by Kate Forsyth
I was, but oh, Gitâ, I am so happy to see ye. Where have ye been?
With your mirror-face.
My mirror-face?
Dragon sister.
Dragon sister?
The donbeag sat up on his hind legs and patted her face with his paws. Dragon sister. Born of the one womb.
Isabeau was so flabbergasted she did not say a word. For a moment she thought she had misunderstood the little creature, but he put his paws together and bobbed his head, donbeag for ‘truth speaking’.
Ye have been with my twin? I have a twin sister?
He chittered in agreement and sent Isabeau an image of a sabre leopard.
She’s a sabre leopard? Isabeau was more confused than ever.
He hooked his claws in her bodice so he could climb up to her shoulder and pat her earlobe in comfort. Fierce lass. Fierce as a sabre leopard.
She felt excitement fill her. A twin sister!
Where? How?
Dragons.
‘Dragons!’ she cried aloud, and the baby in the cradle whimpered.
Dragons, the donbeag repeated. He slipped down into her lap again and curled up in a ball so he could groom his rain-slicked fur.
Where is she?
Near.
Isabeau gripped her fingers together. A twin sister! No wonder she had always felt so alone, as if half of her was missing. Dreams of sisterly love flowered in her mind. What is she like?
Sabre leopard.
Isabeau frowned. Sabre leopards and dragons did not sound altogether promising. Where is she? Is she with Meghan? Jealousy stabbed her unexpectedly in the stomach.
No, my witch gone.
Ye did no’ come from Meghan?
My beloved tell me you sad and lonely, come look after you. I with mirror-face.
Where is Meghan?
My witch not far.
Canna ye tell me, Gitâ? I’ve missed her so much, and I do no’ ken what it is she expects me to do.
Beloved waits for moons to cross.
Isabeau gave up. The fact that Gitâ was here meant that Meghan could not be too far away. ‘Will ye stay with me, Gitâ?’
Stay till beloved calls me. Watch over you, keep you safe from harm.
Isabeau did not smile. Instead she sighed with gratitude and hugged the donbeag closer. He licked her hand with his warm tongue and said, Sleep. I will watch over you. So she did.
It was a nerve-racking trip back to the ruined tower. By the time they had made their way through the garden, the rain had stopped. It must be perilously close to midnight.
Dillon ran for the tower door first. By the time Jay had burst in, Iseult and Lachlan had all the news. The prionnsa was pacing the floor, his wings upright and slightly spread, his fists clenched. His eyes were bright with tears. ‘It canna be true, Jaspar canna be dying!’
‘But Lachlan, we’ve been hearing for months how ill he’s been. Ye must have known he was dying! All our plans are based on the fact that he would die!’
‘That’s no’ true!’ Lachlan cried. ‘Always I hoped that we would be able to save him. Meghan would have known what to do. I thought once I had the Lodestar and could prove to him who I am … that once he realised how much damage Maya has done …’ He laid his arms along the fireplace and wept, great harsh sobs.
Iseult went to him, but he shook her away, struggling to control himself. Duncan spoke quietly to the other Blue Guards in the room, sending them out to patrol the tower. Once they had gone, he stood with his shoulders against the wall, his hands resting on his dagger hilt.
Lachlan took a deep breath and raised his head. ‘It is too soon! I have no’ spoken to him, explained. He does no’ ken the truth.’
‘But Lachlan …’
He talked on, not heeding her or the wide-eyed children. ‘He will die thinking Maya the banrìgh o’ his dreams, no’ knowing how she has killed and tortured and ensorcelled …’ His voice broke.
Jorge said quietly, ‘It does no’ matter, Lachlan. He will die happy.’
‘No! No, do ye no’ see?’
‘I see that the time has come for Gearradh to have a hand in this weaving. It is no’ for us to say when a man must die, Lachlan. It is for she who cuts the thread.’
‘Jorge, canna ye see it is all wrong this way? Meghan said we had to wait for Samhain to retrieve the Lodestar, that its song was dying and we needed to bathe it at the hour o’ its birth to save it. So I waited to confront that cursehag and I waited to talk with Jaspar and explain—I waited because Meghan said he would never believe me, that her blaygird ensorcelment was too strong, that I would die as a uile-bheist on the fire …’ A sob tore in his throat and he stopped, clenching his hands into fists. ‘I told him! I told him when first he married her. I knew she was no’ what she seemed. Then when I held her boot, I knew. She’s Fairge!’ He spat the word. ‘No matter what ye all say, I ken she is Fairge.’
‘Lachlan, we have no’ got the Lodestar,’ Iseult said, troubled. ‘Ye canna be storming the palace without it!’
‘I have the Bow!’
‘And have no’ even seen if ye can string it yet! Let alone got used to its balance and thrust, used it until it is as much a part o’ ye as your own hand!’
He was silent. Jorge said persuasively, ‘Lachlan, it is only one more night. Today is the last day o’ autumn; tomorrow it is Samhain and we can penetrate the maze. Meghan told ye that was the time. Join the Key, retrieve the Lodestar, bathe it in the pool when the two moons have crossed and the water is again filled with power. Then, when it is in your hand and potent again, then ye can use it to prove to Jaspar who ye are, and protect yourself from her …’
‘But it might be too late. They say his heart stopped, his face was blue and the healer was breathing her own breath into his lungs. They say she pounded his chest. Dillon heard it all.’
‘What was strange is that they called the healer the Red. As we all call ye, Iseult.’ Dillon thought it was time the conversation grew more constructive.
Iseult and Lachlan shot a look at each other. ‘Isabeau!’
Jorge said excitedly, ‘It must be! She will have the rest o’ the Key!’
‘We canna get into the maze without the Key,’ Lachlan said swiftly. ‘If we want to get the Lodestar, we need to join the Key first, ye all ken that! We’ll have to go into the palace to get it …’
‘Do no’ be a fool, lad!’ Jorge cried.
‘I am no’ a lad!’ Lachlan shouted. ‘I am Lachlan Owein MacCuinn!’ He spun round, his talons scraping against the stone. ‘The Lodestar will have to wait! Do ye no’ see, if I do no’ convince Jaspar who I am and what his horrid wife has done, he will name his Fairge daughter heir! That is what she wants! All this time we’ve been so careful to never strike against Jaspar, only against her! Is it my fault or Enit’s fault that there were so many pirates or bandits? They said we were in league with them but we never were. I need to make him understand and name me heir. That was all I ever wanted! She ensorcelled the babe into being. Jorge, ye ken that. It was the comet spell—a Spell o’ Begetting. It is no’ a true growth o’ love, like our babes will be. If they name her Regent and the babe heir, then it will truly be civil war, for I will no’ stand that woman—that uile-bheist—to rule! She has killed Jaspar, as surely as she killed Donncan and Feargus, as surely as she has tried again and again to kill me!’
Jay, who knew nothing about the Lodestar and did not care, started forward, his voice shrill, ‘What are ye all blabber-mouthing for! Do ye no’ understand Finn is in the hands o’ the Awl?’
Finn opened her eyes cautiously. There had been no sound for well over ten minutes. Though every sense warned her of danger, she could not wait any longer.
She was lying on a velvet couch in a dimly lit room. On the table near her foot a chess game was set out, the players engaged. She let her eyes rove over the room and then noticed a thin white hand lying amid the crimson velvet thrown over the chair opposite. Her heart hammering, she raised her eyes and saw a
high-templed white face, heavy-lidded, thin-mouthed, smiling. Amongst all the dull crimson, there was only the white of his face and hand and stiff ruff.
‘So ye have decided to wake, Fionnghal.’
‘Why do ye call me that?’ She lifted her hand to her throat. ‘Give me back my charm!’
He smiled and said nothing. She launched herself from the couch, nails raking, but he caught her throat in his thin white hand and bore her to her knees. He gripped so hard she could barely breathe. Her small hands caught at his, but he did not relent. She knelt, quiescent. ‘Wild as an elven cat, ye are, Fionnghal.’ She jerked under his hand and he looked at her, puzzled. ‘That moves ye, I see. I wonder why.’ He looked her over, a sneering at her rags and general filth. ‘The MacRuraich would no’ be so proud if he could see ye now, would he?’
She tried to speak, but her throat was paralysed. He clenched a little closer, then threw her down. She lay still, swallowing air as if it were wine. He sat back, and his hand on his thigh was so still it was like marble.
‘Ye slipped Glynelda’s leash. A bad time ye gave her, ye and that red-haired wench. And auld Kersey dead, one o’ the best bounty-hunters there ever was. Completely ruthless and corruptible. Just the way we like them. Did ye kill him, Fionnghal? I doubt he treated ye well. Did he hurt ye, Fionnghal?’
‘Why do ye call me that?’ she whispered.
‘It is your name. A beautiful name. It means “fair one”, and indeed ye are fair now, Fionnghal. When last I saw ye, ye were a dark imp, a wee goblin.’ Again she startled involuntarily, and his gaze sharpened.
‘Ye prick to the most unexpected barbs, Fionnghal. Ye intrigue me. I wonder what ye are doing here. We had tracked ye down to a gang o’ filthy beggar bairns, stealing mouldy bread from trash heaps and playing at intrigue. Where are they now, your friends? Where is the lad with the healing hands? Ye ken such sorcery is evil, Fionnghal? Ye ken such evil enchantments need to be cleansed by the fire? Ye ken the penalty for treason and witchcraft is death, Fionnghal?’
She lay still, watching him, waiting. He sat back. His hand smoothed his velvet coat, lifted to the tiny button at his throat, the first button of twenty-four. She saw his tightly tailored coat bulged slightly over one hip. He had something in his pocket. Something round. She lifted her eyes to his face.
‘Death by fire, Fionnghal.’
She gave a little whimper and lifted her hands to her throat. ‘Ye hurt me,’ she said piteously.
‘Where are your friends, Fionnghal?’
‘Please, can I have some wine? To soothe my throat?’
He poured some wine, red as his velvet. As she drank, he talked, startling her with his knowledge. He knew the King of the Thieves had helped them escape, that the boy who led the beggar children had a puppy with a black-patched face.
‘Please, I feel faint. I do no’ understand what ye mean. My head is spinning. I need something to eat,’ Finn moaned. At last he rang a bell. His servants brought them bread, white and soft as the cheese, and ripe red bellfruit on a tray, with a curved silver knife and linen napkins. She took her time over it, pretending to fumble in drunken clumsiness.
He laughed sardonically. ‘Only twelve and a cub unto her father! No wonder the family is weak, with a taste for the demon drink.’
‘Wha’ do ye mean?’ Finn mumbled. ‘All this mys-mysterious … mutter!’
He watched her, suspicious. ‘I hope the supper is to your liking, my lady Fionnghal. Surely better than what ye are accustomed to.’
‘Indeed ’tis,’ she slurred and knocked over the pepper pot with her elbow, so pepper poured out. Babbling apologies, she tried to scrape it back into the crystal container. He glanced at her sharply, and she gave him a drunken smile and burped loudly. Finn had spent half of her life with Kersey Witch-Sniffer, a man who was drunk more often than not—she could mimic every expression, belch and stammer. The seeker looked away, disgusted. With a quick fling of her wrist, she threw the pepper straight into his face. He sneezed violently, his eyes streaming. Before he could cry out she had brought the heavy silver tray crashing down on his head. He crumpled and slid to the ground.
She retrieved her medallion and knotted it round her neck again, then dragged down one of the curtains and carefully rolled him up in it. It should muffle his cries and restrict his movements for quite some time. When he was as neatly swaddled as any baby, she smiled and gave a little jig. Now to get out o’ here!
Meghan and most of the ringleaders were still in the sitting room, finalising their plans. Anghus burst in, shouting for men, for arms, for directions. It took some time to work out what was wrong. Anghus was keeping his temper on a tight rein, but was unable to stand still in his impatience. At last he shouted, ‘That’s it, I am going! Stay, ye cowards! I care no’.’
A thin young man called Culley stood up, yawned and stretched. ‘I know how to get into the palace unseen, my laird. I will take ye for a price.’
‘We are to wait for the signal,’ another said. ‘Culley, ye ken we were told to lie low until the signal came.’
‘Stow it, Lunn. The man wants his daughter, I want his bag o’ gold. Seems like a fair bargain to me.’
Meghan stood up, draping her plaid about her. ‘I will go with ye too, Anghus. I am uneasy in my heart. Too much has happened to alter my plans and I am no’ there to steady my young hotheads. Ye plan to enter through the sewers, Culley?’
‘Aye,’ he said, awed.
‘Do ye ken the way or is it just bravado?’
‘I have marked many o’ the most important turns.’
‘But no’ all o’ them? Then I will call Ceit Anna. It will no’ suit my plans to be lost in the sewers under Lucescere, no, indeed.’
‘I do know the way, my lady. I have used it several times.’
‘Very well, then, but let’s be quick about it.’
Within minutes they were in the boulevard and Culley was pulling up an iron manhole to climb down below street level. With twenty rebels to help guard them, they clambered down into the reeking darkness.
Through endless passages they hurried, illuminated only by the light of their candles, gagging at the foul stench. Culley found his way by checking for scratch marks on the wall. He told them the story of Tòmas the Healer, and how he had helped the King of the Thieves and his followers escape the dungeons of Lucescere Palace. They had been led through this maze of ducts and drains by a nyx. Culley had not trusted the black-winged faery and so had scratched his mark here and there on the wall in case the nyx left them somewhere to rot. Realising the usefulness of the underground system, he had spent time in the following few months exploring the sewers and marking key turnoffs. His foresight had paid off later when he had been arrested again and had managed to escape through the sewers a second time.
They had just begun to climb an upward sloping drainpipe, wading through storm water, when Anghus suddenly cried, ‘No!’
‘What be wrong, my laird?’
‘I’ve lost the connection! Something has happened—I canna feel Fionnghal any more!’ They looked at each other in foreboding.
‘What could have happened?’ Casey whispered.
‘Did ye no’ say it was a spell on her medallion that prevented ye from sensing her?’ Donald said placidly. ‘Happen she has just put it back on.’
Anghus nodded, trying not to think about what else it could mean. He was tense and undecided, the others waiting to see what he thought was the best course of action. After a moment he said, ‘Let us push on. It will be much harder to find her now, but I canna leave her there another minute. We shall just have to track her down with our mere human senses.’
Finn thought swiftly. There would be guards beyond the door. It was a miracle they had not heard her scuffles already. She wrapped the cloak about her and climbed out the palace window, closing it gently after her. It was dark, the rain beating against her back. She moved cautiously along a ridge of decorative stone, came to an open window and crawled inside. It was too
dangerous to be hanging out there in that rain, particularly when the hour to midnight was already trickling away.
She tiptoed through the sleeping palace, came at last to the great staircase, and leant over the marble balustrade. Four floors below her was the entrance hall. She could see soldiers, stiff-backed and straight-speared. She ducked back, thinking furiously. There must be a servants’ staircase, and at this time of the night it was likely to be empty. All she had to do was find it, slip down it and out through the kitchens into the garden.
Desperately she hoped Goblin had stayed with Jay, that Jay and Dillon and the others had returned safely to the tower, that they would do nothing rash. Surely they knew she could look after herself?
As if her thought of Goblin had summoned her, Finn saw the tiny cat poke her black nose through the front door of the entrance hall. Finn closed her eyes. No, Goblin, she prayed. They will see ye, go back. Then she opened them again, desperate to see what was happening.
The cat had slunk round the perimeter of the hall, almost invisible in the shadows, and was now bounding silently up the stairs. She was very black against the white marble. Finn could see her clearly, but the soldiers were all staring in front of them and did not notice.
The little black cat pranced up the final flight of steps, her tail raised high. She bounded into Finn’s arms, kneaded her neck painfully, then demanded to be put down with one of her high-pitched, almost silent mews.
Clever kitty! Finn said, dropping her on the floor. Let’s get out o’ here.
Ten minutes later she had reached the western wing of the palace, the one closest to the gardens. She had to hide behind some curtains as a group of men passed by, talking in low voices, their heads bent together. They were richly dressed, in doublets and embroidered hose. She wondered what they were doing, wandering the palace in the wee small hours.
She followed the men, unable to help speculating about what they were up to. Their expressions had been so serious, their air of furtive excitement so intriguing, that Finn thought she should take advantage of being in the palace to find out what she could. Besides, they were going in the direction she wanted to, and surely it could not do any harm to see what they were up to.