The Cursed Towers

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘The tide is going out now,’ Dughall whispered, ‘and we have almost twelve hours before it reaches its height again. We want to use the flow o’ the ebb to carry us—once it turns, it’s a hard fight to carry on. Luckily it is winter and the tides are no’ at their height. In spring, it is dangerous indeed to attempt to go through the caves.’

  The light of the torches reflected off the surface of the water, making it look inky black and sending ripples of light dancing over the pillars and vaulted ceiling. Quickly they climbed into the punts, ten or so to a boat. They set the oars to the rowlocks but Iain smiled and called, ‘No need to row, I can propel the boats without any need for your sweat and strain.’

  Smoothly the boats glided away from the platform. Iseult put out her hand and touched the stone of a pillar as they slid past. It was cold and slimy, and she wiped her fingers on her breeches in distaste.

  Dughall held an old, stained parchment on his lap and consulted it with a frown. He counted the pillars as they passed them and once called over to Iain in the leading boat. Iain nodded and the boats silently changed course, as instantly and instinctively as a school of fish flashing away from the shore.

  Soon the platform was lost behind them and Iseult could sense everyone’s tightening nerves as they sailed on into the silent forest of overarching stone. Each pillar and curved vault of the ceiling came towards them from darkness and then sank back into darkness, all of them exactly the same. Without the stars or sun to guide them, there was no way to tell direction so deep underground. They began to feel they were drifting in one big circle, destined never to see daylight again.

  Dide began to sing a bawdy tavern song but the words echoed so alarmingly that his voice soon faltered. Dughall leant over the side of the boat, whispering across the expanse of water that separated the boats. ‘I would no’ sing down here, my lad. We are right underneath the Bright Soldiers’ camp, and who can be sure the sound would no’ be magnified and somehow carried to land above? We do no’ wish them to know we sail right beneath their feet.’

  Dide cast an amazed look up at the vaulted ceiling and sang no more. Dillon kept his hand on Jed’s rough head to keep him quiet, though the dog gave the occasional soft whine.

  Just when Iseult thought she could stand the dark and the silence and the dank smell of enclosed water no longer, she heard a strange roaring, rushing noise over her head. The carved pillars gave way to rough-hewn stone, bulging close on either side and above them. The boats slipped on through the tunnel, the taller of the men having to duck their heads to avoid knocking them on the uneven roof.

  ‘We are under the firth now,’ Dughall whispered, more out of awe than any fear of being overheard. ‘Hear that noise? That is where the sea rushes through the ravine which separates Rhyssmadill from the mainland.’

  They all stared upwards, and many of the Blue Guards gripped their sword hilts a little tighter, thinking of the great power and volume of water thundering overhead. On and on through the low, dark, dank-smelling tunnel they slipped, then suddenly they emerged into a broad cave, and the boats came to rest below a narrow rock shelf. Hamish the Cool saw a row of iron rings screwed into the shelf and swiftly clambered up the rusty, barnacle-encrusted ladder to tie his boat to one, the soldiers in the other boats following suit.

  By the time the two Hamishes had ensured the way was safe, the water was beginning to rise. They all hurried up a narrow passageway, the smoke from the torches stinging their eyes. The stone underfoot and on either side was slimy and wet. By now all were anxious to see daylight again, and they trod on each other’s heels in their haste.

  Suddenly there was a startled cry, and the procession came to a halt. ‘What is it?’ Lachlan called.

  ‘The passageway just comes to a complete end, Your Highness,’ Cathmor the Nimble replied. ‘There’s some kind o’ pit at the end. I canna see any bottom to it at all.’

  Iseult came up behind them and peered over Cathmor’s shoulder. He was lying on his stomach, his torch thrust down as far as he could reach into a deep, round hole. It dwindled away into darkness, the walls smooth and mossy.

  ‘Drop a pebble down,’ Lachlan ordered.

  Finlay Fear-Naught scrabbled beneath his feet but there were no loose rocks to be found. He passed Cathmor a coin, and Cathmor dropped it into the pit. After a long wait they heard, very faintly, a small splash.

  ‘Raise your torch, Cathmor, let us see what lies above,’ Iseult said. The soldier obeyed. Just above their heads was a rusty ladder, climbing up into the darkness.

  ‘That’s our way free,’ Lachlan said with satisfaction. ‘Cathmor, my nimble one, that looks like a task for ye.’

  Cathmor grinned and swung himself up, climbing swiftly up the wall. Soon his boots had disappeared into the gloom, and Lachlan again brought the light to life in the heart of the Lodestar, holding it high so they could see Cathmor’s agile progress. Even its silvery radiance was not strong enough to illuminate the end of the ladder, and they watched their companion climb out of sight with misgiving in their hearts.

  After a long wait they heard a faint scuffle and a heartfelt curse, the sound magnified greatly by the enclosing walls. Then there was a grating noise and suddenly a small circle of light appeared far above them. They saw the dark shape of Cathmor’s body blot out the light as he swung himself out, and then he was gone.

  Finlay Fear-Naught, beside himself with impatience, was begging Lachlan to allow him to go and see what had happened when the circle of light was again blotted out. They heard Cathmor whistle the all-clear, and Finlay swung himself up and began to climb. The hot-tempered Hamish followed swiftly, then Hamish the Cool and Barnard the Eagle, then Duncan Ironfist. Only when the big captain was himself satisfied that it was safe were Lachlan and Iseult permitted to follow, though the Banrìgh was as always impatient with his excessive caution.

  Iseult swung herself out of the hole, ignoring Duncan’s proffered hand, and looked about her with interest. Above her was a peaked, shingled roof held up by four wooden posts. A large wooden bucket had been tossed aside, its handle secured by rope to an iron rod above her head.

  Lachlan was standing beside the structure, laughing. ‘Who would have guessed it!’ he cried. ‘How many times did we beg one o’ the servants to draw up some water for us, never realising the well hid the entrance to the secret caves! Dughall, did ye know?’

  His cousin was just clambering out of the hole. Unlike Iseult, he did not scorn Duncan Ironfist’s help, allowing the captain to pull him free. ‘Nay, my sweet, I only found out the secret to the sea caves this past month. My dai-dein was never one for giving away secrets to a snotty-nosed lad, ye ken that. Besides, do ye no’ remember that time Donncan and Feargus tried to beat the secret out o’ me? Ye think I would have held out if I had known?’

  Lachlan smiled, though his expression was tinged with melancholy. The young Rìgh still grieved deeply for his brothers, and any mention of them brought a dark mood that often lasted for days. Seeing his face, Iseult laid her hand on his arm and sought to distract him.

  ‘What do we do now, leannan?’ she asked.

  Her husband was scanning the overcast sky. He uttered the harsh shriek of a falcon, and waited until Stormwing had flown down to his gauntlet before turning to answer her.

  ‘We find the captain o’ the garrison and send out some carrier pigeons to Meghan and the MacThanach, just to let them know the plan is progressing as it should,’ he said. ‘Come, I’ll wager they’ll be happy indeed to see us here.’

  Lachlan would have lost his bet if Iseult had taken him up on it. The captain of the palace garrison was a tall, lean man with a hard, suspicious face and hard, suspicious eyes. Two years of short rations and constant vigilance had honed him to a fine point and, unlike the besieged of Dùn Eidean, he was not at all overwhelmed with joy at the sight of his rìgh.

  ‘What foul sorcery is this?’ he cried, drawing his sword and striding forward to meet Duncan Ironfist. His red cloak swung
as he moved, causing the Blue Guards to draw together in scowling formation. Behind the captain stood his officers, also clad in the blood-coloured cloaks of the Red Guards, their swords singing as they drew them. ‘How do ye come here?’

  For a moment it seemed as if Red Guards and Blue Guards would come together with a clash. Then Lachlan strode forward. ‘How dare ye draw swords against your rìgh! We come to relieve ye and this is how ye greet us!’

  For a moment the captain’s sword remained thrust forward, then he lowered it, saying rather defensively, ‘Forgive me, Your Highness, but we were no’ looking for ye to materialise out o’ nowhere. We’ve been watching for ye for days, ever since we received your carrier pigeon, but could no’ see how ye could come to us through such an army that is camped on our doorstep.’

  Lachlan stepped forward and dropped his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘This auld place has many secrets ye canna know o’,’ he said. ‘It is no reflection on your sentries that ye did no’ see us coming. Indeed, we passed right through the blaygird Bright Soldiers and they did no’ see us either. Ye have done well, holding Rhyssmadill for so long, with no surety o’ help. I know few soldiers who could have done so. Indeed, ye have proved yourself loyal and true to the MacCuinn clan and so I thank ye in my dead brother’s name and in mine.’

  The captain’s stern face relaxed a little, though he could not help eyeing Lachlan’s wings with distaste. The Rìgh’s mouth thinned a little but he motioned to his squires to bring forward the supplies he had brought with him. ‘I wager it has been some time since ye’ve enjoyed a wee dram,’ he said. ‘Ye and your men are relieved o’ duty from this moment. Ye may eat and drink your fill, and sleep peacefully, knowing that Rhyssmadill is safe and that your rìgh is pleased with ye.’

  The weary-faced officers broke into relieved talk and laughter, accepting the silver flask that Dillon gave them and passing it between them. The captain remained stern-faced, however, his hand still firm on his sword hilt. ‘Will ye no’ tell me how ye and your men could just appear out o’ thin air?’ he said. ‘What vile act o’ magic was this, and if it was so easy for ye, why have ye waited so long to come?’

  Lachlan clenched his fists but managed to control his temper. ‘It was no act o’ magic,’ he answered. ‘Have ye never heard o’ the sea caves beneath Rhyssmadill? We have only just learnt the secret o’ the caves’ entrance. Indeed, my cousin travelled to Ravenshaw at considerable risk to himself to find out the secret from his father, the only living man to know it. We have had hard fighting indeed these last two years. We have won back all o’ Rionnagan, Aslinn and Blèssem from those damned bloodthirsty invaders and have driven them from Ravenshaw and Tìreich, at a great cost to us all and with many lives lost. I know ye have been trapped here for many months, without news or succour, but I assure ye we have no’ been just sitting around twiddling our thumbs!’

  Despite himself, the Rìgh’s voice had risen in anger and the captain flushed, dropping his eyes and muttering a sullen apology. Lachlan took a deep breath then said, more gently; ‘But ye must know ye are likely to see sorcery performed in the defence o’ this palace, for our reign is loyal to Eà and the Coven o’ Witches. I know ye were a captain o’ the Red Guards but the cruel reign o’ the Awl is broken. Ye have shown yourself loyal to the MacCuinns, rightful rulers o’ Eileanan and the Far Islands. I ask ye now if ye wish to remain loyal to me and serve me. If your conscience dictates otherwise, there will be no castigation, for it is the belief o’ the Coven that all men are free to think and worship as they please, as long as they do no harm to others. Once we have won the day ye will be free to go where ye please and ye will receive your pension in thanks for the many years o’ service to my brother Jaspar. Until then ye must remain under guard for we canna risk betrayal, as I am sure ye must understand. I hope that ye will stay and serve me and swear to me, though, for indeed dark days are upon us and I need all the good men I can find.’

  As he spoke Lachlan fixed all of the men in the room with his unwavering yellow gaze and though some looked away and fidgeted nervously, many responded with ardour. The whiskey had warmed their thin, tired, overstrained bodies; but more intoxicating than the liquor was the hope and relief the Blue Guards had brought them. Most of them had expected to die slowly and painfully from starvation and disease or, if their will had finally been ground down or their walls breached, in agony as the besiegers took their inevitable revenge.

  Like most soldiers they cared little for religion or politics, content to swear fealty to their overlaird and obey the orders of their superiors. The fact that Lachlan and his Blue Guards had managed to creep through the ranks of the Tìrsoilleirean army impressed and heartened them and, to a man, they knelt and swore to serve the MacCuinn and be faithful to him.

  The captain of the garrison was last to swear and his thin, stern face was grimmer than ever. ‘I canna like your witch tricks, Your Highness, and am afraid yon Coven has cozened ye, but ye are the MacCuinn and my rìgh and so I will swear fealty to ye and promise to serve ye faithfully.’

  ‘That is all I can ask o’ any man,’ Lachlan said, his voice rather thick for the man’s words had moved him. ‘Come, strip off those red cloaks and kilts for indeed they make me sick to my stomach, and let my squires serve ye some food. Ye look like ye’ve eaten nothing but air for days.’

  A glint of humour appeared in the captain’s hard eyes. ‘Indeed, there’s no rat left living in the cellars and the sea birds have learnt no’ to rest on our roofs,’ he answered. ‘We even thought about throwing a line and hook over the walls to see if we could catch a fish, but could find no line long enough.’

  Lachlan smiled and led him to the table. ‘Well, eat your fill now and then go and catch some rest, man. Indeed, ye deserve it! Duncan, we are going to have to start ferrying the rest o’ our troops in through the sea caves, along with fresh supplies and weapons. We will need Meghan and Jorge too, and they must be guarded carefully. How long do ye think it will take till we have everything ready?’

  Duncan frowned and counted slowly on his thick, brown fingers. ‘At least two weeks, Your Highness,’ he replied after a while. ‘Let us say three weeks to be sure. There are only two low tides a day, and only those six small boats. It will be difficult to manage it without attracting attention. We had to kill one Bright Soldier today to make it ourselves—they will be extra wary now and will have set extra patrols.’

  ‘We have to make sure they stay well away from the Tomb o’ the Ravens,’ Iseult frowned. ‘I know Elfrida said the Bright Soldiers are superstitious indeed about graves and cemeteries, but if they suspect anything, they will be bound to investigate the mausoleum. I know I would.’

  ‘Call Gwilym the Ugly in,’ Lachlan said, grinning. ‘I think it is time we made auld MacBrann walk again.’

  Mist hung heavily over the dark trees, and the sentry crossed his arms over his breast and rubbed vigorously. His armour was ice-cold to the touch and his white cloak did very little to warm him. He peered out into the thick, woolly whiteness and wished he were back at home. He heard a twig crack and shrank back into the shelter of the hemlock tree.

  Unlike the berhtildes and the priests, he had no desire to convert these witch-loving heretics to the One God. He himself was no great lover of the Kirk, but all Tìrsoilleirean had to do their military duty, and he had been unlucky enough to be conscripted into the invading army. Here he was, enduring a bitter winter camped outside the tallest, stoutest walls he had ever seen in his life, when he could have been toasting his toes in front of his own fire. For two years they had been besieging this fortress and none of their attacks had made the slightest impression on Rhyssmadill’s walls. Most of their cannonballs fell harmlessly into the ravine or knocked a few boulders flying from the rocky walls of the crag on which the palace was built. Their catapults and mangonels were just as useless. The only fighting they had seen in two years was against the ferocious sea-faeries who twice a year rode into the firth on their sea serpents and fo
rced them to scramble to safety in the hills or countryside.

  He and his fellow soldiers were cold, hungry and more than a little apprehensive. Rumours of ghosts and curses and spells were being whispered around the campfires, making them all edgy and unhappy. Only a few days ago he had himself seen the walleyed prophet who had been plaguing their troops. He had appeared out of the mist, pointing his frail, shaking hand directly at the soldiers and intoning, ‘Doom to those who disturb the peace o’ the dead. Doom to those who dare defy she who cuts the thread. Doom!’

  By the time they had gathered their wits together and gone after him, the strange old man had gone. Although they searched the parklands with drawn swords and flaming torches, he had simply disappeared. Their berhtilde ordered a party of twelve soldiers to once again search the tomb that lay in the heart of the park. They did so reluctantly, their swords trembling in their gauntleted fists. The Bright Soldiers had a profound respect for prophets. All there remembered Killian the Listener and knew he had foretold the downfall of the elders of the Kirk. Everyone knew about the riot at Dùn Eidean and the appearance of the angel of death. They knew many of their comrades-in-arms had thrown down their weapons and defected to the army of the winged warrior, and only the threat of the berhtildes prevented them from defying their officers and doing the same.

  The tomb was cold and silent, though all felt as if the stone ravens perched on the rim of the scrolled pillars were watching them. Thrusting their torches into every antechamber, the soldiers suddenly heard a weird swishing sound and spun around, swords raised. Floating down the steps was the figure that had been lying on the dais. His eyes glowed with unearthly green light, and he moaned eerily. His mouth was stretched into a travesty of a grin, and his hands groped for them. As one the twelve soldiers turned and fled.