The Shining City

by Kate Forsyth

  Isabeau ran her hands through her hair, causing her curls to spring out even more wildly. ‘Aye, I ken. I should’ve thought to ask ye if were dreaming too. It did no’ occur to me that …’ She paused, and took a deep breath, looking round with eyes that were bluer than ever against their reddened rims. ‘I dinna realise the dreams were more than just dreams. I’ve been so busy … so preoccupied …’

  ‘Me too,’ Iseult said.

  ‘So what does all this mean?’ Lachlan demanded impatiently. His black wings were raised high and lifted back, as if ready for flight. Lewen knew that this was a sign of anxiety or anger in Lachlan, as if those six years trapped in the body of a blackbird had somehow entered the Rìgh’s blood and given him the instincts of a bird. Owein stood in the same poised stance, balancing on the balls of his feet, his firebird wings slightly spread. Despite the difference in stature and colouring, he looked very like his father. He had forgotten his mother’s command, all his attention focused on the conversation between his mother and aunt.

  So Lewen moved softly across to the door and opened it, asking the guard outside to send someone for more tea and some fresh dancey, and to ask Roy to cancel the Rìgh’s and Banrìgh’s first meeting of the day. He knew the two guards but they barely acknowledged him, Ferrand the Grey jerking his head and setting off to find Roy, and Mathias Bright-Eyed, so named because of his vivid blue eyes, staring straight ahead as if Lewen did not exist. This was not the first time Lewen had been snubbed by the Rìgh’s bodyguards since he had returned to Ravenshaw, but it hurt all the more because Mat was generally good-natured and friendly.

  When he stepped back into the sitting room, Isabeau was speaking again.

  ‘I have tried to walk the dream-road. Ye ken it is no’ my Talent, though I have walked it afore. But now all the doors stayed closed for me. Ghislaine said this may mean it is no’ my dream, that I am … hearing Olwynne’s dream. Or else someone has closed the doors against me. I dinna think this was possible. Who is there strong enough?’ She spoke with neither false modesty nor arrogance, and both Iseult and Lachlan nodded, frowning, accepting the truth of her words.

  ‘So I thought it best if Ghislaine and Olwynne walked the dream-road together. I’m sorry if I was wrong … I swear it’ll do no harm in the long run. Sorcery sickness is dangerous, there’s no doubt about that. But I’ve seen witches struck much harder, and recover their wits in the end –’

  ‘What did she dream?’ Iseult’s voice cut through Isabeau’s like a knife. Isabeau stopped, flushing suddenly and biting her lip.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just feel terrible about it. What did she dream? I canna tell ye all o’ it. She was no’ very coherent, and Ghislaine no’ much better. She dreamt o’ a raven again, though –’

  ‘A raven?’ Lewen said sharply, startled out of his role as squire.

  Isabeau glanced at him. ‘Aye, a raven. A messenger in dreams, no’ always o’ bad news. Olwynne saw it as a bad omen, though, a portent o’ death.’

  Gloom-hooh, the owl said again, solemnly.

  ‘Something to do with the laird o’ Fettercairn?’ Lewen said, quite forgetting he was addressing his Rìgh and Banrìgh, and the Keybearer of the Coven.

  They did not seem to mind his lack of courtesy.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Isabeau said. ‘Though Olwynne kens naught about the laird o’ Fettercairn. Certainly no’ that he carries a tame raven on his shoulder.’

  ‘A raven,’ Lachlan said pensively. ‘That jogs a memory, a very faint memory.’

  ‘Ye think o’ Jorge and his familiar,’ Isabeau said, her expressive mouth twisting in sorrow.

  Lachlan shook his head. ‘Nay. Something to do with a raven and Fettercairn Castle … nay, I canna remember.’

  ‘The laird told us a story about ravens while we were there,’ Lewen said. As everyone turned to look at him, he gulped and rubbed his damp hands down his breeches.

  ‘Go on, lad,’ Lachlan said impatiently. ‘What story?’

  Lewen, trying not to fidget, went on. ‘About how his ancestor saved Brann’s raven from being killed by gravenings, Your Majesty. He drove them away with stones, and Brann had the stones gathered together into a cairn, and ordered a castle to be built there, to guard the pass up to the Tower o’ Ravens. He said as long as ravens lived at Fettercairn, the tower would never fall. But it did, o’ course, on the Day o’ Betrayal.’

  ‘The tower did no’ fall, just the witches who lived there,’ Isabeau said. ‘O’ all the Thirteen Towers, it is the one least damaged. If it was no’ so cruelly haunted by the ghosts o’ all who died there, we would have tried to re-establish it. Nobody wants to go there, though. The stories are too frightening. So we’ve concentrated on rebuilding other towers. One day, happen witches will live there again.’

  Lachlan had listened to Lewen’s tale with close attention, but now he said decisively, ‘I had no’ heard that tale afore. It’s interesting, but it’s no’ what’s teasing my memory. Go on, Isabeau, Olwynne must’ve dreamt more than a raven for ye to look so grave.’

  Isabeau nodded. ‘O’ course.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Olwynne dreamt o’ your death, Lachlan. She dreamt ye were murdered.’

  Iseult jerked upright, the blood draining from her face. Owein gave an inarticulate cry, and the owl hooted miserably. Lewen felt as if he had been punched just below his breastbone.

  Lachlan stared at Isabeau. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘So am I to believe I’m soon to die?’

  Isabeau shrugged, her mouth twisting. Lachlan sat down heavily.

  ‘Isabeau, is it no’ true that one canna see the future for sure, that it’s only ever future possibilities that one sees?’ Iseult demanded.

  Isabeau nodded. ‘Aye, Iseult, the future is no’ fixed. The smallest thing can change it.’

  As Iseult nodded and relaxed a little in relief, Isabeau continued, ‘However, I do no’ think we can just dismiss this dream out o’ hand. I think Olwynne has a strong Talent, and dreams o’ foretelling often presage an event that is very hard to avert.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘So what exactly did she dream?’ Lachlan asked.

  Isabeau hesitated. ‘I dinna ken. Olwynne fainted soon after her awakening. Ghislaine has collapsed too. All they managed to tell me was that ye were in danger, that ye must beware. They said someone wants to kill ye.’

  ‘Who?’ Iseult asked sharply.

  Who-hooh? Buba echoed, swivelling her head round so she could look at each of them in turn. Who-hooh?

  ‘She dinna ken. A woman. Ghislaine felt she should ken them, she got quite distressed about it. She said something odd …’ Isabeau paused.

  ‘What?’ Lachlan asked impatiently.

  ‘She said it was two women in one.’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘Twins?’ Iseult said.

  ‘But surely then it would be two people as like as one? Or even one person in two,’ Isabeau answered. ‘Besides, Ghislaine kens many twins. She can hardly help it, the way our family keeps popping them out. I dinna think she would describe them that way.’

  ‘Two people in one,’ Lachlan said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe … a pregnant woman?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Isabeau said. ‘I canna tell. We must wait for Ghislaine to wake and tell us what she means. My fear is that she will have forgotten most o’ the dream by then. Ye all ken how hard it is to remember a dream once ye are awake. Dream-Walkers normally try to record their dreams as soon as they can, to capture as many details as possible.’

  ‘When do ye think she will wake?’ Lachlan asked.

  Isabeau sighed and shrugged. The owl blinked its eyes sleepily and rotated its head round to stare at him. Lachlan looked away uneasily, rubbing at his beard.

  ‘But surely, now that we ken … I mean, there must be something we can do!’ Iseult’s voice shook, and she crushed the pristine linen of her skirt between her hands.

  Lewen had never seen the Banrìgh so distressed. He had thought her incapable of s
trong emotion, yet here she was with unshed tears glittering in her eyes and her skin blanched of all colour.

  ‘O’ course there is,’ Lachlan said, touching her gently on the arm. ‘Forewarned is forearmed, is that no’ so, Isabeau?’

  Isabeau clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘Happen so,’ she answered. ‘I must admit I’m worried, though. I think we must double your guard, and do what we can to root out any insurgents. Lachlan, tell me, have ye any enemies that may be wishing to assassinate ye?’

  Lachlan twisted his mouth, flinging himself back in his chair. ‘Any new ones, do ye mean? For all rìghrean have enemies, ye ken that. In every court there are those hungry for power and riches, or those who believe they have some grudge.’

  ‘But any that hate ye enough to plan your death? For that is a desperate enterprise, the killing o’ a king.’

  Lachlan nodded. ‘Aye, that it is. No matter how greedy one may be, regicide is surely the last resort. The whole country would be plunged into chaos, and happen even civil war. No-one prospers then, except perhaps the undertakers.’

  He paused and rubbed his temples wearily. ‘Unless, o’ course, it was no’ just me ye wished to remove, but the whole edifice o’ power. It would have to be someone who wished to knock down all that I have built, happen someone who rues the day the Coven o’ Witches were returned to power, even though twenty-odd years have passed. The Coven has its enemies, ye ken that better than I, Isabeau.’

  The Keybearer nodded, her face sombre. She glanced at Iseult, who was struggling to bring herself back under control.

  ‘I distrust this new Fealde in Tìrsoilleir,’ the Rìgh continued. ‘My spies tell me she is preaching a return to the days o’ the Bright Soldiers … och, no’ overtly, she would no’ be such a fool! But softly and slyly, and more dangerously because o’ it. If she had uttered a single word o’ treason I could have her arrested and put on trial, or at the very least suggest strongly that she be replaced. But, nay, it is all hints and innuendoes and I canna arrest her for those.’

  Iseult took a deep breath and smoothed out her crushed skirt. ‘Tìrsoilleir is a thorn in our side,’ she said in a voice that shook only slightly. ‘Their tithes are always late and too small, and the soldiers they send to join the Greycloaks are sullen and unwilling.’

  ‘They send us few acolytes for the Theurgia either,’ Isabeau said, frowning, ‘and journeywitches there are always reporting difficulties. None has faced anything worse than curses and insults, and perhaps a few rotten apples, but no-one likes to be chosen to travel there. It does no’ take much for rotten fruit to become stones.’

  ‘So do ye think it is the Fealde that wants ye dead, Dai-dein?’ Owein demanded. ‘Surely she would no’ dare!’

  ‘We are a long way from Tìrsoilleir,’ Isabeau said, massaging her tired eyes with her fingers. ‘Would her arm reach so far?’

  ‘There is trouble closer to home too,’ Iseult said dryly. ‘That wool-witted bairn o’ yours causes waves wherever she goes. I swear she delights in vexing us, and making Donncan look a fool!’

  Isabeau looked troubled. ‘Bronwen is no’ as wool-witted as ye seem to think,’ she said defensively. ‘But I take your point. There must be those who think she would be easier to sway than ye, Lachlan, particularly if she felt herself beholden to them for winning her the throne.’

  ‘So ye think she wants it?’ Lachlan said indifferently, toying with the brooch that pinned his plaid together.

  Isabeau was not deceived. She bit her lip, then said frankly, ‘I do no’ think so. I hope no’. For it could only be won with a great deal o’ bloodshed and misery, and to what avail? She will sit on the throne in time anyway, when she and Donncan wed. Ye may think her shallow and frivolous, Iseult, and indeed I do no’ blame ye, but she is no’ malicious or cruel. Why incite civil war to gain a crown she will wear anyway?’

  ‘Only as Donncan’s wife, though, no’ as the true heir,’ Lachlan said softly. ‘And she willna carry the Lodestar.’

  ‘True enough,’ Isabeau admitted. ‘Do ye think she wants to?’

  Lachlan put out one lazy hand and caressed the glowing white sphere that stood in a special stand near his chair. At the touch of his fingers, it glowed more brightly and a delicate strain of music wafted through the room.

  ‘O’ course she does,’ he said, quirking one side of his mouth in a sardonic expression so characteristic it had driven a line deep into his lean cheek.

  True-hooh, the owl said softly, opening its eyes wide and then shutting them again.

  Isabeau sighed.

  Made by Lachlan’s ancestor Aedan Whitelock, the first Rìgh, the Lodestar responded only to the hand of a MacCuinn, killing anyone else who touched it. It had taken the Rìgh many years to master its powers, but in the end he had succeeded, vanquishing the Fairgean, faeries of the sea, who had sought to drown the land and all who lived upon it. Lachlan had almost died in the attempt, and the Lodestar would have been lost if Bronwen had not dived down through the raging waters and seized it. Together she and Donncan had managed to raise it high, the two children together calling upon its magical powers.

  The cousins had been betrothed soon after, their proposed wedding sealing the peace treaty between human and Fairgean. When Lachlan died, they would sit the throne and rule the land together. Only one could wield the Lodestar, though. Isabeau had no doubt that Lachlan was right and Bronwen wished it was to be her.

  ‘I canna see that assassinating ye would secure Bronwen the Lodestar, anyway,’ Isabeau said tartly. ‘Ye have named Donncan as heir. If someone wanted Bronwen to rule alone, they would have to kill him too.’

  Iseult’s whole body went rigid. ‘Do we have cause to fear this?’ she said in a very low, dangerous voice.

  ‘I dinna think so,’ Lachlan reassured her. ‘They would have to kill Owein and Olwynne too, surely, if that was their plan. They are next in line to the throne after Donncan, no’ Bronwen.’

  Owein looked from his father’s face to his mother’s, looking suddenly white and frightened. Lewen wondered if this was the first time he had ever realised that being a MacCuinn had its dangers and responsibilities as well as its privileges. The Rìgh saw his son’s glance and smiled at him reassuringly.

  ‘Unless, o’ course, these mysterious assassins believe that Bronwen is the true heir, being the daughter o’ your elder brother,’ Isabeau argued. ‘Ever since she turned twenty-four last September, there have been more reports o’ people recalling those auld stories, o’ how she was named Banrìgh for just one day …’

  ‘It was no’ a day,’ Lachlan said in exasperation. ‘A matter o’ hours only. And she was naught but a newborn babe. How could she have ruled?’

  ‘She could no’ have, o’ course,’ Isabeau answered. ‘But the point is, ye did no’ name her Banrìgh-in-waiting and appoint yourself as the Regent until she was auld enough to rule, ye took the throne for yourself and named your children heirs …’

  Lachlan leapt to his feet, shoving his chair back so hard it crashed over to the floor. ‘She was the Ensorcellor’s get!’ he roared. ‘A Fairgean half-breed!’

  ‘She’s only one-quarter Fairgean,’ Isabeau pointed out reasonably. ‘And the sea-faeries are our friends and allies now, remember.’

  ‘Her mother cold-bloodedly seduced my brother and married him just so she could break the back o’ our power,’ Lachlan cried, his wings flaring open. ‘She murdered hundreds and thousands o’ innocent men, women and children. Her daughter was only conceived with the help o’ a Spell o’ Begetting, and even then Maya sought the most evil time for her conception and birth –’

  ‘Except Bronwen was premature, thanks to me,’ Isabeau said.

  ‘The point is she’s the Ensorcellor’s daughter!’

  ‘The point is she’s Jaspar’s daughter,’ Isabeau said softly. ‘Do no’ glare at me like that, Lachlan. I am simply reminding ye what people are saying. I had no’ heard those auld tales for many a long year, but since Bronwen has tur
ned twenty-four, I’ve been hearing them again, from all over the country. Nina and Iven heard them in Ravenshaw, only a few weeks ago. There are some that call ye the Auld Pretender, I’ve heard.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Dinna tease him, Isabeau! Lachlan, ye ken none o’ this is news. Sit down and stop shouting at Beau. Do ye want the whole court to hear ye?’

  Lachlan took a deep breath. Slowly his wings sank down, and the yellow glare went out of his eyes. He picked up his chair and sat down, his arms crossed over his burly chest, his brows knotted. He looked at Isabeau angrily.

  ‘What I’m trying to say is Bronwen has no need to have ye killed,’ Isabeau said gently. ‘She will rule in time anyway, hand in hand with Donncan, who adores her. Ye say she would like to wield the Lodestar. Well, happen that is true. Who is to say that she and Donncan canna raise the Lodestar together, like they did at the Battle o’ Bonnyblair? Either way, I do no’ believe Bronwen wishes to inherit a land soaked in blood.’

  ‘Happen no’,’ Lachlan said heavily. ‘But what o’ those who seek to find power for themselves, through her? It is hard to challenge an established order. I have been Rìgh now for twenty-four years, I have proved myself worthy o’ the crown. But if I was dead, and the court in chaos – well, it would be easier then to challenge the legitimacy o’ Donncan’s claim, and to set Bronwen up as rival.’

  ‘It would have to be done soon then,’ Iseult said. ‘Afore she and Donncan were married.’

  Just then, there was a knock on the door. Mathias Bright-Eyed opened it with a bow, and Roy Steward came in, carrying a tray. He bowed to the Rìgh, gave the Banrìgh a smaller genuflection, inclined his head to the Keybearer, laid the tray down quietly on the table, and then withdrew.