When Fial was offered Tregay as her home it was in a rundown state. Not derelict, but needing to be aired and decorated and some remedial repairs made, and with the mature garden requiring to be pushed back within the bounds the previous inhabitants had probably wished it to be contained within.
The cottage had been left to her in Taru’s leaving-will; or, at least, a lifetime’s interest. The leaving-will did not have any particular legal validity, but as it was accepted Taru would not return and its provisions were considered reasonable, it was allowed to stand. The various properties throughout the valley tied to the House and the Overlordship were left to be administered by the Temple Compound in An Uaimh, except for these in Glacanto; these – together with Nédath-ö-Orestol – were to be run by the remaining triumvirs for the benefit of that realm. Exactly who owned them was, for the moment, left somewhat vague: things would after all change with a new, permanent Sacred King. Fial was told all this, but did not take it in, still being pregnant – even the bit about Tregay. It was a couple of moons after Finbar’s birth before she was in a condition to consider any future beyond the walls of her old nanny’s home.
And it was indeed nearly two years before she finally felt strong and independent enough to take up residence. In the intervening time Nessa and Melior arranged for the basics to be put right: it was scrubbed and painted and air allowed in. Basic furniture was procured, and curtains hung and rugs spread. The shrubs and fruit trees in the garden were given rejuvenating prunes, the hedge was trimmed and the ditch cleared, and the lawn cut and re-sown. The seasons it took for Fial to be ready to occupy the House allowed for the bareness and crude framework that had been exposed to be covered by fresh growth and a controlled lushness to return. So the backbone of the garden was close to returning to its former beauty, but there was still plenty to do, when she moved in on a bright, though cool, spring day when Finbar was a few moons shy of his second birthday.
It was hard, being alone with Finbar for the first time really since his birth, for neither her nanny nor the wise-women would stay that first night, saying that it would be better to get used to none of them being around as soon as possible after all her prevaricating. Yet after Finbar was put to bed Fial sat by the kitchen window and cried all evening, only remembering her losses. But when she woke the following morning she felt able to get down to making the cottage a home. And, anyway, Finbar was not prepared to wait to be changed and to have his breakfast while she reflected; he was eager to continue the exploring he had begun the previous day, especially hunting for any mammals or bugs he could share his new home with.
She could not help but see the joy in the world when he was running and laughing and singing along all the ways inside the enclosure. Unsteady still at times, and his songs mostly wordless, but a joy undoubtedly unbridled.
So Fial set about making their home, unpacking the chattels she had collect and brought with her: some gifts from Melior or Nessa or Tegen; some she had bought over the past couple of years or so when pressed as to what she would need; and, lastly, the contents of two trunks brought from her father’s palace on Porthcarno. These were mostly her books and a few mementoes – including the little box containing her sapphire-set ring and her mother’s chain, for she rarely wore any jewellery – as well as clothes and toys Finbar would grow into. Not that much really from such a rich childhood.
There were also a few pieces of furniture, particularly her childhood bed that Finbar had slept in last night, and the bookcase from her teenage years – heavy and ornate and inherited from her grandmother. Otherwise, she had what they required to start their new home; whatever else they needed she could get as she went along.
Tegen came by in the mid-morning, and Fial was pleased at the opportunity for a break. Finbar came to sit with them, and chattered almost unceasingly about the delights he was uncovering, and citing all the places where he was falling over, and the places that were now his.
Yet Tegen could not stay long; she did however promise to call by as often as she could, her cottage being scarcely further away than Nessa’s, though in a different direction, and perhaps even help with the garden. They could plant some herbs.
Then Fial set to work again, unpacking and ordering and cooking their meals and not quite believing she was getting back on her own two feet after such knockbacks.
There were still times when she struggled, but having to ensure Finbar had his needs met, not just the physical ones of food and shelter, but that he felt secure and loved, did not allow her much time to wallow. She still sometimes cried, even when Finbar was around and when he would hold her though he did not understand, but she tried to hide her sorrow from him as best she could.
And his need for friends and company of his own age pushed her, over the next couple of years, to socialise as well. Making friends, initially, with other mothers of young children. And there was Tegen and her old nanny, and Melior called by now and again when her cares allowed. A web of relationships grew without Fial being aware, at the time, though later she came to see it as a multihued spin of silk: slight, beautiful and immensely strong.
All in all – not as bad as many suffered.
*
Although Fial was an accomplished crumhorn player, having worked very hard, she had long stopped playing, having struggled to find the time to practice when Finbar was a youngster at home. She still had her harp though, having had it brought over from Porthcarno after she had settled in Tregay. It had a much more soothing tone than the crumhorn, and she could play while Finbar slept, or even to help him to drop off, and also found it could help her in ways very different from when she was a teenager. She had picked it up again quite quickly, but only played for herself now, loving to improvise often long, unstructured pieces that flowed hither and thither with her moods.
Finbar seemed to have inherited a gift for music from his parents, singing from his earliest days in a clear voice that retained its beauty even after it broke. And he seemed to be able to play any instrument he set his mind to after being shown no more than the basics. Both frustrating and a source of great pride to his mother. She encourage him as much as she felt able to without putting him off, but his mind flitted from music as quickly as it took to it. As it did with most everything.
*
Fial was still unsure whether her sense of pride in Finbar being selected to become the next Sacred King was greater or lesser than her sense of loss. That she knew would come anyway, and which she may never have been ready for it. He was not that far away really, just in the Temple Compound in An Uaimh.
But it had been a while since she last went. She would think that it was about time she visited him; but then it seemed too much effort to get ready, and she could always go tomorrow. Yet rarely did.
There was no formal procedure for the selection of candidates for the Sacred Kingship. Not now, though there were stories about trials for the then-Year King and of deaths and torture in the far past. Things were more balanced now.
Fial had still gone to the Temple Compound in An Uaimh occasionally – before Finbar was selected – to visit the friends she had made during her time there, especially Lassar the Library-Mistress, and even having audience with the High Priestess on a few occasions. While there Finbar was doted on by virtually everyone who came into contact with him, having an open, golden countenance and an intense curiosity that had not seemed to have lost its capacity for awe as he entered his second decade.
It was this that seemed to single him out: this deep awareness of the majesty of even the apparently most trivial parts of the Goddess’s creation. Perhaps it was this that had attracted the Priestesses to him as a candidate for the Sacred Kingship.
Three of them came unannounced to Tregay one autumn afternoon. By chance Fial was working on the flowerbeds just inside the gate and both heard the knocking and decided to answer it, as she did not tend to do if she was not expecting anyone. Outside stood the High Priestess and the most senior Priestesses. Fial was somewhat nonplussed for a moment, but then collected herself and invited them in. None of them had visited her before; she always preferred to go to them.
It was a mild day, though the squirrels were busy preparing for winter, as they sat in the garden, drinking infusions. It did not take the High Priestess long to get to the point:
“I know you think Finbar is special – it is the way of most mothers: and most are correct – but we feel there is more to him than that.” And she went on to explain the future they saw for him, ending with: “He is the amalgam we perceive is needed for the final healing of our valley. It will be hard, for both of you; but it is great opportunity for him and an immense privilege for you.”
Fial did not know what to say. She was not that happy at the formal and abstract way in which the High Priestess was describing the future – too reminiscent of Taru’s ramblings. And then there was her amazement that others saw in her son what she did: she had always firmly believed it, but also knew she saw him through partial eyes. It was all beyond anything she had expected.
“You do not need to decide now. We know you’ll need to think it over. No final decision needs to be made until the spring. We’ll leave it with you.”
But by the time she had closed the gate in the enclosure’s hedge Fial had already made up her mind.
*
Fial talked to Finbar that evening about the High Priestess’s visit – after he returned from school. While he was not old enough to do exactly as he wanted, Fial always retaining the final Yes or No, this was something too fundamental to Finbar’s future for it to be imposed on him. And she felt he was old enough to understand the basics, at least; and he had to learn.
He was not nervous when she called him in and said they had to talk, though she had always been when her parents had done the same to her. She explained the gist of what the High Priestess had said, though with a certain amount of prevarication; if anything, she was more anxious than her son. When she had finished, Finbar sat in silence for a while.
“Is there anything you want to ask me?” she ventured, after a brief moment.
“Don’t we already have a Sacred King? I mean, you’ve told me about the ceremony you witnessed.”
“Yes, we do. But he will not last forever. He was not that young when he became the Sacred King, and Aoife has told me he is not in the best of health.”
“But the valley seems all right?”
“Yes, it is. We have our troubles as always; but, yes, it’s doing fine.”
“I do like it here, with you and my friends.”
“And I love having you here – but you will have to go away soon in any case to continue your education.”
“You’ve said that before, but it never quite happens.”
“It can’t be put off forever.”
“Are you all right with me leaving, what with losing Taru; I’ll be leaving you all alone.”
“I have my friends too. And I know you’ll have to leave some day.”
“When will I go?”
“In the spring – if you’re sure.”
“Good. That gives me time to sort things out. I’ve got to make sure you’re still looked after.”
And Finbar came over to give Fial a hug that seemed to go on forever.
*
Just before Finbar left to continue his education in An Uaimh Fial came to him one evening, shortly before he was due to douse his light and settle down to sleep. She kissed his forehead as she always did, but as she was leaving she turned back and sat again on the edge of his bed..
“Here; here is something I want you to have. I think it was always destined to be yours.”
Then she took the sigil from around her neck and gave it to him. He sat up in bed and turned it over in his hands, staring intently at the images he could see there. Fial craned forward to try and see what they were, then withdrew her head, remembering that they would be images for her son only.
“Thank you,” said Finbar, raising his eyes and giving Fial a gaze she felt saw deep down to her soul. “I’ll treasure it always. I’ll miss you mum.”
“And I you.”
“But I’ll still see you?”
“O yes; I’ll come and visit you so often you’ll soon be saying O mum! I was with my friends.”
“Maybe … sometimes. But you’re not too bad.”
Fial laughed: “Nor you.”
“It is the right things to do, isn’t it though?”
Fial did not answer immediately, seeming to weigh the question as its importance warranted, though she was sure in her heart it was the right thing for both her son and the valley.
“Yes, Finbar, it is. But I will miss you.”
“I know mum – I know.”