by Kate Forsyth
‘Ursa has decided to stay?’ she whispered.
Niall nodded, teeth flashing through the darkness of his beard as he reached out to pat the bear’s massive, woolly shoulder. ‘Aye, though I told her she was free to go with the others. For some reason she wants to stay.’
‘I thought she would,’ Lilanthe answered.
Niall bent forward and looked at her intently. ‘Ye stay also?’
She nodded. ‘Though I hope to dance with the tree-changers again,’ she replied softly.
‘Happen we’ll see the Summer Tree bloom once more,’ he said, rather sadly.
‘Happen.’
They sat in silence for a while. Dide got to his feet and began to walk around the fires, strumming his guitar and singing:
‘Och, if my love was a bonny red rose,
Growing upon some barren wall
And I myself a drop o’ dew,
Down into that red rose I would fall.’
Niall nodded in Dide’s direction. ‘He be an auld friend o’ yours?’
‘Aye, an auld friend and a guid one,’ Lilanthe replied, turning to look in Niall’s direction. ‘It was Dide who convinced me to join the rebels. He and his grandmother have been kind indeed to me. They risked their own lives for me and Brun.’
The little cluricaun sitting on the opposite side of the fire swivelled his ears at the mention of his name but did not speak or join them, too busy emptying a flask of whiskey he had found somewhere.
‘A good friend indeed,’ Niall answered and sighed.
Lilanthe said rather hesitantly, ‘What do ye do now, Niall? I mean, now we’ve won the war?’
‘We may have won the battle but ye canna say we’ve won the war, while the Rìgh lies under the shadow o’ a curse and our enemies still plot against us!’ he answered rather sharply. ‘Her Highness has sworn to ride for Arran as soon as we can gather together our forces. She says the Thistle must be behind the curse and she shall no’ rest until it is broken and Arran has signed the Pact o’ Peace with the rest o’ Eileanan.’ He paused for a moment then said more gently, ‘But once my rìgh needs me no longer, well then, all I wish for is a wee cottage in the woods, with my own garden for herbs and vegetables, and happen some beehives for Ursa and …’
He stopped and Lilanthe said rather wistfully, ‘What?’
He said nothing for a long while, then said gruffly, ‘And someone dear to me to love me and live with me till I’m auld and grey.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ she said softly. He turned to look at her, his eyes shining in the dancing firelight. He hesitated then leant forward as if to say something, but just then Dide came to stand beside them, smiling at Lilanthe and singing:
‘Och, my love’s bonny, bonny, bonny,
My love’s bonny and fair to see.’
The soldiers all cheered and laughed, some clapping, and Dide bowed to Lilanthe with a flourish and moved away, singing still. Her cheeks felt hot and she curled her toes, digging them into the earth. She could not help giving a little, embarrassed smile and risked a quick glance at Niall. He was watching her but immediately glanced away, calling for more ale and leaning back against Ursa’s great bulk. The bear moaned and nudged him with her snout.
The singing went on until the camp cooks were ready to serve up the hard bread and stew that was the usual soldiers’ fare. Niall said no more to Lilanthe and she was conscious of a constraint in their usual ease. He sat and spoke instead to the other soldiers and after a while Lilanthe rose and walked away, her earlier contentment vanished. It was a balmy night, the sky dazzled with stars. She wandered along the river, wondering where Dide had gone and what he had meant, if he had meant anything at all.
She went away from the town, repelled by the smell of ashes and the aura of pain and terror that lingered there. Soon the campfires were left behind her and there was only the soft motion of the river, the green smell of willows and waterlilies. She came to a thick copse of trees and stood among them, letting little rootlets creep out from her feet and bury themselves in the soil. In this state of half tree, half woman, she stood and let the earth soothe her again.
Lilanthe’s extrasensory perceptions were at their most sensitive in this state and so she became almost instantly aware of a clamour of emotion from further up the river. She knew at once who it was who felt such fear and confusion, such bitter shame. She wriggled her roots free of the earth and moved silently upstream.
He was crouched in the shelter of a bush of flowering may, rocking back and forth and keening silently. The tumult of his emotions beat at her and she knelt beside him and said hesitantly, ‘Laird Finlay?’
At once he sprang around like a cornered animal, crying aloud in surprise and fear. She saw his white face and startled eyes and then he scrambled backwards and stumbled to his feet. For an instant she saw his tall figure silhouetted against the sky, then she heard his running footsteps as he fled through the trees. In that moment she recognised him.
‘It was ye!’ she cried. ‘Ye’re the one who attacked me! Why? Why?’
There was only the rustle of the leaves and the sough of the river. She felt him running away over the fields, half mad with grief and shame, and knew at once what Finlay Fear-Naught did there and why he ran. Tears choked her and she turned and hurried back to the campfires, knowing she must tell Meghan and Iseult.
The Keybearer was in the royal pavilion, for once sitting still, her hands idle in her lap, her face fallen into lines of bitter grief. Gitâ was snuggled up under her chin, his paw tucked under her collar, his plumy tail wrapped round her throat. Lachlan lay unconscious on his pallet, Iseult holding his hand and watching his face. He could have been dead, he was so white and still, his chest barely rising and falling at all. Duncan Ironfist and Iain sat at the table, drinking whiskey and looking over the maps, their faces set with grim determination.
They looked up as the tree-shifter came in and at once Meghan’s gaze sharpened. ‘What is it, Lilanthe?’
She told them what she had seen and felt, and they all exclaimed in dismay.
‘Nay, no’ Finlay Fear-Naught!’ Duncan Ironfist cried. ‘He canna have been the one to betray us! No’ one o’ Lachlan’s own guard. He wouldna. He couldna!’
‘Lilanthe, are ye sure?’
‘W-W-Why? Why w-w-would he do such a th-th-thing?’
‘But he was so eager, so loyal,’ Iseult said, remembering how the young laird had come to them after the Samhain rebellion, his eyes alight with ardour, pledging the new rìgh his life and his sword. He had been the first of the highland lairds to throw in his lot with Lachlan and his support had encouraged many others to join also.
‘He was thinking o’ a woman,’ Lilanthe said softly. ‘His heart was twisted with longing and shame. He was sick to his very heart at the massacre in the woods and the burning o’ Ardencaple, but still all he could think o’ was this woman, her white skin, her voice, her silvery eyes.’
‘Maya!’ Meghan got to her feet, black eyes flashing. ‘I should’ve known!’
‘When? How?’ Iseult cried. ‘He was on the march with us for months! How could he have communicated with her?’
‘Spies always have their ways,’ Meghan said harshly. ‘Carrier pigeons, or a note slipped to a dispatch rider. Who knows how deeply the rot o’ betrayal has set in?’ She paced the room, her brow deeply furrowed, her hands clenching and unclenching. ‘Finlay must have told her where Jorge and Tòmas would be too. The attacks came simultaneously. I should have guessed when we found him missing from the forest. To think I feared he had come to some harm at the hands o’ the Bright Soldiers!’
Duncan buried his head in his hands. ‘So many good men dead,’ he said harshly. ‘How could he?’
‘Eà d-d-damn him!’ Iain said thickly.
The captain of the Blue Guards got to his feet abruptly. ‘I will send men out to hunt for him. We will question him and find out exactly how and why he broke faith with us, and then we shall put him on trial for treason.
He shall suffer for this betrayal!’
Finlay James MacFinlay, the Marquess of Tullitay and Kirkcudbright, Viscount of Balmorran and Strathraer, and the only son and heir of the Duke of Falkglen, was found hiding under a bush at the edge of the forest, his blue jacket torn and muddied, his beard matted with thistles. He was dragged back to the army camp behind the horse of the soldier who found him. As he was hauled into the centre of the camp, he was greeted with boos and catcalls and gobs of spit. He covered his face with his hand and sobbed.
Iseult stood pale and stern-faced outside the royal pavilion, dressed in her battered armour, her hair hidden beneath her long-tailed white cap. Duncan Ironfist and Iain of Arran stood to one side, Niall the Bear and Dide the Juggler to the other. They were all that were left of Lachlan’s officers. They stared at Finlay with cold contempt in their eyes.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he sobbed. ‘Please forgive me. I did no’ know what it was I did. She asked me to send her news o’ our plans and movements … I thought it was so we could arrange to meet … I so longed to lie with her again … I did no’ think. Och, please, in the name o’ Eà’s green blood, forgive me.’
He raised piteous eyes but saw no pity in the eyes of those who condenmed him. He cried for them to kill him but the mercy of death was denied him. He was branded with a T for traitor and condemned to wander as an outcast, begging for food and mercy, and having all know that he had betrayed his rìgh and fellow soldiers. Even his own father would not offer him succour, driving him away with kicks and oaths. So Finlay Fear-Naught become Finlay the Cursed, a man without home or friends or honour, a man with the shrieks of the dying forever resounding in his ears.
The dragon soared high over the snow-clad mountains, her scaled body shining a gilded green in the sunshine. Isabeau clung on tightly, tears streaming down her face from the sharp wind, her face alight with exultation. She gave a whoop of excitement as Asrohc plunged downwards, her stomach lurching as the horizon blurred. Then the dragon twisted her body into a graceful roll, so that Isabeau was upside down, her hair hanging like a curtain. Despite herself Isabeau shrieked, clinging to the dragon’s spines desperately, then the dragon was upright again, her wings spread.
I wish ye would give me some warning when ye do that! Isabeau said.
The young dragon princess gave a mocking bugle which shook the snow from the crag of rock below them. Isabeau watched it fall hundreds of feet like handfuls of white feathers, gradually melting away in the wind. She could not help giving a shiver of fear at the vast distance beneath them. She gazed down at the green alpine meadows so far below and suddenly her eyes sharpened. Far below was a crumpled pile of red.
Asrohc, would ye fly lower for me? I think I see something …
Obligingly the dragon folded her wings and they dropped as fast as an eagle plunging for its prey. Isabeau gasped and clung on, grateful yet again for the complicated leather straps that kept her secure on the dragon’s back. The heap of red she had seen rushed towards them. Isabeau had just realised that what she had seen was a body, when the dragon suddenly changed direction and was soaring again into the sky.
Nay, Asrohc, go back!
It is nothing I wish to touch ground for, the dragon responded.
Please, Asrohc! They may be hurt and in need o’ my help. Even if they’re dead, I canna leave them for the wolves. Will ye no’ take me down?
The human lives, but not for much longer. Better that ye let the breath fail in her body.
She be alive? Asrohc, take me down!
If thou so desirest, though why thou wouldst wish to help one such as she, I understand not.
Puzzling over the contempt in the dragon’s mind-voice, Isabeau leant forward, trying to see over the scaled shoulder as the dragon slowly descended in ever decreasing circles. Asrohc landed lightly in the meadow, coiling her tail around her claws as Isabeau unbuckled the straps and climbed down. It took her a moment to regain her balance after the giddy descent, but once the world had stopped whirling, Isabeau crossed the meadow and knelt at the side of the woman lying face down in the grass.
She was wearing a torn and muddied gown of red velvet, and her face was obscured by dark hair. Isabeau felt for her pulse, which was very light and uneven, then carefully rolled her over so that she could clear her mouth and nose. The mud-matted hair fell back and Isabeau sat back on her heels in amazement. It was Maya.
The former banrìgh was breathing harshly, and the gills at the side of her neck fluttered weakly. Her skin was dry, its fine scaling rough to the touch, her narrow lips blue. There was a bruised, inflamed wound at her temple, thick with dried blood, and the soles of her slippers were in tatters. Isabeau felt her forehead and it was burning hot. The apprentice witch chewed her fingernails in anxiety. She knew she had to get Maya into salt water as quickly as possible if the Fairge was to live. She glanced back at the dragon. Asrohc was resting her great, angular head on her claws, regarding Isabeau with enigmatic golden eyes. Her long, spiked tail twitched from side to side.
Asrohc, she will die if I do no’ get her to water quickly. Will ye fly us back to the dragons’ valley so I can immerse her in the bubbling pools?
The dragon yawned widely, curling her slender, sky-blue tongue.
Please, Asrohc! I canna let her die!
Why not? The dragon responded. It is she who sent the red-robed soldiers to our valley and harmed my brother with her poisoned spears; it is she who made the killing of dragons a sport and rewarded those that murdered my kith and kin. It will give me pleasure to watch her die.
Isabeau did not know what to say. She knew she could not allow Maya to die. She could not help thinking of her as Morag, her friend of the seashore, who had taught her about sand-scorpions and doom-eels and the flow of the tides. Besides, Maya was Bronwen’s mother and Isabeau could not be the one to deprive the little girl of that, having been motherless herself. She looked about her consideringly.
They were in the long, flower-strewn meadow that stretched from the base of Dragonclaw down to the valley where the Rhyllster began to carve its way through the hills. Isabeau’s eyes brightened, for this was familiar territory. She looked back at the dragon, and saw the dangerous glint of an eye through the slitted eyelid. Dragons were not noted for their mercy. Despite the centuries of friendship between her family and the great magical creatures, Isabeau dared not ask for assistance again. She bowed and said, It gives me no pleasure to stand against your will, but I canna allow her to die. I was taught always to heal and help, and swore I would never use my powers to harm another. I beg your forbearance and hope that ye will forgive me.
Asrohc’s tail swayed back and forth. Gracefully she rose and stretched, supple as a cat, and yawned again, showing rows of very sharp, pointed teeth. My mother the queen says I must let thou do as thou wishest, even though I abhor your weak human folly. She says the Fairge queen has yet a role to play in this charade. So do as thou wilt, Isabeau NicFaghan, and when thou wishest to fly the heavens again, call my name. I may come, if I am bored.
Isabeau bowed her head in acquiescence, though her spirits fell at Asrohc’s cold tone. She watched as the dragon launched off into the sky, the long sinuous body rapidly dwindling as she soared towards the bent tip of Dragonclaw. Then Asrohc was gone, and the sky was empty again. Isabeau sighed and bent over Maya.
After a moment she straightened and looked about her. From a copse of trees at the edge of the meadow she called fallen boughs and green vines, and magically wove them together into a stretcher. Lifting Maya carefully onto its length, she picked up a small wooden chest that lay a few paces away and tucked it in beside her. Isabeau then cast out her mind until she located a herd of alpine goats clambering down from the mountain heights to graze in the sweet meadows. She called them to her and begged their help. Remembering her from the old days, when she had run barefoot with them over the rocks, they agreed to pull the stretcher for her. Using vines as reins, she harnessed them up and they dragged the injured wom
an through the fields.
The day was growing late when Isabeau at last reached the rocky ridge that hid Meghan’s secret valley from the outside world. The cliff-face was dotted with caves. Most were shallow apertures that led nowhere, but a few penetrated deep into the rock. The goats helped her manoeuvre the stretcher up the ridge, then bounded away in a wave of mottled grey, tossing their horned heads.
Isabeau dragged the stretcher inside the narrow mouth of the cave, then checked to make sure no-one was watching. Even though these mountains were wild and remote, the occasional hunter penetrated its maze of ravines and gorges in search of snow lion or woolly bear, and she had been taught to take no chances. The meadow below was quiet, though, and so she pushed on into the darkness.
Although Isabeau could see as well as an elven cat, the blackness within the mountain was so dense she had to conjure a witch’s light to see. It hung before her, casting an eerie blue illumination over the fantastic stone formations that arched about her. There were thick, grooved pillars, taller than any tower. Clustered here and there on the ground were nests of gleaming pearls as big as hailstones, while rapier-thin hanging rods fell in tiers down the walls. Draping here and there were delicate lace shawls of stone, some rippled with pale colour, most cloudy white. Here and there calcified tree-roots hung down from the ceiling, weird and uncanny.
The stretcher was too unwieldy to drag through the caves, and so Isabeau untied the vines that bound Maya’s unconscious body. With a great effort of will she raised Maya up until she floated before her, then pushed her along as if she was a boat upon water. The apprentice witch had never used the One Power in this way before, and Isabeau found she was sweating, despite the chill within the caves.
Down into the heart of the mountain she climbed, pausing often to rest. Some of the tunnels were so narrow and low that she had to creep, others so lofty she could not see the walls. Occasionally she could hear the babbling of water and once had to splash through an icy stream, the stone beneath her feet so slippery she had trouble keeping her feet. Otherwise all was quiet, with an aura of deep peace and mystery.