The Cursed Towers (66 page)

"I see," the sorceress said, getting to her feet. "I suppose I should think o' it as a compliment. Are they merely trying to bargain for more concessions or are they adamant?" Iain shrugged. "Who can tell? They are enigmatic creatures. And very dangerous. Mesmerdean never forgive and never forget. I have known o' vendettas that have been carried on for centuries."

"I see," Meghan said again. "Well, let me think on it. I think I have a solution but it is one that needs careful thought." She began to pace the clearing, her forehead furrowed, her mouth grim. The little donbeag nestled under her ear, chittering in agitation. Meghan stroked him in reassurance, though her expression only became bleaker.

The others watched her unhappily, Iseult frowning. "What does she mean to do?" she asked Gwilym uneasily.

He shrugged. "I can think o' no solution," he said harshly. "The Mesmerdean are vengeful creatures and care little for things that may sway men, like land or gold or beautiful women. I canna think what she means to offer them."

Meghan beckoned to Iain and he went over to her, his face troubled. Iseult watched him shake his head, watched Meghan speak low and compellingly, saw the prionnsa shake his head again. Meghan grasped his doublet in both her hands and spoke to him earnestly. Again Iain shook his head, his face miserable. At last he gave a gesture of resignation and nodded his head. She pointed her finger at him forcefully and he lowered his eyes and nodded again.

"What does she mean to do?" Iseult asked again, feeling her heart sink in her breast. Gwilym said nothing, though she saw by his face that he feared as she did. Iseult clenched her hands, feeling rather sick. She ran to Meghan's side, grasping her by the arm. Even through her agitation, Iseult was shocked by how thin the old sorceress's arm was.

"Auld mother!" she cried. "What is it that ye mean to do? Ye canna mean to . . ." Her voice faltered. Meghan covered Iseult's hand with her own, gnarled, liver-spotted and knotted with veins. She nodded.

"Yes, o' course I do," she answered. "Can ye think o' any other way? We have no' fought so hard for so long to die here in this swamp. I am very auld and I am tired. Ye are young and your lives stretch before ye."

Iseult was astonished to find she was weeping. Scarred Warriors never wept. She said fiercely, "No!"

"I am four hundred and thirty years auld," the sorceress said gently. "I should have died long ago. If I had no' tasted o' the waters o' the Pool o' Two Moons when my father wrought the Lodestar, so many years ago, I would be dead. We all must die some time. I am luckier than most because I can choose the time and manner o' my dying. They say to die in the Mesmerd's arms is to die in bliss."

"No," Iseult wept. "Ye canna! We can fight them, we can kill them all. If there are no Mesmerdean left, there will be none to carry on this stupid vendetta. We will wipe them off the face o' the earth!"

"Annihilate a whole race to save one auld witch?" Meghan's voice was gently mocking. "A witch who should've died long ago? Nay, Iseult, this is the best solution. Besides, I do no' mean to let them have me now. There are still a few things I need to do. Iain says the Mesmerdean are patient. They can wait awhile."

Iseult shook her head, too choked with tears to speak. Meghan smiled and stroked her wet face with one finger. "Glad I am to see ye weeping, dearling. I thought ye must have been born without tear ducts. Come, ye o' all people must understand. Death is as much a part o' our existence as birth or life. There is nothing to fear in death."

Iseult could only stare at her. Meghan put her hand up and stroked Gita's soft, brown fur. The donbeag was almost strangling her, he had crept so close about her neck, quivering and keening in distress. "We all must die," Meghan repeated, a touch of impatience in her voice. She glanced at Gwilym and Duncan, who had come up behind Iseult, their faces full of distress.

"Did my beloved Jorge no' sacrifice his life to save his loved ones? Why should I do any less? If I can save ye, well then, I shall go gladly into the Mesmerd's embrace."

They protested, Duncan reaching out his huge hand to seize her arm. She wrenched her arm free, snapping, "There is no need to weep and wring your hands. Why should we all die if one o' us shall suffice? Iain admits that they have said they will willingly pledge us their support and release ye all from their vendetta if they may have me. Well, let them have me! All I have asked for is time. Time for Iseult and Isabeau to reach their full potential, time for me to teach Lachlan to use the Lodestar, time for me to make sure the Coven is restored to all its strength and wisdom."

"How much time, auld mother?" Iseult cried.

"Till the red comet has risen and sunk again," Meghan said, rather heavily. "Four years. Jorge said that was when the Fairgean come, with the rising o' the red comet. So I shall wait till then, to make sure ye are all safe."

Again Duncan protested, pleading with her not to sacrifice herself. The old sorceress sighed and rolled her eyes. "There is no need for all these dramatics. We all must die." She reached out and took Iseult's hand between her own, holding the Banrigh's gaze with her own, black and snapping with vitality between their wrinkled lids. "Death comes to us all," she repeated gently. "It is like birth, a door into another place, another life. It is nothing to be afraid o'. Ye ken that, Iseult." The Banrigh nodded. "Yes, auld mother. I ken."

Swans Over the Swamp

Isabeau sat in her chair by the fire, her chin in her hand, her eyes on the flames dancing in the hearth. Bronwen played at her feet, while Maya rather sullenly chopped herbs and mushrooms at the table for their evening meal. It was her turn to cook dinner but the Fairge had never grown resigned to helping Isabeau with the daily chores. The apprentice witch was always having to remind Maya that she was no longer her servant and she had to be careful not to respond instinctively to the Fairge's haughty orders. The firelight wavered over the tangle of tree roots, all crowded with jars and tins, and strung with herbs hung up to dry. Isabeau was very weary after her labors of the day and rather dispirited. Staring into the flames, she remembered how she had sat here herself as a little girl, helping Meghan spin the winter away, being told stories about the Three Spinners. Meghan had said they gave three gifts at the birth of a child. The spinner Sniomhar, the goddess of birth, gave joy. The weaver Breabadair, goddess of life, gave toil and its contentment. And she who cuts the thread, Gear-radh, the goddess of death, gave sorrow. Isabeau gave a slight, wistful smile and told herself she had to strive now for contentment. She had had joy in her brief, happy childhood, she had had sorrow. Now was the time for her to toil and be content.

Isabeau was roused from her abstraction by the lilting sound of music. She smiled and glanced lovingly down at Bronwen's dark head, constantly amazed at how beautifully the little girl played her flute. Her eyes widened as she saw the child's ragdoll dancing about on the floor as if it had come alive. It waltzed and curtsied in perfect time to Bronwen's playing, spreading its little skirt and bowing its raggedy head as the tune came to an end.

At the sound of her mother's in-drawn breath Bronwen glanced up, and the ragdoll collapsed into a heap on the floor. Isabeau looked up too and was shocked at the expression on the Fairge's face. It was not amazement or even pride at her daughter's cleverness but rather calculation, almost greed. Isabeau frowned, troubled, as Maya became aware of Isabeau's scrutiny and smoothed her expression.

"Who's a canny lass then," she said brightly, "making your dolly dance to your tune." Bronwen smiled and said, "I can make them all dance, Mam, watch!" She lifted her flute to her lips again and played another infectious tune and all the toys scattered around the floor began to waltz around. The spinning top whirled faster and faster, the dragon rocked back and forth, the wheeled horse ran round in circles and the two bluebird rattles swooped about, touching wings and then beaks. The ragdoll and little wooden puppets Isabeau had made all pranced about, bobbing up and down and touching hands in a perfect imitation of a waltz. Even the two little drumsticks danced up and down upon the drum, marking the tempo in perfect time.

Isabeau watched enthralled and clapped her hands as the tune reached its end and all the toys bowed to each other and then sat down with a plop. Even as they both exclaimed over Bronwen's cleverness, Isabeau was wondering rather uneasily what she was to do with a child who showed such early promise of an extraordinary Talent. She was conscious of a glint in Maya's eye and reminded herself yet again that the Fairge could not be trusted. Despite all her warm endearments and caressing ways, Isabeau was not convinced that Maya loved Bronwen as deeply and sincerely as she did herself. Early the next morning the three of them went to the underground loch so that Maya and Bronwen could swim and transform. Although it was a beautiful spring day and Isabeau would much rather have been out in the sunshine, she refused Maya's offer to take Bronwen by herself, replying curtly that she did not want them getting lost underground.

"Och, I think I know the way by now," Maya replied silkily, which only made Isabeau more determined to stay close to her side.

The two Fairgean left their clothes on the rocks and dived into the water, changing almost immediately into their sea-shapes. As always Isabeau was fascinated by this process, so different to all the other magic she had ever studied. She watched closely and rather jealously as they sported together in the icy-cold loch, splashing each other with their tails. Then Maya dived beneath the surface and Bronwen immediately followed, her little tail flipping out cheekily before disappearing from sight. Isabeau waited for them to emerge, feeling anxiety tightening her chest muscles as the loch stayed calm and empty. Water dripped, occasionally stirring the mirror image of the stone waterfall. She began to pace and then to call their names, not knowing whether to fear for their lives or be furious at Maya for attempting to escape. Anger won over anxiety, for she knew Fairgean rarely drowned. She began to search the shores of the loch, stumbling over the slippery rocks. To her consternation she found the little bundle of clothes had disappeared. She hesitated only a moment, then stripped off her own clothes and dived into the water.

It was bitterly cold but strangely buoyant so that Isabeau had to work hard to swim into its depths. Even with her uncanny eyesight she found it hard to see under the water, it was so dark. She cast out her witch senses, searching, but the water distorted everything so that she could not be sure which way they had gone. She felt the faint flow of a current against her skin, however, and followed it. Strange white shapes loomed up at her and every now and again she scraped her skin against rock. She found the current quickening and swam faster, her chest beginning to hurt with the strain of holding her breath. She sensed the rock overhead lifting and swam to the surface, finding just enough room to put her mouth above water and breathe. The air was dank and stale and cold but it tasted like wine to her air-starved lungs. She took another deep breath and dived again.

This time she emerged in another cavern, with the river running through its center. She conjured witch's light and looked about her. There was no sign of either Maya or Bronwen but she trusted her intuition and swam on.

The river ran on through low caverns and lofty halls, sometimes so shallow Isabeau scraped her elbows and knees. At last it emerged in a dimly lit cave and Isabeau was elated to see two pairs of webbed footprints in the mud, leading toward the light. She followed hastily, anxiety now completely swallowed by anger. Then she heard Bronwen's high voice saying, "But Mam, why? Where Is'beau? Why canna she come too?"

Isabeau came up behind them so silently that when she said, "But Bronny, o' course I came too! What an adventure, exploring down the river!" Maya started and screamed involuntarily. Isabeau smiled at her and took Bronwen's hand, saying, "We canna go far though, else we may get lost and we willna be able to find our way back again. That would no' be such an adventure, would it?"

"But Mam said ye couldna come," Bronwen objected.

"Happen she thought I could no' swim so far, no' being a quarter Fairgean like ye," Isabeau replied, "but I was taught to swim by otters and they are wonderful swimmers indeed." They were standing in the mouth of the cave, looking out across the valley below. The underground river poured down the steep slope of the cliff and joined what Isabeau recognized as the Rhyllster below. She looked back at Maya and saw the Fairge's nostrils flare and her mouth compress until it was a mere thin line. Her fingers twitched and Isabeau said conversationally, "Are ye planning on turning me into an otter?

Or maybe a toad? Now would be a good time to do it, for I warn ye, I will no' let ye take Bronwen and use her against Lachlan and my sister. That is no' why I took her from Lucescere." The Fairge's fingers gripped into fists, then she laughed, rather artificially. "Nay, ye ken I do no' want to ensorcel ye unless I have to. I meant it when I said I thought o' ye as a friend. Indeed, ye are the only one to ever offer me the hand o' friendship and I'd be loath to reply in such a way. Ye make me very angry though. Why did ye follow us? Ye must know I canna stand being shut up in that blaygird wee valley any more. I always feel like all those animals are staring at me and condemning me . . ."

"They probably are," Isabeau replied swiftly and then wished she had held her tongue, for the Fairge's mouth thinned again and her mobile nostrils flared out like little white wings. "Ye said all ye wanted was to stay somewhere where ye and Bronwen can be safe," she went on before Maya gave in to the temptation to turn her into something small and slimy, as she so clearly wished to do. "I gave ye that sanctuary. Why do ye wish to leave it? Ye ken ye and Bronwen will both be in grave danger if ye return to Rionnagan."

The Fairge said nothing, though the little girl said rather fretfully, "Wha' do ye mean? Why are ye fraitchin'?"

Isabeau smiled at her and stroked the wet hair away from her cheek without replying. Maya scowled and said, "Bronwen is the rightful banrigh! Jaspar named her heir."