Daughter Of The Forest Read Online Free Page A

speech. I thought for a while, but I could think of nothing to say. Finbar chewed the end of his hair, which he wore tied at the nape of the neck, and long. His dark curls, like mine, had a will of their own.
    “I think our mother left us something,” he said eventually. “She left a small part of herself in each of us. It’s just as well for them, for Liam and Diarmid, that they have that. It stops them from growing like him.”
    I knew what he meant, without fully understanding his words.
    “Liam’s a leader,” Finbar went on, “like Father, but not quite like. Liam has balance. He knows how to weigh up a problem evenly. Men would die for him. One day they probably will. Diarmid’s different. People would follow him to the ends of the earth, just for the fun of it.”
    I thought about this; pictured Liam standing up for me against Father, Diarmid teaching me how to catch frogs, and to let them go.
    “Cormack’s a warrior,” I ventured. “But generous. Kind.” There was the dog, after all. One of the wolfhounds had had a misalliance, and given birth to crossbred pups; Father would have had them all drowned, but Cormack rescued one and kept her, a skinny brindled thing he called Linn. His kindness was rewarded by the deep, unquestioning devotion only a faithful dog can give. “And then there’s Padriac.”
    Finbar leaned back against the slates and closed his eyes.
    “Padriac will go far,” he said. “He’ll go farther than any of us.”
    “Conor’s different,” I observed, but I was unable to put that difference into words. There was something elusive about it.
    “Conor’s a scholar,” said Finbar. “We all love stories, but he treasures learning. Mother had some wonderful old tales, and riddles, and strange notions that she’d laugh over, so you never knew if she was serious or not. Conor got his love of ideas from her. Conor is—he is himself.”
    “How can you remember all this?” I said, not sure if he was making it up for my benefit. “You were only three years old when she died. A baby.”
    “I remember,” said Finbar, and turned his head away. I wanted him to go on, for I was fascinated by talk of our mother, whom I had never known. But he had fallen silent again. It was getting late in the day; long tree shadows stretched their points across the grass far below us.
    The silence drew out again, so long I thought he might be asleep. I wriggled my toes; it was getting cold. Maybe I did need shoes.
    “What about you, Finbar?” I hardly needed to ask. He was different. He was different from all of us. “What did she give you?”
    He turned and smiled at me, the curve of his wide mouth transforming his face completely.
    “Faith in myself,” he said simply. “To do what’s right, and not falter, no matter how hard it gets.”
    “It was hard enough today,” I said, thinking of Father’s cold eyes, and the way they’d made Finbar look.
    It will be much harder in time . I could not tell if this thought came from my own mind, or my brother’s. It sent a chill up my spine.
    Then he said aloud, “I want you to remember, Sorcha. Remember that I’ll always be there for you, no matter what happens. It’s important. Now come on, it’s time we went back down.”

    When I remember the years of our growing up, the most important thing is the tree. We went there often, the seven of us, southward through the forest above the lakeshore. When I was a baby, Liam or Diarmid would carry me on his back; once I could walk, two brothers would take my hands and hurry me along, sometimes swinging me between them with a one-two-three, as the others ran on ahead toward the lake. When we came closer, we all became quiet. The bank where the birch tree grew was a place of deep magic, and our voices were hushed as we gathered on the sward around it.
    We all accepted that this land was a gate to that other world, the realm of spirits and dreams and the Fair Folk, without any question. The place we grew up