The Forbidden Land

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘I was indeed.’

  ‘I would’ve liked to have seen that,’ he answered with a sad little sigh.

  ‘It was very late. Ye would’ve been asleep.’

  He stirred a little, lifting his hand and then letting it drop again. ‘I do no’ sleep very well,’ he answered listlessly. ‘There are always so many sick people. I can feel their pain, even though they will no’ let me touch them all. They say I must save my strength for those who need me most.’

  ‘That be good advice,’ Finn said briskly. ‘Ye canna be touching everyone, ye ken.’

  ‘I feel their pain,’ he answered sadly.

  Again there was that unexpected rush of hot tears to Finn’s eyes. She wondered what was wrong with her, that she should be so troubled so easily. It had been many months since she had felt like crying and here she was, weeping all the time like some soppy sentimental girl. She sniffed back the tears and said, even more briskly, ‘Well, ye should learn to block it out. Ye’ll be making yourself sick if ye try and heal every silly gowk that has a sniffle or a sneeze.’

  ‘That’s what Jo says.’

  ‘Well, listen to her. Jo is right.’

  ‘Och, o’ course I am,’ Johanna said, coming up behind her. ‘Though I have no idea what ye’re talking about. Come on, Finn, I have found a horse for ye. Ye had best take good care o’ him and no’ hurt his mouth or score his side with spurs, else ye’ll be making an enemy o’ his owner. Come, His Highness is growing restless and wants to be on the road. It’s long past dawn!’

  Gladly Finn hurried to mount her horse, a big chestnut with a proudly curved neck named Harken. He was much taller than Cinders and, as Finn found as soon as she mounted, much stronger as well. He pranced and jibbed at the unfamiliar lightness of her weight and she had some trouble bringing him into line with the other horses. She hid her dismay, however, and kicked him forward so that she was near Lachlan and Iseult, both watching her critically.

  ‘Are ye sure ye can manage him, Finn?’ Iseult said.

  ‘O’ course!’

  ‘Very well then,’ the Rìgh said. ‘Let us ride!’

  By the end of the first day, Finn was ready to weep with exhaustion. She had never ridden so hard and for so long. The horses were given their heads at every opportunity, galloping over the long stretches of meadow and through the green dales of trees. Only when the forest grew too thick were the horses reined in, and then to an uncomfortable jog that rattled the teeth in Finn’s head and chafed her inner thighs raw.

  It had taken Harken less than ten minutes to unseat Finn and she had hit the ground very hard, falling from a great height and at full speed. Goblin had been clinging to her shoulder and she leapt clear, landing nimbly on her feet and then tidying up her whiskers as a shaken and furious Finn tried to catch the gelding.

  Harken was too well trained to bolt but she had to remount him without the assistance of a mounting block or a helping hand, all while clutching a protesting elven cat who was not averse to punishing Finn for the insult with her sharp little claws. Aware that the healers were all watching from the wagon, Finn scrambled up with flaming cheeks, dragged the chestnut’s head around and kicked him forward, galloping in the muddy tracks of the other cavaliers who had cantered on without pause.

  Soon after, the gelding swerved under a low branch and Finn had only been able to keep her seat by slipping sideways out of the saddle, gripping the stirrup leather with both hands. He threw her again half an hour later with an unexpected sidestep at full gallop, and again at midday, stopping abruptly to drink at a slow-moving brown stream. Finn was thrown over his head and into the water, much to the amusement of the cavaliers. Duncan Ironfist himself leapt down to pull her up out of the stream, saying over his shoulder, ‘Well, Harken has decided this is as good a place as any to stop for lunch! Let us stand down and let the horses rest a wee while.’

  Wet and deeply mortified, Finn waded out onto the bank, surreptitiously rubbing her bruises and refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Goblin stalked out in her wake, her black fur plastered flat to her bones, her tail dripping. She sat with her back to Finn and licked herself dry, hissing at Finn when she tried to pick her up.

  No-one paid the embarrassed girl and her cat any attention, busy loosening their girths and unpacking their saddlebags. Finn could only be glad the gloomy first mate of the Speedwell had not been there to see her ignominious descent. Arvin the Just had told her many times that ‘pride goest afore destruction and a haughty spirit afore a fall’, and she could not help thinking it would have given him great satisfaction to have been proved right.

  Finn could have curled up under the trees and slept all afternoon, but to her consternation they stopped only long enough to eat a rough meal of cheese, bread and ale before once again riding on. Goblin made her feelings clear by jumping up into the wagon and curling up on a pile of blankets, not deigning to look at Finn when she tried to coax her back onto her shoulder. Finn was by now so stiff and sore she would gladly have joined the elven cat in the wagon but her stubborn pride would not allow her to admit defeat and so she mounted the chestnut with a wince and a curse, and clung on with gritted teeth as he once again trotted forward.

  At last the sun began to sink down behind the high round hills, but to her dismay they rode on long after twilight had darkened to night, their way lighted by flaming torches. At last they made camp, but Finn was so very stiff and sore she could hardly walk. Without comment Johanna gave her a pot of salve which burnt like fire when rubbed into her bruises and aching muscles but relieved the pain enough for Finn to finally get some rest.

  The second and third days were unadulterated torture. Finn found herself heartily sorry that she had boasted of her riding prowess, since the destrier was far too strong for her and fought her hand on the rein constantly. She was determined to show no weakness before the soldiers, however, and so used every ounce of strength in her body and will to force the horse to obey her. She was thrown several times but each time sprang back into the saddle and rode on without complaint.

  By the fourth day her muscles were growing used to the hard pace and the soothing balm Johanna had given her had eased the pain of her chafing. By the fifth day, Finn felt in full command of the destrier, who had finally stopped trying to knock her off with low branches or unbalance her with a cunning sidestep at full gallop. By the sixth day, she was able to enjoy the excitement of their headlong pace and even to begin to notice the beauty of the scenery around them.

  The cavaliers were riding through the downs that swept down towards the sea, ending abruptly at the edge of the high cliffs that Finn had last seen from the deck of the Speedwell. Streams wound down through the wide valleys, often meandering through small stretches of forest where they were able to hunt for birds or coneys to supplement their diet. Here and there were lonely farmhouses, usually strongly barricaded behind high stone walls. Often they saw a farmer out working in the fields. At the sight of the squadron of soldiers, he would turn and run back to the house, shutting the gates tight against them. The cavaliers never stopped, even though all would have liked to buy some fresh food or ask for a comfortable place to sleep.

  On the seventh day they fought a skirmish with a company of Bright Soldiers on patrol. Lachlan was not interested in fighting a pitched battle. The aim of their expedition was to rescue the shipwrecked crew of the Speedwell, not to further the war against the General Assembly. So they simply rode through the company at top speed, laying about them with their swords. The gyrfalcon Stormwing plunged down from the sky at frightening speed, killing one soldier with a single blow of its clenched talons. Gwilym the Ugly conjured an illusion of snakes that had the enemy’s horses rearing in panic and then, once the Yeomen were out of sight beyond the curve of a hill, concealed their trail with magic. A few soldiers were sent off to create a false trail leading their pursuers on a wild goose chase, and their journey continued with the same discipline as before. Finn had to admit she was impressed with the speed and cal
m with which everything had been accomplished. The Blue Guards were seasoned veterans indeed.

  On the eighth day they drew closer to the coast so that Finn could begin looking out for any landmarks that she recognised. Everyone was conscious of anxiety, for there were so many spectacular formations of rock rising from the wild sea that all wondered how Finn would be able to tell one from another. She just laughed scornfully, however, saying, ‘Flaming dragon balls, have ye forgotten I be a NicRuraich? I could find them in the dark with my eyes blindfolded, my ears stuffed with wax, and my hands tied behind my back!’

  That day they saw a fleet of galleons sailing up the horizon and took cover behind the rocks for an hour or so, not wishing anyone on board to see them through their farseeing glass. At last the white sails had disappeared from view and they were able to ride on, picking their way carefully over the uneven ground.

  Suddenly Finn gave a shout. ‘Look! The Two Lovers! That’s what Tam called them. See those rocks leaning together as if embracing? That’s near where we came on shore. Auld Clootie’s Cleft is hereabouts somewhere.’

  The shadows were growing long and the light had that effulgence that comes just before the sun sinks out of sight. Lachlan wanted to make camp in the cover of a small forest some distance away, returning in the morning so Finn could climb down the cliff and find her shipwrecked companions. Finn was determined to search them out straightaway, however.

  ‘The cliff be no’ much more than two hundred feet high, I can slide down that in minutes!’ she cried. ‘Please, Lachlan? They’ll be so anxious. Then I can get all ready to haul them up first thing in the morning and we shallna be wasting any more time.’

  ‘But the tide be coming in,’ Lachlan said. ‘What if ye canna find them in time?’

  ‘Och, I ken exactly where they are,’ Finn replied. ‘I’ll go down the cliff right above Auld Clootie’s Cleft and just swing in. I shallna need to set foot on the shore at all.’

  ‘Finn, can ye tell if all are still alive and well?’ Iseult asked.

  Finn hesitated. ‘No’ really,’ she admitted. ‘I can feel a tumult o’ minds but there is so much rock between us.’

  ‘I can feel pain,’ Tòmas said miserably.

  ‘What about the prophet?’ Lachlan leant forward, frowning. ‘Can ye tell if he still lives?’

  Finn shrugged. ‘I think so. I do no’ have the cross any more, I gave it back to him, so I do no’ have anything o’ his to touch to make sure. I think he is still alive, though his mind feels very faint.’

  She had dismounted as she spoke, readying her rope and pulleys in preparation for the descent. While she had slept that first night in the army camp, Lachlan’s quartermaster had been preparing new climbing equipment for her. One of the army blacksmiths had forged her some stakes and a square-headed hammer like the ones that had gone down with the Speedwell, and she had the great length of the nyx-hair rope, which coiled up into a surprisingly small knot that she wore hanging from her belt.

  Finn buttoned the elven cat up securely in her coat pocket, belayed the nyx-hair rope firmly about a rock and swiftly, nimbly, descended the cliff-face.

  It was shadowy in the lee of the cliff but Finn had climbed many a cliff in full darkness and had no difficulty in finding her way down. The rope was so slippery she was able to slide down at great speed, but so silky she did not burn her hands with the friction. Every now and again she bounced off the cliff with her feet, gaining extra momentum. By the time she reached the bottom the white-crested waves were growling and snapping about the rocks. Finn swung her body round so she hung upside down over Auld Clootie’s Cleft. ‘Hey, Scruffy,’ she whispered.

  There was a faint sound of movement within. ‘Finn?’ The voice was incredulous.

  ‘Aye. Can I come in or will ye stick me with that bloody happy sword o’ yours?’

  ‘Nay, o’ course ye can come in.’ Dillon had stepped forward and was peering out into the darkness. ‘Where the blazes are ye, Finn, in the water?’

  She rapped him on the top of his skull. ‘Up here, porridge-head.’

  He looked up, startled, rubbing the crown of his head. ‘Flaming dragon balls?’

  ‘Step back, ye lout, do ye want me to land on top o’ ye?’ As Dillon stepped back, muttering under his breath, Finn lithely swung herself down and through the cleft, landing gracefully before him.

  ‘Good to see ye, Scruffy; how are ye yourself?’ she asked.

  He laughed, still rubbing the top of his head. ‘I’ll give ye this, Finn, ye do ken how to make an entrance!’

  ‘Thank ye kindly, I try.’

  ‘How in Eà’s name did ye ken I was on guard tonight?’

  ‘It’s my business to ken such things,’ she replied haughtily. ‘I am the Cat, after all.’

  He grinned. ‘Thank Eà ye’ve come, Finn, we were sick with anxiety. No’ to mention hunger. Have ye brought food? We’ve eaten naught but seaweed and barnacles for days!’

  Finn nodded, shrugging her shoulders so her heavy pack bounced up and down. She looked past Dillon into the gloom of the cave, seeing dark figures huddled about a fire lit at the far end of the enormous cavern. No-one had yet noticed her arrival and she was struck by the despondent slump of their shoulders.

  ‘Lachlan and Iseult and their men are up top,’ she said. ‘They’ve brought healers too, for they ken some o’ the sailors were injured. How is everyone else themselves?’

  Dillon looked grim. ‘We’ve lost a few, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Och, no’ the prophet!’ Finn was dismayed. To have Killian the Listener die when they had travelled so far and endured so much to rescue him!

  ‘Nay, he lives still. He’s a tough auld boot, for all he looks like a bundle o’ sticks and rags. He’s in better shape than some o’ them!’

  ‘No’ Enit?’ Finn cried.

  ‘Nay, though she is very weak. She can barely lift her head from her blankets and if ye had no’ come when ye did …’

  ‘Well then,’ Finn said, relieved. Though she was naturally sorry that some of the injured sailors had died, she could only be glad it was not Killian the Listener or the old jongleur with the silvery voice. She started to move forward once more but Dillon stopped her with a hand on his arm.

  ‘I be real sorry, Finn, but I’m afraid your auld gillie Donald …’

  ‘No’ Donald?’

  ‘Aye, Donald. He was fishing off the rocks and got swept away by a wave. Dide and I tried to save him but it all happened too quickly …’

  Finn was numb with shock. It had never occurred to her to fear for the gillie’s life, although he was near as old as Enit or Killian. She stared at Dillon, then suddenly her face crumpled and she broke into tears. Dillon put his arms about her clumsily, patting her shoulder.

  ‘Do no’ greet, Finn, do no’ greet,’ he whispered.

  Finn wiped her eyes. ‘I canna believe it. He was so … so doughty.’ She could think of no better word than the one Donald had used so often himself.

  ‘We have missed him badly indeed. None o’ us are much o’ a hand with a bow and arrow, and the fishing lines went down with him. We’ve done our best but it’s been hard.’

  He led her over to the fire, where she was greeted with a great commotion. The contents of Finn’s haversack were received with almost as much excitement and she set about handing around food and the big flask of whiskey, her heart swelling with grief and pity. All of the castaways were very thin and pale, their clothes more ragged than ever. Most were still heavily bandaged, some with limbs tightly splinted. Enit lay in a restless doze that not all the noise could awaken her from. Bran was still weak and listless from her bout of sorcery-sickness, though her green eyes had lit with joy and relief at the sight of Finn. Ashlin could only get to his feet with an effort, a hacking cough causing him to double over with pain. His eyes, like Bran’s, were fever-bright. He bowed to Finn, though, saying in a hoarse voice, ‘Thank Eà ye be safe, my lady! I have been in such a fret over ye.’

 
‘Do no’ call me that,’ Finn said impatiently. ‘I be just Finn.’

  She looked round for Jay and Dide and found them waiting to embrace her. ‘Och, Finn, it be grand to see ye!’ Jay cried, hugging her so hard she gave a little yelp. ‘We havena been able to help fretting about ye. When we saw ye disappearing into the sky like that, surrounded by all those strange, wild faeries …’

  ‘The nyx be wonderful,’ Finn protested indignantly.

  ‘I’m just glad to see ye alive and well,’ Jay said and embraced her again.

  ‘Well, I’m glad to see ye too,’ Finn said awkwardly. ‘No’ that ye look well. Ye look bluidy awful!’

  Indeed, both Dide and Jay were thin and grey, their skin moist with perspiration, their voices roughened from too much coughing.

  ‘Some kind o’ cave fever,’ Nellwyn the Yedda said. ‘We’ve all got it. Comes from the dampness and chill, I’d say. We havena dared show our faces outside, for the galleons have been scouring the coast for us.’

  Finn nodded. ‘Aye, we saw them. Never mind. We’ll have ye out here and into the fresh air first thing in the morning. Tòmas is there and Johanna too. They’ll make ye all better.’

  It was a difficult task, hauling all the castaways up the cliff the next dawn. Few were strong enough to even attempt to climb and so the Yeomen had to drag them up on stretchers suspended from ropes. Dillon’s dog Jed howled the whole way up, struggling feebly against the ropes that bound him. He was gaunt beneath his shaggy white fur, having lived on nothing but cave rats for weeks.

  Killian the Listener was one of the first to be dragged over the lip of the cliff. The first thing he saw when he weakly lifted his head was Lachlan, bending over him with a frown of concern. The young Rìgh was all gilded by the brightness of the rising sun, his golden-topaz eyes blazing in his dark face, his magnificent black wings framing all the strength and power of his tall figure. Killian gazed up at him with reverent awe, then struggled to his knees, seizing Lachlan’s strong brown hand and kissing it.