by Kate Forsyth
With freedom heady in Isabeau’s mouth, they were out of the massive doors and bolting down the steps. Ahead of them, a castle guard struggled to shut the high gates that divided the castle from its town, but Isabeau spurred Lasair on and the stallion galloped over the guard so he shrieked and fell, arms over his head. Then they were into the town, hooves loud on the cobbles. Dogs and chickens scattered before them, and they knocked a cart of vegetables into the path of the Red Guards behind them. Over a low wall they jumped, Lasair showing his breeding in the smoothness of his motion. Down a narrow alley, through a maze of twisty streets and at last the sound of pursuit began to fade. Isabeau risked a look behind her and saw only an empty lane.
‘We’ve done it!’ she whickered, and Lasair neighed, only to be answered by another horse as they rounded the corner into a square filled with the dark-clad castle soldiers. Isabeau dragged at the stallion’s mane and the horse wheeled and headed back into the narrow lanes, but again the pursuit was loud behind them, and now it was on horseback. Lasair was losing his freshness and once his hoof slipped in some unidentifiable slime so that he almost lost his footing.
They shot out into another big square filled with people and Isabeau had to rein Lasair in sharply or risk killing someone. Across the square a man driving a gaudy caravan raised his hand and she thought she heard her name being called, but hot on her heels were two Red Guards, both young and both relishing the chase. Isabeau kicked Lasair on, trying to weave through the crowd, looking everywhere for some means of escape. A hand came up and gripped her reins and she caused the leather to burst into flame, so the soldier dropped them with a yell. A spear came whizzing towards her and only her training saved her, her hand coming up and deflecting it away into a wall.
She was trapped now, her back to the wall, only Lasair’s flailing hooves keeping away the guards with their long spears. And Isabeau was very tired, barely able to keep her seat, blood seeping from the wound between her eyes, and her injured hand throbbing sick-eningly. She made one last valiant effort, kicking Lasair forward in a great surge of speed, but the young Red Guard spurred his horse forward and the stallion slammed into its bulk. Isabeau lost her balance and lurched out of the saddle, the paving stones rushing up to meet her.
When Isabeau was slapped into consciousness, it was sunset. She was lying on a wooden landing place in a puddle of cold water, while mist wreathed about them and the waters of the loch rocked against the jetty.
‘I wanted ye to ken what was happening,’ the Seeker hissed into Isabeau’s face. ‘Ye thought to make a laughing stock o’ me!’ And she slapped Isabeau hard, so her head snapped back onto the wooden floor.
There was a crowd of people about, including the young laird, looking scared, and the great bulk of Blyn, his face still covered with the sinister black hood. Isabeau was so dazed and in such pain from her injuries that she hardly registered what was happening. She was half pushed, half carried to the edge of the jetty, the waters below black, obscured by the drifting mist.
Long speeches were made, but Isabeau did not register a word, just stood dully, staring into the fast-dropping darkness. Suddenly there was a cry, and everyone scurried back from the edge.
‘It comes!’ the laird cried, half in excitement, half in dread.
Isabeau looked up blearily to see a great sinuous neck, topped by a tiny head, approaching fast through the pale tendrils of mist. The head moved this way and that, as if smelling the air, and everyone screamed and ran off the jetty, except Isabeau, bound hand and foot, the grim-faced seeker in her red robes, the guards, and the hooded executioner. The serpent of the loch had arrived.
In fascination Isabeau stared up at it, then she was pushed hard, between the shoulderblades, and she fell, the dark waters closing over her head with a swirl.
The Banrìgh sat at the long ornate table, crumbling her bread and nodding her head in agreement to what the laird beside her was saying. The Prionnsa of Blèssem and Aslinn, Alasdair MacThanach, was protesting the cessation of trade with the other islands in the archipelago, but his words seemed to have no effect on the Rìgh, who stared morosely into the dregs of his wine glass. Maya touched his elbow with her arm, but he took no notice, and so Maya was forced to answer the laird herself, something she was always loath to do.
She knew the laird of the MacThanach clan was concerned about how he was to sell the yields of his rich fields after he harvested in late autumn. Traditionally, the land of Blèssem shipped its grains and fruits round Eileanan’s coastline to the other countries and across the eastern seas to their neighbouring islands. Eileanan had a monopoly on grains such as wheat, corn and barley because, according to the old stories, the seeds for such crops had been brought to this planet by the First Coven, and were not native to the islands.
As she spoke the soothing words he desired, she saw the Prionnsa of Carraig, Linley MacSeinn, lean over and mutter something into the ear of his neighbour. Maya regarded him thoughtfully. Although she could not hear what he said, she could guess he had said something scathing about the loss of the sea witches. The Yedda of Carraig had been for centuries the only weapon the islanders had against the Fairgean, having the power to mesmerise the sea people with song. However, the destruction of the Tower of Sea-Singers in Carraig had meant there were no Yedda left to sing the trading ships to safety. It was for this reason that the merchants no longer dared set sail from the shores of Eileanan, for outside the rocks of the harbours the Fairgean waited.
‘Ye have a solution to our problem, MacSeinn?’ she asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing him blanch.
‘No, no, Your Highness,’ he answered. ‘Though I still no’ have word from His Highness about the Fairgean’s invasion o’ my lands. It has been four years since I fled here, and nothing has been done!’
‘Rest assured, the Rìgh is no’ idle,’ Maya responded and wished her husband would wipe the foolish smile off his face and take note of the conversation. ‘His Highness has sent more scouts into Carraig, as ye ken. We have no’ yet heard news, but it has been a long and snowy winter, and the mountains have been impassable. Now that the Time of Flowers is here, happen we may receive some news.’ She turned back to her barely touched meal, but the laird of the MacSeinn clan was not satisfied.
‘It has been four years, Your Highness! Four years since my clan had to flee our land because o’ the foul, murdering uile-bhestean! I want to ken when the Rìgh is going to raise the navy and drive them back to the sea where they belong!’
A red tide of anger filled Maya’s ears and eyes. She glared at the loud-mouthed laird and hissed, ‘We canna send out the navy for the same reason the merchant ships loll at anchor in the harbour! The seas are thick with Fairgean, who would hole and sink the ships as soon as the sight o’ land falls away!’
‘If the Yeddas were still alive, this would never have happened,’ blurted out Laird MacSeinn’s young son, and immediately went fiery red as sharply indrawn breaths were heard all round the great table. The Prionnsa of Carraig went quite pale, for what he might mutter to his friends and family was not safe to repeat at the Rìgh’s own table. Jaspar seemed not to have heard, however, and although Maya’s instinctive reaction was to have the whole MacSeinn clan thrown into the dungeons, she controlled her temper. If Jaspar had not reacted to the treasonous statement, she could not exert her power so publicly as to arrest one of the island’s great prionnsachan and his family. She gave the young lad an admonishing glance, and Laird MacSeinn a warning one, before returning her attention to her plate.
On her other side the Rìgh sat slumped in his chair, staring at his untouched meal and sighing at something only he could hear. Maya kicked him with her foot, aware of the curious glances of the court that ate and drank and whispered poisonous gossip all around them. He did not seem to notice. She sighed. It was becoming harder and harder to reach him, when once he had hung on her every word. He seemed to be retreating into a twilight world, where only his childhood memories and the far distant so
ng of the Lodestar had any meaning for him. The tangled affairs of the court and country, the vying for position among the lairds and minor prionnsachan, the return of the Fairgean, none of this seemed to concern him any more. The Rìgh was happy to leave everything to his wife, but it did not suit Maya to rule so openly. She worked best in secrecy and subterfuge, in planting a suggestion here and a hint there. And now that the many threads she had spun over the past sixteen years were slowly twisting together, Maya would have liked to be free of such petty matters as the merchants’ fears, the weavers’ taxes and why young children were being snatched out of their beds at night, never to be seen again. Maya was particularly vexed at the moment by many of the lairds insisting on keeping their young with them, even at the high table. The outburst earlier by the young MacSeinn would never have happened if people were not so foolishly troubled by the tales of ghosts that came at night and silently spirited away their young. He should have eaten at the lower tables, as did all the other pages!
Maya did not feel well. The heat was bothering her as it never had before, the roast pork made her queasy, and the drone of voices made her head ache. Anxiety was always with her, a knife blade twisting beneath her breastbone, and sometimes she longed for the dim peace of a country farm wife, with nothing to worry about but the crop and her husband’s moods. As she sighed again, and dropped her uneaten bread back on the plate, her elbow suddenly slipped, falling onto the edge of her plate so her entire meal was tipped into her lap, splattering both the laird on her left and the Rìgh on her right with gravy. Maya almost betrayed herself with a most unbanrìghlike curse, but caught herself in time, smiling and making some light comment about her clumsiness, before getting up and leaving the room.
Some blasted witch bad-wishing me again, she thought, and knew she must be distracted indeed to allow such a small thing to slip under her guard. Normally Maya could turn the bad-wishes of the witches away without any effort, but now her belly was swelling with the babe, she was feeling so unwell and so preoccupied, it seemed they were slipping under her guard all the time. For the past few months, ever since the comet had passed through the skies and she had enacted the Spell of Begetting, Maya had been dropping things, bumping her hip, stubbing her toes, spilling sauces, knocking over ornaments, and tripping over her skirts. It seemed as if every witch in the country must be bad-wishing her!
Suddenly Maya’s eyes narrowed, and she wondered if she had inadvertently stumbled across the truth. Perhaps the thrice-cursed witches could read the omens in the sky as well as Sani could. Maybe they knew that all her plans were only now coming to a head, that soon—if all went as planned—the land would once again belong to her people, and all these humans would be slaves.
When she came into her quarters, her servant was waiting for her, her pale eyes snapping with impatience. ‘Thank Jor ye’ve come at last, Maya. What have ye done to your dress—more bad-wishing? Canna ye rid us o’ these pesky witches?’
‘I’m trying, I’m trying,’ Maya grumbled, stripping off the food-stained skirt and throwing it on the floor. Then her eyes brightened. ‘Sani, ye should really try no’ to swear by the god o’ all the seas! Imagine if someone should hear ye!’
Sani shot her a venomous glance and opened her mouth to retort, only to shut it again for, really, there was nothing she could say. She had castigated Maya many a time for exactly the same thing.
Feeling much better, Maya finished undressing and slipped into the pool in the centre of the room. ‘Careful!’ Sani warned sharply, but Maya was past caring. She had not been able to go down to the sea for several days, and felt as knotted up as a tangle of twine. She let the salt water lap against her parched skin and slowly let herself change into her sea-shape.
Sani clicked her tongue with anger, and locked the door. ‘I feel uneasy,’ she said. ‘Such chills have been running down my spine! I fear me something has gone wrong.’
Maya rolled luxuriously, slapping her tail and sending waves splashing over the edge of the sunken bath.
‘So I have my Banrìgh’s permission to use the mirror?’ Sani said sarcastically, and Maya indicated that she did, too happy to be in the bath to take offence at the tone. The tiny old woman crossed the room, and unlocked a drawer in the tallboy that sat next to Maya’s bed. Reverently she drew out an oval hand-mirror, its handle sinuously shaped like the tail of some slender fish. She sat at the table, laying the mirror down carefully, and making a secret sign above it. For a long time she stared into its silver face, while Maya swam back and forth and wished for the sea. Then the old woman suddenly stiffened, and went pale. ‘Maya, Maya! The dragons! What will your father say?’
‘What has happened?’ Maya said, surfacing again.
‘The dragons have retaliated. They have wiped out the entire legion o’ Guards we sent against them!’
Maya felt dread run through her, and sank back into the water, shivering. ‘Did the dragons … burn them?’
‘I fear me, aye.’
Suddenly Maya was angry. ‘But I thought they would no’ attack the soldiers o’ one o’ their precious MacCuinns! We were assured they would no’ attack! What o’ their sacred pact? Did they try and take them by surprise? How can this have happened?’ She thrashed from side to side, causing great spouts of water to splash into the room.
‘I do no’ ken,’ Sani said. ‘I focused in on the Seeker Thoth, but all I could see was smoke so I rose higher, and saw the pasture filled with the bodies o’ the slain, all charred and torn. Higher I rose, until I could see the battlefield, and there was a dragon, his nostrils still steaming, his chops all bloody, chewing on the body o’ one o’ your soldiers.’
Revulsion shot through Maya, and with a flip she was out of the pool, water streaming from her sleek body. At that moment there was a knock on the door. ‘Quickly, my daughter,’ Sani ordered, and she carefully covered the mirror with a cloth and went to the door. Maya changed shape swiftly and struggled to her feet, wrapping herself in her bedgown before Sani opened the door.
‘Why do ye interrupt the Banrìgh when she is bathing?’ the old woman scowled.
The cook Latifa stood outside, holding a tray. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress Sani, I just noticed our Banrìgh did no’ eat any o’ her dinner and thought happen she needed something to tempt her appetite and knowing how important it is she keep her strength up and all, I just—’
Sani took the tray and shut the door in her face. ‘Aye, just thought she’d take the chance to spy through our keyhole more like! I wonder how long she was standing there, listening.’
Maya wrapped the gown around her more securely and lifted the lids on the tray. To her relief, there was fish, lightly cooked, and was seeds wrapped in seaweed, just the way she liked it. ‘Och, Latifa is harmless,’ she said lightly. ‘She’s so auld now she probably could no’ hear a thing anyway. Keep an eye on her, though, just in case.’ She sat at the table, careful not to bump the mirror, and began to eat. ‘Try and contact the Grand-Seeker Glynelda. Find out what is happening up there in the Sithiche Mountains that everything should go so wrong.’
Sani obeyed, rocking back and forth before the mirror and muttering to herself. At last her sight seemed to clear, for she sat straight and leaned into the mirror, her face grim. ‘Greetings, Grand-Seeker. What is your report?’
‘Things are going according to plan, my lady, although we have no’ been able to capture the Cripple as ye instructed. We had him in our hands, though, and indeed ye were right, he is an uile-bheist, winged like a bird.’
‘If ye had him in your hands long enough to establish he has wings, why is he no’ on his way to us?’
‘He was rescued, my lady, by rebels and witches. We have many soldiers out hunting through the hills, and the region’s best trackers, and are confident we will soon have him in our hands again.’
‘That is no’ good enough!’ Sani snarled. ‘Ye should never have let him escape!’
‘We caught one o’ the witches who freed him, my lady!’ the Gr
and-Seeker Glynelda said eagerly. By leaning over as she ate, Maya could just see the watery reflection of Glynelda’s face in the mirror. ‘She was given to the monster o’ the loch, as is the custom up here.’
‘How did she ken ye had him? Ye were meant to move in quiet and stealth!’
‘I do no’ ken, my lady.’ Glynelda’s consternation came through clearly.
‘Why no’? Was she no’ put to the Question?’
‘Well, aye, she was, my lady, but she killed the Grand-Questioner, and anything he discovered before he died, died with him.’
Maya and her wrinkled old servant looked at each other in absolute consternation. The Grand-Questioner, Baron Yutta, had been one of the most powerful sorcerers in the service of the Banrìgh, and as careful and canny a servant as anyone could hope for. His predilection for causing pain had been spotted by Sani early on, and he had served her the best of any of the Awl, ferreting out witches and revolutionaries as easily as a hound scented the trail of a deer.
‘Ye should have brought her here!’ Sani said angrily. ‘She was obviously a powerful sorceress to have freed the leader o’ the rebels, then killed the Grand-Questioner. Ye are a fool! Why did ye no’ have her shipped down to us? We would have been very interested in questioning her ourselves.’
In the dim reflection, they saw the Grand-Seeker wetting her lips. ‘She was a slippery, tricky witch, my lady. We chased her all over the highlands, and she almost escaped us three times. It was only my personal attention to the case that resulted in her capture. I was afraid she would escape again if we allowed her to live. There was another reason too. The hunting down o’ the magic monsters has made the people here very uneasy. They have lived with their misbegotten dragons and serpents for so long they fain no’ see them destroyed. It was a public show o’ power and discipline, my lady.’
