The Cursed Towers

by Kate Forsyth

  Lilanthe scraped the bowl with her spoon as Sukey continued. ‘Like when His Highness tried to make her stay here in Lucescere wi’ the laddiekin. She fixed him wi’ that look o’ hers and said, “But Lachlan, ye ken I canna stay behind while ye ride to war. I be in geas to ye, do ye no’ remember? I swore never to leave ye.”’

  ‘Wha’ does geas mean?’ Lilanthe asked, and the pretty maid shrugged and giggled, saying, ‘I do no’ ken but the Rìgh went red and said no more, so I figure it mun be some pact they made, never to part. Is it no’ romantic?’ And she giggled again.

  ‘Look, lassies, see who’s lowered herself to come and visit us mere scrubbers in the kitchen,’ a loud voice sneered. ‘If it is no’ Sukey the royal nursemaid! I’d have thought she’d be too proud now she be so grand.’

  Lilanthe looked up, shrinking a little into her chair, for she knew well that tone of voice. Standing before them, her hands on her hips, was a broad-hipped girl with a soiled apron and very red, chapped hands. Clustered behind her were several grinning scullery maids.

  Sukey flushed and got to her feet. ‘’Tis no’ my fault they asked me to tend the wee laddie,’ she said defensively. ‘No need for ye to get nasty wi’ me, Doreen, for ye ken I never put myself forward or said I was aught but wha’ I am.’

  ‘Och, nay,’ the big girl replied contemptuously, ‘ye wi’ your smug, smarmy ways, cozening your way in wi’ the new rìgh and forgetting your auld friends, ye think we dinna see through ye?’

  ‘It only be because I helped Red wi’ the wee banprionnsa and so they knew I had a way wi’ babes …’

  ‘Och, sure,’ Doreen said. ‘A wee, skinny nippet like ye? I bet ye’d never dandled a babe in your life before. Nay, ye were just having an eye to the main chance.’

  Sukey started to say something, but one of the other scullery maids said in a high, piping voice, ‘And surprised I am that ye’d be willing to mind a witch-wean, Sukey. Are ye no’ scared?’

  ‘He’s only a wee laddie, Elsie, ye shouldna say such things,’ Sukey said in a weak voice as the other maids glanced around nervously and shushed the girl.

  ‘Button your lip, my lass,’ Doreen said, ‘else ye’ll have that auld haggis-bag Latifa down on us all.’

  Elsie tossed her white-capped head, blue eyes defiant. ‘Say what ye like, he be a witch-wean, and uile-bheist too, wi’ those wings and eyes.’

  Lilanthe felt blood rise to her cheeks, her feet crossing involuntarily, and saw how the scullery maids looked at her sideways. In her mud-bedraggled gown, her long mane of twiggy hair sprouting with new leaves, she knew she looked an uile-bheist indeed. Once again she wished she was safe in the forests, away from those who sneered at and hated those not of human blood.

  Sukey must have sensed how she felt, for she said spiritedly, ‘Ye ken ye should no’ talk like that, Elsie; the Rìgh has passed a decree against it, and ye’d be in trouble indeed if ye were reported.’

  ‘Listen to her,’ Elsie said admiringly, ‘all for the new order now, baint she? She changes her tune soon enough.’

  Sukey’s round cheeks were red, her eyes bright with tears. ‘A new broom sweeps clean, my granddam always said,’ she replied, chin in the air. ‘And ye lassies would be best to remember it.’ She gathered her skirts together, and said, ‘Come, Lilanthe, I ken the Keybearer is wanting to see ye, and I’m sure His Highness is too. Dinna ye mind these jealous, cackling hens, they be just mean-minded and mean-hearted too.’ She swept past the other girls, and Lilanthe followed quietly, not looking any of them in the eye.

  ‘Obh obh, a little pot’s soon hot,’ Doreen called after them mockingly, but Sukey ignored her, taking Lilanthe swiftly through the corridors of the kitchen wing.

  They eventually found Iseult and Lachlan in Meghan’s apartments at the Tower of Two Moons. The old sorceress had refused to stay in bed, despite her weakness, insisting she had too much to do to be fussed over and mollycoddled. She was sitting in her high-backed chair, as upright as ever, her narrow black eyes snapping with impatience as she listened to Lachlan’s litany of complaints. Iseult was sitting in the window seat, Donncan feeding at her breast, while the little cluricaun Brun sat cross-legged on the hearth, mending a shirt with tiny, competent stitches.

  ‘Well, Lachlan, if wishes were pots and pans, there’d be no need for tinkers,’ Meghan was saying briskly. ‘We canna conjure swords or arrowheads from thin air; Eà knows, I wish we could! We shall have to make do with what we have. Ye ken we have manned the iron mines in the Sithiche Mountains with the prisoners o’ war and soon shall have more metal for the forge. Until then, your soldiers must make do with what weapons they have.’

  ‘But how am I to fight a war with a handful o’ untrained, inexperienced, undisciplined and unarmed bairns?’ Lachlan cried in exasperation.

  ‘Wisely and boldly,’ Meghan said sharply. ‘How else should a MacCuinn fight?’

  She stilled his bitter response with one hand and smiled at Lilanthe. ‘So ye have returned to us, my dear. I hope ye are refreshed after your winter sleep.’

  Wondering if the Keybearer knew why she had fled into the garden so precipitately, Lilanthe nodded, smiling shyly in response. The donbeag curled in Meghan’s lap gave a reassuring chirrup, and automatically she chittered back.

  ‘We missed your talks on the forest faeries at the Tower, though it did spur me to set some o’ our young apprentices to researching tree-changers, nisses and cluricauns in the few books we have remaining,’ Meghan said. ‘I have found out some interesting things I did no’ know before. Tell me, Lilanthe, do ye know o’ the Summer Tree?’

  The donbeag chittered in excitement and bounded up Meghan’s long, silver-streaked plait to sit on her shoulder. Lilanthe shrugged. ‘Nay, my lady.’

  Meghan sighed. ‘That’s a shame, I was hoping ye’d be able to add to what little I have discovered. Never mind.’

  The cluricaun laid down his needle, his furry ears pricking forward. Solemnly he chanted:

  ‘Ten thousand bonny bairns I bred

  Yet still I live while they are dead.

  Fair my daughters bloomed,

  Even then their beauty doomed,

  Put to death by those who love them best.

  Vigorous and strong grow my sons,

  Soon to wither till I have none,

  I canna tell ye where they rest.

  Yet I do not grieve for long

  Bear more children fair and strong

  When again I hear midsummer’s song.’

  They all stared at him and he said, ‘The Summer Tree, the Singing Tree.’

  Meghan said slowly, ‘One o’ the references I’ve been able to find describes “a garden with a great tree covered in blooms, sweet-scented as roses, which stands singing in the wind”.’

  ‘The Summer Tree, the Singing Tree,’ the cluricaun repeated.

  Meghan fell into a reverie. They all waited in silence, though Lachlan fidgeted a little, and the baby at Iseult’s breast murmured. When Meghan roused herself, she looked a little startled to find them still all there. ‘Ye ken Isabeau has left us,’ she said abruptly.

  Lilanthe nodded, and Sukey said breathlessly, ‘Red left her a plait o’ hair, is that no’ peculiar? To find her again, she said.’

  Meghan’s gaze sharpened, and Lachlan balled his hands into fists. ‘Is that so?’ the old witch asked. Reluctantly Lilanthe nodded and brought out the coiled braid to show them. Meghan held out an imperative hand. Even more reluctantly the tree-shifter passed the plait over. Something in the room had changed; she could sense a sharpening in the silence which made her uneasy. Meghan ran her hand over the braid dreamily.

  ‘Can ye tell where she has gone?’ Lachlan asked. When Meghan did not reply, he turned his intense yellow gaze to Lilanthe’s face and she said hesitantly, ‘She’s far, far away. To the north.’

  ‘She’s heading for the secret valley?’ He flashed a look at Meghan. ‘Could she have travelled so far so fast? Why is it none o’ my patrols have fou
nd any trace o’ her? Even if she had taken the cloak o’ invisibility, could it have hidden all trace o’ her and that damned horse?’

  ‘The cloak o’ invisibility can be as large or as small as is needed,’ Meghan said, ‘but I swear she did no’ have it. Ye ken we searched the maze thoroughly for it after Maya swam free and could no’ find it. Besides, ye know we all saw the stallion’s hoofprints in the maze and they went one way only. Even Isabeau could no’ manage to make a horse walk backwards in its prints all the way out o’ the maze.’

  ‘So how did she disappear into thin air like that?’ Lachlan said furiously. ‘She must have the cloak o’ invisibility, there’s no other explanation.’

  ‘She would have told us had she found it, she was with us when we searched,’ Meghan said angrily, then frowned. ‘Though that cloak has strange, dark powers that can twist the mind and the will,’ she said softly. She pondered for a moment, then said, ‘No, I think she must somehow have travelled the Auld Ways. I know that stallion has the ability, though how any horse could, I canna fathom. It is clear he is no ordinary horse, that stallion o’ Isabeau’s.’

  ‘No, he’s a wild, savage beastie,’ Lachlan said angrily. ‘He should have been shot!’

  ‘It is odd,’ Meghan murmured, ‘but for a moment, when I saw the horse, I thought … but no, such a thing would surely be impossible. It has been almost seventeen years.’ She glared up at Lachlan, who was chewing his thumbnail, a ferocious frown on his face. ‘Do no’ even be thinking o’ wasting men on pursuit o’ Isabeau,’ she warned. ‘It be a long and difficult journey to the secret valley, and besides, ye ken none but Isabeau and I know the way in and out o’ the caves. Ye were complaining bitterly enough o’ how few men ye have, ye canna be wasting them on a wild-goose chase. Isabeau is pursuing her own destiny; when it is time, the Spinners shall bring our threads to cross again.’ As she spoke, the old sorceress rolled the plait and went to tuck it in her pocket.

  Lilanthe made an involuntary movement of protest. There were undercurrents in the room that she did not understand and they made her uneasy. The tree-shifter shuffled her feet self-consciously, but she said, ‘Isabeau left me the plait, Keybearer. It is all I have left o’ her. She wanted me to have it.’ She held out her hand, though her freckled face burnt with embarrassment.

  Meghan’s fingers closed hard on the plait and her black eyes regarded Lilanthe steadily. Lilanthe forced herself to meet her gaze and Meghan sighed and reluctantly passed the braided hair back to the tree-shifter.

  She said sternly, ‘Keep her plait safe, my dear, for much harm can be done to her if it should fall into the wrong hands. Ye should always guard the discards o’ your living body carefully, for ye can be tracked or spied upon, or even have a curse cast upon ye, through naught but a crescent o’ nail or a stain o’ sweat.’ She passed back the ruddy braid, and Lilanthe stowed it away in her sleeve again.

  ‘We have a task for ye, if ye be willing,’ the witch said. ‘Ye do still wish to work with us, do ye no’?’ Lilanthe gave a very small nod, feeling her toes curl. ‘I ken ye are unhappy here in the palace,’ Meghan said, smiling at her. ‘Ye are a creature o’ the forest, and despite all our decrees and declarations, there are many here who still distrust the faeries and are unkind. It occurs to me that ye may wish to return to the forest and perhaps search for your own kind.’

  Lilanthe listened incredulously. It was indeed a longheld dream of hers, but how had the Keybearer known? ‘I have often looked,’ she said softly, ‘but tree-changers are elusive creatures and rarely come together; they are hard to find.’

  ‘Happen if ye knew where to look, ye would have more luck,’ Meghan said persuasively. ‘I told ye I had set some o’ the apprentices to researching the habits o’ tree-changers and others o’ those who dwell in the forests. It seems tree-changers do come together at least once a year, at midsummer, for the flowering o’ the Summer Tree. What little I can find out about it suggests this tree blossoms but once a year, and then only for one day and one night. Its flowers are powerful in some way, or sacred.’

  ‘Is the Summer Tree no’ the emblem o’ the MacAislin family?’ Lilanthe said, suddenly remembering something Dide had once told her. ‘Gilliane wears a little shield wi’ the device o’ a flowering tree around her neck.’

  ‘Aye, that she does,’ Meghan replied, pleased. ‘She and her mother and sister are all that remain o’ the MacAislin clan; they are heirs to Aslinn and the Tower o’ Dreamers, though it has been some decades since a MacAislin ruled Aslinn, thanks to the ambition o’ the MacThanachs.’ Again she fell into silence, and Iseult passed the baby to Sukey to swaddle and rock to sleep, coming to stand beside Lachlan, her hand slipping through his tense arm.

  ‘So ye want me to go to Aslinn in search o’ tree-changers. Why? What is it that ye want with them?’

  ‘I wish ye to seek the support o’ the forest faeries for me,’ the old witch said. ‘In the past, tree-changers have been powerful allies o’ the MacAislin clan and fought on their behalf. When my father Aedan Whitelock sought to bring peace to Eileanan, the tree-changers were amongst those o’ faery kind who swore to abide by the Pact o’ Peace, and one o’ their number made his mark upon the proclamation. We wish to renew the Pact o’ Peace, but after sixteen years of persecution, many o’ the faeries are wary o’ humankind, and with strong reason. It is in my mind that they would trust ye, Lilanthe, and that ye would be able to persuade them to give us their support and help.’

  ‘They will no’ listen to me. They despise me as much as ye humans do.’ Tears welled up in her slanted green eyes.

  ‘They will no’ fear ye, though, Lilanthe, and happen ye can teach them to trust ye and accept ye. Do ye no’ think it is worth a try? Will ye think on it, for indeed we need them to come to trust us if we are ever to have true peace in this land.’

  Lilanthe looked unconvinced, but she nodded and said, ‘I’ll think about it,’ her hand unconsciously creeping within her sleeve to caress Isabeau’s coiled braid of hair.

  ‘In the planning and care o’ crops and vegetables, the soil is one o’ the most important considerations,’ Matthew the Lean droned. ‘Soil acts as a reservoir o’ nutrients and water and absorbs the waste substances plants accumulate in the root system.’

  Dillon sighed and stared out the window at the trees waving in the garden. He had no interest in soil, but Matthew the Lean, a very earnest and well-meaning witch, thought it a subject of absorbing interest and was doing his best to pass on his enthusiasm to his pupils. He was an earth witch who had been trained in his youth at the Tower of Blessed Fields. After winning his moonstone and jade rings, he had settled in a small village where he blessed the farmers’ crops every year, and researched ways of improving their seed yields.

  When the witch-hunts began, he fled his village, at last finding a new home far to the south where none knew he was a witch. He had spent the seventeen years since the Day of Betrayal cultivating his small plot of land and growing vegetables of such size and deliciousness that his neighbours had grown very suspicious of him indeed. He may well have been accused of witchcraft if his demeanour had not been of such sober respectability, and if he had not been willing to pass on his knowledge of composting, seed raising and irrigation to his fellow gardeners.

  He would have been quite happy living out his life in that small village, but Matthew the Lean had a strong sense of duty and he knew the Coven of Witches was in need of him. So when news came of the Samhain victory, he had packed up his meagre belongings and returned to the Tower of Two Moons to help the witches in their struggle. In a few days the younger, stronger witches would be riding out with the Rìgh’s army and Matthew the Lean was determined to impart what knowledge he could to the young students in the short time left to him.

  The long schoolroom was filled with nearly fifty children aged between ten and fifteen. Most had the same bored expression as Dillon. Some were carving into the wooden desktops with their knives; some were whispering in lo
w tones or passing globules of sweet sap to suck; others were plaiting the fringe of their shawls or scraping the mud off their bare feet with their fingernails. Dillon cursed under his breath and wondered when he would be allowed to join the older boys in weapons’ practice. It was Dillon’s dream to become one of the Yeomen of the Guards, the Rìgh’s own elite company which rode behind him into battle and guarded him during peacetime. Knowledge of soil composition was of no use at all to a Blue Guard, as the Yeomen were commonly called.

  The door opened and a tall man with curly chestnut hair and a full, red beard came striding in. At his side was a young girl dressed in fur-trimmed velvet of forest green, with a finely woven black plaid that matched the man’s kilt and plaid. A tiny black cat with tufted ears rode in the crook of her arm, and at their heels loped a large, shaggy wolf.

  At once Matthew jumped to his feet, bowing and stammering greetings.

  The Prionnsa of Rurach and Siantan inclined his head, saying, ‘Thank ye, my good man. I am sorry to disturb your class but we ride for Rurach this afternoon and my daughter wishes to bid her friends goodbye.’

  ‘O’ course, o’ course,’ the witch replied and made a vague gesture towards the classroom of wide-eyed children.

  Dillon rose to his feet with alacrity, motioning to the other members of the League of the Healing Hands to follow suit. Jay the Fiddler was the first to his feet, his thin cheeks crimsoning, while Anntoin and Artair were quick to follow. Johanna was the only one to have been listening to the lecture with any interest, for she knew a sound knowledge of plant lore was necessary if her dream of becoming a healer was to come true. Nonetheless, she was eager to see Finn, for they had hardly seen her since the night of the Samhain rebellion, when she had discovered she was the lost daughter of the MacRuraich, stolen by the Awl when she was only six years old. Apprenticed to a thief and bounty hunter, she had been taught many skills her royal parents would rather she did not have, until she had run away to join the others on the streets. They had been the swiftest, trickiest band of beggar-children in Lucescere until they had joined forces with Jorge the Seer and his young apprentice, Tòmas, and formed the League of the Healing Hand. The League had been instrumental in the success of the Samhain rebellion and had found the ensuing months rather flat after all the action and excitement of the previous year.