The Fathomless Caves

by Kate Forsyth

  Isabeau turned on him. ‘I hope we are soft in the heart and no’ in the head,’ she cried. ‘Why are ye so hard? Do ye no’ understand the Fairgean feel grief and rage and love, just like we do?’

  He laughed harshly. ‘And what would ye ken, ye bairn? Were ye there when the Fairgean attacked at night, killing all they could reach and driving us out into the bitter snows with naught but a few clothes to our backs? Were ye there when I had to watch my wife and my eldest die with Fairgean tridents in their hearts, or when my daughter died from cold and starvation on the road?’

  ‘Were ye there,’ Isabeau countered, ‘when your ancestors first attacked the Fairgean in their sacred sea-caverns, massacring them and driving them out to drown in the icy seas? Were ye there when they took flaming torches into the holy darkness where no light had ever before fallen? Were ye there when the Yedda sang a thousand Fairgean to death, mere babes among them? Ye do no’ need to be there to ken.’

  There was a long moment of silence, fraught with tension. Isabeau faltered a little when she saw many in the council were looking at her with suspicion and condemnation. Then Meghan rose stiffly to her feet.

  ‘Isabeau is right,’ she said, ‘and I too am ashamed o’ myself. So long we have hated and feared the Fairgean, and never have we thought o’ the actions o’ our ancestors as anything but right and true. Yet there has been great evil done on both sides. We canna tip the balance so it lies more heavily on our side. We canna go to war planning to annihilate our enemy. It is much easier to destroy than it is to build anew.’

  Again there was a long, troubled silence. Then Lachlan sighed. ‘Yet we canna go to war already deciding the terms o’ a peace that may never be possible. Let us take what Isabeau has said into our hearts and our minds and ponder the ramifications but, please, let us now plan a war. For though we may have come to realise that there has been wrong done on both sides, the Fairgean surely have no’! They hate us as much as ever and the Beltane massacre was surely no’ their last offensive.’

  There was much murmuring among the councillors and Isabeau was troubled by the sideways glances many gave her. Everyone knew she had brought Maya’s daughter Bronwen back to Lucescere and that she had had some discourse with the Ensorcellor herself. It was clear Isabeau knew more than anybody else about the customs of the Fairgean, and many wondered aloud how that was so. Besides, she was a witch, and despite the restoration of the Coven, many of the people of Eileanan still distrusted witches.

  So Isabeau said no more, sitting back in her chair, turning her moonstone ring round and round upon her finger as the arguments went round and round the conference hall. She had so much to perturb her heart, so many doubts and forebodings, regrets and self-recriminations, that it took her some time to notice that her twin Iseult also sat silently, her thin red brows drawn together. Under normal circumstances there would have been nothing in that to remark upon. Khan’cohbans were not given to garrulity. However, this was a war conference. Iseult was a Scarred Warrior, trained from birth in the art of fighting. It was not like Iseult to sit with her hands folded when a war was being planned.

  Suddenly Iseult turned and met Isabeau’s gaze. Colour scorched up her face and she bit her lip and looked away. Isabeau sat very still for a long time, not even hearing the wash of conversation about her. Her hands felt cold, her head hot. All her intuition told her something was wrong and that somehow she was at the heart of it.

  That night Isabeau tried once again to approach her sister, though her very anxiety made her awkward. Iseult smiled at her in perfect composure and gave her a brief hug, an uncharacteristic sign of affection. ‘Nay, o’ course there be naught wrong, Beau. No’ with us, anyway. I am just tired and irked by all this bickering. They are always the same, these lairds. They talk and talk and naught is ever decided. I canna be bothered arguing with them. If they want my insight, then they can ask me for it.’

  Although her words seemed fair, there was still enough of a shadow on Iseult’s face for Isabeau to seek out Dide in the guardroom. He looked tired, his dark curls tousled, his shirt unlaced at the neck, but he smiled at the sight of Isabeau and sprang to his feet.

  ‘How are ye yourself, my bonny Beau?’

  ‘Och, fine,’ she answered distractedly. She looked about the guardroom, where all the other officers of the Yeomen of the Guard lounged, playing dice or trictrac, and drinking whisky. Most regarded her with friendly curiosity and she smiled rather briefly at those she knew. ‘Dide, is there somewhere we could go to talk?’

  ‘In Rhyssmadill? A hundred places,’ he replied with a laugh. ‘This palace was built for intrigue.’

  She bit her lip at the double entendre, but she allowed him to show her out of the guardroom. They walked upon the battlement, under the silvery-blue light of Gladrielle, the only moon yet to rise. In its clear radiance, Isabeau could clearly see the quizzical look upon Dide’s face.

  ‘Much as I would like to think ye have sought me out for some dillydallying in the moonlight, I ken ye must have some other reason,’ he said. ‘What be wrong, Beau?’

  She took a deep breath and then said hesitantly, ‘I’m worried about Iseult. She seems so … so cold, so … distant. I think she is angry, but I dinna ken why … or with whom …’ Her words trailed away.

  He twisted his mouth in chagrin and looked away. She stared at him in surprise.

  ‘I would no’ worry,’ he said, still not meeting her eyes. ‘My master … spoke some hasty words one day, in a temper, and I do no’ think my lady has yet forgiven him. She holds fast to what she feels, your twin.’

  Isabeau was puzzled. ‘What kind o’ hasty words?’ She laid her hand on his arm. ‘Something to do with me?’

  ‘Now what makes ye think that?’ Dide replied mockingly.

  ‘I dinna ken,’ she answered seriously. ‘I just feel it, somehow.’

  He did not know how to answer her. Watching Dide searching for words, when he was usually so glib of tongue and quick of wit, only confirmed Isabeau’s suspicions. ‘What did he say?’ she cried angrily. ‘Lachlan always thinks the worst o’ me. Did he say something against me?’

  ‘He was upset,’ Dide said. ‘It was on the Royal Stag, after we had heard about the laddies being kidnapped. We did no’ yet ken if Donncan was even alive, let alone that ye had rescued him from Margrit. He loves that laddie dearly, ye ken that, and we had come fresh from the war against the Bright Soldiers. We were all tired and overwrought …’

  ‘So he did say something! He blamed me, did he? And Iseult was angry? They argued about me?’

  ‘Dearling, I canna say,’ Dide answered in some distress. ‘He is my master. I canna be repeating what he says, no’ even to ye. Especially no’ to ye.’

  Isabeau was too angry and upset to notice the endearment. She said furiously, ‘He is always the same! It does no’ matter what I do, he always thinks the very worst o’ me. And why? Why?’ She held up her crippled hand. ‘Ye’d think he would feel guilty that I was tortured and maimed in his place. Ye’d think he would speak softly to me and be kind, if only because I am his wife’s twin. But no! He is always quick to blame me, to call me traitor and spy, to have me accused of murder and betrayal …’

  Dide seized both her hands in his. ‘But Beau, ye do no’ understand …’

  ‘Nay, I do no’!’

  ‘It is because o’ all o’ that, do ye no’ see? It is because he blames himself for your hand, because ye are as like Iseult as the reflection in her mirror. He said it himself. If he is no’ to hate ye, what else is he to do?’

  ‘He hates me …’ she faltered.

  Dide dropped her hands and turned away. ‘I should no’ have said anything,’ he said stiffly. ‘It was just I wanted to explain … please forget I told ye. Neither Iseult nor Lachlan would want ye to ken what was said in haste and anger, and under such duress. He does not hate ye, it’s just …’

  ‘I look too much like Iseult,’ she said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Aye,’ he said
, not looking at her. ‘It is enough to drive a man mad, seeing ye side by side, so alike and yet so unalike. Is it any wonder he sometimes questions …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Naught.’

  ‘Nay, what? Tell me.’

  He shook his head. ‘I have said too much. I wish ye had no’ asked me. Ye will take it amiss and indeed, it was no insult to ye that has Iseult so angry.’ Once again he stopped himself, striding away with his hands clenched beside him, turning suddenly back to seize her arms. ‘It was no’ fair o’ ye to seek me out,’ he said abruptly. ‘Ye ken I can deny ye naught, it hurts me to see ye upset and so now I have betrayed my master’s confidence. Get ye to your bed, Beau, and do no’ be looking at me with those unhappy eyes. There is no need for ye to grieve.’

  ‘But Dide …’

  ‘I shallna say any more, Beau, so there’s no point in asking. I wish I had no’ said anything at all.’

  He walked away from her swiftly and did not look back. Isabeau looked after him, her face troubled, gnawing at her fingernail. If no’ to hate me, then what else is he to do? she thought and, despite herself, gave a little smile.

  Lachlan rapped the table and said, ‘Enough! Let us concentrate on the job at hand. Three days we’ve been shut up in this room and I do no’ ken about all o’ ye, but I am heartily sick o’ it. Let us put our strategy in place and ride to war!’

  Talk broke out on all sides. ‘We’ll just have to kill as many Fairgean as possible afore they get to Carraig,’ the Duke of Gleneagles cried.

  The Duke of Lochslain had fought many times against the Fairgean. He leant forward now, his wrinkled face troubled. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘the sea-demons be as slippery as eels. Ye can fight and fight against them, to try to stop them landing, and they’ll simply turn and slither back into the sea again and be gone. And if ye try to pursue them by boat, their blaygird sea-serpents are waiting outside the headlands and the boats are crushed and everyone drowned.’

  ‘Could ye no’ kill the sea-serpents?’ Duncan Ironfist said.

  ‘How?’ the duke said simply. ‘Arrows are no good, they just bounce off their hide.’

  ‘All the royal fleet are well armed with cannons now, thanks to the Bright Soldiers,’ Lachlan said, rubbing his tired eyes. ‘Do ye think they’d be any use against sea-serpents?’

  ‘I do no’ rightly ken, Your Highness,’ the duke said doubtfully. ‘Their hides be mighty tough. Happen cannonballs would just bounce off.’

  ‘And the sea-serpents would have to come within range, and by that time they’d have the ship in their coils anyway,’ said the captain of the Royal Stag, who had been promoted to Lord High Admiral of the Rìgh’s fleet.

  ‘The trick is to try to kill the sea-serpents afore they come too close to crush the boat,’ Duncan Ironfist said, tugging at his beard.

  ‘Och, that be easy enough,’ the MacBrann said, startling them all, since everyone had thought he was dozing. The old man twinkled at their expressions of astonishment, scrabbled around his huge sporran and drew out a sheaf of crumpled papers. ‘I brought ye my design for a giant mangonel. We found it most useful against the Bright Soldiers when they tried to storm Ravenscraig. We’ve thrown a boulder well over four hundred yards!’

  There was a little murmur of surprise and the MacBrann beamed round at them. ‘Aye, I think ye’ll find that o’ use! Since then I’ve been working on a ballista that can shoot a giant arrow nearly as far. Ye could dip the arrowhead in some sort o’ poison so that all ye need do is pierce the sea-serpent’s hide, ye do no’ need to strike a vital organ to kill it. The poison will do all the work for ye.’

  ‘Dragonbane,’ Meghan cried. ‘Iain, your mother sold Maya some dragonbane when she was trying to wipe out the dragons. Wouldna dragonbane work on sea-serpents too?’

  Iain nodded. ‘I imagine it probably w-w-w-would, Keybearer. I do no’ ken myself how to make it, but there are those who live in the swamps who would k-k-k-ken the recipe. I can try to find out.’

  ‘My father has another invention which he thinks may be o’ some use to ye,’ Dughall MacBrann said then in his indolent drawl. He was lying back in his chair, his eyes half shut as if he were only just managing to stay awake. ‘Tell them, Father, for I’m sure I forget what it is.’

  The MacBrann sat up eagerly, blinking behind his spectacles. ‘Och, yes, I’d forgotten about that. Thank ye, laddie, for reminding me.’ He rummaged about in his sporran and drew out a little glass vial which he held up to the light. It held some thick, viscous liquid. ‘I call it seafire,’ he said. ‘Found it quite by accident years ago and scribbled down the formula, which I put in some book for safekeeping. Forgot all about it until last year when I found it again while I was looking for something else. Belle’s genealogical chart, I think. Or maybe it was my grandmother’s recipe for elderberry wine.’

  ‘Who do ye reckon Belle is?’ Dide whispered to Isabeau. ‘His mother?’

  ‘Nay,’ Isabeau said, stifling a laugh. ‘I’d wager it’s one o’ his dogs.’

  ‘Anyway, I found it quite by accident and threw it on my desk and when young Dughall here said he was coming along to see ye, my lad, I thought I’d bring it along too and see if ye like it,’ the MacBrann continued cheerfully. ‘It took me some time to dig it out again, I must say, but I think ye’ll like it. It makes a pretty blaze.’

  ‘I’m sure I shall like it, Uncle Malcolm, if ye’ll just tell me what it is,’ Lachlan said with uncharacteristic patience.

  ‘It be seafire, laddie, dinna I tell ye? It ignites on contact with sea water.’

  ‘Ye mean, sea water makes it burn?’

  ‘Aye, dinna I say so? Ye could throw it with the mangonel and when it hit the water, bang! It would blow up and all the water about would be one big sheet o’ fire. That would give the sea-demons a fright.’ The old man chuckled and rubbed his hands together in delighted anticipation.

  ‘It makes water burn?’

  ‘Aye, aye. Am I no’ making myself clear? Or are ye a bit slow on the uptake, laddie? I suppose it’s no’ to be wondered at, since ye were a bird all those years. Strange story that one. Very strange. It must have had an effect, your brain being shrunk down to the size o’ a pea. We must no’ wonder at ye being a few pence short o’ a farthing.’

  Lachlan said with remarkable composure, ‘Nay, no’ at all, uncle. It is just I have never heard o’ water being made to burn before. Normally we use water to put out a fire. What in Eà’s name is in your “seafire”?’

  The MacBrann tapped his finger to his nose. ‘Nay, nay,’ he chortled. ‘Ye canna trick me so easily, laddie. I do no’ give away my secrets so easily.’

  ‘How would ye put such a fire out?’ Admiral Tobias asked with great interest. ‘Fire is a dangerous weapon to use on a ship.’

  ‘Good question,’ Dughall answered laconically. ‘We wondered that ourselves when Father decided to test it out. I’m afraid one wing o’ Ravenscraig was rather badly charred before we solved the problem.’

  ‘So how do ye put it out?’

  ‘Well, eventually we used sand,’ Dughall replied with a secret smile, fingering his beard. ‘Though we found human water had a dampening effect upon it also.’

  ‘Human water?’ Admiral Tobias asked, puzzled. Then light dawned. His sunburnt face turned even redder as he said, ‘Oh, I see! Human water.’

  ‘Aye,’ Dughall replied. ‘Ye can see the problem there.’

  ‘Aye, indeed,’ the admiral replied, trying to hide his embarrassment in the face of Dughall’s sophisticated ease.

  ‘Well, then, that means we can use the navy,’ Lachlan said, his scowl clearing for the first time in days. ‘That be grand, I’d hate to have wasted our Ship Tax! We’ll have to spend some time and money having the ships fitted out and armed. Since we’ve recovered and repaired most o’ the pirate ships, our fleet is now up to sixty-four, including all o’ the Tìrsoilleirean ships. That’s a good sized navy!’

  ‘If we sail to Carraig, we’l
l be able to get there m-m-m-much quicker,’ Iain said. ‘Even if the army marches at full speed, the men canna walk m-m-m-much more than fifteen or twenty miles a day. The navy should be able to sail as much as one hundred and sixty m-m-m-miles a day, if we keep the winds blowing fair. And if we can get the army to Bride in time, we’ll be able to set sail before the F-F-F-Fairgean have begun their journey north again.’

  There was a stir of excitement, and Alasdair Garrie of Killiegarrie said, ‘Besides, if we arm the ships with this seafire and the poisoned ballistas, it will no’ matter if there are Fairgean in the sea, we’ll just be killing them off sooner.’

  ‘And I heard tell ye’d found a Yedda in Tìrsoilleir,’ the MacSeinn said excitedly. ‘Och, that be grand news indeed! A Yedda can sing the blaygird sea-demons to death. And she can be teaching the songs o’ sorcery to some o’ your young witches. I’ve heard rumours that ye have a few now that have the Yedda Talent, Eà be praised.’

  There was a long, awkward silence. Dide stilled, his long-fingered hands clenching. Enit Silverthroat turned and looked at Meghan commandingly. The Keybearer gripped her lips together and said nothing. Isabeau looked from one to the other, wondering. There was much about Dide and Enit’s journey to Tìrsoilleir that she did not know about. The MacSeinn’s words, she thought, obviously touched upon a nerve.

  ‘Well then,’ the MacSeinn cried, breaking the silence, ‘Is this no’ true? Did ye no’ rescue a Yedda in Tìrsoilleir?’

  ‘They did,’ said Meghan. ‘A Yedda called Nellwyn. She spent eight years incarcerated in the Black Tower. Young Finn rescued her when she rescued the prophet Killian the Listener. She is here now.’

  ‘And do ye no’ have others that can weave spells with music?’ the MacSeinn demanded. ‘Canna they be taught to sing the Fairgean to death too?’

  ‘Enit Silverthroat can sing the songs o’ sorcery and she has taught her grandson Dide, as well as her apprentice Jay the Fiddler,’ Meghan said quietly. ‘They were able to sail to Tìrsoilleir safely this time last year, though I ken they encountered Fairgean on the way.’