Daughter of the forest

Praise for Daughter of the Forest “A world rich with magic and legend, full of heroic—and a few decidedly nasty characters Lush, poetic, and surprisingly romantic.” —Romantic Times “Ms Marillier’s ability to use such a well known legend and make it both logical and exciting is an outstanding gift I am now, of course, eager to see ‘what happens next’ and that interest is what every writer hopes to arouse in the reader of a trilogy.” —Andre Norton “What sets Marillier’s work apart is how she wraps this traditional plot with deeply individualized characters and a beautifully realized background of Ireland in the Dark Ages…Marillier is a new writer to watch.” —VOYA “The story line is fast-paced, filled with action, and loaded with romance yet brimming with magical elements that seem real The lead characters are warm, compassionate, and share a sense of family loyalty that adds to the adventure.” —Midwest Book Review “The author’s keen understanding of Celtic paganism and early Irish Christianity adds texture to a rich and vibrant novel.” —Library Journal “A nicely wrought and well-detailed historical fantasy, and an excellent first novel.” —Locus “Marillier’s powerful writing and attention to detail bring even the minor characters of this novel alive…a must-read for anyone who enjoys the power of myth.” —Charleston SC Post & Courier “Juliet Marillier is a writer of exceptional talent [and] Sorcha is probably one of the best handled heroines of fantasy fiction.” —Shelf Life The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices This e-book is for your personal use only You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way You may not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices Copyright infringement is against the law If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy To the strong women of my family Dorothy, Jennifer, Elly, and Bronya Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Preview Chapter One Three children lay on the rocks at the water’s edge A dark-haired little girl Two boys, slightly older This image is caught forever in my memory, like some fragile creature preserved in amber Myself, my brothers I remember the way the water rippled as I trailed my fingers across the shining surface “Don’t lean over so far, Sorcha,” said Padriac “You might fall in.” He was a year older than me and made the most of what little authority that gave him You could understand it, I suppose After all, there were six brothers altogether, and five of them were older than he was I ignored him, reaching down into the mysterious depths “She might fall in, mightn’t she, Finbar?” A long silence As it stretched out, we both looked at Finbar, who lay on his back, full length on the warm rock Not sleeping; his eyes reflected the open gray of the autumnal sky His hair spread out on the rock in a wild black tangle There was a hole in the sleeve of his jacket “The swans are coming,” said Finbar at last He sat up slowly to rest his chin on raised knees “They’re coming tonight.” Behind him, a breeze stirred the branches of oak and elm, ash and elder, and scattered a drift of leaves, gold and bronze and brown The lake lay in a circle of tree-clothed hills, sheltered as if in a great chalice “How can you know that?” queried Padriac “How can you be so sure? It could be tomorrow, or the day after Or they could go to some other place You’re always so sure.” I don’t remember Finbar answering, but later that day, as dusk was falling, he took me back to the lakeshore In the half light over the water, we saw the swans come home The last low traces of sun caught a white movement in the darkening sky Then they were near enough for us to see the pattern of their flight, the orderly formation descending through the cool air as the light faded The rush of wings, the vibration of the air The final glide to the water, the silvery flashing as it parted to receive them As they landed, the sound was like my name, over and over: Sorcha, Sorcha My hand crept into Finbar’s; we stood immobile until it was dark, and then my brother took me home If you are lucky enough to grow up the way I did, you have plenty of good things to remember And some that are not so good One spring, looking for the tiny green frogs that appeared as soon as the first warmth was in the air, my brothers and I splashed knee deep in the stream, making enough noise between us to frighten any creature away Three of my six brothers were there, Conor whistling some old tune; Cormack, who was his twin, creeping up behind to slip a handful of bog weed down his neck The two of them rolling on the bank, wrestling and laughing And Finbar Finbar was further up the stream, quiet by a rock pool He would not turn stones to seek frogs; waiting, he would charm them out by his silence I had a fistful of wildflowers, violets, meadowsweet, and the little pink ones we called cuckoo flowers Down near the water’s edge was a new one with pretty star-shaped blooms of a delicate pale green, and leaves like gray feathers I clambered nearer and reached out to pick one “Sorcha! Don’t touch that!” Finbar snapped Startled, I looked up Finbar never gave me orders If it had been Liam, now, who was the eldest, or Diarmid, who was the next one, I might have expected it Finbar was hurrying back toward me, frogs abandoned But why should I take notice of him? He wasn’t so very much older, and it was only a flower I heard him saying, “Sorcha, don’t—” as my small fingers plucked one of the soft-looking stems The pain in my hand was like fire—a white-hot agony that made me screw up my face and howl as I blundered along the path, my flowers dropped heedless underfoot Finbar stopped me none too gently, his hands on my shoulders arresting my wild progress “Starwort,” he said, taking a good look at my hand, which was swelling and turning an alarming shade of red By this time my shrieks had brought the twins running Cormack held onto me, since he was strong, and I was bawling and thrashing about with the pain Conor tore off a strip from his grubby shirt Finbar had found a pair of pointed twigs, and he began to pull out, delicately, one by one, the tiny needlelike spines the starwort plant had embedded in my soft flesh I remember the pressure of Cormack’s hands on my arms as I gulped for air between sobs, and I can still hear Conor talking, talking in a quiet voice as Finbar’s long deft fingers went steadily about their task “…and her name was Deirdre, Lady of the Forest, but nobody ever saw her, save late at night, if you went out along the paths under the birch trees, you might catch a glimpse of her tall figure in a cloak of midnight blue, and her long hair, wild and dark, floating out behind her, and her little crown of stars…” When it was done, they bound up my hand with Conor’s makeshift bandage and some crushed marigold petals, and by morning it was better And never a word they said to my oldest brothers, when they came home, about what a foolish girl I’d been From then on I knew what starwort was, and I began to teach myself about other plants that could hurt or heal A child that grows up half-wild in the forest learns the secrets that grow there simply through common sense Mushroom and toadstool Lichen, moss, and creeper Leaf, flower, root, and bark Throughout the endless reaches of the forest, great oak, strong ash, and gentle birch sheltered a myriad of growing things I learned where to find them, when to cut them, how to use them in salve, ointment, or infusion But I was not content with that I spoke with the old women of the cottages till they tired of me, and I studied what manuscripts I could find, and tried things out for myself There was always more to learn; and there was no shortage of work to be done When was the beginning? When my father met my mother, and lost his heart, and chose to wed for love? Or was it when I was born? I should have been the seventh son of a seventh son, but the goddess was playing tricks, and I was a girl And after she gave birth to me, my mother died It could not be said that my father gave way to his grief He was too strong for that, but when he lost her, some light in him went out It was all councils and power games, and dealing behind closed doors That was all he saw, and all he cared about So my brothers grew up running wild in the forest around the keep of Sevenwaters Maybe I wasn’t the seventh son of the old tales, the one who’d have magical powers and the luck of the Fair Folk, but I tagged along with the boys anyway, and they loved me and raised me as well as a bunch of boys could Our home was named for the seven streams that flowed down the hillsides into the great, tree-circled lake It was a remote, quiet, strange place, well guarded by silent men who slipped through the woodlands clothed in gray, and who kept their weapons sharp My father took no chances My father was Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, and his tuath was the most secure, and the most secret, this side of Tara All respected him Many feared him Outside the forest, nowhere was really safe Chieftain warred against chieftain, king against king And there were the raiders from across the water Christian houses of scholarship and contemplation were ransacked, their peaceful dwellers killed or put to flight Sometimes, in desperation, the holy brothers took up arms themselves The old faith went underground The Norsemen made their claim on our shores, and at Dublin they set up a ship camp and began to winter over, so that no time of year was safe Even I had seen their work, for there was a ruin at Killevy, where raiders had killed the holy women and destroyed their sanctuary I only went there once There was a shadow over that place Walking among the tumbled stones, you could still hear the echo of their screaming But my father was different Lord Colum’s authority was absolute Within the ring of hills, blanketed by ancient forest, his borders were as close to secure as any man’s might be in these troubled times To those who did not respect it, who did not understand it, the forest was impenetrable A man, or a troop of men, who did not know the way would become hopelessly lost there, prey to the sudden mists, the branching, deceptive paths, and to other, older things, things a Viking or a Briton could not hope to understand The forest protected us Our lands were safe from marauders, whether it be raiders from across the sea or neighbors intent on adding a few acres of grazing land or some fine cattle to their holdings They held Sevenwaters in fear, and gave us a wide berth But Father had little time for talk of the Norsemen or the Picts, for we had our own war Our war was with the Britons In particular it was with one family of Britons, known as Northwoods This feud went back a long way I did not concern myself with it greatly I was a girl, after all, and anyway I had better things to with my time Besides, I had never seen a Briton, or a Norseman, or a Pict They were less real to me than creatures from an old tale, dragons or giants Father was away for much of the time, building alliances with neighbors, checking his outposts and guard towers, recruiting men I preferred those times, when we could spend our days as we wished, exploring the forest, climbing the tall oaks, conducting expeditions over the lake, staying out all night if we wanted to I learned where to find blackberries and hazelnuts and crab apples I learned how to start a fire even if the wood was damp, and bake squash or onions in the coals I could make a shelter out of bracken, and steer a raft in a straight course perhaps, but not too late to begin his years of discipline He would become strong; one of the strongest of his kind I honored him for it, but that did not lessen the pain of losing him He said his goodbyes in the hall, embracing first Father, then Liam, clapping Donal on the back, ruffling Padriac’s hair Red he clasped by the shoulder “Watch over my sister,” he said “Keep her safe.” But Finbar and I walked with him to the edge of the forest, and stood there to watch him go The two old men waited quietiy Conor did not touch Finbar, but he spoke to him and I heard his words Be strong, brother You too have scarcely begun your journey Finbar looked him straight in the eye Sometimes the way is dark There is a light within Conor put out a hand and touched his brother on the brow, very lightly Then he turned and put his arms around me, hugging me so tight I could hardly breathe Farewell, little owl I fought back tears, for I knew this was his path and he must follow it He puded the hood over his head, and took up his staff of birch wood, and the three of them went down the path into the forest, and in the space of time it took for a tiny cloud to blow across the sun, they were gone The men were deep in discussion one evening after supper Liam had just returned from a visit to Seamus Redbeard He had brought back a pair of wolfhound pups, and news Now they were planning some sort of expedition, which they did not bother explaining to me Even Red had been drawn in, and I halfheard their words as I sat by the fire, yawning over my mead “Seamus is no longer young,” Donal said bluntly “Has he the will for this, and can he hold on long enough?” “He won’t be without help.” Liam’s tone was weighty “We’ll make sure of that I will not see Eilis’s son raised in a household at enmity with mine.” “These territories are spread very wide,” Red commented, studying the map unrolled on the table before them “Don’t you fear that Seamus, given control of the other holding as well as his own, may turn against you in an attempt to claim all for himself?” “Seamus has always been loyal, and he knows our strength,” Liam replied “It is in his best interests to oversee Eamonn’s estates until the boy reaches manhood, and to retain Sevenwaters as his ally He is the child’s grandfather; his claim will be hard for others to challenge.” I was not sure I wanted to hear anymore In particular, I knew I did not want to hear exactly what was planned for Eamonn himself, for there seemed to be no place for him in the picture they painted So I got up and went to light a candle, thinking to retire to bed, and as I looked over toward the main doorway I caught Finbar’s eye just before he slipped away outside It was very late, and he had no outdoor cloak And there was that odd, wild look in his eyes But perhaps he only wanted to be alone, as we all from time to time Maybe he would be back soon I waited, watching the door Time passed, and the men talked on, and Finbar did not return At last I could wait no longer I spoke to Red quietly, not wishing to alarm my father for nothing The two of us took our cloaks and boots and a lantern, and we set out to follow Finbar’s path It had been raining but now the air was clear and damp His footprints were easy to track on the soft soil, all the way to the secret cove on whose upper bank the small birch tree grew But my brother was nowhere to be found We moved up and down the shore for a while, searching by lantern light until the moon emerged from her veil of cloud and cast a cool glow over the forest On the very edge of the lake, where the last footprint marked the margin of white sand and clear water, something caught my eye Red held the lantern and we tent to look more closely There was my mother’s amulet, with the cord stid intact; and a few shreds of woven fiber, that might have been starwort; and a single white feather But of Finbar we saw not a trace, not that night, nor the next night, nor from Imbolc to Lugnasad He had vanished as truly as if he had indeed changed again But you could not go back I knew that I did not believe, as many did, that he had simply walked into the lake and frowned His tale, I sensed, would be the strangest of all I only hoped that, one day, I would be shown the truth of it They were all leaving It was ad changing There was still no word from Diarmid and Cormack, no news of their quest nor of the lady Oonagh or her child, though I knew Liam had sent messengers and made enquiries from Tara to Tirconnell In my heart I feared for them, and I thought I saw the same fear reflected on my father’s face And now Padriac was building a boat, down by the lake We didn’t see much of him, or the lads that were helping him It was a pity, he said, not to be able to fly, not that he really remembered it, not properly, but he now knew there were wider lands, and farther seas to explore, and that was what he would do, when his craft was ready He looked at maps, and made charts, and studied old books I remembered what Finbar had said once about this youngest brother He will go far Farther than any of us I had not thought this was what he meant And he was so young; too young, I told him, to think of sailing away and leaving us “I’m older than you,” Padriac pointed out “And you’re having a baby That makes me an uncle I must be old enough.” For I was, indeed, with child She would be born near the festival of Mến Fómhair, the autumn equinox; and I knew she would have hair the bright copper of the beech leaves Red was anxious, with a tendency to fuss over me as if I were some delicate plant to be sheltered from all harm I laughed at him, but I did as he asked Spring came and the weather grew balmy, and still there was no news Then one day my father set out on a journey of his own “My boys have not returned,” he said “It is for me, now, to seek them and to return them safe here, all three This is my quest,” he added as first one and then another offered to go with him “In bringing them home I may undo some of the wrongs I have laid on my family I leave you in good hands, my daughter,” he said, kissing me on the cheek and clasping Red by the arm in a brief, strong grip “My household is well governed, and my people protected It is time for me to say my farewells.” He touched his cheek to Liam’s and grasped his hand, and he embraced Padriac, and then he was gone, vanishing down the track in the plain workman’s clothes he had chosen, and I hoped he would not find the trail too cold, where his little son had been taken So, one by one, my brothers went away from Sevenwaters We had always said we would be there one for another, as long as we lived We had always said that, like the seven streams from which our home took its name, we were all parts of the same whole, and our lives would be interlinked That nothing would drive us apart, though the greatest distance might separate us And yet, soon there would be only Liam and me left here Intense, driven, Liam channeled his energies fiercely into restoring what our father had almost let slip through his fingers Unsmiling, tireless Liam, working as if possessed, demanded and received an unswerving loyalty from all his people He had cause to be grateful, grudgingly, for the presence of Lord Hugh in his household now For it was Red who sorted out the disputes between one settlement and another, while Liam was closeted with Seamus Redbeard discussing the finer points of their strategy It was Red who saw to the revegetation of the land the lady Oonagh had devastated, explaining to the folk how you must plant before you harvested, and what trees would grow most quickly, to ensure a good supply of usable timber in years to come It was Red who saw to the cottagers, and brought in new stock, and taught the people how best to mend stone walls and repair thatched roofs By spring, Liam admitted reluctantly that he didn’t know how we’d managed without him At Meán Earraigh, when night equals day and the earth comes forth in her spring raiment after the long chill of winter, I took Red out by the lake and up through the woods to a place long unvisited Here Father Brien the hermit had lived his solitary, ordered life Here the children of Sevenwaters had learned strange tongues and secret symbols Here I had first tended to Simon, and the seeds of one part of my story had been sown I had explained to Red that this was a place I must go before I could be at ease A place where an old friend had lived, once Red frowned on the idea of my riding forth, fearing harm to me or my unborn child, and agreed to go only if he might carry me before him on his own horse, where, he said, he could keep an eye on me So we rode leisurely up between the great oaks, and he fell silent at their towering strength, and the sheets of gold that from their upper branches, where the sacred herb found its home in their shelter The day was fair and warm, with a fresh breeze that tossed little clouds about the sky The cave was empty, its shelves bare, and the tiny cottage deserted If there had once been a scent of illness and fear over this small home, it was gone, and the slanting sunlight invested cave and cell with a warm stillness that suggested both were waiting, only waiting for another to come and take up tranquil, silent residence We sat on the rocks under the rowan bushes, and shared the water and bread and dried fruits we had carried with us The horse grazed contentedly on verdant spring grass There was no need for words between us When we had finished eating, Red came and sat behind me, wrapping his legs around mine, and his arms around my waist, so that I could lean back on him, and he laid his large hands very gently on my stomach, where the swelling made by the growing child was still barely discernible “This place holds memories for you,” he said at length “What happened here touched you deeply.” I nodded We had never spoken of Simon, not since I myself had left Harrowfield But I thought of him often There was a terrible irony in his story, for I feared the brother who had always wanted the land and the authority for himself, who had always hated being second best, had found, once he was given the unexpected, the wonderful gift of Harrowfield for his own, that what he really wanted was something else entirely For it was his fate always to desire that which he could not have But Elaine had seemed a wise, strong girl, and she loved him Maybe that would be enough “Do you want to talk about it?” asked Red “Not really,” I said Some things are best left unspoken, even to those one loves best We were silent a little longer, hearing the calling of a lark, high overhead “Don’t you regret giving it all up?” I asked “Don’t you long to go back, sometimes?” His hands moved softly against my belly I thought, this child will be so loved, surely her path through life must be charmed, wide and straight, and full of light “How could I not be content with what I have?” said Red softly “For I have so much.” And later, we returned slowly home under the great arching branches of the forest, and beside the ruffled waters of the lake, and up between the hawthorn hedges The horse walked carefully, as if aware how precious a load it carried; and my husband’s arms were strong and gentle, around me and his child And if the Fair Folk watched us, planning the next chapter in their long tale, we heard from them not a whisper, as we rode home to Sevenwaters Look for Son of the Shadows by Juliet Marillier Now available in hardcover from Tor Books Chapter One My mother knew every tale that was ever told by the firesides of Erin, and more besides Folks stood hushed around the hearth to hear her tell them after a long day’s work, and marveled at the bright tapestries she wove with her words She related the many adventures of Cú Chulainn the hero, and she told of Fionn mac Cumhaill, who was a great warrior and cunning with it In some households, such tales were reserved for men alone But not in ours, for my mother made a magic with her words that drew all under its spell She told tales that had the household in stitches with laughter, and tales that made strong men grow quiet But there was one tale she would never tell, and that was her own My mother was the girl who had saved her brothers from a sorceress’s curse, and nearly lost her own life doing it She was the girl whose six brothers had spent three long years as creatures of the wild, and had been brought back only by her own silence and suffering There was no need for telling and retelling of this story, for it had found a place in folks’ minds Besides, in every village there would be one or two who had seen the brother who returned, briefly, with the shining wing of a swan in place of his left arm Even without this evidence, all knew the tale for truth; and they watched my mother pass, a slight figure with her basket of salves and potions, and nodded with deep respect in their eyes If I asked my father to tell a tale, he would laugh and shrug and say he had no skill with words, and besides he knew but one tale, or maybe two, and he had told them both already Then he would glance at my mother, and she at him, in that way they had that was like talking without words, and then my father would distract me with something else He taught me to carve with a little knife, and he taught me how to plant trees, and he taught me to fight My uncle thought that more than a little odd All right for my brother, Sean, but when would Niamh and I need skills with our fists and our feet, with a staff or a small dagger? Why waste time on this when there were so many other things for us to learn? “No daughter of mine will go beyond these woods unprotected,” my father had said to my Uncle Liam “Men cannot be trusted I would not make warriors of my girls, but I will at least give them the means to defend themselves I am surprised that you need ask why Is your memory so short?” I did not ask him what he meant We had all discovered, early on, that it was unwise to get between him and Liam at such times I learned fast I followed my mother around the villages, and was taught how to stitch a wound and fashion a splint and doctor the croup or nettle rash I watched my father, and discovered how to make an owl and a deer and a hedgehog out of a piece of fine oak I practiced the arts of combat with Sean, when he could be cajoled into it, and perfected a variety of tricks that worked even when your opponent was bigger and stronger It often seemed as if everyone at Sevenwaters was bigger than me My father made me a staff that was just the right size, and he gave me his little dagger for my own Sean was quite put out for a day or so But he never harbored grudges Besides, he was a boy, and had his own weapons As for my sister, Niamh, you never could tell what she was thinking “Remember, little one,” my father told me gravely, “this dagger can kill I hope you need never employ it for such a purpose; but if you must, use it cleanly and boldly Here at Sevenwaters you have seen little of evil, and I hope you will never have to strike a man in your own defense But one day you may have need of this, and you must keep it sharp and bright, and practice your skills against such a day.” It seemed to me a shadow came over his face, and his eyes went distant as they did sometimes I nodded silently and slipped the small, deadly weapon away in its sheath These things I learned from my father, whom folk called Iubdan, though his real name was different If you knew the old tales, you recognized this name as a joke, which he accepted with good humor For the Iubdan of the tales was a tiny wee man, who got into strife when he fell into a bowl of porridge, though he got his own back later My father was very tall and strongly built, and had hair the color of autumn leaves in afternoon sun He was a Briton, but people forgot that When he got his new name he became part of Sevenwaters, and those who 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 redgold strands unraveled 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 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 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 center 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 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 who 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 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 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 time when you are only sixteen When at last he came back to the shape of a man, his sweetheart was married and already the mother of a son She had obeyed her father’s wishes, believing Liam dead So he would not take a wife And he needed no son of his own, for he loved his nephew as fiercely as any father could and brought him up, without knowing it, in his own image Sean and I were the children of a single birth, he just slightly my elder But at sixteen he was more than a head taller, close to being a man, strong of shoulder, his body lean and hard Liam had ensured he was expert in the arts of war As well, Sean learned how to plan a campaign, how to deliver a fair judgment, how to understand the thinking of ally and enemy alike Liam commented sometimes on his nephew’s youthful impatience But Sean was a leader in the making; nobody doubted that As for our father, he smiled and let them get on with it He recognized the weight of the inheritance Sean must one day carry But he had not relinquished his son There was time, as well, for the two of them to walk or ride around the fields and byres and barns of the home farms, for Iubdan to teach his son to care for his people and his land as well as to protect them They spoke long and often, and held each other’s respect Only I would catch Mother sometimes, looking at Niamh and looking at Sean and looking at me, and I knew what was troubling her Sooner or later, the Fair Folk would decide it was time: time to meddle in our lives again, time to pick up the halffinished tapestry and weave a few more twisted patterns into it Which would they choose? Was one of us the child of the prophecy, who would at last make peace between our people and the Britons of Northwoods and win back the islands of mystic caves and sacred trees? Myself, I rather thought not If you knew the Fair Folk at all, you knew they were devious and subtle Their games were complex; their choices never obvious Besides, what about the other part of the prophecy, which people seemed to have conveniently overlooked? Didn’t it say something about bearing the mark of the raven? Nobody knew quite what that meant, but it didn’t seem to fit any of us Besides, there must have been more than a few misalliances between wandering Britons and Irish women We could hardly be the only children who bore the blood of both races This I told myself; and then I would see my mother’s eyes on us, green, fey, watchful, and a shiver of foreboding would run through me I sensed it was time, time for things to change again Tor Books by Juliet Marillier Daughter of the Forest Son of the Shadows Child of the Prophecy Wolfskin This is a work of fiction All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously DAUGHTER OF THE FOREST Copyright © 2000 by Juliet Marillier All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form A Tor Book Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC 175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010 www.tor-forge.com Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC ISBN: 978-1-4299-1346-1 ... see the pattern of their flight, the orderly formation descending through the cool air as the light faded The rush of wings, the vibration of the air The final glide to the water, the silvery flashing... about So my brothers grew up running wild in the forest around the keep of Sevenwaters Maybe I wasn’t the seventh son of the old tales, the one who’d have magical powers and the luck of the Fair Folk,... one side of the household; the other, the more domestic, was secondary What servants we had went about their tasks efficiently enough, and the folk of the settlement did their share, for there were