by Kate Forsyth
The seeker was well enough to be moved up to the castle the following day. He sent one of Anghus’s own men to fetch him, an act that caused the MacRuraich’s face to redden in anger. Nonetheless he went, changing first into his kilt and plaid to subtly remind the seeker who he was.
The seeker sat at his ease in one of the carved chairs in Castle Rurach’s great hall, a goblet of wine in one hand, his feet in furred slippers stretched to the roaring log fire. His shoulder was heavily bandaged, his arm resting in a sling. He made no attempt to rise to his feet or bow as he should have, instead waving Anghus nonchalantly to a chair. The prionnsa ground his teeth together and sat down.
‘Glad indeed I was to wake up and find myself in the castle,’ the seeker said, failing to address Anghus by his title. ‘I had heard the wolves were growing troublesome in Rurach but I can hardly believe I was almost killed at your own doorstep. Why have ye no’ hunted the wolves down and killed them? See to it.’
Anghus was so outraged he could not speak, and that saved him, for it did not occur to the seeker that his commands would not be obeyed. He went on without a pause, ‘It is almost three weeks syne I left the palace on our blessed Banrìgh’s orders, and I have run three horses to death to come here …’
Anghus’s grudging admiration was aroused. The man must have thigearn blood in him, to travel so far so quickly. Abruptly his blood chilled. What urgent business could the Banrìgh have that would drive her messenger to such haste?
‘As ye ken, our gracious Banrìgh is anxious that the recent uprisings o’ rebels be squashed fiercely, to reassure the peoples o’ Eileanan that peace shall be kept in the countryside. The previous Grand-Seeker failed miserably in this task. In the past few months there have been increased reports of uile-bheistean activity, while the cursed Arch-Sorceress has again crawled out o’ her hiding place and is wandering the land as she pleases, inciting the peasants to revolt and arousing the dragons’ displeasure—’
‘I had heard the Banrìgh’s guards had attacked and killed a pregnant she-dragon and that was the cause o’ the dragons’ rising,’ Anghus replied mildly. He was glad to hear Meghan NicCuinn was still alive, and he smiled inside to think the old witch was still causing trouble wherever she went.
The frown on the seeker’s face deepened, and he continued as if Anghus had not spoken. ‘—the untimely death o’ the Grand-Seeker Glynelda was obviously the result o’ evil sorceries, thrown as she was by her horse which had been ensorcelled by one o’ the Arch-Sorceress’s apprentices. The stallion had always been a biddable creature, but after being stolen by the young witch and ensorcelled by her, the Grand-Seeker Glynelda was unable to control him. Consequently the Banrìgh has raised the Seeker Humbert to the position, and he has entrusted me with the task o’ stamping out these eruptions o’ wickedness in Rionnagan and Clachan.’
The Seeker Renshaw paused to preen himself, obviously pleased with his new appointment. He did not notice the frown on the prionnsa’s face at the mention of the new Grand-Seeker’s name, for Anghus knew Humbert of old. By the time Renshaw glanced up at the prionnsa again, Anghus’s face was smooth, expressing only a patient interest. ‘He has assured me that your country Rurach has been wiped clean, with your noble assistance, and instructed me to request ye to undertake a similar cleansing in Rionnagan,’ the seeker continued.
Anghus nodded, though he felt sick at heart. It was true that Rurach was remarkably free of rebels and witches, but that was only because the Awl had sustained a ruthless and bloody slaughter over the past five years. The raid on the rebels at the Tower of Searchers had been swift and deadly, and any who may have escaped across the mountains to Siantan or Rionnagan would not return lightly. He had been forced to lead the seekers to where accused witches—mainly frail old women and men—had been hiding, and had had to watch as they were burned at the stake. Even worse, the Red Guards had enacted brutal reprisals against his own people for the aid they had given the rebels and had warned him more would follow if there was any sign of aid given to any enemy of the Crown, be they witch, rebel or faery.
The seeker continued to list the misfortunes which had befallen the Rìgh in Rionnagan. Some of these, like the massacre of soldiers sent against the dragons at Dragonclaw and the subsequent revolt of soldiers in the Sithiche Mountains, Anghus had heard before. He knew of the Cripple, of course, and how he had again and again slipped through the clutches of the seekers. He also knew about the growing discontent of the peasants, due to the constant ravages of the Red Guards, for his own people muttered under the soldiers’ yoke as well.
He had not heard the rumours of a winged warrior, though, said to be coming to save the people of Eileanan from disaster, the lost Lodestar blazing in his hand. And he had not heard of the miracle in Lucescere and the uprising of the people against Baron Renton and his soldiers. He found these pieces of news intensely interesting. Perhaps the days of magic really were at hand. He was surprised by the flash of nostalgia the thought brought him, and he found himself thinking of his sister again, and of the resident warlock who had taught him so much as a child. Both were dead, as were so many others of Talent, and a shadow of anger touched him. He had kept his face impassive, however, and listened carefully to what the seeker was saying.
‘… and so the Rìgh has decreed that the Cripple, as they call him, is the foremost enemy o’ the Crown and must be brought to justice. He has instructed me to ask ye to once again lend your services to the Crown and to hunt down this infamous criminal once and for all. Recent information indicates he is in company with the Arch-Sorceress Meghan, cousin to the Rìgh himself. They were last seen near Dunceleste, but disappeared into the evil Veiled Forest and have not been seen since. The Rìgh is anxious that both be captured, and so he instructed me to bring some articles once belonging to the Arch-Sorceress for ye to touch and feel.’
Anghus did not need anything to hold. He knew Meghan NicCuinn well from the years before the Day of Reckoning. Meghan had dined at his table and slept under his roof. All Anghus had to do was think of her and focus in on her to know her whereabouts. He did not tell the seeker that, though. He held the age-yellowed silk of the MacCuinn christening robe in his hands and listened to the many stories it told. His face impassive, he shook his head and explained to the seeker that the robe was too old and had been worn by too many to help him as a focus. ‘I can feel the Rìgh himself,’ he had said, not wanting the seeker to realise just how clear his clairvoyant skills were. ‘The Rìgh wore this robe many years after Meghan, and his brothers too. I can sense nothing but a shadow o’ Meghan.’
The seeker brought out other objects—a knife that Meghan had once worn, and a card with her handwriting on it. After a charade of concentration, Anghus had to admit these were sufficient for him to focus in on the Arch-Sorceress, and Renshaw nodded, satisfied. Before handing everything back to the seeker, Anghus passed his hand one more time over the ancient christening robe, with its long embroidered skirt.
It was true he felt the Rìgh’s life energies more strongly than Meghan’s. By concentrating his will, he could tell Jaspar was far to the south, probably at Rhyssmadill, and the Arch-Sorceress Meghan in the highlands of Rionnagan. What puzzled him, though, was that he sensed a third consciousness connected with the christening robe. This was clearer and stronger than either of the other two and seemed located in the north, near Meghan. Although he said nothing to the seeker about it, he puzzled over it for a long time. Who could it be? Meghan and Jaspar were all that were left of a once great and vigorous clan. The Rìgh’s three brothers had all disappeared as lads, and the only other NicCuinn, their cousin Mathilde, had died in the fires on the Day of Reckoning. It was a fresh trace; whoever it was had worn the robe after both Meghan and Jaspar. As Anghus nursed his dram of whisky, he wondered if it was possible that one of the Lost Prionnsachan of Eileanan was still alive.
The seeker’s eyes were on his face, but Anghus kept his thoughts well hidden, his face blank. With a niggling sense of
unease, he wondered again how it was that his clairvoyant abilities and those of the seekers were acceptable to the Banrìgh, when any sign of magical ability in anyone else led to the torture chamber and an agonising death. Why was he permitted to live, yet the Arch-Sorceress Meghan hunted down like a common criminal, an old frail woman who had once been the most powerful witch in the country?
The seeker leant back in his chair and said softly, ‘And the Banrìgh has instructed me to tell ye that when the Arch-Sorceress and the Cripple are safely in her hands, then ye will be permitted to visit with your daughter and see for yourself how happy she is at Rhyssmadill. The Banrìgh, now that she is to be a mother herself, finds that she has some understanding o’ a parent’s feelings and does not wish ye to worry for your daughter’s happiness.’
The words were a knife through Anghus’s side—both because of the rush of fervent hope and also because of the chill they gave him. They were a warning, he knew. He wondered for the millionth time why it was he could sense and find anything but his own flesh and blood. His daughter was hidden from him, some sort of spell confusing his sense of direction so that, even though he could tell she was still alive, he had no idea where she was or how she was feeling. He bowed and excused himself, unwilling to let the seeker see how the promise had affected him.
That night Anghus paced up and down his chamber in a fever of indecision. He should have thrown the seeker to the wolves when he had the chance. Then he would not be faced with this unbearable choice. He knew Meghan NicCuinn and wished her only well. How could he hunt her down and turn her over to the Awl to be tortured and burnt at the stake like so many other witches? Yet what choice did he have? The Banrìgh had his daughter, and he could not find her unless he obeyed the Banrìgh’s directives. If he wanted to ever see his child again, he had to submit to her wishes, and the sooner he did so, the sooner he would have his lost daughter in his arms again.
The decision made, Anghus felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He let his thoughts begin to dwell on the task ahead and, as always, felt the thrill of the chase begin to grip him. Once Anghus began to search, he never gave up. Sometimes the chase was short and swift, sometimes long and terribly slow. Either way, he always found his objective. Perhaps, once the Arch-Sorceress Meghan was dead, the Banrìgh would leave him and his family alone …
Finn huddled her arm against the old man’s back, shocked at the frailty of the bones beneath his rags. They struggled through waist-high bracken, greygorse bushes thrusting their thorns everywhere. Clumps of trees offered brief huddles of concealment, but the ridge behind was so steep that they could only retreat a few hundred yards from the path. Jorge was shivering, though the sun had cleared the mountains and was shining warmly on their backs.
‘It’s horrible to see him look so sick,’ Jay said.
‘Canna ye heal him?’ Johanna asked.
They all looked towards Tòmas, who chewed the end of his glove anxiously. ‘I’d heal his eyes,’ he answered. ‘I’m no’ allowed to touch him.’
Their faces fell, then Dillon said gruffly, ‘We could no’ anyway, there’s soldiers nearby and ye ken we have to shield.’
The bracken swayed as Parlan emerged white-faced from his scouting trip. ‘The soldiers are just over the ridge,’ he whispered.
‘Did ye see if there was a cave there?’
‘I saw a very narrow crack which could lead to a cave …’
‘There’s bloody well a cave there,’ Finn said stubbornly.
‘Did the soldiers have one o’ those witch-sniffers with them?’
Parlan nodded. Dillon chewed his lip, then said, ‘We’d better lie low, I guess. Everyone keep your heads down. Once they’re gone we’ll hide in the cave.’
They heard the soldiers marching downstream. All the children concentrated very hard on bracken, and it seemed to work, for although the seeker’s gaze roamed over the hillside where they hid, the party did not stop and no alarm was sounded. They waited long minutes before supporting the seer’s weaving steps down the hill and round the bank of the river to the cave.
It was dark inside. For a moment all was confusion. At last a fire was lit, throwing goblin shadows over the walls. The cave was narrow with a high roof, and it smelt sharply of cat’s urine near the entrance. The puppy whined and snuffled around the cave, his tail between his legs.
Suddenly Artair gave a cry and stumbled. ‘I trod on something,’ he squeaked. ‘Look, Scruffy, it be a wee cat …’
Straightening up, he showed the body of a kitten nestled in his palm. Fresh blood matted its thick fur. ‘The puir wee thing,’ Johanna said. ‘Look, here’s another!’
By the flickering light of the fire they found the bodies of seven cats, five of them mere kittens. All were black as night, with tufted ears. Finn picked one up. It lay cradled in the palm of her hand, its tiny ears folded back against its skull. A fierce tide of pain welled up in her throat, and she bent her head over its body, tears dropping on its blood-soaked fur. ‘Poor wee kitty,’ she said.
Suddenly there was an acute pang in her hand and she almost dropped the kitten in surprise. ‘It’s alive!’ Finn cried softly and felt a faint scrabble against her palm as the kitten kicked feebly. She had to wedge her thumb against its neck to stop the kitten biting her, even though blood oozed from a long wound on its side. ‘Tòmas,’ she whispered, ‘what can we do? Ye’ve got to help it.’
Without hesitation he pulled off his glove and touched the kitten’s forehead. She stopped her hissing and twisting, her brilliant blue-green eyes slowly shutting. ‘What’s wrong?’ Finn cried. ‘What have ye done?’
‘She’s sleeping.’ Tòmas put his glove back on.
Enthralled, the little girl bent over the kitten and saw the wound was knitted together. She looked up, her hazel eyes glowing. ‘Thank ye, Tòmas!’
‘Wha’ do ye think ye’re doing?’ Dillon snapped. ‘Tòmas, ye dinna! That witch-sniffer’s no’ far away, Eà damn it!’
‘Finn asked me to.’ Tòmas quickly passed on the blame, and Finn braced herself for Dillon the Bold’s sharp reprimand, which she accepted meekly. Asleep, the kitten was as soft as a bundle of geal’teas wool, and Finn cuddled her close. At the feel of the little heart fluttering inside the rib cage, Finn’s breast again swelled with a feeling close to pain. ‘What can we feed her?’
Dillon frowned. ‘Ye are no’ thinking o’ adopting that animal, are ye? Soldiers do no’ have kittens, Lieutenant Finn!’
‘But Scruffy, she’ll die unless we look after her,’ Finn protested. ‘We canna heal her, then let her die o’ starvation.’
‘Tòmas should never have healed her,’ Dillon said crossly. ‘After all I said about the importance o’ lying low! If the soldiers come down on us, it’ll be your fault, Finn! And stop calling me by that baby name. I be Dillon the Bold!’
‘I think they’re absolute brutes,’ Johanna said. ‘They killed them just for the sport o’ it. Those soldiers must have known we could no’ have been hiding in this cave if the elven cats were here.’
‘Why would they have known that?’ Dillon’s broad, freckled face turned to Johanna with interest.
‘Well, elven cats will fight to the death rather than surrender,’ Johanna said. ‘I thought everyone knew that. They’re very terry-terry—ye ken.’
‘Territorial,’ Finn said absent-mindedly.
‘Aye. They’re real wild. They canna be tamed, so it’s no use ye trying, Finn, ye’ll never get it to come to ye. They’re only wee, but they can fight!’
‘She’s only a babe,’ Finn said defensively, cuddling the furry body closer.
‘Makes no difference,’ Johanna said. ‘Ye canna tame ’em.’
Finn’s mouth set stubbornly, and involuntarily she squeezed the elven cat closer. Suddenly her arms were full of writhing, squirming, scratching cat. Sharp fangs sank into her hand and the kitten leapt from her arms and disappeared into the darkness. ‘Look what ye’ve done!’ she cried and began to search the cave, b
ut there was no sign of the little elven cat. Near tears, Finn let herself be ordered to bed, as her calling woke the others, but it was long before she slept.
In the morning Dillon ordered brambles to be arranged around the cave mouth and patrols were mounted at all times. Finn was disconsolate, though several times the kitten dashed out of the darkness to sink her fangs into someone’s ankle. So black was her fur that she could be virtually underfoot and still remain invisible.
Finn filled Jorge’s beggar’s bowl with water but the kitten would not come close enough to taste it. Johanna, anxious to be of help, promised to help Finn catch some fish. Although they had no hooks or fishing rods, Johanna was surprisingly adept at catching fish with nothing but her bare hands. Tickling trout was a skill her cousin had taught her back in the days when she had lived in the country, and she had caught several fish this way over the past few weeks.
‘Do no’ worry, wee kit, I’ll look after ye,’ Finn whispered. ‘Ye mun be so thirsty. Lap up some o’ the water and I’ll be back with fish as soon as I can.’ To her surprise, she was answered by a weak, muffled mew, though she could see no sign of the little black cat.
The two girls kilted their skirts up around their knees and braved the freezing rush of the Muileach, wading stealthily to the still waters near the bank. Johanna showed Finn how to slowly bring her fingers up under the body of the trout, fluttering them like the leaves of a water-weed. Johanna caught a fat one almost immediately, but Finn was too noisy and impatient and scared the rest away. They crept downstream to try again, and this time Johanna caught two. ‘It takes time to catch the trick o’ it,’ she said consolingly as, drenched and dripping, they made their way back to the cave.
After they had all hungrily eaten their supper of fish, Finn crept towards the back of the cave. ‘Kitty,’ she called. ‘Come on, wee one, lap up some water and eat some fish. Ye mun be so hungry and thirsty.’