The Forbidden Land

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘If this is your idea o’ making a report, Fionnghal NicRuraich, ye’ll never make a soldier. In the name o’ the Centaur and his Beard, tell us what ye do here! Where is Dide and Enit? Are they safe? Was your mission successful? Did ye free the earless prophet?’

  Finn stood straight and saluted smartly. ‘Finn the Cat, sir, here to make her report. Mission successful, prophet removed from Black Tower along with a Yedda and the lost crew of the Sea-Eagle. However, the Speedwell was lost at sea due to enemy fire, crew all safe thanks to rescue operation by Fairgean, hiding in caves but very short on supplies, need to be rescued as soon as possible, sir!’

  For a moment there was a flabbergasted silence and then Lachlan said rather faintly, ‘Thank ye, Finn, everything is perfectly clear now.’

  The full telling of her tale took a very long time, for Iseult and Lachlan wanted to hear every detail of her amazing journey. They were particularly astounded by the rescue of the Speedwell’s crew by the Fairgean.

  ‘It scarce seems possible,’ Lachlan said wonderingly. ‘Who has ever heard o’ a Fairge saving a drowning sailor? Usually they’re the ones drowning them!’

  ‘It was the song o’ love,’ Finn replied with conviction. ‘They had to be the same ones that heard Enit sing! I tell ye, ’twas amazing, that song. It made me wish …’

  ‘What?’

  Finn shrugged. ‘I canna describe it. All I ken is I felt that my heart was big enough to love the whole world and that by loving it, I could save it. We all felt the same, all o’ us.’

  ‘Imagine the possibilities,’ Lachlan cried, his golden eyes glowing with fervour. ‘If we could sing the Fairgean to love and peace …’

  ‘Aye, all hundred thousand o’ them,’ Iseult said dryly. ‘Ensorcelled by a singer, a guitarist and a fiddler. That’d be a miracle indeed.’

  ‘Ashlin played too,’ Finn said in defence of her piper.

  ‘And others could be taught. Ye ken I can sing the song o’ love, leannan,’ Lachlan said with a seductive rasp in his voice.

  Iseult returned his gaze steadily. ‘Aye, but I was receptive indeed to the hearing o’ it. Ye ken even better than I that the songs o’ enchantment can only cast their spell when the listener hears with their heart as well as their ears. These Fairgean, they must have wanted to hear, they must have wanted peace and friendship, for the spell to have worked so powerfully.’

  ‘It worked on me and Bran, and I certainly never wanted to be friends with her nor her with me,’ Finn said.

  ‘Ye never hated your cousin, Finn, do no’ tell me ye did,’ Lachlan cried. ‘The soft-hearted wee thing that ye are? Nay, ye were just like cats, hissing and showing your claws and defending your territory. Ye would’ve become friends without the song o’ love.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Finn replied, her colour rising. ‘Though it was more than that. I dinna like anyone back then. It was the cloak o’ invisibility. It made me cold and sort o’ … detached, like I dinna care for aught at all.’

  So at last Finn had to confess her theft of the cloak of invisibility and how it had been unravelled in the cave of the nyx, who had then flown with her through the night to find the Rìgh’s army. Again Lachlan and Iseult exclaimed and asked questions and demanded explanations until Finn was swaying on her feet with exhaustion. It was then that Lachlan cried, ‘Enough, my wee cat! Tell us the rest in the morn. Ye look as white as whey. Get ye to bed!’

  He called for his squire, a tall, sturdy boy with a mop of corn-yellow curls. His face was vaguely familiar but it was not until he spoke that Finn recognised him as Connor, who had been the youngest of the League of the Healing Hand. Last time Finn had seen him he had been a little boy of only six, whom Dillon had carried on his shoulders. Now he was twelve and dressed in the blue kilt and cloak of the Rìgh’s personal servants, the charging stag badge worn proudly on his breast.

  Finn exclaimed with surprised pleasure and embraced him, but Connor wriggled out of her grasp and stood to attention, asking formally what orders His Highness had for him.

  ‘As ye can see, the League of the Healing Hand still serves me loyally,’ Lachlan said with a smile. ‘When Dillon set sail with ye and Dide, I temporarily promoted Connor from pageboy to squire, and indeed he serves me well.’

  ‘I canna believe how tall he has grown,’ Finn answered. Then she cried in excitement, ‘Are Johanna and Tòmas here too? Oh, glory be! We’ll have a grand reunion o’ the League.’

  ‘Aye, Johanna is one o’ our most promising healers,’ Iseult said. ‘And o’ course Tòmas is here; we couldna ride to war without him.’

  ‘Has he grown as tall and strong as ye?’ Finn asked Connor with a grin.

  Connor looked sombre. ‘Nay,’ he answered. ‘Tòmas is still a poor wee thing, weak as a wisp. Jo says he gives all his strength to the healing and none to growing, poor laddiekin.’

  Finn looked troubled. ‘It’ll be good to see him again though, and Jo too,’ she answered. ‘It has been such a long time.’

  Connor nodded. ‘Och, aye, that it has. Can I be doing aught else for ye, my laird?’

  ‘Nay, Connor, get ye back to bed and take the Cat to hers. Every time she yawns I yawn too, and my jaw will crack with the strain soon. Finn, we’ll see ye in the morning. Johanna will take good care o’ ye!’

  Finn nodded, yawning again and rubbing her scratchy eyes. Then she asked, rather hesitantly, ‘Lachlan, I mean, Your Highness … have ye any news o’ Rurach?’

  Lachlan and Iseult exchanged glances, then the Rìgh said cheerfully, ‘I must admit we wondered why ye’d never asked. Finn, all is well. Your father was able to drive off the Fairgean at last, and they retreated back into the sea as we hoped. Unfortunately, most o’ the ships we sent west were attacked by pirates and their cargo lost, but we sent wagonloads o’ supplies and medicines to help and the last we heard the riots had stopped and they had managed to get the plague o’ disease under control.’

  ‘And my mam?’ Finn asked in a small voice. ‘Has she … did she … ask for news o’ me?’

  ‘Indeed she did,’ Iseult said warmly. ‘We were able to tell her that we’d seen ye at Midsummer and that ye were looking hale indeed. And now that we have seen ye again and ken that ye are safe, we shall send a homing pigeon to Lucescere with messages for her. They’ll make sure she hears ye are safe.’

  Finn thanked her with a lighter feeling around her heart than she had had in months. She bowed and said goodnight, and followed Connor through the dark quiet camp to a large tent some distance away. There the young squire gave her some lukewarm stew to eat, surprisingly delicious despite its tepidity, and unrolled a thin pallet for her to sleep on, finding room for her among the many sleeping bodies who sighed and snored all round her. Finn pulled the rough woollen blanket over her head with a sigh of relief and fell at once into sleep, more comfortable than she had been in months.

  When she woke it was morning. Sunlight struck through the open flaps of the tent, warming her toes. Goblin slept on her neck as usual, almost choking Finn with thick black fur. She lifted the elven cat away and repositioned her in the crook of her arm. For a while she lay still, listening to the bustle of the camp about her. She could hear heavy wagons trundling over rough ground, the neigh of horses and clink of bridles, the bleat of chickens and the occasional soft maaaa of a goat. Men shouted and swore, and there was the occasional higher pitch of a woman’s voice.

  The tent was now empty. The pallets were all rolled and stacked against one wall, beside six small brown chests. Arranged neatly on top of the chests were a number of small haversacks, each with a blanket rolled up and strapped on top. Already the grass was springing up from where it had been flattened by the weight of sleeping bodies. Only Finn’s pallet remained where it had been unrolled. She could not help marvelling that she had slept through everyone else’s waking and packing up, and thought they must have all been very quiet and deft.

  Just then a woman bent and looked through the tent flap. ‘Och, ye’re awake at las
t! I was beginning to think I’d have to roll ye up in your pallet and load ye on the wagon still fast asleep,’ she said with a warm inflection of humour in her voice.

  ‘Jo!’ Finn cried, and leapt to her feet. ‘Hell’s bells, look at ye! I would never have recognised ye.’

  ‘Have I changed so much?’ Johanna said whimsically. ‘I suppose I have. It’s been six years. Though ye haven’t changed at all! I thought ye were meant to be a banprionnsa now, Finn? Look at ye! Ye’re as filthy and ragged as ye used to be in the auld days.’

  ‘Aye, but I’ve been having adventures,’ Finn cried joyously. ‘Ye canna fight battles and almost drown and crawl through caves and no’ get a wee bit dirty.’

  ‘Nay, I suppose ye canna,’ Johanna said. ‘But ye’re going to come and wash up now, and put some decent clothes on, that I can promise ye.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Finn replied, marvelling at the ring of authority in Johanna’s voice. The beggar lass she had known had been a thin, anxious-faced girl afraid of everything. She was now a tall, strong-looking woman with rough, capable hands and a determined face. She looked as if she was afraid of very little.

  ‘If ye want breakfast, ye will,’ Johanna answered. ‘No-one sits down at my campfire with hands as black as a chimneysweep’s!’

  ‘Very well then,’ Finn answered meekly. She was very hungry indeed.

  Rather to her dismay, Johanna’s idea of a wash up included a scrubbing brush, buckets of very hot water, a great deal of soap and the removal and burning of all of Finn’s clothes. Finn protested once or twice but soon found that resistance did her little good. The impression of strength Johanna had given her was not mistaken. It was not till every inch of Finn’s body was pink and glowing, including her toenails, that Johanna desisted with her scrubbing and rubbing. Finn was then given clean linen drawers and a chemise, a shirt of undyed linen, a long grey coat, a pair of grey woollen breeches that tied under the knee, long knitted stockings and some sturdy brogues to wear. She dressed thankfully in the warm, clean clothes, combed her damp curls and came out from behind the screen to present herself for Johanna’s inspection.

  Johanna looked her over critically then smiled and nodded in approval. ‘Ye’ll do,’ she said. ‘Now come and eat, ’cause I havena any more time to be wasting on ye.’

  Finn grinned back and followed her over to the fire eagerly. Goblin was curled up on her pack, waiting for her, having had no desire to stay in Finn’s company while so much water was being sloshed around. Finn sat down beside her and eagerly ate two big bowls of porridge loaded with nuts and dried fruit and sweetened with honey. While she ate, Johanna cooked her some bannocks on the griddle, which proved to be as light and airy as Finn had hoped.

  ‘This is all awfully good,’ she said. ‘I do no’ remember ye being a good cook, Jo.’

  ‘Isabeau the Red taught me to cook,’ Johanna answered. ‘She’s one o’ the best, ye ken. She taught me most o’ what I ken, about herbs and healing and distilling and everything. If it was no’ for her, I’d still be an orphan lass with no home and no way to support myself. I am aye grateful to her.’

  Finn lay back on her elbows, wishing fervently for a smoke. Her pouch of tobacco had been ruined in the shipwreck, however, and she had not had time to steal another.

  Johanna stood and stretched, saying, ‘Are ye finished? We’re behind schedule, thanks to ye, sleepyhead, so I really need to get these washed up and packed away. I need to speak to the other healers afore we ride out, and make sure they think to look out for any willow trees. We can never have enough willowbark and the porridge-heads never see a thing if it’s no’ pointed out to them.’

  ‘How about I wash up and ye do what ye need to do?’ Finn offered.

  ‘That would be grand,’ Johanna answered with relief and bustled away.

  Within ten minutes she was back. Finn tucked Goblin in her pocket, picked up her satchel and followed the healer through the camp to where a squadron of soldiers were preparing to ride out. Lachlan and Iseult were both there, the Rìgh mounted on a magnificent black stallion, the Banrìgh upon a tall grey mare with a flowing white mane and tail of great silkiness. Both were wearing cuirasses of hard leather, with light leather helmets on their heads and their plaids slung about their shoulders. Upon his gauntleted wrist, Lachlan carried a snowy-white gyrfalcon that regarded the world through the slits of its leather hood. Finn recognised the beautiful hawk immediately, for Stormwing had been a gift to the Rìgh from Finn’s father Anghus MacRuraich.

  Strapped to Lachlan’s saddle was a quiver of arrows and the great longbow that had once belonged to his ancestor Owein MacCuinn. He wore his heavy claymore strapped to his back so it hung down between his wings, a short sword at his waist and a dagger in his boot. Iseult was also heavily armed, with her crossbow and quiver of arrows near to hand, and a belt heavy with weapons about her slim waist.

  At the sight of Finn, Lachlan raised his hand and beckoned to her. She crossed the meadow eagerly, nodding her head to Iain and Elfrida who stood by the horses’ heads, waiting to say their farewells.

  ‘As ye can see, we are all ready to ride,’ the Rìgh said with an affectionate smile. ‘I hope ye are well fed and rested, my cat, because we have a long, hard gallop ahead o’ us!’

  ‘Finn, how was Killian himself?’ Elfrida asked anxiously.

  ‘Och, he was no’ grand,’ Finn answered. ‘He seems very dazed and confused. I think he sometimes did no’ understand what was going on but he were so very weak he could no’ protest or fight, just let us heave him about like a sack o’ potatoes.’ She described the marks of ill-use that covered the old man’s emaciated body and saw Elfrida’s eyes fill with tears of pity.

  ‘Och, that be bad news indeed,’ she said. ‘Did he understand ye had come on my behalf?’

  ‘I be no’ sure,’ Finn answered. ‘There was so little time for explaining. He recognised the cross.’

  ‘Well, that be something at least,’ Elfrida said with a sigh. ‘I wish I could be coming wi’ ye.’

  ‘No, ye do no’,’ Iseult said coolly. ‘We ride hard, Elfrida. Ye ken ye will be much more comfortable travelling in your carriage at the rear o’ the army, with your maids to serve ye and your bodyguard to protect ye. Ye would only slow us down if ye came.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose so,’ Elfrida replied unhappily. ‘Well, I hope ye find him in better shape and all those who helped him too.’ She raised her hand in farewell. ‘Godspeed!’

  ‘Godspeed,’ Lachlan answered with a smile and a little salute.

  ‘May Eà be with ye all,’ Iain said, sliding his hand within Elfrida’s arm. They then both turned and walked away. It was clear from the droop of Elfrida’s shoulders that Iseult’s words had hurt her but the Banrìgh showed no sign of remorse. As usual, her beautiful pale face was calm and rather stern.

  ‘Aye, it is hard to believe Elfrida is the descendant o’ the bright warrior-maid,’ Lachlan said, as if Iseult had offered some explanation for her harshness. ‘She was no’ brought up to be warlike, though, Iseult; ye should no’ expect it.’

  Iseult returned his gaze squarely. ‘I do no’ expect it.’

  ‘Then why be so cold to her all the time?’ he asked. ‘She be a sweet lass and tries hard to be friends with ye.’

  Iseult gave a small shrug of her shoulders. ‘Am I cold? I do no’ mean to be. It is just she is always wringing her hands and weeping, instead o’ doing what needs to be done.’ She paused, then said with a faint heightening of colour in her cheeks. ‘All ye men think her so sweet and gentle, yet she always gets what she wants without the least effort on her part. I find it exasperating.’

  ‘Aye, she is bonny,’ Lachlan said infuriatingly. He looked down at the avidly listening Finn with a grin. ‘Come, enough o’ this idle chitchat. Let us make ready to ride!’

  Finn grinned and followed Johanna through the rows of mounted soldiers. Apart from the Rìgh and the Banrìgh, there were the fifty Yeomen of the Guard, led by Duncan Ironfist upon an en
ormous brown gelding with shaggy white fetlocks and mane. Connor sat beside the Rìgh on a pretty bay pony, carrying the Rìgh’s standard. Finn stared at him enviously as Johanna instructed her to climb up into a small wagon with the court sorcerer, Gwilym the Ugly, and the other healers.

  ‘Why canna I ride too?’ she asked rebelliously. ‘I hate bouncing around in wagons!’

  ‘I dinna ken ye could ride,’ Johanna answered. ‘Besides, we havena any horses to spare.’

  ‘O’ course I can ride,’ Finn replied crossly. ‘I can ride anything!’ She thought rather longingly of her black mare Cinders, left in Nina’s care in Rhyssmadill along with the other horses. ‘Surely someone must have a horse I could borrow? Flaming dragon balls! How can I direct Lachlan which way to go if I’m stuck in the rear eating everyone’s dust?’

  ‘Ye should call the Rìgh “His Highness”,’ Johanna replied austerely. ‘Wait here, Finn. I shall speak to the cavalry-master and see if ye can borrow one o’ the cavaliers’ spare destriers. They shall no’ be happy, I warn ye. Destriers cost a great deal o’ money and are much loved by their riders. Ye had best be as good a rider as ye say!’

  She went away across the field and Finn leant against the wagon, swinging her foot impatiently.

  ‘Hello, Finn,’ a soft, rather plaintive voice said. ‘Do ye no’ remember me?’

  She glanced up, startled. Sitting right beside her in the wagon was a small, thin boy with pale gold wisps of hair and enormous blue eyes. His skin was so pale it was translucent, the trail of blue veins at temple and eyelid clearly visible. Deep violet shadows curved under his eyes, and the knobs of his collarbone stuck up rigidly at the base of his throat. He wore a small black gauntlet on the hand hanging limply over the side of the wagon.

  ‘Tòmas!’ Finn cried. ‘Oh, Tòmas.’

  To her surprise tears started to her eyes. She leant up and embraced him fiercely, blotting her tears on the soft wool of his coat. ‘O’ course I remember ye! I just dinna see ye.’

  ‘I heard ye were here,’ Tòmas said. ‘They say ye were dropped out o’ the night sky by a flight o’ nyx.’