The men were deep in discussion one evening after supper. Liam had just returned from a visit to Seamus Redbeard. He had brought back a pair of wolfhound pups, and news. Now they were planning some sort of expedition, which they did not bother explaining to me. Even Red had been drawn in, and I halfheard their words as I sat by the fire, yawning over my mead.

“Seamus is no longer young,” Donal said bluntly. “Has he the will for this, and can he hold on long enough?”

“He won’t be without help.” Liam’s tone was weighty. “We’ll make sure of that. I will not see Eilis’s son raised in a household at enmity with mine.”

“These territories are spread very wide,” Red commented, studying the map unrolled on the table before them. “Don’t you fear that Seamus, given control of the other holding as well as his own, may turn against you in an attempt to claim all for himself?”

“Seamus has always been loyal, and he knows our strength,” Liam replied. “It is in his best interests to oversee Eamonn’s estates until the boy reaches manhood, and to retain Sevenwaters as his ally. He is the child’s grandfather; his claim will be hard for others to challenge.”

I was not sure I wanted to hear anymore. In particular, I knew I did not want to hear exactly what was planned for Eamonn himself, for there seemed to be no place for him in the picture they painted. So I got up and went to light a candle, thinking to retire to bed, and as I looked over toward the main doorway I caught Finbar’s eye just before he slipped away outside. It was very late, and he had no outdoor cloak. And there was that odd, wild look in his eyes. But perhaps he only wanted to be alone, as we all do from time to time. Maybe he would be back soon. I waited, watching the door. Time passed, and the men talked on, and Finbar did not return. At last I could wait no longer. I spoke to Red quietly, not wishing to alarm my father for nothing. The two of us took our cloaks and boots and a lantern, and we set out to follow Finbar’s path.

It had been raining but now the air was clear and damp. His footprints were easy to track on the soft soil, all the way to the secret cove on whose upper bank the small birch tree grew. But my brother was nowhere to be found. We moved up and down the shore for a while, searching by lantern light until the moon emerged from her veil of cloud and cast a cool glow over the forest. On the very edge of the lake, where the last footprint marked the margin of white sand and clear water, something caught my eye. Red held the lantern and we tent to look more closely. There was my mother’s amulet, with the cord stid intact; and a few shreds of woven fiber, that might have been starwort; and a single white feather. But of Finbar we saw not a trace, not that night, nor the next night, nor from Imbolc to Lugnasad. He had vanished as truly as if he had indeed changed again. But you could not go back. I knew that. I did not believe, as many did, that he had simply walked into the lake and frowned. His tale, I sensed, would be the strangest of all. I only hoped that, one day, I would be shown the truth of it.