by Kate Forsyth
Soon after she regained the track, the talisman she carried inside her shirt began to burn and tingle. For most of one day she ignored it, but the heat became too much to bear the further south she travelled, and so she took it out and stowed it in her pack where it could not burn her.
The track ran along the side of the fast-running burn which she hoped was the start of the great Rhyllster. If so, it would lead her straight down to the Pass and into Rionnagan.
Isabeau was hurrying down this track, trying to ignore the discomfort of the burning talisman which now scorched right through the leather of her pack, when suddenly a young woman dropped out of the trees right in front of her. ‘Sssh!’ she hissed, and put her finger against her lips.
Isabeau immediately stifled her exclamation of surprise, but looked about her quickly for a possible route of escape. There was none: on her right, the bank dropped steeply to the rocky bed of the burn; to her left was a great stony bank, without foothold or handhold.
‘Go back!’ the girl said. She was dressed in a dirty green smock and long hood, and she had the greenest eyes Isabeau had ever seen, and the most freckled face. Her feet were bare and black with mud.
‘Why?’
‘Soldiers ahead. They will see ye. Quick, follow me!’ She darted past Isabeau and down the ridge, until she found a place where they could clamber up the bank.
After only a moment’s hesitation, Isabeau followed her. The stranger leapt up the bank like a deer, and held out her hand to Isabeau to help her. After a breathless scramble, they were safe in the forest, though the green-eyed girl set off immediately on a wild race through the trees. They followed the line of the ridge, came at last to where it loomed over the burn, and there they flopped to catch their breath and watch the long line of soldiers marching up the track. There must have been more than a hundred, most on foot but some riding massive horses, with burnished helmets on their heads. If not for the stranger, Isabeau would have walked straight into them.
‘They go to hunt the dragons,’ the girl said.
‘How do ye ken?’
‘I heard them talking.’
‘What’s your name? I’m Isabeau. I have no family name, I fear.’
The girl chuckled, and said, ‘Me neither. I’m Lilanthe. They call me Lilanthe o’ the Forest. What do they call ye?’
Isabeau hesitated. She was now Isabeau the Apprentice Witch, but she could not tell this stranger that, so with a sigh she said reluctantly, ‘Isabeau the Foundling.’
‘Ye and me both, I fear,’ Lilanthe said gaily. ‘Nameless an’ homeless, both o’ us. Ye can be Isabeau o’ the Forest too, if ye want.’
‘Isabeau o’ the Mountains.’
‘Isabeau o’ the Stones and River!’
‘Isabeau o’ the Sky!’
They smiled at each other and ran forward through the forest. That day they made the best time and had the most pleasant travelling that Isabeau had had all week. Isabeau had often craved a companion her own age to explore the woods with, and share secrets with. She had been alone all her life, the creatures of the forest and a bad-tempered old witch her only companions. It seemed Lilanthe felt the same.
‘I have always wanted a friend,’ she admitted. ‘Someone who likes me all the time, and never misunderstands me.’
The next few days were more like a game than a real journey. They ran and sang and giggled and told stories. Lilanthe was travelling to the south as well, though she only laughed and said she was exploring the river when Isabeau asked her why.
‘Do ye no’ have anyone to miss ye?’ Isabeau asked.
Lilanthe laughed again and shook her head. ‘I’m free as a bird!’ she cried, and ran down the hill with her arms spread, leaping over boulders and brambles and swerving as if tilting her wings to the wind. Isabeau followed, hallooing and laughing, her arms spread wide.
Knowing Lilanthe, like Meghan, was able to sense what lay ahead and so be able to avoid it, Isabeau was not afraid of being caught. As they travelled, she wondered why it was that she could not do this. Everyone had said she had power, but she had failed the Trials of Spirit, and would now be a prisoner of the Red Guards had it not been for Lilanthe. Again and again she tried to send out her mind, or sense what the other girl was thinking, but always her mind was a blank. Her excitement over Jorge the Seer’s splendid prophecies faded into depression, deepened by her anxiety for Meghan. As if it was not dangerous enough for her frail old guardian to have set off to find the dragons, without having a hundred soldiers on her trail too! Isabeau wished she knew how to scry through fire or water or her witch rings as Meghan so often did. She could have warned Meghan about the soldiers. But Isabeau had never been taught to scry, and for the first time she wondered if this was because Meghan knew she had no ability in this direction. But a witch without the witch sense was no witch at all, and the further south the two travelled, the more subdued Isabeau became. Lilanthe’s confession that she had been watching and following Isabeau for several days did nothing to make her feel better, though she realised Lilanthe could track virtually anyone through the forest and remain undetected. She seemed able to blend into the trees at any time, startling Isabeau by dropping out of branches or materialising behind a clump of flowering may when moments before Isabeau would have sworn there was no-one there.
For four days they travelled together, and talked long and deep about their lives. Both were orphaned—Lilanthe’s mother had died when she was a baby and she had been brought up by her father. Despite her openness on any other subject, Lilanthe would not talk about him at all, and shuddered a little when Isabeau tried to press the point, only saying, ‘Well, he’s dead now, so it does no’ matter.’
Although neither mentioned it, both knew the other must have magic. Isabeau guessed Lilanthe was a wood witch like Meghan, for she seemed to understand the language of the birds and forest creatures as well as Isabeau did, and her woodcraft was superb. She was able to tell what had passed through a place merely by a sound or a smell or a warmth where there should be none.
On the fifth morning, Isabeau woke before dawn, though the stars in the sky were so bright, and the light from the setting moons so red that she could see round the clearing quite easily. She glanced across the grey coals of the fire, but Lilanthe was no longer lying in her bedroll. The blankets lay in a heap, and Isabeau could see the twisted material of her smock. But there was no sign of Lilanthe.
Isabeau was not perturbed, realising her travelling partner must have slipped into the woods to relieve herself. Feeling the urge herself, Isabeau found a convenient shrub, then afterwards wandered down to the pool in the centre of the clearing and washed her hands and face. The sky was beginning to lighten and she sat and watched the pale colours ripple across the water.
Deep in thought, Isabeau rested her eyes on a beautiful weeping greenberry tree on the other side of the water. Trailing its long leaves in the water, the tree had a slim white trunk that bent and flowed in the breeze. It was easy for Isabeau to fancy the tree was really a shapely young woman just waking and stretching from sleep. Those long supple branches could be arms; the green tendrils her flowing hair, tangled with leaves and flowers. The knots in the bole could be eyes, just about to open. In a moment she would raise her trailing arms and rub at them.
Somehow, when the tree did raise its arms and stretch and the long eyes opened, and she realised it was Lilanthe, Isabeau was not surprised. There had been a moment when her mind’s fancy and the truth of what she was seeing had merged, and everything fell into place. Why Isabeau never saw Lilanthe sleep; why she seemed so much part of the forest. She must be a tree-changer! Though Isabeau had always thought tree-changers looked far more treelike than human, and Lilanthe had certainly looked very human.
Her blue eyes met Lilanthe’s green ones, and a look of despair and sorrow dashed across the other’s face. With a cry she pushed back her hair, indisputably green in colour and as thick and long as Isabeau’s. Then she rose and ran, in a mad dash that
saw no boulder or bramble in her way, nothing but the blur of tears in her eyes. Having run into the woods upset that way herself several times, Isabeau knew she had to follow her. She ran back up to the camp site, thrust her belongings and Lilanthe’s into her pack, kicked dust over the fire and ran after her friend.
She chased Lilanthe into the forest for more than ten minutes, easily tracking her by the sound of muffled sobbing. Suddenly, though, all sound ceased. There was no bird song, no chitter of donbeags or squirrels, no scamper of coneys. Isabeau came to an uneasy stop. There was no sign of Lilanthe. Isabeau took a few more cautious steps and then a few more, but saw or heard nothing.
After searching fruitlessly for several minutes, she sat down and realised she was hopelessly lost, not having noticed which way they had run. The forest all seemed the same; even the snow-capped mountains towering so close behind were all the same, the distinctive shape of Dragonclaw having long ago been left behind. Most of all, though, Isabeau was worried about Lilanthe. She had obviously done her best to appear human, hiding the betraying green hair beneath a long-tailed hood, and pretending each night to roll herself for sleep in her blankets. The unmasking of her true nature had obviously upset her deeply. Perhaps it was because she knew of the Rìgh’s decree against the faeries? Perhaps she was afraid Isabeau would turn away from her because she was an uile-bheist, maybe even denounce her. Isabeau got to her feet and again searched over the ground she had covered, but this time she did not search for a naked girl with green eyes, but for a slender white greenberry tree.
She found her almost immediately. Lilanthe must have realised Isabeau was not going to give up, and so had transformed herself back into a tree. Isabeau sat at her roots, in the shade of the beautiful long branches, and ate lunch. While she chewed her bread and cheese, and drank water from her flask, she mused aloud. ‘What could I have done to upset Lilanthe so badly? I must have said something. Maybe my face showed how surprised I was to see that she is a tree-changer, when all this time I thought she was human like me. I hope that’s no’ it, because Lilanthe was my first real friend and I’d so hate to lose her.’ Having not elicited any response, Isabeau sighed deeply and went on. ‘Maybe she’s afraid I will no’ like her any more, which makes me so angry I want to shake her till all her teeth fall out.’
The pale branches seemed to quiver, but that could have been the breeze. Isabeau began to wonder whether she was sitting under the right greenberry tree. ‘Maybe she’s afraid I will denounce her to the Banrìgh’s Guards. If only she knew. Why, she could denounce me at any time and I do no’ go running off into the forest or make her go chasing after me through this bloody tangle o’ thorns!’
Isabeau finished her cheese and plucked a dried apple from one of her canvas bags. The leaves swayed and a bumblebee came blundering through to sip from the tiny green flowers gathered along the stems. Isabeau sighed again, and then said with a quaver in her voice, ‘I’m so frightened … How could Lilanthe lure me off into the deep dark forest like this and leave me here all alone? I’m lo-oo-oost!’ Although she was afraid she had overdone the break in her voice, cool white arms were suddenly sliding round her neck and Lilanthe was there again.
‘Fool!’ she said, laughing through her tears. ‘As if ye could no’ find your way back again, after that trail ye left behind ye!’
‘Och, thank Eà, Lilanthe, I was getting so sick o’ chasing after ye! Why did ye run off like that?’
‘I’m a tree-shifter!’ Lilanthe suddenly exclaimed. ‘Not a changer. I’m half human. My da was one o’ ye.’
‘Was your mother a tree-changer then?’
Lilanthe nodded, though fear was ugly on her face.
‘At least ye ken who your mother and father were,’ Isabeau said bitterly. ‘I could be half frost giant for all I ken.’
‘No’ with that hair,’ Lilanthe laughed, and then put up her hand self-consciously to her own, green as a new leaf. Then she sighed. ‘I be sorry, Isabeau, ye just do no’ understand what it is like. My father used to beat me if I tried to change, would lock me inside so I could no’ get to the forest. He used to sell me to the village men, for no-one thought o’ me as anything but an uile-bheist. When he died, they told the Red Guards, who came to get me. I had lived among them all my life and none would look me in the eye when they took me away. The soldiers used me as the village men had done, and taunted me wi’ what the Questioners would do to me afore I died. Eventually I managed to escape: some fool let me put my feet to ground. Although they ken I was an uile-bheist, they never thought to ask what my faery nature was. I hid in my treeshape for six days, and eventually they left. I have lived in the forests ever since. Five years! Five years I’ve been free, and I could never bear to leave the forest again.’
‘How auld were ye?’ Isabeau whispered.
‘Thirteen,’ Lilanthe answered. ‘Tree-changers develop much as humans do, I think. I was very much like a human bairn, in all but a few respects.’ She covered her face with her hands and gave a sharp gasp. Then her face was up again, and she was glaring at Isabeau with a wild look in her eye. ‘So there ye have it all. What are ye going to do?’
‘Tell ye my story,’ Isabeau said comfortably. ‘Fair’s fair. I was raised by a witch in a tree-house deep in the mountains. I was taught much o’ the ancient wisdom, and was only last week initiated into the forbidden Coven o’ Witches. I think my guardian is in contact with the rebels, for sometimes we receive strange messages by carrier bird. I am now on a perilous quest for her, carrying a magic talisman to a spy in the Rìgh’s castle itself. If we succeed, the evil Banrìgh will be toppled, and faery and human can again live in harmony,’ she finished with a flourish, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘Now what are ye going to do?’
Lilanthe’s eyes were brilliant. ‘How wonderful!’ she breathed. ‘On a quest! Really?’
‘Aye! Look, I’ll show ye.’ Isabeau fished inside her shirt and brought out the black pouch. Opening its drawstrings, she pulled out the triangular talisman.
Immediately Lilanthe gasped. ‘I can feel its power!’ she cried. ‘It’s like a torch in your hand! Why is it I could no’ feel it afore?’
‘I think the pouch hides magic objects,’ Isabeau said frowning. ‘M … M … M …’ She tried to say her guardian’s name but her tongue seemed to twist about in her mouth and she could not. ‘I was told to keep it in there,’ she finished.
‘Maybe that is why I could no’ sense ye,’ Lilanthe said. ‘Normally I can sense anything living for quite a way, but wi’ ye I could no’. I stumbled across your tracks and could no’ believe someone was passing through my territory without me knowing it. That was why I followed ye—no’ only because ye looked interesting, but because there seems to be some veil about ye so I canna read your mind. I wonder if it is the wee pouch, but if so, it must be very powerful.’
Isabeau fingered her rings, which she had also hidden in the bag, then reluctantly stowed them away again. ‘I wish I could wear my rings,’ she said. ‘I canna wait for the day when witchery is no longer outlawed.’
‘Or when tree-shifters are no’ hunted down like animals,’ Lilanthe said sadly. ‘It is lonely in the forest sometimes. I wish ye did no’ have to keep going, or that I could travel with ye. I will miss ye once we reach the edge o’ the forest.’
‘Me too,’ Isabeau said, feeling pity for her friend squeeze her throat. ‘But it is too dangerous.’
‘Are ye no’ frightened?’
‘Och, no,’ Isabeau said airily. ‘I only have to get to Caeryla, really, and then I’ll have help.’
‘So ye really are no’ going to tell anyone that I’m hiding out in the forest?’ Lilanthe asked nervously.
‘Of course no’!’ Isabeau exclaimed, then mimicked her, ‘Are ye sure ye willna tell anyone I’m on a secret mission to overthrow the evil Banrìgh?’
Lilanthe laughed. ‘Och aye, sure, I’ll go up to the next Red Guard I see and say, “I ken I be only a tree-shifter and ye are beholden to kill me, but
if I tell ye where to find a witch, will ye leave me alone?” No, I’m going to stay right away from any soldiers, believe me!’
The two girls parted company three days later on the very edge of the forest. They hugged and kissed and wept a few tears, then Lilanthe melted back into the trees and Isabeau set her face towards the Pass. At last she reached the top of the last hill, and stood there in silence, smelling the wind. The Pass, a narrow ravine that ran through the last barrier of mountains, looked as though some crazed frost giant had chopped at the mountain with an axe, cutting a path through the very rock. It was not a giant’s axe, however, but the Rhyllster, carving its way through the rock over many thousands of years.
The sun was setting rapidly, and the shadow of the mountains was falling upon the meadow before her. With a sigh, Isabeau decided she must spend another night in the forest, for the path through the Pass was narrow and dangerous and should not be negotiated at night. There was no other way down into the highlands of Rionnagan, for the mountains in this area were virtually impenetrable. Quickly she turned and scrambled back down the steep slope, looking about her for a safe place to camp. She knew there were few things in the forest that she could not contend with, but she was tired and hungry, and the forest held many strange creatures.
