Seer of Sevenwaters by Juliet Marillier

  A silence followed Kalev’s translation to Knut, and then came Cathal’s voice. “Have I permission to ask a question, Johnny?”

  “Very well.”

  “How many people were aboard the ship when she left Ulfricsfjord?”

  Felix sighed. “Forty oarsmen, Knut among them. Five other crew. Eight passengers.”

  “And how many were on the ship when she sank off the coast here?”

  “Cathal—” I protested, but it seemed Felix was prepared to face this dark truth.

  “When we approached this isle, seventeen were left. The last seventeen.” After a moment he added, “Eighteen, with the woman.”

  Cathal regarded him levelly. “Only seventeen, for a ship of that size,” he said. “No wonder your hands bore blisters.”

  Knut stirred as Kalev murmured a translation, but he did not speak.

  “There were catastrophic losses, then,” Cathal said, “even before you reached here. If you’re telling the truth, why didn’t Knut—”

  “Cathal,” said Johnny. “Let him tell it in his own time.”

  “You left from Ulfricsfjord,” I said quietly. “You must have traveled some distance by land to reach the ship.”

  “We rode for some days, yes. Muredach had procured passage for our party of eight. A Norse vessel; there were men among the crew who intended to stay in the Orcades. I understood the plan was to pick up crewmen on the islands for the return voyage.”

  “You said forty oarsmen, five other crew and eight passengers—those passengers were your own party, I assume, from Muredach’s court.”

  “That is correct, Sibeal. The councillor, Matha, who was to discuss certain sensitive matters with the Jarl; my brother and I; and five other men, all Irish.”

  “We know that Svala and the child were traveling with Knut,” I said. “Didn’t some of the other crewmen who were planning to settle in the Orcades have wives and children with them?” Knut had told Johnny this was so. The numbers did not add up.

  Felix glanced at Knut. “When we sailed from Ulfricsfjord, there were no women on Freyja, and no children,” he said. “Coming back, there was only the one woman. I cannot tell you how she came to be on board. He says she is his wife. I do not think that can be true.”

  Johnny held up a hand, signaling for Felix to wait until Kalev had completed the translation before he went on. Hearing it, Knut gave a derisive laugh.

  “This is complete nonsense, a fabrication!” he exclaimed. “I told you this man is full of wild stories. He is jealous, like many others. What man would not wish for such a fine woman to warm his bed at night? No doubt the rest of his tale is equally foolish. There were wives on board, four or five of them. They traveled in the hold, with the cargo. All perished in the sinking of Freyja.” After a moment, he added, “He makes a mockery of my loss.”

  As Kalev finished translating this, Felix got up abruptly, swaying on his feet. “How dare you lie about this?” he demanded, then gulped in a rasping breath. He was strung so tight I could feel the vibrations of his anger. I thought he might hurl himself across the chamber at Knut and perform his own act of violence. “With so many dead, with so many lost, after what we did, how can you have room in your mind for anything but the need to go back, to save those we abandoned, to make good what little part of this we can—”

  “Steady, son,” murmured Gull, putting his hand on Felix’s arm.

  I summoned a tone I had heard Ciarán use on certain occasions with argumentative novices. “Sit down, Felix,” I said. “Breathe slowly, as if you were preparing for a divination. It’s time for this story to come out. Tell it calmly, as a druid might.”

  Felix drew a deep, shuddering breath and subsided onto the bench beside Gull. The chamber became utterly silent. “We set off for the Orcades,” he said. “We were following an established trade path, or so Paul told me—he knew more about such things than I. The plan was to skirt the coast of Erin, then thread a way between Dalriada and the isles before heading northeast. Freyja went by sail when the winds allowed. The oarsmen did the work at other times. At night we trailed a sea anchor. Each man prayed to his own god, that between dusk and dawn we would not drift too far from our true course. From the seasoned seafarer to the boy on his first adventure, each feared to wake and find himself in unknown waters. It is a potent terror to turn and turn again and see measureless ocean on every side, and not a sign of land.

  “The oarsmen slept at their benches; there was nowhere else. We passengers sheltered in the hold, out of the crew’s way. Most of us were sick. Matha, the king’s councillor, was worst affected. The endless rocking motion of the ship, the confinement below made his belly churn. He could not keep anything down but sips of water. When the ship was under sail we were allowed on deck, but Matha could not go up.

  “On the second night, what we had most feared came to pass. In the darkness we were seized by contrary currents and borne far west of our intended path, west and then north into seas uncharted. We woke to driving wind, to waves tall as mountains, on which Freyja was tossed about like a child’s toy. There would be no going by sail—the sail would be torn to shreds as soon as it was raised. There would be no going by oars, for the strongest crew of rowers could not hold firm against such seas. We clung to whatever we could find—benches, oars, ropes, each other—and prayed for a miracle.

  “The storm had come from nowhere. All that endless day, all the lonely and fearful night, and long into the next day it bore us onward. Heavy cloud blanketed the sun. What little light penetrated the thin veil revealed here two men, here three huddled close against the spray, faces like those of wan ghosts. Paul and I took turns in the hold with Matha, who could not be left on his own. I saw in my brother’s eyes a reflection of my own thought: What matters this seasickness now, when all of us teeter on the brink of death?”

  Felix had his audience spellbound. Now that he was telling the story at last, he was far calmer. I had heard a poet’s voice from him before, and it was present again in this grim telling. Even Knut seemed captive to the tale. The Norseman sat very still, eyes straight ahead, and I wondered if he was living it again.

  “The tempest snatched seven men from our crew,” Felix went on. “Six were washed overboard by a wave that came close to swamping us. One was knocked into the sea by a length of loose timber flung at random by the wind. He was the crewman most skilled with the steering oar. I wondered if we would all be picked off in the same way, leaving Freyja to sail on with a cargo of vain prayers and fearful memories.

  “But I am here, as you see, and so is Knut, and so, for a brief time, was Freyja with the sorry remnant of her crew. At some point in our breakneck voyage we spotted land: an island like a spear, a tall, narrow rock standing alone in the wild ocean. The sight of that inhospitable isle filled me with joy. Anything, anything but this wretched boat, this storm, this empty sea . . . The men were sick, frightened, exhausted. None among them had the heart to take charge. Paul did what the crew could not: he took hold of the steering oar and began to shout orders, urging the men to help save themselves. There was no time to rig the sail. But we could row.” Felix glanced at Knut. “This man, too, showed presence of mind. He kept his wits about him and helped calm the others, some of whom were near-crazed from fear. We rowed, crew and passengers alike, Paul’s voice ringing in our ears, a battle cry, a call to arms. ‘Pull! Pull!’

  “All the way to the lonely isle we fought wind and waves. We left the stricken Matha alone in the hold. Every able man rowed. We came closer, and it seemed the island was bordered on every side by high cliffs, and there was no landing place. Then Paul saw a narrow opening, a slit between looming headlands, through which a passage might perhaps be threaded. Beyond the gap I glimpsed a calm inlet, a strip of level shore.”

  Goose bumps rose all over my flesh. I had wondered if it would be the same tale. I had almost expected it. But to hear him say it, to recognize Svala’s vision in Felix’s account, was like watching the message of the runes be
come reality.

  “We pulled hard toward that crack in the rocks. Paul kept up his steady guidance, easing Freyja one way or the other, correcting the stroke, steering a hair’s breadth from the high walls of stone. We passed through, Freyja surging out into the waters of the bay as if borne on a freakish wave.

  “Safe. Safe at last. Full of joy, forgetting for the moment that we were in a wild place and far from home, I relaxed my grip on the oar. Smiles illuminated the pallid faces of the crew. ‘Pull for shore, men,’ Paul said, and I heard the same gladness in his voice.

  “And then . . . and then, oh gods . . . ” Felix put his hands up to cover his face. I held my breath. “Then it came, out of the water right by the prow, a fearsome, long-toothed head, wild eyes, a neck like an oak trunk. It towered over us, a creature of gigantic proportions, a nightmare made manifest . . . ‘Pull!’ shouted my brother. Frozen in terror, none of us could obey. Besides, the thing was blocking our path. It whipped at the water with its tail, and waves splashed across Freyja, drenching us anew. It reared up, pawing the air above us with its long limbs. Each toe was tipped with a vicious claw the length of a man’s forearm. Paul was yelling at us, bidding us summon our courage, not stand about waiting for the creature to sink the ship and us with it.

  “As we scrambled for some kind of order on the benches, the monster toyed with us, making currents with its tail that carried the ship now nearer to shore, now further away. A crewman found his bow, placed an arrow with shaking hands, drew the string tight. The missile struck the creature in the neck and hung, quivering. The monster stilled, its eyes on the marksman. It shook itself and the arrow dropped into the water. I could see no wound between the glossy green scales that formed its hide. It extended its monstrous foot toward the man who had loosed the dart, and with one long claw it spiked him through the chest. Blood spurted crimson as it tossed him up into the air like a plaything. The creature opened wide its jaws. As he fell, it caught him neatly and swallowed him.”

  “Morrigan’s britches,” muttered Gareth. He and Kalev exchanged a glance. I saw in that look the recognition of a great story, and doubt that such a wild tale could possibly be true.

  “We rowed for our lives,” Felix said. “As we passed the sea monster it opened its jaws for one ghastly moment to reveal the remnant of that last meal, a sight I would give much not to have seen. It seemed the creature had satisfied its appetite, for it let us go. But I saw the look in its evil eye. It was sizing up each of us in turn. I imagined it thinking, That man will be tonight’s supper; that one I will save for tomorrow. By the time we beached Freyja on the pebbly shore, the monster had vanished beneath the water.

  “We clambered down onto the stones, our legs shaky, our minds reeling from the shock of what had just happened. Our situation was dire. The isle was high and rocky, with not a blade of vegetation to be seen. We were far off course, beaten and exhausted, our number depleted, our stores only adequate for what was to have been a few days’ sailing to the Orcades. Even assuming we could get out of the bay without the monster’s attentions, who knew if we could find our way back to Erin, or on to our original destination? We stood there in silence, all who had survived save for Matha, who was still in the hold.

  “ ‘Water. Food. Shelter,’ Paul said, taking charge again, since it seemed nobody else was prepared to do so. ‘I’ll take a group to look for a cave or similar, somewhere beyond that creature’s reach. Felix, you’d best get back on board and tend to Matha. There’s no point bringing him ashore until we have shelter; he’ll be more comfortable where he is. The rest of you, I suggest you unload a few supplies, water and food for a day or so, your warm cloaks, blankets if we have them. Get everything up higher, out of the monster’s reach. When we’ve found shelter and fresh water we’ll carry what’s necessary there.’ Someone said, ‘Who made you the leader all of a sudden?’ and others grumbled their concerns, forgetting that they had followed him without question in the time of greatest need. ‘If you have a better plan, let’s hear it,’ Paul said, and when nothing was forthcoming, he gathered his expedition—the five men from Muredach’s court and two of the Norse crew—and headed away along the shore.

  “As I climbed back on board, thankful that the ship had been beached more or less upright, I heard Knut issuing instructions to the remaining men. He was quick to take control in Paul’s absence, though on Freyja he had been a crewman, not a leader. Five men to locate and unload the supplies. The rest divided up into groups to search the terrain close at hand and see if there was any sign of fresh water, or anything edible, shellfish, seaweed, perhaps seals that could be speared. The voices faded as they went their separate ways. I clambered down into the hold, where Matha was in a bad way. It was not just the seasickness. He had injured his leg during the storm and was in great pain. I did what I could for him as men attempted to find our food stocks in the disorder around us.

  “Time passed; the supplies were unloaded, and from the quiet outside I deduced the crew had taken everything to higher ground, as Paul had suggested. I gave Matha water; ripped up someone’s spare shirt to make a bandage for his leg; wrapped him in a blanket that was slightly less wet than the rest. I was soaked, shivering, still unable to take in fully what had happened to us. Matha’s teeth were chattering; he could not get warm. I lay down beside him, putting the blanket over the two of us and reassuring him that all would be well.”

  Felix glanced at me, and I saw in his eyes the memory of that first dusk, when I had brought him up from the cove, and the two of us had pressed close together for warmth. It seemed so long ago. Pebbles had touched three runes on the carven timber: Lagu, Eh, Nyd. The gods had told me, even then, that this would be a mystery long and painful in its revelation.

  “I must have fallen asleep,” Felix said. “If only I could have stayed awake . . . if I had been alert . . . I could have stopped them . . . ” He clutched his hands together, and in the soft lamplight his features were a mask of anguish. “How could I have slept? How could I have been so thoughtless?”

  “Felix,” I said quietly, “tell us what happened next. What woke you? Did you hear something?”

  “Footsteps on the deck above. Voices. I was half asleep, confused, my body stiff and aching. Someone dropped down into the hold, limp as if dead. A woman, her hair all gold, her body marble pale. Naked. Naked in the chill of that far-off place. I took off my cloak and flung it over her; she was not dead as I had thought, but deeply unconscious, a mark on her brow as if she had struck it hard in falling. Where had she come from? How could she be here? It was perhaps a wild dream, for she was the kind of woman who appears much in the fantasies of lonely seafarers, a creature formed in the mold of a goddess. Matha groaned. He had not seen her, but her fall had sent a bundle crashing into his injured leg, and he was in pain.

  “Then came shouting from outside. I rose to my feet, hauled myself up to look out of the hold. Knut was on the deck, yelling, beckoning, and men were running, faces chalk white, eyes big with terror, running back toward Freyja as if pursued by demons. It happened so quickly. Knut bid me get down and I obeyed, not knowing what had frightened them. No sooner was I crouched beside Matha once more, the unconscious woman lying close by, than I felt movement and heard the crunch of stones under the ship’s belly. They were launching Freyja. We were leaving the island. And my brother’s group had not returned.

  “ ‘Wait!’ I shouted. ‘In the name of the gods, wait!’ The men heaved; the ship slid down the shore and deeper into the water. ‘Heave!’ Knut’s voice came. ‘Heave, men!’ And then, from a distance, another voice shouted. ‘What are you doing? Where’s my brother?’

  “I stuck my head up again, pulled myself up to sit on the edge of the open hold, despite Knut. My brother was sprinting along the shore toward us. He was alone. Freyja rocked in the shallows. Crewmen scrambled over the sides, took up oars, looked to Knut for the command to row. ‘Paul!’ I shouted, knowing they would not listen to me, but thinking perhaps my brother could mak
e them see sense.

  “They waited for him. Waited for him to reach us, to splash through the water, to heave himself up alongside the others. ‘Why are you moving the ship?’ he demanded. ‘She’s best left here. We’ve found a cave large enough to shelter everyone, and a freshwater spring. We need the supplies brought up—’ The flow of words ceased. ‘Don’t tell me you were planning to leave without us,’ he said in a different tone.

  “ ‘No time for this,’ Knut said, and his voice told me his intention was precisely as Paul had said. ‘Pull, men!’

  “Paul tried to stop them. There was a struggle. It was so quick I could not help him, and besides, I am no fighter. At the end of it, my brother had joined us in the hold. His hands and feet were tied, and I was ordered not to touch the ropes, or he would be thrown overboard still bound. Paul was shaking with fury, his face bruised, his eyes dangerous. The crew rowed. Every moment I waited for the roar of the serpent, the screams as it snatched one man, then another, but there was nothing but Knut’s commands, the creak of the timbers, the wash of the waves. Freyja crossed the bay, edged through the narrow gap, headed for open sea.”

  Felix paused, drawing a deep breath. I felt what he must have felt then, the guilt, the horror, the powerlessness in the face of wrong.