Juliet Marillier - Child of the Prophecy

‘Of course I can,’ I responded instantly. ‘Try me, if you will.’

‘I’ll do just that.’ Father was gathering up a bundle of scrolls and letters, and a tightly strapped goatskin bag whose contents might have been anything. ‘Here, carry this. The walk will be good for you.’

He was already making for the passageway to the outside, his sandalled feet noiseless on the stone floor.

‘Where are we going?’ I was taken aback, and hastened after him, still in the guise of not-myself.

‘Dan heads back north in the morning. I’ve business for him to conduct on my behalf, and messages to be delivered. Stay as you are. Act as you seem. Maintain this until we return. Let me see your strength.’

‘But – won’t they notice that I am – different?’

‘They’ve not seen you for a year. Girls grow up quickly. No cause for concern.’

‘But –’

Father glanced back over his shoulder as we came out of the Honeycomb onto the cliff path. His expression was neutral. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

‘No, Father.’ There was no problem. Only Dan and Peg and the other men and women with their sharp looks and their ready comments. Only the girls with their giggling whispers and the boys with their jokes. Only the fact that I had not once gone right into the encampment without Darragh by my side, not in all the long years Dan Walker’s folk had been spending their summers at the bay. Only that going amongst people still filled me with terror, even though I was a sorcerer’s daughter, for my clever tricks scarcely outweighed my limping, awkward gait and crippling shyness.

But then, I thought as I followed my father’s striding, dark-cloaked figure along the path and down the hillside towards the cove, today I was not that girl; not that Fainne. Instead, I was whatever I pleased. I was the other Fainne, the Glamour wrapping me in a soft raiment of gracefulness, smoothing my curls into a glossy flow of silk, making my walk straight and even, drawing the eye to my long curling lashes and my demure, pretty smile. They would see me, Dan and Peg and the others, and they would admire me, and never notice that anything had changed.

‘Ready?’ Father asked under his breath as we came along the path and caught sight of the cluster of folk preparing livestock and belongings for next morning’s early departure. Dogs were racing around yapping, and children chased each other in and out between carts and ponies and the legs of men and women about their tasks. As we came closer and were seen, people drew back as was their habit, leaving a neat untenanted space around my father. He was unperturbed, striding on forward until he spotted Dan Walker making some fine adjustments to a piece of harness. A couple of lads were bringing their ponies up from the shore, and they glanced my way. I put a hand on one hip, casually, and looked back at them under my lashes as I had seen that girl do, the one with the teeth. One lad looked down, as if abashed, and moved on past. The other one gave an appreciative whistle.

‘And drop this off at St Ronan’s,’ my father was telling Dan Walker. ‘I’m grateful to you, as always.’

‘It’s nothing. Got to go that way regardless, this year. It’s close enough to Sevenwaters. Can’t pass those parts without calling in on the old auntie, I’d never be forgiven. She’s getting long in the tooth, but she’s a sharp one, always has been. Got any messages for the folk up there?’ The question was thrown in as if quite by chance.

Father’s features tightened almost imperceptibly. ‘Not this time.’

I took a step forward, and then another, and I was aware that Peg and the other women were watching me from where they hung clothing on the bushes to dry, and I saw that now Dan’s eyes, too, were fixed on me, appraising. I looked away, down towards the sea.

‘Girl’s turned out a credit to you, Ciarán,’ Dan said. He had lowered his voice, but I heard him all the same. ‘Who’d have thought it? Right little beauty, she’s turning into; takes after her mother. You’d best be finding a husband for her before too long.’

There was a pause.

‘No offence,’ Dan added without emphasis.

‘The suggestion was inappropriate,’ my father said. ‘My daughter is a child.’

Dan made no comment, but I could feel his eyes following me as I walked over to the line of ponies tied up loosely in the shade under the trees, cropping at the rough grass. I could feel many eyes following me, and they were not amused or pitying or scornful, but curious, admiring, intrigued. It made me feel quite strange.

I reached up a hand to stroke the long muzzle of a placid grey beast, and the lad who had whistled before appeared at my side. He was a gangling, freckled fellow somewhat older than myself. I had seen him many times with the others, and never exchanged so much as a word. Behind him a couple more boys hovered.

‘His name’s Silver.’ This was offered with diffidence, as if the speaker were not quite sure of his possible reception. There was a pause. Some response from me was clearly expected. It was all very well to maintain the Glamour, to keep myself as this not-quite-myself that they all seemed to want to look at and talk to. My techniques were well up to that. But I must also act in keeping; find the words, the smiles, the little gestures. Find the courage. I slipped a hand into the pocket of my gown, repeated the words of an old spell silently in my head, and drew out a wrinkled apple that had not been there when we left home.

‘Is it all right if I give him this?’ I asked sweetly, arching my brows and trying for a shy smile.

The boy nodded, grinning. Now I had five of them around me, leaning with studied casualness on the wall, or half-hiding behind one another, peering around for a better look without being conspicuous. I put the apple on the palm of my hand, and the horse ate it. His ears were laid back. He was uneasy with me, and I knew why.

‘Is it true you can make fire with your hands?’ blurted out one of the lads suddenly.

‘Hush your mouth, Paddy,’ said the first one with a scowl. ‘What are you thinking of, asking the young lady something like that?’

‘None of our business, I’m sure,’ said another, though doubtless he, like all of them, had exchanged his fair share of speculative gossip about what we got up to, those long lonely times in the Honeycomb.

‘It’s my father who’s the sorcerer, not me,’ I said softly, still stroking the horse’s muzzle with delicate fingers. ‘I’m just a girl.’

‘Haven’t seen you out and about much this summer,’ commented the freckled boy. ‘Keeps you busy, does he?’

I gave a nod, allowing my expression to become crestfallen. ‘There’s only my father and me, you see.’ I imagined myself as a dutiful daughter, cooking sustaining meals, mending and sweeping and tending to my father, and I could see the same image in their eyes.

‘A shame, that,’ said one of the lads. ‘You should come down sometimes. There’s dancing and games and good times here in the camp. Pity to miss it.’

‘Maybe –’ began the other boy, but I never heard what he was about to say, for it was at that point my father called me, and the lads melted away quicker than spring snow, leaving me alone with the horse. And as I turned to follow my father obediently back home I saw Darragh, over on the far side of the horse lines, brushing down his white pony. Aoife, her name was; he’d argued long and hard with Dan to be allowed to keep her, and he’d had his way in the end. Now Darragh glanced at me and looked away, and not by so much as a twitch of the brow or a movement of the hand did he give me any recognition.

‘Very good,’ my father said as we walked home in the chill of a rising west wind. ‘Very good indeed. You’re getting the feeling of this. However, this is just the beginning. I’d like you to develop a degree of sophistication. You’ll need that at Sevenwaters. The folk there are somewhat different from these fishermen and simple travellers. We must begin work on that.’