The Skull of the World (15 page)

Isabeau stood within the Celestines' circle of stones, the elf-owl perched on her shoulder. The shadows of the great crags stretched long over the grass, her own shadow dwarfed between them. A cool wind riffled the curls that had escaped from her plait and blew the edges of her plaid about.

It was the night of the spring equinox, when the tides of the seasons turned and the elemental energies ran strong. It was a time of great power, when witches celebrated the coming of summer and at dawn, the Celestines sang the sun to life.

The sun slipped down until only a thin fiery crescent showed above the dark peaks. A single red ray lit the tall stones on the hill with glowing color. Isabeau stepped forward and laid her hand on one of the symbols carved deep into the south-facing crags. A fierce shock ran up her arm and she had to fight to keep her hand pressed against the symbol.

A glinting curtain of silver-green fire materialized from nowhere. Isabeau took a deep breath and stepped through, the elf-owl taking flight from her shoulder. The curtain brushed her skin with an icy shock that caused Isabeau to cry out in pain. Then she was running down a long glimmering tunnel that stretched as far as her eyes could see. All around her the silvery walls and floor undulated with raw energy, like sheet lightning irradiating a stormy sky.

She could see the outside world through the glinting walls, but with every difficult stride the scene lurched. It was as if each step covered many leagues at once. One moment she saw the dark shapes of trees looming over her, the next a cliff face was leaping at her. Then she was inside the mountain, stalactites stabbing toward her. Then she was beyond and a waterfall was pouring past, the starlit foam white in the darkness. Then a dark forest, the groping, writhing branches all hung with gray moss, growing close about a high bare hill crowned with a circle of blazing pillars.

An eldritch shriek echoed through the tunnel and Buba hooted fearfully. Isabeau's heart jerked sick-eningly. She well remembered the ghosts that had chased her along this pathway when she had last traveled it. From the corner of her eye she saw a menacing shadow swooping at her heels. Isabeau did not look back, sprinting as fast as she could down the road. There was a rush of icy wind upon the back of her neck, an unearthly wailing that almost caused her step to falter.

She must not let her concentration lapse. Any misstep and she could find herself traveling to another world or another time. Khan'gharad had impressed the dangers of the Celestines' road upon her forcibly.

In the past two months he had done his best to explain to her the nature of the faery roads, what the Celestines called the Old Ways. The more Isabeau learned, the more afraid she had become and the more eager to learn their secrets.

The Celestines had built their rings of stones in places of power, places charged with energy. Called the Heart of Stars, these centers of energy each radiated seven invisible lines of power that connected with each other across the entire planet, like an immense yet delicate spiderweb of knots and rays. These lines of power followed the swing of the sun, the moons, the stars and the planets across the land, converging into spirals of primary energy where the magnetic forces of the earth and the universe knotted together into sources of immense power. Each Heart of Stars acted as a focal point for this energy, like a magnifying glass concentrating sunshine into a ray of light that could burn a hole in paper.

Isabeau had heard of lines of power before but she had never realized that the Celestines could travel along these lines as if they were a road. The journey along the faery path was not one to be taken lightly, however. Apart from the strain it placed on the traveler's body and mind, the lines of power existed in a warp of space and time. Khan'gharad said it had been known for people from another time or another world altogether to step through the standing stones and find themselves stranded in Eileanan, unable to make their way back to their own existence.

Such sudden and peculiar arrivals were rare though. The primary danger to traveling the faery roads was that they attracted emanations of psychic power, some of them very spiteful. Few ghosts could muster enough strength to physically harm a living being, but those of particular malevolence could sometimes overwhelm you with their negative energy, swamping you with darkness, depression and madness. Isabeau knew she was particularly vulnerable to such forces, having had to fight periods of melancholy ever since her torture six years earlier. So she did not look back. She forced her body forward against the roiling billows of energy surging around her legs, her heartbeat pounding like a drum in her ears.

She could not run all night. Soon she stumbled in exhaustion and slowed to a walk, hardly able to breathe, her lungs on fire. On she plodded, forest blurring past her. Twice more ghosts came at her, mere shreds of mist and shadows with wailing faces and outstretched hands. Each time she somehow found the strength to outrun them, though all her joints were screaming.

Suddenly someone was there beside her. She tried to run but a soft humming sound reassured her. It was a Celestine. All three of his eyes were open, the one in the center of his forehead as black and fathomless as a well, the two below as translucent as crystal. New energy spread through her with the touch of his hand on her arm. Side by side they walked, and Isabeau found her stride lengthening once more, the muscles in her thighs and calves forgetting the many miles she had run.

Dark, twisted shapes with malevolent faces writhed out of the walls and floor but the Celestine sang them away. Then another Celestine joined them, then another, stepping through the walls seemingly from nowhere. Isabeau began to understand how it was that one could stray from the road when there was no indication in the walls that a junction of paths was near.

Soon there was a procession of white-clad Celes-tines walking the road, Isabeau in their midst, the owl floating ahead like a snowflake blown in the wind.

Isabeau heard a soft crooning rise almost imperceptibly out of the rush and billow of sound that continually shook the tunnel of green fire. The crooning grew and grew till Isabeau heard cadences in it, a melody of such depth and timber that all the hairs on her arms rose. The Celestines all around her were humming deep in their throats, yet the sound was much greater than could be produced by these few. It rang all down the road, sparks of silver fire racing through the iridescent walls, igniting and exploding into fireworks of unimaginable beauty. Brighter and brighter the tunnel grew, until all was blazing with silver light. Isabeau could feel the song thrumming through every vein and artery, shuddering up her legs and down her spine, her skin tingling with it. It was like a storm wind, green with lightning, that flowed over her and into her, purifying her blood and filling her with a joy so keen it was akin to grief.

Through the silver-shot walls she could see the crowded streets of Lucescere, then the trees and lawns of the palace gardens, then the dark fretwork of the labyrinth. Her step quickened in anticipation. Ahead was the Pool of Two Moons, surrounded by a blazing ring of pillars and arches. A fountain rose in the center of the pool, the water shining as if a light was hidden within. One by one the Celestines stepped through the archway, then Isabeau stepped through too, the owl fluttering down to rest on her shoulder.

It was dawn. The sky was the color of pewter, the dark spears of the cypress trees stabbing upward. The relief from the tingling pain in her joints and fingertips caused Isabeau to stagger, then fall to her knees. She looked up, dizzy and sick. Lachlan stood over her, naked as the day he was born, his wings spread wide, singing. He stared at her in astonishment but did not falter, his voice ringing out pure and strong. He was holding hands with two Celes-tines, a great ring of faeries standing around the pool, humming the sun to life. The faeries who had traveled with Isabeau along the Old Way joined the circle, their deep crooning like the thrum of an organ. Isabeau sat back on her heels and watched them, so tired she thought she would faint, so happy she thought she would cry.

Lachlan met her gaze, his golden eyes very bright against his olive skin. Isabeau shut her eyes, listening to the deep reverberations of the Celestines' voices. Lachlan's clear harmonies wove all through it, like the gold of celandines through grass. The very ground beneath her feet thrummed with the sound of it, running up her legs and spine and into her brain so that all of her quivered and thrilled in response. She clenched her jaw, her hands clasped in her lap.

The song shivered into silence. Isabeau opened her eyes. The sun had lifted above the horizon, a blazing orb of golden light, and birds were singing joyously. Lachlan released the faeries' hands and bent down his own, large and warm, to help Isabeau to her feet.

"By Ea's green blood, how do ye come here?" he cried. "Ye just stepped out o' thin air, Isabeau! I almost broke the song, which would've been an ill omen indeed."

Celestines clustered all about, lifting their four jointed fingers to touch Lachlan between the eyes. Isabeau smiled and shrugged, stepping back, and he submitted to the faeries' touch, mouthing, "Later!"

Behind the faeries a circle of witches sat around a fire, naked, their hair unbound, their fingers loaded with jewels. On their heads they wore wreaths of yew and rosemary, and the herb-scented smoke of the fire drifted about the garden.

Isabeau crossed the lawn to the fire, smiling and raising her hand in greeting to the witches who were all stretching in relief, stiff after the long night's Ordeal. She put down her hand for Meghan and helped her to her feet, the old sorceress groaning as all her joints protested. She looked very gaunt beneath the curtain of snowy-white hair, her breasts hanging flat and pendulous over her ribs. Isabeau wrapped her hurriedly in her own plaid.

"What are ye doing sitting up all night with no' a stitch o' clothing on!" she scolded. "Ye'll be catching your death o' cold."

"And what kind o' Keybearer would I be if I stayed in my bed for the vernal equinox!" Meghan snapped. "I may be auld but I've no' yet heard death's bell, I'll have ye ken, Beau!" Suddenly she softened, kissing Isabeau's brow. "Though the sight o' ye stepping out o' thin air was almost enough to make me die o' shock! It was strange enough seeing the Celestines materialize that way, but ye!"

Isabeau felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Iseult standing beside her, smiling. As usual she was dressed very simply in white, with her red hair bound back at the nape of her neck and covered with a white linen cap. She carried a baby girl on her hip, a five-year-old boy clinging to her skirt. Behind her stood a fair-haired nursemaid with round, pink cheeks, another baby in her arms.

The twins embraced warmly. "Och, it is so good to see ye all!" Isabeau cried.

"But where did ye spring from?" Iseult asked. "Ye seemed to step out o' nowhere."

"I traveled the Auld Way," Isabeau replied.

They all stared at her in amazement and Lachlan turned sharply. "The Auld Way!" he cried. "All the way from Tirlethan?"

Isabeau nodded. "And I'm sick with weariness now and aching all over. I'll be glad o' a bed, I promise ye."

"But how do ye come to ken . . . ?" Meghan cried.
"C
course, your father." Isabeau nodded.

Lachlan came up behind his wife and said softly in her ear, "The Auld Ways! I wonder if they run to the Bright Land? We could save Dide and Enit a long and dangerous journey if they went that way instead o' facing the danger o' the seas,
leannan."

Iseult replied, just as low, "It's a possibility at least."

When Lachlan became aware of Isabeau's curious regard, he turned away so she could not see his face but still she heard him mutter, "We'd best no' speak o' it here. Too many people. Later."

Iseult nodded. She said to Isabeau with a smile, "Come and break your fast and tell us all your news while I have the servants make up a bed for ye. Ye look worn out."

"I feel worn out," Isabeau said with an attempt at a laugh. "That's no' something I'll do again in a hurry."

She helped Meghan put on her long white robe trimmed with silver to show her standing as the Key-bearer of the Coven. The sorceress lifted out the talisman she wore around her neck so it hung outside her robe. Inscribed with runes of power, the Key was wrought in the shape of a six-sided star enclosed within a circle. To Isabeau's trained witch senses, it seemed to thrum with power, giving off a smell like thunder-charged air. The sight and smell of it was enough to fill Isabeau with jealous longing. She had carried one third of the Key for five months, long enough for it to take hold of her heart and her imagination. Isabeau had to fight back the urge to snatch if from Meghan's breast, and clenched her fingers into fists, her face schooled to impassivity. Meghan knew her thoughts, however, and frowned at her, one hand rising involuntarily to wrap around the magical talisman, hiding it from view.

Isabeau touched her arm in reassurance, and the stern look on Meghan's face softened. The little don-beag Gita unrolled from his tight ball by the embers of the fire, stretched sleepily, then unfurled the little sails of skin between his paws and flew up to Meghan's shoulder. With one paw on her ear, he chittered an excited welcome to Isabeau, who chittered back. The other witches were standing by to talk to the Keybearer so Isabeau left her side and turned back to Iseult, who was chatting to her nursemaid Sukey while Lachlan dressed.

Sukey was an old friend, so Isabeau greeted her warmly. "How are ye yourself? The twins are no' running ye ragged?"

"Aye, my lady, keeping me on my toes, as ye can imagine," the nursemaid replied ruefully. "I thought Donncan was as artful as a bagful o' elven cats when he was a laddiekin, but Owein and Olwynne beat him hollow. Wee Olwynne may no' have wings like the laddies but she's swift as a snake and twice as cunning."