"And you the seventh son of a seventh son."
"I am."
"I assume you know what that means?"
Before I could respond, Mother interrupted. "Fiachra, would you tell us about your studies?"
He gave me a look that seemed to promise we would continue this conversation later and then turned to our mother.
"There is little I can discuss publicly, even with family. We study the folklore and the history of these lands. We learn of the fey and of those who came before them. We study the elements and learn how to interact with them. More, I cannot say."
"Why are you here?" I reached for another slice of bread.
The moment stretched uncomfortably.
"I cannot discuss that," Fiachra said finally.
"Surely it is because of Caedmon's wedding," Mother said. "It is good of them to let you be here with us."
Fiachra shook his head. "Caedmon's wedding is convenient but it is not the reason I am here. I would have come soon anyway. But perhaps not quite this soon."
I thought of Eithne. Was she sicker than she seemed? Perhaps Fiachra had been permitted a leave of absence to attend his sister in her last days. The bread suddenly stuck in my throat and the sweet stickiness of the honey repulsed me.
"If you need anything," I said.
Fiachra met my eyes and nodded slightly. "I can't shield you from this, Diarmuid. What you sow, you must reap."
I puzzled over his words briefly and then let them go, forgetting them for far longer than I should have.
Caedmon and Grainne's handfasting was held outdoors beneath an old oak tree that had likely seen many such rituals over its long years. The snow-laden hills mirrored a sky filled with fluffy white clouds so that everywhere I looked was blindingly white. The wind was tinged with ice and I shivered despite my thick coat and sturdy boots. I thrust my hands into my pockets and wriggled my toes to keep them warm as Caedmon and Grainne exchanged the words that would bind them. Strangers stood on each side of me, folk who had arrived with Grainne's family.
My eyes suddenly filled with tears and I dashed them away before anyone noticed. Why was I crying? I should be happy for Caedmon and Grainne but instead I felt isolated, sorry for myself, and angry with Caedmon.
The older druid, whose name I never did learn, conducted the ceremony. He asked the blessing of each of the elements and then Caedmon and Grainne spoke their vows. They smiled at each other and I tried hard to push aside my anger. Grainne would be a widow before long if Caedmon's grim suspicions were correct. Did she know these next few weeks might be their only days together?
A fist clenched my heart and sorrow flowed through me. If this was to be our final parting, I didn't want it tinged with anger. I would speak to him tomorrow, tell him how angry I was, that it was unfair of him to put me in such a situation. It was unfair on Rhiwallon too. If Caedmon were to apologise, perhaps I could forgive him. Ida whispered, snippets of a tale about two brothers, and I promised to mull over her idea later. She sank back down into the depths of my mind.
As the druid wrapped a length of red ribbon around Caedmon and Grainne's wrists, binding them together with the fabric and their promises, I looked around for the members of my family. For the first time since Fiachra had left as a boy, we were all together.
Mother wiped away a tear and Papa wrapped an arm around her. She leaned into him. Their solidarity in that moment reflected the partnership they had demonstrated through my entire life. Papa ran the estate with assistance from my brothers and the tenants who built their homes on Silver Downs land and provided labour in exchange for Papa's protection. The estate produced mostly everything we needed and, sometimes, a small surplus to be sold or traded. Mother ran the household, supervised the women who worked for us as servants, and brought up the family. We weren't wealthy but Papa provided well for us, and Mother managed the resources carefully.
Wherever Father was, my eldest brother, Eremon, would be nearby and indeed today he and Niamh stood a few paces from our parents. Older than me by six years, Eremon was Papa's heir and had worked the estate alongside our father since he was barely old enough to walk. He was much like Papa in both appearance and attitude. He and Niamh lived in their own house on the family estate, close enough to spend evenings with us but far enough for privacy as they established their own family. Their twin sons were barely three summers old but already Eremon and Niamh had their heir and druid. The boys were solemn today, each clutching the hand of a parent.
A year after Eremon came Caedmon, the soldier son. He was rarely home from campaign but when he did return, he always had time for his youngest brother. I would shadow him, lapping up stories of battles and quests, and dreaming of the day I might have my own adventure to tell. Never before had I felt so distant from him, separated by my anger and his thoughtlessness.
Sitric was the next son, younger again by one year. He had worked as a scribe for some six summers already and spent most of his time in Maker's Well, the town nearest to our estate and the better part of a day's walk in good weather. He made a steady living, writing and reading letters for those who were unable, and recording purchases, sales, loans, and other matters as folk might want a written account of. I searched for Sitric in the crowd and found him at last. He stood on the edge, a little apart from the others.
It was not until the fourth son that the druids received their due. The men of that order knew Fiachra was to be theirs, for as his birth began two of their number appeared at our farmstead to offer small enchantments for his safety. Like Sitric, Fiachra stood alone. I wondered that he could be warm enough in his brown robes but if he shivered, I couldn't see it.
Mother was certain her next babe would be a girl. It was instead to be twin boys, Marrec and Con, my elders by just two years. Neither had displayed any inclination towards a particular trade so they assisted Papa and Eremon with the management of Silver Downs and thus Papa had three sons capable of running the estate when he died. As always, Marrec and Con stood together. Beside them stood their betrotheds, small dark-haired women, sisters who seemed to share almost as close a relationship as their intended husbands.
I was born after Marrec and Conn, seventh son of a seventh son, and although I knew it not in my youngest years, destined to be a bard. With my inability to so much as look a woman in the eyes, it seemed I would watch each of my brothers marry until in the end only Eithne and I remained alone.
I sought out my sister in the crowd. She was three years younger than I and my only memory of her birth was an image of Papa, his face white with dread and slick with fear. As a babe, Eithne was ever small and sickly. She was sixteen now and thus of marriageable age. But she had not the strength to survive pregnancy and no man would want a wife who could not provide the three sons he needed. I should have stood next to her, for surely she would be feeling as alone as I. But when I finally found Eithne, she wasn't watching the ceremony. I followed her line of sight.
He wasn't there amidst our family and friends but stood within a grove of young ash trees, about a hundred paces away. I would have recognised the pale face and too red lips had I ever seen them before. He leaned against a grey trunk, gaze fixed on Eithne. A small smile passed between them.
Who was he? How did Eithne know him? And what was the meaning of the secretive smile they shared? Surely he was not allowing Eithne to fancy herself in love with him.
The ceremony finally concluded and folks moved in to congratulate Caedmon and Grainne. I pushed my way through the crowd. But Fiachra blocked my way.
"No, Diarmuid." He placed a hand firmly on my shoulder. "You must not interfere."
"I don't want to see Eithne hurt." I tried to slip out from under his hand but I could no more escape Fiachra's grasp than I could Caedmon's.
"You must leave Eithne to her own fate."
"He is misleading her. Or he is misleading them both. If I can talk to him, tell him how unwell she is-"
"This is not your concern."
"You would leave her to be hurt, to have her heart broken?" Bitterness clouded both voice and mind. "She is your sister."
"She
is
my sister and I will look out for her as I can. Eithne has her own destiny and we must leave her to pursue it unhindered."
"Can it lead to anything other than unhappiness?"
Fiachra shrugged. "It may. Or it may not. Regardless, we shall not interfere. You, Diarmuid, have your own destiny to be concerned with."
"And what is my destiny? Do you know?"
"I can't interfere in yours either, but I can help you go into it with your eyes open."
"What do you mean?"
"Meet me tonight, after everyone is in bed. I'll be waiting at the back door."
He slipped away then and melted into the crowd. I glanced towards the trees but the stranger was gone.
Despite my irritation with Fiachra, his words intrigued me. For now though, I needed to participate in the festivities. I must try to shake off the melancholy and at least act joyous. So I smiled and ate and drank. I didn't mingle, didn't seek out others, and few came to speak to me. Ida kept up her usual commentary in my mind and I passed the time in a conversation, of sorts, with her.
Long tables dragged outside into the meagre sunshine were draped with festive red cloths and piled high with food. The cook and her helpers served an outstanding feast of soup, roast meat, baked vegetables, and grainy bread, followed by pies filled with chunky apples and served with fresh cream. My appetite was unusually fierce, despite the melancholy, and I ate until I thought my stomach would burst. I drank only sparingly, wanting a clear head for my discussion with Fiachra. It might not be possible to persuade a druid to change his mind but I would try. Eithne's wellbeing was too important. And Fiachra be damned, I would do what I thought necessary to protect my sister.
As light faded from the sky and the night chill gripped the air, we moved indoors and gathered in front of the fireplace. Every chair and bench was full and those who did not have a chair leaned against the walls or sat on the thick rugs. I squeezed onto the end of a bench beside a harried-looking woman and three small boys. Distant relatives perhaps for the woman's face looked much like Eithne's and she gave me a nod as if in recognition.
Servants handed around mugs of spiced wine and I wrapped my cold hands around one although I did not intend to drink it. When Papa asked for a tale, he looked to the druids. I felt only the briefest pang of disappointment for it was a rare treat to hear a tale from a druid.
After a momentary discussion with his elder, Fiachra moved to the front of the room. His voice was calm and confident, and I envied his ease. As much as I felt called to be a bard, I had never been as comfortable in the telling of a tale as Fiachra seemed. He spoke well, an old tale of the Children of Lir who were turned into swans and suffered for many hundreds of years before being restored to their human forms.
The audience was silent as Fiachra told his tale. Everyone watched him and even the children appeared to listen intently. An ache of jealousy rose within me. Ida stirred, whispering sweet fragments of a new tale, but I pushed her away. I could hardly leave in the midst of Fiachra's tale without looking bad mannered and ill tempered.
There was a brief silence as Fiachra's final words lingered in the air. Then the applause started and cries for him to tell another. He demurred politely and returned to his position at the back of the room.
Papa stood then and the room quietened. He hesitated and when he spoke, his voice wavered just a little.
"My son," he said. "It is an unexpected joy to have you with us on this happy occasion and I thank you for your tale."
Fiachra inclined his head towards Papa. He didn't smile but pride shone in his grey eyes. I hadn't realised a druid could feel such a thing for they always seemed more Other than human. I had thought that perhaps human emotions were drained from them during their training. But right now, Fiachra seemed nothing more than a man who was pleased with his father's praise.
I tucked the memory away in my mind. It might be something I could use in a tale, perhaps a story of a druid who falls in love and must decide between his training and his destiny or his new love. Satisfaction flowed from Ida. Clearly this was her idea, not mine. I silently thanked her, promising I would work on this new tale as soon as I could.
The celebrations continued long after I gave up any pretence of participating. There was ale and dancing and platters of bread and meat. The fiddler knew a seemingly inexhaustible repertoire of melodies, few of which I recognised. I sat in front of the fire, ignoring the raven that lurked within its flames and fiddling with my mug of now-cooled wine. Ideas for new tales chased each other around in my mind but with all of the music and chatter and laughter, I couldn't concentrate on them so I sat and let the noise wash over me.
Eventually the festivity died and the ale slowed. Grainne's family prepared to depart for their own estate, despite the lateness of the evening and Mother's urging that they stay.
Caedmon and Grainne went to the bedchamber prepared for them. I remembered Eremon's handfasting and how the women had strewn the bed with flower petals and lit the fireplace so the room would be warm on their arrival. Candlelight had danced on the walls, making the room cozy and serene. I was sharply reminded of Rhiwallon and the melancholy gripped my insides tighter than ever. With my inability to even speak to a woman, let alone do anything else, the intimacies of a nuptial bedchamber would never be for me.