The Cursed Towers

by Kate Forsyth

  The Fairge looked rather sick but she picked up the poppet in her fingertips and carefully cut away the ribbon so that the broken feather fell away.

  ‘Darksome night and shining light,

  By the power o’ the moons so bright,

  Words o’ grace be spoken

  Power o’ the curse be broken,’ she repeated huskily.

  Handling the poppet as gingerly as possible, she cut away the scrap of MacCuinn tartan and the lock of dark hair, repeating the chant with a trembling voice.

  ‘In the name o’ Eà, mother and father o’ us all, shine your light o’ white upon Lachlan MacCuinn and shield him from all forces evil, malevolent and baneful,’ Isabeau chanted, the others all joining in. ‘Oh divine power o’ the moons and stars, the winds and breathing air, the sweet waters and fruitful earth, the life that is in all the universe, the life that is in all o’ us, bless Lachlan MacCuinn, encircle his body and soul and bring him peace and protection from harm. Cast away the evil chains that bind him, cast away the darkness that presses upon him, unseal his eyes so he may see, unseal his voice that he may speak, let vigour and warmth flow through him, let life return to him in full. By the power o’ the moons so bright, as we say, so let it be!’

  Maya cast the poppet and all the scraps of ribbon and cloth and feather on to the fire, crying loudly:

  ‘Fire burn, ashes turn,

  Evil spirits disperse

  I now remove this curse

  By the power o’ the moons so bright,

  I bless ye, I bless ye, I bless ye!’

  The flames leapt up, green and foul smelling, and they watched as the poppet was burnt to cinders. Then Isabeau threw a handful of dried dragon’s blood on the fire so the flames hissed violet and blue and green, then purified the circle again with salt and earth, water and ashes.

  ‘So,’ she said softly. ‘It is done. In Eà’s name let us hope it is enough!’

  Iseult leant her head on her hand and watched as the early morning light fingered across the wall and through the bed curtains. Although she was tired, having endured the Ordeal with the other witches, she did not want to leave her husband’s side and seek her own cold, lonely bed. In almost a year of sleeping alone, Iseult had not grown used to not having Lachlan beside her. Although she had slept alone the first sixteen years of her life and they had been married only two and a half years before he fell, still her body craved his beside hers, his wings curving over to cup her through her sleep. She lowered her head onto his slack hand and let unaccustomed tears seep through her lashes.

  The sunshine crept down onto the pillow and then over the face of the sleeping man. His eyelashes fluttered and he turned his face away from the light. His eyes opened and he looked about him blankly. He was in a strange room, ornately furnished with tapestries and silken cushions. The double doors were carved with the shape of flowering thistles. He felt very light and weak. He looked down and saw Iseult’s red-gold head pressed against the coverlet. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his hand in hers and gripped her fingers. She looked up, startled, and he saw her eyes all wet and red-rimmed.

  ‘Why, leannan,’ Lachlan said, surprised at the hoarse croak that issued from his lips, ‘why do ye weep?’

  The sun shone down warmly on the dancers, who skipped and twirled their way through a long archway of upraised arms. Jongleurs played and sang from the sidelines, and children ran screaming with laughter through the crowd. It was Lammas Day and everyone had come to watch the Rìgh being whipped and the loaves blessed by the Coven.

  Suddenly a small voice piped, ‘They come, they come!’ The music stopped abruptly and the dancers jostled to the side to make room for the merry procession winding its way down the hill.

  The Rìgh was there on his black stallion, his bonny banrìgh riding by his side, the prionnsachan behind him. All were dressed in their kilts with their badges pinning up their plaids. The town’s laird was there, rather flustered to be in such grand company, while a young jongleur with a crimson cap regaled them all with song and jests, his black eyes sparkling. The Rìgh’s own bodyguard rode with them, dressed in blue, and the children’s eyes opened wide to see a great bear lumbering along behind one of the Yeomen and a lean black wolf loping at the heels of one of the prionnsachan’s horses.

  Then a little flutter of excitement ran over the crowd, for in a barouche pulled by two white horses were the three elderly members of the council of sorcerers and the little prionnsa, his wings fluttering as he sought to soar out of the arms of his nursemaid. The crowd threw flowers to him and he waved back, grinning happily.

  Another barouche followed and the crowd muttered in amazement, for it was filled with faeries. There was a girl with long, leafy hair, a furry cluricaun all dressed up in velvet, a snowy-haired Celestine with a little child perched on her lap, and a corrigan, looking rather like a mossy boulder with one curious eye. A bright-winged little nisse darted all about the open carriage, shrieking with laughter. First she pulled the tail of one of the horses, then she hung from the whip of the driver so she was flung around as he cracked it. The watching children squealed with delight and she darted over to tweak their noses and pull their hair, causing them to laugh even louder.

  The procession reached the tall, white boundary stone and came to a halt. The Rìgh dismounted and called to the laird with a laugh. ‘Come, man, whip away! Never let it be said Lachlan MacCuinn was slow to be reminded o’ his responsibilities!’

  He was dressed only in a kilt and plaid, his chest bare. As he spoke, he drew the plaid down so it hung around his waist. His shoulders and arms were marked all over with red slashes.

  The laird dismounted rather reluctantly. ‘Are ye sure, Your Highness?’ he asked anxiously. ‘It has been many years since we had the Common Ridings. I do no’ wish to offer any disrespect …’

  ‘Whip away, my laird,’ Lachlan replied cheerfully. ‘Indeed, if I am to bring back all the auld rites and customs, I canna no’ bring back the only one that hurts me and no’ your pocket. My shoulders are broad; I can stand it, I swear.’

  The laird smiled ruefully. ‘As ye wish, Your Highness.’ He raised his riding crop and slashed the boundary stone three times, then brought the crop down hard on the Rìgh’s bare shoulder.

  ‘Cursed be any man who forgets the bounds o’ the land, be he bondsman, laird or Rìgh,’ Lachlan cried. ‘By my blood, I swear always to respect the rights o’ the people o’ this county. With thanks I accept their Lammas tithe and promise to protect them as I would my own child. For as I am your Rìgh I am as your father, duty-bound to honour and shield ye.’

  There was a roar of approval from the crowd as Lachlan stood back from the boundary stone. Three of the prettiest young lasses of the county then came shyly and proudly through the crowd, their hair all bound up with corn and flowers. One carried water and a cloth to tend his lacerated back, another a flask of whiskey for him to swallow, and the third a little doll made from corn sheaves and tied up with flowers. The Rìgh drank down the whiskey with a wink and a jest, then gravely accepted the Corn Bairn and anointed its forehead with a little circle drawn with his own blood. They washed his weals and he rather gingerly arranged his plaid over his shoulder again.

  Then Meghan stepped down from her carriage and solemnly blessed the bread and apples and winter wheat brought to her by the children of the county, making Eà’s sign over their heads with a sorrowful smile. Gitâ allowed them to pat his silky brown fur and then the old sorceress climbed stiffly back into the barouche, having to lean heavily on her staff.

  ‘On to the next village!’ Lachlan cried. ‘Indeed, I wish the MacCuinn’s land-holdings were no’ so wide. If I do no’ fall off my horse from the whippings, I shall from all the wee drams they keep giving me!’

  The prionnsachan laughed.

  ‘Just as long as your hand is steady enough to sign the Pact o’ Peace this evening, I’m sure we do no’ care,’ Madelon NicAislin called.

  ‘Ye may no’ but I do,’ Iseul
t said with a smile. ‘Too much o’ the water o’ life and he’ll no’ be able to perform his duty to his wife.’

  They all laughed again and Anghus MacRuraich said, ‘By the looks o’ ye, Your Highness, ye have no cause to complain!’ The black wolf sitting by his horse showed her teeth in a wide grin as if she understood and enjoyed the joke too.

  Iseult smoothed her hand over her swelling abdomen with a slight, dreamy smile. As they rode on their way, a wagon piled high with the Rìgh’s tithes trundled along behind them, for not only was Lammas Day the celebration of the first harvest, but also the day when rents and taxes were paid. This was Lachlan’s own land that they rode through, the hills and meadows all round Lucescere, and he had come to collect his dues.

  Dide bowed to the crowd, cap in hand, and began to sing:

  ‘Harvest home! Harvest home!

  We’ve ploughed and sown,

  We’ve reaped and mowed,

  Eà’s blessing on hearth an’ home,

  Harvest home! Harvest home!’

  The afternoon shadows were growing long when they at last rode home to Lucescere, all rather merry from the whiskey the crofters and landholders kept pressing upon them. The palace gardens were strung with lanterns and as the Rìgh’s party rode up the long, tree-lined avenue, they sprang into life with a wave of Meghan’s finger.

  All round the great square striped stalls had been set up, giving out Lammas cakes and Lammas ale. There were bellfruit jellies and roasted apples for the children of the Theurgia, and wild pigs were roasting on spits for those who did not prescribe to the vegetarianism of the Coven. Lachlan smiled as the children ran alongside the horses, calling out to him and Iseult. He dug his hand into his sporran and threw a handful of gold coins to the children, and they ran squealing to catch them.

  Tòmas was waiting for the Rìgh by the front steps, Johanna by his side, but Lachlan waved them away, saying, ‘What good is it letting them whip me if I come running to ye to heal me the moment I get home? Nay, they’re honourable wounds. Let me suffer them in peace.’

  He dismounted with a wince and said to Iseult, ‘The only care I want is from ye, leannan. Come and help me change for indeed these cuts sting!’

  Iseult only waited for the witches’ barouche to come trotting up behind them. ‘Donncan, dearling!’ she called. ‘Come to mam. I’ll feed ye and bathe ye this night. Let poor Sukey go and enjoy the fete.’

  ‘Och, thank ye, Your Highness!’ Sukey cried. ‘Are ye sure? I do no’ mind tending Donncan first …’

  ‘Nay, ye go,’ Iseult said. She caught up the little boy and ruffled his red-gold curls. ‘Come along, ye wee ruffian! Ye think I did no’ see ye trying to fly away from Sukey again. Indeed, ye’re a wicked lad!’

  The Lammas Congress was to be held before the feast and so once they were bathed and changed, Iseult and Lachlan went along to the great hall where the prionnsachan were all gathered. There was a warm buzz of conversation that ceased as the Rìgh and Banrìgh came in, and then the silver and blue room echoed with the sound of cheering and clapping.

  ‘Long live the Rìgh! Long live the Banrìgh!

  ‘Slàinte mhath!’

  ‘To peace and happiness!’

  The Lammas Congress that year was the most tranquil and harmonious in many years and, in many ways, the strangest. As well as the prionnsachan and greater lairds, there were representatives from all of the major faery folk except the Fairgean.

  Cloudshadow was there and her grandfather, the Stargazer. Sann the corrigan was there to represent her people, and a grove of tree-changers that kept the servants busy sweeping up all the twigs and leaves they dropped through the corridors. A Mesmerdean nymph hovered in one corner, his multifaceted eyes transmitting all that happened to the elders back in the marshlands.

  The seelie had ridden up to the palace gates on the horse-eel and had insisted on bringing the creature in, despite the slimy puddles it left behind it. Hobgoblins, bogfaeries and brownies played chase-and-hide among the furniture, and cluricauns entertained the crowd with an impromptu musical performance.

  The nisses had all been banished outside after causing a rumpus with their tricks. They now caused havoc all through the fair set up in the gardens, overturning pitchers of bellfruit juice, snatching Lammas cakes and stealing the flowers out of ladies’ hair. Only Elala remained, swinging on Lilanthe’s hair and making mocking comments about the smelliness, hairiness and ugliness of the men and women gathered within. Although none but Lilanthe and Niall could understand the little nisse, still the tree-shifter blushed crimson and tried to shush her.

  There was even the leader of the satyricorns, a wild-haired woman with a single, rapier-sharp horn and a thick necklace of teeth and bones hanging between her three pairs of breasts. She had been kept well supplied with bloody meat and had confounded the soldiers earlier in the day by winning the annual wrestling match with ease.

  Months had been spent negotiating the Pact of Peace and so the gathering tonight was merely a formality. Nonetheless, the herald read out the long scroll of terms and conditions, with the crowd cheering some and calling out satirical comments about others. The borders between all the lands had been re-negotiated, with Brangaine NicSian, Gwyneth’s niece, declared the absolute ruler of Siantan. The Double Throne was dissolved with Anghus MacRuraich’s blessing. Melisse NicThanach reluctantly allowed her aunt, Madelon NicAislin, to again assume responsibility for Aslinn, admitting her grandfather had not really had the right to rule the land of forests simply because he had wedded one NicAislin and married his son to another. Since this had long been a point of contention within the family, its resolution was greeted with much joy and relief.

  Elfrida NicHilde was to sign on behalf of her people, even though she was a banprionnsa in exile and Tìrsoilleir was still ruled by the Fealde and the council of elders. Both she and Linley MacSeinn had been promised help in regaining their lands and their Thrones as soon as order had been fully restored elsewhere in Eileanan, and so they were glad to be accorded as much courtesy and respect as those prionnsachan still sitting on their thrones.

  Iain MacFóghnan was ratified as the ruler of Arran, even though his mother still lived. After escaping the invasion of the fenlands she had reportedly fled to the Fair Isles where she was trying to raise support to wrest back her throne from her son.

  Kenneth MacAhern was just signing his name to the pact when they heard screaming from outside. Immediately the atmosphere in the room changed. Iseult’s hands flew to her belt, only to realise with chagrin that she was not wearing her weapons, and the Blue Guards drew their claymores. Lilanthe was standing near the windows, half hidden by the brocade curtains.

  ‘A dragon flies down!’ she cried in amazement. There were exclamations of horror and astonishment. Too many remembered the burning of Ardencaple not to feel fear at the sight of a dragon. Then Lilanthe cried, ‘Isabeau! Isabeau rides the dragon! And others as well. Isabeau has come!’

  Iseult was on her feet with a glad cry. She did not bother going out the door and down the stairs. She ran lightly down the hall and with a quick bound leapt out the window, dropping the five storeys to the ground as lightly as a feather falling.

  Asrohc was coming down to land in the garden, her golden wings spread wide, careless of smashed stalls and screaming, running spectators. On her back were crouched Isabeau, Ishbel, Khan’gharad and the Firemaker, all wrapped up against the cold.

  Iseult’s steps faltered. She smiled through her tears and held out her hands as Isabeau jumped down from the dragon’s back and ran to meet her. The twins embraced tightly, Isabeau babbling greetings and explanations, Iseult not saying a word but hugging her twin so tight Isabeau feared her ribs would crack.

  ‘… so ye see, once we saw through the scrying pool what ye planned, we all thought we should come and be part o’ it. Indeed, an historic moment, the signing o’ a Pact o’ Peace by every land and every faery race …’

  ‘All but the Fairgean,’ Iseult replied
rather grimly.

  Isabeau’s smile died. ‘I need to explain about Bronwen and Maya,’ she said rapidly.

  Iseult nodded. ‘Time enough for that. Let me greet the Firemaker first and our mam. What are they doing here? And who is the Khan’cohban o’ seven scars? I do no’ know him and I should, for indeed a warrior o’ seven scars is rare enough.’

  Isabeau smiled radiantly. ‘He is our dai-dein! Indeed, I had forgotten ye did no’ know. He was ensorcelled … Och, I have so much to tell ye!’

  Iseult stared past her in astonishment. Striding towards them was a tall man with a strong, arrogant face scarred with three slashes on either cheek and another that ran down between his brows. His eyes were a brilliant blue beneath lowering brows, and his thick red hair was tied back with a leather thong. On either side of his brow were two, curling horns.

  He brought two fingers sweeping to his brow, then to his heart, then out to the garden. Iseult bent her head and lifted one hand to cover her eyes, the other hand bent outwards in supplication. Such was the proper way to greet a Scarred Warrior. He grunted and she dropped her hands, though her eyes remained lowered. Then he reached out and caught her to him, hugging her fiercely. For a moment Iseult was frozen in surprise, for Khan’cohbans did not embrace. Then her arms flew round him and she hugged her father back.

  There was a joyful reunion with Ishbel and the Firemaker, neither of whom Iseult had seen since her marriage four years earlier, then she went to bow before the dragon princess and exchange greetings. Isabeau turned in search of Meghan and her smile faltered as she saw Lachlan standing before her, his wings erect, his face stern.

  ‘So, the miscreant has returned,’ he said. Tart words rose to her tongue but she swallowed them, curtseying respectfully instead, eyes lowered.