The Pool of Two Moons

by Kate Forsyth

  Iain threw some of the pebbles down the throat of the flower, and instantly the petals furled shut. The other flowers about it stirred and rustled, their stems twisting towards them as if scenting them. ‘They can feel our warmth,’ Iain said and directed them all back a few paces. He bent his head and stammered softly to Elfrida, ‘The mead we drank on our w-w-wedding night was m-m-made with the honey o’ the g-g-golden g-g-goddess—they say it is a p-p-powerful love potion.’

  Elfrida lifted her grey eyes to his and blushed. She remembered well the passion she had felt after drinking the honeyed wine. Iain smiled at her and squeezed her hand. ‘The honey is much prized,’ he said again in a louder voice. ‘Along with m-m-m-murkwoad and rys seeds, it is one o’ Arran’s premier exports. It is very dangerous to c-c-collect, however. We have m-m-many bogfaeries trained to pluck the honey globule, and every year we lose q-q-quite a few.’

  He took a long stride forward and the flower shifted slightly, opening her petals to better display her crimson heart, studded with the gleaming ball of honey. Carefully Iain placed one foot on one of the rich red spots and leant forward, his head and shoulders disappearing from view. Elfrida gave a little cry, but just as the petals closed Iain stepped out again. He opened one hand to show the students the globule of honey he held within. ‘Ye only g-g-get one chance,’ he explained, ‘one touch and the petals will c-c-close. Timing is important.’ Slipping his other hand into his pocket, he then carefully poured the thick honey into a jar and snapped the lid tight. ‘We will d-d-drink it together l-l-later, my love,’ he said to Elfrida, who coloured again and laughed.

  The bogfaeries poled the boats along the willow-hung shore of the loch till they came to the low water-meadow that spread beside the western shore. There the boats were tied up, and the bogfaeries scurried to unpack the picnic. They climbed a gentle slope, the ground firmer with each step, and came to a grove of tall trees.

  To the north they could see the beginning of the forests, backing to the purple smear of the Great Divide. It was only half a day’s journey beyond to the border with Aslinn and Blèssem. Iain felt his pulse quicken with excitement, and he glanced at Douglas, who grinned in return.

  They sat on blankets and cushions laid out by the bogfaeries and ate the sumptuous feast they served. To Iain’s anxiety, Khan’tirell refused any wine, which they had laced with a sleeping potion, prowling the hilltop with tireless grace instead.

  The bogfaeries were bringing out fruits and sweetmeats when Douglas suddenly bounded to his feet. ‘I’d like to propose a toast! Ladies, gentlemen, charge your glasses.’ The bogfaeries hurried around with the bottles of wine. Douglas waited until every glass was brimming, then called, ‘A toast to the babe! Heir to the Tower o’ Mists and all o’ Arran!’

  Everyone cheered and drank deeply. Iain said pleasantly, ‘Ye do no’ d-d-drink to our babe, K-K-Khan’tirell?’

  A pale, bright eye flashed his way, then the Khan’cohban came forward, his angular face wary. He accepted the glass a smiling Elfrida handed him and drank a mouthful. His mouth twisted a little and he bent to place the glass down. Douglas shouted, ‘And a toast to the proud parents, may they be as happy in forty years as they are now!’ Again Khan’tirell drank, and was turning away when Douglas cried, with a devilish glint in his sea-green eyes, ‘And o’ course, a toast to our gracious benefactress, Margrit NicFóghnan o’ Arran!’

  Everyone cheered and drained their glasses, and Khan’tirell was forced to follow suit. The clearing resounded with chatter and laughter as he bent and put down his empty glass, then moved away again. Elfrida and Iain looked at each other with consternation. There had been enough poppy juice and valerian in that wine to drop a stag, yet he seemed unaffected. Already one of the warlocks was snoozing on his cushions, and the others were yawning behind their hands. Yet as Khan’tirell prowled amongst the trees, his gait was as graceful as ever. Iain shrugged. He had prepared for that eventuality.

  The children played a game of chase and hide. Douglas, Gilliane, Iain and Elfrida lay on the cushions and talked, while one by one the warlocks began to snore. ‘What about the Mesmerdean?’ Elfrida whispered anxiously. ‘How will we overcome them?’

  ‘The M-M-Mesmerdean ken what it is we do; remember they can read our emotional energies as c-c-clearly as we can read words on a page.’

  Elfrida’s colour ebbed away. ‘They know?’ Her voice came out in a squeak.

  Iain nodded. ‘O’ course. I k-k-knew that was the first test. If they w-w-wished to stop us, they would have communicated their unease to K-K-Khan’tirell. I w-w-watched them as I spoke; they were interested but made no m-m-move.’

  ‘Why?’ Gilliane was intrigued. ‘Surely they serve your mother?’

  ‘Mesmerdean serve no species but themselves,’ Iain replied reprovingly. ‘Ye m-m-must understand that—they have never been our servants. They choose to ally themselves with m-m-my family because we love the marshes as they do. There is no d-d-danger a MacFóghnan will ever drain the f-f-fenlands.’

  ‘But they do what your mother tells them.’

  Iain laughed. ‘Sometimes. At the m-m-moment they have withdrawn their support because they are all in m-m-mourning. A week or two before Midsummer’s Eve a whole string o’ egg-brothers were k-k-killed by my mother’s enemy, the Arch-Sorceress. No’ only the elders o’ that s-s-string but all o’ the elders are l-l-l-lamenting. It will be several m-m-months before they offer help again.’

  Iain cast a quick glance at the Khan’cohban and was glad to see he was shaking his horns in a perplexed manner. His gait had slowed, and every now and again he stumbled. Still, the shadows were lengthening and they had arranged to meet their friends at sunset. He would have to take steps to make sure Khan’tirell was not on their trail. He stood up, stretched and made his way towards the Scarred Warrior.

  ‘My laird, it is growing late, I think we should begin making our way back to the Tower,’ the Khan’cohban said in his guttural voice.

  Iain slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew the pollen-dusted stamen of the golden goddess flower. He had broken it off while harvesting the honey and had hidden it in his pocket. He lifted the stamen and blew on it so a cloud of golden dust enveloped the horned Khan’cohban. He coughed and choked, then swayed on his feet. For a moment he struggled to maintain consciousness, then he fell where he stood.

  ‘Quickly! It’s time!’ Iain called, and his companions scrambled to their feet and began quickly sorting through the leftover food and shaking out the blankets. Only the oldest of the children had known of the plan, for the younger ones would never have been able to keep it secret. While Douglas hurried to prepare the boats, Gilliane quickly drew the others to them and told them what they intended.

  A few of the children were frightened or confused. The Tìrsoilleirean students were belligerent and shouted that the others were fools. ‘My lady will only hunt ye all down again,’ they cried.

  ‘But the Tower o’ Mists is the only Theurgia in the land,’ another cried. ‘Here is the only place where ye can learn magic.’

  The corrigan boy was frightened. ‘Uile-bheistean are murdered in Eileanan!’ he cried. ‘If I go with ye, how will I ken ye will no’ betray me to the Red Guards!’ The tree-shifter shrank against him, her wide green eyes scared.

  ‘We will do all we c-c-can to keep ye safe,’ Iain said. ‘My friend fights with the rebels—they do no’ consider the faeries uile-bheistean. They w-w-work to free Eileanan o’ the Faery and Witches’ Decrees.’

  Arguments broke out, and Iain said in exasperation, ‘We do no’ have t-t-time for this. Ye either return to the Tower o’ Mists with the warlocks or ye come with us now. What will ye do?’

  In the end all the children chose to accompany Iain and Elfrida. They filled their pockets with the leftovers from the picnic, armed themselves with sharp eating knives and bundled together blankets. Kind-hearted Elfrida covered the warlocks and the chamberlain with the spare blankets so they would not get cold sleeping ou
t, and they left them some food, though not much.

  They all piled into three of the boats, and Iain smashed the bottoms of the remainder. Now they were actually making their breakout, he was tense and white. None knew better the consequences if their escape attempt should fail.

  The bogfaeries had been watching with wide, anxious eyes, and Iain bent to them and gave them strict orders not to wake the warlocks or try and contact the Tower. They had been trained to obey him without question and so although they were frightened and unsure, they bobbed their seagrape-dark heads in acquiescence.

  The boats sailed smoothly away from the shore, their wake rippling the still waters apart. The children exclaimed with amazement and Elfrida looked at Iain with a touch of fear. ‘I did no’ ken ye could do that,’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘Propelling a boat without oars or pole is the first lesson I ever learnt! Truly, it is easy.’

  ‘Will ye teach me?’

  ‘I’ll surely try,’ he answered. ‘I do no’ ken if ye have a Talent with air and water, which is what ye need.’

  The sky overhead was bright with sunset colour, rose and violet and apricot-yellow. A light breeze had risen, ruffling the water so the reflected colours blurred together under the prows of the punts. They came to the mouth of the river and slowed, Iain anxiously scanning the shore. He gave a shout of excitement as a stocky man in grey stepped out from the shelter of a weeping willow, his hand raised in greeting.

  The boats swerved to the bank, and the man and his companions all scrambled on board. The boats swung out into the river again, heading smoothly against the current.

  ‘Gwilym, ye auld rogue! It is truly ye! Ugly as ever, I see.’

  ‘Uglier,’ the man smiled grimly, indicating his wooden leg.

  ‘Ye’ve lost a leg! What happened?’

  As Gwilym explained how he had escaped being burnt on the Midsummer fires, the others eyed one another, making tentative introductions. Lilanthe was amazed to see a girl in the other boat who had a tangled mane of leafy hair and an angular face like hers. She stared at her and met her eyes, green as a spring leaf. Tree-changer? she thought tentatively, and was delighted to hear back, I dinna call myself that, I be only half a tree-changer!

  Me too! I call myself a tree-shifter …

  Tree-shifter?

  My mother was a tree-changer, my father human.

  Other way round for me.

  Really? Your father was a tree-changer? Ye are still a half-breed, just the same as me.

  I thought I was the only one …

  Me too!

  They smiled at each other across the expanse of water, and Lilanthe felt happiness well through her. So long she had been alone, a uile-bheist unlike any other uile-bheistean. Now she knew there was another tree-shifter and suddenly she did not feel quite so alone.

  For another half an hour the boats sailed smoothly up the river, the forest on the banks growing thicker and more varied with every passing mile. It was almost dark when they heard a long, drawn-out cry behind them.

  ‘What was that?’ Douglas exclaimed.

  Iain tensed and looked up at the sky behind them. The sound came again and they saw a flight of swans soaring far to the east, their crimson-tipped wings catching the last of the sun. Behind them the swans pulled a shapely sleigh that seemed to carve a path over the clouds.

  The prionnsa swore and banged his hand on the side of the boat. ‘Kh-Khan’tirell must have woken, Eà damn him! He has called out my m-m-mother’s swans. We will have to abandon the boats!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They can see us too clearly on the river—ye can see he has ordered them to bring M-M-Mother’s sleigh so he can fly in search o’ us. It will no’ be long before they catch us up.’ He swore again and said hopelessly, ‘I should have known the sleeping p-p-potion would no’ knock him out for long!’

  ‘The swans pull along a sleigh?’ Elfrida asked, feeling rather sorry she had never had a chance to try it out. A sleigh pulled through the air by swans sounded most beautiful and romantic.

  Iain nodded. ‘We will p-p-push on until we reach firmer ground,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘It is only four hours walk from there, and Kh-Kh-Khan’tirell will no’ ken where we took to the ground.’

  The boats speeded up until a curve of wave streamed behind each boat. The children squealed and hung on as they raced up the river. Behind them came the call of the swans again, and Iain said, ‘They have picked him up. He’s on our trail! His eyesight is exceptional, even in the dark. We must abandon the boats now.’

  With a swerve and a splash, the boats headed to the shore. Under the shelter of overhanging branches they all clambered ashore, careful to choose a solid spot to put their feet. Iain then sent the boats scooting upriver again.

  ‘We canna fight Khan’tirell,’ he explained to Dide. ‘He’s a Scarred Warrior and trained in all forms o’ warfare. With the swans, he’ll be able to catch up with us very quickly. Our only hope is to stay concealed in the marshes and try and reach the border on foot.’ He sighed. ‘I had hoped we would no’ have to face the marshes. It would have been so much easier to simply sail up the river and into Aslinn!’

  With the coming of night the mist rose, swallowing up the path and wrapping chilly arms about them. Iain and Elfrida went first with the smallest of the children trailing behind. Dide and Gwilym followed up the rear, keeping a close eye out for any sign of the Khan’cohban. The others were strung out between, Lilanthe walking beside Corissa, the other tree-shifter, talking eagerly. The cluricaun stayed close to Lilanthe’s side, for once free of jokes and gymnastics.

  It was slow and difficult walking. Although Iain and Gwilym had lit witch-lights at the end of rushes and passed them all along the procession, the mist swirled all around them, hiding them from each other’s eyes. The children were tired and inclined to be fretful, and Iain was carrying a sleepy-eyed Jock on his back. Again and again one of them slipped from the path and had to be hauled out of the mud. Worst of all, they could sense eyes all around them in the marsh. Occasionally they saw the ghostly shape of a Mesmerd keeping pace with them, hovering above the treacherous surface of the bogs.

  ‘Do n-n-no’ be afraid,’ Iain whispered. ‘Hear how they hum? They are just c-c-curious—they will no’ harm us if we do no’ try and harm them.’

  Several times they saw a few pallid lights flickering to the side. Sometimes the lights hovered so near they seemed part of their procession; other times they glimmered out in the marsh, drawing them away from the path. ‘Keep your eyes on me!’ Iain cried. ‘It is easy to wander off the path; keep close.’

  The little cluricaun seized Lilanthe’s hand and said earnestly:

  ‘Seize her and she shall flee,

  only shadows in your hand.

  Follow her and she will lead ye

  to bottomless bogs and quicksand.

  Ignore her, and she shall see

  your foot secure on steadfast land.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Corissa asked, and Lilanthe said, ‘It’s a riddle. He asks them all the time. What is it, Brun?’

  The cluricaun repeated the riddle, and Iain looked up, amazed. ‘He means a wisp. That riddle is an auld, auld one—he’s talking about a will-o’-the-wisp.’

  ‘Wisp,’ Brun said, trotting beside Lilanthe. ‘Will-o’-the-wisp …’

  ‘That’s right,’ Iain said, surprise still in his voice. ‘That is a riddle I thought only those o’ Arran would know. Those t-t-trickster lights are will-o’-the-wisps and they will indeed lead ye astray if ye f-f-follow them. Be careful they do no’ deceive ye.’

  The will-o’-the-wisps danced alongside for close on another hour, but at last the path grew wider and firmer, and the trees looming up out of the mist were those of the forest, not of the marsh. ‘We are almost at the border,’ Iain said, unable to keep the relief out of his tired voice. ‘If everything has gone according to plan, Gwilym’s friends should be waiting for us.’ He turned and looke
d down the long, straggling line of exhausted children but could not see the one-legged warlock anywhere. He pushed on, but turned often to scan the drifting mist, hoping it would reveal the stocky figure of his friend. The swamp fell behind them, trees rising black all around them. Firelight flickered ahead, and they hurried forward. Filthy, their clothes torn to rags, they stumbled through the dark shapes of caravans and fell to their knees before the fire.

  An old woman leant forward, piles of amber beads on her chest glinting with fire. ‘Welcome! Ye must all be exhausted! Glad we are to see ye indeed!’

  A little girl was dancing about in excitement, greeting the other children and offering them hot soup and bread. Mid-skip she stopped and said, ‘Where’s Dide?’

  With grateful cries the children had dropped to the ground, rubbing their aching legs and huddling into the rugs against the predawn chill. Elfrida was walking amongst them, helping serve food and whispering reassurances. She paused and looked up at the little girl’s words.

  ‘Aye, where is he?’ a swarthy man asked, his thick earring glinting.

  ‘And Gwilym? Where’s the ugly man?’ Nina asked, bursting into tears.

  Lilanthe and Brun, suddenly realising Dide was not with them, turned to scan the night. Iain stood up, his face going white. ‘Where’s Douglas?’

  Elfrida shrugged unhappily. ‘I thought he was just behind us.’

  ‘Ye mean they have no’ come out? They’re lost in the marsh?’ Lilanthe’s voice rose in sudden fear.

  ‘I hope no’,’ Iain replied grimly. ‘If they have w-w-wandered from the path, I have no’ got m-m-much chance o’ being able to find them.’

  ‘Perhaps they will find the way …’ Elfrida said comfortingly.

  Iain shook his head. ‘The marshes have many dangers,’ he said. ‘Even Gwilym does no’ know them all. If we do no’ find them soon, we never will.’

  Dide had stopped to wait for Gwilym the Ugly, who had again slipped in the mud and fallen. He knew better than to offer his hand, waiting till the warlock had struggled to his feet before moving to his side. ‘Tasting the mud again, Ugly?’