by Kate Forsyth
‘Aye, Your Highness.’ Maya bowed her head, and tried to keep her face serene.
‘And what of the Cripple? I notice you say nothing about him. I hope you have not failed me there too?’
‘We did locate the leader of the rebels in the mirror, using his witch knife and staff, and so were able to spy on him and know where he was travelling, sure he would eventually lead us to Meghan. Many times he did trick and deceive us, and each time we drew the net tighter about him.’
‘So? Last time we spoke these were your same words. I want to know if the net drew tight enough to hold him. I told you last time not to risk losing him in those Jor-cursed mountains, where one valley looks much like another. I told you to capture him as he came through the Pass, and twist the Arch-Sorceress’ hidey-hole from him there. Did you not do this?’
Maya was sweating again. ‘Aye, Your Highness, only—’
‘Oh, I see. Another excuse? How have you failed me now?’
Maya spoke rapidly. ‘Meghan’s apprentice foiled our plans. She rescued him the night of his capture, and lead our men on a sardine chase while he escaped into the mountains. We caught her, though, and executed her.’
‘While the Cripple has slipped through your fingers again. Why have you not been able to relocate him?’
‘He has stopped scrying.’
‘So he knows you are watching him!’
‘It would seem so.’
‘And would you have told me this if I had not asked?’ he sang in a deceptively mild voice. She tried to think how to reply, but he curled back his lip, showing his gleaming tusks, and began to roar again. Maya almost flinched back. When at last he was finished, he panted, ‘Curse your feminine mysteries. Curse your sleek, sly ways. That I should have to leave such matters in the hands of fools and weaklings! That the proud children of Jor should have fallen so low to depend on an imbecilic half-breed woman!’
‘We are closer to victory than we have ever been, Father!’ Maya fixed her father with a burning gaze. ‘Do you not always say that the tidal waves of Jor’s wrath roll slow, but to sand the rocks shall be ground?’
He eyed her with a fierce, pale eye and then laughed chillingly. ‘True enough. But know this, come winter, when the birthing is done and the pup is swimming, then we shall come! You had best be sure I am glad to see you, and that wrinkled-up, oyster-faced priestess-hag too!’
Then he was gone, and Maya’s own reflection came swimming towards her through the rippling depths of the mirror. She was shocked to see how? ashen was her face, how frightened her eyes.
Sani was frightened too. ‘Ye fool! Just because he is on the other side o’ the land is no excuse for provoking him in such a way! His arm is very long. Do no’ think ye are so high and mighty powerful, my fine lass, just because ye ensorcelled a rìgh into marrying ye. Ye are still nothing! Ye are still a worthless half-breed daughter, less that a grain o’ sand to the great rock o’ His Highness, Lord o’ all the Seas, Master o’ Storm and Tidal wave, Rider o’ the Sea Serpent! Let me tell ye, if ye endanger yourself ye endanger me, and do no’ think I will allow ye to bring me down!’
‘Enough!’ Maya screeched. ‘My father’s arm may be very long, but mine is still closer.’ And she struck out at the little old woman, knocking her against the table so that the mirror shot over its polished surface.
The old woman raised herself slowly. ‘Be careful, my dear. Be very careful.’ She picked up the mirror reverently, and wrapped it again in its faded silk. ‘I am your only friend here, remember, and the only one to take your part with your father. What if I tell him the many details ye so cannily left out o’ your accounts?’
Maya felt like screaming, but she drew herself up to her fullest height so that she towered over the old woman, and said silkily, ‘I suggest ye be careful, Sani. Remember, I am still Banrìgh here.’
‘Och, aye, my dear, how could I forget? Just remember, come winter, your father shall come, and your precious Rìgh shall be dead. What shall ye be then?’
Maya had nothing to say. It had been a mistake to lose her temper. She had known the high-priestess Sani all her life, had indeed been brought up by her, and so had a very healthy respect for the shrivelled-up old woman. Sani forgot nothing and forgave very little. Biting her lip, Maya picked up her plaid and threw it over her shoulder, saying briskly, ‘I am going for a walk. I feel in urgent need o’ some fresh air.’
‘Enjoy your walk, my lady,’ Sani said smoothly.
As Maya strode down the hall, she almost fell over the old cook’s back as she rubbed industriously at a brass door handle. ‘Sorry, my lady, but as my dear mam always used to say, nothing gets done proper unless ye do it yersel’! The lassies on this floor do be getting terrible lazy! Is anything wrong, my lady?’ Maya shook her head, and marched on, wondering again if Sani could be right about this old woman spying on them. Looking at Latifa’s serene old face it seemed impossible, but in Maya’s present mood, she could have lashed out at anyone. Turning on her heel, she said quietly, ‘Do no’ let me find ye hanging about my private quarters again without leave, do ye hear me?’
Latifa looked up in distress. ‘But my lady—’
‘Do ye hear me?’
‘Well, aye, my lady.’
‘Good!’
The long ride to the sea from Rhyssmadill only exacerbated Maya’s temper. She had to make her way through the thronged streets of the city with her plaid over her head so none would recognise her and wonder why she rode the streets at night, alone. Although the last light still glimmered on the waters of Berhtfane, it only showed her the thickly clustered masts of the ships that dared not venture outside the river mouth. The streets were filled with boisterous sailors who drank away their savings even though no-one knew when the merchant ships could again set sail. With a sour twist to her mouth, Maya quit the city as quickly as she could, angling through the thick forests and greedily sniffing the salt of the air. She was trapped, she saw it now. What would happen if her father’s will prevailed? She would be Banrìgh no longer, powerful no longer, free never again. With a sharp stab of anxiety, Maya dismounted, leaving her horse to graze freely, then ran the final hundred yards to the edge of the forest, scrambling up the defensive bank to gaze at the sea.
The tide was out, and miles of bare sand scattered with the rubbish of the ocean stretched before her. She dragged off her clothes, and ran out onto the silvery shore, racing for the water so far away. It was now fully dark, and the light of the two moons was very bright. She could see the water clearly, a dark blue under the starry sky. The wind against her nakedness was wonderful, the scent of salt, the lure of the water. Soon she was in the waves, swimming strongly.
Maya tried to remember how she had felt when she first came, how proud she was to be chosen for this task, how determined she would succeed. How simple all her choices had been! Now, despite all her training and upbringing, despite all that she thought she wanted, she wished things could stay as they had been. To have Jaspar love her again as he had first loved her; to be Banrìgh with all the love and trust of her people, as they had loved and trusted her in the beginning. If only my father and Sani would just disappear, and leave me alone. Then I could be happy, she thought.
Maya was used to the intrigues of a court where power was so concentrated in the hands of so few, that to gain what you wanted you needed to resort to subterfuge and scheming. As she swam with precarious joy through the waves, the vast night sky overhead, she began to plan and slowly the scowl disappeared, to be replaced by something very close to a smile. There was still a chance …
As Jorge, Jesyah and Tòmas travelled deeper into the Whitelock Mountains they found the journey grew ever more dangerous. In the Sithiche Mountains, the Red Guards had all been marching towards Dragonclaw, so once Jorge started travelling away from the dragons’ peak he had left most of them behind. The Whitelock Mountains were notorious for troublemakers, however, and so the Banrìgh’s soldiers were thick on the ground, and suspicious. Jorge
began to wonder how best to conceal Tòmas’ Talent, for to his eyes, the little boy blazed with power like a torch.
‘If we come across any seekers here, they are bound to sense the child,’ he said to Jesyah one evening.
The raven gave a questioning caw, hovering a few feet above Jorge’s head.
‘If he is close by me, aye, I can, but the lad keeps running off, and I canna hold a shield over him then.’ The raven gave an indifferent caw, and flew on.
Jorge did try and impress upon the boy how important it was that he not be discovered, but Tòmas was not quite eight, and quicksilver seemed to run in his veins. It was difficult for the old man to keep up with him, and Jorge did not want to draw attention to them by yelling after Tòmas as he darted here and there. He began to wish he could leash the boy like a laird’s gillie leashed the hounds before the chase.
Each day they covered as much ground as they possibly could, Jorge rising before the sun and pushing on well after sunset. After several weeks, Jorge wondered how he had managed so long without his new apprentice. Tòmas delighted him with his wonder and excitement, his curiosity and willingness to learn, while his innocent utterances made Jorge chuckle. Jesyah the raven grew quite jealous, but Tòmas won over even the enigmatic bird, feeding him special tidbits he found on the side of the road, and scratching his glossy black back, which Jesyah could not reach with his claw.
While they stayed in the protection of the mountains, they were fairly safe for villages were few and far between, and any stray contingent of soldiers easily avoided with the help of the keen-eyed raven. Soon, however, they had to strike south, heading down into the highlands of Rionnagan towards Lucescere, the Shining City. It was this part of their journey that filled Jorge with anxiety, but if he wanted to spread rumours and dissension, the market square of Lucescere was the place to start.
Lucescere was the largest city on the island, and the most ancient. When the First Coven had arrived in Eileanan from their home on the other side of the universe, they had built the Tower of First Landing on a rocky crag near the ruin of their ship. Often called Cuinn’s Tower, the ancient stone citadel was built around the body of the greatest sorcerer of them all, Cuinn Lionheart, who died in the Crossing. On the barren flats around Cuinn’s Tower a rough settlement was built as the four hundred or so migrants struggled to survive.
Unfortunately, the settlers did not understand the wide seasonal swings of the tide, affected by the contrary pull of two moons. Their first winter saw the settlement drowned in the rush of the high tide, many lives lost with it. Only the Tower, built on what became an island, survived. Owein MacCuinn crammed the survivors into the Tower and sat out the bitter cold and isolation, sharing out the meagre rations and guarding against disease so that surprisingly many of the people managed to live through that first great test. When spring at last came and the sea began to flow back, expedition parties were sent into the hinterland, following the shining curves of the Rhyllster high into what would become Rionnagan.
In Rionnagan they found what they were searching for—fertile lands, a plentiful supply of fresh water, and a building site that could easily be protected. For the new settlers discovered that seasonal tides, unfamiliar food and homesickness were the least of their problems. The native inhabitants of Eileanan were not all pleased at the invasion of humans from another planet, particularly the Fairgean, who arrived at their spring pastures to find them occupied. A brutal, warlike race of seadwelling nomads, the Fairgean did not give up their hold on the coast of Eileanan easily, and for the next two hundred years the First Fairgean Wars raged. Lucescere was built on a great pinnacle of rock thrusting between two waterfalls that plummeted into the Rhyllster below. The city was never broken, holding off the Fairgean and their allies for over a thousand years.
It was the sound of the waterfalls that first alerted Jorge to the nearness of their objective, then the smell of water and the spray against his face. He heard Tòmas give a cry of awe and delight, and felt with his stick for somewhere to sit down, emotion choking his throat.
‘There is the most amazing waterfall,’ said the little boy, who had become used to describing everything he saw to his blind master. ‘It seems to fall forever; ye should see it! And at the top is a castle, with great soaring walls and pointed towers with bright pinnacles like flames. Their roofs must be made of gold or bronze to shine so in the sun. And rainbows hang all around its foot, and below is darkness and mist.’
‘What else can ye see, my lad?’
‘There is a big loch, all shining and bright, at the bottom o’ the waterfall. Built into the cliffs is an auld city, all twisty streets and houses all on top o’ each other. Why did they no’ build the city on the shores o’ the loch, Jorge? So much room, yet the city is crammed up on top.’
‘Why do ye think?’
Tòmas did not know, despite having lived all his short life in a country pulled apart by inner turmoil and war.
‘For defence, lad. Lucescere has a river on either side, and high mountains at its back. It can defend itself against any attacker, human or faery. And that, o’ course, is the reason why nobody in their right mind would build too close to a burn, no matter how bonny. Burns, lochan and rivers are dangerous. The Fairgean can penetrate deep into the land by swimming up the rivers, and many a foolish human has been drowned by venturing too close to a body o’ water. They canna leap a waterfall like the Shining Waters though, and so, no matter how many o’ the Fairgean infiltrate Lucescere Loch, the city o’ Lucescere is safe.’
‘Can we go down to the loch?’
‘Maybe. They say the Rhyllster is the only river in Eileanan the Fairgean have no’ seized. Though how anyone could ken about the rivers o’ Tìrsoilleir is beyond me. It’s been many a long year since we heard anything from beyond the Great Divide.’
‘Why have the Fairgean no’ invaded the Rhyllster?’
‘The Rìgh’s proclamations say it is because they fear his power, though since the loss o’ the Lodestar that canna be as true as it once was. The navyshipmen believe it is because o’ the gate they have constructed at the mouth o’ the Berhtfane. The merchants whisper it is because the Fairgean canna leap the series o’ locks and canals the witches constructed to control the tides, and indeed it is true we have seen no Fairgean since. The most pervasive rumour is that it’s because our mysterious Banrìgh is really a Fairge and some foul subtle plan o’ theirs is only now coming to fruition.’
‘How could the Banrìgh …?’ stuttered Tòmas in amazement, and Jorge realised his country loyalty to the High Crown was bred deep.
‘Stranger things have happened. Indeed, if it is by horrible mischance true, it answers many questions that seemed unanswerable.’
‘But Fairgean have tusks! And scales!’
‘Only when in their seagoing form,’ Jorge reproved. ‘And even then they look amazingly human. And they shape-change to come on land, ye ken that.’
‘But my mam says even then they do no’ look … anything like us.’
‘They are no’ like us, foolish lad, so why should ye think that they should? No, a Fairge in their landshape is just as strange and bonny as they are in their seashape.’
‘I’ve never heard them called bonny before. People mostly call them repulsive.’
‘Well, I doubt many villagers in the Sithiche Mountains have seen a Fairge.’
‘Still, my uncle’s wife’s brother’s cousin has seen the Banrìgh and he said she was very bonny. He did no’ say anything about scales. And I thought she was the daughter o’ a Yedda, and can sing the heart out o’ a man, just like a Yedda.’
‘The Fairgean sing too. That is why they are so susceptible to the song o’ the Yedda.’
‘But surely if she were a Fairge, everyone would be able to tell? I think that’s a stupid story.’
‘Unless some magic was at work. We never really have understood the magic o’ the Fairgean. They are a mysterious people.’ Jorge heaved himself to his feet, and fac
ed towards the spray, breathing deeply of the water-scented air. ‘Come, lad, I will need your help negotiating this steep slope. Set your face towards the city, and try and keep close.’
They made their stumbling way down to the cobbled road, ridged with battlements, that wound along the hillside towards Lucescere. Already groups of labourers were making their way back to the city, picks and hoes over their shoulders, their tired faces grimy with the dust of the fields. It was almost sunset, and only the heights were still lit with sunshine, the valley below sinking into shadow. As he tapped his way over the uneven stones, Jorge again pondered the dangers his new apprentice presented. He had to find a way to shield the boy. Witch-sniffers abounded in Lucescere, hired frequently both by the city officials and soldiery and by private citizens to hunt out bad-wishers, curse-mongerers, faery half-breeds, and anyone with rebel tendencies. Lucescere had long been considered a cesspool of rebels, witches and thieves by the Crown and, despite a large contingent of Red Guards, a ruthless baron, and regular surprise raids, the Guild of Seekers had long been considered the most effective method of control. Hiring a witch-sniffer was also an excellent way to rid oneself of an enemy, since anyone accused of witchcraft had little chance to defend themselves. It was therefore dangerous for the old man and the boy in Lucescere, and Jorge remembered clearly Meghan’s story of how Isabeau had once brought them near disaster in an inn in Caeryla by changing the outcome of a dice game. Although the story made Jorge smile to himself, his wrinkled face was worried. Tòmas’ magic was bright and loud, and he had no idea of discretion, wanting to help and heal all he came across. Jorge’s strength and magic were insufficient to shield him, particularly if the child drifted too far away from him.
As they approached the Bridge of Seven Arches, which soared over the river to the city, Jorge’s face relaxed a little—he had thought of someone who might be able to help. As if sensing the old man’s subtle relaxation, Tòmas ran ahead singing, and Jorge stared after the sound of his bare feet affectionately.
