looked at the dark eyes and saw in them a look she already knew. A look of slight preoccupation, as if already the eyes were fixed on something else, a person beyond this person, a place beyond this place.
To her great consternation Deara found her own eyes were full of tears. Tears. How could she? When Merdaine had taught her always to celebrate the going, to go herself as far as she might with the departing spirit, both for the sake of the departing one and for her own sake, that she should be wiser when the time of her own going should come to her.
Deara blinked in the vain hope that Merdaine would not have seen. But she knew that Merdaine had always been able to see whatever she chose to see. Even with her eyes closed, Merdaine could see with her heart.
Today the old woman did not rebuke her. Instead, she smiled a strange half smile and closed her fingers round the soft blooms, caressing them gently like something very precious to her.
‘He sleeps still?’ she asked softly.
Deara nodded.
‘Then come close to me and listen. Come, let me whisper to you like I did when you were a child, when you crept to your bedplace and wept by yourself because others had mocked you. Come, for you see true. My work is finished in this place. It will soon be time for Conor to stir himself and do his part. Come now, lie close.’
Deara stretched out on the rushes, her arms above her head, her slim body as close to the old woman as the wooden frame of the couch permitted. Thus she had lain for all her sixteen years, to sleep and to weep, for often the two had come together in that only time in the long, busy day when she might turn her back upon the world, a world where she had no place except as Merdaine’s handmaiden.
She felt the press of the rushes through her thin tunic. They were only a few days old and still had a smell of greenness about them. Like the water-meadows that morning. Tears once again welled in her eyes and she did not know whether it was the memory of all these golden days, now ended, or fear of the future, or the loss of the one person in all the world who had protected her.
‘Do not weep, child.’
Deara had made no sound, no body movement, but Merdaine had put out a thin hand and touched her hair.
‘Listen now, and hold to my words that they may guide you. Your heart is soft and quick to sorrow, but your head is strong and firm. Use your head as a warrior uses his shield. Harden it by use and by discipline as a warrior does, but never think it is the greatest part of you. For that which is weak and soft is your real strength. It will guide you in the darkest ways and in the strangest of unknown places. Remember when Emain is no more, when sword and fire seem masters of all the earth, that light grows out of darkness, that without evil we cannot know good. You are a child of light for you know darkness at noon. You will heal many, and many will speak the name of Emain with love for your sake. But a time will come when Emain will speak no longer . . . its kings and heroes gone . . .’
The voice faded to nothing and Deara felt the hand slip from her hair. She got up quickly and saw Merdaine struggle for breath.
‘Up, child, up.’
Merdaine’s hand jerked imperiously, a familiar gesture of a woman accustomed to being obeyed, now in contrast to the whispered tones of her command.
Deara lifted her to a sitting position and supported the frail body in her arms.
‘Two things more,’ she gasped.
With an effort of will Merdaine drew breath into her lungs. Deara heard the ominous bubble of fluid and knew clearly, as Merdaine herself did, how little time remained. She felt the pain as if it were her own pain, the choking tightness as if it were her own lungs struggling for air, and the urgency as if it were her own need to speak.
‘Gently, Merdaine, gently,’ she whispered, as she stroked the damp grey hair from the old woman’s brow.
‘The Gods protect your gentleness, child. If I have been too hard on you, you will come to understand why it was so. I have taught you all I know of healing and the world. To heal others you must heal yourself first. That will ever take you into danger. But if you have done as your heart speaks then help will come in your sorest need. But you must trust that it will come. Remember that above all things.’
Merdaine paused, her head hanging forward on her chest. Her eyes flickered round the room, taking in the squat, sleeping figure of the Druid, the candles burning straight and sharp, the dark stone eyes of the God. They came to rest on a wooden chest in the shadows. The metal clasp reflected one of the candle flames.
‘Take my brooch to Morrough. Tell him Merdaine asks that he keep his promise. He will make you an offer, or his brehon will. But do not let him frighten you. Whatever he says, make up your own mind.’
Deara felt the tension relax in the narrow shoulders. Something had moved. Something was different. A darkness had passed, though she knew not what it was. She bent to kiss the old woman. She had never kissed her before.
At her touch the half-closed eyes opened. They seemed to focus on her face and yet Deara could not feel sure that it was she whom Merdaine actually saw. But suddenly Merdaine’s eyes were smiling.
‘Have a good journey, my little one, both you and your friend in another time. Here, I give you a parting gift of what you already have. For you both, and for all of your kind, who have love in your hearts, I give you the sign of healing.’
Deara felt the soft touch of the kingcups against her wrist and watched the pale tide gently erase from the familiar face both the brown of wind and weather and the lines of wisdom and experience.
The weight in her arms grew heavy. The spirit had flown like a lark into a summer sky, but the frail body breathed a little and swallowed before it was finally still.
Only then did Deara lay the old woman gently back on the couch and gather up the blooms which had slid from her open hand and scattered across the woven rug. For a moment she cradled the flowers in her hands as she would a newborn child. Then, looking down at the sharpening lines of Merdaine’s face, she said over again to herself, ‘If you do as your heart speaks, then in your sorest need, help will come. But you must trust that it will come.’
She put the kingcups into a pitcher of spring water in the farthest corner of the hut. Then, taking a deep breath, she crossed to the doorway, took up the corner of the door-hanging and standing on tiptoe, tied it up by its leather thongs.
The sunlight, lower now, but still fierce, dazzled her as it poured round her, filling the hut with light. For a moment, she shut her eyes and heard her heart cry out its own farewell. Then, only half aware of what she did, she knelt in the dust to the left of the door, turned towards the west and began to recite in a voice she barely recognised, the welcome to Nodons, the giver of life within life, the bringer of life beyond life.
When I woke it was quite dark and yet my eyes felt dazzled as if by strong sunlight. For a moment, I had no idea what had happened or where I was.
Gradually the dim outlines of my room took shape around me. It was much too dark to see the face of my watch, but beyond the undrawn curtains the sky was pricked with stars. Faint moonlight made pale patches on the wallpaper and caught the bright petals of a kingcup in a glass vase on my table by the window.
Memory flowed back as I burrowed deeper into the soft hollow of the duvet where I had lain down, just as I was, when I staggered back from the garden exhausted after the throbbing pain of that
