sent a message and came for her. But the damage was done, Fainne. She never really recovered from it.’

‘Father?’

‘What is it, Fainne?’ He sounded terribly tired; his voice faint and rasping.

‘Wasn’t my mother happy here in Kerry?’

For a while I thought he was not going to answer. It seemed to me he had to reach deep within himself for the words.

‘Happiness is relative. There were times of content; your birth was one. In that, Niamh believed she had at last done something right. I thought she was well again; I was ill-prepared for what happened in the end. It seems she never recaptured what she had lost. Perhaps her final answer was the only one she had left.’

‘It is a very sad story,’ I said. ‘But I’m glad you told me.’

‘It has been necessary to tell you, Fainne,’ Father said very quietly. ‘I’ve been giving some consideration to your future. I think the time has come for you to move on.’

‘What do you mean, move on?’ My heart began to thump in alarm. ‘Can I begin to learn some other branch of the craft? I am eager to progress, Father. I will work hard, I promise.’

‘No, Fainne, that is not what I mean. The time is coming when you must go away for a while, to make yourself known to the family of whom I told you, those who have by now completely forgotten that Niamh ever existed to cause them embarrassment and inconvenience. It is time for you to go to Sevenwaters.’

‘ What !’ I was aghast. Leave Kerry, leave the cove, travel all that way, to end up in the midst of those who had treated my parents so abominably that they had never been able to return to their home? How could he suggest such a thing?

‘Now, Fainne, be calm and listen.’ Father looked very grave; the firelight showed me the hollows and lines of his face, a shadow of the old man to come. I bit back a flood of anxious questions. ‘You’re getting older,’ he said. ‘You are the granddaughter of a chieftain of Ulster, the other side of your lineage does not change that. Your mother would not have wished you to grow up alone here with me, knowing no more than this narrow circle of fisherfolk and travellers, spending your whole life in practice of the craft. There is a wider world, daughter, and you must go forward and take your place in it. The folk of the forest have a debt to repay, and they will do so.’

‘But, Father –’ His words made no sense to me; I knew nothing but the terror of being sent away, of leaving the only safe place I knew in all the world. ‘The craft, what are you telling me, the craft is the only important thing, I’ve spent so long learning and I’m good at it now, really good, you said so yourself –’

‘Hush, Fainne. Breathe slowly; make your mind calm. There is no need to distress yourself. Do not fear that you will lose your skills or lack the opportunity to use them once you are gone from here. I have prepared you too well for that to occur.’

‘But – Sevenwaters? A great house, with so many strangers – Father, I …’ I could not begin to explain how much that terrified me.

‘There is no need for such anxiety. It is true, Sevenwaters was a place of grief and loss both for me and for your mother. But the folk of that family are not all bad. I have no quarrel with your mother’s sister. Liadan did me a great favour once. If it were not for her, Niamh would never have escaped that travesty of a marriage. I have not forgotten it. Liadan followed her mother’s pattern in choosing to wed a Briton. She went against Conor’s will; she allied herself with an outlaw and took her child away from the forest. Both Liadan and her husband are good people, though it may be some time before you see them, for they dwell now at Harrowfield, across the water. It is appropriate that you should meet Conor. I want him to know of you. You will be ready, Fainne. You’ll go next summer; we have a full year to prepare. Those things which I cannot teach you, my mother will.’ His lips twisted in a mirthless smile.

‘Oh,’ I said in a small voice. ‘Is she coming here? My grandmother?’

‘Later,’ Father replied coolly. ‘It may not be greatly to your liking or mine, but my mother has a part to play in this, and there is no doubt she has many skills you’ll find helpful. In a place like Sevenwaters you must be able to conduct yourself in every way as the daughter of a chieftain would. That you can never learn from me. I acquired deep knowledge in the nemetons, but I never discovered how to go out into the world as Lord Colum’s son.’

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ I said, aware that my own distress was nothing beside his.

‘I had thought – I had thought one day I might become like you, a great scholar and mage. The lessons you have taught me, the long seasons of practice and study, won’t all that be wasted if I am sent away to be some kind of – fine lady?’

Father’s lips curved. ‘You will use all your skills at Sevenwaters, I think,’ he said. ‘I have taught you the craft as my mother taught me – oh, yes,’ he added, seeing my eyes widen in surprise, ‘she is an adept, unparalleled in certain branches of magic. And such as she is need not be present in body in order to teach.’

I thought of the locked chamber, the long times of silence. He had indeed kept his secrets well.

‘I don’t invite her here lightly, Fainne. My mother is a dangerous woman. I’ve kept her away from you as long as I could, but we need her now. It’s time. You should have no misgivings. You are my daughter, and I am proud of your skills and all you have achieved. That I send you away is a sign of the great faith I have in you, Fainne, faith in your talents, and trust in your ability to find the right purpose for them. I hope one day it will become clear to you what I mean. Now, it’s late, and we’ve work to do in the morning. Best get some sleep, daughter.’

I was deeply shocked by what my father had told me, and inwardly much troubled. Still, a year was a long time. Anything could happen in a year. Perhaps I would not have to go. Maybe he would change his mind. Meanwhile, there was nothing for it but to continue with the practice of the craft, for if the worst happened and my father did send me away by myself, I wanted as much skill as I could master to help me. I put aside my misgivings and applied myself to work.

The weather was quite warm, but Father still had a persistent cough and a shortness of breath. He tried to conceal it, but I heard him, late at night when I lay awake in the darkness.

I was practising without the mirror. Gradually I had reduced the incantation to a couple of words. I made my eyes blue, or green, or clear winter-sky grey. I shaped them long and slanted, or round as a cat’s, thick-lashed, bulbous, sunken and old. As the season passed I moved on to the other features: the nose, the mouth, the bones of the face. The hair. The garments. An old crone in tatters, myself in future guise, maybe. A fisher girl with her hand on her hip, and her come-hither smile, white teeth flashing. A Fainne who was like myself, almost a twin, but subtly changed. The lips sweeter, the brows more arched, the lashes longer. The figure slighter and more shapely. The skin pale and fine as translucent pearl. A dangerous Fainne.

‘Good,’ said my father, watching me as I slipped from one guise to the next. ‘You’ve an aptitude for this, there’s no doubt of it. The semblance is quite convincing. But can you sustain it, I wonder?’