The Witches of Eileanan (36 page)

Meghan took the bowl from him and poured the water into the big kettle that held their soup. "Ye were always clumsy and loud when scrying, Bacaiche, why do ye keep thinking ye may have improved? It's far too dangerous to be calling such attention to ourselves just now. And what if a seeker happened to be focusing in on your staff and knife? They would easily overhear ye, and then where would we be? The Underground can manage without ye a few more days."

That night, when Meghan ladled out their evening meal, the soup was even more watery and tasteless than ever. Since they had been traveling in such haste, the soup that was their staple diet consisted largely of water, salt and herbs, which Iseult found extremely dissatisfying. She had even begun to look about her as she walked for plants that might add some substance to their meal, so hungry had she become. Little grew on the moors, however, and so Iseult vented her frustration by flashing angry glances at Bacaiche as she ate, which the hunchback returned in full.

After dinner, Meghan again took out her ring and Iseult knew how very anxious she must feel, to be risking so many attempts at scrying. While Meghan sat brooding over her ring, the silence between the other two companions grew thick and heavy. They fidgeted and sulked, neither willing to be the first to speak but both finding the silence difficult. Both were used to being comfortable with silence and this tension was alien to them, and awkward.

After Iseult caught Bacaiche's yellow eyes three times in quick succession, she began to stare steadily at the wood witch instead, wondering what she was thinking. The great stone glimmered in the firelight, seeming more black than green. Every now and then the witch turned the stone, so that a different facet would catch the light. Watching the stone, Iseult felt her body grow lighter, as if she was lifting and spreading outward. She almost drew her perceptions back, but the gleam of the ring was somehow mesmerizing. Gradually her awareness of the sounds and darkness around them increased, until she could hear every rustle and creak of the night as a separate disturbance.

Then she saw thoughts, as much a thread of colored beads as a stream of words.. ..
The countryside is boiling with soldiers, there is a sense o' unease, strangers are stopped and questioned, sometimes detained for no reason, no one thought an auld, blind beggar worth more than a few kicks and jeers, I have had dreams o' broken mirrors, in the taverns all the talk is o' the Fairgean rising, they say the sea witches are all dead, the whole o' Carraig is like an abandoned house with only ghosts walking, they say no good will come o' the dragon killings, they are feared the dragons will fly and flame again, like in the auld days, the grand auld days, whose houses would it be burned and ruined, no' the Rìgh's, oh no, so far away in his blue castle, his pretty young wife who never grows aulder, no' these gaudy soldier boys, trampling the new crops and seducing our sons and daughters, canna even find a quiet spot for a wee dram . . .

Any
uile-bheistean?

As soon as she heard Meghan's mind-voice, Iseult recognized it and realized that the wood witch was talking to someone through the ring. At once she understood many of the things Meghan and Bacaiche had said earlier, about scrying through fire or water, precious stone or talisman. Inadvertently she had been eavesdropping, but Iseult was anxious to learn what she could of these strange people and what lay ahead of her, so she continued to listen in on the mind-conversation of the two witches. They did not speak, as such, but rather conveyed what they meant by a series of emotions and impressions, stray words and images that followed each other in such quick succession, that Iseult had trouble understanding.

The other witch had continued:
No magical creatures at all, strange when ye think these mountains should be thick with them, all kinds and shapes, why even on my way I saw several nisses, as cheeky and crafty as ever, a tree-changer, and a cluricaun turning tricks in an inn for stray pennies. He had heard o' the Rìgh 's latest Fairy Decree, but could no' believe it would hurt him, who had lived among humans for so long, I went back there o' course but he was dead, killed by the soldiers, hung upside down from the village pole by his toes, and the villagers would no' speak to anyone, no' even a blind man begging for alms, the winter has been hard, ye ken, and the Rìgh has posted bounties, a large one for ye, my dear, though ye are no' the largest, the reward for the Cripple is truly spectacular, enough for a dowry for three daughters, or a small but comfortable house.

Tell them ye have heard stories o' a winged man, say he will come bearing the Inheritance o' Aedan and that radiance shall again flood the land. Say times o' blood and war are here, but the winged Rìgh shall come with dragons at his shoulder and the Lodestar in his fist.

Ye seek to start a prophecy . . .

Did ye no' see this, my friend? It may be only half o' the vision but let us beg the Spinners it is the true half.

If the tale spreads too far too fast it is me the Red Guards will be hunting.

The tale must spread far and fast, my friend. If the path becomes too hot for ye, slip deeper into the mountains, search out
uile-bheistean for
me, and witches too, anyone that can advance our force, for do no' forget how we almost lost the Second Fairgean War, we must have the
uile-bheistean
on our side, if they join forces and rise it is between the pincers o' a crab we will be, find for me if ye can someone who understands the omens o' the sky, why the Child with the Urn washes the sky while the Fire-Eater is still swallowing, what all these omens mean.

I will try . . .

Clearly as if it was before her, Iseult saw a regretful image of a small but comfortable room in a cave. She heard Meghan laugh and say,
Soon ye will be home, auld friend,
and then there was silence. The ring turned in the witch's hand and flashed green fire into Iseult's eyes, dazzling her, hurting her, she felt herself tumbling back toward the ground at frightening speed, and the witch's mind-voice thundered in her head,
Did I give ye the right to spy on me?

Color rushed to Iseult's cheeks and she cursed her pale skin for showing her emotions so clearly, as she had cursed it nearly every day of her life. She straightened her pose, however, and looked Meghan back in the eye. "It was an accident," she retorted.

"Have ye never sent out your mind before?"

"Never like that. In the past I have sometimes . . . been aware o' where the prey is hiding, and sometimes thought I've known what people were feeling . . ."

"Well, that is all right then. Ken this, though, your intrusion was clumsy and loud, so loud that if we were no' all shielded, ye could have drawn the attention o' those who seek us. Also ken I could have stopped ye at any time."

Iseult felt dizzy and frayed around the edges. The unnatural clarity of her senses had faded, and her heart was pounding. She had only ever felt a similar sensation when skimming; especially on the hunt, when blood-lust and the speed and danger of the chase took her soaring out of her body in just such a way.

Meghan had turned to Bacaiche and was now berating him. "And what about ye? Why were ye
no'
listening? This is your land that is being torn apart, why are ye sitting there scowling and fidgeting and thinking lustful thoughts, when ye should be learning what ye can? Ye are the heir!"

"What about ye, Meghan? Is it no' your inheritance as much as it is mine?"

"Indeed, it is, and like ye, it is as much my curse as my inheritance. But I am auld now, aulder than ye can imagine, and the blood runs slow in my veins. We need a rìgh, no' an auld woman. We need a rìgh or banrìgh who will unite the land as Aedan once did. Ye are the only one ... and ye are young, and if we can keep ye alive long enough, able to breed up heirs."

"And what if I do no' want to?"

"It's no' a matter o' want, Bacaiche. The Fairgean are on the rise, the Lodestar is buried, all the witches killed or scattered, our land is facing its most difficult time ever. If Jaspar dies without issue—and all my spies tell me he is wasting away—then there is no clear heir to the throne. Ye must remember that!"

"And what if we canna find the Lodestar! Your ward has disappeared with the third part o' the Key, has she no'? Without her the Inheritance o' Aedan is lost."

"We will find Isabeau and we will find the Key," Meghan said firmly, and neither of them dared argue with her.

They traveled swiftly the next few days, pausing for no more than a few hours at a time to eat or sleep. They were in the meadows now, with little to conceal them, but Meghan preferred to take the risk of being sighted than to waste precious days' traveling time. Luckily a storm had blown in, and the rain fell so heavily that the soldiers would have had to have been very close to have seen them.

Trudging along the side of the hill, her boots squelching, wet through to the skin, Iseult wished she had never agreed to come. By the scowl on Bacaiche's face, the hunchback felt the same.

It was just on sunset on the first clear day in a week that the omen occurred. Meghan saw a hawk plunge from the sky, rising a few seconds later with a coney in its talons. She frowned. "I have such a sense o' danger," she murmured. "I feel a shadow across me—something is happening!"

Iseult lengthened her stride, gazing about her with keen eyes, and wondering if the copse of trees ahead could be concealing a legion of soldiers. Suddenly she cried out and staggered, her hand to her head. She would have fallen if Meghan had not caught her arm and held her. As it was, her knees buckled and she slid to the ground, Meghan's arm about her back.

"My head!" Iseult put her hand to her forehead, as if feeling for blood.

"What is it? Are ye hurt?" Meghan demanded, kneeling beside her, and probing her brow with gentle fingers.

"I feel. . . like I've been hit," Iseult said faintly. "Ow! It hurts!"

"I can see no wound or bruise," Meghan answered. "Are you all right?"

"I do no' ken ... I feel strange. My head aches."

"Can ye go on? Do ye need to rest? I wonder ... I have a feeling ... I think we should keep on moving, if ye can, Iseult. Let us move quickly! I'm afraid something may have happened to Isabeau."

Unable to prevent resentment from choking her, Iseult stumbled to her feet and kept on walking, her hand to her head, which throbbed with invisible pain.

They reached the long meadow above the Pass just before dawn, and paused in the edge of the forest to examine the lay of the land. Although she was pale under the faded tam-o'-shanter, Iseult sat down with her usual grace.

Meghan's lips tightened as they looked down on another encampment of Red Guards, the flags on the peaks of their tents fluttering in the dawn breeze.

"How many o' these blasted soldiers does she have?" Bacaiche scowled. "She must have conscripted every able-bodied man in the land!"

"The dragons wiped out a full legion o' three hundred at Dragonclaw, and we saw signs o' more on our way down. These must be fresh troops," Meghan mused.

"How are we to get round them?" Bacaiche asked. "They've camped right at the mouth o' the Pass, and there's no other way through."

All three lay on the ground and watched the camp begin to wake, Bacaiche and Meghan arguing about the best course of action. After a moment Iseult rolled her eyes and slipped away, knowing they would argue all morning if she let them. She slid down the hill on her stomach and approached the camp cautiously from the rear. It was easy to see the Redcloaks were not used to fighting wars. No guard was set, and the tents had been set up haphazardly, with little regard for security, so Iseult's task was easy. Within ten minutes she had found what she was looking for and was slithering back up the hillside, taking her time so as not to overexert her tired sore body. By the time she reached the lookout, the whole camp was astir, fires being lit, horses fed, and breakfast cooked.

"She probably got frightened at her first sight o' soldiers and ran away," Bacaiche was saying sourly.

"I do no' think so," Meghan said, and Iseult was pleased to see her face was creased with concern.

She slipped into place beside Meghan and was warmed even more to see the witch's face relax in relief. "I have uniforms," Iseult said, and dropped her armload of red jackets, cloaks and white breeches, the cavalry uniform of the Banrìgh's Guards.

"Where did ye get those?" Bacaiche asked, flabbergasted.

"From the back o' a tent." Iseult sounded as though the answer was obvious. "The only way we can get through their lines is if we camouflage ourselves. They're obviously a collection o' raw recruits from the way they're milling around down there. I would say no one kens anybody else, so ye and I should be able to conceal ourselves without too much trouble. Meghan, I dinna think there is any way ye could be disguised as a common soldier, particularly no' with all that hair. So we have two choices—ye can either try and talk your way through as ye are, which I think may be risky given all that ye've told me about recent events. Otherwise, we could wrap ye up in one o' these cloaks and ye could be a haughty leader. We can hang your plait down inside the cloak, see?"