The Fathomless Caves
Page 10
Meghan rose to speak with Enit before she was carried back up to her room, and Elfrida went to give her compliments to her chef. For a moment Isabeau was left alone at the high table with Lachlan.
There was a long silence. Isabeau said rather shyly, ‘I have never heard Enit sing before. Is she no’ wonderful?’
Lachlan nodded. ‘Aye, I have never heard her equal.’
Isabeau tried to think of something else to say. It occurred to her that she had never really been alone with Lachlan since that first meeting so many years ago. When they had met again, he had been Iseult’s husband, and crowned Rìgh soon after. She looked up at him through her lashes. He was staring moodily into his wine goblet. Obviously the silence did not bother him at all.
Suddenly he looked up, staring at her again. Hot and uncomfortable, Isabeau dropped her gaze, staring at her lily-and rose-strewn lap. ‘Do ye like my dress?’ she asked, rather at random. ‘Elfrida gave it to me. Is it no’ bonny?’
‘Very bonny,’ he answered with an odd inflection in his voice.
Conscious of that fierce unwavering gaze, she glanced up again, then away. With the fingers of her good hand she twisted her napkin about.
‘Ye look like ye did when we first met,’ Lachlan suddenly said, very low. ‘Your hair has grown long again. It was very long that first time, in the woods.’
Isabeau put a hand up to her hair self-consciously. ‘Aye, it was down to my knees back then. They cut it all off when I had the fever, after …’ She faltered.
‘After ye lost your fingers?’
Isabeau’s cheeks burnt. Unconsciously she tugged at the tapering cuff of her dress, pulling it lower so that her maimed hand was hidden. Lachlan held out his hand.
‘May I see?’
Isabeau hesitated, then slowly, reluctantly, held out her left hand. He took it in his, turned it over so the light of the candles fell full upon it. Where the two smallest fingers should have been were two deep, ugly pits of white scar tissue. The other two fingers and the thumb were bent and misshapen, though since Isabeau had swum in the Pool of Two Moons, she had regained the use of them.
Lachlan rubbed his thumb over the scars. ‘I am very sorry,’ he said with difficulty. ‘That is the fate ye saved me from, when ye rescued me that time. It should have been me that was tortured.’
Isabeau pulled her hand away. ‘I canna say that I’m glad to have taken your place,’ she said frankly, ‘but I am glad that ye were spared. Ye had already suffered enough.’
Lachlan nodded a little. ‘I am sorry though. I do no’ think I ever told ye so.’
‘Ye said ye’d never asked me to rescue ye.’ Remembered indignation brought the sparkle back to Isabeau’s eyes and she looked at him fully for the first time.
He smiled at her ruefully. ‘I was full o’ bitter rage at everyone and everything in those days,’ he said. ‘All I kent was that I had to escape the Awl, find Meghan, try to overthrow the Ensorcellor. It did no’ matter who was crushed on the way.’
‘But what about later?’ Isabeau said hotly. ‘Ye’ve always been very quick to fraitch wi’ me!’
Lachlan scowled and dropped his eyes. ‘I suppose I was angry wi’ ye for putting me in the wrong.’ Then he looked up, saying with an ironical smile, ‘Besides, ye must realise it was very confusing for me. Ye look just like Iseult. When I first met her, I thought it was ye, and when I met ye again, ye could have been her.’
‘I can imagine that must have been a wee bit confusing,’ Isabeau said, her laugh rather forced, her cheeks hot. ‘Hopefully ye can tell us apart by now though.’
His smile died. ‘Aye, o’ course.’
Isabeau looked at him hesitantly. Even as she was searching for the right words or gesture, she became aware of Dide coming up to the table, his guitar hanging from his hand, his black eyes turning from one to the other. She sat back, suddenly aware that she and Lachlan had leant close together in their conversation. Her cheeks heated again.
Frowning a little, Dide said to Lachlan, ‘Any requests for me, master?’
Lachlan’s expression was very sombre. ‘Play for me the song ye wrote about my brothers.’
Dide hesitated. ‘Master—’
‘Play it for me, Dide.’
The young earl nodded and went back to his seat, his face troubled. The melancholy tune crept out and filled the room, then Dide began to sing. His face dark with remembered grief, Lachlan signalled for the servants to fill his goblet once more.
‘Once there were four brothers true
Four brothers who together grew
Jesting and laughing together the four
In summer’s brightness and winter’s hoar.
O where have ye gone, where have ye gone, my brothers,
Leaving me all alone?
O where have ye gone, where have ye gone, my brothers,
Where have ye gone, my brothers?
One day a fair maiden rode by,
Whither she came none knew, or why.
As pale as seafoam was that maiden fair,
And black as night her silken hair.
O where have ye flown, where have ye flown, my brothers,
Turning my heart to stone?
O where have ye flown, where have ye flown, my brothers,
Where have ye flown, my brothers?
On the oldest brother she cast a spell,
Madly in love with her he fell,
That very week they were together wed,
Though the hearts of his three brothers bled.
O where have ye gone, where have ye gone, my brothers,
Leaving me all alone?
O where have ye gone, where have ye gone, my brothers,
Where have ye gone, my brothers?
For she held a mirror to their eyes,
laughing as in terror they cried,
first one, then another, and then the third,
were transformed into three blackbirds.
O where have ye flown, my black-winged birds,
Turning my heart to stone?
O where have ye flown, my black-winged brothers?
Where have ye flown, my brothers?
Flung into the dark lonely night,
Three blackbirds took desperate flight,
Upon their trail her cruel hawk flew,
First one, then another, to their deaths pursued.
O where have ye gone, where have ye gone, my brothers,
Your joyous life all turned to bone?
O where have ye gone, where have ye gone, my brothers,
Where have ye gone, my brothers?
Only the youngest, he flew free,
Hid in the branches of an old oak tree,
Five years he was trapped in the shape of a bird,
Though he sang and sang, none understood a word.
O where have ye flown, my black-winged birds,
Leaving me all alone?
O where have ye flown, my black-winged brothers?
Where have ye flown, my brothers?’
Isabeau listened in silence, little shivers running down her spine. The song was so very beautiful and so very sad, and she could not help an upwelling of sympathy and compassion for the young Rìgh, who had had his life destroyed by Maya and her sorcerous schemes. No wonder Lachlan hated the Fairgean, when they had killed his father and all three of his brothers.
When the song had finished, she rose and said, without looking at Lachlan, ‘It grows late, Your Highness. I think I shall go to bed.’
Lachlan nodded, glancing up from the dregs of his wine to say very softly, ‘Sleep well, Isabeau.’
‘Thank you,’ she answered and went swiftly out of the room, once again feeling as if tears would choke her. She did not know what it was that had moved her so powerfully, whether it was just because she had been so emotionally wrought up since her Sorceress Test, or whether this new warmth of Lachlan’s pierced all the armour she had constructed against him. All she knew was that her emotions were in turmoil.
There a long table had been set up, loaded with fruits and cereals and silver pots of piping hot tea. Gravely Isabeau greeted those already seated at the table. Though most smiled at her and returned her greeting, Lachlan merely shot her a searching glance before returning his attention to his plate. Despite his brusqueness, Isabeau was immediately aware of the tension simmering away under the surface.
Dide leapt up and pulled out a chair for her, saying teasingly, ‘I see we have lost Beau the belle o’ the ball and have back our stern sorceress. How are ye yourself, my bonny?’
She sat down, cursing her fair skin which showed the rush of blood to her face so clearly. ‘I am well, thank ye,’ she replied and served herself some of the rather odd-looking marsh fruits, which were enclosed within a thick prickly skin that stung her fingers as she peeled it. The flesh within was tender and white, however, and spurted into her mouth with a piquant sweetness.
Iain said warmly, ‘It be a lovely day, Isabeau. Elfrida and I thought we’d get together a party to sail up the river to see the golden goddess, who is in full bloom right now. Have ye heard o’ our golden goddess? It is a flower, ye ken, as tall as ye and, unlike ye, always hungry for meat. They are carnivorous, did ye ken? My ancestors were wont to throw unwelcome intruders to her, which may explain some at least o’ Arran’s fearsome reputation. She is bonny indeed, though, and well worth seeing.’
He cast a sly glance at the young earl, saying, ‘Happen ye’d fain taste Arran’s famous mulled wine, Isabeau, made from the golden goddess honey. I am sure Dide for one would fain drink a toast with ye.’
Both Lachlan and Dide looked up, one frowning, the other laughing.
‘Thank you but I’ve tasted o’ the honeyed wine,’ Isabeau replied gravely.
‘Is that so?’ Dide demanded. ‘And wi’ whom, may I ask?’
‘None o’ your business,’ Isabeau replied, smiling.
There was much laughter and teasing comments from those gathered around the table. Dide pretended to be mortally wounded, holding his heart and rolling his eyes back in his head. ‘Och, ye are cruel,’ he protested. ‘Never mind, if ye’ve drunk it once, ye’ll be eager to taste it again and I am here, at your service as always, my lady.’
‘I’ll order the punts then,’ Elfrida said through the laughter. ‘Meghan, will ye come too?’
Lachlan stood up abruptly. ‘We have no time for dillydallying,’ he said harshly. ‘I’ll thank ye to order our guides instead. I am grateful for your hospitality but we all must be on our way.’
Elfrida’s face fell. ‘Oh, but Your Highness, I was hoping …’
‘Will ye no’ bide a wee?’ Iain said gently. ‘We have all been on the march for months now, Lachlan. We were hoping we could take the time to rest.’
‘I have no time for feasts and picnics,’ Lachlan said harshly. ‘If we are to have all our men in position by autumn, we must make haste. Who kens how long it will take? Nay, we must be on the road again just as soon as we can reprovision and mobilise.’ He threw the end of his plaid over his shoulder, thrust the Lodestar deeper into its sheath and walked away, his black wings held stiffly behind him. His gyrfalcon gave a melancholy cry and flew after him. Without looking up, Lachlan held out his gauntleted wrist for the great white bird to drop down upon.
There was a momentary silence. Elfrida clung to Iain’s arm, her grey eyes brimming with tears, her lip trembling. ‘Oh, Iain, I had hoped we could bide a wee …’
Iain was clearly disappointed that he could spend only the one night in Arran but he comforted his wife, saying, ‘Do no’ greet, sweetling. Ye ken ye spent too little time in Bride as it is. Ye are Banprionnsa there now, ye must make yourself kent to your people. And I must go to war, that is the way o’ it.’
‘But what if …?’ she wept. Iain drew her close and kissed her, smoothing back her fair hair.
‘Do no’ even think it, Elf, let alone say it,’ he warned. ‘Eà will turn her bright face upon us, I am sure o’ it. We canna have come so far and against such odds to fail at the last ditch. Besides, do ye no’ remember how Lachlan drew upon the Lodestar and cast all the pirate ships to the winds? Such a man canna lose, I promise ye.’
The Duke of Killiegarrie had stood up and was giving terse orders to his lieutenants, his thick dark brows meeting over his nose. The NicAislin’s men were grumbling under their breath as they hurriedly drank down their tea and crammed in the last morsel of toast. It was clear none were happy at the directive to mobilise again immediately.
‘I hope that cursehag o’ yours has made the dragonbane for us already,’ Duncan said gruffly, ‘for the mood his Highness is in, I do no’ think he’ll be happy if he has to bide much longer.’
‘I’ll send a messenger to Shannagh o’ the Swamp now,’ Iain replied, frowning. ‘We’re going to need that dragonbane.’
Dide stood up also, smiling at Isabeau ruefully. ‘Well, my Beau, we shall just have to drink that honeyed wine together another time. No rest for the wicked, as they say.’
‘But he is such a strange moody man,’ Elfrida said unhappily. ‘I do no’ understand him at all. What would another day or two matter? Why could ye no’ stay here where ye are all comfortable, instead o’ riding out to camp in the marshes tonight?’
Iain said rather tightly, ‘He is right, sweetling. Midsummer has been and gone and we have a long way to go and much to do. Please try to understand.’
Meghan had been standing at the low stone balustrade, staring out at the serene blue loch. Isabeau realised she was watching a group of Mesmerdean nymphs who were hovering a short distance away, their many-faceted eyes flashing a metallic hue in the sun. The old sorceress turned at Elfrida’s words and said now, with much the same harsh arrogance as the Rìgh: ‘Lachlan is right, Elfrida NicHilde, and ye should ken it, being the descendant of the Bright Warrior-maid herself. Many a war has been lost because an army was too slow to mobilise.’ She turned back and stared at the watching marsh-faeries. Isabeau thought she heard her say, very low: ‘Besides, we canna leave too soon for my liking.’
Isabeau went up to her and slid her hand under her elbow. Meghan pressed her hand closer. ‘Happen I am growing auld,’ she said softly, ‘but I dread this coming war. I have fought the Fairgean before, a long time ago. They are no’ easy to defeat.’
‘But ye triumphed over them,’ Isabeau said reassuringly. ‘Ye helped Jaspar raise the Lodestar and together ye swept them back to the sea. Ye and Lachlan shall do so again.’
‘But Jaspar had been properly trained, and still he could no’ fully master the Lodestar,’ Meghan said, a hot ache of misery in her voice. ‘Lachlan spent the years he should have been studying trapped in the shape o’ a blackbird. And he is so quick to lose his temper, so prone to melancholy. It is no’ enough to have strength o’ will and desire to control the powers o’ the Lodestar, no’ nearly enough. One needs mastery o’ oneself.’
‘But ye—’
Meghan turned a fierce black gaze upon her. ‘I will no’ be here, Isabeau. Do ye no’ realise that? The red comet shall rise in only a few more months and then I shall be dead.’
Isabeau was too shaken with grief and misery to speak. Meghan stared at her. ‘I will be dead,’ she said softly, ‘and Lachlan shall have to raise the Lodestar alone. Do ye wonder that I fear for ye all?’
After a moment Isabeau was able to say fiercely, ‘Do no’ speak that way, Meghan. Happen we can do something …’
Meghan shook her head. ‘There is naught ye can do. Have I no’ given the Mesmerdean my word? Come th
e rising o’ the red comet I shall be dead.’
Isabeau had to swallow hard before she could speak. ‘By then we shall have defeated the Fairgean,’ she said with a confidence she did not feel.
Meghan shook her head. ‘Defeat them so easily? I think no’. Besides, there is something I have no’ told ye. Jorge foretold the rising o’ the Fairgean with the rising o’ the red comet. He saw the sea itself rear up and flood the land …’
I saw the scaly sea rise and flood the land, the Red Wanderer like a bloody gash in the sky. That is when they will come, with the rising o’ the red comet the Fairgean shall come …Jorge’s words echoed in the space between them as if the old seer himself spoke.
Memory suddenly rose up in Isabeau like a great dark wave itself, flooding her so that for a moment she trembled and almost fainted. Meghan seized her arm and supported her, while Buba hooted in dismay. Isabeau came back to full consciousness to hear Meghan saying sharply, ‘What is it? Isabeau …’
‘I have had the same vision,’ she said shakily. ‘In the eyes o’ the queen-dragon. I saw the Red Wanderer burning in the sky, its tail a streak of fire. The sea reared up into a gigantic black wave, taller than any tower I’ve seen, and came crashing down upon a forest, drowning it. It was horrible …’
Meghan regarded her gravely. ‘It seems ye have a Talent for future-seeing, my Beau. Why did ye no’ tell me this?’
Involuntarily Isabeau glanced at the sacred Key of the Coven, hanging on Meghan’s chest. Clearly she remembered the sight of her own maimed hand cradling the star within the circle, which had hung upon her own chest. That had been the last of the visions she had seen in the queen-dragon’s eyes and the one that had stayed with her.
Meghan’s hand rose swiftly to cover the Key, and Isabeau raised her eyes and met the fierce gaze of the Keybearer. There was no need to speak.
‘So,’ Meghan said at last, ‘ye too have had visions o’ the conjuring o’ a tidal wave to drown the land. I wonder how the Fairgean plan to enact such a spell. They are creatures o’ the sea, they have no affinity with things o’ fire magic like the comet.’
‘Maya drew upon the comet magic,’ Isabeau reminded her.