The Tower of Ravens (13 page)

“Rhee-ann-an.” She spoke the name slowly, haltingly, tasting the syllables on her tongue. “She rides so swiftly none can catch her. Aye, I like. Rhee-ann-an.”

“Rhiannon it is, then,” Lilanthe said. Lewen caught the slight restraint in her voice and looked up at her. She smiled at him ruefully and tousled his curly brown hair, then stroked it back away from his brow. “It’s a lovely name, my lad, and well thought of. Why do ye no‘ all go and tend the horses now so Rhiannon can get her clothes for me to wash? Then ye can go round the farm with your father one more time and be saying your farewells.”

Lewen nodded, overcome by an unexpected wave of homesickness. Eà alone knew when he would be able to come back to Kingarth again. His eyes were suddenly hot and he had to swallow a lump in his throat.

“Go on, laddie,” Lilanthe said lovingly. “Take your time. It’s going to take a while to get Rhiannon clean, that’s for sure!”

The Jongleurs

It was early afternoon when Meriel came skipping out to find her brother and father, who were busy grooming Lewen’s big grey, Argent. The stallion was standing with one leg relaxed, his eyes half-closed in bliss, but as soon as he heard Meriel’s quick footsteps, his ears went back and he lifted his top lip to smell the air suspiciously.

“Give over!” Lewen said affectionately, pushing the stallion with his shoulder. “Ye should ken Merry’s step by now.”

“We’re ready!” Meriel cried. “Gracious me, what a job! It was like trying to wash a litter o‘ piglets, the squealing and squirming we’ve had. My arms ache from hauling so much water, and then I had to mop up the floor, which looked like the floor o’ the byre, it was so wet and muddy. And it took a whole bottle o‘ Mam’s liquid soapwort to wash her hair, and then it was so matted Mam had to use up all the rosemary herb oil to get the knots out. It took forever.”

“Well, ye seem to have survived the experience,” Niall said, looking her over in mock concern. “No black eyes, no bleeding nose, no bite marks that I can see. Is your mother all in one piece too?”

“Aye.” Laughing, Meriel snuggled up against her father’s side. “She fought a bit to begin with but Mam told her if she dared try again, she’d turn her into a tree and then she’d never be able to ride her winged horse again. Rhiannon didna believe her, so Mam pretended to turn me into a tree just to show her.”

Lewen grinned. His mother could no more turn Rhiannon into a tree than he could, but Meriel had inherited her mother’s tree-shifter abilities and needed only to dig her bare feet into the ground to change her shape. It was very disconcerting to watch if you were not used to it, though, and he could imagine Rhiannon’s alarm.

“Well, thank Eà your mother couldna carry out her threat. Can ye imagine what kind o‘ tree our sweet Rhiannon would make? A very prickly goldengorse bush, perhaps. Or a blackthorn.”

“Ye are silly,” Meriel said. “Anyway, she’s very fidgety about her horse but Mam wouldna let her come out to check it ‘cause she’s all clean and dressed now, so I promised I’d make sure the mare’s still all right.”

“She’s grand,” Lewen said. “I left her some warm mash and a bucket o‘ fresh water, and her ears pricked forwards with great interest, which is always a good sign. I think she’ll be fine to set out tomorrow as long as Rhiannon does no’ ride her too hard.”

“That’s good. Mam said to tell ye that Nina and the caravans will be here soon—her little sunbird just flew in the window and trilled us such a bonny tune.”

“Almost here?” Lewen said in dismay.

“Aye, so ye’d better get hopping! Mam wants us all bonny and bright, she says. I’m to wear my new red dress and she wants ye to put on your good coat.”

“But I’ve packed it already! And right down the bottom o‘ my bag ’cause I didna think I’d be needing it till we got to Lucescere.”

“Better go and unpack it, my lad,” Niall said. “Your mam wants to show ye off to Nina, to be sure.”

“And there’s so much o‘ him to show,” Meriel said cheekily. Lewen pretended to lunge for her and she danced away, laughing. “And dinna think I’m hauling any water for your bath, laddie-boy. I never want to see that well-bucket again.”

Niall tousled his son’s head affectionately. “Go on, lad, go and get cleaned up. Tell your mam I’ll be there in just a moment.”

Lewen nodded and gave Argent one more loving polish before putting away his curry-brush. With Meriel skipping beside him, chattering all the way, he went back through the gardens to the house, trying to imprint every aspect of the landscape upon his memory—the apple tree his mother had planted for him the day of his birth, the row of beehives under the cherry trees, the loch gleaming between the willow trees. It had seemed such a luxury, having three whole months of holiday, but it had rushed past him like a runaway horse and carriage.

Meriel left him in the kitchen garden, going to hang over the vegetable patch and make sure no bird had ravished her seeds away. Lewen had to clamber over Ursa, who was sleeping on the step in the sun, snoring loudly. He came into the kitchen, stopping abruptly inside the door. Rhiannon was sitting demurely by the fire, dressed in a leaf-green dress laced down the bodice with white satin ribbons. A frill of white embroidered cotton softened the square-cut neckline and the edge of the sleeves, which were folded back just below the elbow. Her hair was combed back from her face and tied in a simple knot at the back of her head, allowing the remainder to fall free in a shining black curtain that reached past the seat of her chair.

Lewen had seen the dress many times before, since it was a favourite of his mother’s, but it was a very different dress on Rhiannon. Lilanthe was a slender woman, slight as a young willow tree. Rhiannon was far taller, and her waist was as deeply curved as a double bass. The silk clung closely to every curve, so that Lewen could see clearly the exact shape and dimension of her figure. The sight of her made the bones of Lewen’s chest constrict so he had trouble taking a breath, and he was all too aware of a hot rush of blood to his groin.

She was frowning down at her bare feet, set neatly side by side, below the deep white frill edging her skirt. She looked up at Lewen, her eyes reflecting the green of the silk so that they looked the colour of water over pale sand. She scowled more deeply, saying abruptly, “Me dare no‘ move in case it busts.”

He could find no words to answer her.

Lilanthe was busy laying the table but turned then to smile at her son. She was dressed in her best gown, a forest-green silk with gold embroidery and an underskirt of cream and gold brocade.

“Rhiannon is far too tall for my clothes! I did my best but we shall have to get her some other clothes. She certainly canna be wearing my auld green silk on the road.”

Lewen still could find nothing to say. He tried hard not to stare at Rhiannon but it was impossible to look anywhere else.

His heart was swelling painfully in his chest, and his hands felt hot and heavy. He shoved them into his pockets.

Lilanthe regarded him shrewdly. “Go on, laddie, ye havena time to waste. Nina will be here any moment and she has a full caravan, she says. Go and get cleaned up, and then come and help me. It’s been a long while since I’ve had a dozen guests for lunch.”

He nodded brusquely, trying hard not to show how powerfully the sight of a clean and silk-clad Rhiannon had affected him.

“And can ye dig out some o‘ your auld clothes for Rhiannon? She’s near as tall as ye. She’ll need some shirts and a jerkin, and some breeches to wear on the journey, for she’ll be riding that winged horse o’ hers, no doubt. Do ye ken what ye did with your auld riding cloak? For it’ll rain, as sure as apples, and she’ll need one.”

“Ye gave it away to the village jumble sale,” Lewen managed. His voice rasped in his throat.

“Och, aye, that I did. What a shame. I wonder if I can cut down one o‘ Niall’s? But we’ve so little time…”

“Me have one,” the girl said sullenly, twisting her hands together in her lap. She looked angry and miserable.

“Aye, but… och, well, I suppose as long as ye do no‘ wear the plaid or the brooch, it canna matter. A cloak is a cloak, whether it be blue or no’. Ye can wear the tam-o‘-shanter too, I suppose, as long as we take off the cockade. Och, so much to think o’ and so little time! Go on, Lewen, my love, please! I want ye looking all bonny for Nina when she comes, for she hasna seen ye since she delivered ye to the Theurgia four years ago. She’ll be so surprised to find ye so tall and doughty now. I ken I was.” Lilanthe sighed and smiled mistily at her son.

Lewen put his arms about his mother’s slim waist and gave her a hearty squeeze, grateful that she had managed to cover his awkward silence and wondering if she understood all the things he found so hard to say. Then he made his escape, not meeting Rhiannon’s sullen and questioning gaze.

He was clean and dressed and engaged in rummaging through his wardrobe for old clothes when he heard a commotion outside, and went eagerly to his bedroom window to look out.

Two caravans were rolling up the elm-lined avenue towards the house. One was red and green, and the other was blue and yellow, the contrasting colour painted on decorative scrollwork around the windows and doors and roof. A big brown mare pulled the red caravan and a big grey gelding pulled the blue. A flaxen-haired man with a long, forked beard was lounging on the driver’s seat of the blue caravan, playing a guitar, the reins knotted loosely over the dashboard. A little boy with curly chestnut hair was sitting up next to him, enthusiastically banging on a drum, with a small hairy creature sitting beside him, dressed in a short red dress and bonnet. The gelding plodded on placidly, occasionally twitching his ears back at the din. A woman drove the second caravan, dressed in green and vivid orange. As the caravans pulled up under Lewen’s window, he saw a small iridescent green bird perched on her shoulder. Following the caravans were half a dozen horses and riders.

Lewen bundled together the clothes he had found on his bed, then went leaping down the stairs, all his incipient homesickness drowned beneath a wave of excitement. It had been four years since he had last seen his mother’s jongleur friends, but he remembered them clearly. They had come to give Lewen his Second Test of Powers and to accept him into the Coven as an apprentice-witch. At first all had been solemn and rather scary, but once Lewen had proven himself, the house had been full of music and laughter and dancing. Nina was nicknamed the nightingale for her gorgeous voice, and she had sung them many songs, merry, plaintive and droll in turn. Her husband Iven was an acrobat and trickster, and knew more jokes and witty stories than anyone Lewen had ever met. Their son Roden had only been a toddler then and the arak Lulu no more than a round-eyed, wrinkled-faced baby. Nina had found her fallen out of a tree, and had nursed her back to health, saying she would teach her tricks when she was old enough. Although Nina now worked for the Coven, she had been a jongleur all her life and made no attempt to leave her past behind her.