Time passed; perhaps a great deal of time, perhaps not so long. At length I reached into the bag again and wrapped my hands around the bundle of birch rods. I bunched them together over the cloth, feeling their power, the knowledge within. I closed my eyes and, in silence, asked my question. How best can I help this man whom I have named?

I let the rods go. The knocking music of their fall took me for a moment into the heart of Sevenwaters forest. I imagined I had been sitting all day by a still pool, deep in trance. I smelled the fresh scent of pine needles; a high chorus of birdsong sounded above me. The floor on which I sat became the earth of a Sevenwaters clearing; the hearth fire was a blaze kindled on flat stones in the grove where Ciarán loved to meditate.

Eyes fast shut, I reached out and took up one rod, a second, a third, letting instinct guide my choice. For a moment I held the three against my heart. I opened my eyes.

Os, Ger, Nyd. They settled in my mind, beginning to combine and shadow and influence one another. Some ideas came quickly. Nyd could be interpreted as the last extreme of courage, the kind of courage a man might show when death looked him in the face, perhaps in the form of a wild sea. I had seen the crossed lines of Nyd down on that cold shore, when pebbles had washed over certain runes carved on the ship’s timber. Immense, almost insane fortitude; deep inner strength.

Nyd with Os. Prophecy and revelation. Calm and wisdom. Perhaps the courage was deep inside, a conviction born of faith; perhaps it was my own courage and faith that were being called upon. I had asked how I could help.

But then there was Ger, which turned things on their heads. Ger could mean reversals, but it could also signify the fulfillment of visions and the completion of quests. Full circle. Perhaps a mission lay ahead. Ardal’s? Would he live long enough to attempt such a thing? Maybe the mission was mine.

“Sibeal.”

I started so violently that I dropped the three rods into my lap. Ardal had turned his head to look at me. He was gesturing for me to come closer.

I gathered up the rods, the chosen three in my right hand, the others in my skirt, and rose to my feet. I felt shaky and sick. A meditative trance cannot be broken so abruptly without cost to the seer. I had not realized he was watching.

I approached the bed. “You startled me,” I said.

“Sibeal.” He spoke my name carefully; I could hear his effort to get it right. He added another word that I did not understand, then indicated the rods. Show me.