Beyond the Pale: A fantasy anthology (25 page)

I wasn’t accustomed to taking notice of the clann children; at least,
not till they were old enough to begin proper fight training. I found Lilith
harder to ignore, largely because I’d often scratch an itch on my neck and turn
to find her watching me. I suppose I was just more aware of her than of the
others, and that was why I noticed that evening when she wasn’t around.

There had been some name-calling, but that was hardly surprising; she’d
lived with Lammyr for the gods knew how long and even the children who liked
her were properly wary of her. I thought a few insults and insinuations
harmless, under the circumstances, and it wasn’t as if they seemed to affect
her. Lilith was fearless. I’d seen her eyes linger on Ramasg when he threw
taunts. She never flinched and she never responded, just looked; I tell you, I
would not have wanted that gaze on me.

Niall said the trouble with Ramasg was that his tongue was faster than
his brain. I knew otherwise: that his mouth was a true reflection of his
mindset. It wasn’t pleasant, but as I said, I knew he’d grow out of it.

I wish I’d been right about that.

Niall only went into the stables that evening because he wanted to
check on a horse that was lame. Falaire was anxious about the animal, and since
she was one of Lann’s favourites, Niall wanted to check her before nightfall.
No doubted he wanted to the excuse to convey any news to Lann, still occupied
in the forge.

It was quiet and musty in the stalls, with the low snuffling snorts of
contented horses, the shift of a hoof, the slow tug-and-crunch of teeth on hay.
Niall comforted Lann’s mare, gave her an extra treat, prepared to leave. He
told me he almost missed the girl, cowering there in the furthest stall beneath
the hooves of my grey hunting stallion. And when he did see her, he almost
failed to recognise her.

She’d managed to free herself from the post she’d been tied to; the
rope’s frayed remains hung there. But she was still gnawing at the length of it
around her wrists, though she stopped when she saw Niall, and stared at him in
silence. She didn’t say a word, though her glaring eyes were stained and
swollen with tears. Her long black hair no longer straggled across her face; it
had been hacked back to a rough dirty crop.

She didn’t flinch when he crouched and sawed through her wrist-bonds
with his hunting knife, but she did at least manage to spit a name.

“Ramasg.”

~

Ramasg was unrepentant, even in the face of a hard strike from me.

“She should have had it off long ago,” he snarled, putting a hand to
his bruised cheek. “She never cut it when her parents died. I asked her.”

“That’s not your business, you little shit,” said Niall Mor. “And she’s
half your size.”

“Makes up for it in other ways,” he muttered.

‘You’d better explain that,” I said, pacing to the window and staring
out at the machair. I was simmering with rage, and I didn’t trust myself not to
hit him again.

“She’s a witch, isn’t she? You don’t need to worry about her.”

Niall and I looked at each other, then at him.

Niall had to take two breaths before he could speak. “Gods’ sake, boy.
This is Griogair you’re insulting.”

Ramasg swallowed and shot me a nervous look. “Leonora’s different.”

“Really?” I asked silkily. “How?”

He’d got his nerve back. “Lilith’s evil, that’s how. You can tell from
her eyes. And she stares.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “I’m going to slap you myself in a minute.”

“She stares at you because she can’t believe what an arse you are,” I
told Ramasg. “And neither can I.”

“You’ll see,” he muttered.

“I’ll see the ditch in the lower field cleared,” I said. “Niall, take
him down there.”

Niall took hold of his arm, but he pulled back to give me a sullen
glare. “She’s trying to summon a kelpie.”

That took me aback. “What?”

“A kelpie. There’s been one off the shoreline for days. She’s trying to
bond with it.”

There was a triumph in the twitch of his mouth as Niall yanked him out
of the room. He was a vindictive little bastard, but he’d unsettled me and he
knew it. I could see no reason for him to lie, because it was such an
outlandish accusation, and besides, I remembered shivering as I watched her
singing to the ocean.

I rubbed my hands across my face, wishing for a straightforward
problem: a caveful of Lammyr, or a full-scale war. Sighing, I slung my sword
down on the table and went out of the dun to look for her.

She was in her usual place on the rocks, sitting with her arms wrapped
round her knees and humming to herself. Maybe, I thought, she was humming to
something else. Her newly-chopped hair blustered in the cold breeze; she’d done
nothing to improve the rough mess Ramasg had made of it, but I couldn’t help
thinking it suited her in a strange way.

I sat down at her side, nearly unbalancing when she promptly huddled
against me. She hadn’t struck me as a girl who was much affected by the cold.

“He won’t do it again,” I told her. “He’s out clearing the ditches.”

She nodded contentedly.

“He came up with some excuses.” I took a breath to broach the subject.

“Oh. Did he mention the horse?”

The breath stayed stuck in my throat. At last I managed to say, “It’s a
waterhorse?”

She threw a pebble idly into the waves. “It’ll come to me in the end.”

“Lilith,” I said. “Lilith, that’s not wise.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be wise. They’re lovely.”

“They’re deadly. And unpredictable.” I was finding it stupidly
difficult to argue with her. “You could lose your life.”

She gave a dismissive snort. “Or I could gain the best warhorse in your
stables.”

“It’s not worth the risk. For you or anyone else in the dun.”

“Yes. It is.”

I shook my head in irritation. “If you want a familiar, find a cat or a
raven or a wolf-pup. Put waterhorses out of your head. They can’t be trusted.”

“You’ll see,” she said simply. “It wouldn’t be my familiar anyway. It
would be my warhorse.”

“Lilith!” I barked. “This should not be done! It hasn’t been done in
centuries, and it ended badly the last time.”

She tilted her head to give me an endearing smile. “All the more reason
to do it. For me it’ll end just fine.”

I would have talked sense into her, I’m sure of that. And I should have
waited to do it, and spent the time well, but I was unnerved by her candid
innocent grin and her closeness. It was clear she held a particular and
pointless affection for me, and I wanted to do nothing to encourage it. And
besides, at that precise moment, I heard the call in my mind that I couldn’t
resist, and would never want to.

I sprang to my feet, and this time it was Lilith who nearly slipped
sideways. I steadied her with a hand on her fragile shoulder and said,
“Sorry—“

“What is it?” Her eyes were quizzical and hurt.

I gave her a grin of pure happiness. And that was probably a mistake as
well.

“It’s Leonora,” I told her. “It’s my lover. She’s coming back to the
dun.”

~

If I thought Leonora would have any special sympathy for the lost
witch-child, I’d misjudged both her mood and her inclinations. Still, like the
diplomat she could always be, she didn’t raise the subject till later that
night, till we were both in bed and the coverlet thrown aside in our untidy
haste.

She’d caught her first sight of Lilith when the child trailed after me
into the courtyard on the afternoon of her return. Leonora had taken no notice
of her; but then Leonora had ignored everyone but me. She’d slipped lightly
from her horse and walked straight into my arms, laughing with a combination of
happiness and anticipation.

She’d studied Lilith in the Great Hall that evening, though. The child
had settled herself in a dark corner, eating and drinking quietly, watching
rather than participating. There was nothing new in that behaviour. At least
she’d wasted no time in following my advice about a familiar: a young crow
hopped at her feet, cocking its head for the shreds of meat she offered.
Laughing, she stroked its black neck with a fingertip, and it dipped its head
as if in a mock-bow.

Crows were smart and crows were watchful. Crows, principally, were not
a danger to anyone they met, unless you counted the dead. I was relieved; the
bird would take her mind off waterhorses. I told myself that had been a
temporary infatuation, much like her fondness for me. And that would pass, too.

Leonora was not convinced.

She lay across my body, head close against mine, languid with the
aftermath of love as I drew an idle line down her spine with one finger.
Appearance, as always with Leonora, was deceptive: her mind was in constant
fascinated motion, picking at puzzles, decoding other minds, weaving intricate
political schemes. I lifted her hair and kissed the prominent tendon on her
neck, and she murmured happily.

“The queen was well?” It was a formal question in a strikingly informal
situation; I knew Kate was always well.

Leonora gave a low laugh. “She’d like to be better. Still playing with
that risible idea of hers.”

“Getting rid of her name?” I shivered. Raidseach. Kate’s true name
unnerved me, the very sound of it, but it was better than the alternative.

“Indeed. She won’t do it. She knows the consequence. The idea’s a
plaything, that’s all. Her trouble is, she’s bored.” Leonora propped herself up
on one elbow and kissed my forehead. “She was pleased about Crickspleen.”

“Mm.” That seemed long ago now.

Leonora traced her finger down my ribs, and I felt her take a light
breath. “You should send Lilith to her.”

Shadows played on the ceiling as the flames in the fireplace flickered
and jumped. I watched them, thinking.

“Why?” I asked at last.

Leonora kissed me. “Because she’s tremendously strong and tremendously
vulnerable. Kate would know how to manage her. She’d be safe there, and so
would everyone else.”

“You don’t like her.”

She smiled. “What makes you think that? I barely know the child.”

I grinned up at her. “You’ve been home nearly a full day, Rochoill. You
know her well enough.”

Leonora made a motion that might have been a shrug. “She’s hard to See.
But yes, I’ve Seen her well enough to know she ought to be with Kate.”

Absently I stroked her hair. “She does flirt with kelpies,” I said.

Leonora gave a dry laugh. “That’s not all she flirts with.”

“Leonora, she’s eleven years old.”

“And daily growing, as they say.”

“Is that why you want her to leave?”

“Now, now.” She nipped my ear quite hard. “I’m only thinking of what’s
best for her.”

“All the same.” I rolled over and put my finger between her teeth to
stop her biting me again, and she looked amused. “I’ll give her a chance. She’s
happy here.”

“As you wish. And on your own head be it.”

~

And so Lilith became an unspoken gamble between me and Leonora, albeit
a good-tempered one. Surprisingly, Leonora didn’t seem to mind the kelpie
business, and I grew a little suspicious that she was encouraging Lilith’s
interest
—
or perhaps not discouraging it
—
so that I’d be proved wrong in the end.

“I’ve seen the creature,” she told me as we rode along the beach one
evening. “It’s no more than a colt.”

“Aye, and daily growing.” I threw her own words back at her, and she
laughed.

“Oh, don’t worry, Griogair. It wouldn’t be the first time a witch has
tamed a kelpie.”

“You’ve never been tempted.”

She shrugged. “I’ve no interest in them, but then I don’t need a
warhorse. I’m surprised you’ve never fancied taming one. Just because it hasn’t
been done in centuries…”

“They’re trouble,” I said flatly.

“So are you, my dear.” She reached out a hand to take mine, kissed it,
then let her horse spring forward into a gallop, sending spray flying from the
small shoreline waves. For a moment I reined in my own horse, dazzled to watch
them, the low winter sun glittering in the spindrift, Leonora’s tawny hair and
the mare’s white mane bannering in the wind of their own speed.

She glanced back over her shoulder.
~Do keep up, Fitheach, my love
.

I laughed, and took the challenge.

~

The crow Lilith had tamed was a clever thing, nimble and cunning, and
she’d grown impossibly fond of it. It was a true familiar: she never went
anywhere without it, whether perched on her shoulder or hopping at her feet or
ducking and diving in the air above her. The pouch she wore at her waist was
now exclusively devoted to its favourite treats, so that the girl always smelt
faintly of dead pigeon.