Читать книгу Child of the Prophecy - Juliet Marillier - Страница 8

It was not a time for looking back, so I gritted my teeth and got on with things as best I could. The worst of it was the constant noise: neighing, barking, the squeak of cart wheels and folk chattering all at the same time like a gaggle of geese. I longed to cast a spell of silence. I was tempted to put my hands over my ears. With an effort, I did neither.

We made a stop by the way quite early on, so Dan Walker could see a man about a horse. The carts were drawn up in the shelter of tall elms, and the women made a little fire and boiled a kettle for tea. But the horses stayed in harness, and were watered from a bucket. All too soon we would be on the road again.

The noise went on. The smaller children ran about laughing and yelling and getting wet in the nearby stream. Peg whistled; Molly hummed to herself. The older girls were conducting a conversation about the horse fair, and which of the lads they’d met last year might be there again. The boys were joking as they went amongst the animals with their clanking water buckets.

I sat under the trees and imagined the dim stillness of the Honeycomb, where a whole day might pass with barely a word spoken; where the only sounds were the whisper of sandalled feet and the distant roar of the ocean.

‘Come with me.’

Darragh’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and then Darragh’s hand was grasping mine and hauling me to my feet, before I had a chance to say yes or no.

‘I’ve got something to show you. Come on.’

He pulled me back under the trees and, faster than was comfortable, up a precipitous grassy hillside to a vantage point crowned with a little cairn of stones. We had already travelled a long way up from the coast; the track had been hard for the horses, and at times folk had climbed down and walked alongside the carts. Peg had told me to stay where I was, and I had not argued with her. Perhaps they thought I would not keep up, because of my foot. Darragh was making no such concessions.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘Look out that way. That’s your last sight of the Kerry coast. You’ll want to remember it. There’s no sea at Sevenwaters, just lots and lots of trees.’

It was far away; already so far. There was no crash of waves, no roar of power, no sound of sea birds squabbling on the shore as the fisherfolk gutted the catch. Only the gleam of sunlight on distant water; only the pearly sky, and the land stretched out in folds of green and grey and brown, dotted here and there with great stones and clumps of wind-battered trees.

‘Look further out. Out beyond that promontory there. Tell me what you see.’ Darragh put one hand on my shoulder, turning me slightly, and with the other he pointed to what seemed to be a stretch of empty ocean. ‘Look carefully.’

There was an island: a tiny, steep triangle of rock, far out in the inhospitable waters. If I squinted, I could detect plumes of spray as waves dashed its base. Another small isle lay close by. Even by my standards, it was a desolate spot.

‘You can’t see them from our cove,’ Darragh said. ‘Skellig rocks, they call that place. There’s folk live there.’

‘Live there? How could they?’

‘Christian hermits. Holy men. It’s supposed to be good for the soul, so they say. The Norsemen put in there once, killed most of the brothers, smashed what little they had. But the hermits went back. Strange sort of life, that’d be. Think of all you’d be missing.’

‘It would be quiet, at least,’ I said somewhat testily, still staring out at the specks in the ocean, and wondering at such a choice.

‘Finding it a bit much, are you?’

I said nothing.

‘You’re not used to folk, that’s all it is. It’ll get easier as we go. You’ve no need to be scared of us.’

‘Scared?’ I bristled. ‘Why would I be scared?’

Darragh thought for a moment. ‘Because it’s all new?’ he ventured. ‘Because you’re used to the quiet, just you and your father shut up alone doing what you do? Because you don’t like being looked at?’

Misery settled on me like a small, personal grey cloud. I stared out towards the sea in silence.

‘True, isn’t it?’ said Darragh.

‘Maybe.’

‘Perhaps you’d rather be a hermit living on a rock in the sea, feeding yourself on seaweed and cockles? You’d not have to think about a soul besides yourself then.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I snapped.

‘No more nor less than it says.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with a life like that,’ I said. ‘At least it’s – safe.’

‘Funny way of looking at it. What about the cliffs? What about the Norsemen? What about starving to death in winter? Or might you point your little finger and turn one of the brothers into a nice fat codfish maybe?’

I froze, unable to look at him. There was a difficult silence.

‘Fainne?’ he asked eventually. ‘What’s wrong?’

And I knew that his words had been innocent, a joke, and that it was my own mind that had put the fear into me.

‘Nothing.’

‘I worry about you. There was someone else there this summer, wasn’t there?’

‘My grandmother. On a visit.’

‘Uh-huh. And that was why you wouldn’t come out?’

‘Part of the reason.’

‘And what was the other part?’ He was frowning, his dark brows drawn together.

‘I – I can’t do ordinary things any more. I can’t have – friends. I can’t let that get in the way. It’s hard to explain. This is bad enough, going on the cart, mixing with folk, having to talk and listen and – I just can’t do those things any more. I – I can’t let anyone close.’

Darragh did not reply. I stared at the ground, knowing he was looking at me, but unwilling to meet the expression in those too-honest brown eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.

‘So am I,’ he said slowly. ‘Sounds pretty odd to me. You might think yourself too fine for the likes of us. But there’s folk of your own kind, where you’re going. Family. It’ll be good for you, Fainne. They’ll welcome you. Folk are not so bad once you get to know them. And – it’s only right, to have family and friends around you. I don’t understand how you could do without them.’

I drew my shawl closer around my shoulders. ‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘But our kind don’t have friends.’

Then we turned and made our way back down the hill, and he took my hand on the steepest bits, and neither of us said a word until we were nearly under the elms and could hear Molly laughing at some joke of Peg’s.

‘You have, you know,’ Darragh said softly. ‘Sometimes you get friends without asking for them. And once you’ve got them, they’re not so easy to lose.’

‘I’m going a long way away,’ I said.

‘I’m a travelling man, remember?’ said Darragh. ‘Always on the move, that’s me.’

The journey was long. I learned to shut out some of the noise by repeating in my head, over and over, the recitation of question and answer that Father and I had perfected during the long years of my childhood.

Who were the first folk in the land of Erin?

The Old Ones. The Fomhóire.

And who came next?

So it went, as the carts trundled along under gentle autumn rain and crisp westerly breeze, and sometimes, when we were running late, under a great arch of stars.

Whence did you come?

From the Cauldron of Unknowing.

For what do you strive?

For knowledge. For wisdom. For an understanding of all things.

The lore was all that I had to keep me going. The lore was control and direction, amidst the noisy children and the chattering women and the constant company, more company than I was likely to want in a lifetime.

Peg was kind enough in her rough way. She never asked me to help with skinning rabbits, or fetching water, or washing the children’s clothes. She tried to find me a quiet corner to roll out my bedding, once she saw how I edged away from the other girls and pulled the blanket over my ears. When we stopped for a single night, we’d sleep in the carts, with a sort of awning over that gave half-shelter. The boys slept out under the trees, next to the horses. There was a smell, with so many folk close together, and it was never really quiet. Often I lay awake looking up at the sky, thinking of Father back home, and listening to the small cracklings and rustlings around me, the horses shuffling, the sigh of children rolling over in their sleep, the snores of older folk worn out by a long day on the road. At dawn they’d be up again and soon ready to be off, the packing a well-practised, speedy process. It seemed to me we were covering a great distance, despite many stops to sell baskets, or collect a pony, or simply to visit old friends. I lost count of the days after a while. There was a time when we came down through a desolate sort of valley with what looked like small lakes at the bottom, and I managed to waylay Darragh for a moment as he came by the back of the cart where I was sitting.

‘Are we nearly there?’ I asked him, softly so that nobody else could hear.

‘Nearly where?’ asked Darragh.

‘Nearly at Sevenwaters,’ I whispered.

Darragh gave his crooked grin and shook his head. ‘Scarce halfway yet,’ he said. ‘It’s a long way north, and east as well, before we reach the forest. Quite different, it is, in those parts. Still, you’ll get a rest soon, and a bit of fun.’

‘Fun?’ I scowled at him, bitterly disappointed that we had so far still to go, and furious with myself for having asked.

‘That’s right. Best days of the year. Down the bottom, where the valley opens out, we’ll be stopping a while. Resting the horses. Making a proper little camp. Not far from there, you come to the Cross. That’s where they hold the best horse fair in the country. Games, races, music, plenty of food and drink, finest company you’re likely to meet anywhere. Get to know some great folks there, you will.’ He was watching me closely. ‘Don’t look so anxious, Fainne. I’ll look after you.’

We stopped by the lakeside, and the menfolk went a certain distance along the shore, out of sight. The day was not so cold, for all the autumn was passing. Not that it was ever any trouble getting the children into the water, it was washing them that was the problem. I watched as the women and older girls stripped and scrubbed the little ones, to the accompaniment of squeals of protest and much splashing. The bath gave way to a sort of water fight, and then Peg and Molly and the other girls took off their own clothes without so much as a word of warning, and proceeded to wash themselves with a shared sliver of soap and a volley of ribald comments. I looked away, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and envy. Things seemed so much easier for them. I did not like the water. At home, I had never swum in the sea. My baths had been taken in a small tub before the fire, and I had fetched and warmed the water myself. Always, I had performed my ablutions in complete privacy. Even Grandmother had respected that. Still, I knew I was dirty and did not smell as I would wish to, and I did have two clean gowns in my little chest. But this – this was too hard.

Peg scrambled out of the water, her body still lean and shapely for all her brood of children.

‘Come on, lass,’ she said with a smile. ‘Last chance to get spick and span before the fair. The water’s not so chill, once you’re in.’

‘I – I don’t know –’

‘Come, child, nobody’s looking. There’s a little cove there, a bit more private. Not used to this, I can see. I’ll keep a watch out for you.’

So, my cheeks hot with embarrassment, I picked my way down to the water’s edge, separated from the others by a curve of shore and a few willows, and stripped off my clothes while Peg, who had donned a fresh gown and was now combing and re-plaiting her long dark hair, sat on a fallen tree trunk nearby and warned off the children if they came too close. The water was freezing. To make things worse, the bottom was soft, oozing mud, and it was easy to lose your footing. And it grew deep so quickly. I glanced over and saw the other girls swimming, brown arms flashing, wet hair like graceful weed across naked shoulders. Further down the lake it sounded as if the boys were swinging from a tree branch into deep water. I washed as quickly as I could, using the scrap of soap on body and hair, grateful for the chance to rid myself of the sweat and grime of the journey, terrified that I might take one step too many, and plunge in over my head by mistake. Peg was looking the other way. I could be drowned before she noticed. Nobody knew I could not swim. Nobody but Darragh. To sink beneath the water, to gasp and strain and be unable to fill the chest with air, that would be a terrible way to go. It would be like … it would be the same as … I willed that thought out of my mind, unfinished.

When I came out Peg handed me a cloth to dry myself, and then there was Molly with a gown in her hands, a gown that was not mine, for it was a bright homespun, striped in blue and green, and over her shoulder she had a neckerchief with a little border of blue ribbon.

I stood shivering with the cloth hugged around me, barely covering my nakedness.

‘I have another gown in my chest,’ I managed. ‘I don’t –’

‘This’ll be easier,’ said Peg in a no-nonsense sort of voice. ‘Good colour for you, the blue. Here, put your arms up, lass. That’s it.’

They had everything, even a clean shift for underneath, and stockings with blue borders. When I was dressed, Peg turned me round and began to brush out my hair.

‘I don’t –’

‘There, child. No trouble. No trouble at all. What a head of curls. I’ve a nice bit of the blue ribbon left, from sewing those kerchiefs – Moll, see if you can find it, will you – that’ll be just right to fasten the end of this plait. Your mother had a fine head of hair. Lovely colour, like dark clover honey, it was.’

I said nothing as her deft fingers began to plait my hair, as fast and nimble as could be, and tie it with the bright blue ribbon Molly produced from a basket tucked in the depths of the cart.

‘There,’ said Peg, holding me at arm’s length and looking me up and down. ‘Not so bad, was it? Now let’s wash these things, and we’ll be on our way. Plenty of time to dry them out in the morning. Proper camp tonight; a good fire, chance to relax and enjoy ourselves. You’ll like it, lass. See if you don’t.’

Soon we were back on the cart and trundling on between ever flatter fields. There was a smell of the sea in the air again. The little girls had fallen unusually silent, staring at me with their big dark eyes. Maybe, I thought, they were tired out from their bath. Then one of them spoke up.

‘You look pretty,’ she said, and exploded in a fit of nervous giggles. The others shushed her, and they maintained silence for a few moments, and then all three burst into hilarity again. And because I could not tell if she had meant it, or was merely teasing me, I said nothing at all.

It was just as Darragh had told me. We reached level ground and a fork in the track, and all of a sudden there were people everywhere, men on horseback, boys leading ponies, farmers with carts piled high, strangely dressed folk with juggling balls or coloured birds in cages. There was an enclosed cart, with a black-clad fellow seated morosely in front, driving a skinny old horse. Beside them a younger man walked, and as he went he extolled the virtues of various elixirs for sale: love philtres, magic potions of strength, curses to set on an enemy. ‘Come one, come all,’ he shouted with great vigour and greater confidence. ‘Ills cured! Fortunes predicted! Look for the Grand Master under the old oaks north of the racing ground. Satisfaction guaranteed.’ I stared as they made their way past us, and I wondered what the fellow had in his mixtures. A few herbs and a dash of honey? Nothing much of value, I suspected. But there were those who ran after his cart, babbling with excitement. More fools they, I thought. They’d soon be parted from what little silver they had, and for nothing.

We did not share the road long with the ever-increasing throng, but took a side way to the west, and soon reached a sheltered stretch of sward fringed by elder trees and bordered by a swift-running stream. Here we halted and camp was set up. This time the carts were fully unpacked, serviceable shelters erected, and a solid fireplace of stones constructed in the centre of the open space, with room around it for folk to sit in comfort. The horses were unharnessed, then loosely tethered in the shelter of the trees, and the boys began the task of brushing them down, each in turn, and checking for any possible damage after the journey. I gathered we were to stay here for the duration of the fair, going up the road each day to do business and returning to our camp at night. I could hear the sea, a soft, persistent washing in and out of small waves.

The women and girls had a big tent now, and in this I was given my own corner, which Peg showed me, winking. As I rolled out my bedding and checked the lock on the wooden chest, I managed a whispered thank you, and she gave a crooked grin, the image of her son’s. As soon as my things were set out neatly I made my escape, out of the tent, between the trees, and down a little track to the west. It wasn’t far. A short walk on the pebbly path, between scrubby bushes, up a gentle rise, and there it was. The breakers rolled lazily in to lick at the pure, wide beach that stretched between high promontories to north and south. Further out there were plumes of spray, and dark rocks slick with water. A great reef, it seemed, guarded this peaceful bay. The setting sun moved ever closer to the vast expanse of water, and touched the sand to pale gold. Here and there on the shore figures could be seen: two boys galloping their ponies neck and neck in a wild race along the margin of land and water; a lad on a black horse, out there swimming, breasting the power of the swell, then coming in to shore, dripping, to shake off the excess in a shower of silver. There were folk walking, a couple hand in hand, a girl bending to pick up shells.

I sat there awhile, watching. I sat there long enough to become calm, to slow my breathing, to tell myself I could manage, I would manage. Perhaps, when they gathered around the fire in the evening, they would not think it amiss if I retired early to sleep. Maybe, when they went up to join the great throng at the horse fair, I might remain behind here and walk alone on the shore, or sit and watch the slow pattern, always changing, always still the same. Perhaps that might be possible. If it were not, I would have to use the Glamour. Indeed, Grandmother would think it foolish that I had not done so by now, to cover my awkwardness, to mask my fear of strangers. I thought it foolish myself, really. But there was something held me back. I remembered Darragh’s frown, and Darragh’s words. I don’t like it when you do that. I thought of the little girl’s voice. You look pretty. I had decided, almost, that she was joking. But for a moment her words had warmed me. If I used the Glamour, everyone would think I was pretty. But it was not the same.

In the event, there was no escaping the evening’s festivities. My half-framed excuse was brushed aside by Peg, who bustled me out into the circle of folk seated on rugs and old boxes and bits and pieces around the fire. She sat me down between Molly and herself, put a cup of something steaming and fragrant into my hands, then settled herself down for the fun, all, it seemed, in the twinkling of an eye. There was simply no chance to object.

Around the fire were many faces, old and new. The smaller children sat drowsing on parents’ knees, or slept curled in blankets close by a watchful sister or brother. The older folk were given pride of place, the most comfortable seats, the nearest proximity to the fire’s warmth. Everyone was there: Dan Walker with his little dark beard and the gold ring in his ear; the group of youths I had encountered on my visit to the camp, back home; Darragh himself, talking to a couple of brightly clad girls I had not seen before. There were other folk I did not know, though clearly they were invited guests. The two girls seemed to have brothers, or cousins, and there was an older, grey-haired man sitting by Dan and sharing the hot drink from a great kettle set by the fire. I sipped cautiously. It was good, but strong, something like a cider with spices and honey.

‘What about a tale or two?’ somebody asked. ‘Who’s got a good story? Brian? Diarmuid?’

‘Not me,’ said the grey-haired man, shaking his head. ‘Got a toothache. Can’t talk.’

‘Huh!’ scoffed another. ‘Have some more to drink, that’ll soon cure it.’

‘Fellow at the fair, pulls teeth neat and quick,’ Molly suggested. ‘You need to visit him, he’d have it out for you before you could so much as squeal.’

‘That butcher?’ The man paled visibly. ‘I’d as soon get my old woman to lay hold of it with a pair of fire tongs.’

There were several suggestions as to what other remedies he might have recourse to, none of them very practical. Then Dan Walker spoke up.

‘I’ll tell a tale,’ he said. There was a chorus of approval, then silence. ‘It’s about a man called Daithi, Daithi O’Flaherty. No relation, you understand, of the distinguished family of that name that lives in these parts.’ There was a roar of appreciative laughter. ‘A farmer, he was. Well, this Daithi got an idea he might go and see his sweetheart, just to pass the time of day, you understand. He was making his way along the road when he heard a little noise, tap tappity tap, from down under the bushes by the track. Daithi was a sharp fellow. He didn’t make a sound, but crouched down quiet-like, and peered under the twigs to see what it was. And bless me if he didn’t spot a tiny wee fellow, all dressed in a pointed hat and a fine small apron of leather, and by him a pitcher with a little dipper laid by it. The small one was tapping away at a boot he was making, a boot the length of one part of your finger, fit only for a clurichaun such as himself. As Daithi watched, holding his breath, the wee fellow put down his cobbler’s tool, and went to the pitcher, and he dipped the ladle in and got himself a drink of the liquor; and then he went back to his work, tap tappity tap.

‘Best handle this careful, said Daithi to himself. So he kept his voice soft, not to startle the little man.

‘“Good day to you, fine sir,” he spoke up, as polite as can be.

‘“And you, sir,” replied the small one, still tapping away.

‘“And what might it be that you’re a-fashioning there?” asked Daithi.

‘“’Tis a shoe, to be sure,” said the clurichaun, with a touch of scorn. “And what might you be doing, wandering the track instead of doing your day’s work?”

‘“I’ll be back to it soon enough,” replied Daithi, thinking, unless I catch you first. “Now tell me, what is it you have in your fine wee pot there?”

‘“Beer,” said the little man. “The tastiest ever brewed. Made it meself.” He licked his lips.

‘“Indeed?” said Daithi. “And what might you use, for such a brew? Malt, would it be?”

‘The clurichaun rolled his eyes in disdain. “Malt? Malt’s for babies. This drink’s brewed from heather. None better.”

‘“Heather?” exclaimed Daithi. “You can’t brew beer from heather.”

‘“Ah,” said the wee fellow. “’Twas the Dubh-ghaill showed me. Secret recipe. ’Tis me own family makes it, and no other.”

‘“Can I taste it then?”

‘“Surely,” said the clurichaun. “But it’s shocked I am, that a fine farmer such as yourself would be thinking to pass the time of day drinking by the road, when it’s his own geese are out of the yard and running riot all over his neighbour’s garden.”

‘Daithi was shocked, and nearly turned away to run back down to the cottage and see if the wee man was right. But at the last instant he remembered, and instead his hand shot out to grab the clurichaun by one leg. The jug went over, and all the beer spilt out on the ground.

‘“Now,” said Daithi as sternly as he could, “show me where you keep your store of gold, or it’ll be the worse for you.”

‘Well, the clurichaun was rightly trapped, for as we all know, you need only hold on to such a one and keep him in your sight, and he has to show you his treasure. So on they went down to Daithi’s own fields, and into a place with many rocks still to be shifted before it would be good for planting. The clurichaun pointed to one of these big stones towards the south end of the field.

‘“There,” said the little fellow. “Under that, there’s me crock of gold, and bad cess to you.”

‘Well, Daithi tried and he tried to shift the rock, pushing and heaving, and all the while holding on to the clurichaun, and eventually he knew he’d not get it out without his spade. But there were so many stones there, a whole field of stones. He’d need to mark it somehow, before he went for the spade. Daithi felt in his pocket. There was a bit of red ribbon there that he’d got from a travelling man, and planned to give to his sweetheart for a surprise. He fished it out, and tied it round the rock where the gold lay buried.

‘“There,” he said. He frowned at the wee man. “Now, before I let you free,” he said, knowing well the trickery of such folk, “I want your word. You’re not to move the treasure before I come back with the spade. And you’re not to take the ribbon off this rock. Give me your promise.”

‘“I promise, sure and I do,” said the clurichaun with absolute sincerity.’

There was a ripple of laughter from those in Dan’s audience who knew the end of this story.

‘“All right then,” said Daithi.

‘“Will you let me go, so?” the wee man asked, polite as can be. So Daithi released him, and the clurichaun was off in a flash. Dan went home for his spade, and rushed back to the field with his mind full of all the things he would do when he laid his hands on that crock of gold. And as he came round the corner and clapped eyes on the field, what did he see? Every single stone in that field was wearing a red ribbon, neat as could be. And try as he might, and dig as he would, Daithi O’Flaherty never did find the clurichaun’s treasure.’

There was a ripple of satisfied applause. Even I had enjoyed the story, though it had lacked the grandeur of those my father told. Then the grey-haired man, apparently cured of his toothache, volunteered a song. It was a fine, uplifting tune about how hard it was to make a living in the bitter cold and harsh land of Ceann na Mara, and how he loved it so well, regardless, that his heart would always call him back there. There were more tales: funny, sad, touching. At the end, Darragh was persuaded to play his pipes. This time he did not choose one of the heart-stopping laments I had heard so often ringing across the hillside above the cove. He played music for dancing, and the young folk got up and made a circle, and there was a stamping of feet and a clapping of hands, and the bright whirl of skirts and fringed shawls in the warm golden light of the camp fire. I sat and watched and sipped my drink. Darragh played on. He was not looking at the joyful dancers, or at the older folk seated comfortably, renewing friendships after a year’s parting. He was looking at me. Get up and dance, his eyes said, challenging. Why don’t you? And deep inside me, something wanted to do just that. The music spoke to the blood; it called to feelings best left unwoken. But I had been well trained. I spoke to myself severely. You, dance? Don’t be silly. You’ll never dance, not without making a fool of yourself. Besides, you are what you are. You are outside this, and always will be.

After that it was easy enough to get up, have a quiet word with Peg, and retire to the tent.

‘Enjoyed yourself, did you, lass?’ Peg queried. I gave a little nod that could have meant anything, and fled to my dark corner and privacy. Outside the music played on. At some point, Darragh’s pipes were joined by a whistle and a drum. In my own small patch of stillness, I unfastened the wooden chest and, rummaging through the contents, I found Riona and took her out. Her features could barely be discerned in the shadows.

Did my mother dance? I asked her. Is that what this once was, a dress for dancing? My fingers touched a fold of the rose-coloured silk that made up Riona’s small gown. Surely only a lovely, confident girl would wear such a fabric. And yet, that same girl had become the fragile creature of Peg’s words, the woman who had abandoned her little child and the young man who loved her so desperately, the woman who had simply stepped off the cliff one day and gone down, down through the wild spray into the icy grip of the ocean surge as it hammered the rocks of the Honeycomb. Her own family had done this to her; her father, her uncles, her brother who still ruled as lord of Sevenwaters. Darragh’s talk of family was rubbish. They had as good as killed her, and they had all but destroyed my father. In their way they were as bad as my grandmother. Now I must confront them, and somehow I must complete the task my grandmother had laid on me. How could I think of tales, and music, and fun, when I had that ahead of me? Dan Walker and his kind were simple folk. Even the stories they told were simple. I did not belong with them, and it was foolish to believe I ever would. I must keep myself to myself and make sure I drew no undue attention. In time the journey would be ended, and I could begin the work that was required of me.

But it was not so easy. It seemed to me there was a small conspiracy afoot to bring me out of myself, and make me a part of everything whether I wanted it or not. They were up early next morning, with folk already eating their porridge as I emerged, bleary-eyed, from the tent. There was a communal water trough. I splashed my face, having learned soon enough not to be too fussy.

‘Eat up quick,’ advised one of the girls as she hurried past me, tying her hair neatly back in a kerchief. ‘It’s quite a walk. And trading starts early.’

Mutely, I accepted a bowl of porridge and retired under the trees to sit on a fallen branch and eat. I was tired. It had been a late night. I did not want to go anyway. But they all seemed so busy; there was nobody I could ask. The ponies must look their best; Dan was inspecting them as the boys moved around putting the final touches on: the intricate plaiting of a mane here, the careful brushing of a tail there. Peg was sorting out the best of the baskets, and giving the girls instructions about trading and more instructions about not getting into trouble. Maybe there was no need to ask if I could stay behind. Maybe they would just forget me. A sudden wave of homesickness swept over me, a longing to see Father and be back in safe, familiar, quiet Kerry once more. If only I could just pack up a little bag and set off by myself, retracing the way until I came up the hill where the standing stones marked the passing of time, and found myself back in the cove again. But I could not go. The only way was forward. I felt powerless and sad. I felt truly outside, as if there were nowhere I belonged.

‘Best clean that bowl and get ready to go, lass.’ Peg’s voice broke into my thoughts. ‘We’ll be away soon. Busy day.’

I looked up at her, framing the words. Then Darragh appeared behind her, dressed in his best, green neckerchief jaunty, boots polished to a high shine.

‘It’s too far for Fainne to walk,’ he said to his mother.

‘Lass’ll do well enough,’ Peg said, looking at him sidelong with a rather odd expression. ‘She’s not a cripple.’

‘I – I would –’ was as much as I got out. Two pairs of eyes regarded me intently, and I knew they knew what I was trying to say.

‘Tell you what,’ said Darragh casually. ‘I’ll take Fainne with me. Won’t hurt Aoife to carry one more. I’ll drop her off near the oaks, make sure we find you before I head off for the sale lines. Be easier for all concerned.’

‘If that’s what you want,’ said his mother drily. ‘Don’t be late, now.’

‘No, Mam,’ grinned Darragh, and advanced to where I stood scowling under the trees, empty porridge bowl in hand. ‘Ready?’ he queried with a lift of the brows.

‘I don’t even want to go,’ I grumbled.

‘Well, you can’t stay here on your own, so there’s no choice really, is there?’ he said lightly. ‘You’ll need a kerchief on your head, it’s windy riding. Best plait up your hair, too. Want me to do it for you?’

‘I certainly do not!’ I snapped. ‘I’m not a baby. I’ll do it myself.’

‘Don’t be long,’ he said calmly.

One of the other girls offered to help with my hair, and because I was in a hurry, I let her. This I regretted soon enough.

‘Special treatment, huh?’ she queried as her fingers worked their way through the thick, intractable mass of russet curls.

I could not look at her, to quell her gossip with an expression of disdain. I was forced, therefore, to reply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Getting a ride with Darragh. He’s never done that before, taken a girl up to the Cross with him. Too many lasses after him, that’s his problem. Very careful, is Darragh. Doesn’t play favourites.’

I could scarcely think of what to say. I might have slapped her face, if she had not had hold of my hair.

‘There’s no favourites about it,’ I whispered angrily. ‘He’s just being helpful, that’s all, because I can’t walk very fast.’ I moved my right foot slightly, to show the boot that was a different shape from an ordinary one.

‘That?’ said the girl, offhand. ‘That’s nothing much. You’d keep up all right. Got a bit of ribbon, have you?’

I handed her the blue ribbon, over my shoulder.

‘No. You’re favoured all right. Not like him to hang around waiting, first day of the fair. He’s always the earliest one off, straight after sun-up. Horse mad, Darragh is. Wait till he turns up at the Cross with you behind him. Break a few of the lasses’ hearts, that will.’

‘You’re wrong, I’m sure,’ I said, feeling my cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. ‘It’s just that – that I am not one of you. A – a stranger, a guest. He’s being polite. That’s all.’

The girl tied the ribbon neatly and firmly. ‘Maybe,’ she said, leaning round with a little grin that marked her out as another of Peg’s seemingly endless brood. She must, therefore, be Darragh’s sister. I could not even remember her name. ‘And maybe not.’ And then she was off in a flurry of red skirts and a twinkle of gold earrings, before I could even think of saying thank you.

She was completely wrong, of course. Darragh and I were old friends, that was all. And Darragh thought I would be a nuisance and get into trouble if he did not play watchdog. Anything else was far too difficult to contemplate. I tied the little kerchief with its blue border over my newly braided hair, and went out to where he waited, with no sign of impatience, while Aoife cropped tranquilly at the grass. It seemed as if Dan and the men and the other lads were already gone. Peg and Molly were organising bigger children to carry younger ones, and making use of a couple of old horses to bear baskets and babies.

Darragh was looking at me with an odd expression, almost as if he were going to laugh.

‘Quite the little travelling girl,’ he remarked. ‘All you need’s a finishing touch, and you’ll blend right in. Here.’ He reached under his jacket and brought out a bundle of silk-soft cloth, neatly folded. As I took it in my hands it flowed out of itself and was revealed as a dazzling shawl of many colours, closely patterned with tiny creatures, delicate and jewel-like, leaf-green lizards, vivid blue birds, golden butterflies and exotic, rainbow fish with fronded tails. The shawl was fringed with long shining tassels, somewhere between gold and silver. It was the most beautiful garment I had ever seen.

‘I can’t wear this,’ I said, staring at it. It seemed fit only for a princess.

‘No?’ said Darragh, and he plucked it out of my hands and put it around my shoulders, tying the ends in front. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I promised not to be late. Not scared to ride a pony, are you?’

‘Of course not!’ I retorted.

‘Well, then.’

With him helping, it wasn’t too hard to scramble up on Aoife’s back. I’d thought I would have to cling on behind him, as his sister had said; but he put me up in front, sitting across like a lady, and held onto me with one arm while the other hand kept a light hold on the reins. It seemed to me, as we went, that Aoife knew what he wanted almost without being told. When there was a fork in the track, Darragh would say a quiet word, and she’d go one way or the other. He’d touch her with his knee, or put a brown hand on her glossy white neck, and she’d understand straight away what he wanted.

‘All right?’ he asked me once or twice, and I nodded. In fact, it was better than all right. It felt like old times; like the days of silent companionship we had shared as children. Those times were lost now. I knew that. But for as long as this ride might take, I could pretend that nothing had changed. I could feel the soft touch of the wonderful shawl with its vibrant pattern of life, enfolding me like a talisman of protection; I could almost believe I was one of the travelling folk, riding to the fair as bold as could be, and behind me, with his arm around my waist, a fine fellow who was the best piper in all of Kerry. Here I was, riding on the whitest and cleverest pony you ever saw, with the wind in my face, and the strange, stark shapes of distant hills on the one side, and the waters of a vast inlet on the other, bordered by a rocky shore, with here and there a little beach and a boat or two drawn up for safekeeping. There were not so many folk about, not now. Perhaps we really were late. Darragh didn’t seem bothered, and Aoife made her way as if she were the only creature of importance on the road anyway. We had passed Peg and Molly and the children, and Darragh’s sister had winked at me.

After a while I said to him, ‘What’s your sister’s name?’

‘Which one?’

‘The one with the red skirt, and a bold sort of way with her. The next one down from you, I think.’

There was a little pause. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’ said Darragh.

I made no reply.

‘They don’t bite, Fainne,’ he said, but there was no reproach in his tone. ‘That’d be Roisin. Been giving you cheek, has she?’

‘Not really.’

‘You need to watch out for her. She’ll say just what she thinks, if she’s a mind to.’

‘Mm,’ I said. ‘I’ve noticed.’

‘She’s a good girl, though. They all are.’

All too soon we were there. I had never seen so many people all in the one place, nor heard such a din of voices. There was a sort of order in it, if you looked close enough. The real business was over where the horses were, with little groups of farmers and travelling men and a few with the air of a local lord or a master at arms, checking teeth and inspecting hooves, and conducting intense, private conversations. Nearer at hand, folk were trading for a variety of goods, and chattering, and there was a smell of something good roasting over a little fire, and I could see the covered cart of the Grand Master and his voluble henchman. From a distance, someone called out to Darragh. We came to a halt under a stand of great trees.

‘Well, then,’ he said, and slipped from Aoife’s back, light as a feather. ‘Here we are.’ He lifted me down, and stood there with his hands around my waist. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘A smile. That’s a rare treat.’

I reached out to pat Aoife’s well-groomed flank. ‘Not selling her, are you?’ I queried.

‘Her? Not likely. Couldn’t part with her, not now. She’s my luck.’

I nodded. ‘Someone’s calling you,’ I said.

Darragh took his hands away. ‘Not sure I can go,’ he said, frowning. ‘Mam’s not here yet, and I said I’d make certain I found them for you. And up there’s no place for a girl,’ jerking his head towards the horse lines.

Another voice yelled out, ‘Darragh! You’re needed here!’

‘You’d better go,’ I said, with more courage than I felt. ‘I can wait here under the oaks and look out for the others.’

Darragh’s brown eyes regarded me very closely. ‘Sure?’

‘I’m not a child. I think I can be relied on to wait a little and not get lost.’

‘Promise you’ll stay out of trouble.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Promise, or I’ll be obliged to wait here with you.’

‘Darragh!’ This time it was Dan Walker who was calling.

‘This is stupid. All right, I promise.’

‘See you later, then.’ He tweaked the corner of my kerchief, turned on his heel and was gone, with Aoife walking obediently beside him, steady as a rock in the seething, noisy press of the crowd.

I did mean it, when I promised. I really did. But you can’t help who you are, and what you are. Sometimes things happen, and you have to act, you simply cannot stop yourself. That was how it was, that morning at the Cross.

I melted into the shadows under the big trees, wishing I had the power to command invisibility. For now I could stand here unobserved, brilliant-coloured shawl or no, since all attention was on the Grand Master’s cart. It was being opened and unpacked not ten strides away from me, to much craning of necks and ooh-ing and aah-ing from the crowd assembled around it. The lanky assistant was doing most of the work and all the talking, while the Master himself stood there in his tattered apology for a wizard’s cloak, staring down his beak of a nose and doing his best to look haughty and mysterious. There was less magic in that lugubrious fellow, I thought, than I had in my smallest finger. You could see at first glance that he was a fake, and it was astonishing that folk seemed to be taken in by it.

The assistant was a very busy man. Soon the area to each side of the cart was a gaudy array of banners and netting, with many little cages hung on poles, in each of which was a strange creature that might be obtained for a price, to amuse a sweetheart or make a neighbour jealous. I edged a little closer, but it was hard to see without being seen. In the cage nearest to me there was a forlorn-looking bird, an owl sort of thing with ragged plumage. It edged from side to side on its perch, the movements jerky, the eyes round and wild. Below it, some furry creature sat, with a clawed hand curled around the bars of its small prison, and its head leaning over as if feigning sleep. On the other side, something was uttering shrill screeches, and folk were pointing, with little exclamations.

‘Now, my fine ladies, my estimable lords, my fortunate young ones!’ The assistant was shouting; essential over the racket. ‘Come closer, come closer, and the Master will show you the amazing remedies we have for you this year, some tried and true, some wondrous new discoveries, all astonishingly effective.’

He went on in this vein for some time. I glanced around. There was still no sign of Peg and Molly and the others. I moved closer. I could see the source of the noise now: a brightly coloured bird tethered to a perch on the far side of the cart. Behind it were more caged creatures. Doves. Finches. A pale-furred hare, confined very close, so close it could not turn, let alone flex its strong legs and spring as was the way of its kind. There was a boy there, poking his finger in at it, and the creature had not even the room to flinch away. I looked into its eyes: blank, staring eyes where panic had overtaken reason. The bird screamed again, and it seemed to me it was crying out the rage and the fear of all of them, for being shut up and put on show and looked at, for being a thing of beauty shackled and gawked at and enjoyed, and then thrown away without further thought.

The man was going on about a potion of strength. He pretended to drink a little, and then chose a big fellow from the crowd to come up and fight him. The result was inevitable. The two of them made a pretence of sparring, and then the Master’s assistant felled his much larger opponent with a careful tap to the jaw. The giant collapsed, and the crowd gasped. After a short pause, during which a child was heard to say, ‘Is he dead, Mam?’ the fellow began to groan, and was hauled to his feet, rubbing his jaw and rolling his eyes. There was a babble of excitement, and an eager jostle of buyers. I wondered how much they had paid the large man for his performance.

‘And now,’ said the henchman, apparently buoyed by his success, ‘the Master himself will demonstrate the use of the new, all-effective love philtre. Made with his very own hands, this potion of power will transform the most reluctant sweetheart into … dear friends, you cannot imagine. It must speak for itself. Good folk, here is … the Master.’

We were supposed to cheer, I think. I still could not see properly. But if I moved any closer, I would be right in the crowd, and folk would look at me and press up against me and maybe talk to me and … My fingers clutched the amulet for reassurance. Use the Glamour, child, said my grandmother’s voice, somewhere in my head. Be what you like.

I did it quickly, before I could change my mind. Peg and Molly weren’t there. Darragh was busy. Nobody would notice a thing. I chose the form I judged least likely to draw any attention, a much older version of myself, a woman of middle years, in plain working clothes, shawled and scarved and straggle-haired. I could have been anyone. Indeed, there were many others just like me in the throng. Not a soul noticed as I moved quietly down to stand near the front, where I could see the man who called himself the Master scanning the crowd, while maintaining his pose of disdain.

‘The Master’s looking,’ said his assistant portentously. ‘Looking, searching for a fellow that’s lonely; for some poor soul with no sweetheart. What about you, sir?’

‘He’s taken!’ retorted a sharp female voice from the back of the crowd. Everyone laughed.

‘Ah,’ said the assistant as the Master pointed a bony finger. ‘Here’s a fellow. What is your name, sir?’

The man was red with embarrassment, but grinning at the same time. ‘His name’s Ross,’ offered a helpful friend, spluttering with laughter. ‘A few sheaves short of the full stack, but a fine man for all that.’ It sounded as if they’d made an early start on the ale.

‘You’d like a pretty sweetheart, now, wouldn’t you, Ross?’ asked the assistant as he hauled his victim up on the cart steps where all could view him. ‘Let’s see if we can find one for you. Which of you ladies wants to test our new elixir, now?’

There was a shuffling of feet, and a silence. Seemingly there were no takers. I was not surprised. The man they had chosen was skinny and none too clean looking, and he had a bulbous nose with a drip on the end.

‘Come, now,’ coaxed the henchman. ‘Who’ll try it? There must be a lovely lady here who’d like a bit of fun? No? Then the Master himself must beg.’

The black-cloaked man had already descended from the cart, and had begun to pace along the front where folk stood close-packed. I had been watching him, while others had all their attention on the fellow who was doing the talking. The Master had in his hand a fine gold chain with a small, shining object strung on it, and he was dangling it to and fro, to and fro.

‘There might be a little something in it, for the girl that’s bold enough,’ hinted the assistant. The Master paced back and forth. The little chain swung left and right, left and right. He halted. He paused. He stretched out a finger and pointed.

‘Ah!’ exclaimed the assistant. ‘We have a willing taker. Come up, my dear, come up and sip this exquisite potion, made from carefully selected herbs and berries and just – a – little,’ he made a circle with his thumb and first finger, ‘of the most secretly guarded of ingredients. Just a tiny sip.’

The girl they had chosen was very young, certainly younger than myself, and poorly clad, with a gown much mended. For all that, there was a delicate bloom about her that might catch a man’s fancy. Nobody raised an objection when the men led her forward. It seemed she was there alone. Nobody noticed the way she stared at the little gold chain swinging to and fro, to and fro, as if that were all she could see. Nobody but me. I felt anger building in me.

The Master put the gold chain away in his pocket. The young girl stood there before him, her pure features blank of expression. On the other side, the man with the bulbous nose leered across at her, then rolled his eyes back to his friends in the crowd, who sniggered and poked each other in the ribs.

The Master bent over and whispered in the girl’s ear. All that I heard was, ‘Drink this, my dear.’ But there had been more. I could guess what it was.

She took the little cup in her hand and drank. There was a hush of expectation. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she turned, expressionless, and took a step over to the man, Ross. She twined her arms around his neck, and pressed her body against his, and planted a long kiss on his lips. The crowd cheered and applauded. I watched the way the man’s hand groped at her skirts, and the way his tongue went, disgustingly, in her mouth. I waited for the Master to click his fingers or wave his hand before the girl’s eyes, and undo what he had done. Instead, he watched the fellow lead the young girl down the steps and away through the crowd. A rush of other men clustered around the cart, eager to buy. I was outraged. It was nothing but a sham, an old trick, easy as long as you picked a susceptible subject. Simply done. Simply undone.

But this man had not undone it. He had let that little girl go, with that fellow, and – as I said, you are what you are. Sometimes you just have to act. The rainbow bird sat on its perch just by the Master’s shoulder, still shrieking abuse, as well it might do. I looked it in the eye, and spoke a word in my mind.

The tether that held it broke apart. Nobody saw. The bird shrank, and swelled, and changed. For a moment, in the commotion of jostling buyers, nobody noticed. Bright feathers became shining scales. Claws and beak disappeared. I used my imagination. The creature grew long and slender and sinuous. The serpent coiled around the perch, feeling the power in its muscular neck, feeling the venom in its forked tongue. Feeling the almost forgotten power of freedom.

A child spoke up again. ‘What’s that, Mam?’

The Master froze in his place as a creeping, twining presence flowed across his shoulders and around his neck, above the tattered black cloak.

‘Aaah …’ he managed, a mere thread of sound. His assistant backed away. The crowd retreated. Amongst them, the man Ross halted and stared back, still clutching the girl by one arm. I took a step forward, making sure the Master could see me.

‘Undo it,’ I said very quietly.

His eyes bulged at me. His face was purple. Maybe the coils were tight. I did not care.

‘Call that girl back here and undo what you did,’ I said again, softly so that only he and his assistant could hear me. ‘Do it now or you’re dead. Don’t think I care what happens to you.’

‘Aaaah …’ the Master gasped again, rolling his eyes towards his assistant. The serpent shifted its grip, and its tail slid off the perch to curl neatly around the Master’s arm. Now he was bearing its full weight. The small, triangular head was poised just in front of his eyes.

The assistant moved, called out. ‘You! You there! Bring her back!’

The crowd parted for the man and the girl. Terror held folk away from the cart; fascination kept them close enough, for this fair’s entertainment would be the stuff of fireside tales for many a long winter to come. The assistant grabbed the girl’s other arm and wrenched her away from the leering Ross. He didn’t have to pull very hard. Ross had blanched at the sight of the serpent’s wicked little eyes. He faded back into the crowd.

The girl was led up close. Her expression was quite blank; the terrifying creature might just as well have been a hedgehog or a sheep.

‘Undo it,’ I hissed. ‘Hurry up. Or I’ll make it bite.’ I was not at all sure I could do this, but it sounded good. The Master raised a shaking hand, and clicked his fingers once before the girl’s blank face. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Then she saw the snake, and screamed.

‘It’s all right,’ I told her, under cover of the crowd’s excited response. ‘Go home. Go on. Find your family, and go home.’

‘Dad,’ she said in a panicky voice, as if remembering something. ‘Dad’ll kill me.’ She looked around wildly, spotted someone away towards the horse lines, and was off at a run.

‘Erggh …’ came a strangled sound. I had not forgotten the Master. Not entirely. And I must act fast, and then disappear, for I caught a glimpse of Roisin on the edge of the crowd, and knew the others must be there, and would be searching for me.

I looked the serpent in its small, bright eye. I’d been quite pleased with this creation. But a serpent could not fly, after all. I spoke the word, and it changed. The Master gave a yelp of pain as the rainbow bird clamped its claws momentarily on his shoulder, and then it spread its gaudy wings and rose somewhat unevenly into the air, circling the crowd with a scream of derision before it flew off eastwards. Everyone was looking up, craning to see the phenomenon. I hadn’t long, but I was good at this sort of thing. Cage doors sprang open, latches fell apart, bolts dropped from their fastenings. Not all could be safe; some I had to change. The hare became a fine, healthy little pony, which I slapped on the rump and sent in the general direction of the horse lines. He’d do well enough. The clawed, furry creature transformed into a squirrel, that streaked across the open ground and straight up into the oaks, where it proceeded to make itself quite at home. The finches, the doves, they would be all right. Perhaps they had not been captive long, for they flew off quickly to take their chances with the winter, and the trapper, and the hawk. But there was one captive left. The little owl, whose cage was open, whose path to freedom lay before it, stood quivering on its perch, lifting one foot and then the other, unable somehow to make that first move. And now folk were noticing, pointing, staring, and the Master and his henchman were advancing on me where I stood willing the creature to move its wings and fly. I fancied I heard Peg’s voice somewhere beyond the oaks, calling my name.

Fly, stupid, I told the bird. I could not transform this one; it was too fragile and too terrified to survive that. A quick decision was required. I turned to the Master.

‘Give me this owl. Or I’ll tell all these people what a fraud you are. How all your remedies are fakes. I can do it.’

He looked down his nose at me. ‘You?’ he hissed, quiet enough for folk not to hear. ‘A farmer’s wife? I don’t think so. Now clear off, or I’ll have you whipped for ruining my performance and stealing my animals. Go on, off with –’ He stopped abruptly as I fixed my gaze on his neck and applied another little spell.

‘Ah … aaagh …’

‘You see?’ I said sweetly. ‘The serpent is just a fancy touch. I’ve no need of that, to kill you gradually from strangulation. Give me the bird.’

He gestured wildly with one hand and clutched his throat with the other. The assistant lifted down the small cage and its inhabitant, and I took it.

‘Good,’ I said calmly, and released the spell. The Master staggered back, chalk-faced, as his assistant was besieged by gesticulating, confused spectators. Now that they were sure the serpent was gone, they had questions they wanted answered.

The Master was staring at me.

‘Who are you?’ he breathed with real fear in his eyes.

‘I am a sorcerer’s daughter, and more of a master than you will ever be, with your cheap tricks,’ I told him. ‘Don’t try that again, fooling a little girl into behaving like some wanton for hire. Don’t even think of it.’ I gestured towards my own neck, as if to warn him of the consequences. Then I caught sight of Molly, and beside her Roisin, and I made myself vanish into the crowd, where I was just another farmer’s wife out for a day of amusement.

I retreated to a quiet corner behind an empty cart, and sat down on the grass. I spoke the words in silence, and was myself again, a little traveller girl, striped dress, blue-bordered kerchief, long red plait, limping foot. A girl wearing the most beautiful shawl at the Cross, a shawl with a proud pattern of wonderful creatures of all kinds. A girl bearing a broken cage, with a crazy owl in it. Clearly, that part would not do.

I spoke to the creature very quietly. It seemed near-stupefied with fear, its only movement the strange, mechanical lifting of its feet, left and right, left and right.

‘Don’t be scared,’ I told it, quite unsure of whether it could even hear me, let alone understand. ‘You can go now. Fly. Fly away free.’ I reached very slowly into the cage, expecting at the least some serious damage to my fingers. The bird made no move but its mindless pacing. Perhaps it really was mad. Maybe it would be kinder to wring its neck. I could hear Peg’s voice again, over the noise of the crowd.

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Give me a bit of help, can’t you?’ I put my hand around the creature, pinning the wings so it could not hurt itself with flapping, and lifted it out carefully, head first. I could feel the frantic drumming of its heart, and the fragility of its body, all little bones and feathers. I used both hands to hold the bird more or less upright on the ground before me, facing the open.

‘Trees,’ I said. ‘Oaks. That’s what those are. Fly. Use those wings. Off you go.’ I took my hands away. The bird stood there, trembling. At least it had stopped its pacing. ‘Go on,’ I said, giving it the tiniest push away.

It turned its head and looked at me.

‘By all the powers!’ I whispered in exasperation. ‘What am I supposed to do? I can’t keep you, I’ve got to go, and besides –’

The bird stared at me with its big, round, mad eyes.

‘Haven’t I got enough to worry about?’ I asked it. ‘Oh, come on, then.’ The pathetic bundle of feathers could not sustain a transformation, that I knew from bitter experience. More than one rat or beetle had been sacrificed to Grandmother’s quest for perfection in the art. But a lesser change might be possible. And my gown had deep pockets, since a traveller girl might need to carry a needle and thread, or a handy knife, or a spare kerchief or two. I reached out and passed my hand over the creature’s ragged form. ‘There,’ I said, picking it up in my hand. Now it was around the size of a mouse: the claws like the little thorns of a wild rose, the eyes tiny, dark and solemn. It blinked at me.

‘I hope you’re not hungry,’ I said in an undertone. ‘I hope you understand keep still and keep quiet.’ And I slipped the very small bird into my pocket, and went out into the fair.

‘Fainne!’ yelled Roisin, before I had gone five paces across the grass. ‘Where were you? Mam’s going frantic, said she couldn’t find you anywhere! Where were you?’

‘Nowhere much,’ I said. ‘She’d no need to worry.’

‘That’s not what Darragh said.’

I looked at her sharply. ‘And just what did Darragh say?’ I asked her, shocked out of my shyness.

Roisin grinned. ‘Said, given half a chance, you’d find trouble.’

‘Nonsense,’ I told her. ‘As you see, I’m fine. Where are we going now?’

‘To sell the baskets. Once they’re all gone we can look around, see the sights. Not on our own, though. Mam won’t allow that.’ She looked at me sideways, brows raised.

‘Sorry,’ I conceded. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Roisin, sounding just like her brother.

It was all the talk of the day. I sat watching as Peg and Molly and Roisin and the other girls haggled over their wares and pocketed their profits, and the tale of what happened that morning grew ever more elaborate. We’d seen the Grand Master and his assistant pack up and leave the fair entirely, not without many delays, for there were customers dissatisfied, and explanations required. Eventually they made their escape, and this in itself was cause for surprised conjecture, for they’d been a fixture of the fair for many a season, Peg said. Folk swore by their remedies. As for herself, she’d never seen the need for any of those potions. What you couldn’t do by yourself, you couldn’t do. Folk should accept that, and stop trying to be what they weren’t. The fellow brought the crowds, that was the only good to be said of him. Set up close to the Master’s cart, and your sales would be steady enough.

I kept well out of it. Roisin asked me what I’d seen, and I told her not much, because there’d been tall people standing in front of me. Just a lot of fuss, and some birds flying off. That was all. But all morning folk were talking about it. They were saying the magic went wrong for some reason. A curse, maybe. The creatures had gone mad, and there was a snake near killed the fellow, and some large animal with claws like knives. Never seen anything like it. And there was some woman gave the Master quite a tongue-lashing. Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her. Fierce as a sorceress, she was, for all she was just some farmer’s wife. And then, all of a sudden, no sign of her. But the fellow was scared, you could see it. Face the colour of fresh cheese, he had, and a red mark all round his neck.

The baskets sold out early and Peg was well pleased. She’d more back at the camp, she said, and other things as well, kerchiefs and bits and pieces. We’d bring them up tomorrow. Our afternoon was free. But, Peg told us sternly, no nonsense. None of us was to go off alone, and we must be back before the sun touched the oaks, for it was a long walk to the camp, and she didn’t want the children tired out. She and Molly would pack up, and enjoy a few tankards of cider and a chance to catch up with friends.

Again, I seemed to have no choice. Roisin had attached herself to me and, in the company of two other girls, was leading me out into the press of bodies, eager for some fun. Sudden panic overtook me. There were so many people, so close, and they were all strangers. Horrible, leering men like that fellow, Ross, men reaching out hands to pinch and touch, men saying things like, ‘How about it, sweetheart?’ and then guffawing as if they’d made the wittiest joke. Women screaming abuse at unruly children. Stallholders advertising their wares in voices like braying horns. I could not excuse myself, for there was nowhere to go. I had not the power to work a spell of transportation. Father had refused to teach me that, saying I was not ready. I toyed with the idea of turning the lot of them into beetles or spiders. At least, then, the little creature in my pocket would be able to have its dinner. But I’d no quarrel with Roisin or Peg or Molly. Or with Darragh. No, I’d have to do something else. Use the Glamour, Fainne. It had worked before, giving just enough confidence to get by for as long as I needed it. And nobody had noticed a thing. It would be quite safe.

I did it gradually, as we threaded a way through the crowd. It was not so much of a change. The hair from tight-curled russet to smoother red-gold like fine clover honey. The eyes lighter, bluer, wider, the lashes long and dark. The brows delicately arched, the lips sweet and red. The figure not so very different: just a little curve here and a little curve there, and a change in the slope of the shoulders. Lastly, the feet. Straight, beautiful, perfect feet, in neat matching boots. Feet for dancing.

We got roasted nuts to eat from a dark-skinned fellow with a little brazier. They were paid for with a kiss. Not by me; even the Glamour was not enough to make me so bold, so soon. It was Roisin pecked the man on one cheek and then the other, with a wicked little smile. Then there was cider, and that was free for all the folk who sold their wares at the fair. But we were lured by the sound of a whistle and a bodhrán and some expert on the spoons, and we were drawn into a great circling and weaving of folk that moved to the jigs and reels ringing out over the sward. The men were starting to return, their business done for the day, and Roisin and the others had an eye out for certain lads they fancied.

Nobody noticed that I was different. After all, I had not become a farmer’s wife, or an old crone, or a water-dragon. All I had done was improve upon myself as subtly as I could. As Father had told me, it is not yourself you change with the Glamour. It is other folk’s perception. So, that afternoon, I did not adopt a disguise. I’d no wish to disappear and have Roisin and the others out looking for me. I simply wanted to be able to fit in, to join in, to be rid of the terror that came of being myself and always out of place. Besides, I told myself, it was good practice for Sevenwaters.

Roisin had a sweetheart. He appeared on the edge of the crowd, and I saw him watching her, then making his way through to put his hands over her eyes from behind, laughing, and ask her to dance. He’d a very determined jaw on him, and strong shoulders. Not long after, a fellow asked me, and I said yes, and managed the sort of smile my grandmother had taught me.

It was a strange feeling to be graceful. The music seemed to carry me along, and I was floating from one partner to another and smiling without even trying. It was hot, and I took off my kerchief. The blue ribbon was lost, and my hair came unplaited. I felt the long red-gold flow of it over my shoulders, and the striped skirt whirling around me, and saw the silken fringe of my beautiful shawl glittering in the afternoon sun. I felt the drumming of the bodhrán deep inside me, pushing me along. I sensed the eyes of folk on me, admiring, and I didn’t mind a bit. I danced with the freckled lad from our own camp, the one with a pony named Silver, and he grinned a lot and said nothing at all. On the other side of the circle, Roisin was still with the same young man; they’d eyes for no one but each other. I danced with an older man, a farmer with a fine, silver-buttoned coat and sharp eyes. He asked me my name, and I told him. He asked would he see me again tomorrow, and I said maybe. He held me closer than I liked, and I did some very fast thinking. The man went suddenly rather pale, and excused himself quickly. I hadn’t done any real harm. He’d retch up the food he had in him, and be better in the morning.

The sun was near the tops of the great oaks and clouds were gathering. I was not ready to go. Here, I was the centre of something. I was myself and not-myself, both at once. It was around me that it all moved, the men with their hungry eyes, the lilt and throb of the music, the bright flare and flash of scarf and shawl and flying hair, a circle of movement and laughter and light.

A tall fellow was asking me to dance, urged on by his friends. In the distance, I could see Roisin bidding her young man farewell. And beyond them on the far side of the circle was Darragh, standing very still, watching me. His expression was not angry, not exactly. It went beyond that. It was the look of a man whose worst fears have been realised before his eyes. He gave a jerk of his head as if to say, come on, time to go. Then he moved away and was lost in the crowd. He wasn’t even going to wait for me.

‘Excuse me,’ I whispered to my would-be partner, and I slipped away as quietly as I could, shedding the Glamour as I went, limping over to the place where Darragh had left me before, close by the great oaks.

Aoife was standing under the trees in the shade. Darragh was by her, grim-faced and silent. He linked his hands to give me a lift up onto the pony’s back, and vaulted up behind me, and we were off at a very quick pace indeed. He didn’t say anything at all until we were well on the way, passing the little curraghs drawn up by the inlet, with the clouds growing dark in the sky above us. There was nobody else in sight.

‘Can’t take my eye off you for a moment, can I?’ he remarked.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘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.