by Kate Forsyth
‘No,’ the young man panted, misery in his voice. ‘I canna tell ye where to hurt her. Do no’ make me.’
‘Och, I think ye will. Ye do no’ wish to displease me, do ye? Show me how much ye have learnt about pain.’
‘No!’
Baron Yutta said nothing, just smiled as the prisoner sobbed and writhed against his shackles. ‘I canna …’ he pleaded, and still the torturer said nothing, smiling and running his fingernail gently down the boy’s cheek.
‘Burn her!’ he cried. ‘I said burn her!’
‘Aye, but where, my laddie? Where do ye want me to burn her? Show me what ye have learnt.’
‘On the nipples!’ he choked out, and rolled a despairing look at Isabeau. ‘Just don’t hurt me any more, please.’
‘Ye do have exquisite refinement,’ Baron Yutta purred. ‘Did ye enjoy that game we played? As a reward I shall do it to ye again. But the witch first.’
Sick with horror, Isabeau shrank back against the hard table, watching mesmerised as the torturer turned the instruments in the glowing coals. An idea came to her and she concentrated on the brazier, thinking of the void. The Grand-Questioner turned quickly, and she realised he must recognise the faint chill of the air, the faint smell of enchantment, that meant magic was being worked. ‘Och,’ he said, ‘the witch works her sorcery.’ He saw that the fire had gone out, and she saw the first sign of anger in his face. ‘Clever,’ he said. ‘The question is, will I be able to light it again?’
He worked on the coals with a pair of bellows, while Isabeau thought furiously of the void. He tried to light a fresh fire with flint, but each spark just sank away into nothing. At last he turned back to Isabeau and he was smiling. ‘This is going to be interesting,’ he said. ‘We might leave the fire until ye are a little weaker.’
Slowly he walked towards her until his pale, gaunt face and crimson robes filled her eyes. Again he tilted her chin in his hand and gazed deep into her eyes. She shuddered away from his touch but that seemed to please him. He stroked her cheek then slowly ran his hand down the centre of her body, between her breasts, over her stomach and between her legs. As he probed inside her, he pulled down on the wheel with his other hand. An excruciating pain shot through her as the chains on her wrists and ankles began to stretch, and Isabeau screamed.
‘Lovely,’ he said, and put his fingers inside her mouth so that she tasted the fluids of her own body. She bit them, hardly knowing what it was she did, and with a cry he snatched his fingers away, then laughed. Again he turned the wheel and her whole body jerked and spasmed. She fell into a red haze of semiconsciousness, and felt him fondle her again. Then an acrid smell under her nostrils jerked her back into consciousness.
‘Who sent ye to rescue the uile-bheist? How did ye ken where the Grand-Seeker was?’
Isabeau was too sick to answer, and he leant over her so his pale, mad eyes filled her vision. When she said nothing, he pulled the lever again, though not so hard, and pain screeched through her.
‘Who betrayed us? Where is the rebel stronghold? Are there witches there? Who taught ye the One Power?’
Isabeau tried to think of something to say, anything. Her mouth formed Meghan’s name but her tongue would not work. Again and again she tried to tell him, but her mouth would not speak. She remembered then how the skeelie had questioned her, with as little result, but she was in too much pain to try and reason why.
‘Shall we try something different?’ the torturer asked, and smiled his chilling smile. ‘How about the pilliwinkes? What would ye prefer, the rack or the pilliwinkes? It’s your choice.’ Isabeau shook her head, sobbing, and he leant against her. ‘Ye really do no’ want me to choose, do ye? Trust me, what I would choose to do to ye is much worse than either o’ those things. Tell me, my sweet one, what would ye rather, the rack or the pilliwinkes?’
‘No’ the rack, no’ the rack,’ she cried, every joint in her body aching and throbbing.
He smiled. ‘So ye want the pilliwinkes? Interesting choice, my lass.’
‘No, no,’ she moaned, but it was too late, the Grand-Questioner was tenderly slipping the fingers of her left hand into a metal vice. He clamped it shut, despite all Isabeau’s attempts to wrench her hand free, then twisted the handle so the metal jaws ground together, crushing her fragile bones at the lowest knuckle. Isabeau was racked with the most excruciating pain, her whole body convulsing with agony. With blood and bone marrow oozing out from under the vice, she threw back her head and howled, and through the red haze of pain and terror, saw a large iron wheel suspended on a chain just above the torturer’s head. With all her mind-strength, she unhooked one end of the chain and watched with a strange detachment as the wheel came crashing down and struck the torturer on the back of his head. As he crumpled slowly towards the floor, she fainted again.
Khan’derin sat as far away from the fireplace as she could, finding the heat of its flames on her face almost unbearable. It was a warm night, the stars overhead so close it almost seemed as if she could touch them. The old witch was telling her stories about her so-called twin sister. Khan’derin peered into her bowl, looking for something more interesting to eat than the withered carrots and turnips she found there. Finding nothing, she put the wooden bowl down with a sigh and tried to concentrate on what the sorceress was telling her.
Meghan obviously thought some of the things Is’a’beau had said or done were funny, chuckling a little to herself as she told the tale. Khan’derin wondered why the wood witch had not beaten her ward severely for such disrespect. Why, she had lost the skin off her back more times than she could tell for much lesser crimes. She thought Is’a’beau sounded like a cheeky good-for-nothing, and wondered at the obvious affection in the witch’s voice.
She looked about her at the dark forest, rustling and murmuring with alien sounds, and wished she was back in the Haven, listening to war stories or tales of her hero father. Unconsciously she twisted the dragoneye ring on her finger, but stilled her hands immediately, hoping the wood witch had not noticed. Fidgeting was for untutored children, she reminded herself. A hunter should be able to sit for hours without twitching a muscle.
After a while, the old witch’s reminiscences stopped and Khan’derin looked up to see the intense black eyes watching her. Khan’derin waited for her to go on, but there was silence. The little creature the witch carried around in her pocket sat up on its hind legs and made a chittering noise. Meghan’s face relaxed and she smiled a little, chittering back in return. Khan’derin wondered if she dared ask a question; then, remembering the amusement in Meghan’s voice over her obstreperous ward’s antics, took her courage in both hands.
‘Auld mother, forgive me, but is that your totem?’
‘Gitâ is my familiar,’ Meghan explained. ‘He is my eyes and my feet, my protector and my friend.’
‘That is similar,’ Khan’derin said. She looked at Gitâ with increased respect, for if he was like her Auld Mother’s totem, he was a powerful spirit indeed.
The old witch said, ‘In the dragon’s hall, ye told me ye were found with a dragoneye ring on ye. May I see it?’
Reluctantly Khan’derin tugged off the ring and passed it to the old witch. Meghan turned it over in her hands and saw, inscribed on the inside, the word ‘Iseult’. She looked up in surprise and studied Khan’derin’s face.
‘Iseult,’ she said.
The girl flushed scarlet, the scars on her cheekbones showing white. ‘My name is Khan’derin,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘My grandmother named me!’
Meghan looked as if she was going to say something but evidently changed her mind, for there was a pause, and then she continued, ‘Ye also said the Firemaker found something else on ye, what was that?’
‘My sheyata,’ Khan’derin answered readily.
‘What’s that?’
‘I am no’ sure o’ the word in your language—charm, I think, or amulet. It was with me when the Firemaker found me. As soon as she saw it, she ken it was an am
ulet o’ great power, and so she made sure it was kept safe all the time I was growing up. She gave it to me afore I went to the dragons for the first time, certain that it was o’ significance. And surely it seems sometimes to compel me in directions I might no’ have taken otherwise.’
‘Indeed?’ Meghan said. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, I did no’ want to go to the dragons’ valley. I was frightened. So I decided I ‘would pretend to go, then hide and follow the pride when it travelled to the Gathering. I did so want to see all the prides together, and watch the contests o’ strength and skill, and see the dancing and feasting. I ken the Firemaker would be angry at first, but I am the bairn o’ her heart and so she would forgive me. So I set off as instructed and went halfway up the hill where I hid and rested. When I tried to go back down, though, my sheyata burnt me right through my clothes, and sent tingles up and down my arm when I touched it. The further down the hill I walked the more intense the burning became, and the more painful. Whenever I stopped or walked in the direction I had been instructed, it did lessen. For almost an hour I tried to go back, but then I gave in and began to climb again. At once the burning went away and so I once again turned back. This time it was like a brand against my breast, and my whole body thrummed with pain. That time I accepted the sheyata and so came to the dragons’ hall as the Firemaker had dreamt I should.’
‘That is interesting indeed. Is this the only occasion o’ it compelling ye?’
‘Och no, it has happened a few times. Only a few days ago, it began to buzz and burn, and the tingling only stopped after I was summoned to the dragons’ hall to meet ye. But I can see no reason for that … Once it saved my life.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Mmmm, aye. A few years ago. I was out hunting, and we were quick on the heels o’ a herd o’ geal’teas who ran out o’ a narrow trail onto a wide slope o’ snow. I was in the lead and was about to follow them when my sheyata began to burn and tingle again. Remembering the previous time, I stopped and examined it, and it scalded my fingers when I touched it. I tried to stop the others, but most ignored me and followed the herd onto the slope. Some heeded my warning, though it went hard to let such a fine herd o’ geal’teas escape. Those that listened to me all lived, while those who ignored the omen died.’
‘What happened?’
‘Avalanche,’ Khan’derin shrugged.
‘May I look at it?’ Meghan asked, and rather reluctantly Khan’derin fished inside her shirt, and took out a small, black pouch, which she opened, tipping a triangular talisman, delicately wrought and inscribed with magical symbols, out onto her palm. Meghan took it in her hands, tracing the symbols with her fingers. Her whole face seemed to light up, her black eyes shining. Khan’derin watched in consternation and held out her hand for Meghan to pass it back. The witch did not seem to notice.
‘What do ye ken about the Coven?’ she asked instead, turning the talisman over in her hands.
‘Only what Feld has told me,’ Khan’derin answered suspiciously, her eyes on her sheyata.
‘The Book of Shadows tells us that the leaders o’ the Towers must join together to create a Coven, working together to help witches across the land, exchanging apprentices and accepting students from other Towers so no knowledge shall be lost. The most powerful witch in the land shall be the Keybearer, and shall rule the Coven. Do ye follow me?’
‘No,’ Khan’derin said.
Meghan sighed. ‘I canna believe that your people ken so little about witches. Are none o’ ye taught the ways o’ the Coven?’
‘Why should we be? The prides are no’ your kind, and went their own way for centuries before your kind ever came. The Towers o’ Roses and Thorns have been deserted since the death o’ the Red Sorceress many, many years ago. Who would have taught us the ways?’
‘Well, then, ye say the Auld Mother leads your pride. Does every pride have an Auld Mother?’
‘Aye, indeed.’
‘Well, imagine that all the Auld Mothers got together to talk about how they could best help each other—’
‘Like they do at the Gathering …’
Meghan looked as if she’d like to know more, but nodded and went on: ‘Well then, the most powerful Auld Mother, the one with the most influence, would be like the Keybearer o’ the Coven.’
‘The Firemaker.’
‘Perhaps … I ken so little about your people! I would fain ken more—’
‘I do no’ see what all that has to do with my sheyata?’
‘Your sheyata, as ye call it, is part o’ one o’ the Coven’s great artefacts o’ power. It was wrought many years ago by one of my ancestors, Owein MacCuinn, he o’ the Longbow. He was the first Keybearer. He wrought the Key in the sacred symbol o’ the Coven—a star contained within a circle.’
‘Like the one I suddenly thought o’ the other morning, when you were … testing me?’ Despite herself, Khan’derin was becoming interested, so much so that she dared ask a question.
‘Exactly that. This medallion was worn by the Keybearer, meant to be the strongest and bravest and most compassionate o’ all the Coven. Its history is no’ all kind or true, however. No’ all the Keybearers were the witch they should have been. Like many in a position o’ power, some abused their trust, and battles were occasionally fought over the right to wear it. Nonetheless, the Key is an artefact o’ great power, having been wrought by Owein MacCuinn and always worn by those with exceptional Talent.’
The witch paused and sighed, before continuing in a subdued voice, ‘Some years ago, just before ye were born, at the time o’ the Day o’ Betrayal, I was given back the Key by Tabithas NicRuraich, who was then the Keybearer. The Tower o’ Two Moons, headquarters o’ the Keybearer, was being attacked by the Red Guards and she was afraid the Key would fall into the hands o’ the Banrìgh, who would use its power for evil. Tabithas planned to confront the Banrìgh and engage her in a battle o’ power. I never saw her again.’
Khan’derin leant forward, her blue eyes very serious.
‘The Rìgh later said she had been exiled, but I have never believed that. I think she died, and the Rìgh was trying to stop the people o’ Rurach, who loved Tabithas dearly, from rebelling. Anyway, I had the Key and it was my task to keep it safe after the Day o’ Betrayal. I used it to lock away something I did no’ wish Maya to lay her hands on, and then, I broke the Key into three parts and gave two o’ the pieces into the hands o’ the witches I most trusted. One o’ those was your mother Ishbel, who ye have been tending for the past eight years. The dragons must have recognised the power o’ the talisman and given it into your care. Perhaps they ken our paths would one day cross. Indeed the dragons can see all ways along the thread o’ time.’
‘Ye canna have it!’
‘I must have it, Iseult. Indeed I am sorry if it is important to ye, but there is far too much at stake here. Without your sheyata, the other pieces are worthless. And indeed, your sheyata wants to be made whole again—it knows the time is at hand. It will no’ let ye take any step that is no’ the direction it wants to go in.’
‘I said ye canna have it! It is my birth-right!’
‘Indeed it is no’. If the truth be ken it is mine, for I am the Keybearer o’ the Coven, and this is part of my Key.’
Khan’derin thrust out her hand, calling to her sheyata silently, and the carved triangle in Meghan’s hand gave a little jump and quiver. It did not move though, and Khan’derin stared at it in surprise.
The old witch smiled. ‘Even if it did no’ want to stay in my hand, ye could no’ take it from me. Ye are no’ even an apprentice witch. Your powers are latent and untrained. I, on the other hand, have been practising magic for more years than ye can imagine. No-one could take from my hand what I did no’ want them to.’
Khan’derin could hardly believe the sheyata had not responded to her call. Never before had her will failed to work on it, or any of her other weapons. For Khan’derin thought of her sheyata as another weapon, like a magic shi
eld that warned her of danger and kept her out of trouble. Her grandmother had found the sheyata on her when she was a new-born babe. She could not believe that Meghan would take it from her like that, as if she did not know it was one of the few things Khan’derin had to call her own. How could the wood witch say so calmly that it was really hers, when it was obvious it was Khan’derin’s?
The loss of her sheyata made Khan’derin even more sullen than before. For three days the pair travelled in silence, neither making any attempt to melt the ice between them. They saw no sign of any Red Guards and Meghan guessed the dragons had made a sweep of the area, killing any they saw. The wood witch did not try and talk about the twin again, much to Khan’derin’s relief. She did not like the thought there was someone else in the world with her-face and her ancestry.
Khan’derin spent most of her time dreaming of the snows. She was very homesick. It was so hot, and all the colours of the scenery were so bewildering. She had never realised there were so many shades of green, while the brilliant scarlets, oranges, purples and blues of bird plumage and flower dazzled her eyes, making her dizzy. On the Spine of the World there was only the blue of the sky and the white of the snow, the grey of rock and the dark green of the firs below the treeline. Colour differences were so subtle as to be almost invisible. Here, her senses swam with the rich embroidery of forest life—the brilliant colours, the strong perfumes, the cacophony of bird song and wind rustle, the prickle of sweat on her body.
Khan’derin missed the daily routine of the pride, especially the thrill of the hunt and the triumph of the kill. She missed the comfort of being surrounded by many bodies, and of knowing exactly what to do and when to do it. Most of all, she missed her grandmother, a tiny woman—even smaller than Meghan of the Beasts—with the strongest will of anyone Khan’derin had ever encountered. The Firemaker had advised and directed her all her life. Even though Meghan was like an Auld Mother in her age and wisdom, the wood witch did not seem to understand any of the complexities of pride customs and manners. She never gave Khan’derin the directive to eat, so that for the first few nights Khan’derin had sat staring at her stew going cold, too afraid to eat a bite in case she displeased the sorceress. It was only after Meghan gave her a sharp look and snapped at her that Khan’derin had realised she was permitted to start. Meghan ate with both hands, and often drank between mouthfuls, as if not knowing that food and drink should never be taken together. Meghan interrupted her while she spoke, and did not seem to mind when Khan’derin spoke to her unbidden. She asked questions all the time, considered the rudest behaviour possible in the pride, where personal privacy was extremely important because of the lack of privacy in everything else. When you had as many as a hundred people living together in the one system of caves, or travelling over the ice plains in pursuit of the migrating geal’teas, you did not ask them questions about their private thoughts all the time, as Meghan did.
