Supper drew to a close; the dining hall began to empty. Biddy came to sit down beside Gull and have her own meal while her assistants moved around the tables, collecting the platters for washing. Johnny would stay here awhile, for it was customary for members of the community to bring their questions and disputes to him after the meal so everything could be sorted out fairly. One of his rules, a good one for a place like this where, in effect, there was no escaping the rest of the inhabitants, was that the sun should not set on anyone’s anger. Johnny would listen calmly, arbitrate, offer advice, sometimes give orders. There were one or two men standing by the open area where, on a happier night, musicians would gather to entertain the crowd. It was plain that they were waiting to be heard.

“I’ll bid you all good night,” I said, rising to my feet. The sooner I went to the infirmary, the sooner Evan could come down and have his supper. Perhaps I would get a little time alone with the sick man, so I could tell him his new name without an audience. “Biddy, is there anything you’d like taken over to the infirmary?”

“Ah, yes, Sibeal, thank you.” Biddy got up and fetched a small covered pot. “Not what I’d be wanting for my own supper, I must say; not even a bone boiled up in the brew to give it a bit of flavor. This is all the poor fellow can take, Gull tells me. You can warm it up on the infirmary fire.”

“Don’t try to feed it to him yourself, Sibeal,” cautioned Muirrin. “Wait for Gull. The man’s still having serious problems with his breathing, and that makes it hard for him to swallow without choking.”

The look in my sister’s eyes stayed with me as I walked to the infirmary, my path lit by torches that were set around the settlement on poles. I had seen in her expression that she thought the man—Ardal, I must start calling him that—would not survive. Remembering those sad, shrouded corpses laid to rest so far from home, I felt a sudden determination to prove her wrong.

As the invalid was asleep, Evan agreed to go for his own supper. I set the pot by the fire and settled myself on the bench nearby. In my mind, I rehearsed a lengthy passage of lore suited to the midsummer celebration. As I was the only druid on Inis Eala, it seemed likely I would be conducting the rite here. I would at least offer my services.

“Sibeal.”