Flame of Sevenwaters (52 page)

Fury gripped me. “What are you—” I began, but the words dried up in my mouth. Caisin had moved away, and in her place was Luachan, a knife of pale bone in his hand, its point aimed straight at my chest. His face was as white as his weapon. I stared, uncomprehending.

“Move over to the pole,” he said, using the knife to gesture. “Do it, Maeve—stop wasting time. And keep quiet.”

“But—”

“Move!”

I obeyed, my heart hammering. This made no sense. Luachan, a druid, Finbar’s tutor and protector. Luachan, our friend. Was he under some vile enchantment?
I am more sorry than I can possibly tell you.
The words took on a sinister significance. No time to consider, for now—gods, so quick!—Caisin’s men were fastening one of the long ropes around my waist and one around Finbar’s. I felt the pull straightaway and struggled to hold my feet.

“Hold on to the pole,” Luachan said.

Mute with horror, I did my best to obey, crossing my arms around it. What was this? The geis did not demand any of this rigmarole; all it said was
held with hands that cannot hold.
Do it this way and the plan must end in complete failure.

I found my voice when I looked across the circle and saw two men tying the other ends of the ropes to Swift’s halter. “No!” I croaked in utter disbelief. “Oh, no! We won’t last to a count of five, let alone two hundred. Luachan,
why
?” If it weren’t for Swift’s leading rope, still fastened to the pole over there, we’d already be in the fire. Had Mac Dara somehow ensorcelled Luachan, that he would suddenly turn against us? “Untie the rope! Set Finbar free at least!”

No response. Signals were exchanged across the basin to indicate all was in place. Thus far, the press of folk had shielded Finbar and me from Mac Dara’s view, though he must surely have seen the flurry of preparation. I looked for Caisin and found her not far away with her sister beside her. Perhaps there was still time to stop this.

“My lady!” I called, loud enough for those nearby to hear me, despite the buzz of excited voices. “My brother is only seven years old, our father’s only son. If you need me for your display, I’m ready to do it, but please tell these men to let Finbar go! There’s no need for this!”
And you know it
, I thought, wondering if I had imagined the compassion in her eyes and in her voice earlier. The geis specified only that Finbar watch, not that he be placed in mortal danger. This, I could not say; not with Mac Dara so close.

Caisin smiled. Oh, her look was sweet indeed, and her smile was sunlight and flowers. “You can do this, Maeve,” she said. “This is destiny; it is meant to be.” She scrutinized me a moment longer, then said, “Moderate your rage, my dear. It won’t help you.”

Anger boiled in me, along with the knowledge that I might possibly have managed to hold Swift still, even at such a distance, had it not been for the fact that my whole body was quivering with fury and terror. It was too late to stop this. It was too late to do anything.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Finbar indistinctly. “This is what’s supposed to happen.”

“You could have warned me,” I muttered as Caisin walked over to stand at the tongue of stone, a regal figure in her sky-blue gown, with her hair shimmering across her shoulders and a perfect pearl in each ear.

“You might not have done it if I’d told you,” he said simply.

Gods! Could he have known all along that Luachan was…what? An enemy? A spy? What child could keep something like that to himself? What seven-year-old could see a violent death coming and walk calmly to meet it?

The crowd hushed. All eyes were on Caisin Silverhair. Mac Dara’s throne was hidden from me by a group of Caisin’s people standing on the basin’s rim.

“We’re ready,” said Caisin. “I ask for total silence; this demonstration requires it.”

I looked across the basin toward Swift. I had a choice: submit to the sheer terror that was knotting my insides and turning my mind blank, or give this the best effort I could. Perish as a helpless child or as a true daughter of Sevenwaters. No choice, when it came to it. I had to believe I could do this. And that meant getting Swift under my control right now.

“Swift, my lovely boy.” I made my voice loud enough to carry across the basin, gentle enough to reassure him. “Fresh water; green fields; calm hands and quiet.”

As I spoke, the pipe sounded its single note, high and sweet. The count had begun.

There was no looking at Finbar; no looking over toward Mac Dara; no way to know if Luachan had his knife poised at my back. No looking anywhere but at Swift, who stood trembling and wide-eyed across the fiery cauldron. I pressed my body against the pole, hoping I could keep my position for long enough. Finbar could use his hands for a better grip, at least. But his strength would ebb more quickly. Oh gods, what had I done?

“Good boy, Swift. Calm boy. Quiet now…peaceful thoughts…slow, slow…my boy, my lovely boy…”

Swift was listening; I saw it in his stance. He had heard the familiar voice, the voice that always calmed and steadied him. The
voice of a trusted friend. He stood still, looking across the fiery pit, and I worked on my breathing. “Calm boy. Lovely boy. Green fields. Cool water…” Perhaps I could do it; perhaps I really could. Provided I could keep him still, provided he did not pull against the leading rope and dislodge the pole where it was tied, we might have a chance of keeping hold of our own anchors for long enough. “Hold on tight, Finbar,” I muttered, then returned to my litany. “Kind hands and quiet…”

Mac Dara’s voice broke the stillness, the hard tone making Swift start and pull. I clenched my teeth, willing strength to my arms. “What is this, Caisin? Using cripples and children to make a point? Where is the magic in that?”

“Kind hands and quiet…” Swift was unsettled now, shifting his feet. I felt the pull on my waist as his movement tightened the rope. “Quiet, my lovely boy, calm and quiet…”

“Ah,” came Caisin’s voice. It was sweetly musical as ever, but now there was a new note in it. If Mac Dara was iron, she was flint. “That remains to be seen. Dioman, untie the horse!”

“Maeve,” said Finbar, “slide down to sit. Put your legs around the pole.”

What?
She hadn’t really meant that, had she? Why would they—Dioman was untying the rope. I caught a glimpse of Finbar following his own advice, locking legs and arms tight around the support, his face a white mask. For me it was too late. Swift was untied, save for the double rope linking him to my brother and me. If I could not keep him standing still, he’d pull us straight into the fire.

“Sweet…water,” I gasped, then forced my voice calm. My skin was all cold sweat. Spots danced before my eyes. “Green fields, Swift. Calm boy. My lovely boy…” I sucked in a sobbing breath. “Kind…hands…” My feet were sliding. Swift tossed his head one way, the other way. My arms ached; my stomach was a hard knot.

“Caisin,” said Mac Dara, “this is ridiculous. What are you doing?”

“I heard tell of a charm,” Caisin said. “A rhyme concerning yourself, my lord. It was revealed to me by one of the little folk. Another of the same kind as our piper here.”

“Sweet water, Swift…green fields…” I was running with sweat. Swift danced from side to side, confused by the other voices. “Swift, be calm. Hold still, sweet boy.”

“The rhyme may be familiar to you,” Caisin went on. “It goes like this:

Held by hands that cannot hold
Stands the steed so proud and bold

Chieftain’s son with seer’s eyes

Observes the Lord of Oak’s demise.”

“
What?
” roared Mac Dara.

Across the stone basin, Swift shied. I bit back a scream as my arms left the pole and both Finbar and I were swept toward the edge. I crouched, hooking an arm awkwardly around the rope, leaning back with my full weight. The yearling had not bolted; not yet. He stood there trembling, looking across at us with wild eyes. No wonder he was terrified; it must feel to him as if I were trying to drag him into the fire. How long until the count reached two hundred?

“Hold still, Swift, lovely boy. Hold still for me, dear one.”
Breathe, Maeve.
“Be calm, be still. All will be well.”

“Be silent, save for the girl.” The calm voice was Fraochan’s, reminding those assembled that Caisin had asked for quiet.

“You’re fools,” Mac Dara spat. “There’s far more to the rhyme than those few lines. Besides, there’s no way the cripple can hold that creature for the full count. She’ll be over the edge in a heartbeat, and the lad with her…Is that Lord Sean’s son?” Something had entered his voice: the merest thread of unease.

A pox on you. This cripple will hold on as long as she needs to.
“Be strong, Finbar,” I muttered. “We can do this.” Then, in the soft, confident voice Swift knew, “Calm, dear one. Green field. Sweet water.”

“Over the edge in a heartbeat?” Caisin gave a musical chuckle. “We can’t have that. Let’s even the balance a little, shall we? In the rhyme, I believe the next lines are these:
Sever now the ties that bind, Brothers in purpose and in kind
. You did not think, when you amused yourself playing tricks with a chieftain’s sons, that your transformations would suit my purpose so very well, did you? Those brothers are fiercely loyal to the cripple, and she to them. I wonder if they would die for her? Let’s find out.”

My lips continued their soothing flow of words. My gaze stayed on Swift as he stepped to and fro, every move another tug on the ropes, another inch closer to the flames. But I heard her and began to understand. Caisin had lied to me. She had held back part of the geis. Something about chieftains’ sons, a pair of brothers—Cruinn’s boys? What had they to do with this?

Caisin gave a crisp order: “Bring them forth!”

A stifled exclamation from Finbar. A scuffling disturbance on his other side, as if someone were forcing a way through the crowd.

“
Maeve!
” my brother whispered, his tone so urgent that I turned my head for a moment.

My boys. My lovely boys, their eyes wild, their mouths muzzled, their pelts a mess of bloody wounds. My boys straining against chains held by leather-gauntleted guards. Alive. They were alive.

“Bear!”
The name burst out of me in a great sob.
“Badger!”

The rope tightened as Swift reacted to my cry, jerking me forward; Finbar slid alongside me, scrabbling for purchase.

“Remove the muzzles and release them!” ordered Caisin. “Quickly!”

“Hold still, Swift,” I called with tears coursing down my cheeks. “Home soon. Kind hands and quiet.” I could not look at Bear; I could not command his obedience, for my voice must be for Swift alone. Dear gods, if the dogs jumped up to greet me we’d all go straight over the edge.

They ran toward us, whimpering their love and confusion. My rope juddered and grew taut. Beside me Finbar copied my stance, his small body leaning back hard.

“Bear! Badger!” My brother spoke crisply, in creditable imitation of my own style. “Bite!”

We had trained them well when we taught them to chew
through bonds. Badger set his teeth to Finbar’s rope and Bear attacked mine. They gnawed steadily, as if there were no fire, no crowd, no dear friend sliding inch by inch toward death.

“The count of two hundred must have been up long ago.” Mac Dara spoke into the tense silence.

“I make it one hundred and sixty-seven,” came Caisin’s voice. “Of course, this valiant effort is doomed to failure. Is not the next part of the geis,
Evil’s defeat demands the price of a brother’s sacrifice?
You know, I believe this is the very first time I’ve managed to shock you, my lord. It’s true; I do indeed have the whole geis. Very soon all the pieces will be in place. Best bid your friend there make haste, Maeve. You’re perilously near the edge.”

Two crows flew low over the stone basin as she spoke, startling Swift. The ropes tightened again, and this time I could not stand against the pull. As the rope holding Finbar frayed and parted under Badger’s assault, my brother collapsed on the stones and in one heart-stopping slide I was on my knees, an arm’s length from the edge. The flames crackled. Smoke filled my lungs, robbing me of breath. I could not speak.

A confusion, then: Finbar grabbing my arm, trying to pull me back; Luachan hauling him off. Finbar shouting, “Badger, run!” Bear’s amber eyes, his bloodied pelt, his jaws still chewing on the rope; a smell of singeing hair; Caisin’s laugh like a peal of little bells. The rope taut as a bowstring as Swift panicked, pulling me to the fire. The flames, oh gods, the hot flames on my face…Bear between me and the fire, right on the edge, still working steadily on the rope. The clearing suddenly dark, as if Morrigan herself hovered over this field of sacrifice…A brother’s sacrifice…

“Bear, stop!” I gasped. “Run!” And when he would not, “Bear, please!”

The pipe sounded. The rope parted. Across the basin, Swift was a blur of white, fleeing through the crowd and away. Bear slipped over the edge and was gone.

CHAPTER 16