Son of the Shadows. Juliet Marillier
those that didn’t use his name called him the Big Man.
I’d have liked a bit more height myself, but I was little, skinny, dark haired, the sort of girl a man wouldn’t look twice at. Not that I cared. I had plenty to occupy me, without thinking that far ahead. It was Niamh they followed with their eyes, for she was tall and broad shouldered, made in our father’s image, and she had a long fall of bright hair and a body that curved generously in all the right places. Without even knowing it, she walked in a way that drew men’s eyes.
‘That one’s trouble,’ our kitchen woman Janis would mutter over her pots and pans. As for Niamh herself, she was ever critical.
‘Isn’t it bad enough being half Briton,’ she said crossly, ‘without having to look the part as well? See this?’ She tugged at her thick plait, and the red-gold strands unravelled in a shining curtain. ‘Who would take me for a daughter of Sevenwaters? I could be a Saxon, with this head of hair! Why couldn’t I be tiny and graceful like Mother?’
I studied her for a moment or two, as she began to wield the hairbrush with fierce strokes. For one so displeased with her appearance, she did spend rather a lot of time trying out new hairstyles and changing her gown and ribbons.
‘Are you ashamed to be the daughter of a Briton?’ I asked her.
She glared at me. ‘That’s so like you, Liadan. Always come straight out with it, don’t you? It’s all very well for you, you’re a small copy of Mother yourself, her little right hand. No wonder Father adores you. For you it’s simple.’
I let her words wash over me. She could be like this at times, as if there were too many feelings inside her and they had to burst out somewhere. The words themselves meant nothing. I waited.
Niamh used her hairbrush like an instrument of punishment. ‘Sean, too,’ she said, glaring at herself in the mirror of polished bronze. ‘Did you hear what Father called him? He said, he’s the son Liam never had. What do you think of that? Sean fits in, he knows exactly where he’s going. Heir to Sevenwaters, beloved son with not one but two fathers – he even looks the part. He’ll do all the right things – wed Aisling, which will make everyone happy, be a leader of men, maybe even the one who wins the Islands back for us. His children will follow in his footsteps, and so on, and so on. Brighid save me, it’s so tedious! It’s so predictable.’
‘You can’t have it both ways,’ I said. ‘Either you want to fit in, or you don’t. Besides, we are the daughters of Sevenwaters, like it or not. I’m sure Eamonn will wed you gladly, when it’s time, golden hair or no. I’ve heard no objections from him.’
‘Eamonn? Huh!’ She moved to the centre of the room, where a shaft of light struck gold against the oak boards of the floor, and in this spot she began slowly to turn, so that her white gown and her brilliant shining hair moved around her like a cloud. ‘Don’t you long for something different to happen, something so exciting and new it carries you along with it like a great tide, something that lets your life blaze and burn so the whole world can see it? Something that touches you with joy or with terror, that lifts you out of your safe little path and onto a great wild road whose ending nobody knows? Don’t you ever long for that, Liadan?’ She turned and turned, and she had wrapped her arms around herself as if this were the only way she could contain what she felt.
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her quietly. After a while I said, ‘You should take care. Such words might tempt the Fair Folk to take a hand in your life. It happens. You know Mother’s story. She was given such a chance, and she took it; and it was only through her courage, and Father’s, that she did not die. To survive their games you must be very strong. For her and for Father the ending was good. But that tale had losers as well. What about her six brothers? Of them, but two remain, or maybe three. What happened damaged them all. And there were others that perished. You would be better to take your life one day at a time. For me, there is enough excitement in helping to deliver a new lamb, or seeing small oaks grow strong in spring rains. In shooting an arrow straight to the mark, or curing a child of the croup. Why ask for more, when what we have is so good?’
Niamh unwrapped her arms and ran a hand through her hair, undoing the work of the brush in an instant. She sighed. ‘You sound so like Father you make me sick sometimes,’ she said, but the tone was affectionate enough. I knew my sister well. I did not let her upset me often.
‘I’ve never understood how he could do it,’ she went on. ‘Give up everything, just like that. His lands, his power, his position, his family. Just give it away. He’ll never be master of Sevenwaters, that’s Liam’s place. His son will inherit, no doubt; but Iubdan, all he’ll be is the Big Man, quietly growing his trees and tending his flocks, and letting the world pass him by. How could a real man choose to let life go like that? He never even went back to Harrowfield.’
I smiled to myself. Was she blind, that she did not see the way it was between them, Sorcha and Iubdan? How could she live here day by day, and see them look at one another, and not understand why he had done what he had done? Besides, without his good husbandry, Sevenwaters would be nothing more than a well-guarded fortress. Under his guidance our lands had prospered. Everyone knew we bred the best cattle and grew the finest barley in all of Ulster. It was my father’s work that enabled my uncle Liam to build his alliances and conduct his campaigns. I didn’t think there was much point explaining this to my sister. If she didn’t know it by now, she never would.
‘He loves her,’ I said. ‘It’s as simple as that. And yet, it’s more. She doesn’t talk about it, but the Fair Folk had a hand in it, all along. And they will again.’
Finally Niamh was paying attention to me. Her beautiful blue eyes narrowed as she faced me. ‘Now you sound like her,’ she said accusingly. ‘About to tell me a story. A learning tale.’
‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘You aren’t in the mood for it. I was just going to say, we are different, you and me and Sean. Because of what the Fair Folk did, our parents met and wed. Because of what happened, the three of us came into being. Perhaps the next part of the tale is ours.’
Niamh shivered as she sat down beside me, smoothing her skirts over her knees.
‘Because we are neither of Britain nor of Erin, but at the same time both,’ she said slowly. ‘You think one of us is the child of the prophecy? The one who will restore the Islands to our people?’
‘I’ve heard it said.’ It was said a lot, in fact, now that Sean was almost a man, and shaping into as good a fighter, and a leader, as his uncle Liam. Besides, the people were ready for some action. The feud over the Islands had simmered since well before my mother’s day, for it was long years since the Britons had seized this most secret of places from our people. Folk’s bitterness was all the more intense now, since we had come so close to regaining what was rightfully ours. For when Sean and I were children, not six years old, our uncle Liam and two of his brothers, aided by Seamus Redbeard, had thrown their forces into a bold campaign that went right to the heart of the disputed territory. They had come close, achingly close. They had touched the soil of Little Island, and made their secret camp there. They had watched the great birds soar and wheel above the Needle, that stark pinnacle lashed by icy winds and ocean spray. They had launched one fierce sea attack on the British encampment on Greater Island, and at the last they had been driven back. In this battle perished two of my mother’s brothers. Cormack was felled by a sword stroke clean to the heart, and died in Liam’s arms. And Diarmid, seeking to avenge his brother’s loss, fought as if possessed and at length was captured by the Britons. Liam’s men found his body, later, floating in the shallows as they launched their small craft and fled, outnumbered, exhausted and heartsick. He had died from drowning, but only after the enemy had had their sport with him. They would not let my mother see his body when they brought him home.
These Britons were my father’s people. But Iubdan had no part in this war. He had sworn, once, that he would not take arms against his own kind, and he was a man of his word. With Sean it was different. My uncle Liam had never married, and my mother said he never would. There had been a girl, once, that he had loved. But the enchantment fell on him and his brothers. Three years is a long