The Shining City

by Kate Forsyth

  The Rìgh and Banrìgh always ate breakfast alone in their private suite. For the rest of the day they would be mobbed by servants, guards, courtiers, guild-masters, foreign ambassadors and visitors to the court. Each day was too short for all that must be done, and often Lachlan and Iseult did not see each other again until the evening meal, which was usually eaten in the great hall with the rest of the court. This small time in the morning was therefore precious to them both, a time to share the intimate conversation of husband and wife.

  Usually, the meal was brought to them in their blue-and-gilt sitting room by a train of servants, under the stern eye of the palace chamberlain, Roy Steward, whose family had served the MacCuinns for generations. After the trays had been unloaded, Roy and the other servants would withdraw, leaving only the royal couple’s squires to wait on them. This morning Lewen was sharing the duty with Owein, who was waiting upon his mother. Both boys were neatly attired in their court livery, Owein’s cut to accommodate his long red-feathered wings.

  ‘Is that a letter from Donncan I spy beside your plate?’ the Rìgh said to his wife, spreading griddle-cakes with bellfruit jam.

  Iseult looked up and smiled. ‘Aye, it is. I’m almost afraid to open it, in case he says he canna make it home for Beltane. Twice now he’s postponed his return! I dinna ken what entertainment Elfrida is putting on for him, but it must be something special, he has stayed there so long.’

  ‘Hunting, I’d say,’ Lachlan said tolerantly. ‘He does no’ need to fear his teachers’ displeasure now he’s finished with school and I hear the sport is good in Arran in the wintertime.’

  Owein rolled his eyes at Lewen and mouthed silently, Lucky duck!

  Lewen shook his head slightly. Squires were meant to be deaf, dumb and invisible.

  ‘I’m glad he’s enjoying himself,’ Iseult said, ‘but I do wish he’d come home. He’s been gone since Hogmanay! He has a wedding to prepare for.’

  ‘Happen that’s why he’s reluctant to come home,’ Lachlan said.

  ‘But why? I thought he was eager to be married. The way he looks at Bronwen, I thought he could hardly wait to jump the fire with her.’

  ‘I think he can hardly wait to jump into bed with her,’ Lachlan said dryly, causing Owein to grin and wink at Lewen, who stared stolidly ahead, willing himself not to smile. ‘Whether he’s as keen to commit himself to a lifetime with her, well, that I canna tell. He’s only young.’

  ‘Twenty-four now, and a man grown,’ Iseult said tartly. ‘Ye were his age when we jumped the fire together.’

  ‘Aye, but things were different for me. By the time I became a man, I had been exiled from home and family for years, and lived six o’ them in the shape o’ a blackbird. I had been ensorcelled, betrayed, and hunted almost to my death. All I dreamt o’ was a family o’ my own. I longed so much for someone to love. Donncan has had a different life. He’s been so cosseted and confined, I do no’ wonder he wants to run wild for a while.’

  Lewen could not help glancing at the Rìgh in surprise. Despite being his squire for four years, he had never heard him speak so openly about his time as a rebel and outcast. Lewen had only ever known Lachlan the Winged as the strong Rìgh he was now, a tall, dark, broad man with burly shoulders and a full beard clawed with white. White streaked upwards from his left temple too, and wound itself through his thick, dark curls to the end of his ponytail. Lewen knew this blaze of white in the Rìgh’s hair was no sign of approaching decrepitude. It was the mark of the Lodestar, and the sign of a true MacCuinn. It only made him seem more regal. Hearing his Rìgh reveal such vulnerabilities made Lewen feel suddenly uncomfortable.

  Owein was gazing at his father with his mouth open, looking dumbfounded. Lewen mimicked his expression in exaggerated form, then lifted one hand and tapped under his own chin, closing his mouth. Owein grimaced at him then stood up straighter, his mouth shut, his eyes gazing ahead. Lewen did the same.

  ‘Och, aye, I suppose that’s true,’ Iseult was saying. ‘But it’s been almost three months, surely he should come home?’

  ‘I wonder if he’s heard all the gossip about his wife-to-be?’ Lachlan said. ‘Certainly, Bronwen seems to have been amusing herself in his absence. Happen he’s heard o’ all her antics and is staying away because he’s hurt, or angry.’

  ‘Surely he’s no’ such a fool,’ Iseult said impatiently. ‘What has the lass done, apart from hold a few noisy parties and dress like a whore? The problem is, the court has naught to do but gossip. We should send them out to fight a sea-serpent or two, or to hunt down renegade ogres. Then they’d ken they’re alive.’

  ‘That’d be something to see,’ Lachlan said mildly. ‘The Dowager Duchess o’ Rammermuir, out on an ogre hunt.’

  Lewen stifled a smile. The Dowager Duchess of Rammermuir was a very stout woman with three immense chins and an equally fat lap dog who smelt horrible and had to be carried everywhere by her maid. Although she had a pretty estate of her own, in the lowlands of Rionnagan, the Dowager Duchess was rarely to be found away from court, enjoying stirring the ever-boiling broth of scandal and adding various tasty tidbits of her own imagining. Her son, the Duke of Rammermuir, was one of Lachlan’s councillors and a very sound adviser, so Lachlan tended to forgive him his mother and think her gossip-mongering amusing. Iseult, however, had no patience for the ladies of the court and found the Dowager Duchess of Rammermuir more repulsive than most.

  So she did not smile at Lachlan’s comment. This was not unusual, however. In general, the Banrìgh was stern and straight-backed, more prone to sharp flashes of temper or scorn than merriment. Lewen was not alone in finding her intimidating. Her face was marked on either cheek with long white slashes where she had been scarred as a young woman in the custom of her people, the Khan’cohbans of the snowy heights. Her red-gold hair was smoothed back and coiled tightly at the nape of her neck, and she wore little jewellery, just a ring on either hand, and the brooch that pinned her white tartan plaid around her shoulders.

  Since she was in charge of overseeing the training of the Yeomen, the Banrìgh was often dressed in leather breeches and boots, with her heavy weapons belt about her trim waist. Today, though, she was receiving deputations from the Far Isles in the great hall and so was dressed more conservatively in a simple gown of blue linen, slashed to show a white under-dress. The skirt had been designed to allow her freedom of movement, however, and she wore, as always, a sharp dagger and an eight-pointed, star-shaped weapon called a reil hanging from her embroidered girdle.

  ‘If Donncan is going to let the stupid fools o’ this court disrupt this wedding, I shall be so angry,’ she said, tearing a soft bread roll to pieces. ‘He should ken better than to listen to gossip!’

  ‘Why do ye no’ open the letter and see what he has to say?’ Lachlan asked, draining his cup. Lewen stepped forward and would have poured him more, but the Rìgh waved his hand and smiled, and he stepped back into his place behind the Rìgh’s chair.

  ‘Och, aye, then, I will,’ Iseult said.

  She picked up the letter and Owein at once stepped forward and offered her his knife, hilt first. She took it with a smile and a nod, and cut open the envelope. There was silence for a few moments as she read the letter, then the Banrìgh looked up with a smile.

  ‘He’s on his way home. He’s written this from Dùn Eidean. Neil’s with him, and so are Iain and Elfrida. They should be here by the end o’ the month.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Lachlan said, wiping his mouth and laying down his napkin. ‘I havena seen Iain in close on a year. I’ll be glad to speak with him and Elfrida about these reports I’ve been getting from Tìrsoilleir. I’ve written to her three times already, and have had naught but sweet platitudes in response.’

  ‘That’s Elfrida for ye,’ Iseult said caustically. She laid down her knife and fork on her plate, and made a slight motion as if to rise. At once Owein pulled out her chair for her. She rose, her skirt gathered up in one hand, and smiled at him.

  ‘Nice
ly done, dearling. I think we’ll make a courtier out o’ ye after all.’

  ‘Ye dinna see all the faces he was pulling,’ Lachlan said dryly. ‘And I thought he would choke on his own tongue when ye said Bronwen dressed like a whore.’

  ‘Well, she does,’ Iseult said. ‘Though, mind ye, the ladies o’ the court used to say the same thing about me.’

  ‘Actually I think they said ye dressed like a stable-lad, which is a far more cutting insult in their minds,’ Lachlan said. ‘O’ course, they are used to your breeches now, and it is hardly uncommon nowadays for women to wear them riding or learning to fight. I do no’ think anyone would raise an eyebrow if Bronwen wore them all day long. I think it’s rather her lack o’ clothing the ladies o’ the court object to.’

  ‘She’s just showing off,’ Iseult said. ‘The Fairgean do no’ feel the cold, so she can swan around all winter in chiffon if she wants, without raising a single goose-bump. The rest o’ the court is no’ so lucky. If they could wear silver sandals in the snow, they would too, no doubt about that!’

  Lachlan smiled and nodded in agreement.

  ‘And o’ course, all those lamb-brained lassies copy her and just look ridiculous, blue and shivering with cold, with their bare arms looking like a newly plucked chicken’s. Thank the White Gods Olwynne is no’ such a fool!’

  ‘Speaking o’ Olwynne, I wonder how she went last night?’ Lachlan asked, with a frown.

  Both Owein and Lewen looked at him in sudden quick interest, but he had moved across to the tall window and was looking out at the day.

  Iseult looked to the door, frowning. ‘We’re about to find out,’ she said.

  Lachlan turned at once.

  There was a sharp rap on the door. Lewen went quietly to open it. Roy Steward stood outside, flanked by the two guards standing sentinel. Behind him stood Isabeau, looking anxious. Her hair, falling from its rough plait, twisted about her face like hissing red adders. Her elf-owl was huddled on her shoulder, staring with huge golden eyes.

  Lewen had not seen the Keybearer since she had called him to her room, after the bluebird he had carved for Rhiannon had come to life. She had been most interested in this miraculous giving of life, and had questioned him closely about how it had happened, and asked him to try to do it again. Lewen had tried, carving a little dormouse, and then a donbeag, and then another bird. They all stayed obstinately wood, no matter how hard he tried to channel power into them. Lewen had been both sorry and pleased, for it was a frightening thing to give life to an inanimate object he had carved from an old bit of wood. It seemed too close to the realm of Eà. Lewen knew that one must never forget the dark face of the triple goddess. If Eà could give life, she could also take it away.

  Isabeau had not been surprised by his failure to replicate the miracle of the bluebird. ‘That is how it goes,’ she sighed. ‘That is why the great acts o’ sorcery are always so hard to do. Your desire, your longing, have to be strong indeed. Do no’ try again, Lewen, and do no’ draw on the One Power for a while. I do no’ want ye coming down with sorcery sickness, like so many other apprentices who have over-reached themselves. Ye may feel sick and dizzy for a day or two. Stay quiet, and give your books a miss. We will see how your little bird goes. Who is to say it will no’ turn back into wood in a day or so?’

  But the bluebird had not returned to wood, and Lewen had not succumbed to sorcery sickness, though he had indeed felt low and weary ever since. This may have been due to the after-effects of the clamber-skull, though, which had made both him and Owein feel very sick indeed, or it may have been due to his loneliness and unhappiness. Lewen had been badly hurt by Olwynne telling her aunt what he had said about Rhiannon. Even telling himself Olwynne must have been worried indeed about him did not stop it feeling like a betrayal of his confidence. So Lewen had kept away from her, a task made easier by the Keybearer’s directive to him to have a few days away from his books.

  Without his usual companions, Lewen had sought out his younger friends, the apprentice-witches he had travelled with from Ravenshaw. But they too were busy and distracted, to the point that Lewen felt quite rebuffed. Only Fèlice and Landon were their normal selves with him, though he could tell it was an effort. One afternoon, after Cameron and Rafferty had made a lame excuse not to catch up with him, he had asked Fèlice what was wrong.

  She had hesitated for a moment, and then reluctantly said, ‘Ye ken the boys both want to be Blue Guards when they graduate?’ Lewen had nodded, and she had gone on, ‘They’ve both been warned that it’ll no’ do their cause any good by being seen to be too close to Rhiannon, or to ye.’ At the sight of Lewen’s expression, she hurried on, ‘It makes no difference, o’ course, we are all still very much your friend, and Rhiannon’s. It’s just … well, Maisie has been told the very same thing, by the head healer Johanna. Maisie wants to be a healer, ye ken. And although I really have no intention in joining the Coven after I finish at school, I do no’ want a bad report o’ me being sent home to my father, else he may call me home again. We’ve all just decided to keep our heads down awhile, and work hard, and wait for Rhiannon’s trial.’

  Lewen had nodded and tried to smile. He did understand. The apprentice-witches were only sixteen or seventeen, and in their first year at the Theurgia. They all must feel unwilling to start off on the wrong foot. It did not help Lewen, however, who felt even lonelier than ever. If it had not been for Owein and his fellow squires, all of them staunch in their friendship and loyalty, he would have felt wretched indeed.

  Lewen bowed to the Keybearer, and she came past him quickly, not even noticing him. It was clear she was very distressed. She reached out her hands to Iseult, who stepped forward quickly to meet her. Standing together, face to face, their likeness was startling, even though one was so contained, and the other dishevelled and upset.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Iseult demanded. ‘Olwynne?’

  ‘Ye ken she walked the dream-road last night with Ghislaine?’

  Iseult jerked her head in acknowledgement.

  ‘They travelled too far, perhaps … or what they saw was too … I dinna ken. It’s hit them hard, though, both o’ them.’

  ‘She’s all right, though?’ Lachlan demanded. ‘She’s no’ …’

  ‘Nay, nay. She’ll be fine … in a week or so. It’s just sorcery sickness. I’ve had it myself, from doing too much too soon.’

  You-hooh fool-hooh too-hooh, Buba hooted.

  ‘Ye said she was ready! Ye said she was strong enough!’ Iseult cried.

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought … Ghislaine was walking the dream-road with her, and ye ken how strong she is … but Ghislaine is sick too. I’ve never kent Ghislaine to succumb to sorcery sickness.’

  Iseult moved towards the door. ‘I must go to her.’

  Isabeau stopped her with a hand on her arm. ‘Wait! There’s naught ye can do for her now … she’s sleeping. She needs to be kept very quiet. Any noise or sudden movement … and I need to tell ye about the dream.’

  At the tone in her voice both Iseult and Lachlan stared at her in sudden alarm. Then Iseult turned to Owein, who was containing himself only with great difficulty.

  ‘Would ye be so good as to order us some fresh tea?’ she asked with immense composure.

  Owein was distressed. ‘But Mama …! Olwynne! Canna I –’

  ‘Ye heard your aunt. Olwynne needs to be kept quiet. And your father and I need to hear Isabeau’s news. We may as well be comfortable. Will ye ask Roy to send for more tea?’

  ‘O’ course. But, Mam, please, canna I go …?’

  She shook her head, though her face softened. ‘Nay, dearling. No’ without Isabeau’s clearance. I ken how anxious ye must be about your sister but we canna risk hurting her by rushing in on her.’ She turned back to Isabeau. ‘Can the lads stay and hear the news, Beau, or would it be better if they left?’

  Isabeau hesitated. ‘I’m no’ sure …’

  Owein fired up quickly. ‘We’re no’ lads anymore! Olwynne’s
my twin, I want to ken aught that concerns her. Please! Dinna send us away like bairns. I want to ken what’s going on.’

  Still Isabeau hesitated, then she nodded her head, saying, ‘Very well. It concerns ye both, I suppose. Ye canna talk about it to anyone else, though, ye do understand that?’

  ‘O’ course,’ Owein said, insulted.

  Lewen nodded. The muscles under his chest had tightened into such a tight band of fear it was all he could do to take a breath. He had barely spoken to Olwynne since she had betrayed his trust; he never would have thought she could be so disloyal. Lewen knew, though, how very dangerous sorcery sickness could be. At worst, a young witch could die, or be reduced to a gibbering idiot, or have their powers burnt out and cauterised. The idea of Olwynne in such danger made his hurt and anger evaporate, leaving only sudden sharp concern.

  ‘Ye ken Olwynne has been having nightmares? Every night, since the spring equinox?’ Isabeau sank down on one of the gilt couches. ‘I have been worried indeed about her, for dreams so vivid, so overpowering, well, often they mean naught but ill for the dreamer.’

  Iseult sat down beside her and put her hands over Isabeau’s. The touch helped calm her. She took a deep breath, and went on more steadily.

  ‘I have been sleeping badly too. Faces and voices and deeds from the past have come back to haunt me, long after I thought I had laid those ghosts to rest. I’ve woken weeping more than once, or woken unable to breathe, as if a dark thing crouched upon my chest, its hands about my throat … I feared a psychic attack, and cast circles o’ protection about my bed, and the dreams lessened. But still I have slept badly.’

  Gloom-hooh, Buba said miserably, her ear-tufts sinking.

  ‘I have no’ been sleeping well either,’ the Banrìgh said, glancing at her husband, who was still standing, his hands bunched into fists. ‘Though I dinna ken why. I canna remember much about the dreams. I dreamt Lachlan was cursed again, lying in that unnatural sleep, and I was unable to wake him. That was distressing. And I dreamt Donncan was lost to me too. I was no’ remembering the time when he was kidnapped by Margrit o’ Arran … at least, I do no’ think so. It was Donncan as he is now, Donncan as a young man. I thought they were just dreams …’ She stopped and said no more, never comfortable about revealing her innermost feelings.