‘I thought you promised to stay out of trouble. Now look at you.’
‘What do you mean, look at me?’ I snapped, hating it that he was cross with me. ‘I went to the fair, I sold baskets, I went dancing with your sister, and now I’m going home. Just like everyone else. Isn’t that what you want?’
There was a silence.
‘Well, isn’t it?’ Even to me, my voice sounded shrill. He was making me quite uncomfortable.
‘What I want doesn’t seem to come into it,’ said Darragh quietly.
‘That’s nonsense,’ I retorted, not understanding what he meant. We rode on in silence as drops of rain began to fall. Aoife twitched her ears.
‘Of course it’s good to get out amongst folk and enjoy yourself,’ he said eventually. ‘There’s nothing wrong with dancing. But not – not like that.’
‘Not like what?’
‘Not making an exhibition of yourself. Doing it for the attention. Making the fellows look at you as if they wanted a bit more than just a dance. Doing – doing whatever it is you do.’
I bit my lip and said nothing.
‘Fainne?’
‘I didn’t cause any trouble,’ I said, with what dignity I could summon, wondering why it was that he had the ability to upset me so much. ‘All I did was enjoy myself. And besides, it’s none of your business.’
There was another awkward silence, punctuated by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. The freckled youth on his grey pony rode up behind us and came alongside, grinning at me. ‘Want company?’ he asked, and then he glanced at Darragh. I saw his expression change, and then he touched his heels to the pony’s flanks and was off ahead at a sharp canter.
‘Anyway,’ said Darragh as we turned to the right and away from the inlet, ‘what about before that? I heard a story about a wizard, and escaping animals, and a near-riot, and birds turning into snakes.’
‘I heard that too.’
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘Come on, Fainne,’ he said, exasperated, and he drew Aoife to a halt. ‘Don’t tell me that was nothing to do with you. Someone said a man was half-strangled. Now tell me the truth.’
I said nothing. I didn’t have to, for at that moment a small, bedraggled form put its head out of my pocket, perhaps thinking the jostling and jolting was over at last. The tiny bird hopped out and settled on the back of Aoife’s neck, reaching its beak down in a vain attempt to preen its tattered plumage. Aoife stood steady as ever, a jewel among ponies.
‘What in the name of Brighid is that?’
I cleared my throat. ‘I think it’s some kind of owl. It wouldn’t fly away, and I could hardly leave it. I had to make it smaller, so people wouldn’t notice.’
‘I see.’
‘The man was a fake, Darragh. He tried to make a girl do something horrible. By trickery. His potions are worthless. He cared nothing for these animals, they were cruelly caged, and – would you have me stand by, and not act when I can?’
Darragh sighed. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know any more.’ Without any visible signal from her rider, Aoife began to walk again, and the tiny owl wobbled a little. I put my hand down to steady it. Grasshoppers, I thought vaguely. Worms. Small beetles.
We were nearly back at the camp before he spoke again.
‘What you need is a constant guard, night and day. I don’t know what your father was thinking of, sending you away on your own. It was like – like giving an infant a lighted torch and telling it to go out and play. You’re not only a danger to yourself, you’re a danger to everyone else as well. And the worst of it is, you don’t even know it.’
‘What would you know?’ I muttered, thinking how happy I had been when we passed this spot in the morning, and how miserable I was now. He had taken all the joy out of the day.
‘I do know, Fainne,’ he said quietly. ‘I know you better than anyone. I wish you would listen to me. What you do is – is not right. You’re blighting your own future. It’s not the right way for you. I wish you would heed me.’
Part of me longed to tell him I was sorry; sorry our day was spoiled, sorry we had quarrelled, so sorry that next summer he would go back to Kerry and I would not be there. But I could not say those things, I could not afford to listen to him lest I lose the courage to go on; to do what my grandmother had said I must do. My father’s life depended on it. And Darragh had wounded me deeply, for his good opinion was everything to me. Words tumbled out of me before I could stop them, hateful, hurtful words. ‘You don’t know! How could you? How could you ever understand what I have to do, and why? It’s like – it’s like some stray dog trying to interpret the movement of the stars. Impossible, and ridiculous. I wish you would leave me alone! I can’t listen to you. And I can’t be your friend, not any more. I don’t need you, Darragh. Not now, and not ever.’
Once it was said, it could not be taken back. We finished the journey in stony silence. He dismounted without a word and helped me down politely, and I took the very small owl in my hand and slipped it back in my pocket. I looked at him, and he looked at me. Then he took Aoife’s bridle and led her away, and I was alone.
The rain set in, and one of the children had a cough. I offered to stay behind and tend to her, and Peg accepted gratefully. But she left Roisin as well, for company, she said. Being nursemaid suited me. The little girl was no trouble. Besides, it was wet for walking, and I would not contemplate riding with Darragh again, let alone talking to him. The very thought of him made me wretched. I knew how badly I had hurt him. Funny, it seemed to be my own heart that was aching now.
While the child rested, I occupied myself with my other small charge. It had spent the night perched on a side support of the tent, tiny, still and silent. Maybe it didn’t want me to know that it could fly. It did not sleep all day, as an ordinary owl should. Instead, it kept its eyes half-open watching me, and seemed happy to accept the small morsels I produced: grubs, beetles and the like. In the quiet of the night, while the folk lay wrapped in sleep, I had seen it, twice, lift its small ragged wings and swoop, deadly and noiseless, to seize some small wriggling creature from the earth, then return to the perch to eat its meal tidily with miniature beak and talons.
‘You’re a fraud,’ I whispered as I sat by the child’s bedside with the owl perched on my finger, and dangled a freshly dug worm. The little bird stared intently, then opened its beak and gave a snap. The worm disappeared. ‘A complete fraud.’ The bird closed its eyes to slits, ruffled its feathers, and appeared to go to sleep. Then I heard hoofbeats outside, and returned it hastily to its dark corner.
Roisin’s voice could be heard, and a man’s. I glanced out of the tent, then retreated back inside. I imagined Roisin only saw her young man once a year. It was not the easiest way to conduct a courtship, if that was what it was. I sat quietly, hearing their voices, but not catching the words. My mind was far away. I was thinking of Father, and how he had lost both his sweetheart and his dreams. I was thinking it was just as well I was going to Sevenwaters now, and not later. Some things could hurt you. Some people could wound you. There was no room in my life for that. And there was no room in any other kind of life for me, or for my kind. I knew that already. I just had to keep telling myself, that was all, and the pain would go away in time.
The rain had almost stopped. From out by the fire, Roisin called me.
‘Fainne?’
I emerged from the tent. The young man was building up