“And since you were twelve, you have been self-contained, serene, thoughtful, dedicated to the will of the gods. A dutiful servant.”

She says nothing. I remember the tale she told, that first night. I suspect she has not wept, laughed or stamped her foot in anger since she was a child of five or six. I gaze on her face, though by now I need not look at her features to see her; I carry her image deep within me. There is hurt in her eyes, though she will not release it in tears. Why have I challenged her thus? What am I expecting, a declaration of love? Wretched Felix. You never could learn to keep your mouth shut.

“I will give you my interpretation of the runes,” Sibeal says, turning her gaze down toward the ritual cloth. Her manner is that of a teacher correcting a wayward student. “The way forward is no longer obscure as it was before. The light of the gods shines down on our pathway. The mission can be completed. But it’s not straightforward. The possibility of victory is balanced by the presence of death in these runes. That may relate to your brother and to the others who perished in the sea. But Sigel also tells us we can summon the strength to hold back the forces that conspire against us. We can resist the chaotic influences that attended my first divination, the night you used Is to tell me you had lost your memory. Ken is not simply light as in a torch or lamp; it also signifies the light of knowledge. Ken and Is are opposites, Ardal. Against the frozen immobility of Is, Ken is transformation.”

When I do not reply, she continues, “A runic divination works on many levels, from the most esoteric to the simplest and most direct. My interpretation is a druid’s; it differs from yours, but does not invalidate it.” A deep, gulping breath. “Ardal—”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, Sibeal.”

“I don’t do what I do out of duty, but out of love.”

I am not fool enough to interpret this in the way I would like to. I wait for her to go on.

“We are all joined in spirit, Ardal. Every man, woman and child; every creature, every blade of grass, every apple on the tree. Every wave that breaks on the shore. How can I not help?” Her tone changes, softens. “It was a stranger I found on the shore. But now you’re my friend. As for your interpretation of the runes, I did guess you might be a poet, and what you said makes me think I was correct.”

A smile creeps onto my face. “I am sorry I disturbed the divination. I seem to have a talent for that.”

“If we discuss it calmly, I may avoid a headache. The interpretation seems clear.”