Svala made a sound, not words, but a murmur of encouragement whose meaning I could guess. Take, share. This is for you.

"Thank you," I said, and accepted the fish. "Did you catch this yourself?" I tried to mime the meaning. There was no sign of fishing line or net, nothing at all but the barefoot woman and her pile of clean bones.

Svala murmured again; it was almost like a song, a sad one full of liquid sounds. She performed her own mime for my benefit, and proved better at it than I, for I understood straightaway. Eat. Good. As I tried to absorb the strangeness of her request-eat a gobbet of raw fish?-I saw that her fingers were greasy, and that around her full-lipped mouth was a smear of oil. Those bones were not tools of augury. They were the remains of her meal.

Strange indeed. What kind of place did this woman come from, that she ate like a wild creature? There was no choice; she had made a gesture of trust, and if I wanted her to accept my help, I could not rebuff that gesture.

"Thank you, Svala," I said. I took a deep breath and put the fish in my mouth, trying not to wince as I chewed. I hoped very much that what I was eating was freshly caught, and not something she had found washed up on the sh.o.r.e. It was slippery, stringy, a challenge to the teeth. It tasted of salt water and wildness. I swallowed it down. A pity I could not have slipped it surrept.i.tiously to Fang, who would have considered it a treat. I bowed my head courteously in an attempt to convey grat.i.tude. "You are generous to share. The last mouthful!" I indicated the bones, grateful that she had not presented me with a whole fish.

Svala nodded. Then, abruptly, her hands came out again, this time to close around my upper arms. G.o.ds, she was strong!

"You're hurting me," I said, not letting my voice rise.

In response, she turned me around so she was holding me from behind and began to walk me down toward the sea. I grappled with the possibility that she was quite mad, and that she was about to drown me. Out here, at the foot of the cliff, n.o.body would hear my screams. Fang, perhaps; but what could she do? By the time she fetched help I would be drifting out there, as limp and lifeless as those poor men we had buried. Breathe slowly, Sibeal. She shared her food with you. That was a sign of friendship.

Now we were in the shallows. Svala released her hold and came to stand beside me with one hand on my shoulder. I stood still, though the sea was washing over my shoes and drenching the hem of my gown. An exercise in trust. She stretched her free arm out toward the horizon as if trying to catch hold of something out there, something longed for, something precious. Too far. Too far to reach. The look on her face made my heart falter; the tumult of feelings that coursed through me almost stopped my breath. Loss, bereavement, fury, despair, yearning . . . I closed my eyes, near-overwhelmed. Images came then: huge seas crashing; rocks looming, their forms those of monsters crouched to spring; dark kelp swirling in a thick mat. And sounds: men shouting, and over their desperate voices the calling of something else, a deep bellow of pain that gripped at my vitals. My heart juddered in my breast. I trembled with horror.

A call from the cliff top: no eldritch thing, but the voice of a man. My eyes sprang open, and I half turned. Knut was coming down the path, striding faster than was quite safe on the steep slope. Svala did not turn, but I felt her body freeze. The animation drained from her features.

"Are you all right?" I murmured, but she made no response. As her husband strode down the sh.o.r.e toward us, we waded back to dry land.

Knut's fair skin was flushed with embarra.s.sment. Avoiding my eye, he came up to Svala, fished out a handkerchief and proceeded to wipe her mouth as if she were an infant that was still learning to feed itself. He spoke to her gently. I guessed he was telling her he'd been worried and was glad he had found her. His glance took in the pile of fish bones, his wife's wet clothing, the garments she had abandoned on the rocks, her bare feet. It was plain that he wished I had not seen this.

"Troubled you . . . regret, sorry," he said to me in stumbling Irish. "My wife . . . disturbed." His hand was firm around her arm. Svala stood quietly by him, head bowed, shoulders drooping.

"No trouble." It seemed he was mortified, ashamed of his wife. The red flush went all the way down his neck. And there, graven on a smooth stone and strung on a fraying strip of darkened hide, was something on which I could comment without any danger of making the situation still more awkward. I put my hand to my own neck and said, "I see you are wearing a rune. Eolh. Sometimes called the claw." It was a powerful symbol of protection. If I had been a crewman on a oceangoing ship, I might have chosen the same sign.

Knut's tight jaw relaxed somewhat. "Eolh," he echoed, tucking the charm back under his tunic. "Keep safe. From sea, storm."

"Knut . . . " How could I say this without offending him? "Your wife-she offered me food. She did not upset me in any way. I believe she was trying to talk to me, to tell me something."

I tried not to speak across her, even though she could not understand my words. Her husband had treated her as if she were either a child or a half-wit. She was certainly no child; and after seeing her eyes unguarded, I was beginning to wonder if we had all underestimated her ability to think for herself.

"No speak Irish good," Knut said, then spoke to Svala in Norse, pointing to the clothing she had left on the rocks. He released his hold on her, and she moved over to collect her shawl and cloak, obedient as a chastened dog. It unnerved me to watch them, for so much about this felt wrong-her silent subservience, his obvious embarra.s.sment. They were husband and wife, yet today there was nothing between them of the tender respect that I saw every day between my sisters and their husbands, or between Biddy and Gull, or indeed between my mother and father. Were Norse customs so different?

"I must go now," I muttered, waving vaguely toward the top of the path, where Fang could be seen investigating something under a stone. "I wish you well," I said, looking over at Svala. But she was wrapping the shawl around her shoulders, her back to me, and did not turn.

"You, not talk." Knut put his fingers to his lips, pointed to me, indicated his wife with a sweep of the hand. "Not say." He gestured in the general direction of the settlement. "Not say . . . Johnny . . . wife, here."

"I won't tell anyone," I said. I did not fully understand Knut's motive, but it did seem best that this episode did not become the subject of gossip within the community. "No talk. No tell."

Knut managed a smile and a nod.

"Farewell, then. Farewell, Svala."

I climbed up the path more briskly than was quite comfortable. At the top I whistled to Fang, then headed off toward the settlement without a backward glance.

"And so," I told my family, "I chose a name for him."

We were in the dining hall, where the Inis Eala community sat to supper at four long tables, in no particular order. Folk liked to mingle here. However, it was common for kin to sit together, and so here we were at the table nearest the cooking fire. Johnny sat with Gareth, who was his lover as well as his best friend and comrade in arms-this unusual arrangement was simply part of everyday life on Inis Eala, where folk were somewhat more tolerant than on the mainland. Clodagh and Cathal were here, along with Muirrin, Gull, Biddy's son Sam and his wife, Brenna. Evan was in the infirmary where, I was told, our patient was still alive but no better. Biddy was occupied with supervising her a.s.sistants, who were coming to and fro with cauldrons of soup and platters of bread. She herself would eat later, when she had ensured everyone else was adequately fed.

I had given an abridged account of my day. A trip to the cave; quiet meditation; some insights gained, which I did not describe. A suggestion that I name the nameless survivor, at least until he started to talk to us. I made no mention of Finbar. I said nothing of my odd meeting with Knut and Svala. I had made a promise and would keep it. The two of them had come to supper well after me, and were sitting on the far side of the chamber next to Kalev. Svala had changed her gown and brushed her hair. I could not see if she had shoes on. Her eyes were downcast. She pushed the food around on her platter, but I did not see a morsel pa.s.s her lips. Knut was talking to the people seated around them, presumably exercising his few words of Irish. He had recovered from his embarra.s.sment and was smiling; there was a ripple of laughter at his table. The only sign of unease was in his restless fingers, twisting and turning the amulet he wore around his neck.

"A name would certainly be useful," Muirrin said, "at least until we know what his real one is. He seems reluctant to give it; he must understand our simple requests for him to tell us, even if he knows no more than a word or two of Irish. What have you chosen, Sibeal?"

"Ardal," I said. "A man with so many challenges ahead of him needs a brave name."

There was a little silence around me as my family considered this, while at the other tables the clank of spoons on platters, the c.h.i.n.k of goblets and the convivial talk went on. In fact, the place was not as noisy as usual; on the night of my arrival it had been hard to make oneself heard. Tonight was different. We were consuming the food that had been prepared to feed shipwreck survivors. It would be some days, I thought, before the community returned to its nightly round of after-supper songs and tales.

"Ardal," mused Gareth. "Means exceptional courage, doesn't it? A man couldn't complain about a name like that. He might have some trouble living up to it."

"It's a good choice," Johnny said. "Better a name to aspire to than one that means little. We would all hope to be strong in adversity."

The talk turned to practical matters, as the men discussed the impending arrival of their visitors and how arrangements for training and for security would be handled. Even invited guests on the island, it seemed, were more or less constantly watched.

"It's done with some subtlety, Sibeal," Gareth said, seeing my expression. "They won't know there's a guard over them."

"Not unless someone steps beyond the boundaries of acceptable behavior," added Johnny. "On the day our guests arrive, we set out the rules for them. And we generally give a display, an introduction to the kind of work we do here. It's as much entertainment as education. We open up the training area to everyone for that."

"Even druids are expected to come along and scream encouragement, Sibeal," said Clodagh with a grin. It was good to see her smile. I had noticed how pale and tired she looked. Cathal was hardly better. There were dark smudges under his eyes.

"Sibeal's hardly the screaming kind," observed Sam. He was the island blacksmith and took after Biddy in looks, being big, solid and fair. His brother Clem had wed a mainland girl and now lived and worked in the settlement on the other side, looking after the transport of goods and men across the water.

"Ah, well," I said, "I have seen your combat bouts at Sevenwaters, so I have an idea of what's expected. But if you want an enthusiastic shouter, it's a shame I didn't bring my little sister with me." Eilis, now twelve years old, had long been intensely interested in all matters of warcraft, and indeed had persuaded one or two of Johnny's men to teach her various techniques when they were in our household on their yearly visits. Eilis did not so much scream as offer an expert commentary, complete with helpful suggestions.

Supper drew to a close; the dining hall began to empty. Biddy came to sit down beside Gull and have her own meal while her a.s.sistants moved around the tables, collecting the platters for washing. Johnny would stay here awhile, for it was customary for members of the community to bring their questions and disputes to him after the meal so everything could be sorted out fairly. One of his rules, a good one for a place like this where, in effect, there was no escaping the rest of the inhabitants, was that the sun should not set on anyone's anger. Johnny would listen calmly, arbitrate, offer advice, sometimes give orders. There were one or two men standing by the open area where, on a happier night, musicians would gather to entertain the crowd. It was plain that they were waiting to be heard.

"I'll bid you all good night," I said, rising to my feet. The sooner I went to the infirmary, the sooner Evan could come down and have his supper. Perhaps I would get a little time alone with the sick man, so I could tell him his new name without an audience. "Biddy, is there anything you'd like taken over to the infirmary?"

"Ah, yes, Sibeal, thank you." Biddy got up and fetched a small covered pot. "Not what I'd be wanting for my own supper, I must say; not even a bone boiled up in the brew to give it a bit of flavor. This is all the poor fellow can take, Gull tells me. You can warm it up on the infirmary fire."

"Don't try to feed it to him yourself, Sibeal," cautioned Muirrin. "Wait for Gull. The man's still having serious problems with his breathing, and that makes it hard for him to swallow without choking."

The look in my sister's eyes stayed with me as I walked to the infirmary, my path lit by torches that were set around the settlement on poles. I had seen in her expression that she thought the man-Ardal, I must start calling him that-would not survive. Remembering those sad, shrouded corpses laid to rest so far from home, I felt a sudden determination to prove her wrong.

As the invalid was asleep, Evan agreed to go for his own supper. I set the pot by the fire and settled myself on the bench nearby. In my mind, I rehea.r.s.ed a lengthy pa.s.sage of lore suited to the midsummer celebration. As I was the only druid on Inis Eala, it seemed likely I would be conducting the rite here. I would at least offer my services.

"Sibeal."

A harsh whisper from the pallet. Not asleep then; not any longer. The deep blue eyes were on me, and the expression on the gaunt features so shocked me that for some moments I could neither move nor speak. Not fear; not confusion; nothing that I would have expected. He looked . . . transformed. As if, deathly sick as he was, my presence filled him with joy. No man had ever looked at me in that way before, and I found it deeply unsettling.

"Sibeal." He spoke my name again, p.r.o.nouncing it oddly. The one word cost him dear; he gasped for air.

"Don't try to talk." I moved at last, wondering if I had imagined what I saw, for that look was gone now, replaced by the fierce expression of someone whose whole mind is concentrated on breathing. "Here, I will move these pillows, make you more comfortable . . . " I did so, slipping an arm behind his shoulders to lift him, wedging the pillows into place. I had hoped for time alone with him. Now I was all too aware that I was no healer, and that if he took a turn for the worse I would not be much help at all. A jug and cup stood on a shelf not far away. I should offer him water, at least.

I held the cup for him. He sipped, swallowed. Some went down; more spilled onto the bedding. A wheezing, painful breath. My own chest ached.

"More?" I asked.

He made a little sound, not speech, and took one more sip. The effort had worn him out. He sank back on the pillows.

"That's good," I said, though his weakness horrified me. "Breathe slowly if you can . . . in, two, three; out, two, three . . . " I demonstrated, placing a hand on my ribs.

He managed a nod. No more words. I sat down on the stool by his pallet, reaching out to touch his hand. "You're cold," I said. "We need Fang. Little dog. Name, Fang." I imitated her yap and pointed to the spot where she had lain in the curve of his knees to warm him. A faint smile appeared on his face. This, he had certainly understood. "Coming soon, with Gull, I expect."

He was silent. He seemed to be waiting.

"You remembered my name," I said, indicating myself. "Sibeal." I pointed to him. "Can you tell me your name?"

No smile now. His long hands were restless, plucking at the woolen cloth of the blanket.

"Do you remember?" I asked on an impulse. "Do you remember the little cove, and how I came down and found you? The waves carrying us higher, the wood with the runic markings, the stories I told to hold back the darkness?"

No response. It seemed to me his gaze was turned inward now, though his eyes still rested on me. Too weary to think; too weary to listen. But I should try to explain about the name.

"I spent today in prayer and meditation." I wished I knew whether it was necessary to keep ill.u.s.trating with gestures; it did feel a little foolish. "I went to a cave, a place of the G.o.ds, where wisdom can be sought."

Footsteps outside and Fang's familiar yap-Gull was here. "I was told that I must give you a name," I said. "I've chosen the name Ardal, if you agree to that. It means 'unusual courage.' We'll use it only until you can tell us your own name, of course." I went through the ritual of pointing once more. "My name, Sibeal. Your name, Ardal. For now."

The door creaked open as I was speaking, and Gull came in with the dog at his heels. "Did you tell him what it means, Sibeal?" he asked.

That surprised me. "I did. Do you think he understands?"

"That's what you believe, isn't it? Knut said he was on the ship as a pa.s.senger, not crew. The fellow may be more scholar than warrior. Could be a scribe, maybe a cleric of some kind. I think I've seen some understanding on his face when you talk. Could be all manner of reasons why he's not speaking to us, sheer exhaustion being the most likely. I'll warm up the soup, shall I? Let's get him fed before we worry about anything else."

"I'll do it." I moved to the fire, wanting a little time to think. I could not forget the look Ardal had turned on me when he woke, as if the sight of me was a gift. It seemed quite wrong; and yet it had touched me, filling my heart with warmth. A strange day indeed: Finbar's shade in the water, Svala with her fish and now this.

"This island is an odd place, Gull," I said, stirring the little pot.

"Inis Eala changes folk." He was hanging his cloak on a peg, his back to me. "Brings out the truth in them for better or worse. For some it's quick. For some it takes far longer." He removed his outdoor boots and set them at the foot of his own pallet. "You all right, Sibeal?"

"Me?"

"Don't sound so surprised. You've only been here a couple of days, and look at everything that's happened. Wasn't this supposed to be a time of rest for you, this summer on the island?"

"Well, yes." My sisters had been talking, evidently. "But if there's work for me to do, I should do it. Anything from conducting a burial rite to helping look after a sick man."

"And rescuing folk from the sea." There was kindness in Gull's deep voice. "How old are you, sixteen?"

"I'm the same age Aunt Liadan was when she rescued Bran," I pointed out. "I'm the same age Clodagh was when she went into the Otherworld to save Cathal. And I'm the same age my mother was when she married my father. I'm not a child who needs protecting." But I am a seer who feels too much, and Ciaran thinks that makes me a liability. "Besides," I added for my own benefit as much as anything, "I've spent a large part of the last four years in the nemetons." I lifted the pot off the fire. "I've been trained to keep vigils, to go without food, to manage on very little sleep. I'm stronger than I look."

"You're young for that kind of life," he said, his tone noncommittal.

"Too young, you think?"

"That's not for me to say. I heard part of what you told him last night. You sound sure of yourself."

"I've known for a long time that my feet would tread this path," I said.

"Mm-hm. You're lucky, then. For most of us it takes half a lifetime before we really know. You've only got to look at the fellows who end up here. Wasted their young years, most of them, taking one wrong turning after another. Some, fate's treated harshly; some have only themselves to blame. But it's never too late for a fellow to change, not even if he's five-and-thirty with a weight of trouble on his shoulders. Or five-and-forty, for that matter. Now, we'd best feed this young man his supper, such as it is." He poured a measure of the broth from pot to bowl, his dark eyes thoughtful. "It must be good to have that bright, straight path before you," he said. "Walking forward under the gaze of the G.o.ds, and everything clean and certain."

"Mm." The path was not always so bright and straight, not when Ciaran had decided that after all those years of study and discipline I still was not ready.

Between us, Gull and I got half the bowl of soup into Ardal before it became plain he was too tired to go on. Gull took the bowl and set it down on the floor. Fang made short work of the leftovers.

I fetched a damp cloth and wiped Ardal's face. In my mind, sharply, I saw Knut doing the same for Svala. It was sad that he felt shamed by her behavior. Of course it must be hard for him, here among strangers, trying to watch over her. I wondered if she had ever been able to speak. Had she once sat and plied distaff and needle with other women, exchanging tales of husbands and children, the domestic chatter of an ordinary settlement? Perhaps she should be offered that sort of companionship here. I might suggest it to Clodagh.

Fang had finished her unexpected meal, and now made a mighty leap onto the pallet. She circled three times, as was her habit, then settled by Ardal's side with a contented sigh. His long fingers moved to rest on the small warmth of her curled-up body. There was a softening of his features as he watched her; a stirring of something in his eyes. The skin of his hand was scarcely darker than the dog's white hair.

"A long day," Gull observed.

"For all of us," I said.

"No storytelling tonight?"

While I was giving this some thought, I saw Gull stifle a huge yawn.

"I'll sit up with Ardal awhile," I said. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll wake you if I need you."

"Sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"One or two things Ardal and I need to get done first. You'd best turn your back awhile."

I took a candle and went to my chamber while Gull tended to Ardal's personal needs. I set the candle down on the storage chest, where its flame guttered in the chill draft from under the door, illuminating the charcoal runes I had marked on the walls. Something nudged at my mind. It had been a rune-marked timber from the Norse ship that had borne Ardal to safe sh.o.r.e, that and Manannan's mercy. Perhaps this was not a night for storytelling, but for a divination.

Moving the candle, I opened the chest and lifted out the bag that held my rune rods. There were twenty-four of them, crafted by my hands and consecrated with my blood. Folded around them in the bag was my ritual cloth of plain linen. Feeling the weight of them, the comforting solidity, I thought they might have some answers for me.

"Sibeal? We're done here."

Back in the infirmary, Gull was poring over the pan before taking it out to the privy. Ardal lay quiet, eyes open, hand curved around the little dog. His face was ash-pale.

"Any improvement?" I asked Gull in a murmur.

"Looks much the same. He needs to keep drinking water. The more the better. Washes the poisons out." Another yawn. "I'll just go and empty this, and then I'll be off to bed. If you're sure."

"We'll be fine."

While he completed his errand, I took out the ritual cloth and spread it flat in front of the fire. I sat cross-legged before it, watching the shadows on the pale linen as the flames danced on the hearth. Gull came back in, barred the door, wished me good night and settled on his shelf bed. Ardal lay still; perhaps he too would sleep soon. I breathed in a slow rhythm. Inwardly, I repeated a short prayer. My mind gradually opened to a state in which it could receive the wisdom of the divination.

Time pa.s.sed; perhaps a great deal of time, perhaps not so long. At length I reached into the bag again and wrapped my hands around the bundle of birch rods. I bunched them together over the cloth, feeling their power, the knowledge within. I closed my eyes and, in silence, asked my question. How best can I help this man whom I have named?

I let the rods go. The knocking music of their fall took me for a moment into the heart of Sevenwaters forest. I imagined I had been sitting all day by a still pool, deep in trance. I smelled the fresh scent of pine needles; a high chorus of birdsong sounded above me. The floor on which I sat became the earth of a Sevenwaters clearing; the hearth fire was a blaze kindled on flat stones in the grove where Ciaran loved to meditate.

Eyes fast shut, I reached out and took up one rod, a second, a third, letting instinct guide my choice. For a moment I held the three against my heart. I opened my eyes.

Os, Ger, Nyd. They settled in my mind, beginning to combine and shadow and influence one another. Some ideas came quickly. Nyd could be interpreted as the last extreme of courage, the kind of courage a man might show when death looked him in the face, perhaps in the form of a wild sea. I had seen the crossed lines of Nyd down on that cold sh.o.r.e, when pebbles had washed over certain runes carved on the ship's timber. Immense, almost insane fort.i.tude; deep inner strength.