I owed Finbar a great debt. He had died saving Ciarán’s life. Without that sacrifice, my mentor would not have lived to return to the druid community. In time I thought others, too, would understand just what Finbar’s selfless act had achieved. I had seen something in Ciarán’s future that was so momentous, so terrifying, that I was hardly prepared to think about it, let alone tell him what I suspected might lie in store for him. The seer’s gift let in both light and shadow; not for nothing were we trained to caution and reserve. I wondered, sometimes, how much Ciarán had gleaned of his own destiny, and whether he ever suspected that I, his young protégé, might have insights beyond his knowledge.

I would spend the day alone in this cavern that had been Finbar’s home for so long. Fang had settled to wait at the tunnel entry, everything about her pose suggesting duty, not inclination. It was only when I was in the cave that I remembered something Uncle Conor had told me: that in his man-bird form, Finbar had been terrified of dogs. Just as well Fang would not come in, for it seemed to me that lonely man’s presence lingered here, long after his death. I could sense his sorrow, his quiet, his deep thoughts. I could feel the courage that had drawn him out of his sanctuary, perhaps knowing that he would never return.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured to Finbar’s shade. “Sorry that your life was not happier; sorry that I came close to disrespecting the memories in this place. I welcome your presence. I honor your courage. I hope your wisdom will guide me to right choices.” But the only answer was the restless whispering of the sea.

It was not until I had spent some hours in meditation that I felt ready to seek wisdom in the calm pool. I drank from the water skin I had brought, considering what insights I most keenly sought today. Cathal, with the blood of the Tuatha De Danann running in his veins, could command a particular vision to the scrying vessel when he needed it—he would either see what he sought or nothing at all. A person such as myself, with two human parents, was unlikely to possess such ability, but what I could do was still considerable. I had been a seer since my childhood, born with an unusual talent. I could not wish I had no such skill, for it was god-given. I only wished I were better able to control it, and better able to withstand the difficulties it created.