by Kate Forsyth
Seven watch-towers lined the western wall, all joined by the walkway. Finn knew this was the most dangerous part of her expedition, as she would have no warning of when the patrols were passing. She waited until both moons had been obscured by clouds, then ran down the stairs, across the wide courtyard and into the garden. From tree to bush to statue to hedge she ducked and weaved, trying to time her movements with the swift pace of the clouds.
The entire length of the great western wall had been carved with tall arches, inscribed with intricate knots and ribbons of stone. At the apex of each arch was a carving of a stag’s head with a crown between its outspreading antlers.
Within every third archway a simple urn was set, which once would have cascaded with flowers. The others held small carvings, about the size of a fist. Finn knew these were the crests of the thirteen witches of the First Coven, alternating with the emblem of this Tower—two crescent moons and a star. The one she wanted was the seventh from the corner. She told Goblin to stay hidden in the shadows, took Lachlan’s brooch out of her pocket, then ran swiftly down the wall.
She saw the distinctive stag shape at once and reached as high as she could, just managing to insert the crest into the carving. It fitted perfectly, and she pushed it in with a click. Immediately, the wall of the archway swung free under her hand, a crack of darkness widening.
The gate opened silently and easily, swinging outwards into the dark forest. She slipped through and gave the League’s secret signal, the three-note whistle of the bluecap swift. Feeling anxiety knotting her entrails, Finn waited, casting nervous looks back over her shoulder into the garden.
She whistled again and, to her relief, was answered this time. Out of the darkness came her companions, the puppy Jed bounding ahead, muzzled to keep him quiet. ‘Quick,’ she whispered. ‘The patrols have been twenty minutes apart, and one is due any second!’
Lachlan pushed to the front, sinister in his closely wrapped black cloak. Even in the darkness she could see the exultation on his face. ‘At last,’ he whispered. ‘I be home at last.’
As the soldiers silently followed him, he took back the crest from Finn and pinned it to his breast, under the folds of the cloak. ‘Pull the door to but do no’ let it click shut,’ he whispered. ‘We may need to withdraw in a hurry.’
‘Remember, there must be no sign that we’ve been here,’ Iseult hissed. ‘If ye must kill, do so silently and dispose o’ the body where it canna be found.’
‘Aye, my lady,’ the soldiers whispered, and then scattered along the wall, their claymores drawn. One by one they made their way through the gardens, grateful for the rising wind which hid their running footsteps in the scatter of dead leaves and brought clouds to cover the sky. Several times they had to freeze as patrols marched along the walkway above or around the inside of the rampart.
They came to a broken archway, stained with smoke. Peering through, Finn saw a wide green garth, cypress trees planted all along its length. In the middle was a dry fountain, broken statues caught in strange contortions in its centre. Beyond was a massive building, much of it in ruins. As Finn stared, the moons broke free of the bank of storm clouds and spilled down on the blackened skeleton of a high vaulted roof. At the far end one spire still stood, its graceful height set with tall, pointed windows. The cloisters ran all round its length and great flying buttresses sprang out into the overgrown garth.
Finn gave a superstitious shudder and clutched the medallion she wore around her neck. She had heard stories about the ruined witches’ tower all her life and, seeing it black and ravaged in the moonlight, found it easy to believe it was haunted by ghosts and banshees. Hundreds of witches had died here on the Day of Reckoning, spitted on the Red Guards’ spears or burnt to death in the bonfires. She clutched the kitten closer to her and hurried after Iseult and the others, hoping they would not have to hide out in the tower for long. Although Finn had little fear of anything living, ghosts terrified her.
They reached the base of the tower and slowly eased open the huge oak door. Within was darkness, and one by one they slipped inside, feeling their way forward. The sound of the door closing behind them made Johanna squeak, and Finn clutch her kitten closer.
‘Light a candle, leannan,’ Lachlan whispered, and after a few anonymous shuffles and bumps, candlelight flickered up. ‘Hopefully, if the guards see anything, they’ll think it banshees and will be too frightened to come and see,’ he said, throwing back his cloak so he looked again like a winged prionnsa.
Iseult held the candle high, shielding the flame with her hand, and slowly made her way forward, looking about her with interest. They were in a great hall with a grand staircase at one end and many doors and corridors leading off into other rooms. The hall was panelled with ornately carved oak, the floor paved with worn flagstones. Gargoyles grinned at her from the top of massive stone pillars, curving into arches overhead.
They found a room with a fireplace and carefully hung black material over the windows so they could light a fire and more candles without fear of discovery. They knew that the guards would not come near the tower unless their suspicions were fully aroused, and so as long as they kept quiet, and allowed no light to spill through, they should be safe. The smell of the smoke was a potential danger, but all were cold, tired and hungry, so Lachlan thought it was worth the risk.
The soldiers worked swiftly and surely to set up a makeshift camp and prepare a meal. First they made up a bed for Iseult, who had found the journey through the mountains tiring. She was six months into her pregnancy now and finding it difficult to maintain her strength and vitality. She subsided onto the blankets thankfully, trying to ease the ache in her back. One of the rebels gave her a cup of hot broth and a flap of unleavened bread, and she broke her fast gratefully.
‘Let us sleep now,’ Lachlan said. ‘It’s very late and we are going to need all our strength the next few days. Byrne, Shane, take the first watch. Wake me if there is anything untoward at all, whatever it is.’
The two soldiers he had named nodded, though they looked about them uneasily. Shadows were dancing all over the carved walls and it was clear they did not relish keeping watch in this ancient, ghost-ridden building.
Lachlan smiled at them. ‘Do no’ fear. If there are ghosts here, they will no’ harm us. I am a MacCuinn and this is my home. Ye will be safe.’
The palace grounds were wrapped in darkness, the guards blowing into their hands to keep warm, when the secret gate in the rampart slowly creaked open. One by one, the dark lithe forms of wolves poured in through the aperture, running swiftly to the shelter of the trees. They ran so low to the ground, on such silent padded feet, that none of the guards patrolling the rampart noticed a thing. The gate swung shut behind them.
In the morning the tower did not seem quite so spooky. All but Lachlan had slept well, it being their first night indoors for months. Lachlan had not retired when the others did. The Lodestar was very close, and he could hear its plaintive murmur always in his ears. It was so faint he was tense with fear it might die out before he had a chance to save it, and so he sat brooding by the window till Iseult came and drew him back to their blankets. Even then he did not sleep well, tossing and murmuring its name.
Even his restlessness could not disturb Iseult, who was tired out after the rough journey and finding the weight of the growing twins increasingly draining. Listening to the rain patter against the mullioned windows made her feel oddly at home, and she had slept deeply and dreamlessly.
They explored after breakfast, Lachlan leading the way and telling Iseult stories about the tower—from tales of the ancient past when the tower was first built by Owein Longbow, to anecdotes about his carefree childhood when he and his brothers had run free through the gardens and palace, teasing the witches and playing hide-and-seek in the tower’s many buildings. As always, thoughts of his brothers made him melancholy, and Iseult drew close to him, hoping her warmth would help him throw off his dark mood.
Somewhere above them was Owein
’s Bow. Finn could feel it, compelling her onwards. She had spent much time fondling the broken arrow over the past few months and could feel the strengthening tug of recognition that showed the bow was nearby. Lachlan was eager to get his ancestor’s bow into his hands and so they hurriedly climbed flight after flight of the great staircase.
Meghan had carefully described the layout of the tower to Iseult and told her how she had concealed the treasures behind a hanging tapestry in the upper levels. Finn charged ahead, not needing any directions, the tugging at her consciousness drawing her ever higher.
‘Can ye feel it, Finn?’ Iseult asked anxiously. ‘Do ye ken where it is? Meghan said the relics room was on the top floor and she hid the door behind a tapestry, but every bloody wall is covered with tapestries! I do no’ want to have to lift every single one!’
Finn nodded, her hazel-green eyes dancing. ‘Easy-peasy,’ she said and led the way down the hall and around the corner. A huge cloth depicting a white hind being hunted through a forest hung down from the ceiling eighteen feet above.
‘Are ye sure this is the right one?’ Iseult asked.
‘Aye, canna ye feel it? The bow is beyond.’
Iseult stood before it, going over in her mind the procedure Meghan had taught her. She knew this was the most dangerous part of her task, for the sorceress had warded the door cleverly and completely. Taking a deep breath she hooked back the tapestry and, with careful gestures and chanted words, removed the wards one by one. Luckily her memory had been well trained, and she was capable of memorising even such a complicated sequence as this.
Her heart hammering, she gently took a long key out of her pouch, inserted it into the cobwebbed lock and turned it with a screech of rust. No witch-fire scorched her flesh so, heaving a sigh of relief, Iseult pushed the door open.
Within was a small dark room, piled high with strange objects. The little cat Goblin pranced in, tail held high, whiskers twitching. Smell mouse, she said.
No mouse-hunting! Finn replied sternly. Looking for a longbow …
Goblin had no idea what a longbow was, but thrust her little black nose into all the corners obligingly. Candlelight danced madly over the walls as Iseult lit the candles with her finger. The children all crowded in, but with a stern expression Lachlan told them there was not enough room and they would have to wait outside. He reluctantly allowed the three ringleaders—Dillon, Jay and Finn—to follow him and Iseult inside. ‘Only if ye are quiet and careful, though, bairns—this room is full o’ auld and precious stuff and I do no’ want ye breaking anything!’
Carefully they began to pull things out. Finn’s eyes gleamed at the sight of a velvet and gold jewellery box packed with necklaces, bracelets and rings. Jay found a silver goblet with a strange crystal in its slender stem, and Dillon a brooch and arm-ring made of gold and sapphires, and a pouch of ancient coins, so tarnished it was impossible to see what land they came from.
Finn picked up a curved hunting horn embossed with dark metal and saw it was etched with the shape of a wolf, just like her medallion. She thrust it through her belt, just as Lachlan and Iseult found the bow at the back of the room, half hidden behind a huge gilt harp.
It was near as tall as the winged prionnsa, beautifully shaped and carved, with a quiver full of white-fletched arrows next to it. Lachlan carefully disentangled the bow from the harp and lifted it out, his topaz-yellow eyes brilliant in his dark face. He tested it and the bowstring snapped with a twang.
‘To be expected after so long stuffed in a damp room,’ Iseult said. ‘We shall have to restring it.’ Lachlan’s black head and her red one bent over the longbow, husband and wife absorbed in examining the carvings along its length.
By the flickering light of the candle Finn saw a violin case resting on the table. Carefully she unfastened the ornate silver clasps and opened the case. Within was the most beautiful fiddle she had ever seen, nestled in blue velvet and shining golden-brown. It had many more strings than Jay’s fiddle, raised over an elaborately carved wooden bridge. Its graceful neck was long and slender and carved at the end into the shape of a beautiful woman, her eyes blindfolded. Finn had never seen a fiddle like it. She stroked the lovely wooden face with one finger and called softly, ‘Jay!’
The tall, thin boy put down the chalice he was examining and came to her side. ‘Look what I found for ye, Jay,’ she whispered, and had her reward in the light that sprang up in his eyes.
‘A viola,’ he cried. To Finn’s surprise and pleasure, he hugged her with one thin, stiff arm before reverently lifting the viola out of the case and cradling it in his arms. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he whispered and lifted it to his chin. His fingers trembling slightly, he ran the bow over the strings and a pure, sweet sound rang out.
Lachlan and Iseult whirled around, fingers to their lips, but Jay had already lowered the bow and was carefully examining the strings. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘No-one could hear from here anyway, we be so high up.’
‘We canna be taking any risks,’ Iseult reproved. ‘It is daylight now and the guards will no’ be so afraid o’ the tower that they would no’ investigate the sound o’ music.’
‘Och, they’ll think it a ghost,’ Finn said cheerfully. The gladness on Jay’s face as he stroked the gleaming viola had caused a corresponding happiness to well up inside her. Her friend had been sad and quiet ever since the loss of his violin, and she had missed his rare smile.
Lachlan, the bow in his hands, the quiver full of arrows over his shoulder, said irritably, ‘Finn, all we need is one soldier who does no’ believe in ghosts for us to have a troop marching through the ruins looking for the mysterious violin player.’
‘Viola,’ Jay corrected him, receiving an angry glance in return. Lachlan did not like to be corrected.
‘Put it back, Jay, and all the rest o’ the stuff too. Dillon, put that bag o’ coins down! Ye’ll no’ be able to use them anyway, they be far too auld.’
‘That’s no’ fair!’ Finn cried, disappointed at the way the light died out of Jay’s eyes as he reluctantly put the viola back in its case. ‘Ye get to have the bow, why canna we have what we want?’
‘The bow belonged to my ancestor,’ Lachlan snapped.
‘So? That do no’ mean it belongs to ye, necessarily. We’ve come all this way and broken into the palace grounds for ye, and ye will no’ even let Jay have an auld fiddle to replace the one he lost.’ Finn’s voice was rising. Iseult laid her hand on Lachlan’s tense arm, and he remembered how much he needed the League of the Healing Hand in the coming few days.
‘Very well then, ye can all have one thing and one thing only. As payment for all your help.’ Despite his words, Lachlan’s voice was reluctant so the children wasted no time in swarming into the room and pawing over its contents. Lachlan made an exasperated sound but gave no complaint, running his fingers over the carved bow instead.
Finn already had the hunting horn tucked in her belt, so she got out of the others’ way, sitting with Jay on a dusty table and laughing as the other children got dirtier and dirtier by the minute. Johanna could not decide between an exceedingly ugly tiara, a jewelled bracelet or a ring, but in the end settled on the bracelet, knowing how dangerous it was to wear rings and how difficult for a beggar girl to find anywhere to wear a tiara.
Her brother Connor took a musical box that played a haunting melody when its painted lid was lifted. Dillon chose a tarnished sword. Although long, it was light and made a hissing sound as he feinted at his shadow. Anntoin was so enchanted with Dillon’s choice that he rummaged through the room until he too found a sword, heavier and less graceful than Dillon’s, but nonetheless a sword. Artair was mollified with a jewelled dagger, since there were no other swords in the room, and Parlan surprised everyone by choosing the silver cup with the crystal in its stem. ‘Pretty,’ was all he said.
They ran down the stairs to describe their treasures to Jorge. Only Finn did not follow. Goblin had disappeared into the dusty clutter, and Finn was hunting
for her on her hands and knees. She heard a soft miaow and crawled under the table, calling, Goblin, where are ye?
While Anntoin had been searching for his sword, he had opened a large chest against the wall and black material was now spilling out of it. The elven kitten was curled up in its warm folds, invisible against its blackness. Only the wink of her gleaming eyes revealed her to Finn. When the little girl picked her up, her fingers brushed against the cloth and she felt an odd tingling. It was a sensation she had felt before. Her medallion gave it to her, as had the hunting horn and viola she found earlier. With the elven cat curled on her lap, she drew the material out of the chest and examined it as well as she could in the dim light.
It was a cloak, very finely woven, with raised patterns interlaced along the hems. She stood up and wrapped it around her. It fitted her perfectly, the material raising the hairs on her arms as it brushed against her. For a moment her whole body tingled, then she grew used to the sensation, twirling about so the material swirled about her. It was very warm and felt fine as silk against her skin.
Although there was a great deal of material, it folded up into such a small bundle that Finn was able to slip it into her pocket. She felt a momentary pang of guilt, Lachlan having said they could only have one thing each and Finn now had two. I was the one who climbed the wall, she thought and went bounding down the stairs after her friends. Despite her quick rationalisation, she kept the cloak hidden away and did not tell anyone what she had done.
They spent the day exploring the rest of the building, playing with their new things and learning trictrac from Lachlan, who had found a board and dice abandoned in one of the rooms, as if some witches had been in the midst of a game when the Red Guards had struck.
Finn, Jay, Dillon, Artair and Anntoin grew increasingly tense as the afternoon wore on. That night they again had to risk discovery by the Red Guards and make their way out of the palace grounds and into the city. None of them had heard any news or made contact with their comrades since leaving the corrie. Neither Lachlan, Iseult nor Jorge could risk going into the city. The blind seer had caused too much trouble the last time he was in Lucescere. Tòmas could not go for the same reason, even if anyone had been prepared to risk him, though he wistfully expressed a desire to see his friend Ceit Anna, the nyx who lived in a cave behind the waterfall.
