Dragonclaw

by Kate Forsyth

  Although she knew witchcraft was forbidden, and that anyone found practising it was put to death or exiled, Isabeau was fascinated by the subject. She loved the feeling of drawing on the One Power, the gradual heightening of all the senses, the feeling of power and grandeur that filled her. Why, their whole history was spun from magic threads, though this was a history no-one would admit to now. And although Meghan would talk little about the uses and practices of the One Power, Isabeau had gradually been working through her guardian’s hundreds of books. Most of them were faery stories, vague prophecies and simple spells that anyone could do, but in one, a very ancient magical book, Isabeau had read of witches who could command the weather, make themselves invisible, tell the future, and even fly.

  ‘So why did ye come?’ she demanded.

  ‘Isabeau!’ Meghan said. ‘Ye shame me. Where are your manners? It’s none of your business what Seychella chooses to do. Go and get yourself cleaned up. Seychella will think ye a wild child, mannerless and graceless, if ye sit there in all your dirt asking rude questions.’

  Isabeau went crimson and got to her feet angrily. She felt rather self-conscious about having to bathe before a complete stranger but she was very sticky and grimy and very much in need of a good scrubbing.

  Holding her head high and pretending to ignore the two older women, Isabeau pulled out the hip-high tub from the corner beside the fire and poured in hot water from the kettle. She mixed it with cold water from the barrel on the other side and tested the temperature with her finger. It was only just lukewarm, so Isabeau stirred the water with her finger and concentrated. Slowly she felt the water around her finger begin to heat until steam billowed up from the rippling surface. She felt rather than saw the exchange of glances by the two women, and cast them an angry glance.

  ‘So the lassie heats her own water,’ Seychella murmured. Isabeau clearly heard the amusement in her voice. ‘Well, certainly quicker than boiling the kettle over and over!’

  Slowly Isabeau unbraided her hair, conscious of the dark-haired woman’s gaze. Fiery red and very curly, Isabeau’s hair reached below her knees and, released from its tight braids, stuck out in a frizzy halo all round her face and body.

  ‘She has no’ cut it like so many lassies do now,’ Seychella said in satisfaction.

  ‘O’ course no’,’ Meghan responded grumpily. ‘I’m no’ yet that far removed from the Coven!’

  ‘No, ye be an auld-fashioned one, that be for sure! All the lasses cut their hair short now, ye ken, like the Ensorcellor. I canna get used to it.’

  Isabeau tossed a bundle of fragrant rose leaves into the water and a few drops of oil scented with starwood, before stripping off her grimy breeches, the woollen jerkin and her sweat-stained shirt and jumping quickly into the bath.

  ‘Does she ken ahdayeh?’ Seychella asked.

  ‘The rudiments,’ Meghan responded. ‘Only what I could teach her, and ye ken I canna move around as much as I once did. She knows all the stances though, and I’ve been as critical as I could.’

  Isabeau concentrated on scrubbing her back with the long-handled brush. She had always been more interested in swimming in the loch or exploring the valley with her animal friends than in ahdayeh, the art of fighting. She just could not imagine needing to fight or use a weapon.

  ‘What else can she do?’ Seychella asked, rather contemptuously.

  ‘She does have a way with animals,’ Meghan admitted grudgingly. ‘She was talking to the birds when she first toddled, and she can charm any coney, deer or snake.’

  ‘I spoke to a sabre-leopard one time,’ Isabeau said, trying very hard to keep her pride out of her voice. ‘It was frightening, his words were so fierce, but it was exciting too.’

  ‘And what did the sabre-leopard say?’ Seychella raised an eyebrow.

  From Isabeau’s mouth came a deep purr that rose into a snarl at the end.

  ‘Sweet sweet the wind rich in smell the step o’ horned one the taste the smell the sweet chase the pound o’ blood the chase the dance the smell the taste o’ flesh the sound o’ muscles tearing oh die beloved oh die!’ Meghan translated, and smiled. Seychella snorted.

  Isabeau lathered her hair with rose soap, and did her best to scrub all the leaves and bark out of her unruly mass of curls. With her ears filled with foam and all her attention centred on getting out the worst of the knots, Isabeau lost track of the murmured conversation between the two women for a while. Then she overheard Seychella say quite clearly, ‘So what are ye going to do with the lass?’

  Meghan’s answer was inaudible, but the black-haired witch then said, ‘If she really does have some ability, we must do what we can to help her.’

  Isabeau felt a deep thrill of excitement. Perhaps, at last, Meghan would begin to teach her the secrets of the One Power. A wood witch, Meghan had always thought it more important for Isabeau to learn how to heal, and to nurture plants, and speak the languages of the woodland creatures. So that is what Isabeau had learnt, at least until a few years ago when the coming of her menses had brought her a surge of power that saw her red hair crackle and her blue eyes glow. Isabeau had always been able to exercise her will in small ways and, simply by watching Meghan, had learnt how to start a fire or move small objects. The week her blood began to flow, she inadvertently started a fire by snapping her fingers, when all she meant to do was light a candle.

  Remembering, Isabeau grinned, and lay back in the bath, looking up at the scorch marks on the wooden ceiling. ‘That is no’ the thing to do when ye live in a tree,’ was all Meghan had said when she came limping down the ladder to find Isabeau, frightened and in tears, desperately trying to put out the fire. After that, the wood witch had agreed to give Isabeau occasional lessons, for she could see her ward would keep on trying things in secret and the sooner she learnt control, the better.

  After her bath, in her soft shirt and leggings, Isabeau sat on the stool, combing her damp hair. She was longing to ask questions, but knew that Meghan hated being pestered and would only scowl and tell her to mind her own business. So she helped Meghan serve the thick vegetable stew that was their normal evening meal and sat back in her corner to eat in silence.

  The two witches kept up a light conversation all through the meal, talking of people Isabeau had never heard of and places she had only seen on the map upstairs. Gitâ came down out of the rafters and curled up in Meghan’s lap, his eyes bright. Isabeau listened in interest, her curiosity about her guardian’s former life growing with every story. For many years she had taken the house in the giant tree and her life here with Meghan for granted. It was only recently that she had begun to wonder how they came to live here, and why Meghan took so many pains to keep their life secret. Meghan rarely answered her questions, only occasionally letting drop a tantalising scrap of information that only made Isabeau more curious. Listening now to the women’s conversation, she realised with greater force than ever that Meghan had not always lived in the Sithiche Mountains, collecting herbs and knitting by the fire. They spoke of journeys on the sea, flirtations in great castles, spells cast and foundered, and news of other witches, in exile or in hiding.

  Knitting placidly, Meghan said, ‘I have had news from Rhyssmadill. Our auld friend Latifa series to me regularly, though I fear for her safety. She says things are getting worse every day. The Rìgh does no’ go out any more, he does no’ even seem interested in eating, let alone the affairs o’ the country. The forests are infested with bandits, and the merchants are bitter about the standstill o’ trade—without the songs o’ the sea witches, they say the sea serpents are getting very bold and no ships dare go out, even though the winter tides are receding. Then there is great dissatisfaction amongst the lairds, especially the MacSeinn clan, for the Rìgh has done nothing to help them regain their land.’

  ‘There’s dissatisfaction in the countryside as well,’ Seychella said. ‘The peasants in Siantan have been hiding weapons in the thatch, and there’s much talk o’ a man they call the Cripple.
They say he rescues witches from the fire and champions the poor. For the first time in many years I have heard talk against the crown … and I hear yon Banrìgh grows more careless each day. One day soon she’ll take a stumble, and then who kens what could happen.’

  ‘I do no’ believe it,’ Meghan said flatly. ‘More arrogant, aye, that I’ll believe. But Maya is cunning as a snake; if she seems careless, it’s because she hopes someone will make a move against her.’

  ‘Rebellion’s in the air, Meghan, I smell it.’

  ‘Maybe so, maybe no’,’ Meghan responded.

  ‘It’s true the rebellion in Rurach failed miserably despite all our hopes. I’d gathered together many with Talent, and we made contact with the rebels there, as you directed. It was from them that I first heard o’ the Cripple—the stories they tell! Did ye ken he rescued a whole cartload o’ witches from under the Banrìgh’s very nose? The rebels all worship him, though no-one kens who he is. Sometimes I think he’s only a myth and all the stories fabrications … though some o’ the orders that came through for the rebels were nothing short o’ brilliant, and they had to come from somewhere. With our help, the rebels rescued many a skeelie and cunning man from persecution by the Red Guards, and we even managed to save some Tower witches from the fire, no’ that it did us much good in the end. I dinna ken how she found out about us—I’m sure the local crofters did no’ betray us, for the people o’ Rurach have never forgiven the Rìgh for the banishment o’ Tabithas, and they helped us hide skeelies many a time. I hope it were no’ the MacRuraich who lead the Awl to us, though he certainly hunted us all down afterwards. I find it so hard to believe Tabithas’ own brother would betray us. The Banrìgh must have laid a spell on him.’

  ‘There are other compulsions.’ Meghan’s voice was sad.

  ‘Ten years I spent building up the resistance in Rurach, and a couple of hours was all it took for the Red Guards to destroy it all. The MacRuraich hunted each and every one o’ us down …’

  ‘Ye were no’ hunted down,’ Meghan observed.

  ‘I am the only one who escaped. The only one!’

  ‘Still, ye ken the MacRuraich would have found ye if he had so wished. The MacRuraich clan find anything they search for. That is their Talent.’

  ‘Aye, we had no hope once the Banrìgh set Anghus MacRuraich on our trail. I dinna ken what sort o’ spell she could have laid on him, to turn him against us like that. The MacRuraichs have always been loyal to the Coven.’

  ‘I’m no’ sure I understand,’ Isabeau said, unable to keep silent any longer. ‘Ye speak o’ the Banrìgh as if she is a witch herself, yet how can she be? I thought she was supposed to hate witches and magic.’

  ‘All magic but her own,’ Seychella growled.

  Meghan turned to her charge. ‘Isabeau, how many times have I tried to teach ye about Maya the Ensorcellor, only to have ye sneak out to go swimming or playing in the meadows as soon as I turned my back?’

  Isabeau had the grace to blush. In fact the only lessons she had really concentrated on were those in magic or woodcraft.

  ‘It’s important ye understand this, Isabeau. I want ye to listen and remember what I tell ye now, for the shadow o’ the Day o’ Betrayal still falls upon us and we’re all fighting to be free o’ it. If witchcraft is ever to be a power in the land again, all witches must understand what it is Maya has done.’ Isabeau nodded, awed by the tone in her guardian’s voice. ‘Can ye remember the story o’ the Third Fairgean Wars, Beau?’

  ‘Well, I ken the Fairgean invaded us—I dinna ken why … it was years ago, afore I was born. They came in stealth, filling up the lochan and rivers so that it was dangerous to even water the herds … the Rìgh called together the first army in centuries … since the Second Fairgean Wars. They drove away the Fairgean … he died, I think …’ Isabeau’s voice faltered.

  ‘Listen to me well, Isabeau. A witch needs to learn as much as she can—only with knowledge and understanding can she gain the High Magic. Ye are no’ a bairn any more. If the rumours are true, there may be civil war across the land and that will affect us all, even ye and me in this wee valley o’ ours. Now listen well,’ Meghan said. ‘Twenty years ago Parteta the Brave was killed, fighting off the invasion o’ the Fairgean, who had come with the rising tide to try and win back the coast o’ Clachan and Ravenshaw. That same day his eldest son Jaspar was crowned the new Rìgh, kneeling amongst the blood and fire o’ the battlefield, the Lodestar blazing in his fist. Although he was still a boy, without hair on his chin or chest, Jaspar drove the Fairgean from the shores o’ Clachan, and they fled back into the sea.’

  Isabeau nodded, though she had heard this tale so many times before it was hard to listen with any true interest.

  ‘The Rìgh Jaspar returned to Lucescere as a hero, to be greeted there in joy and sorrow by his mother Lavinya, and his three younger brothers, Feargus, Donncan and Lachlan. For three years peace and prosperity reigned, till Lavinya followed her husband into death. Again the castle mourned, for Lavinya had been both kind and wise, and she would be sorely missed. The Rìgh was now standing on the threshold o’ manhood, strong and bonny like a sapling tree, and all Eileanan had reason to believe he would be a rìgh as his father had been and his father afore him—just but merciful, strong but compassionate, brave but wise. However, by his eighteenth birthday, Jaspar MacCuinn was filled with a restlessness he did no’ understand, and was growing impatient with affairs o’ state. When a bonny stranger came to the castle dressed in red velvet with a hawk on her wrist, the Rìgh was struck with love for her as if by lightning. They were married that week, with much rejoicing in the city, and so it was that Maya the Unknown became Banrìgh o’ Eileanan.’ The musical lilt of Meghan’s voice hardened with rage, and Isabeau thought that she spoke the name of the Banrìgh with hatred.

  ‘Now we come to the events which more closely involve us. No’ everyone was pleased with the marriage o’ the Rìgh. There were many who spoke against Maya, those who distrusted her because she was a stranger, and those who were perturbed by her growing power over the Rìgh. It seemed as if a spell had been laid upon him: he no longer rode out among the people nor sat in judgings nor helped plant the summer crops. He spent his days with Maya in her boudoir, and when he emerged his eyes were glazed like that o’ a man who had drunk o’ moonbane. He seemed barely to recognise his brothers, or his faithful auld servants.

  ‘He began to disdain the Coven o’ Witches, who had helped his father govern the land for so many years and who had studied much o’ wisdom and knowledge. Maya used her power to sway the Rìgh—she said that the magical creatures were uile-bheistean and must be destroyed. So it became a great feat to kill the dragons, nyx and winged horses, and all the other magical creatures that were once great allies o’ the Clan o’ MacCuinn. She spoke against the Coven o’ Witches, and infiltrated it with acolytes o’ her own that twisted the Creed and made it serve Maya. Tabithas, who led the Coven, fell from the Rìgh’s favour and he would no longer heed her advice. Eventually he raised the Lodestar against the witches, who had always served him faithfully, and allowed the Red Guards to storm the Towers. That was, o’ course, the Day o’ Betrayal. It was then Tabithas the Keybearer disappeared and the Towers were brought down.’

  ‘So the Banrìgh is really a witch, even though she pretends to hate it so much?’ Isabeau said. ‘That’s a bit nasty, isn’t it, burning all those witches at the stake when she’s one herself?’

  ‘It seems she must be a powerful and subtle sorceress, to win the Rìgh’s heart so easily and then to turn him against the Coven so quickly. Jaspar had always loved the Coven and he has Talent himself—he canna have been made to act so without a very strong compulsion. Then, when the Red Guards stormed the Tower o’ Two Moons, Maya was there, giving the orders and making sure they were carried out. Tabithas went to confront her, and ye must remember, Tabithas was Keybearer, the strongest witch in the land.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘We dinna
ken. Tabithas disappeared. We never saw her again, though I searched everywhere for her, and called to her with my mind, but to no avail. Later the Rìgh said she had been banished, but Tabithas was never one to do what others said she should. She was proud as her wolf, and as slow to forgive an insult. She would never have accepted such a sentence meekly. Somehow Maya must have overcome her, though whether it was by craft or cunning, I do no’ know.’

  ‘She overcame ye, too, did she no’?’ Seychella said, with an ironic inflection in her voice.

  ‘Did she? Really?’ Isabeau asked.

  ‘We could not withstand so many soldiers,’ Meghan responded obliquely. ‘I had to get Ishbel away, and Maya and that servant o’ hers thought to try and stop me. I opened the earth at their feet and watched them plunge into the abyss, yet only moments later both were at my heels again. That is no ordinary power.’

  ‘And she bends others to her will,’ Seychella said. ‘That is her real crime. It’s more than just compulsion, too, for she does it to crowds o’ people at a time.’

  ‘But why? If she is a witch, why does she want to destroy other witches?’

  ‘And no’ just witches,’ Seychella said. ‘She is destroying all the magical creatures as well.’

  ‘Nobody kens why,’ Meghan said. ‘The black-hearted witch seems to ken all our secrets and all our movements, but we ken nothing about her. She says she was born in Carraig but all our questions have no’ found out where or when, nor who her parents are. She truly is the Unknown.’

  ‘And by Eà’s green blood, she had something to do with the disappearance o’ the three prionnsachan or I’m no witch!’ Seychella exclaimed.

  Isabeau’s eyes rounded. She had been a young girl, around four, when the three young prionnsachan had disappeared one night, apparently stolen from their beds. She and Meghan had been travelling through the highlands when they heard the news, selling herbs, healing sicknesses in return for supplies, and listening to gossip. Once or twice a year they made these journeys to the villages, always dressed in their roughest clothes. The disappearance of the Rìgh’s three brothers had caused widespread consternation and anxiety. Many rumours had circulated through the marketplaces and inns, and Meghan, mixing medicines and potions or selling her little wooden boxes of herbs, heard them all. Most seemed to think they had sailed away to distant lands, seeking adventure. It was still common practice for young men and women of high courage to set out on a quest, of which there were many—to look for the fabled gardens of the Celestines where all illnesses could be cured; to find the black winged horse of Ravenshaw, often seen but never tamed; to find the Lost Horn of Elayna or the Ring of Serpetra. ‘But the youngest prionnsa was only twelve years auld,’ Meghan had said softly. ‘Surely too young to be thinking o’ quests?’ The villagers had shifted uneasily, one muttering, ‘Never too young to want adventure, eh?’ As the years passed and Isabeau grew older, they occasionally heard rumours of sightings, but the Lost Prionnsachan of Eileanan never returned home.