The Forbidden Land (10 page)

The MacAhern laughed. ‘We o’ the plains do no’ feel the need to build towers and palaces o’ stone,’ he answered mockingly. ‘We have few possessions and do no’ want more to weigh us down and make us slow. The Ensorcellor sent soldiers against us but we hid in the grass and they could no’ find us. They tried to burn us out but the Loremaster brought rain in from the sea and doused the flames. They tried to starve us out but in a battle against the coneys, the coneys will always win. They tried to ambush us but one by one we picked them off with our bows and arrows. Eventually they left. What they told the Ensorcellor I do no’ ken, but as long as we kept ourselves to ourselves, she did no’ bother us.’

‘So
Tùr na Thigearnean
still stands?’

‘Indeed, ye saw him dance this afternoon,’ the MacAhern answered, smiling. All stared at him, bewildered. He looked round at them all, saw everyone was listening, and frowned.

‘Do no’ fear,’ Enit said. ‘All here are loyal to the MacCuinn and the Coven.’

He accepted a coney leg from the platter Nina was holding. ‘Ah, but are they loyal to the MacAhern?’ he asked, an edge to his smile.

‘If the MacAhern is loyal to his Rìgh,’ Enit replied. The MacAhern bit into the roast meat thoughtfully, his wife and daughter watching rather warily.

‘We do no’ have much paper here in Tìreich,’ he said at last, once he had finished the coney leg and tossed it down for his dog, who lay beside him. Everyone wondered at this strange divergence in the conversation but he went on, ‘Paper is expensive to buy and books are heavy to carry around. So we tend to learn our lore off by heart, in songs and poems and stories. All our children are taught this way. I myself can read and write and so can my children, but to most o’ the bairns, words are naught but squiggles on the paper.’

Enit nodded, saying, ‘Aye, I canna read nor write myself. We jongleurs have no need o’ such things.’

‘Since we do no’ have books, we do no’ need a tower to keep them in,’ the MacAhern continued softly. ‘Our tower o’ learning is a man, the Loremaster. He carries all our history and wisdom in his head and his heart. Ye ken what our motto is?’ As Enit nodded her head he said softly, ‘
Nunquam obliviscar
.’

Both Finn and Ashlin looked involuntarily at Brangaine and she smiled rather smugly and whispered, ‘It means “I shall never forget”.’

‘Is this no’ dangerous?’ Dide asked. ‘Wha’ if he should die?’

‘We do our best to keep him safe. If it came to a choice, my people would choose his life over mine, have no doubt. He teaches what he kens to the Lorekeepers and in time, will choose one to succeed him. The best o’ the Lorekeepers ken as much as he does.’

‘So there is no tower,’ Enit breathed.

‘A living tower,’ the MacAhern answered. He pointed away across the camp to a small, dark-skinned man with a forked beard and grey hair tied in bunches that hung down to below his belt. Although he was far too far away to hear what the prionnsa said, the Loremaster lifted his head and gazed at them, then raised his hand in greeting. Finn recognised him as the man who had danced a stirring jig over crossed swords that afternoon.

‘In the auld days many young acolytes used to come and travel with us and learn our ways, and we sent many o’ our young to the Tower o’ Ravens or the Tower o’ Two Moons, wherever they wanted to go. Then the Coven grew rather arrogant and scorned our lore, which is all to do with horses and the way o’ the plains. Fewer came then. I can remember only one or two strangers travelling with us in my childhood. Since then, none, no’ for many years.’ The MacAhern rubbed his forehead with his hand then glanced at Enit again. ‘So tell Meghan NicCuinn what I have said and if she is willing, well then, I will allow strangers to sit at the feet o’ my Lorekeepers again.’

She nodded and thanked him, and talk veered to other matters. Eating hungrily, Finn noticed that Brangaine glanced often over to the caravan of the Loremaster, her face very thoughtful. Finn teased her about it, saying, ‘Ye wish to sit at his feet, Brangaine? Ye’ll be getting your dress dirty.’

For once her cousin did not rise to the bait, but just looked at Finn rather sadly and walked away.

After they had all eaten, a crowd gathered again, to watch Dide juggling and Morrell swallowing swords and flaming torches. Finn caused rather a stir when Goblin came stalking out from underneath the caravan, where she had been sleeping, to leap up Finn’s body to her shoulder. All knew that elven cats were among the fiercest of all animals, although tiny. It was said an elven cat could never be tamed, yet here was a mere girl with one riding on her shoulder. Many of the children wanted to pat Goblin but the elven cat hissed and arched her back and would let none near her, much to Finn’s satisfaction.

It had been a long day and Finn was tired and as jittery as a hen on a hot griddle after drinking too much dancey. She took the little spade and went off into the darkness to find somewhere private where she could relieve herself before going to bed. Overhead the starry sky seemed to stretch forever, the ring of scattered fires small against that immeasurable darkness. It was cool and quiet away from the camp and Finn took her time wandering back, staring at the stars and letting her jangled nerves slowly relax.

Horses were wandering loose beyond the camp and Finn skirted them warily, then came through the low brown caravans towards the inner circle of tall, ornate, parrot-bright ones. A flicker of blue caught her eye and she glanced across to the Loremaster’s cart, as low and brown as the others. He sat on the step, fondling the ears of his two big dogs, and listening to Brangaine who stood before him, talking earnestly. Finn watched for a moment, then made her silent way through the caravans until she stood hidden behind the one closest to the Loremaster’s.

‘… there are none left in Siantan who ken the secrets,’ Brangaine was saying. ‘Canna ye be showing me the trick o’ it? I ken I could do it, if only someone could show me how!’

‘Riding the storm is no’ something that can be learnt in an evening,’ the Loremaster answered. His voice was very deep yet very gentle. ‘And I am no weather witch, no’ like the sorcerers ye speak o’.’

‘Yet the MacAhern said ye brought rain …’

He nodded and looked up from the contemplation of his dog’s head, straight across to where Finn crouched, hidden in shadows. His gaze seemed to pierce the darkness and strike straight into Finn’s eyes. She flinched back. It felt like she had been struck across the face, a whiplash of mortification and shame. Brangaine had turned too and was staring where the Loremaster stared. Not wanting her cousin to know she had been spying on her, Finn turned and slipped away.

She crawled under their caravan, the cat curling against her side. She tried to sleep but the laughter and music were too loud. Spinning wheels of fire sent light darting against her closed eyelids and Finn pulled her blanket over her head, wondering why she felt like crying. Some time later Brangaine crept in beside her and turned over so she would have more room. She could hear Donald’s snores as he slept rolled in his plaid at the outside edge of the caravan and knew Ashlin slept on the other side, so that she and Brangaine were protected from any of the drunken revellers who staggered about outside. Finn did not feel safe, though. It was as if the Loremaster’s gaze had flayed away some hard, protective covering that Finn had grown over her inner self, vulnerable as a snail’s soft horns shrinking away from the light. She cuddled the elven cat up close to her cheek and let the thick fur soak up the dampness on her lashes.

In the cool grey of the morning the horse-riders packed up and went on their way, giving the jongleurs a sack of dried dancey berries and several bushels of native grain as payment for the entertainment. Within minutes there was only a few patches of flattened grass and a few charred circles to show where they had been. The jongleurs packed up camp as well, almost as efficiently as the horse-riders, and by the time the sun was up they were on their way, heading towards the purple line of mountains that rose and sank on the far horizon.

That evening Morrell set up a rope between two stakes for Finn to try walking on. Everyone’s laughter at her awkward attempts only made Finn more determined and she practised until she could manage to walk the entire length of the rope without falling off.

‘At the very least we can dress ye up as a jester and ye can amuse the crowds with your tomfoolery,’ Morrell grinned. ‘Ye’re like a windmill, your arms flailing about like that.’

‘Just ye wait!’ Finn cried. ‘I’ll be dancing and cartwheeling on the rope afore ye have time to scratch yourself!’

‘Ye canna cartwheel on the ground; what makes ye think ye’ll learn to do it on a rope?’ Brangaine said sweetly and Finn tossed her head in response, unable to think of a stinging retort.

She found some consolation for her lacerated pride after dinner, when Dide began to teach them the words of the most popular ballads. After listening to Brangaine sing no more than a few bars, Dide suggested as tactfully as he could that it might be better if she busied herself collecting coins from the audience during the performances.

‘Ye be such a bonny lass, ye’ll coax many a gold coin from those who’d only offer me a mere copper,’ he said.

‘While if they heard ye sing they’d offer us naught but rotten tomatoes,’ Finn interjected joyously. ‘Och, it’s a voice to beg bacon with!’

Dide rolled his eyes. ‘Thanks for that, Finn!’

Brangaine flushed deeply and said nothing. After a while she rose and went to watch Nina, who was doing stretching exercises beside the caravan. Finn was able to relax and enjoy the music, taking pleasure in having Jay, Ashlin and Dide all to herself. As always, Dide was full of jokes and puns and clever witticisms, his nimble brown fingers flying over the strings of his battered guitar as he sang ballad after ballad. Although her merriment was genuine, Finn could not help laughing just a little bit louder and longer than was natural, casting the occasional glance at Brangaine to make sure she was feeling properly left out. Nina was too kind a girl to allow Brangaine to mope, however. Soon the two girls were giggling themselves as Nina taught Brangaine the steps to a dance that the NicSian’s three maiden aunts would never have approved of her knowing.

After they had sung and laughed themselves hoarse, Finn and Ashlin lay back to watch the fire and listen to Jay and Dide as they played for their own pleasure. Everyone drew close then, for the two friends wove a spell of enchantment with their music that caused Finn’s eyes to prickle with an unidentifiable longing. Dide had put away his guitar and played a small clàrsach, held on his lap as he sat on a fallen log. Jay stood, a tall, lean shadow in the night, his viola lifted to his chin, bending and swaying as he swept his bow across the strings.

When they had at last finished and all were preparing for bed, Finn said to Jay in rather a small voice, ‘Ye always had the magic in your fingers, Jay, but I swear ye played better tonight than I have ever heard anyone play.’

‘Thank ye,’ he said in a low, humble voice. ‘It is my
viola d’amore
. She has a haunting voice, does she no’? Ye ken she was made by Gwenevyre NicSeinn herself? Enit says she is one o’ the great treasures o’ the MacSeinn clan and never should have been given to me. But what was once given canna be taken away, and so now she is mine. I thank Eà for her every day.’

He cradled the beautiful viola in his arms, running his fingers lightly over its scrolled neck, which had been carved into the shapely form of a woman, her eyes blindfolded. Finn felt a stab of jealousy, but she said with genuine feeling, ‘Aye, her voice is bonny indeed. But it is no’ just her, Jay. It is ye. Ye truly are marvellous.’

‘Thank ye kindly,’ he replied with a trace of embarrassment in his voice. ‘I am lucky to have been taught by Enit, for she is truly the greatest musician I have ever kent. Even if she is naught but an auld gypsy woman, as Dillon once said.’ There was a trace of bitterness in his voice.

‘Och, what did Scruffy ever ken except giving orders?’ Finn said breezily. ‘I think Enit is wonderful.’

For the next few days the wavering blue line of the hills stayed far in the distance, for the troupe could travel little more than twenty miles a day. There were few roads in Tìreich and the horses were pulling a heavy load so needed to be rested often. Finn spent much of the days out hunting with Donald, until she grew both fast and accurate with her little crossbow and arrow, while the evenings were spent singing around the campfire and practising her tightrope walking. They were happy days for Finn, who revelled in her freedom.

Gradually the hills on the horizon grew steeper and darker, and their way grew slower as the undulating plains gave way to low foothills. They entertained another caravan of horse-riders, and had many of their stores replenished in payment. The very next morning they reached the highway and began the climb into the Whitelock Mountains.

The highway wound up, switchbacking back and forth to avoid growing too steep. There were many signs of fresh repairs and several way-stations had been built to give travellers a place to rest for the night. Here Morrell was able to wheedle payment in whiskey and bacon, much to his satisfaction.

The road was busy and they passed many merchants with convoys of wagons loaded with timber, cloth, spices, precious glassware or sacks of grain. All those heading west were eager for news of Rurach and Siantan and shook their heads when they heard the Fairgean had penetrated as deep as the fifth loch. Some wondered whether to turn back, but in the end pressed on, reluctant to lose their profit. The jongleurs entertained them all, and were paid with goods ranging from a hutch of live chickens to a new embossed sheath for Morrell’s claymore.

For several days it rained and they walked with their heads hunched in misery and water running down their necks. The girls slept inside the caravan, trying to find space to stretch out amidst the barrels of whiskey and ale, the jars of tea and honey and dried fruit, the cases of musical instruments, the sacks of oats and flour, the carcasses of cured ham and mutton, the bunches of dried herbs and the patched costumes hanging off hooks. Finn began to think life as a banprionnsa was not so bad after all; at least she had a castle in which to shelter from the rain.