Sevenwaters 6 - Flame of Sevenwaters by Juliet Marillier

Author:Juliet Marillier
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781101611722
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2012-11-06T06:00:00+00:00

DRUID’S JOURNEY: EAST

H e reaches the coast at dawn. The air is cold as a knife, slicing to the bone. He descends by a cliff path; finds the woman on a ledge outside her cave, swathed in a blanket, warming water over a little fire. Huddled though she is, she looks tall, straight, young enough to be the other’s daughter. Down on the pebbly shore below a lean gray dog runs to and fro, playing at chase; the gulls tease him, hovering just within snapping range, then rising at the last moment. By the time the druid reaches the ledge, the dog has sprinted up the path to give him close inspection.

“Get in, Slip,” the woman says, and the creature settles by her, its bright eyes never leaving the visitor.

“My respects to you, wise woman.”

“And to you, druid.” She speaks without glancing up; her gaze is on the curling flames, the wisps of bark she is feeding into the fire’s heart. “You are just in time for breakfast. We can offer you a share of a fish.”

“Thank you. I have bread enough for all.” He settles cross-legged, getting out the loaf, a small knife, his flask of mead.

No more talk, then, until the fish is sizzling over the fire, the bread lies ready on the platters and the two of them have a cup of mead apiece in their hands.

“My sister sent you,” she says.

If he is surprised that this woman of middle years is sister to the crone of the north, he shows no sign of it. “She suggested the wisdom I seek might be found with you, yes.”

The woman reaches to turn the fish, using a pair of sharpened sticks. Her cooking pan is black with use, her platters chipped and cracked. The dog makes an anticipatory sound.

“Some of that wisdom. Not all. You have a long journey ahead of you, druid, and time runs short.”

He waits, holding his silence. The sun creeps up, turning the expanse of water before them into a glittering carpet of light. He gazes out over the sea toward an island veiled from the eyes of humankind. The old woman had spoken of selkies.

“Your kin,” says the woman, as if she knew his thoughts. She passes him a platter of fish and bread. “They come in here from time to time.”

He nods, not finding any words.

The three of them eat their meal, the dog quickly, the others more slowly as the sun moves higher. It is still very early in the morning. The shore is empty of seals.

“You’ll be wanting this,” the woman says, indicating the remains of the loaf.

“Keep it for supper. The mead, too.”

“If you say so.” She packs the things away in the cave, tidily. “Let us go down.”

They walk on the shore awhile. The woman throws sticks for the dog to chase; the creature is in bliss. Gulls swoop and dive, fishing offshore.

“If you’d come at dusk, you might have seen them,” she says.

The dog runs up, panting, its tail scything to and fro.

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