The Cursed Towers (71 page)

"Really?" Lilanthe cried. "I'd love to dance. Do ye mean it?" He bowed. "Madam, will ye give me the pleasure o' this dance?"

"Why, thank ye, sir." Lilanthe laid her twig-thin fingers in his huge, hard hand. Then she gave a little gasp as he swung his arm around her waist, sweeping her off the ground and whirling her around. "See, your feet do no' even have to touch the ground," he said. "That way I can be sure no' to break them."

"My feet are no' easily broken," Lilanthe replied when she had caught her breath. "They're tough as wood, I'm afraid."

The trees closed over their heads as he swung her away from the crowd. "What about your heart?" he said, very gruffly.

"My heart?"

"Is it easily broken?"

She flushed and did not know how to answer. "I do no' ken," she said at last. "It's never been broken—but I do no' think that means it's hard."

He said, very low, "I saw ye watching your jongleur friend. He seemed very intent on the bonny lass wi'

the red hair like the Banrigh. Do . . . does that upset ye very much?" They danced on in silence. Then she shook her leafy hair. "No. I always kent Dide was no' for me. We are very different. He loves crowds and parties and smoky inns. I am a creature o' the forest, I'm afraid."

"So am I," Niall said, very low. She looked up, trying to read his face, but it was too dark under the trees. Then he surprised her by kissing her, very hard.

When at last he released her mouth, Lilanthe stood very still, leaning against his shoulder. She felt very safe in the circle of his arms. She said nothing, dazed and tremulous.

"Ye remember once ye asked me what I would like to do once the war was over?" Niall said. She nodded. "Would ye like that too? A wee cottage somewhere in the woods, with a garden and some beehives, and a pool for ye to bathe in and sweet earth in which to dig your roots? For I want ye, Lilanthe. It is ye I dream o' beside me in that cottage. Do ye think ye would like that too?" She nodded again and leant her head against his broad shoulder. "Aye, I would," she whispered. "I'd like that very much."

Isabeau found her guardian waiting by the Pool of Two Moons, in the center of the labyrinth. It was very quiet there, with the stars thick as daisies in the dark sky. She came and sat at Meghan's side, leaning her head against the sorceress's knee. Meghan smoothed the unruly curls away from her face.

"Ye have learnt a lot since ye've been gone."

"Aye."

"Ye've lost all the veils over your third eye. Ye see clearly now."

"Aye."

"It's been a stony road for ye, my lass."

Isabeau nodded. "Aye, that it has."

"Tell me?"

Cuddling the little owl in her hands, Isabeau told Meghan everything she had done and learnt. For Meghan, there was no judicious editing or softening of the truth. Occasionally the sorceress asked a question or made an exclamation, sometimes of horror, more often of exasperation. Once she said, "Och, ye were always an impulsive lass! Ye'd think ye would have learnt some wisdom by now!" Isabeau finished with the lifting of the curse and Maya and Bronwen's departure from the secret valley. "I watched them through the scrying pool. They reached the sea safely. I saw them swim into the waves." Tears choked her, then she went on with a catch in her voice, "I couldna see them after that, though. I do no' ken where they went."

"The sea distorts the far-seeing," Meghan said. "Like the mountains. Ye did well to see so far, even with the scrying pool."

"I hope I did no' do wrongly," Isabeau said, her voice rather shaky. "She could've just turned me into a toad and taken Bronwen but she did no'. I do no' ken why."

Meghan shrugged. "Who understands the heart o' a fairge? No' I." She brooded in silence for a while, then said, "And who is this wee white owl?"

"This is Buba," Isabeau replied with a tender smile. "Is she no' bonny?" Meghan hooted, soft and low, and the elf-owl hooted back.

"I do no' ken what I should do without her now," Isabeau said. "It has been lonely at the Cursed Towers. Even though I ken she should be living with the other owls, I rather hope she does no' fly away, at least for a while."

"She shall no' fly away," Meghan said.

Isabeau smiled and rubbed her chin against Buba's tufted head. "I was sorry indeed about Jorge," she burst out. "Och, it was an awful week! I saw through the scrying pool . . ." Meghan was silent, though her hand shook. Isabeau glanced up and saw tears shining on her guardian's furrowed face. "I do no' think there is any greater grief," Meghan said curtly, "than to outlive all those that ye love most."

There was a long silence, then she went on, "That is why I left the Coven all those years ago, sick at heart to be still alive when I should have died a comfortable auld age like my father and my sister and all my friends and lovers. Then I saw the Weaver still had a place for me in the pattern. I found ye, the bonny, naughty lass that ye were, and I saved Lachlan as best I could. I saw I must go on living and so I forged on, doing what had to be done. For Jorge to die like that, though, to die in agony in the flames when he was the gentlest soul alive ..." Her voice shook and her little donbeag whimpered and clung tighter around her neck. She put up a thin, trembling hand and soothed him.

Very low, she said, "It is odd that I should put my faith in Ea all my life and only now, when we have triumphed against our enemies and restored Ea's veneration, have my faith falter."

"No!" Isabeau cried. "Meghan!"

The old sorceress nodded. "I ken it is weak and foolish to blame the universe for the evil o' humans. I o'

all people ken that Ea is as much darkness as light, as much death as life. Still, since Jorge died, it seems I can see only her dark face."

"May Ea shine her bright face upon ye." Isabeau whispered the ritual phrase. Meghan stroked her hair. "Indeed, with your bright face near me again, I find myself much comforted," she said. "I am glad ye came for the signing o' the Pact o' Peace."

"It is a wonderful thing indeed," Isabeau said.

Meghan nodded. "I think my father would be pleased. Even he could no' manage to bring so many o' the faeries to sign, nor Arran or Tirsoilleir for that matter. It is no small achievement."

"It is odd how things have turned out," Isabeau said dreamily. "To think I once longed for adventure and now all I want is to be quiet for a while and enjoy the peace we have won."

"A precarious peace at best," Meghan said dryly. "Do no' forget the Fairgean. Each year they grow stronger and bolder and soon none o' the rivers or lochan shall be safe. And they are a bloodthirsty race—they shall no' be content to rule the waves but shall rise forth to try and drive us from the land. Jorge had disturbing visions o' waves that rose as high as mountains and swept over the land, drowning villages and cities alike. Indeed he had the gift, for so much o' what he saw has come to pass." Isabeau gave a little shiver. "The Fairgean hate us," she said in a low voice. "They seek revenge for all the harm our people have done theirs."

Meghan shot her a curious glance but just then Isabeau heard a faint rustle in the hedges and tensed, her head whipping round. As the breeze shifted she smelt a dank odor, like a stagnant pool or a freshly dug grave. She clenched her hands, her pulse quickening, and would have risen, but Meghan pulled her back.

"No need to fear, dearling," she said.

"But it's a Mesmerd," Isabeau whispered. "I can smell it—and look! There in the hedge. I can see its eyes watching us."

"I ken," Meghan replied. "It follows me around. I came through the maze because I thought I might lose it for a while, but I should have kent better."

"I killed one, up at the Cursed Towers," Isabeau said, troubled. "Will its egg-brothers no' seek revenge for its death? And ye? Have they no' marked ye as kin-killer too? Mesmerdean have come hunting ye before."

Meghan smiled. "Many times now. Indeed they are an intractable, vengeful race."

"Then should we no' . . ." Isabeau made to rise again, and again Meghan soothed her.

"No need to fret, lassie. The Mesmerdean have signed the Pact o' Peace. All wars and vendettas have been laid to rest. They shall no' seek revenge on ye, nor on Iseult or Lachlan." Isabeau relaxed. "Really? Thank Ea for that! I can stop starting at shadows." Meghan made no response and the donbeag laid his paw on her ear.

Isabeau sat up a little. "What is it?" she asked, then cried swiftly, "Ye said Lachlan, Iseult and I were safe. What o' ye?" Before Meghan could answer, Isabeau cried, "Nay, Meghan! Ye havena?" Tears rushed to her eyes and spilt down her face, hot and bitter.

Buba the owl hooted mournfully and rubbed her tufted head against Isabeau's hand. For once Isabeau paid her no heed, reaching up to grasp Meghan's thin hand. "No, no, ye canna," she said pitifully. Meghan stroked back her unruly curls. "I want to," she replied gently. "Death is nothing but a door into another place, another life. I am no' afraid o' stepping through the door."

" 'Ea, ever-changing life and death, transform us in your sight, open your secrets, open the door. In ye we shall be free o' darkness without light, and in ye we shall be free o' light without darkness. For both shadow and radiance are yours, as both life and death are yours. For ye are the rocks and trees and stars and the deep, deep swell of the sea, ye are the Spinner and the Weaver and the Cutter o' the Thread, ye are birth and life and death, ye are shadow and brightness, ye are night and day, dusk and dawn, ye are ever-changing life and death . . ."' Isabeau quoted, stumbling over the words as her breath caught in little sobs she could not control.

Meghan smiled. "I knew ye would understand." They sat in silence for a moment, watching the stars in the dark sky and breathing in the fresh, green darkness. Tears slid down Isabeau's face but she did not break the silence.

Then Meghan said, very low, "They have given me till the time o' the red comet, time enough to see ye come into your full powers. I would like to know your path lies straight before ye." Isabeau said, rather shakily, "Four years, anything can happen in four years." Meghan just stared into the shadow of the hedge, where the Mesmerd hovered, his huge, multifaceted eyes glittering in the moonlight.

Isabeau sighed and rested her wet cheek against Meghan's knee again. The little owl hooted and she hooted back, low and melancholy.

The Mesmerd hovered in the shadow of the hedge, watching and listening and smelling. There was no expression on his beautiful face, dominated by the great clusters of iridescent green eyes. Very lightly he rubbed his claws against his wings. Soon he would have to return to the marshes, to lie in the mud and slowly metamorphose within his hard shell. When spring came he would emerge from his winter husk as an elder. Then there would be no more flying, no more adventures. Then he would fight for his own territory and a mate, and the copulation wheel would begin again. His mate would lay their eggs in the water and he would watch over them and guard them. And every one of his spawn of little naiads would carry within them the face and shape and smell and emotional aura of the Keybearer Meghan. Mesmerdean never forget.