Son of the Shadows Read online

  “I’m glad you have a warm cloak and a good pair of boots,” observed my uncle. “We have a fair way to go.”

  I refrained from comment. It did not seem necessary. But after we had walked awhile I said, “My father might be worried.”

  A small grin flashed across Conor’s calm features.

  “Iubdan knows you are with me. Of course, he may not find that totally reassuring. I no longer have their trust as I once did. And you do seem to have a capacity to attract—complications.”

  Our feet were soft on a carpet of damp leaves.

  “What if Niamh comes today?” I asked him. “I could miss her. I need to be home when my sister comes.”

  He nodded gravely. “I understand, Liadan. I understand better than you think. But for you, this is more important. We’ll be back before nightfall.”

  I raised my brows but made no response.

  After a while, my uncle said, “Skillful, aren’t you? Even I cannot get under your guard. Where did you learn to put such an iron barrier around your mind? And why? What is it you hold there? I’ve seen such control but once before, when Finbar held out against your mother long ago. That hurt her badly.”

  “I do what I must.”

  He glanced at me. “Mmm,” was all he said. And we walked on in silence, keeping a brisk pace, as the day brightened and the forest came alive around us. We walked down the avenues of oaks, as golden leaves spiraled around us in a freshening breeze and squirrels busied themselves, preparing for the dark time. We went by the lake’s gray waters and up the course of the seventh stream, swelling with autumn rains to a miniature torrent. It was a steep climb over tumbled stones whose surfaces were curiously patterned, as if some strange finger had marked each with a secret language, whose codes existed only in the mind of one long departed. At the top of the rise we rested, and he produced a frugal meal of dried bread and wrinkled fruit. We drank from the stream, and the cold of the water made my head ache. It was a strange sort of morning but companionable enough.

  “You don’t ask me where we are going,” Conor said, as we started off again, up a slope between thickly clustered rowans laden with scarlet berries.

  “No, I don’t,” I responded mildly.

  He grinned again, and for a moment I could see the boy he had once been, running wild with his five brothers and one little sister in the vast spaces of the forest. But the serene mask of the archdruid settled over his features almost immediately.

  “I said this was important to you. I had hoped to explain a little to you direct, mind to mind. But I see you will let nobody in. You’re guarding a powerful secret. I must use words then. There is a spring, and a pool, hidden so well that few know of its existence. I’m taking you there. You need to understand the gifts you have, and what you can do, or you risk running blind with a power you scarcely recognize. I will show you.”

  “You underestimate me,” I said coolly. “I am not a child. I know the dangers of power exercised unwisely, without thought.” Bold words, for I understood only vaguely what he meant.

  “Maybe,” he said. We moved sharply left between drooping branches of willow and suddenly, there it was, a small, still pool between mossy stones, where fresh water welled up from underground. Insignificant in itself; a place you would almost certainly miss if you did not know it was there. “This place does not reveal itself to every traveler,” said Conor, making a quick sign in the air before him and halting two paces from the water’s margin.

  “What now?” I asked him.

  “Sit on the stones. Look into the water. I will not be far away. This is a place where secrets are safe, Liadan. These stones hold a thousand years of secrets.”

  I sat down and fixed my gaze on the unruffled surface of the pool. There was a feeling of deep shelter about this place, a sense of protection. It was as if nothing had changed here for a very long time. Words came to me in silence. This rock is your mother. She holds you in the palm of her hand. My uncle had moved back under the willows and out of sight. I tried to clear my mind of thoughts and images, but one at least would not be erased, and I refused to relax the shield I had set up there. If anyone tracked down the Painted Man, it would not be because I had betrayed what I knew. Nobody was to be trusted. Not even an archdruid.

  The water moved and shifted. But here in this little glade, closely encircled by tree and rock, there was not a breath of wind. The water rippled. A momentary flash of white showed in the depths and was gone. I forced myself to stay there, not to look up. The air was as still and heavy as if a summer storm were brewing, and yet the day held autumn’s chill. The water stirred and bubbled and was still again. Somebody was standing on the other side of the little pool, and it was not my Uncle Conor.

  You are very like your mother. Whoever it was, he had got through the barrier around my mind in a flash, with a skill far beyond even Conor’s. I had no hope of countering such strength. The same, but not the same. I sat there, unable to look up. You don’t need to look. You know who I am. The water turned opaque, then reflective. And his image was there. It could have been Conor. It could almost have been Conor. The clothes were different, of course. In place of the snowy white robe, this man wore shapeless garments of an indefinable hue between gray and brown. His feet were bare on the stones. Conor’s hair was in the small, neat braids of the druids. This man’s black curls tangled wild around his shoulders. Conor’s eyes were gray, quiet, and calm. This man had a gaze so deep it was unfathomable, and his eyes seemed as colorless as the water in which I saw them reflected. I could not force myself to look up.

  You know who I am. He moved slightly, and there was that flash of white again. He wore a voluminous cloak of dark homespun, a worn old garment that hung unevenly to the ground, fastened at one shoulder. He shifted again, and I acknowledged the truth. My eyes had not deceived me. In place of his left arm, this man had the wing of a large bird, powerful and white plumed. He drew the folds of the cloak across again.

  Uncle. If it is possible for the voice of the mind to tremble, that was how mine sounded.

  Sorcha’s daughter. You are so like her. What is your name?

  Liadan. But—

  Look up now, Liadan.

  I half expected that there would be nobody there. He was standing so still you could hardly see him, as if he were a part of the stones themselves and of the mosses and ferns that grew there. A man who was neither young nor old, his features made in the image of my mother’s; but in place of her fey, green eyes, his were clear and far seeing, the color of light through still water. His reflection had been true. A man of middle height, lean, straight backed, a man who bore forever the mark of what had happened to them, the six brothers with the one small sister.

  What are you? Are you a druid?

  It is my brother who is the druid.

  What are you then? Are you one of the filidh?

  I am the beat of a swan’s wing on the breath of the wind. I am the secret at the heart of the standing stone. I am the island in the wild sea. I am the fire in the head of the seer. I am neither of that world nor of this. And yet, I am a man. I have blood on my hands. I have loved and lost. I feel your pain, and I know your strength.

  I stared at him, awestruck. They thought you were dead. Everyone. They said you drowned yourself.

  Some knew the truth. I cannot live in the one world or the other. I walk the margin. That is the doom the Sorceress laid on me.

  I hesitated. My mother—you know she is very sick? She comes near the time of her journey. My uncle seemed quite calm. Wouldn’t you come to see her before that time comes? Couldn’t you do that?

  I need not be there for her to see me. Beneath the tranquil exterior there was a deep sadness. Much had been lost through the work of the Lady Oonagh.

  So she knows? She knows where you are?

  At first she did not. Now it is different. They all know: my sister, my brothers, those who are left. It is better that others do not know. Conor’s initiates visit me from time to time.


  It must be—it must be very hard for you. How hard, I could scarcely imagine.

  Let me show you. Make your mind quiet, Liadan, quiet and still. Breathe deep. That’s it. Wait a little. Now feel what I do. Feel my thoughts as they fold into yours. As they wrap you safe. Feel my mind as it becomes one with your own. Let what I am become a part of you for a time. See as I see.

  I did as he asked me, not fearful, for somehow I understood there was no danger in this place. I breathed the same breath; I felt his mind as it slipped into mine as subtle and mysterious as a shadow, and held me fast. But not as a prisoner, for within the protective cloak of his thoughts, I was still myself, and at the same time I was young Finbar, standing by the lake in the chill of a misty dawn, staring into the face of evil, feeling myself changing, changing, so my mind knew only what a wild creature comprehends: cold, hunger, danger … food, sleep … the eggs in the nest, the mate with her graceful, arching back and glossy feathers … birth, death, loss … the cold, the water, the rushing terror of transformation. That was how it was for us. That is how it is for me. He released me gently, leaving me shivering and close to tears.

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “I don’t understand why I was brought here. Why would you choose to reveal yourself thus to me? I am no druid.”

  Maybe not. Still, you have gifts. Powerful and dangerous gifts akin to my own. The Sight. The healing power of the mind, which you have scarcely tapped as yet. I see you in peril; I see you as a link in the chain, a link on which much depends. You must learn to harness your gifts, or they will become no more than a burden.

  “Harness them? My visions come unbidden. I cannot tell if they are true or false, past or future.”

  This time he spoke aloud, his voice cracked and hesitant as if long unused. “They can be puzzles, cryptic and misleading. Sometimes they are terrifyingly clear. Here in this place of protection, it is easier to keep control. Outside the grove, the shadows move closer. Let me show you. What is it you carry so deep in your heart? What is it you would see, above all else? Look in the water. Make your mind quiet.”

  I could not help glancing around to see if Conor was watching; there was no sign of him. Then I willed myself to utter stillness. I made my breathing slow and deep, felt time and place change and settle around me. There was a flicker of light, a flash of color in the water, and an image growing steadily clearer. The image rippled and changed. It was dark. Dark save for a small lantern burning under the shelter of strange, fronded trees. There were two men there, one sleeping, rolled in a blanket, braided hair falling back from ebony skin. Perhaps he had tried to stay awake, to be there for his friend during the dark time, but battle weariness had overwhelmed him at last. The other man sat cross-legged, with a long knife in one hand and a stone in the other, and he sharpened the knife with deliberate, even strokes, one and two and three. His eyes seemed to follow the steady movement of the weapon, but he was not seeing it. At times he glanced up as if in hope of some lightening of the sky, and then, resigned, took up his task again. The blade of that knife would have sliced straight through a man, armor and all.

  My hand stretched out, despite myself, and I made some small sound. And at that instant, the man in the water looked up, looked straight at me. His expression struck me to the heart. Bitterness, resentment, longing: I could not say which was written most starkly on his features. His eyes widened in shock and slowly, very slowly, he put the knife down. He lifted his hand, reached his patterned fingers out toward me, and I stretched my own hand out just a little farther, just a little more …

  Do not touch the water’s surface.

  But I had, and the ripples came up again, and Bran’s image was gone. I let my breath out and sat back, with tears in my eyes.

  “You’ll have need of this, Liadan. You must learn, while you are here. You must learn quickly and practice the skills. Soon enough, this walk and climb will be too much for you, for a while at least.”

  I gaped, almost forgetting to keep my eyes down. Was nothing secret?

  “Secrets are safe here.”

  “You saw, I suppose. Saw what was shown to me.”

  “Oh yes. And he saw you, make no doubt of it. But that is nothing new to him. Your image is before his eyes through every battle, through every flight, through every subtle knife stroke, through every long, dark night. You bound him to you with your courage and with your tales. You hold him to you now. You captured a wild creature when you had no place you could keep him. He cannot escape you, however hard he might wish it to be otherwise.”

  “You are wrong. He said he did not want me. He sent me away. I seek only to keep him safe, to light his way. There is no one else to do it.” I was not comfortable with his words. They made me sound like some seductress who possesses a man against his will.

  “You speak no more nor less than the truth. You are responsible. You changed his path. Now you shut him out. Would you deny him his child?” Finbar looked very serious, but there was no judgment in his tone. Still I felt a flare of anger at his words.

  “What am I supposed to do? I don’t even know who he is. And besides, he despises me. He will never come to Sevenwaters. He blames us—he blames my father, and my mother, for what he has become. Are you suggesting I should seek him out?”

  “I suggest nothing. I simply show you what is to be seen.”

  “I—I met the Fair Folk. The Lady of the Forest and a lord with hair like flames. They said—they told me to give this man up. They wanted me to promise to stay in the forest and not to marry. But I would not promise.”

  “Ah.”

  “I don’t know what to think. There were other voices, too, in that place. Older voices, and they told me—they seemed to tell me my own choices were right. Now I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t weep, child.”

  “I’m not—I—” My feelings threatened to overwhelm me. I had longed to see Bran, yet seeing him had awoken an aching sadness within me for what could not be.

  “I had a chance to change the course of events, once, long ago,” Finbar said, “the chance to save a man’s life and liberty at great risk. I took it and am glad that I did, though there is no telling if my choice was right or wrong. Perhaps what happened later was my punishment for believing I might make a difference. For, as you see, I am prevented from taking my part in the world of affairs. I am set outside and belong neither to one realm nor the other, a mere conduit.” Behind his look of tranquil resignation, his tone of calm acceptance, I sensed a deep sorrow. “I know what I would wish to see you do. But I will not offer you advice. For now, I see you bear a heavy burden for one so small. Let me at least ease this for a while. Let me show you, for you will need to use this skill yourself in time. Sit quiet. Let the things that trouble you go.”

  Subtly, images began to creep into my thoughts: a full moon rising above a lake, with a wide pathway of silver spreading across the still water. A lark spiraling up into a morning sky, its song a pure anthem of joy. The feeling of being held in strong arms, warm and comforting. Myself and Sean racing along the lake shore, hearts pounding, hair tangled by the wind as we laughed and shouted with the thrill of being alive and young and free. A hillside planted with young oaks; the slanting sunlight catching their new leaves and turning them to brilliant gold. The sound of a baby’s gurgling laughter. More images, all beautiful, all with some special meaning that reminded me of the good things in my life, the things that made me glad to be a part of Sevenwaters and of the family that belonged there. I was full of hope, full of well-being. The vision darkened momentarily, and I looked into a pair of gray eyes that were steady as a rock, trustworthy eyes. I heard a voice, and it was not Finbar’s, saying, You don’t have to do this alone, you know. Then as gently as they had come to me, the images faded, and my mind came back to itself; and I opened my eyes and saw before me the still waters of the pond and the figure of my uncle, gazing calmly at me across its reflective surface.

  There were so many
questions in my mind, I did not know where to begin.

  “You will learn to do this as I do. It takes an effort of will. You must make yourself stronger than the other, strong enough to bend his thoughts with your own.”

  “You think I will be called upon to do this? When?”

  “I know you will be. I cannot tell you when. You will recognize the need. Now, Liadan. What of the child?”

  Fear struck me suddenly. “The child is mine,” I said, and my tone was fierce. “I will decide his future. It is not for Fair Folk, nor human folk, to set his path for him.”

  “So you say. The child is yours. And you want the man as well; I saw that in your eyes as you reached for his image. But this man cannot be tamed, Liadan. You will not keep him at Sevenwaters. And the child must stay here, for all our sakes. The child may be the key. Doubtless the Fair Folk told you that as well. Has it occurred to you that perhaps you cannot have both?”

  “Surely it need not be so,” I said, not liking at all the sound of where he was heading.

  “Your man bears the mark of the raven.”

  “He is a Briton. So I believe. I would swear not one drop of Irish blood flows in his veins. He cannot be the one of the prophecy. It is no more than coincidence.”

  “You respond instantly.” Finbar’s expression was grave. “Clearly, this has been in your thoughts. But you are right. His face is patterned in the raven’s image, fierce enough to keep away all but the most determined. And yet he does not match the words of the prophecy. Neither of Britain nor of Erin, but at the same time both. This man does not match; but his son will.”

  I made a gesture of denial.

  “Be still, Liadan. I tell you this only to warn you. The son bears the mark of his father in his blood and in his bearing. There is no escaping it. Your son will be the son of the raven. He will carry forward the lineage of both mother and father. A Briton, a woman of Erin who herself is a child of both races. It matches. It is time. Once his parentage is known, that is what everyone will say.”