The Fathomless Caves (27 page)

Isabeau wiped her eyes and tried to smile, but the cold foreboding of the morning had not faded with the light of the comet. She embraced her sister tightly, wishing they were all safely home at Lucescere, with nothing more to worry about than how to celebrate their upcoming birthday. At last Iseult tore herself away and Isabeau sank down on a pile of sacks, burying her face in her hands.

Someone seized her hands and drew them away. She looked up and saw Dide. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed. ‘This is goodbye, my Beau,’ he said. ‘The retreat has been sounded. Ye must be gone afore ye lose too much o’ the daylight.’

‘No!’ she cried, clinging to his hands. ‘Oh, Dide …’

He kissed her roughly, almost violently. ‘Have a care for yourself, Beau. Ye must get as far away from the sea as ye can. Promise me ye shall no’ dally but will go as quickly as ye can.’

‘Why must ye stay?’ she cried, her arms about his neck. ‘Canna ye come with us?’

‘My master has need o’ me,’ he replied gently. ‘Ye ken I must go.’

She nodded, drawing away. Where she had pressed her face against his jerkin was a damp splotch. She rubbed it with her fingers. ‘Have a care for yourself too, Dide,’ she said quietly.

He grinned at her. ‘Och, I’ve lived this long, I’m no’ going to die now, my Beau. I’m looking forward to peace too much.’

She smiled up at him through her tears. He kissed her again, saying thickly, ‘Och, that be a sight to keep a man alive, I promise ye.’

He smiled at her, pinched her chin, then strode swiftly back into the castle. Isabeau sat back down on the sacks, feeling more forlorn than ever before in her life. The MacSeinns had named their castle well, she thought. Suddenly she became aware of Meghan patting her shoulder. ‘Do no’ grieve so, dearling,’ the old sorceress said. ‘That one be too full o’ wicked
charm to be dying so young. I warrant ye’ll see him before the week is out.’

Isabeau dried her tears. ‘I’m sorry. I just did no’ expect …’

‘I ken,’ Meghan replied. ‘It is hard to send someone ye love off to war, when all ye want is to hold them tight in your arms and keep them safe.’

Isabeau looked up at her. There was something in Meghan’s voice that told Isabeau the old sorceress knew exactly how she felt. Meghan smiled at her sadly. ‘Och, I ken. Because I am auld and grey now, ye think I have always been. I may be four hundred and thirty-five years auld now but I was once as young and bonny as ye are, Beau. I have loved and lost more times than I can count.’

Isabeau could not help looking astonished. Meghan laughed grimly. ‘That is the problem wi’ being this auld. Ye live on and on while those ye love grow auld and die, or fall in battle, or waste away with sickness. This is the third war against the Fairgean that I have lived through, and I lost people I loved in every one o’ them.’

Isabeau hesitated, then could not help asking, ‘Do ye mean … lovers too, Meghan?’

‘Aye, lovers too. Though the man I loved more than I thought it was possible to love anyone died o’ auld age, peacefully, in my arms. I wanted to die then too, but this auld body o’ mine just would no’ let go. That was when I gave up the Key and retired to the secret valley. I suppose I would have been in my eighties. I felt very auld then.’ She chuckled. ‘Now I think what
a sprightly young thing I was. Still, I loved Micheil very much. He was my lover and my friend for almost fifty years, on and off.’

‘But no’ your husband.’

‘Nay, no’ my husband. I was the Keybearer and he was the second son o’ a second son and had to make his own way in the world. He served with the MacBrann for a time, I remember. We saw each other often, though. Somehow I was always finding an excuse to visit Ravenshaw.’ She smiled in reminiscence.

‘What about Jorge?’ Isabeau asked, having always wondered about the obvious closeness between Meghan and the old blind seer who had died so tragically.

Meghan laughed. ‘Isabeau, please! I was about three hundred and fifty when he was born. I do no’ think he ever saw me as anything but an ancient crone who used to scold him for dawdling over his lessons. Nay, I loved Jorge dearly but never in that way.’

New ideas were beginning to take root in Isabeau’s mind. ‘So when ye were Keybearer, ye still …?’

Meghan looked surprised. ‘Och, o’ course, Beau. Being a witch does no’ stop ye being a woman. I do try to discourage young witches from falling in love too soon, because it always wreaks havoc with their studies, but there are no laws against a witch loving. We are no’ like the Tìrsoilleirean with all their disgust for the natural relations between women and men, and all their laws and prohibitions. Though I do remember Maya used the witches’ so-called promiscuity against us at the time o’ the Burning. No’ that we were ever truly
promiscuous, o’ course. All that talk about orgies and so on was pure exaggeration.’

She gave a little smile. ‘Though Tabithas was famous for her many lovers when she was Keybearer. Poor Tabithas. What a shame she died last winter. She was a very auld wolf indeed.’ She sighed and rubbed Gitâ’s head affectionately. ‘Come, if we are to ride for the highlands we had best finish packing.’

She gave a little motion with her hand and Isabeau got to her feet, wiping away the last of her tears. She helped load the sacks into one of the carts, then made sure her own small bundle was tucked in safely with the books and the chests of tinctures and powders. The courtyard was milling with people, all shouting contrary instructions, while the horses danced about uneasily, sensing the distress in the air. Meghan and Isabeau quietened them with soft whickers of reassurance, then Isabeau helped Meghan up into one of the carts. She swung Olwynne and Owein up, making a soft nest of blankets and straw for them to nestle into, then mounted her own horse, a half-broken colt that had been among the many wild horses they had captured in the forest. Donncan and Bronwen climbed up to the driver’s seat, one on either side of Gwilym the Ugly, who was driving.

‘Can I take the reins?’ Donncan asked eagerly.

The sorcerer nodded and the little prionnsa drove the cart out of the courtyard and onto the road, waving proudly to Lachlan and Iseult, who were standing by the great gates.

‘May Eà shine her bright face upon ye,’ Isabeau said
to them both, leaning down from her horse.

‘And on ye,’ Lachlan replied, looking up into her face with a smile. ‘Do no’ fear! All will be well.’

‘If I do no’ see ye afore, happy birthday for Candlemas,’ Iseult said and Isabeau smiled and nodded, kicking her horse forward. She looked back at the ruined castle and saw, with a little leap of her heart, someone waving a blue cockaded cap from the battlements. She turned in her saddle and waved back wildly until the castle was out of sight.

The road ran down the long headland, curving round towards the stony beach and the mouth of the river. Here the land rolled away in gentle hills into a long, broad valley filled with trees. Through the centre of the forest ran the Kilchurn River, a wide, swift river swollen with the melting snows from the mountains. It was by rafting this river that Iseult had been able to bring the MacSeinn and his men to the sea so quickly.

Near where the Kilchurn River met the sea, the large, sprawling town of Kinnaird had been built on a low hill, surrounded by high fortified walls. Most of the town now lay in ruins. The party retreating from Castle Forlorn gave the old town a wide berth as they made their way into the forest, for all knew that it had once again fallen to the Fairgean. For the same reason they kept well clear of the river, melting snow for themselves and their horses to drink.

By noon they were deep into the forest, following the rutted remains of an old road now so overgrown with brambles it was virtually impassable. Soldiers walked in front with axes, clearing the path and stamping down the
snow so it was wide and smooth enough for the carts which carried the witches, the children and the few sacks and barrels remaining to them.

Their progress was further hampered by Meghan’s insistence on warning as many of the forest creatures as she could. She sent her donbeag Gitâ scampering through the branches to arouse the tree-dwellers, and called coneys, marmots, hoar-weasels and foxes to her hand, asking them all to spread the word.

‘The bears will all be hibernating,’ she said anxiously. ‘I hope the other creatures are not all too afraid to wake them. Enit, perhaps you could ask the birds to call the warning?’

So Enit called the birds of the forest to her hand and soon the air was filled with their shrill cries, and the clamour of their wings.

Under the thick, snow-laden branches, dusk fell early. They were forced to make a rough camp, all of them feeling that relentless frustration which comes from having not travelled far enough or fast enough.

The campfires were strung out through the trees as far as the eye could see, for the retreat had been joined by those who had taken shelter at the Castle Forsaken. There were soldiers from every country in Eileanan, plus many of those Carraigean who had come down out of the mountains to help in the war. An air of despondency hung over the entire cavalcade, for all had come to Carraig with high hopes.

The calling of the retreat had effected a reunion of the old League of the Healing Hand. They clustered close about the fire, hearing each other’s news and
marvelling at the changes in one another. Finn the Cat had been sent by her father to help lead the cavalcade to safety, with Aslinn the Piper her devoted servant as always. Jay the Fiddler was accompanying Enit as usual, while Johanna was never far from the healers, and Tòmas and her young brother Connor were never far from her. Only Dillon of the Joyous Sword was not with them, having stayed behind with Lachlan like the other Blue Guards.

With the League of the Healing Hand were their other friends and comrades—Brangaine NicSian, Cailean and his shadow-hound Dobhailen, Brun the cluricaun and Douglas MacSeinn, tense with fear for his father’s safety.

‘Is it no’ peculiar,’ Finn said, ‘to think we were all together at Rhyssmadill nine months ago, and now here we are all together again, having been all round the world in the meantime? Have ye all had a great many adventures? I have! They locked me in my room, ye ken, to stop me from coming. I had to climb down, which was a great bother, for it’s a drop of three hundred feet and all slimy with spray. And then I had to sort o’ trail along at the back o’ the army without anyone seeing me, for everyone kens me, o’ course, and my
dai-dein
would have had no hesitation in sending me back again. I quite enjoyed that, though. I got to practise my pickpocketing skills, and it was kind o’ fun to see everyone realising their supper or their tobacco had mysteriously gone missing again.’

She grinned roguishly. ‘They blamed the nisses most o’ the time, or even goblins, the fools. I was dressed as
a lad, o’ course, and had cut my hair again but I was almost discovered about ten times. Eventually, though, Goblin and I wriggled into my
dai-dein
’s tent and sat and waited for him on his pallet, for we were getting pretty hungry and sick o’ eating everyone’s dust. By that time we were on the coast and it was too late to send us back. He was furious, but what could he do? It’s been pretty boring since then, though, for he wouldna let me out o’ that bloody Castle Forsaken. Flaming dragon-balls! I shall never call Castle Rurach a draughty auld ruin ever again.’

‘I was never more shocked than when I heard ye were at Castle Forsaken,’ her cousin Brangaine said. ‘I kent my uncle would never have permitted ye to ride to war.’

‘Were ye?’ Jay grinned. ‘I was no’ surprised at all.’

‘It’s only because ye can whistle the wind that ye were allowed, muffin-face,’ Finn retorted. ‘If I had a Talent with weather, they would no’ have tried to make me stay. It’s no’ bloody fair! And now we all have to retreat, just when things were getting interesting.’

‘Only ye would say anything so foolish,’ Brangaine said, shaking her fair head in wonder. ‘Do ye no’ realise how much danger we are all in?’

‘Danger? When ye have Finn the Cat to lead ye to safety? Oh, ye o’ little faith!’

At the next fire along the witches and the healers sat, all wrapped up well against the bitter cold. Arkening Dreamwalker had suffered the most from the unending snowstorms and she lay in a fevered sleep, her breath rattling in her chest.

‘We should have sounded the retreat a month ago,’
Stout John said, his heavy jowls hanging down like a bulldog’s. He was not as stout as he had been six months ago. ‘It has been futile, all this winter campaign. Utterly futile!’

‘All war is futile,’ Enit replied morosely. She sat hunched and listless, not touching the bowl of thin soup the camp cooks had made. Isabeau knew Enit fretted for Dide’s safety as much as she did.

‘Come now,’ Johanna said briskly. ‘War is no’ futile if ye win. The Greycloaks are no’ beaten yet. Did no’ His Highness raise high the Lodestar and quell the storm? The Rìgh has never yet lost a campaign, and the Bright Wars dragged on far longer than this war has, and with a much higher cost in lives. Ye were no’ at Rhyssmadill, where the piles o’ dead bodies stretched as far as the eye could see, but I was. Ye canna say that it was no’ worthwhile in driving the Bright Soldiers out o’ Rionnagan?’

Enit did not reply. Johanna knelt by her side and gently closed the crippled fingers about the spoon. ‘Eat up, ma’am, else ye’ll be falling sick and making more work for me.’

Enit smiled briefly and obediently ate a few mouthfuls as Johanna rose and went to quell the argument between Finn and Brangaine. She helped Maura settle the tired, fractious twins to sleep, then distracted Douglas MacSeinn from his fears by asking him to help her sort through the bunch of herbs and flowers she had picked that day as they had walked through the forest. Isabeau, watching, wondered what any of them would do without Johanna.

All were tired after the long and strenuous day and so none complained when the fires were banked as soon as the evening meal was eaten, and the lanterns turned down low.

Isabeau was woken from a troubled sleep by a low, hoarse growling. She tensed immediately, sitting up. Cailean’s shadow-hound was standing at the edge of the forest, hackles raised, lips drawn back from his fangs, green eyes shining uncannily. The young apprentice witch stood by his side, hand resting on the tall dog’s back.