by Kate Forsyth
There the royal fleet was stuck for almost a week, struggling in the gusty aftermath of the gale to repair the ships. And there they were ambushed by the Fairgean. The sea-faeries slipped up to the damaged ships under the cover of darkness, so silently and so swiftly that they were swarming over the railings before a single alarm could be sounded. Savage hand-to-hand fighting resulted. In such close quarters the seafire could not be used, nor the giant ballistas and cannons lined up along every deck. It was sword against trident, dagger against dagger, webbed fist against fist. When the fighting grew too fierce, the Fairgean dived back into the water and swam back out to sea.
Plagued by foul weather and constant ambushes, the fleet took twenty-two days to reach the Firth of Forlorn, a journey they had expected to take ten. Another four ships were lost, one being incinerated by its own load of seafire after a capricious wind changed just at the wrong moment.
By the time the Firth of Forlorn was reached, the mood upon the Royal Stag was grim. All had hoped they would be able to sail up the coast without even sighting a Fairgean. Isabeau grew defensive since it had been on her knowledge of the Fairgean migratory habits that the plan had been based.
‘It is no’ my fault,’ she protested one evening. ‘The Fairgean have obviously swum north earlier than usual. They were expecting a strike against them, ye ken that …’
‘Och, aye, so our Fairge spy has told us,’ the Rìgh replied acidly, glancing at Maya, who was sitting placidly at the far end of the cabin, playing trictrac with Bronwen.
The former Banrìgh had been kept under close custody ever since her capture at Bride Harbour. Isabeau had been afraid Lachlan would lose his judgement in his hot desire for revenge against his brother’s wife but she had misjudged him. Much as Lachlan hated Maya, he knew she could prove useful indeed in the war against the Fairgean. Maya knew more about the customs and beliefs of the sea-faeries than anyone and she swore that she wished only to ensure her and Bronwen’s safety. Besides, Lachlan knew he had more to gain by putting Maya on trial for her crimes and showing the people of the land that he was a fair and just rìgh than there was in killing her out of hand.
So Maya sailed with them and had been of some use in explaining the military formation of the pods and what their likely strategies would be. The Fairge had remained composed the entire journey. Despite the iron cuff and chain she wore on one wrist, she acted as if she was an honoured guest rather than a prisoner-of-war. Bronwen was overjoyed to have her mother back again, though she was humiliated by the chain and angry at Lachlan for insisting upon it. She would have unlocked Maya if she could have. Isabeau had to warn her to be careful not to arouse Lachlan’s anger.
‘The Rìgh could have your mother locked down in the bilges if he so chose,’ she had admonished. ‘And remember, she is safer here than out there in the open sea, for if the Fairgean caught her they’d put her to death straightaway. Ye ken your family motto is “Wisely and Boldly”? Well, now is the time to be wise, no’ bold.’
Now, biting back angry words, Isabeau looked across at the two sleek dark heads bent over the trictrac board. ‘We always kent this would be a bitterly fought campaign,’ she said softly. ‘I ken it is a hard blow to have lost eleven ships afore we even reach the Firth o’ Forlorn, but we could’ve lost more wi’ all these gales. Indeed, I think this priestess-witch o’ the Fairgean must be descended from weather witches, for indeed these storms canna be natural.’
‘She must be aye powerful,’ Lachlan said gloomily. ‘I am meant to have a Talent with weather too, but even with the Lodestar and the circle o’ witches, it is all I can do no’ to lose the entire fleet!’
Maya looked up. ‘Do no’ forget the Fairgean have their own magic,’ she said coolly. ‘Nila told me that he saw Fand using the Nightglobe o’ Naia. That is the most powerful talisman o’ the Priestesses o’ Jor, and far more ancient than your wee orb.’
Isabeau and Lachlan just stared at her, then the Rìgh’s brows knotted together. ‘Is it eavesdropping ye are now?’ he demanded angrily.
‘No’ at all,’ Maya replied sweetly. ‘Did ye no’ ken the Fairgean have very acute hearing? We can find our way safely by listening to the echoes o’ our whistles bouncing back from rock or iceberg or whale. If ye wish me no’ to hear what ye say, ye should no’ talk anywhere near me.’
Lachlan’s colour deepened. ‘Thank ye so much for telling me,’ he said with dangerous calm.
‘No’ at all,’ she answered and turned back to her game.
Lachlan glared at her, seething, then rose and caught up his plaid. ‘Come and walk on the deck with me then, Beau,’ he said through his teeth. ‘We dinna want the Fairge listening to all that we say.’
‘Do no’ be walking just overhead then,’ Maya said without looking up.
Isabeau followed Lachlan out onto the deck. It was grey and blustery, spray slapping them in the face as the Royal Stag pitched forward in the wild seas. To the port side, high cliffs soared out of the sea, waves smashing violently upon the rocks at their base. Many spectacular crags reared up out of the waves, some forming archways with the mainland. To the starboard side the grey ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by the tall, triangular peaks of many small islands. They looked like giant shark fins.
Lachlan stared out at the horizon, his black brows drawn close over his eyes, his mouth grim. ‘I wish I had no’ brought the bairns,’ he burst out.
‘Why did ye?’ Isabeau asked. ‘A war campaign is no’ the place for bairns.’
‘I wanted to keep them close,’ Lachlan answered. ‘I kent we could be away for many months. It seems I’ve spent all o’ Donncan’s childhood away fighting one battle or another. I never really kent my father. He was killed by the Fairgean king at the Battle o’ the Strand when I was only three. I did no’ want that to happen to my bairns.’
Isabeau was silent. She thought of Owein and Olwynne, in the midst of their second year, fighting constant seasickness down in their cabin. She thought of Donncan, not yet seven, who had seen one dreadful sea battle after another. Isabeau herself had been sickened by the conflagrations of seafire, and she was no innocent child.
‘Donncan has been waking with nightmares,’ she said. ‘Every creak o’ the ship has him starting awake in terror.’
Lachlan nodded. ‘He wants his mother,’ he said. ‘I want her too. Oh, Beau, will she come back? She was so angry …’
‘She’ll come back,’ Isabeau said. ‘Wait until we reach Castle Forlorn. Iseult will be waiting for ye there, I’m sure o’ it.’
Lachlan gave a little shiver, his wings rustling. ‘What a name,’ he whispered. ‘Indeed the MacSeinns are a strange, melancholy clan. Who would call their castle such a thing?’
They saw Castle Forlorn the next morning at dawn. It was a bleak, cold morning, the waves running high below the prows of the ships, seagulls crying plaintively. They all clustered at the port side, staring up at the small fortress built at the very height of the headland guarding the entrance into the Firth of Forlorn. Once it had been a tall, proud tower, guarded by high walls and thick flying buttresses. Now it seemed no more than a tumbled pile of stones, dwarfed by the immense height of the cliff.
‘It’s naught but a ruin,’ Dide said in disbelief. ‘We canna take shelter there. We shall have to rebuild the whole damn thing!’
‘Nay, look!’ Isabeau cried, her keen eyesight seeing what the others had not. ‘It flies a blue and gold flag. The MacSeinn must be there!’
The fleet of ships came round the headland, the Royal Stag leading with a billow of white sails. The green flag of the MacCuinn clan flew proudly from every mast. The Firth of Forlorn stretched before them, guarded on each side by a great headland surmounted by a ruined fortress. The one on the far side was called Castle Forsaken. If everything had gone according to plan, Anghus MacRuraich would already be there with his men. It was too far across the firth to see if the wolf ensign of the MacRuraich clan flew there, but they could see a thin co
lumn of smoke rising from the ruins.
‘The Fairgean canna make fire so it must be the MacRuraich,’ Isabeau reassured them.
‘Do ye really think so?’ Jay asked wistfully, leaning against the rail and staring across at the trail of smoke.
‘I certainly hope so,’ Lachlan said. ‘That is the worst o’ being at sea, we canna scry over water and so we have no way o’ communicating with each other. Just as soon as we have landed I shall send Stormwing across with a message. We shall soon ken if it is the MacRuraich.’
‘I wonder if Finn is wi’ him?’ Jay murmured. ‘She was determined she would no’ be left behind this time.’
‘Och, then I’d say she’s there,’ Lachlan replied with a wry grin. ‘Even if she had to conceal herself in the baggage train to get there!’
The fleet of ships tacked against the wind and sailed in through the headlands. Rising out of the grey water was an island that rose high into a pointed peak, its apex concealed by a wreath of hazy cloud. Faintly through the dark smudge of smoke they could see the shape of a wall and a broken arch. It was all that remained of the Tower of Sea-singers.
‘The Isle o’ the Gods,’ Maya said, triumph ringing out in her voice. She hugged Bronwen close to her side, the chain about her wrist jangling. ‘See, Bronny? That is the divine home o’ the Fairgean. Within its Fathomless Caves all the gods o’ the world were born— Jor the God of the Shoreless Seas, Mika the thunder god, Tahsha the ice god, Muki the god of our soul-brothers the whales, Ryza the god of dreams … All were born there and spat out into the world in the fiery breath of the Mother of all Gods, Kani, the goddess of earthquakes and volcanoes.’
Maya hugged Bronwen closer, giving a strange little shiver that could have been fear or joy. She then raised herself proudly, looking across at Lachlan defiantly. ‘Do ye ken I have never afore seen the Isle o’ the Gods, the most sacred place for all Fairgean? When I was born, the Fairgean lived on rafts or clung to auld bits o’ driftwood or whatever rocks the humans did no’ bother to guard. If we tried to swim ashore we were beaten to death or sung into oblivion by the evil Yedda. When I was about the same age as Bronny, or happen a wee younger, I was taken to the Isle o’ Divine Dread.’ She pointed back at another island peak that rose black and forbidding behind them. ‘That is the island o’ the Priestesses o’ Jor. I did no’ see daylight again for many, many years.’
She laughed. It was a terrible laugh, full of a ferocious glee that had them all staring at her. Even Bronwen shrank back. ‘Ye are in the heart o’ the Fairgean waters now, MacCuinn,’ Maya said. ‘Indeed I always kent ye were a fool.’
Lachlan stared at the smoking island, his hands nervously gripping and releasing the shaft of the Lodestar, his face drained of colour. A few of the other men made mocking replies, full of bravado, but the Rìgh said nothing. He could not take his eyes off the Isle of the Gods.
From high above the deck they heard a shrill, frightened cry. ‘Sea-serpents, Cap’n, hundreds o’ them! Coming this way.’
The lookout’s cry broke the spell that seemed to have fallen upon Lachlan. He raised his hand to his eyes and stared out across the waves. Isabeau could clearly see the long, undulating shapes of sea-serpents swimming towards them. In a tight wedge shape behind each sea-serpent were the smaller shapes of horse-eels, swollen to immense size, each ridden by a Fairgean warrior. The swift, sleek forms of more warriors leapt through the waves on either side.
‘All hands on deck!’ Admiral Tobias cried.
The bosun blew his whistle shrilly. ‘All hands on deck!’ he shouted.
‘We just need to make it to the harbour below Castle Forlorn,’ called Lachlan. ‘If the MacSeinn is there already, they will have remade the fortifications.’
‘Get the seafire ready,’ the admiral ordered. ‘Load the cannons and the ballista!’
‘Load the cannons!’ the bosun shouted. ‘Ready the ballista, starboard side!’
Amidst the flurry of activity, Lachlan said coldly, ‘Take the prisoner below deck, chain her to her bunk. Her daughter too. We want no treachery now.’
Maya laughed again. Her long black hair whipped about her scarred face, her strange pale eyes shone. ‘We rely on ye, MacCuinn, to keep us safe. Ye think I want to be fodder for a sea-serpent this morn?’
‘Take her away,’ he ordered.
Bronwen cried out as two sailors clamped their hands on her arms. ‘But Lachlan, if ye chain them they will drown should we be sunk!’ Isabeau protested.
‘If we are sunk we all drown,’ he replied tersely. ‘I think the Fairge and her get have a better chance o’ no’ drowning than any o’ us. They at least have gills.’
Donncan shrank back against Isabeau, his face pale and frightened. As Bronwen called out again, the sailors half carrying, half dragging her struggling towards the hatch, he protested, close to tears. Lachlan went down on one knee and hugged him, his great black wings cupping the frightened little boy. ‘Do no’ be afraid,’ he said. ‘None o’ us shall drown. Our ship is swift and strong. All we need do is race those sea-serpents to safe harbour. Now ye go down below as well, and look after your wee brother and sister. Brun shall go with ye.’
‘Nay, I want Aunty Beau!’ Donncan cried.
Isabeau knelt beside Lachlan, his wing brushing her arm. Donncan huddled against her, tears streaking his face. ‘Go with Brun,’ she said gently. ‘I must stay on deck to help Aunty Meghan and the other witches. We need the wind to blow us sure if we are to make it past the sea-serpents. Do no’ be afraid, dearling.’
He clung to her but she stood up, unhooking his hands and pushing him into the arms of his frightened nursemaid. Brun stood nearby, his ears twitching nervously, his tail drooping. Donncan began to cry in earnest.
‘Donncan,’ Lachlan said sternly. ‘I need ye to be brave now. I canna stay with ye and neither can Aunty Beau. Ye must go below deck and stay there till I call ye. Do ye understand?’
‘Aye, Dai-dein,’ he answered, lip trembling, then took Brun’s hairy little paw. ‘Come on, Brun,’ he said. ‘Do no’ be afraid. We’ll go down together.’
Hand in paw, the little boy and the cluricaun climbed down the ladder together, followed closely by the bogfaery Maura, her black wrinkled face scrunched up in fear.
Isabeau pressed her hands against her chest as if she thought that would calm the hammering of her heart. Quickly she joined the other witches upon the forecastle deck in the now familiar joining of the circle. Holding hands with Dide and Gwilym, she chanted the rites and called upon the winds of the world to do their bidding. They all felt the ship leap forward as her sails filled to breaking point.
Ahead of them was the cliff, the sea torn into turmoil at its base by wicked rocks. Isabeau could see how it curved round into a small natural harbour, surrounded on all three sides by cliffs, its mouth protected by a high wall and a massive gate of enmeshed steel. The fleet of fifty-three ships had to pass through that gate in time for it to clang shut behind them, locking the Fairgean out. It was slowly groaning open now, the gap between gate and wall growing wider and wider. Isabeau stared from the gate to the sea-serpents, who raced towards them at an incredible speed.
Long, slim, sinuous as a snake, the sea-serpents were emerald green, with small heads rising high out of the water. A golden crest ran down the length of their necks, while spectacular flowing fins surrounded their gaping jaws and sprouted from their shoulders like wings. The warriors rode astride the neck, between the two sets of fins. Although the sea-serpents rose and plunged at enormous speeds, they never lowered their heads into the water and so the warriors were only ever immersed in water to their waist.
Closer and closer they came, until Isabeau could see the tusked faces of the warriors, their necks heavy with necklaces, their long black hair flowing down their backs. The gate of the harbour was wide open now, but it looked as if the sea-serpents must cut them off before they could reach it. Isabeau gripped Dide’s hand.
‘Fire!’ cried the admiral.
The ballista had been wheeled across to the port side and secured to the deck. Designed like an enormous crossbow, the two arms of the bow were held in tension, with the string operated by a windlass. When this windlass was released, a poison-tipped arrow was projected forward at immense speed. Isabeau watched it fly across the waves and embed itself in the glossy scales of one of the sea-serpents. The sinuous creature reared up, screaming in pain, lunged forward once more, then suddenly began to thrash about in agony. Its rider was thrown into the water. They could see him desperately trying to keep afloat as the sea was whipped into chaos, then he was crushed beneath the writhing coils.
It took a long time for the sea-serpent to die. Isabeau hid her face against Dide’s shoulder as Meghan said sombrely, ‘Dragonbane is an evil concoction. To think I saved the dragon-prince from this fate, sickened by Maya’s use o’ it, only to inflict it now upon the sea-serpents. Indeed, war makes all o’ us evil.’
Again and again the ballistas whined from every ship in the royal fleet. Although sea-serpent after sea-serpent succumbed to the baleful poison, still the Fairgean warriors raced towards them, shouting and brandishing their tridents. Once the enemy was within bombardment distance, the cannons began to fire their heavy bronze balls and the air was filled with foul-smelling black smoke.
‘We willna make it!’ Isabeau cried in despair, watching as cannonball after cannonball splashed into the water and sank without hitting their mark. Cannons were notoriously unreliable and were not really designed to be used against a target as swift and agile as sea-serpents and horse-eels.
‘They’ll have to bring out the seafire now,’ Dide said grimly. Sure enough, the bosun was shouting his orders and the barrels of seafire were being gingerly rolled out. Very carefully the viscous liquid within was siphoned into glass jars, which were then corked firmly and loaded into the mangonels. The seafire was so very volatile that no-one felt comfortable using it, and it was always kept as a very last measure.
