by Kate Forsyth
‘That way is north, laddie,’ Anghus said, pointing off into the mist. ‘Ye shall no’ get lost if ye stay close to me.’
‘How can ye ken?’ asked Floinn Redbeard, one of the belligerent soldiers.
Anghus knew he must be careful to show no sign of his Talent before these men, for they were seasoned witch-hunters, used to accompanying seekers in the field. He stepped up onto one of the thick roots and caressed the moss-oak’s trunk. ‘See how this moss grows here on the trunk?’ The soldier nodded suspiciously. ‘See how the other side of the trunk is bare? This type o’ moss grows only on the north-facing trunk. If ye get lost, feel the trunks and head due south. Ye canna fail to find your way free.’
‘Ye ken a lot about the Veiled Forest for a man who does no’ bide here.’
‘We have many moss-oaks in Siantan,’ Anghus answered. He tied the rope to Casey’s belt. ‘Are ye called Hawkeye for good reason?’ he asked. The tall man nodded. ‘Good, ye may go first then. Ashlin, stay close to Donald.’
One by one they tied the rope to their belts, and then Casey led the way through the curving tree-roots. Although it was mid-afternoon, it seemed dusk, and the gloominess pressed against their spirits.
A wolf stepped out of the shadows, hackles slightly raised, her lips pulled back from her teeth. Immediately a dozen swords sang, but Anghus cried, ‘Sheathe your clay-mores! Did I give ye leave to pull your weapons?’
He stared at the wolf with incredulous dismay. It was the matriarch of the Rurach forests, her black ruff beginning to silver with age. He could not believe she was here, so far from her natural home. She stared at Anghus with stern yellow eyes and growled menacingly, the thick hair along her spine stiffening. Donald unstrapped his bow. Anghus motioned him back. ‘She shall no’ hurt us,’ he said, though he had no idea how he could be so sure.
He untied the rope from his belt and stepped out of his companions’ sight and hearing. The wolf kept her fierce eyes fixed on his face, growling still. Anghus said in a low voice, ‘What is wrong, black wolf? I had thought we were friends o’ a sort. Is there danger ahead?’ She would not budge, and continued to growl. He took a careful step forward, and then another, and she snarled. ‘I shall have to let them kill ye if ye do no’ let us past,’ Anghus warned. ‘I do no’ wish to do that.’
She moved restlessly, whining a little. He took another step, and she growled but did not leap. A few more steps and his hand would be on her head. He took them slowly, holding his breath, and his fingers just touched her thick ruff. For a moment her yellow eyes met his, then she turned and slunk away.
He made his way back to the chain of soldiers, staring haughtily at their angry, incredulous faces. A few of them stirred uneasily, but he faced them down and, with only a little muttering, they fell into line. Everyone knew the MacRuraichs had an odd affinity with wolves.
As the afternoon sank into an early night, the shadow-hounds slunk closer and closer, their black undulating bodies rippling along on either side of the little party. They made camp in a small clearing, though the wood was so damp Donald’s efforts to light a fire failed. The gillie was rather affronted when Casey Hawkeye took over, but the cavalryman soon had a bonfire burning. The flames glowed upwards into the fretted canopy, carving deep shadows into the tree trunks. In the flickering light the trees seemed to sway as if shifting from foot to foot. All through the forest, black forms writhed, green eyes bright as candles.
Anghus organised a roster for the night watch, and they ate in near silence, then rolled themselves in blankets. They were woken in the early hours of the morning by Ashlin’s frantic calls. The soldier on guard had been killed by shadow-hounds, his throat torn out. It was the soldier who had cut his forehead. He had been taken silently from the shadows, but the scuffle that had broken out over his body had woken Ashlin, sleeping uneasily. The boy was white and queasy as he stood with his dagger drawn over the soldier’s dismembered body. He had managed to drive the shadow-hounds away with a flaming torch pulled from the fire. The huge black creatures still swarmed silently around the edges of the clearing, however, blood-lust bright in their eyes. No-one slept again that night.
As soon as the darkness had lifted enough for them to see the moss-oaks looming through the mist, they continued on their way. The soldiers were unhappy and tense, but followed Anghus’s orders quickly enough. He insisted on tying them all together again and warned them to keep their swords sheathed. Several hours later a soldier blundered into the nest of a swarthyweb spider and was bitten. His death throes were awful to watch. They hid his body under leaves and branches, knowing the shadow-hounds would dig him up even if they buried him, and continued in silence.
Soon after dusk closed over them, a swarm of shadow-hounds leapt from the undergrowth. They came in a great snarling wave, writhing about each other’s bodies like a nest of snakes. Three soldiers lost their lives in seconds, throats torn out by the great hounds’ wicked teeth. The others scrambled together, back to back, their great claymores whistling. Although black bodies were soon heaped up on either side, another soldier went down, then another.
Anghus’s face was grim; he knew better than anyone how difficult it was to slow a swarm of shadow-hounds. One alone was hard to kill; together their strength and savagery was virtually unstoppable. He thrust his dagger into the breast of one, the green fire in its eyes flickering out, only to find another sinking its fangs into his arm. Pain zigzagged through him, but he managed to slash at the beast with his dagger. The shadow-hound hung on grimly and he sank to one knee.
Suddenly a dark streak flashed through the trees, falling on the swarm of shadow-hounds from the rear. It was the wolf. She sank her fangs into the neck of the shadow-hound and dragged him off Anghus. Snarling and yelping, they rolled together on the ground, then the wolf rose, her fangs dripping with greenish-black plasma. Side by side the wolf and Anghus fought, till at last the swarm wavered and broke. In seconds the misty clearing was empty of all but five panting, cursing men, and the wolf, who lifted her muzzle and howled in triumph. On the ground lay seven of their number, and three times as many shadow-hounds.
They walked no further that day. By the time the bodies had been disposed of, their wounds strapped up, and a dram of whisky thankfully swallowed by all, it was fully dark. In the distance shadow-hounds howled, while the forest pressed close, more menacing than ever. The wolf had disappeared into the shifting undergrowth again, but Anghus knew she was nearby.
‘We are going about this the wrong way,’ Anghus said. ‘It is no use fighting the forest; we shall never win through. I want ye all to go back.’
Casey Hawkeye shook his head. ‘We canna be doing that, my laird,’ he answered respectfully. ‘We were sent to help and protect ye and canna be turning back because the way is difficult. We knew it would be dangerous before we came.’
‘But I will do better without ye,’ Anghus said impatiently.
‘How can ye? This forest is evil; ye need us to keep ye safe, my laird.’
Anghus could not explain to him why he was safer without them. He merely repeated impatiently that he wanted them all to turn back.
‘We have our orders, my laird.’
‘Aye, and I’m the one giving them to ye. I want ye to turn back.’
‘We are under orders from the Grand-Seeker himself,’ Casey replied. ‘Nothing ye can say will convince us to go against him. Our death in this forest will be far kinder than what the Grand-Seeker would do to us if we disobeyed him.’
Anghus ground his teeth in frustration, but knew there was little he could do. Instead he sat in moody silence, taking swigs from his flask and wondering where the wolf had got to. He could hardly believe she had followed them all the way into the Veiled Forest. Her appearance filled Anghus with confusion. His heart had leapt at the sight of her, but he was conscious all the time that there was some vital clue he was missing, a nagging sense of recognition that puzzled him sorely.
It was a long, nerve-racking night. Casey
Hawkeye again built a massive bonfire, and set flaming torches all round the clearing, but the darkness beyond winked with eyes great and small. Three times the shadow-hounds descended upon them, only thrust off after fierce fighting and the brief reappearance of the wolf. In the morning they saw the dirt about the clearing was thick with tracks, including the clawed prints of hobgoblins.
With flame and axe and sword, they slashed and burnt their way through the tangle of bramble and briar, the forest black and forbidding all around them. Donald was at one shoulder, Casey at the other, Floinn protecting the vulnerable young piper behind. Anghus knew he was close; so close he could smell Meghan in his nostrils and taste her in his throat. The forest fought them each step of the way, but the thrill of the chase was racing through every vein and artery. His excitement infected the others, and together they struggled forward, allowing nothing to slow them or separate them. They did not stop when darkness fell, but pushed on, smoky torches gripped tight in every hand.
At last they fell through the last wall of thorns, and before them stretched open grass, velvet in the moonlight, the shapes of trees and bushes flowing above. The air was sweet-scented; a light breeze ruffled their sweat-damp hair and cooled their scratched faces. The mist had disappeared so stars crowded overhead.
‘The garden o’ the Celestines,’ Anghus sighed. ‘Sheathe your weapons, lads. They’ll do us no good here.’
Reluctantly they obeyed, and Anghus sniffed the night, scenting his prey. She was close, very close. He set off through the garden, his boots crushing fragrant flowers. The others followed him, silent in awe and anticipation. Ahead loomed a high hill, rising out of the trees. The tall stones that crowned it shone white in the moonlight.
‘She will be there,’ Anghus muttered. He raised his voice slightly, and said, ‘Ye must no’ come any further. Stay by the stream and do no’ pull your weapons. Ye are now in the garden o’ the Celestines and ye are no’ welcome here. One act o’ violence or disrespect now and all could be lost. Nay, Donald, ye must stay too. I will no’ need ye.’
‘But my laird …’ Donald protested.
Anghus shook his head. ‘Stay, auld friend, and guard my back.’
Alone, the Prionnsa of Rurach moved silently through the great trees. He was conscious of being watched, but made no aggressive move, and the hidden watchers did not show themselves. He came through a clearing to the base of the hill and left his sword and dagger concealed beneath a bush. A stream came tumbling down the side of the hill, and he washed himself carefully in it, revelling in its crystal freshness. Only then did he begin the climb.
Meghan NicCuinn was sitting against one of the great stones, looking out across the forest to the loch, which gleamed brightly in the moonlight. She looked up at his footsteps, and smiled. ‘Greetings, Anghus MacRuraich. I have been expecting ye. It has been a long time indeed syne we last saw each other.’
‘Nigh on twenty years, my lady,’ he answered and bowed to her.
‘That long? Och, o’ course, it was before Tabithas became Keybearer.’
‘Aye,’ he replied, melancholy in his voice. ‘Ye ken I have come to take ye to the Awl?’
‘O’ course I ken. Why else do ye think I am here waiting for ye? There is time, though. Bide a wee, Anghus, and we shall talk. The past twenty years have no’ been kind to ye, I can tell.’
‘Nay, cruel years indeed they have been.’
‘Ye miss your sister, that I can see. Ye have no’ yet found her? That surprises me.’
‘I canna fix my heart upon her. She is hidden from me by strange and troubling shadows.’
‘But ye are the MacRuraich, Anghus, canna ye see through these shadows?’
He shook his head and slowly sat down beside her on the grass. Her stern face was illuminated by the moonlight, her eyes deepset in darkness. ‘Why?’
‘I do no’ know.’
‘I too have had trouble finding her,’ Meghan said. ‘She is close now, though. I have had speech with her.’
‘With Tabithas? Tabithas is here! Where?’ In an instant he was on his feet.
‘Sit, Anghus, she shall show herself soon enough if she so wishes. Ye are no’ seeing very clearly, are ye?’
‘Nay,’ he answered, a break in his voice.
‘I heard about the witch-hunts in Rurach and Siantan these past few years. It does no’ seem like ye, Anghus, to have subjected your people to such harsh and heartless dealings.’
‘It is no’ me that is to blame!’ Anghus cried. ‘The Awl has its heel hard on our throats. The new Grand-Seeker is a brutal and cunning man who takes pleasure in breaking people to his will …’
‘So he has broken yours?’
Anghus spat in disgust. ‘Nay, let a miserable, spottyfaced peasant lad like Humbert o’ the Smithy break the will o’ the MacRuraich? I do no’ think so!’
‘So what has happened to ye, Anghus? Do ye no longer rule your clan?’
‘They have my daughter,’ he said quietly, his head down, shoulders slumped. ‘They stole her from me five years ago.’
‘Och, I see,’ Meghan replied softly. ‘It was then the witch-hunts in Rurach grew so savage. They threaten her life if ye do no’ do what they wish.’
‘Aye.’
‘There have been many who died by the fire in Rurach, some with power, very many with only a little. Why were they so harsh?’
‘Humbert o’ the Smithy was leader o’ the Awl there and determined to make his mark and win favour in the Banrìgh’s eyes. He sought to punish me as well, I feel, for he was born in Siantan. Many there still hate and resent the MacRuraich clan for ruling their country, even though it was won peaceably by marriage. He and the Banrìgh stole my bairn and set me to hunt down the rebels who had been hiding out in the Tower o’ Searchers, as if I were some filthy paid assassin to do their blaygird work. But they had my daughter, and my people were suffering the backlash o’ their displeasure. I dared do nothing else.’
‘Ye did no’ hunt down Seychella Wind-Whistler, she who had been apprenticed to your sister.’
He glanced up at her in surprise and chagrin. ‘Nay, I did no’. I lied to them, and said that all were dead. How did ye ken?’
‘She came to me in my secret hiding place to help me with a job I had on hand then. I heard all the news from her, though worried I had been for a long time about the state o’ affairs in Rurach and Siantan. She is dead now. A Mesmerd kissed her life away.’
‘A Mesmerd! One o’ those blaygird faeries from the marsh? But how? Why? Were ye in Arran?’ His voice expressed intense disbelief, for he knew Meghan would never have risked hiding in the misty fenlands of Arran where the MacFóghnans ruled.
She did not tell him where she had been the last sixteen years, instead saying wryly, ‘The Mesmerd was in league with a troop o’ Red Guards and a seeker. Strange bedfellows I ken, but then I find the MacRuraich and the Banrìgh strange bedfellows as well.’
Anghus flushed, and bit his lip. ‘I am sorry indeed to hear Seychella is dead,’ he said gruffly. ‘She saved my life one time, and broke bread under my roof.’
‘As have I.’
He said nothing.
Meghan laid her hands on his arm. All the muscles were tense and knotted. She said softly, ‘It is a cruel compulsion, to take your daughter and hold her life and safety over your head. I knew o’ your coming and I waited for ye. I ken there is no escaping the black wolf once he has begun to hunt. I shall come with ye peaceably, as ye knew that I would. I have one question for ye first.’
‘What is it?’ His voice was strangled in his throat.
‘Why have ye no’ hunted down your daughter as ye have hunted me? The Talent is strong in ye. Indeed, if ye were no’ heir to the throne o’ Rurach, we would have asked ye to take your apprenticeship and join the Coven. Ye should have been able to search her out easily, a child o’ your blood and bone.’
‘Ye think I have no’ tried!’ Anghus roared, temper breaking free. ‘I have searched the whole land fro
m shore to shore for her. I ken she is still alive, but somehow they have hidden her from me. My own daughter, hidden to my eyes!’
Meghan was silent, her eyes fixed on his face. With a broken groan, he told her the whole story. How his Talent had tricked and misled him again and again, making him feel Fionnghal was near when all the time she was far away; making him throbbingly aware of his daughter without allowing him to fix her position.
‘How do ye ken Fionnghal was far away?’
‘She was no’ near me,’ he answered. ‘So many times I was as aware o’ her as if she was in the next room, but never, never, was she there.’
‘Did your daughter have the Talent?’
He nodded brusquely.
‘Did she wear your device?’
He nodded again.
She said thoughtfully, ‘It occurs to me a reverse spell could have been placed upon the crest. A simple trick, easy enough for anyone with a small amount of skill and training, but highly effective in a case such as yours. Each time ye fix upon her, the medallion would repel ye in the opposite direction. She could no’ find ye either, for the reverse spell would work against her own Talent as well. All ye would need to do to find her is go against your natural impulse. Fix on her, then go where your Talent tells ye no’ to go.’
His eyes were blazing with hope and excitement. ‘Could it be that simple?’ he cried. ‘All these years, and I was kept away by an elementary reverse spell!’
‘Happen that is the reason. It is only a guess, Anghus, but the only one that I can think o’. Try it if ye will. In the meantime, ye should perhaps know the blind warlock Jorge has been gathering together bairns o’ Talent to begin a new Theurgia. Among a bevy o’ beggar children he made friends with was a young lass with strong Searching powers. She wears around her neck a battered medallion that feels like a dog or a wolf. Do ye perhaps think …?’