by Kate Forsyth
‘Two good namings then.’ Rhiannon smiled at him so that he blushed red and dropped his gaze, scuffing his boot against the straw-scattered floor. When he glanced up she was smiling radiantly still, but at her horse, which had tossed its head and was prancing, as if glad to be named.
The kitchen was bright and busy with activity, though outside it was all grey and hushed still. Rhiannon ate as greedily as ever, cramming in two bowlfuls of hot porridge with honey and goat’s milk, and sixteen griddle-cakes with melted butter and cherry jam. After a life of lean provisions, she could not help herself. Although these last few days had been so very different from what she had known before, she could not believe she would not know hunger again. You ate when you could, even if you felt rather sick afterwards.
She was aware of scornful glances cast at her by the two other girls, who were dressed again in their ridiculous tight dresses with their hair in unnaturally perfect ringlets, like nothing she had seen before; and the yearning dreamy gaze of the youngest of the boys, who seemed to her quite mad; and the resentful, lustful glance of the oldest of the boys, which perturbed her as none of the others did. There was something very like hatred in his glance. She had seen it before and she knew it meant harm to come. All she could do was disdain his hot glance with coldness, and hope to keep away from him.
The third girl was eager to be kind, which Rhiannon was prepared to accept, though she thought the worse of her for offering it, and the second eldest of the boys was torn between his natural good nature and his desire to emulate the older, tougher boy. Rhiannon was used to reading intent in the body language of the herd. It had kept her safe and relatively unscathed for sixteen years. There was a fine balance to be kept between appearing too weak, so that you were scorned and bullied, and too strong, so that First-Horn thought it was time to take you down.
Lilanthe was hovering over her son, caressing his rough brown hair with one hand as she poured him more tea, or straightening his collar as she passed with a plate of fresh griddle-cakes. He smiled at her and did not shrug her hand away, knowing how hard this latest parting would be for her. At last she came and sat down and ate a little herself, gazing at her boy as if he had grown so tall and broad-shouldered overnight.
‘Och, I wish ye did no’ have to go so far away,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed ye these last four years! Lucescere is such a long way, all the way round the mountains and up into the highlands o’ Rionnagan! I wish the Tower o’ Ravens was no’ such a ruin and ye could go there to study. It’s only a few days from here and then I could be seeing ye often …’
Nina gave a little expressive shrug. ‘Happen one day it will be restored. The Keybearer says she hopes the time will come when all thirteen towers o’ learning are rebuilt again. Already there are seven, and a small enclave o’ witches are camping in the ruins o’ the Tower o’ Dreamers and seeking to raise it high again, so soon there may be eight. No-one dares go near the Tower o’ Ravens, though, ye ken. It is weird with ghosts and banshees and all sorts o’ cruel and unhappy spirits, and they say it is only growing worse with time. The auld MacBrann sent some witches there a few months afore he died to see if it could be exorcised, saying he couldna sleep with all the ghosts flocking about his bed, but they came back in despair, saying the place reeked o’ blood and death, and it was beyond their strength to cleanse it.’
‘They dinna call him Malcolm the Mad for naught,’ Iven said. ‘Apparently he kept the whole castle in an uproar with his shrieks and curses and night terrors, and they got worse in the last few months afore he died.’
Lilanthe drew her brows together. ‘Aye, he was troubled indeed, the poor auld man. We rode down to Ravenscraig to see if there was aught we could do to ease his last days, but he was rambling indeed by then and did no’ ken us, or even his poor son. What o’ Dughall? Does he no’ plan to rebuild the tower? I ken Isabeau would come herself if he called, and bring a circle o’ sorcerers to aid him.’
‘Dughall says the best thing to do is pull the whole place down and cleanse it with fire. He says he had to spend a night there once during the Bright Wars and it was enough to turn his hair as white as his father’s. It was always a dark place, ye ken, right from the time o’ Brann the Raven himself. The MacBranns have always been a strange lot, with their experiments and machines …’
Niall leapt at once to the defence of his ruling clan. ‘What about the auld MacBrann’s seafire, then? That was one experiment the Rìgh found useful in the war against the Fairgean. And it was a MacBrann that built the locks at the mouth o’ the Rhyssmadill, remember.’
Iven laughed, holding up both hands. ‘Och, I ken. Ye must admit the MacBranns have always dabbled in the arcane, though. They have always loved the darker mysteries and that is why the Ensorcellor had so many followers here in Ravenshaw and why the attack on the Tower o’ Ravens on the Day o’ Betrayal was so very brutal.’
‘Aye,’ Niall agreed, sighing. ‘That was a black day. Forty years or more ago it was, and I was naught but a bairn, but I remember it clearly. We could see the smoke from my parents’ farm. It billowed up like a great dark pillar, higher than the mountains, and then hung over us all for days, choking us with ashes. No’ one single witch escaped the massacre, they say, no’ even the MacBrann’s own wife, Dughall’s mother. And she was a NicCuinn herself and aunt to the Rìgh. A Day o’ Betrayal indeed.’
‘Still, it was a long time ago and twenty-five years since the Ensorcellor was overthrown,’ Nina said. She turned to the apprentices and said, ‘Ye will see Maya the Mute at the Tower o’ Two Moons, ye ken. She labours in the libraries there, helping to restore the knowledge that was lost when she ordered the great towers o’ learning to be burnt. Ye must treat her with respect, for though she may be bound to silence and servitude, she is still the mother o’ Bronwen NicCuinn, who will one day share the throne with Donncan the Winged.’
Not understanding a word that was said, Rhiannon had been growing impatient. Lilanthe must have noticed her restlessness for she turned to her and said, ‘Ye must ask Nina and Iven to tell ye all the auld tales as ye travel, and sing ye some o’ the songs, for ye have a lifetime o’ learning to make up in just a short while.’
‘Where does this lass come from, that she does no’ ken the story o’ Maya the Ensorcellor?’ Edithe said scornfully. ‘Does she no’ have a mother, or an auld granny, to tell her bedtime stories? And even the meanest village sees a jongleur every once in a while, to tell the auld tales and sing the song cycles.’
‘No’ all,’ Lilanthe said briefly.
‘It must have been a hovel indeed,’ Edithe said under her breath to Fèlice, who looked uncomfortable.
‘Me learnt other things from my mother,’ Rhiannon said clearly, glancing at the blonde girl with contempt. ‘Like how to gut a goblin with a single slash o’ my knife. Ye want me show you how?’ And with a flick of her wrist her dagger was in her hand, its point hovering negligently near the pulse at the base of Edithe’s throat. Edithe shrieked and shrank back. Rhiannon tossed the knife in her hand. ‘I guess no’,’ she said and put the dagger away.
There was a shocked silence. Everyone stared at Rhiannon.
‘Did ye see what she just did?’ Edithe said in a squeaky voice. ‘She threatened me!’
Nina put down her fork. ‘I’m no’ sure any o’ us blame her,’ she said testily. ‘Ye have been unpardonably rude, Edithe. I would have thought better o’ a NicAven o’ Avebury.’
Edithe went crimson, and opened and shut her mouth a few times as she tried to think of a retort.
‘Though Rhiannon does ken better than to draw her dagger at the dinner table,’ Lilanthe said with a meaningful glance at her.
Rhiannon was unrepentant. ‘Me no like that girl,’ she said. ‘She mean.’
‘Well, I hope ye will learn to get on with one another,’ Nina said impatiently. ‘We have a long journey together ahead o’ us, and it’ll be unbearable if ye’re at each other’s throats. Can ye all no’ try and be civil?’
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‘O’ course,’ Edithe said grandly. ‘I am sorry if anything I have said was misunderstood.’
Lilanthe looked at the satyricorn girl. After a while she prompted her, saying, ‘Rhiannon?’
‘What?’ she said.
‘Edithe has just apologised. Should ye no’ say sorry too?’
‘Why? Me no’ sorry.’
Edithe looked shocked.
‘Rhiannon,’ Lilanthe said wearily. ‘Please.’
‘It’s considered good manners, lassie, to return the apology, even if ye do no’ do so with sincerity,’ Niall said with his usual humorous inflection.
‘Me hate good manners,’ Rhiannon said sullenly.
‘We’ve noticed,’ Niall responded and she flashed him an angry glance and then, surprisingly, laughed.
‘Tell that girl to no’ be so mean and me no kill her,’ she said.
‘I think that’s Rhiannon’s idea o’ an apology,’ Niall said to Edithe.
She looked down her nose, saying in an icy voice, ‘I am sure my father would be horrified if he kent the sort o’ company I was being forced to travel with. I shall write to him at the very first opportunity.’
‘Ye do that,’ Nina said. ‘But just remember that this journey we are all about to embark upon is considered the first stage o’ your learning as an apprentice-witch. The Coven believes humility, compassion and self-control are necessary attributes o’ any witch. Ye may have all the craft and all the cunning in the world, but ye will never be allowed to join the Coven without showing forbearance and understanding towards others. Have I made myself clear, Edithe?’
‘Aye, ma’am,’ she said, looking crushed.
‘And as for ye, Rhiannon, if ye wish to travel in my care ye shall no’ threaten any o’ my students with harm again. Do ye understand me?’
‘Aye, ma’am,’ Rhiannon responded, not looking crushed at all.
‘Good,’ Nina said.
‘Happen we’d best be on our way,’ Iven said. ‘It is light enough now to see the road. Is everyone packed up and ready?’
There was a chorus of answers, and everyone got up and started wrapping themselves in their riding cloaks and saying their farewells. Lilanthe was unable to hide her tears but she did not cling to Lewen, giving him a brief, hard hug before stepping back and saying huskily, ‘Make sure ye send news o’ yourself, ye hear, my lad?’
Niall embraced him too and then surprised Rhiannon by kissing her on the cheek and saying, ‘Have a care for yourself, lassie, and keep that knife in your boot!’
‘Unless I need it, o’ course,’ she replied cheekily, surprising him into laughter.
Lilanthe did not kiss Rhiannon goodbye, but detained her with a hand on her arm. ‘I have written a letter o’ introduction to my friend Isabeau, who is Keybearer o’ the Coven,’ she said gravely, giving Rhiannon a thick white envelope sealed with red wax. ‘I have written her a full account o’ ye, and I hope she will have a care for ye in Lucescere.’
‘Thank ye,’ Rhiannon said, taking the letter and stowing it away in one of the many pockets of her coat.
Lilanthe’s expression softened. ‘I hope all will be well with ye, Rhiannon. I am sorry I could no’ help ye more.’ She was silent for a moment, then said in a tumble, as Rhiannon turned to go, ‘If ye have done no wrong, then no harm shall come to ye, that I am sure o’. Isabeau will find the truth o’ it.’
Rhiannon’s brows drew together, and she stared at Lilanthe, who looked white and tired. Then she said, very gruffly, ‘Me done naught wrong!’
Lilanthe’s gaze fell and colour rose in her cheeks. ‘That’s good, I’m glad. All will be well then.’
Rhiannon stared at her suspiciously, but Lilanthe just put her arm about her and gave her a brief hug, before turning to say her farewells to Nina and Iven.
Rhiannon followed the others out into the frosty morning, everyone shivering and complaining as they stowed their bags in the caravan and got out their tack to saddle up the horses. Meriel clung to her brother’s hand, her cheeks wet with tears, and he looked down at her kindly and spoke quietly to her. After a while she nodded and let go of his hand, going to stand with her parents.
Only Lewen and Rhiannon had to go into the stable, since all the other horses had been pastured out for the night. He saddled up Argent quickly and then turned to help Rhiannon, who seemed to be having some trouble.
He found Rhiannon sitting on her backside in the straw, the saddle clutched to her chest, her face red. Blackthorn sidled about skittishly, her ears laid flat against her skull and an evil look in her dark eye.
‘She doesna want to wear it,’ Rhiannon said rather blankly. It was clear she had not expected the winged horse to resist her will.
‘She’s no’ really been broken to the saddle and bridle yet, though, has she?’ Lewen said. ‘It took me a week to get Argent to accept the weight o’ the saddle on his back.’
Rhiannon scowled. She got up and dusted off her bottom.
‘Blackthorn, ye are my horse now, remember,’ she said. ‘Ye do what me say.’
The winged mare reared and neighed, shaking her mane defiantly. Her magnificent wings unfurled, the muscles in her shoulders bunching.
‘Ye do no’ want to be mine anymore?’ Rhiannon said miserably. ‘But me thought …’
The mare stepped forwards delicately, pushing her black velvet nose into Rhiannon’s shoulder and blowing slobber all over her. Then she turned her head and tried to bite the saddle.
‘Ye do no’ want saddle? But …’
‘Well, they say a thigearn rides with neither saddle nor bridle. Happen ye’re meant to be a true thigearn, after all,’ Lewen said.
Rhiannon smiled.
‘Me never rode with such things afore,’ she said. ‘Me no’ now.’
‘Ye’ll have less control,’ Lewen warned. ‘And ye’re bound to get rather bruised.’
She dismissed this with a gesture.
‘The saddle and bridle belonged to the Yeoman, anyway,’ he said. ‘Ye can stow them in the caravan with the rest of his things.’ He picked up the saddle and bridle, then slung the saddlebags over the top.
Immediately Rhiannon frowned. ‘Nay! Mine … my things in there.’ She turned back to the mare. ‘Blackthorn? Just the bags? Me and my bags.’
Blackthorn hurrumphed and put her ears back.
‘Happen ye should say “please”,’ Lewen murmured, trying not to laugh.
‘Please? Why?’
‘It’s considered polite.’
‘Hmmph. Very well. Please, Blackthorn?’
The mare inclined her head graciously.
‘Ye will have to figure out some way to tie the saddlebags on if she willna wear the saddle. I wonder if she would accept wearing a pad? We use them for breaking in young horses. It’s a soft saddle without a saddletree or stirrups. It has a girth and some hooks we could strap the saddlebags to. Let’s see if she’ll accept it.’
A short while later Lewen rode round the side of the house on the back of his tall, silver-dappled stallion. Argent was fighting the bit, eager for a gallop.
‘What took ye so long, lad?’ Iven called from the driving seat of his caravan, drawn up before the front steps. ‘I thought the young ladies were slow!’
The laughter died out of his face as he saw the winged mare come stepping delicately through the mist-wreathed trees. The two long, scrolled horns springing from the mare’s brow shone an unearthly blue, like the sky at dusk, and her wings were slightly unfurled, showing the subtle gradation of colour from black to iridescent blue. Rhiannon sat straight-backed and grave-faced on her back, wrapped in her long blue cloak, her black hair falling down her back, her quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. Her longbow was strapped to the crown-embroidered saddlebags that hung over the mare’s withers, while she wore her dagger strapped to her belt. She looked like the queen she had been named for.
There was a long astonished silence.
‘O my heart moves in my breast, forever af
ter I am denied all rest,’ Landon whispered.
Rhiannon scowled.
A little mutter ran round the apprentices and their horses stirred restively beneath them.
‘A thigearn,’ Fèlice whispered. ‘Och, I’ve always wanted –’
‘A thigearn!’ Edithe cried. ‘But –’
‘Och, she’s so bonny,’ Maisie said. ‘I’ve never seen a winged horse afore. Oh, I wish she’d fly. I’d love to see her fly!’
It was the longest speech any of them had heard the shy village girl say.
The boys were filled with exclamations of surprise too. ‘How did she catch it?’ Rafferty wanted to know. ‘How does she control it without even a bridle, let alone whip or spurs?’ He glanced sideways at Edithe, who as always had her long whip in her hand, and a sharp silver spur on her boot. Edithe looked displeased and tightened her rein, causing her mare to sidle sideways.
‘I never heard o’ a girl being a thigearn afore,’ Cameron said gruffly. ‘Are they allowed?’
‘Why no’, if she can ride it?’ Nina said pleasantly. ‘What a bonny creature, Rhiannon! I’ve heard o’ the black winged horses o’ Ravenshaw afore, o’ course, but never thought to see one. Ye look like ye’ve ridden out of an auld tale, the two o’ ye. Have ye ridden her long?’
‘No’ long,’ Rhiannon answered, her face glowing.
‘I thought ye had to ride for a year and a day without putting foot to ground afore ye could call yourself a thigearn,’ Cameron said, his tone very near a jeer.
‘Nay, all ye need do is tame a flying horse,’ Niall said. ‘It’s just that it takes most men that long to break its will. Rhiannon did no’ need to.’ He smiled up at her. She smiled back.
‘Well, we’ll surely make a sensation in every village we ride through,’ Edithe said in a voice of long suffering. ‘We really are like a travelling circus now.’
‘Aye, and isn’t it a shame that all ken we ride on the Coven’s business? Think o’ the money we could make!’ Iven said shamelessly, and winked at Nina. ‘Come on, let’s get this circus rolling!’
