ELEVEN
Daireann preened and fluttered as she waited for Far at their rendezvous. She could still hardly believe her luck, that the tall druid had turned his flattering attentions to her. He was so handsome, so courtly. The power that lay behind his gentle manners was heady and exciting, like a smooth, sweet mead that went straight to your head.
She hoped she didn’t smell of horse. Far said some might find their courtship unseemly, with Sive still lost in the mortal lands, so they met at some distance from her sidhe. Daireann was happy to stay out of her father’s eye for now. Still the horseback ride made it difficult to present herself at her best.
He didn’t seem to notice, hurrying to help her from the horse with a murmured apology for the wait she had endured, bending low over her hand and then drinking her in with his emerald eyes before drawing her close. The little gazebo he led her to was hung with silks, lined with cushions and provisioned with an enticing array of refreshments. A brazier chased away any chill breezes that might find their way inside.
“I wish I had met you first,” he said as they lay twined together in the soft nest of pillows. “I would not have wasted these past years running after the lesser beauty.”
Daireann nodded archly. “I confess I never understood what you saw in her. She’s a timid thing, I would think illsuited to a great man like you.”
“I know it.” His grin was ruefully self-mocking. “I think she must have enchanted me.” The green eyes glinted at her, glowing with intensity. “And now you have done the same.”
They didn’t speak of Sive again, not until more sweet encounters had been stolen and Far Doirche had delighted Daireann by begging her to become his wife.
“I hope her father will release the poor thing, once our marriage is announced,” he said. “You know him—do you think he will?”
Daireann considered her reply carefully. Powerful men do not like to be crossed or gainsaid. This she had learned. But Far would not want a fool for a wife either. It was a gamble, either way.
“I doubt very much that Derg cursed her at all,” she said bluntly. “He hasn’t the skill. Sive, on the other hand, babbled incessantly as a child about wanting to shapeshift. Don’t ask me why.”
She met the green eyes head-on, allowing a spark of malicious humor into her own. “It’s my belief the little fool refused you, and when you pressed your suit, turned herself into a deer to escape you. And it’s no blame to you if you were angered at the slight—as if she would ever get a better offer!”
The little salute of admiration Far gave her made Daireann flush with pleasure. They would be a mighty couple.
“So,” he pressed, “I still feel badly that she has endured such hardship. Do you hear from her at all? If there were some way to get the news to her, she would be free to come home.”
“YES, ORAN, I MEAN you to spy on her! How clear do I have to be? Lurk by her chamber door, follow after her serving women, find some task to do where she’s dining. Listen without getting caught.” Far aimed a cuff at the boy’s head to reinforce his words. “Now do you understand?”
Oran tried to put space between himself and the sorcerer without visibly moving his body. He failed, and the blow landed squarely on his temple. “Yes, master. I understand.”
Far smiled warmly. “Good. You hear any news of Sive’s whereabouts, you bring it to me.”
“I will, master.” Oran bowed deeply and rushed from the room.
Oran Remembers
If Daireann had revealed where Sive was, I would have told the Dark Man. I would have hated myself for it, but I could not have helped myself. I am bound to follow his commands.
But she did not. Instead she said the strangest thing to her woman.
“Imagine Sive, trotting around the mortal lands all this time. The weather there is dreadful, you know. And what could she be eating? Surely not acorns and shrubbery!”
She laughed then, tinkly and careless. “If she only knew, she has only to hop over to Finn mac Cumhail’s dun. Not even Far could touch her there. I learned that from Finn himself, the day I cursed him. He said that his uncle Lugh had stretched his bright hand in protection over his dun, and no dark magic could penetrate there. He said once he made it back home, my curse would break.”
She laughed again, the sound venomous this time. “Much good it did him, and he on the other side of Eire! And, now that I think of it, much good would it do Sive. I almost forgot—the great Finn mac Cumhail holds no truck with women of the Sidhe. He would not open his door to her.”
I was not compelled to tell my master what I had learned, and I did not. I buried Daireann’s words deep within myself, where I hoped he would not find them. And I waited for a chance to use them.
THE HOUSE SEEMED empty without the women. Derg wondered if he should close it up and take a chamber in the king’s palace. He could not foresee how it would ever be safe for either of them to return, though he feared Grian might decide otherwise. She grew steadily more restive on her father’s secluded island. He visited as often as he could, but even if Manannan allowed him to move in, he doubted she would be content there.
Would the Dark Man really take Grian, if he could not have Sive? Perhaps the risk was too great, even for him. Surely Manannan would stand against him, if it were his own daughter under threat.
Derg’s brain would run in these circles all day if he allowed it. He was grateful for the busy day that awaited, a thousand details to arrange for the Winter Solstice games that began on the morrow.
His man poked his head into the sunroom.
“Pardon the interruption. Far Doirche asks to see you.”
Derg grimaced. “Again? He has become quite the familiar face, hasn’t he?”
“Indeed, sir.”
Far Doirche’s periodic visits no longer made Derg’s heart pound in alarm. Several times a year, presumably when his travels brought him near, he stopped by to assure himself that Sive remained hidden to Derg as well as to the world.
“His hazel rod?”
“Checked at the outer gate with the guard, as required. Just that scrawny servant with him.”
Derg sighed. “Let him in. Nothing to be gained by putting him off.”
Far swept into the room and greeted Derg warmly, as a friend. Derg replied with polite caution, keeping a good distance between them, staff or no staff.
The Dark Man piled his cloak into Oran’s arms and settled himself comfortably, before getting to the point.
“You know I worry about Sive, alone in the wild.”
“As do I,” replied Derg tartly.
The sorcerer inclined his head sympathetically. “Of course. Still no word, I suppose?”
Derg shook his head. “I do not even know if she lives, let alone where she is.”
“She lives,” said Far, his hand brushing over his chest where the talisman lay hidden under the fine tunic. “I think you can count on that.”
He trained his intense eyes on Derg. “I have news.”
“Oh?” Derg tried to keep his breath even, his voice calm. Hard to imagine good news would ever come from this man.
“It was never my intention to cause such distress to your daughter. I thought, in time, she would reconsider my suit, but I see now I will never win her over. And I have met another woman, one who has kindled, and returns, my ardor.” He smiled, his look of shy happiness almost convincing. “We are to marry in the spring.”
“I see.” What to make of such a statement? “May I know the name of your intended?” Derg asked carefully.
“Not just yet, I’m afraid.” Far’s smile became apologetic. “We have not yet made the announcement public, and of course we must speak to her family first.”
“Of course.” Had he found another with Sive’s gift, Derg wondered. Or was this one of the Dark Man’s ploys?
“I bring you this news for a reason.” Far leaned forward in his seat, and Derg felt the force of the sorcerer’s will beat against him. Finally, the point of this polite charade.
“If you have any way of contacting Sive, I hope you will tell her there is no reason for her to stay in this self-imposed exile. I have given her up and will trouble her no more.”
Far stood up, all brisk haste. “Well, I have taken up enough of your time and have business of my own to see to. But I do regret deeply the hardship she must have suffered these long seasons, and I hope you will believe me that it is safe to bring her home.”
“I would like nothing better,” said Derg. “Sadly, I have no way to give her this message.”
The sorcerer inclined his head gravely. “I see. Yet perhaps some chance will arise for you. I urge you to search for one.” He flapped one hand to motion Derg, half-risen from his seat, back down. “Sit, sit,” he said genially. “We will let ourselves out.”
Derg sank back into his seat. His man found him there much later, lost in thought, the Solstice games forgotten.
DERG WOKE THAT night to a hand over his mouth, and perhaps the strangest words an assailant ever uttered to his victim: “Please don’t hurt me, sir!”
His eyes flew open. A lamp guttered on the table, enough to make out the sorcerer’s serving boy’s face hovering above him, strained and urgent.
“Please stay quiet, sir. I mean no harm.” The words were a strangled whisper.
Derg nodded, noticed his hands wrapped about the boy’s neck, and slowly removed them.
Oran gasped a quick breath, his thanks coming on the outrush of air.
Derg sat up in his bed and waited while his heart slowed from its gallop and his brain caught up.
“What is this about?”
“Sir, I…I know something that might help your daughter.”
Another trick? Derg considered the scrawny youth. He seemed scared to death, and not of Derg.
“And why would you wish to help my daughter?”
Oran winced and made a quick damping motion with his hands to quiet Derg. “Please, sir, I can’t risk waking your man or anyone else. If my master finds out what I’ve done…” He glanced around the empty room, looking as if he might lose his nerve and take flight, and then visibly pulled himself together.
“Your daughter did me a kindness once,” he said. “Not many do. If I can do the same for her, I will.”
Derg knew that if Far Doirche had ordered Oran to come and present this story, he would be bound to do so. But would a man like Far even think of gratitude as a motivation? Would Oran speak with such feeling if he were under an enchantment? Derg threw out a fishing line.
“Far Doirche already explained to me that he no longer desires Sive and—” He was cut off by Oran’s head shaking nearly off its stem.
“No, sir, you mustn’t believe that! He wants her still. He’s just hoping you’ll bring her back within his grasp!”
Derg nodded grimly. The lad was honest in that regard at least. “Well then?”
“I might know another way,” said Oran. “I heard Sive’s sister Daireann talking and—”
“Daireann?” Derg’s voice was sharp. “What has Daireann to do with this?”
“It’s Daireann my master has been—”
Derg jumped up in anger. “He’s after marrying Daireann?”
Oran’s face twisted in distress. “Please, sir, please be quiet. If I’m caught…”
“I’m sorry, boy.” Derg forced himself to sit back down and speak calmly. “It won’t happen again.”
“Well, I think he’s just flattering her, sir, if you understand me, in hopes she will lead him to Sive. He sets me to, well, to spy on her, in case she mentions Sive’s location. And what she said is that if Sive went to stay in Finn mac Cumhail’s dun, she would be safe there.”
“How would Daireann know such a thing?” Derg tried to summon all the lore and news he had heard of this Finn. Some relation to Lugh, wasn’t he? And his dun just over on the Hill of Almhuin, though to hear tell he was rarely at home, traveling as he did all over the country.
“I gather she went wooing him once,” said Oran. “And she cursed him or some such thing when he refused her, and he said if he were in his own dun no curse would touch him, because the hand of Lugh protected it.”
As Derg pondered these words, excitement rose within him, as though Lugh’s own light had kindled deep in his own chest. Lugh, beloved of the sun, could not be harmed by any dark creature or spell. And if Finn did indeed enjoy his favor…He would go to Lugh of the Long Hand and confirm what Daireann said. And if it were true, he would search all of Eire, search until the world’s end, to find his daughter.
“Daireann said Finn would refuse any woman of the Sidhe,” Oran said. “But I do not believe it. How could he refuse Sive, after all she has suffered?”
The boy’s eyes were bright and indignant, his fears forgotten. Derg felt suddenly sure this was no ruse, but a genuine act of courage. He thanked Oran warmly and then said, “Is there any reward I can give you that your master will not discover?”
Oran shook his head doubtfully.
“What if we walk over to the kitchens, and at least get you something to eat on your way back to your room?”
The slightest hesitation, and then a very firm headshake. “I’ve taken too much time already. He is not a deep sleeper.”
Sive Remembers
My father searched for me all winter, flying through every province of Eire, visiting the houses of kings and laborers, seeking word of a strangely spotted doe. And when at last he found me, in one of the lonely hidden valleys of the Mourne Mountains in the north, he was so relieved and so eager to tell me his news that he changed straightway.
And I ran from him. I did not know my own father. I saw only the two legs of a hunter, and bolted.
He had to hop and flutter before my nose, flying onto my back and annoying me in every possible way, before the memory of the magpie who had guarded my path as a child, and with it the memory of the man himself, awakened. It was long then since I had walked on two legs. It was as though my will and mind had frozen with the winter, and I had sunk into my animal skin and let it close over my head. If he had not found me, I might have remained submerged forever.
Once my mind woke up, I managed the change well enough. But time fleeted from us like the most timid deer, and we did not dare talk long. I could tell he worried that I would forget again, that the deer would take me before I could reach Finn’s dun. But I would not forget. I had hope, and a plan, and the raking pain of denying my heart and leaving him. These were my reminders that I was a person, not a beast of the wilds, and I clung to them as I made my way down the coast until I found the river that would lead me to a string of three hills. One, back home, was my own hill of Sidhe Ochta Cleitigh. The middle one was just a hill. And the third was the Hill of Almhuin, winter headquarters of Finn mac Cumhail, head of the mighty Fianna.