Free Seer of Sevenwaters by Juliet Marillier

not sorrow I had felt in the grip of her strong hands. What I had sensed was a cry for help.
    “Are you sure you can continue with this, Sibeal?”
    “Of course.” I was still working on my breathing. “We need a final blessing, that’s all. It would be right for you to say that, as leader of the community.” The ritual must not end on a note of violence and discord. The gods would be deeply displeased, and the spirits of the dead would journey under a shadow.
    My cousin stepped forward, a somber figure in his dark tunic, the raven markings on his cheek and brow brought to eerie life by the shifting torchlight. The sky was fading to dusk. “The gods speed you on your journey,” he said quietly. “We honor your endeavors. We salute your courage. We offer our prayers for your passage to the next world. Let your memory be held in every stone of this island. Let your songs be whispered on the wind. May the tongues of bards tell your tales until the end of time.”
    The spades rose and fell once more. After some time, a time silent save for the thud of metal on earth and the soft descent of the soil, the hollow became a mound. Stones would be placed here to hold it firm; this boat would hold a true course to the northeast, toward these seafarers’ ancestral home. In time, the vessel would bear a shivering shroud of grass.
    Dusk blanketed the island. As we headed back toward the settlement and a warm fire, the rain descended in sudden sheets, drenching every man and woman among us, turning the paths to quagmires and filling each hollow with a slate-dark pool. The torches fizzled and died. Behind us the burial mound stood quiet in the fading light. The ritual was complete.

    I was too tired to go to supper in the dining hall, but too unsettled to think of sleep. In the infirmary, Muirrin tended to my bruises and Clodagh brought me food and drink. Folk came and went. I heard from Evan that Knut and Svala had been offered the fisherman’s hut down by the main cove, away from the rest of the community, and that Knut had accepted gladly. Svala had not appeared at supper time, Evan said, but Knut had come to the dining hall and had gone around the tables with Kalev, personally thanking every member of the community for the kindness shown to him and his wife.
    Later, when Evan and Muirrin had gone to bed and I was sitting by the sick man’s pallet deep in thought while Gull pottered at the workbench, Johnny came in. He nodded to Gull, then came over to me.
    “How are you feeling, Sibeal? That was . . . unsettling.”
    “I have a bruise or two on top of the ones I got yesterday, but nothing serious.”
    “You did a fine job. To stay so calm, to finish the ritual . . . Ciarán would be proud of you.” Johnny sat down opposite me. I felt his scrutiny. He was doing what he did so well, taking in what lay below the surface.
    “Mm.” I knew exactly what Ciarán would say if he were here. What might you have done differently, Sibeal? What learning can be gleaned from this? A druid was always learning. One sought wisdom in all that occurred, whether planned or unplanned. Right now, I was not feeling very wise. I was feeling exhausted, out of my depth and on the verge of tears. Svala needed help. She was trying to tell me so, or thus it seemed. But she had attacked me with some violence, when I was doing my best to conduct a solemn ritual in which I honored her dead son. Why would she do that? Was I wrong about that plea for help? Perhaps she was completely out of her mind, and unreachable. “I hope the gods looked kindly on us. Svala’s grief has shattered her, I know that. But those men deserved better. I should have anticipated that she might act wildly and taken steps to prevent it.”
    “Sibeal, look at me.”
    I looked. It seemed an immense effort.
    “You were exhausted and upset. Evan told me the man you rescued may not survive, and I can imagine your feelings on that. Yet you undertook this duty for us. After Svala’s