Heart of Stars (25 page)

It was Dedrie, bringing them some hot porridge and more nettle tea, which they drank and ate obediently, by the light of a lantern. The night before, the skeelie had given Olwynne a clean chemise in which to sleep. Now she brought them some clean clothes – a rough brown dress and a pair of wooden clogs for Olwynne that obviously belonged to the skeelie, and some leather breeches for Owein. His shirt, which was especially made to fit around his wings, had been washed and dried, and Dedrie had brought him a big cloak to wrap over his wings, concealing them from view. There was a cloak for Olwynne
too, with a hood. She surreptitiously slipped the bottle of sleeping draught into its pocket when the skeelie’s back was turned.

Both Owein and Olwynne were feigning much greater weakness than they felt. Dedrie was worried about them, and clucked around them, mixing up another of her foul-tasting medicines and insisting they drink it.

Olwynne pretended to have so little energy she could not even lift the cup to her lips, and Dedrie bent over her solicitously, saying ‘It’s skullcap and rue, my lady, to stop ye feeling dizzy. My laird must no’ see ye so sick and faint.’

Owein exchanged a quick glance with Olwynne, and crept a little closer, preparing himself to knock the skeelie unconscious while her back was turned. Just then Dedrie straightened and turned around, however, and Owein pretended to stagger and fall. Dedrie caught him and called to Jem, who at once came rushing in through the door, making the twins glad they had not attacked the skeelie after all.

‘Why could ye no’ have looked after them properly?’ Dedrie raged as they manoeuvred the slumping Owein back onto the bed. ‘Ye said ye had it all under control!’

‘Ye’re the skeelie,’ Jem sneered, ‘it’s your job to keep them healthy, no’ mine.’

‘I was sick as a cat,’ Dedrie retorted. ‘Ye said ye’d look after them.’

‘I did,’ Jem said. ‘I changed their filthy bucket, dinna I? And made sure they had food. What else was I meant to do?’

‘Keep them alive!’ Dedrie snapped back. ‘Come on, help me. We’ve got to get them up on deck. My laird wants to leave the ship well afore dawn, so we’re up at the auld fort afore anyone’s up and about.’

Auld fort?
Olwynne thought and glanced at her brother.

‘No-one ever sleeps in this pirate-infested hole anyway, so what’s the point?’ Jem grumbled. ‘The streets will be filled with drunken sailors and filthy whores, all drinking and carousing till dawn.’

Pirate-infested hole?
Olwynne felt as much as saw the sudden spark of comprehension that lit Owein’s eyes.
The Pirate Isles!
she thought.
But why? What is here apart from pirates and cutthroats?

The Fair Isles had been under the control of pirates for so long that few called them that any more. Periodically, Lachlan had sent in his navy to wipe the nest of buccaneers out, but they simply took to ship the moment they saw sails on the horizon and escaped to the high seas, coming back again later to rebuild their inns and brothels, their jetties and warehouses. Lachlan had stationed a company of soldiers here for a long while, but they had gradually died of fever or treachery, or had been seduced into piracy themselves. So then he had sent out an incorruptible commander called Iron John, who had kept the islands fairly free of thievery and corruption for seven years, but after Iron John was poisoned by his own valet, there had been a gradual return to the bad old days.

The Pirate Isles were a constant thorn in the Rìgh’s side and every Lammas Congress the lairds and the merchants called for stronger measures, and Lachlan made promises he had done his best to keep.

The problem was that Eileanan was one of an archipelago of islands scattered across a seemingly boundless ocean. Many, many ships had set off to explore the distant seas, and most had never returned. The exceedingly wide swing of the tides, dragged by the pull of two moons, made sea travel treacherous indeed, and so most
ships hugged the coast of Eileanan, doing their best to avoid the natural hazards of sandbank and sea-serpent, harlequin-hydra and whirlpool. Only the pirates had succeeded in exploring the outer islands, and an illegal trade flourished in the produce of those most distant islands, particularly in tobacco, cinnamon and rhinfrew, which would only grow in the Fair Isles, and in moonbane, that most addictive – and expensive – of drugs.

Limp and heavy-footed, Owein and Olwynne were pushed, dragged and wrestled up the ladder and onto the deck by Dedrie and Jem. It was still dark, though the two moons, both at the full, were sinking behind the island’s peaks to the east. The water glimmered an eerie blue in the moonlight, and the stars overhead were very large and bright.

Olwynne clung to the rail for support, staring at the pirate town. Even though it was very late, lights were still strung all along the shore, and she could hear faint sounds of music and drunken laughter.

Hundreds of other ships were moored along the jetty, or bobbed at anchor in the wide circle of the bay. Most of the buildings were rough wooden structures, but Olwynne could see a large square stone building high up on the cliff which must be the old fort. It was a grim-looking place, half in ruins, with arrow slits and battlements.

Jem dragged his hipflask out of his pocket and took a generous swig, grunting with satisfaction and wiping his mouth. A thought flashed between the twins. At once Owein straightened up and made a bid for freedom. With a cry of surprise, Jem shoved the stopper in his flask, dropped it, and raced after him. Dedrie turned and began to holler down the hatch, ‘Ballard, ahoy!’

Quick as a flash, Olwynne dropped on her knees,
grabbed the hipflask and emptied the little vial she carried in her pocket into it. It only took a moment, though her hands were shaking so much she could barely put the stopper back in. By the time the bodyguard Ballard had bounded up the stairs and helped Jem seize Owein and drag him back, Olwynne was where she had been, leaning weakly on the rail, and the hipflask lay where Jem had dropped it.

Owein was limp and senseless, much to Olwynne’s horror. She fell on her knees beside him, weeping, but to her relief he gave her a secret wink when the others were not looking. She saw Jem bend and pick up his flask, and take a deep mouthful, and then at Ballard’s jerked thumb, passed the flask to him so he too could drink. Olwynne dropped her eyes so they would not see the excitement and hope in hers.

Lord Malvern came hurrying along the deck, wrapped up well against the cool of the night, with Irving and Piers a few paces behind him. The lord’s raven flew ahead of them, coming down to perch on one of the yardarms.

‘What was all that commotion?’ the lord snapped. ‘Did I no’ order ye to keep it quiet?’

‘The prionnsa tried to escape,’ Dedrie explained, clutching her hands together in dismay. ‘Jem and Ballard caught him, though.’

‘Obviously the sacrifices are well recovered then,’ the lord said. ‘Hoist him up, Ballard. We’ll pretend he’s dead drunk. Now, remember, I want no attention drawn to us in the town, if at all possible. Let us get through quickly and quietly, and go on up to the fort. In the morning, these disreputable sailors I hired will unload their cargo and sail away, and no-one will ever ken we have been here.’

‘Aye, my laird,’ they replied in unison.

‘Keep the sacrifices quiet as we go through the town. I do no’ wish to have to pay a ransom to get them back again should they alert anyone to who they really are.’

Jem lifted his dagger and grinned.

‘Very well. Try no’ to kill them unless entirely necessary. I am looking forward to using MacCuinn blood to resurrect MacFerris blood. It will no’ be anywhere near as satisfying if I must use one o’ ye.’

His followers exchanged uneasy glances. ‘Aye, my laird,’ they said.

Lord Malvern led the way across the gangplank and onto the jetty. Dedrie followed along behind, then Jem grunted at Olwynne and gestured her forward. Trying to avoid his touch, Olwynne stumbled and almost fell, and Piers came and took her arm and assisted her. He did not speak, but she was glad to get away from Jem and his constant staring, and so allowed herself to accept his support. Ballard had Owein hoisted up over his shoulder, and Owein lay quiescent, waiting for another opportunity.

No-one paid them any attention as they went through the town, being too busy among their own concerns. Ballard made a show of pretending to be assisting a drunk friend, and Jem showed a mouth full of bad teeth in what he thought was a smile. Olwynne kept her head down, and her hood over her distinctive red hair. Owein was well muffled up in a cloak too, so that not one red curl or red feather could be seen.

Beyond the town was a steep cobbled road that climbed up the hill to the fort on the top of the cliff. It was dark away from the light of the town, and Ballard had to stop often, to shift Owein’s dead weight on his shoulder, and to share another draught of whisky with Jem. Irving drank once or twice too, but Piers did not, and his hand under Olwynne’s elbow did not slacken.

By the time they reached the top of the road, both Jem and Ballard were swaying and stumbling. Piers was remonstrating with them under his breath, and then let go of Olwynne to go to Ballard’s assistance as the big man suddenly dropped to his knees. Owein slid over his shoulder to the ground, and lay quietly as Piers and Jem together tried to rouse Ballard, who dropped onto his face and began to snore very loudly.

Jem was giggling helplessly, much to Piers’s anger, then suddenly keeled over onto his face as well. Olwynne slowly backed away, until she was beside Owein and was able to surreptitiously help him up. Step by slow step they edged away into the blackness, being careful to keep close to the inside edge of the hill so they did not slip over the cliff in their blindness.

Suddenly they heard shouts and the harsh cry of a raven. Seizing each other’s hands they began to run, forcing their stiff, trembling legs forward, their breath already catching in their sides.

Then a great bluish sphere of light illuminated the whole road. Owein and Olwynne glanced back over their shoulders and saw Piers and Irving both bounding down the road after them. Irving had a dagger in his hand. At the top of the hill Lord Malvern stood, one hand raised high, a huge witch’s light illuminating the hill all around. His raven was swooping towards them, calling raucously.

Owein and Olwynne could only stumble forward as fast as they could. They heard the pound of running feet behind them and expected, every moment, to feel heavy hands on their shoulders.

Then, out of the darkness, came a new sound. The beat of great wings. Olwynne glanced up, terrified, and saw Blackthorn dropping down from the sky, Rhiannon on her back. Desperate hope leapt in her heart. Rhiannon reached
down a hand to her. Their eyes met. There was a moment of complete knowledge between them, smouldering with anger and shame and bitter hatred. Then Olwynne reached up her hand, and Rhiannon caught it and swung her up. Desperately, her legs hampered by her heavy skirts, Olwynne managed to lie across Blackthorn’s withers, the bulge of the saddle-pad digging painfully into her stomach.

‘Why?’ she managed to gasp.

‘Lewen wanted me to,’ Rhiannon answered, then she was leaning forward, shouting at Owein, ‘Fly! I canna carry ye both! Can ye fly!’

Owein at once spread his wings and leapt up into the air. Olwynne realised with a start of tears to her eyes that her brother could probably have escaped any time during the last hour, since they had not bothered to bind his wings to his body as they had done for so many days.

Rhiannon dug her knees into Blackthorn’s side, and the winged mare wheeled about, making for the cliff’s edge. Just then, something sharp and icy-cold pierced Rhiannon deep in her left shoulder. She jerked and cried aloud. A roar of pain filled her ears and eyes. The ice became a fire, a conflagration. Her head whirled. She realised she was falling. A scream tore at her vocal chords. She flailed out her arm, grasping for something to steady her. Her hand met something soft. Her fingers closed. The next moment, between the horror of falling that was every thigearn’s greatest fear, and the pain and shock of the dagger driven deep into her shoulder, Rhiannon realised she was dragging Olwynne down with her. There was no time to think. Rhiannon let go, and fell.

Strong arms seized her. Rhiannon was pressed close to a linen-clad chest, and heard all about her the beating of
strong wings. Intense pain stabbed through her, and for a moment she blacked out.

Then another jolt of agony dragged her halfway back to consciousness. Vaguely she heard screaming and shouting, and bluish light flashed in her eyes. Something hard knocked into her, and then she felt again the dreadful, heart-stopping sensation of falling.

All went dark.

Rhiannon slowly swam back into consciousness. Her first sensations were the feel of a hard cold floor beneath her and the smell of dank stone and sour, unwashed hair. The smell was so familiar it brought a wave of panic crashing through her. Her heart accelerated, her breath hitched, and she thought, incoherently,
Oh no, no’ again! No’ Sorrowgate Tower …

Trying to catch her breath, she opened her eyes and struggled to sit up. Pain lanced through her shoulder. She gasped out loud, and froze, one hand going up tentatively to touch the source of the pain. She felt as if a red-hot rod had been drilled through her shoulder and she was hanging upon it, pinned like a still-fluttering butterfly.

‘Rhiannon, are ye all right? Owein, she’s awoken!’

At the sound of the banprionnsa’s voice, Rhiannon lifted her bleary gaze. She saw Olwynne sitting opposite her, leaning forward in concern. Her red hair was a bird’s nest, rising up around her face in a wild frizz stuck with old leaves and burrs. They were in a dark cell or dungeon,
with nothing but mouldy old straw on the floor to soften the damp stones. Above them in the wall was a narrow slit of a window, through which light filtered. Beside the banprionnsa sat her twin brother. Although Rhiannon had never met him before, there was no mistaking his identity. Like Olwynne, his hair was red and curly, his eyes were brown, and he had the magnificent long wings of his father, though coloured as flame-red as his hair, not nightblack like Lachlan’s had been. He was watching her with the same intent concern as Olwynne.

‘What happened?’ Rhiannon said faintly.

‘Irving threw his dagger and got ye through the shoulder. Ye fainted and fell. I tried to catch ye, but Olwynne fell too. I couldna hold ye both, though I tried. We all fell, all three o’ us. Luckily we hit the road, else we’d all be dead, I think. Your horse tried to save us, but there were too many o’ them.’

‘They got her?’ Rhiannon gasped in horror.

‘Nay. She escaped, but only just. There was no hope for us. They dragged us up the road and threw us in this place. That was about three or four hours ago.’

Rhiannon’s eyes stung with tears. She dropped her face into her arms, refusing to let them see her weep.

‘Ye tried,’ Olwynne said, her voice trembling. ‘Ye did your best.’

‘How did ye get here?’ Owein asked eagerly. ‘Did ye come with the Yeomen? Are they here somewhere too? Maybe they’ll–’

‘No Yeomen,’ Rhiannon answered curtly. ‘I flew after your ship on Blackthorn. It was very hard. We almost dinna make it. The storm
…
I have never seen aught like it. The waves were tall as mountains.’

‘No wonder we were so sick,’ Olwynne said to Owein.

‘And Dedrie and all the others too.’

‘Ahead was always fair skies,’ Rhiannon said, ‘but behind ye, blackness and storm like I’ve never seen afore. The lightning and the thunder, the wind
…
it was like frost-giants making war. So I
…
we flew ahead. It was too hard to just follow. We would never have made it. But once we got ahead o’ ye, we had an easier time o’ it. We came to this island last night, and made camp up in the auld ruin. Then we waited for ye.’

She had to concentrate hard to form the words and make sure they came out right. She felt sick and dizzy and utterly shocked and miserable. The pain in her shoulder was intense. Gingerly she reached over her shoulder and felt the point at which the dagger had pierced her. Someone had bound it with some kind of cloth, but it fell away when she moved, dropping to the floor like a mangled crimson flower. Beneath her fingers the wound was wet and pulpy and hurt like hell. Her fingers came away bloody.

‘I could no’ do any better,’ Olwynne said apologetically. ‘We managed to tear up Owein’s shirt, but ye were bleeding so much. Most o’ it got ruined.’ She made a gesture with one hand and Rhiannon saw a pile of bloodstained rags tossed in one corner. ‘Ye’ve lost a lot of blood,’ she went on unhappily. ‘But I do no’ think anything important got nicked. No’ your heart or your lungs, or anything.’

‘That’s good,’ Rhiannon responded, feeling rather blank and strange. She wanted to get up, and rip the room apart searching for a way out, or a weapon, or tool. But she simply did not have the strength. She could not imagine even trying to stand.

‘So ye do no’ ken if the Yeomen are on our trail or no’?’ Owein asked. She could hear from his voice that he was trying to hide his bitter disappointment. She looked at him with an effort, and managed to shrug one shoulder.

‘I sent them a message. I told them where the ship was going. But I do no’ ken if they even got it. And if they did, they are days behind. Maybe more, for they were sailing into that storm.’

Despite herself her voice dragged with a sense of utter hopelessness. Rhiannon could not see how anyone could possibly survive the black storm Lord Malvern had conjured up. They were on their own.

Iseult clung to the railing.

‘I will no’ turn back!’ she screamed.

‘My lady, if we do no’ heave-to we’ll all drown!’ Captain Tobias yelled back. As well as being the captain of
The Royal Stag
, the great war galleon whose wheel he was now clinging to in an effort to keep the ship from foundering, he was the Lord High Admiral of the royal fleet. Twenty ships spread out behind
The Royal Stag
, endeavouring to make their way through the heavy seas to the Pirate Isles.

They had to shout at one another for there was no other way to be heard above the howling of the wind, the crash of the waves over the stern, the crack and whistle of the tormented sails, and the thunder which rattled about the heavens like a river of cannonballs tumbling down a grand staircase. Rain lashed their faces.
The Royal Stag
climbed a great black swell of water, looking as frail as a stormy petrel. Seawater streamed away down the deck, knocking sailors off their feet and dragging anything not tied down away in a wild welter of foam and spray. Higher and higher the ship climbed. It seemed the crest of the wave must break over them and smash them all to pieces. But then the ship broke through, and teetered for an instant. The sails filled. The ship tipped over and began
the descent down into the black abyss, high walls of ocean swelling on either side. The sailors fought to keep their footing as water sloshed back down the other way.

‘We canna sail through this storm,’ Captain Tobias shouted.

‘We have to!’ Iseult shouted back. ‘My children are out there somewhere. We have to find them, we have to catch up with that ship!’

‘It’s madness!’

‘Maybe so, but we’re doing it anyway! All I ask o’ ye is ye hold the ship on course until we can get this wind back under control.’

He barked a harsh laugh. ‘Control this wind? Ye’re fools as well as madmen!’

‘Do no’ forget who ye speak to,’ Iseult said, her eyes narrowing. The captain shivered in the breath of arctic air that suddenly swirled at him from the folds of her cloak. Icicles hung from her hood, and the deck about her feet turned white and slick.

‘I have no’ forgotten, my lady,’ the captain cried, ‘but ye canna expect me to take my fleet and all my men to the bottom o’ the ocean without at least trying to make ye see reason.’

She laughed. It was a wild, almost exultant sound. ‘Trust me, Captain! We’re no’ beaten yet.’

He glanced out at the huge rolling seas and shuddered. ‘If ye could just keep the wind at our backs
…
’ he said rather hopelessly.

‘We can do that, at least,’ Iseult answered. ‘It’s just a matter o’ holding it steady.’

Lightning ripped open the underbelly of the vast black cloud. Thunder roared. Captain Tobias made the sign of Eà’s blessing, then shouted himself hoarse as sailors slipped and slithered about, doing his bidding.

The upper sails all came tumbling down, and were swiftly wrapped and stowed.

One little storm sail was hoisted aloft at the stern to help the captain retain control of the steering, while another was hoisted on the mizzenmast. The ship bucked and danced as the wind and the seas together wrenched it awry. The captain called for help to hold the tiller steady, and everyone grabbed at the rail as another grey beast of water came snarling and foaming over the rail and down the decks.

Iseult scanned the turbulent seas anxiously, then, as the ship laboured up out of the trough again, took a deep breath and hurried back to her companions on the forecastle.

Stormy Briant was standing before the foremast with his hands gripping the rail, his dark hair blowing about his face and his eyes exultant. He loved a good storm. On either side of him were the two weather-witches who had trained as his apprentices. The elder, named Cristina, had been accepted into the Coven some four years earlier and was working towards her first sorceress ring. A tall attractive woman with grey eyes and brown hair, she was, it was rumoured, more to Briant than just his assistant. The younger witch had only recently sat his Third Test of Power, and looked rather frightened to be facing such a wild storm so soon after being accepted as a witch. Named Fredric, he was in general called Freddy by his mentors, much to his disgust.

Finn the Cat was crouched in the shelter of a canvas lean-to, looking very ill. She was not, Iseult thought, a good sailor. Jay sat beside her, one arm about her back, the other holding a bucket which he passed to her as needed. Nina the Nightingale sat on her other side, helping brace her against the pitching of the ship. Roden
was with his father up on the poop deck, begging the captain to let him spin the wheel. The captain merely shook his head, and bade him go below deck and stop getting in everyone’s way. Rafferty and Cameron were both doing what they could to make themselves useful, although neither had ever been on a ship before and had absolutely no idea what to do.

Captain Dillon was ordering his men to lash the cannons in place, and to make sure the barrels of gunpowder were well secured and not being ruined by water. He glanced at Iseult as she went by, and she nodded her head briefly to indicate that their course was to remain steady. He nodded, and ordered all the soldiers to make sure they wore a rope about their waists, tying them to the ship. He did not want to lose a man overboard if the seas were to grow any rougher, which he imagined they would.

‘Finn, are ye well enough to try and raise the circle o’ power again?’ Iseult asked, bending over the prostrate sorceress. ‘We must try and calm this storm!’

Finn nodded and tried to get up, her hand pressed hard over her mouth. Her legs were wobbly, though, and Nina and Jay together needed to help her. The other witches turned from the rail, coming to join hands in a circle, with Stormy Briant in the centre.

‘What a magnificent storm!’ he cried. ‘This laird has power, no doubt o’ that!’

‘Have we enough power to leash what he has unleashed?’ Iseult asked.

Briant grinned and shrugged. ‘It is far easier to raise a storm than it is to control one. He conjured the wind to drive his ship, however, and we merely follow in his wake. If we had a full circle o’ sorcerers, I’d say, easy! If we had even a half-circle o’ weather-witches, I’d say not
too difficult. A half-circle o’ witches, half o’ whom have no Talent with weather whatsoever, well, let’s say it’ll be a challenge.’ His eyes shone with excitement.

‘Well, let us try again,’ Iseult said. ‘Nina, will ye sing the chant for us?’

Nina nodded. Her power all lay in her voice, and so, with her eyes closed and her energy focused, she began to sing, drawing upon the One Power until the air all about grew so chill it was hard for the sailors and soldiers working nearby to breathe. Icicles began to form on the halyards. The rain turned to sleet.

The other witches chanted with her then, as the song reached its penultimate crescendo, flung their hands high in the air, directing all their power to Briant. He took it, and wove it into a noose to seize the wind and bring it back under control.

It was like trying to lasso and ride a herd of wild flying horses. The wind was so strong and so turbulent, it would not be tamed so easily. Briant staggered and almost fell, almost as green as Finn, who was doing her best to control the urge to vomit until Nina had opened the circle again. Cristina ran to support Briant, who leant his hands on his knees, his head hanging, dragging in deep lungfuls of the sleety, salty air.

The ship keeled and almost capsized, and everyone seized the closest mast or rail as water poured all over the decks. Briant was knocked off his feet and dragged sideways. If it had not been for Cristina clinging to him desperately, he may well have gone overboard. For a moment it seemed as if the ship could not possibly right itself. Screams and cries of horror could be heard all over the ship. Then the galleon somehow steadied and ploughed on, and everyone struggled to their feet again, coughing and spluttering, and wiping the salt water from
their eyes. The wind bit through their wet clothes and dragged at their wet hair, and the witches were not the only ones to hurriedly make the sign of Eà’s blessing with their fingers.

‘May the Spinners spare us,’ one young sailor groaned.

‘It’s madness to go on,’ another cried.

Iseult looked at Briant, who clutched the rail, Cristina hugging her arm about his waist. He shrugged. ‘I almost had it,’ he said. ‘Och, but it’s a wild one, this storm. If Cailean was here, to lend me his strength, I’d be riding it now, I swear. But we just havena the power.’

‘If only I dinna feel so sick,’ Finn murmured. Jay pressed her closer, smoothing back her wet, bedraggled hair. She was fighting tears.

‘Sir!’ a voice cried.

Captain Dillon turned at once. His eyebrows snapped together over his nose as he saw two soldiers come clambering up from below deck, each holding firmly onto a small, struggling figure.

‘What’s this?’ he demanded.

‘Stowaways, sir!’

‘Stowaways!’

‘Aye, sir. We found them in the store hold. If ye had no’ sent us to check on the gunpowder, I doubt we would’ve found them till we reached shore. They’ve made a camp down there, sir, with beds o’ sails and blankets, and water and food too. No’ that they were feeling very hungry, sir. Both have been as sick as cats.’