The Pool of Two Moons

by Kate Forsyth

  There was suddenly a whirring sound and then chimes rang out. Dillon looked about in surprise, realising the sound came from an ornately carved box on the wall. ‘It is eleven o’ clock, laddie,’ the old woman said. ‘Should ye no’ be returning to your friends? It is Samhain, ye know.’

  Dillon scrambled to his feet. ‘I did no’ hear the rattle-watch,’ he said with a strong note of curiosity in his voice.

  ‘Nay, but dinna ye hear the clock?’

  Dillon had never even heard of a clock, and she amused him by opening it up so he could watch the little wheels spinning and clacking inside. She pressed her hand on his shoulder. ‘Have courage, laddie, all will be well.’

  Dillon was jogging back through the rainy darkness when he stopped abruptly. He had just remembered who the old woman reminded him of, with her high-bridged nose and the white streak through her hair—it was Lachlan himself.

  ‘Where did ye get the smokeweed from?’ Jay asked curiously.

  Finn cast him a wicked glance out of her bright hazel eyes. Puffing luxuriously she said around the stem of the pipe, ‘Nicked it, o’ course. I’ve been dying for a smoke! That’s one benefit o’ returning to civilisation. There’s an inn—let’s go get some ale.’

  The inn had been decorated with turnip lanterns, hollowed out and carved with fearsome faces through which the light of candles shone. It was packed with people escaping the rain, and it stank of wet, unwashed hair and beer. A troupe of minstrels was playing, and Jay’s face brightened. He hailed the guitarist and was greeted with friendly warmth. ‘If it is no’ the Fiddler himself! We missed ye at the midsummer fair. Come grab a bow.’

  Finn slid into a booth and let the wriggling cat out of her jerkin. With an upraised finger she ordered some beer and sat back with a happy sigh. It had been a long time since she had heard Jay play. He picked up the violin and drew the bow over its strings with a flourish.

  While Jay worked his magic, Finn puffed at her pipe and listened to the conversation of two men behind her, their tongues growing looser as the ale in their tankards grew lower. They were both eel-fishers who had fled with the rest of their village when the first Fairgean had been sighted in the Rhyllster. Unlike most of the refugees, they had been lucky enough to find work, cleaning out the palace fishpond and restocking it. The eel-fishers thought they were blessed indeed to have so improved their lot in life.

  As Jay brought another swinging tune to an end, there was a scattered round of applause and a few coins were flung his way. Jay frowned and gathered them together. ‘No’ a guid crowd tonight,’ he said to Finn as he slipped into the bench seat beside her.

  ‘Nay, the mood is no’ pretty,’ she agreed. The eel-fishers behind her were the only ones who seemed to be in a cheerful mood. Everyone else was bemoaning the weather, the state of the nation and the bleakness of the future. In her dark corner, Finn had heard many tragic tales.

  She was straining her ears to hear the slurred words behind her when there was a disturbance by the door. She looked up, and immediately her blood turned to iced water. Crowding through the door were six Red Guards, their faces hard and suspicious, their spears at the ready. With them was a seeker, gaunt and hollow-cheeked, with many small buttons running from chin to waist. Finn recognised him. It was the Seeker Renshaw, who had been Glynelda’s righthand man. An involuntary moan of fear escaped her lips. Jay turned to her, surprised, and she made a stiff-fingered gesture towards the door.

  ‘The seeker knows me,’ she whispered. ‘I have to get out o’ here.’

  Jay was a little puzzled. He and the other boys often thought Finn overplayed her supposed consequence to the Awl to make herself seem more important. But there was no denying her cheeks were ashen and her fingers trembled.

  ‘Sit tight,’ he whispered. ‘Your hair is white now, he probably will no’ recognise ye.’

  Finn nodded. Under the cover of the table she slid the elven cat down to the ground. Go, Goblin, hide. She felt the kitten’s head nudging against her bare ankle, and then she slipped away, invisible in the shadows.

  All the customers in the inn were looking decidedly nervous, many leaning back into the shadows. The innkeeper was dragged out from the kitchen, his face as white as the flour coating his hands. ‘I be a loyal subject o’ the Rìgh,’ he protested. ‘Ye canna believe I’d have anything to do wi’ those blaygird rebels!’

  The seeker folded his hands together and stared at him with the skin-peeling gaze of the Awl. The innkeeper cowered against the wall. Finn’s hands were sweating, even though her body seemed coated in ice.

  ‘Jay,’ she whispered, ‘if they nab me, ye do no’ ken me. Understand? Pretend to be drunk or stupid, anything. Just do no’ let them take ye as well.’

  ‘They will no’ take ye, idiot,’ Jay whispered back, but she stared at him with huge, piteous eyes until he promised.

  With a cry of triumph, two Red Guards came back with armfuls of swords they had found hidden in the herring barrels. The innkeeper fell to his knees, pleading his innocence.

  Finn shrank back in her corner and tried to pretend she was in a drunken stupor, her eyes shut, her mouth hanging open. If she had not been so frightened she would have allowed a thin dribble of saliva to fall, but her mouth was dry and her pulse racing so fast she could not bring her usual thoroughness to the deception.

  The customers were searched and questioned, all denying they knew anything about the rebellion. The seeker stood still, scanning the crowd with heavy-lidded eyes. He watched as Jay was dragged to his feet. The boy clutched the violin, muttering he was ‘naught but a puir fiddler, playing for my supper’.

  ‘Who be this, then?’ the soldier demanded, seizing Finn by her shirt and dragging her forward along the bench seat. ‘Just a beggar lass,’ Jay responded, while Finn slumped forward, letting her fair locks fall over her face.

  ‘A wee bit young to be in her cups, is she no’?’

  Jay extemporised quickly. ‘Her brother was drowned by one o’ the wicked Fairgean,’ he said. ‘She is cut up pretty bad about it.’

  ‘She canna be more than twelve, too young to be drowning her sorrows in a tankard,’ he said roughly, seizing her hair to look down into her face.

  Jay nodded and the soldier let go of Finn’s hair so her head fell back against the wooden partition with a thump. He moved away, and Jay slipped quickly in front of Finn to hide her from the seeker’s eyes. It was too late. His gaze had sharpened at the brief glimpse of the girl’s face and now he moved forward, his crimson robes leaving a trail in the straw on the inn’s floor. He came right up to the booth and Jay held his ground, despite the terror the man’s cold eyes provoked in him.

  ‘Ye know this lass?’ the seeker said.

  Jay remembered his promise, and shook his head. ‘No’ really. She was cold and greetin’, and I felt sorry for her, so I brought her wi’ me.’ He gave an indifferent laugh, wishing he had Finn’s talent for deceit. ‘Wish now I had no’—she drank everything I’ve earned tonight, and now I’ll have to find her somewhere to sleep.’

  The seeker pulled back the mop of pale curls and stared down into Finn’s face. He slipped a hand into her bodice and withdrew the medallion she always wore there. A faint smile curled his thin lips and he tugged at the thong so it snapped, the medallion falling into his hand. ‘Let me relieve ye o’ the trouble, fiddler. I ken this lass, we shall take her with us.’

  Before he could stop himself Jay shook his head and saw the seeker’s mouth harden. ‘I promised I’d look after her,’ he said lamely.

  The seeker made a mock pious gesture with his hands. ‘The Awl has relieved ye o’ your responsibility, lad.’

  He gestured to one of the soldiers, who picked up Finn’s limp body and threw it over his shoulder. ‘Arrest the innkeeper and take him to the dungeons for questioning, along with his servants. I shall interrogate the child myself.’

  To Jay’s dismay, the Red Guards marched out, taking Finn with them. Her fair hair swung as she was carrie
d, her head lolling a few feet above the floor. She looked very small and helpless, and Jay’s throat closed with emotion. He would have to rescue her. But how?

  Anghus MacRuraich woke out of an uneasy sleep with a jerk. He had spent the evening sampling his host’s fine whisky and listening to the discussions of the rebel leaders. He had been amazed at how well organised the rebels were, and how many of the nobility and merchant class they had attracted to their cause. So fine was his host’s whisky that Anghus had had to be put to bed by his gillie, and he had been asleep only a short time.

  It had been a swift and exhausting journey from the mountains to the city, on the trail of Cathmor the Nimble and the rebels. After Tabithas had plunged into the Muileach River, his only hope had been that the rebels would lead him to where Lachlan was, and so his daughter. He was sure now that Fionnghal was with the winged prionnsa, and that the whirling dislocation that had come over him at the sight of her was caused by a reverse spell on her medallion, just as Meghan had surmised.

  He had easily found Cathmor and sworn allegiance to the rebellion. ‘I have come too far now to turn back,’ he had said. ‘I hear the MacCuinn is dying. I canna bear the Banrìgh to rule, knowing what she has done, and so I give my support to the Rìgh’s brother, young Lachian. For now there is just my sword and the sword of my men, but I pledge the support o’ my people in days to come as well.’

  As Prionnsa of Rurach and Siantan, Anghus had been eagerly accepted by Cathmor the Nimble, and had been quartered in a safe house in Ban-Bharrach Cliffs, the wealthiest of the city suburbs. The greatest shock had been to walk into the sitting room his first night and find Meghan of the Beasts knitting by the fire. When last he had seen her, Meghan had been shackled and chained, a prisoner of the Awl. He had not heard much news on the road and so had not known of her escape. She had smiled at him and patted the seat beside her. In a flood of joy and relief, he had broken down and wept. His betrayal of their friendship had weighed heavily on him these past few months. She would not tell him how she had escaped, only quirking her seamed mouth and saying, ‘Lucescere has many secrets.’

  He had told her of his decision to seek out Fionnghal and what had eventuated, including the disappearance of the wolf. Meghan had been distressed, and hoped Tabithas could survive the rough waters of the Muileach. ‘If she did, the river will lead her here, Anghus, ye can be sure o’ that.’

  Anghus had begged her for news of his daughter, but Meghan had none. Lucescere was a cesspool of seekers and witch-sniffers, many of whom had their own clairvoyant powers. She had dared not scry when her discovery would smash the rebellion and betray her hosts, who had risked much to hide her.

  It was the knowledge that his daughter was nearby that had woken Anghus. He could feel Fionnghal loud as a clarion call, bright as a bonfire. She was so close his skin tingled. He was on his feet in a moment, calling to Donald. Within minutes, he was out in the rain, Casey Hawkeye and the gillie at his heels.

  ‘This way!’ Anghus called, feeling his blood pounding quick and heavy in his temples. ‘She’s this way! Hurry!’

  Ahead they could see the gates of the palace. A troop of Red Guards were gathered before them, one carrying a small figure slung over one shoulder, a quantity of fair hair hanging down. He drew his sword, prepared to battle the Red Guards there and then, but Casey pulled him back. Seething with frustration, Anghus watched the gates swing open and the troop march through, a tall, crimson-clad seeker at their head. The gates clanged shut behind them.

  Anghus cursed and slammed his fist into the wall. If only they had been quicker! They could have surprised the troop in the streets and wrested Fionnghal from them.

  ‘Ye probably would have been killed and the lassie with ye,’ Casey said comfortingly.

  ‘We shall have to storm the palace, rescue her!’

  ‘It is too soon—we shall ruin all the rebels’ plans,’ Casey objected. ‘They are no’ ready yet. They all wait for Samhain Night.’

  ‘Why?’ Anghus raged. ‘Is there any point to waiting? The men are in place, they have weapons, why do they wait? I canna wait! I want my daughter!’

  ‘If ye can follow her, if ye can find where she is hidden, perhaps stealth is better anyway,’ Casey said.

  Anghus turned to him with a thankful cry. ‘Aye! We shall sneak in and retrieve her. My poor Fionnghal, in the hands o’ the Awl! I canna stand it.’

  Donald said, ‘My laird, I do no’ think it is a guid idea to be so risking yourself and your daughter. The Awl have had her for five years—wha’ does one more night matter?’

  ‘No’ one more night, no’ one more hour!’ Anghus vowed. ‘Donald! Casey! Are ye with me? Ye can return to the safe house if ye wish, no dishonour. But I find my daughter now or die in the attempt!’

  ‘I’m with ye, my laird, wherever ye go. Ye ken that,’ Donald said. ‘But I think we should go and seek help. We do no’ ken the layout o’ the palace, or wha’ sort o’ guard they’re likely to keep. And it is half past the hour. Soon everything will be locked up tight for Samhain. We canna risk being locked out on Samhain Eve, my laird.’

  Some of the glare in Anghus’s eyes faded. He nodded. ‘Very well, but let us be quick about it. I do no’ want to lose Fionnghal again.’

  Dillon crouched in the dark little alley, watching anxiously for his friends. It was well past the hour and there was no sign of them. Jed whined and pressed against him, and he pulled the puppy into his lap, hugging him tightly.

  Just then two small figures emerged from the mist and rain, and Dillon recognised Anntoin and Artair with relief. They crouched with him behind the huge barrels, whispering him their news. They had met up with Cathmor the Nimble, who had managed to bring all five hundred of his men into the city, disguising them as refugees. Together with the members of the underground already active in Lucescere, there were several thousand men and women just waiting for the signal to attack the Red Guards.

  Their bottoms were getting numb from the stone and Dillon shifted restlessly. ‘Wha’ about Finn and Jay? Where can they be? If they are no’ here soon, we shall have to go back without them.’

  They heard running footsteps, then Jay dashed into the side alley, taking no care at all to make sure he was not observed. Before Dillon could reprimand him, Jay had flung himself on them, his dirty face strained and white. ‘Finn! The Awl has got Finn! She was right—they do know her, and they took her away with them.’

  ‘Flaming dragon balls!’ Dillon cried. ‘Wha’ do they want wi’ her?’

  Jay shrugged, trying to clear his throat. His voice broke as he said, ‘The seeker knew about her charm—he looked at it and smiled, and said he knew this lass and he would take her wi’ him.’

  ‘Where did they take her?’

  ‘Into the palace. I followed them until I was sure, then ran here as fast as I could. We have to rescue her.’

  Dillon clambered to his feet, pushing the puppy off his lap. ‘Come on then, we’d best be moving. We’ve got news to tell and Lachlan is going to need to know that one o’ us is in the hands o’ the Awl. We may have to change our plans.’

  ‘Finn will no’ betray us,’ Jay cried.

  Dillon looked at him gravely. ‘No’ even if they put her to the Question?’

  Jay said nothing, his face white and miserable.

  Isabeau was half asleep in her chair by the fire, listening to the rain striking the windows, glad she was inside. After her months traipsing through the countryside, she had lost all idealism about such adventures, knowing there was no protection from the cold and wet on the road.

  Isabeau was very tired. She had tended the Rìgh all the long day and fought for his life all evening. Each hour that passed he sank further and further towards death. About ten minutes ago the Banrìgh had sent for the Rìgh’s council. It was clear even to her that her husband had only a few hours left to live. She wanted him to declare Bronwen his heir and Maya the Regent, and have the documents properly ratified and signed. Isabeau was not,
of course, needed for such official business and she had been kindly but firmly told to go and get some rest.

  She had been only too glad to obey. Maya had dressed for the occasion in her crimson velvet, and Isabeau found the sight of it almost unbearable. The Banrìgh looked very beautiful in the tight gown, its rich colour highlighting the ivory pallor of her skin, the blue-black sheen of her silky hair. Her beauty meant nothing to Isabeau. To her that colour entailed only blood, terror, agonising pain. The Banrìgh’s dress was the original model for the seekers’ robes, buttoned to the throat with twenty-five velvet buttons that reminded Isabeau powerfully of Maya’s position as the ultimate leader of the Awl. She had been glad to take Bronwen and hide away in the nursery, her severed fingers throbbing in remembered pain.

  Something knocked against the window, jerking her awake. She got to her feet and walked over to the window embrasures, concealed behind heavy brocade curtains of silver, blue and gold. Outside it was dark. She could see the trees tossing in the wind, the clouds racing across the moons. Perched on the windowsill was a small dark shape. Bending so that her nose was almost pressed against the glass, she saw two bright eyes and a bedraggled tail.

  ‘Gitâ!’ She fumbled to unlatch the window. ‘Gitâ, what are ye doing here?’ Immediately she remembered Meghan saying she would send someone to her and she smiled. She swung open the window, the wind swirling into the room so the curtain billowed up behind her. She gathered the wet, shivering donbeag into her arms and he crept up to snuggle against her neck. Tears stung her eyes. Gitâ said, Sad?

  She closed the window again and went back to her chair. No, happy.

  My witch says ye sad and lonely.