by Kate Forsyth
‘But ye ken I shallna sing the song o’ death,’ Enit said abruptly. ‘I have told ye that many times, Meghan. I am no Yedda to use my magic to kill.’
‘But Enit—’
‘Nay, Lachlan. Naught has happened to make me change my mind. Ye ken how I feel about this.’
‘What foolishness is this?’ the MacSeinn cried, staring at the old jongleur in bafflement. ‘Ye ken how to and yet ye will no’? Why?’
Enit looked at him with pity in her eyes. ‘I willna use my powers to kill. There are other ways to use the songs o’ sorcery.’
‘Other ways? What other ways? I tell ye, if we could train up a batch o’ young witches and put one on every ship, we’ll soon win this war! A good Yedda can kill hundreds o’ the blaygird sea-demons at once. Hundreds!’
‘When we sailed to Tìrsoilleir last year, we were attacked by a group o’ Fairgean warriors,’ Dide explained. ‘Instead o’ singing them to sleep, we sang the song o’ love. Jay played the viola d’amore, which as ye ken was made by Gwenevyre NicSeinn herself and has great powers indeed—’
‘Gwenevyre’s viola should never have been given away like that,’ the MacSeinn cried, trembling with rage. ‘And to naught but a gypsy lad! The viola is a relic o’ the MacSeinn clan and should have been given back to us. Ye had no right, Your Highness!’
Looking distressed, Jay clutched his precious viola close to his chest. Dide gripped his hands into fists.
‘The viola was given to Jay the Fiddler because o’ the help he gave me in winning my throne,’ Lachlan said evenly. ‘All o’ the members o’ the League of the Healing Hand were given their choice from the auld relic room and that is what he chose. Linley, the viola had lain there unused for many years. It was pure luck that it was no’ lost in the Burning, like so many other precious heirlooms. Or happen it was no’ luck, but the invisible workings o’ the Spinners. For Jay plays that viola as if it were fashioned purely for his hand. There is none left in your clan who could play it. Do no’ begrudge it to Jay, who has done so much to help me.’
‘Is that so?’ the MacSeinn said sceptically. ‘Let us hear him play it then.’
The colour burnt hotter than ever in Jay’s face, but at Lachlan’s nod he rose and tenderly removed the viola from its case. Beautifully carved and polished, the viola had far more strings than was usual, raised over an elaborate wooden bridge. Its graceful neck had been carved into the shape of a woman, her eyes blindfolded.
Jay looked at the MacSeinn with a shy yet direct gaze. ‘She is blindfolded because they say love is blind.’
The MacSeinn nodded brusquely. ‘Och, no need to be telling me about the viola d’amore, my lad. I was taught at the Tower o’ Sea-singers. Who taught ye?’
‘Myself,’ Jay answered simply. ‘And Enit.’
Without waiting for a response, he lifted the viola to his chin and ran the bow over the strings. A cascade of notes fell into the room, deep and rich and pure. Then Jay swung into a lilting dance tune that had heads bobbing and toes tapping. He came to the end with a flourish, and a little storm of applause rang out. He blushed and lowered the bow, looking to the MacSeinn.
‘Well, there’s no doubt ye can play, lad, and play well,’ the prionnsa answered gruffly. ‘And it is true what the MacCuinn says, there is none left in my family who could play so beautifully. My daughter might have been able to, but she is dead now.’ An expression of intense melancholy crossed his bearded face and he sank his chin into his hand. For a moment he was quiet, and then he looked up, the fire back in his brilliant sea-green eyes. ‘But if you have the Talent, why will ye no’ sing the Fairgean to death?’
‘She is made for singing o’ love, no’ death,’ Jay said quietly. ‘Canna ye see?’
‘I see ye have a relic o’ the MacSeinn clan and willna use it to help us!’
‘But, my laird, if ye will just listen,’ Dide said. ‘I told ye we sang the song o’ love when we were attacked by the sea-faeries. My laird, the Fairgean were enchanted! They swam after our ship, crooning and whistling and throwing us fish. And later, when we were attacked by the Tìrsoilleirean navy and our ship sank, the Fairgean rescued us, swam with us to shore. My laird, do ye no’ think …?’
‘Sang the song o’ love,’ the MacSeinn replied scornfully. ‘That be a song for courtiers and troubadours, no’ a song for war!’
‘But we won them over, we forged a connection o’ sorts with them,’ Enit cried. ‘We could do the same in Carraig.’
‘Sing the song o’ love as an army o’ Fairgean warriors charge us with tridents raised?’ The MacSeinn’s voice was sardonic. ‘That would be one way to speed up the inevitable end—us all dead and the Fairgean ululating in triumph.’
‘Ye ken I have said so myself, Enit,’ Lachlan put in. ‘Any song o’ sorcery only works when the audience listens, and during a battle ye can hear little but the clash o’ arms and the screams o’ the wounded. And even when the audience does listen, they must hear with the heart and no’ just with the ear. Ye yourself taught me that. How should we sing them to peace when they are blinded and deafened by their hatred?’
‘But in Tìrsoilleir—’
‘Aye, but that was only a small group o’ warriors, ye said so yourself. We canna send ye and Dide and Jay out into the midst o’ a horde o’ ravening Fairgean like a band o’ wandering minstrels. It be too dangerous.’
Enit said nothing, her crippled fingers gripping the arms of her chair.
The MacSeinn snorted in exasperation. ‘This is what happens when ye invite women into a war council,’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘Ye get addled with soft notions and foolishness.’
‘Is that so?’ Iseult snapped. ‘Does that mean ye do no’ wish the benefit o’ my advice, my laird?’
The MacSeinn said nothing, his jaw clenched tight. Iseult said, very softly, ‘Remember that I am a Scarred Warrior, my laird. It does no’ matter whether ye are male or female upon the Spine o’ the World. All that matters is whether or no’ ye can fight. I did no’ earn these scars for nothing.’
‘O’ course, Your Highness,’ he said after a moment, with obvious difficulty. ‘No offence meant.’
Iseult did not answer, obviously fighting to contain her temper. Lachlan too was angry. He cast an exasperated look around the table and said, ‘We must no’ be arguing amongst ourselves all the time. If we are to defeat the Fairgean we must have a united front. Come, Isabeau says the Fairgean will be back in Carraig by Samhain or soon after. We must be there by then, and if we can, strike them hard and from two sides at once.’
Most of the Rìgh’s army, called the Greycloaks because of their camouflaging grey attire, were still deployed throughout Tìrsoilleir. It was decided that Lachlan should join them, along with the forces of the southern lairds and prionnsachan, so that they could attack Carraig from the east, sailing the majority of the men up the coast in the royal fleet. Since the troops of the NicThanach and the NicAislin would join them, as well as Iain and Elfrida’s men, they should be able to muster over ten thousand men and faeries, a sizable force indeed.
In the meantime, Fionnghal NicRuraich and the Duke of Lochslain would travel back to Rurach to speak with the MacRuraich and enlist his help. On the way, they would speak also with the MacAhern of Tìreich, whose cavalry was famous for its swiftness and bravery. Including the longbowmen of Ravenshaw, an army of three thousand or more could be raised to attack the Fairgean from the west.
‘That means a total o’ thirteen thousand soldiers, which is a strong force indeed,’ Duncan Ironfist said with some satisfaction. ‘Even though we shall have to fight the Fairgean in their own territory, we should have the advantage o’ numbers.’
‘We can swell that even more if your father decides to join us,’ Lachlan said to Iseult. ‘He has a few hundred men up there now and he is a Scarred Warrior himself and a bonny fighter. Which reminds me, do ye think he would speak to the Firemaker on our behalf? The Khan’cohbans have signed the Pact o’ Peace, which means they hav
e promised to aid us in times o’ trouble. They think o’ war as some kind o’ hobby, do ye think they would join us too?’
‘Maybe,’ Iseult said coolly. ‘They have no enmity with the Fairgean though, living so far from the sea. And I do no’ ken if they would be prepared to leave the snows to fight for a cause in which they have no interest.’
At the very slight stress in her words, Lachlan scowled. Duncan Ironfist said, ‘Besides, it would take months for them to mobilise. By the time a messenger rode into the mountains, persuaded the Khan’cohbans to our cause, and then rode back down to Rionnagan, it would be winter already. By the time they travelled round to join us in Carraig, a year or more would have passed. If only there was some way to cross the mountains into Carraig! Then we could strike from the south as well …’
‘But there is a way across the mountains,’ Iseult said.
They all stared at her incredulously.
‘Many have tried to cross the mountains and all have failed!’ Linley cried. ‘I myself have tried several times since Carraig was lost to me!’
‘Are ye sure, Iseult?’ Meghan said. ‘No’ once, in all the thousand years since our kind came to Eileanan, has anyone ever found a way across the mountains. That is why we have always relied so much on the sea routes.’
‘I imagine none has ever asked the Khan’cohbans,’ Iseult replied with great composure.
Linley laughed harshly. ‘The snow-faeries are one o’ the major reasons why we have never crossed the mountains. No’ to mention frost-giants, ogres, goblins, avalanches, sabre-leopards, snow-lions, wolves …’
‘Well, I have crossed the mountains myself,’ Iseult answered.
A volley of questions and exclamations followed her comment. She listened calmly, then said, ‘Ye can only cross during the summer months, when all the snow has melted in the higher passes. Then the danger o’ avalanches is much less too, and the frost-giants are hibernating. If ye were given permission to pass through the dragons’ valley, that would cut off almost a month from the travelling. Ye could do it from here in under three months if ye had sleighs.’
Everyone looked at each other eagerly. ‘If we sent a force across the mountains now, we could be there by autumn,’ Iain said, doing quick calculations in his head.
‘And ye could speak to the Khan’cohbans and persuade them to our cause on the way,’ Linley said eagerly.
Colour rose high in Iseult’s face, showing the two thin scars across her cheekbones. ‘But I canna go back to the Spine o’ the World!’ There was mingled longing and dismay in her voice. ‘No’ unless Lachlan comes too.’
Golden eyes met blue eyes in a long charged look, totally unaware of the cries of disappointment and outrage around them.
‘A commander must stay with his troops!’ the Duke of Gleneagles cried.
‘Ye canna leave command o’ the army to anyone else, no matter how able! How would the men feel? They all worship ye,’ the Duke of Killiegarrie said.
‘It is too dangerous, master,’ Dide cried. ‘Ye canna be risking yourself so!’
‘What would we do if ye were lost in an avalanche?’ Duncan said, troubled. ‘Remember how it was when ye were cursed and lay like the dead for months? All the lairds and guilds withdrew their support and we were stalled like a haycart bogged in mud. I fear it would no’ be wise, Your Highness.’
The Rìgh was clearly troubled. ‘I canna go through the mountains,’ he said. ‘I must go where the army goes. Alasdair is right, a commander stays with his troops.’
‘What is the problem?’ the MacSeinn demanded. ‘Her Highness can guide me and my men through the mountains and ye can lead your army around the lowlands. That way we strike from three directions. We canna help but triumph!’
‘But I canna leave ye,’ Iseult whispered to Lachlan. ‘I am in geas to ye.’
The MacSeinn leapt to his feet and leant forward on the table, his face hard with anger. ‘Surely this is no time to be clinging together like a pair o’ love-struck doves! No-one but the Banrìgh kens the way through the mountains. She must go!’
Other voices joined with his and Lachlan looked from one face to another, and then back to Iseult’s. She rose, her face very white and stern. ‘Do ye release me from my geas then?’
Still Lachlan hesitated, as many in the room exchanged mocking glances, thinking he could not bear to be parted from his wife for a scant few months. At last he nodded, holding Iseult’s eyes with his own. ‘Very well, I release ye. Ye shall go to the Spine o’ the World.’
She gave a low bow and genuflection that only Isabeau recognised as a formal Khan’cohban gesture, then turned and strode away, her back very straight.
Lachlan suddenly shouted after her, ‘Ye’ve been longing for the snows, do no’ try and say ye have no’!’
Iseult did not reply, closing the door sharply behind her.
Isabeau stared at Lachlan in dismay. ‘Do ye no’ realise what ye have done?’ she whispered. By the hot anger and misery in his golden eyes, she thought he came close.
Jay drew his bow over the strings of the viola, a cascade of music filling the air. The voice of the viola was deep and low, thrilling with tenderness. The song came to an end, and slowly Jay lowered his bow and opened his eyes.
With a start, he realised the heir to the throne of Rurach was sitting on his bed listening to him, stroking the silky black fur of the elven cat that lay sleepily upon her lap. She wore a green velvet riding habit, with a black plaid slung about her shoulders and pinned with a clan badge depicting a black wolf. Her chestnut-brown hair was pinned up under a rather dashing green tricorne hat, embellished with plumy black feathers.
‘Finn!’ he cried. ‘I dinna hear ye come in.’
‘I came to say goodbye, but ye were off in your usual sort o’ trance and I thought it might be dangerous to disturb ye,’ Finn said with a grin. ‘Like sleepwalkers, ye ken.’
Jay grinned rather ruefully. ‘Well, I’m rather glad ye dinna disturb me. I love that song.’
‘It’s aye bonny,’ Finn said. ‘Ye get better every day, Jay. All that time ye’ve spent practising is paying off.’ There was a faint note of pique in her voice.
‘Aye, I’ve been lucky to have had Nellwyn teaching me as well as Enit,’ Jay said eagerly. ‘She’s a true Yedda, trained at the Tower o’ Sea-singers and everything. There is so much she can teach me.’ Tenderly, he swaddled his viola with a length of silk and laid her back in her case.
‘I could find it in me to be jealous o’ that lump o’ wood,’ Finn said.
Jay’s eyes leapt up to hers, his colour deepening.
‘Though it is only a lump o’ wood,’ she went on. ‘Even if it does have a damn fine shape to it.’ She sighed and looked down at her own lithe, boyish figure. ‘Och well. Maybe I’d have a shape like that if I dinna spend so much time riding horses and climbing trees. And really, I’d rather be flat as a flounder and get to climb trees than otherwise.’
‘Well, ye are looking very bonny today,’ Jay said awkwardly.
She gave a little shrug. ‘Och, aye, as fine as a goat’s turd stuck with cowslips, that’s me. The Duke o’ Lochslain has high ideas about the manner in which a banprionnsa should present herself. The journey home is no’ going to be much fun, I fear.’
‘Did ye really come to say goodbye?’ Jay asked wistfully.
‘Aye, I’m afraid so,’ Finn answered, standing up and draping the elven cat over her shoulder. ‘So much for escaping my royal duties. Lachlan has promised me he’s written to my dai-dein, telling him I do no’ want to be a banprionnsa any more, but I hardly think Dai will pay much attention, given the rest o’ the news we carry. All I can say is he had better take me with him, because if I get stuck back at boring auld Castle Rurach I swear I really will run away! I’d rather eat toasted toads than have to sit around fiddling my thumbs while ye’re all off fighting wars and having adventures.’
‘Well, happen it will be a quick war and we can all come home soon, and go to the T
heurgia together, like we planned.’
‘Happen,’ Finn replied, without much hope in her voice. ‘Though I canna see it being a quick war, can ye?’
‘Nay,’ he answered unhappily.
‘I must go,’ she said. ‘The Duke o’ Lochslain already thinks me an undisciplined brat. If I keep him kicking his heels much longer, he’ll be giving my dai-dein a bad report o’ me and I really do want to be in Dai’s good books at the moment. Have a care for yourself, won’t ye? Dinna go thinking ye can win this war playing that bloody viola o’ yours.’
‘Nay,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Though I do think …’
‘Ye heard what Lachlan said,’ Finn said firmly. ‘Remember, if ye wish to be a witch ye must practise humility, modesty and obedience.’
‘Ye’re a fine one to talk!’ Jay cried, but she only laughed at him, grabbed him by the ear and kissed him on the side of his mouth. By the time he had recovered his breath, heat scorching his face, she had gone, the elven cat spitting at him from her shoulder.
‘So we ride to war once more,’ Lachlan said, leaning upon his great longbow. Iseult nodded, her face very calm. ‘But this time no’ together,’ he continued, searching her face with his eyes.
‘Nay, this time no’ together,’ she repeated, looking away from him, her mouth set in a firm line.
He put his arm around her shoulders and tried to draw her close. ‘It will feel peculiar, no’ having ye near me,’ he said softly. Although she did not resist his embrace, she stood stiffly within it and he eased away from her to again search her face for some clue to what she was feeling. But there was nothing. No anger, no sadness, no tenderness. Lachlan’s own mouth compressed and he walked away, his back very straight.
Isabeau stroked her twin’s arm comfortingly. ‘He does no’ really understand what it is he has done,’ she whispered. ‘He does no’ ken about geas.’
Iseult met her eyes in a long, intense gaze and there at last Isabeau saw how her sister was feeling. ‘He understands. In his heart he understands how important such a debt of honour is to those of Khan’cohban blood. He just did no’ want to say so in front o’ all those men.’ There was a faint trace of bitterness in her voice.
