The Forbidden Land

by Kate Forsyth

Her colour deepened, her eyes falling. ‘Well, no.’

  Lachlan paced the floor restlessly. ‘Look at her,’ he said to Iseult. ‘She’s as bonny a lass as ye’ll ever see crowned May Queen. We canna be letting her step foot on that ship. Ye ken how superstitious sailors are, and the Tìrsoilleirean sailors more than most. There’d be naught but trouble if she goes.’

  Finn’s eyes were bright with curiosity. Tìrsoilleirean sailors?

  ‘And I think the piper lad should stay as well. He’s skinny as a broom and has no more hair on his chin than a newborn babe.’

  To Finn’s surprise, Ashlin came forward in a rush to kneel at Lachlan’s feet ‘Nay, Your Highness, I mun stay with my lady!’ he cried. ‘My laird entrusted her to my care.’

  Iseult looked at him curiously then bent and offered him one of her strong white hands. He grasped it, his face distraught, and she pulled him to his feet.

  ‘It is a dark and dangerous journey indeed that Finn sets out on,’ Lachlan said sternly. ‘She needs witches and warriors about her to protect her, no’ a boy with his hands full o’ bagpipes. Would ye endanger her by going?’

  Ashlin was white but he stood his ground. ‘My laird set me to guard her and protect her,’ he answered unsteadily. ‘I swore a sacred oath.’

  Jay stepped forward. ‘He has a talent with music,’ he said. ‘Indeed, Your Highness, ye should hear him play the bagpipes. He can bring a choke to your throat and a march to your step. He plays the flute as well, as prettily as I’ve heard. Happen we shall need every scrap o’ musical talent that we can get.’

  Finn looked from one face to another. Matters were growing more mysterious by the minute. What good could playing the bagpipes do?

  Lachlan was frowning, one hand caressing the Lodestar which glowed softly in response. Iseult laid her hand on his arm. ‘Such loyalty should no’ go unrewarded,’ she said.

  ‘The Lodestar sings his praises,’ Lachlan said abruptly. ‘Who am I to stop a man from travelling his own road? Nay, the piper may go if he so desires, though indeed my heart misgives me. I had wanted to keep the party as small as possible.’

  Finn noted wryly that Brangaine made no attempt to persuade the Rìgh that she should go also, despite her promise to Gwyneth. Indeed it was clear that Brangaine felt only relief that she would not have to face the many dangers of the sea. Finn cast her a quick glance of contempt that caused colour to rise in Brangaine’s pale cheeks.

  ‘Wha’ about Donald?’ Dide said. ‘Donald the Gillie.’

  ‘No’ the MacRuraich’s gillie?’ Lachlan cried. ‘I kent Donald a long time syne. A doughty auld man indeed and the finest longbowman I’ve ever seen. He can shoot out a sparrow’s eye from two hundred paces. What do ye think, leannan? Would such an auld man draw suspicion upon the ship? It is no’ usual for a ship to carry any but the youngest and most able o’ men and though I doubt no’ that Donald be as brave as any o’ them, we want to do naught to draw suspicion upon them.’

  ‘Your Highness, sometimes an auld sailor that has seawater in his veins instead o’ bluid is made ship’s cook so he can still feel the waves beneath the boards and smell the sea air, even though he is too auld and stiff to climb the ropes or haul up the sails.’ The speaker was a tall, stern-looking man with close-cropped grey hair under a tricorne hat and a weather-beaten face. He and his companions had been talking on the other side of the room but had drawn closer during the discussion. He gave a brief bow as he spoke, his hand held in a fist at his heart.

  ‘Can Donald Gillie cook?’ Lachlan asked with a grin.

  ‘Very well,’ Finn replied with dignity, glad in her secret heart that Ashlin and Donald were to be allowed to accompany her after all. All this talk of dark and dangerous journeys was making her feel rather anxious.

  ‘Very well, it is decided, though I do no’ ken whether to laugh or sigh. Who’s ever heard o’ a thief with her own piper and gillie?’

  ‘Who’s ever heard o’ a thief who was also a banprionnsa?’ Dide quipped.

  Lachlan smiled, then said, ‘Dide, the fleet is all set to sail in the morn. What have ye and Enit arranged to explain your disappearance after the Summer Fair?’

  ‘We are to pretend that my granddam has taken ill,’ Dide replied. ‘All ken that she is no’ strong and the crippling disease that twists all her limbs is growing more painful each year. My da will set off with the other caravans, for all ken we canna afford to lie idle for long. Nina will stay in Dùn Gorm and pretend to nurse her.’

  ‘But what o’ ye?’ Iseult asked. ‘Will none notice ye are no’ here either?’

  Dide shrugged. ‘Those that travel with my da will think I stayed in Dùn Gorm with Granddam, and those that stay in Dùn Gorm will think I have gone with Da, all while Granddam and I are on the high seas. There are so many caravans here for the Summer Fair that no-one can be sure who has done what afterwards. All will be well.’

  ‘Very well then. Och, Dide, ye have no’ met our captain yet, have ye? This is Captain Tobias o’ Kirkloreli, a town no’ far from Bride in Tìrsoilleir. He is the one who shall see ye all safe to the Black Tower. Captain Tobias, this is my auldest and dearest friend, Dide the Juggler, the Rìgh’s own jongleur.’

  ‘The Rìgh’s own fool,’ Dide replied with a smile, bowing to the captain. ‘Well met, Captain.’

  The captain bowed back, fist to his heart, then introduced the other men briskly. ‘This is my first mate, Arvin the Just, and this is the navigator, Alphonsus the Sure. Ye could no’ get a better crew; they all ken the Skeleton Coast like the back o’ their hands. If any can get us safely past Cape Wrath and through the Devil’s Vortex, they can.’

  A thrill of fear had run down Finn’s spine at the words The Black Tower. It now deepened into a shudder that shook her slim frame. ‘The Skeleton Coast?’ she said in a rather high voice. ‘The Devil’s Vortex? Flaming dragon balls, will ye no’ tell me where we are going and why afore I go stark raving mad?’

  For a moment all were frozen into shocked silence. Then suddenly Lachlan’s stern face broke into laughter.

  ‘Finn, ye wildcat!’ he cried. ‘Have ye no proper respect for your Rìgh? Is that any way to be asking a question o’ me? Ye should curtsy deep and beg my pardon with your eyes lowered, and say, “I beg your forbearance, Your Highness, to be so rude in interrupting but may I have the honour o’ addressing a question to ye?” ’

  ‘Och, what a load o’ dragon dung!’ Finn giggled.

  ‘Fionnghal!’ Brangaine cried. Colour burnt in her cheeks. ‘Please, Your Highness, forgive her, she does no’ mean to …’

  Lachlan waved a hand. ‘Please, no need to apologise for our wee cat-thief. We are travel companions o’ auld. I well remember her colourful turn o’ phrase. Indeed, it does me good to hear her. I canna tell ye how tired I get o’ all the bowing and scraping and licking o’ my boots. At least with Finn we ken where we are.’

  Brangaine bowed and stepped back, her colour still high. Finn could not help smirking at her, just a little.

  ‘Did ye tell Finn nothing o’ her task, Dide?’ Iseult asked, frowning a little.

  ‘Ye said tell no-one.’

  ‘But happen she would no’ have been willing to come if she had kent,’ Iseult replied.

  Dide nodded, his merry face unusually grim. ‘Aye, I ken. Happen that is why I did no’ tell her.’

  The smirk faded from Finn’s face. ‘So what is it ye want me to do?’ she asked anxiously. ‘All Enit said was that ye wanted me to break into some castle and steal someone.’

  Lachlan’s mouth quirked upwards, but he said very seriously, ‘That is exactly what we want ye to do, Finn. The only problem is that castle and that someone are both behind the Great Divide.’

  ‘In Tìrsoilleir?’ Finn’s voice rose in a squeak. ‘Ye want us to go into the Forbidden Land?’ The Rìgh nodded. ‘Are we no’ at war with Tìrsoilleir?’ Finn said. Again the Rìgh nodded. ‘And we have to sail there? Even though the seas are full o’ Fairgean?’ The Rìgh nodde
d for the third time. Finn took a deep breath. She felt as if her heart was being squeezed by two giant hands. For a moment she could not say a word, then she said rudely, ‘’Tis no’ me that is stark raving mad, but ye, Your Highness!’

  ‘At least she remembered to call me “Your Highness” this time,’ Lachlan said to Brangaine with a little inflection of irony. The candlelight flickered across his dark, saturnine face and his wings rustled restlessly. Finn, Ashlin and Brangaine were all staring at him with pale, frightened faces, everything they had ever heard about the Forbidden Land rushing upon them.

  Tìrsoilleir had held itself apart from the rest of Eileanan ever since its people had scorned to sign the First Pact of Peace and acknowledge Aedan Whitelock as their overlord and rìgh. Separated from the western lands of Eileanan by a curving horseshoe of a cliff, more than three hundred feet high in places, the Forbidden Land had remained in complete isolation for more than four hundred years. It was ruled by a militant council of religious fanatics who had overthrown the MacHilde clan many years ago, rejecting all ties to the Coven or to the royal family, and enforcing their own stern patriarchal religion. Elfrida NicHilde was all that was left of that once proud clan and she had never ruled, having been born long after the overthrow of her family.

  Three years earlier, the Bright Soldiers of Tìrsoilleir had invaded the western lands of Eileanan in a religious crusade, determined to force all human inhabitants of the Far Islands to worship their cruel, unforgiving sun-god. Finn had heard many stories about the Bright Soldiers’ brutality and bigotry. It was said their clergy whipped themselves in punishment for their sins, refused to wash, or rest in comfort, forced men to fight and pray against their will, and tortured those who refused to submit. Their grim warrior-maids cut off their left breast when they accepted the yoke of their god, and it was even said they sacrificed beasts and babies on their altars. Even though Finn had heard Elfrida NicHilde deny such tales, she knew the Bright Soldiers were ruthless in their reprisals against anyone who did not accept their faith. Had they not burnt Jorge the Seer to death, the gentlest old man Finn had ever known?

  ‘Ye ken we have been endeavouring to win back the NicHilde’s throne for her ever since we managed to drive the Bright Soldiers from our soil?’ Lachlan said. As Finn nodded, he went on, ‘Apart from the fact that the Tìrsoilleirean shall always be a threat to us while they brood on our borders, there is no doubt we are in great need o’ money and men if we are to fulfil our promise to the MacSeinn and win back Carraig from the Fairgean. Once the NicHilde sits on the throne in Bride, she shall be able to fulfil her oath o’ fealty to me and bring men and arms and coin to the cause. Now, ye may no’ ken this, but we won many o’ the Tìrsoilleirean to our cause during the Bright Wars.’

  ‘Many o’ my people believe the MacCuinn is the angel o’ death,’ Elfrida explained in her soft voice. ‘The angel o’ death is the warrior angel o’ God Our Father, the one that passes judgement on the sinful and wreaks vengeance for wrongdoing.’

  ‘It is because o’ his wings and his bonny voice and his strange golden eyes,’ Iseult explained. ‘Apparently he looks like pictures o’ this angel o’ death.’

  ‘And because the beasts o’ the air and the field fought at his command, and because o’ the lad with the healing hands,’ Captain Tobias said unexpectedly. ‘To heal by the laying on o’ hands is a miraculous gift from Our God the Father, and no’ a trick o’ the Archfiend to tempt us into evil-doing. It must be so, despite what the pastors and the berhtildes said.’

  ‘And many times Killian the Listener prophesied the coming o’ the angel o’ death, to smite down those who had twisted His Word for their own ends,’ Alphonsus the Sure said, his dark eyes glowing with fervour. ‘The General Assembly has grown cruel and greedy and gluttonous.’

  ‘Aye, the Fealde has grown hungry for power, and comes to the General Assembly dressed in cloth-o’-gold and jewels as if she were some whore and no’ the handmaiden o’ God Our Father,’ Arvin the Just said. ‘Indeed, the Apostle Paul spoke truly when he said “Silence is a woman’s best garment”.’

  Finn exchanged an incredulous glance with Iseult, who smiled very slightly and shook her head in warning.

  ‘There are many among my people who feel the young NicHilde shows more proper humility, modesty and charity than the Fealde and her warrior-maids, or even the pastors,’ Captain Tobias said. ‘She came to us all when we were prisoners-o’-war and tended our hurts with her own hands and made sure we wanted for naught. She was dressed with proper sobriety and made no attempt to flaunt herself with jewels, furbelows or buttons.’

  Finn glanced from Elfrida’s simple attire to her own vivid, heavily decorated clothing and suddenly realised why the three Tìrsoilleirean men were looking at them all with such an air of cold disapproval.

  ‘As ye can see, our three friends here feel strongly that the current administration o’ the Bright Land is no’ as it should be,’ Lachlan said with that faint inflection of irony in his voice. ‘And the many reports we receive from beyond the Great Divide seem to show they are no’ alone in their thoughts.’

  ‘Ye have spies behind the Great Divide?’ Finn asked in some amazement. ‘I thought strangers were killed if they set foot in Tìrsoilleir.’

  ‘But ye forget, my wee cat, how many o’ those who came west to fight us returned to tell the folks at home what they had seen and heard,’ Lachlan said, smiling. ‘And some o’ those have changed so much in their views that they now send me any news they think may interest me, all whilst spreading the tales o’ the angel with the midnight wings and flaming sword …’

  ‘Who shall come and topple the cruel, corrupt elders from their gilded altars, so that the people o’ the Bright Land may be free o’ their terrible injustice and tyranny,’ Alphonsus the Sure said, his voice ringing with triumph and certainty.

  ‘Ye hear there the words o’ Killian the Listener,’ Captain Tobias said, his sun-hardened face creasing in a grim smile. ‘He is the divine prophet o’ God Our Father, who was wrongly accused o’ heresy and dissidence and was incarcerated in the Black Tower by the Fealde and her minions. She said it was no’ the word o’ God he heard but the depraved whisperings o’ the Archfiend, and cut off his ears so he could hear no more.’

  ‘A prophet is no’ without honour save in his own country and in his own house,’ Arvin the Just said in the gloomiest of tones. Elfrida and the other Tìrsoilleirean nodded in solemn agreement.

  ‘This is the man we aim to rescue,’ Lachlan said grimly. ‘Our spies tell us that the Fealde has grown afraid o’ the growing ferment in the countryside and has decided it may be better to martyr this seer, rather than risk an uprising driven by the words o’ his prophecy. Until now the General Assembly had thought keeping him locked away would be enough to douse the fire his words ignited. Yet since the ignominious defeat o’ their invasion attempt, the Tìrsoilleirean people have begun to mutter against the Fealde and the Kirk. There is much talk o’ rescuing Killian the Listener and following him in a rebellion against the General Assembly’s rule. This is why we wish to free him. If Killian the Listener speaks on our behalf, happen we can win the Tìrsoilleirean people to our cause. We shall be able to help Elfrida win back her throne, and Tìrsoilleir will at last be free o’ the tyranny o’ the General Assembly.’

  ‘Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed,’ Arvin the Just said profoundly, and his companions nodded in agreement. Finn had to stifle a giggle.

  Lachlan sipped his wine, his wings relaxing. He fixed Finn with his compelling golden eyes. ‘That is why we need ye, Finn. Ye alone can climb into the Black Tower and let the rescue party in.’

  ‘The Black Tower?’ Finn asked.

  ‘The Black Tower is where I was born and raised,’ Elfrida said with a little shiver. ‘It is the prison where the most dangerous o’ the General Assembly’s enemies are kept. Traitors and heretics and the bloodiest o’ murderers are sent there, and anyone that the Fealde wants t
o disappear. Most are executed in the square afore the Great Kirk and their heads stuck on spikes along the city walls but some disappear inside those black walls and are never seen again. No-one has ever escaped from it. My father tried when I was but a babe and died in the attempt.’

  ‘I see,’ Finn said. ‘So I’m betting no-one has ever broken in afore either.’

  Elfrida shook her head. ‘No-one in their right mind would want to!’

  ‘Which is why ye’ve called in the Cat,’ Finn said gloomily. ‘Needing someone out o’ their right mind.’

  ‘No-one else could do it, Finn,’ Iseult said. ‘Believe me, we have thought o’ and abandoned many plans to rescue the prophet but this is the only one that has any chance o’ success. If you could climb up the walls and break in without anyone seeing …’

  ‘Killian is the gentlest auld man ye could imagine,’ Elfrida said with a break in her voice. ‘He has already been punished horribly—tortured and maimed for daring to speak out against the Fealde. My people have a deep reverence for prophets and they have grown to hate the General Assembly. If he should still be alive and we could bring him out o’ the Black Tower and set him to preaching again, well, happen it be the best chance I have o’ winning back my throne.’

  ‘Can ye at least tell us if he is still alive?’ Lachlan said urgently. ‘Please, Finn?’

  ‘How?’ Finn replied shortly. ‘I’d need something o’ his to hold.’

  Elfrida slipped her hand within her pocket and pulled out a crude wooden cross to pass to Finn. The cross was hung from a leather thong, much knotted where it had been broken.

  ‘Killian gave me this the last time we met,’ Elfrida said pleadingly. ‘Can ye tell anything from it, Finn? Is he still alive? Is he held in the Black Tower still?’

  Finn held the wooden cross in her hands, shutting her eyes and concentrating. She saw a dark cell, lit only by the flickering light of two torches shoved into braziers. An emaciated old man hung on the wall, filthy rags hanging from his skeletal frame. Thrusting a long scroll of paper at him was an armour-clad soldier with close-cropped grey hair, wrapped in a long white cloak emblazoned with a red cross. ‘Sign!’ the soldier hissed and the old man shook his head feebly.