The Pool of Two Moons (10 page)

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 Righ himself," he had said, not wanting the seeker to realize just how clear his clairvoyant skills were. "The Righ 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 Righ'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 Righ'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 An-ghus nursed his dram of whiskey, 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 Banrigh, when any sign of magical ability in anyone else led to the torture chamber and an agonizing death. Why was he permitted to live and 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 Banrigh 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 Banrigh, 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 Banrigh had his daughter, and he could not find her unless he obeyed the Banrigh'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 Banrigh would leave him and his family alone . . .

The Threads are Spun

Early Spring

Schools for Fledgling Witches

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, gray-gorse 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 Tomas, 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 Parian 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?"

Parian 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 in which they were hiding, 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.

"Tomas," 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." Tomas 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, Tomas!"

"Wha' do ye think ye're doing?" Dillon snapped. "Tomas, ye dinna! That witch-sniffer's no' far away, Ea damn it!"

"Finn asked me to." Tomas 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."

"Tomas 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 the 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, but 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." A piteous mew answered her, and she saw the elven cat crouched on a high shelf, its slanted eyes gleaming turquoise in the firelight. Its tufted ears were laid back against its skull and its sharp little fangs gleamed.

"Mmm, fish," Finn whispered. The elven cat's tail lashed from side to side. Moving very slowly, she dipped her fingers in, then held out her fingers for the kitten to smell. Immediately the black cat spat, scratching Finn's hand. Finn was unable to prevent a cry, snatching her hand back to suck the welling droplets of blood. Behind her Dillon and Artair jeered, but she ignored them.

"I be your friend," she said to the kitten reproachfully, trying to project feelings of warmth and security. "I be your friend. I brought fish for ye." Slowly she reached out her fingers again, and again the kitten scratched her.

She sat for a time in silence, subduing her impatience and letting the kitten get used to her presence. The elven cat's natural curiosity asserted itself and, although its ears were still laid back, it crept forward a little, staring at her with bright eyes. Again she dipped her fingers in the fish and held them up for the kitten to see and smell, and this time, although it snarled, it did not strike. She could see its little black nose quivering at the smell of the trout, and so she lifted the bowl and set it close to its paw. This time it thrust its face hungrily into the bowl. Once it was empty, the kitten sat and washed itself while, exhausted, Finn curled up where she sat and slept.

The children were too frightened to venture out of the cave the next morning, having been woken just before dawn by Artair, who reported nervously that a large company of soldiers had just gone crashing past.

Jorge said kindly, "We shall have another quiet day, my bairns, just to make sure we are all fully recovered from the spring rites." He sighed, and Jesyah the raven hopped onto his knee so the blind beggar could scratch his neck. "I am anxious indeed to be home, but a day o' rest shall do none o' us any harm."