The Pool of Two Moons (19 page)

"It is her magic . . ."

"Perhaps. If so, it is a powerful Talent, to hold an illusion for sixteen years, and under such scrutiny. We ken she is a powerful sorceress, for she transformed ye into a blackbird. And she can charm crowds o'

people at a time, and strong witches among them. Yet I have never heard compulsion was a Skill o' the Fairgean, nor the spinning o' illusions. Just because she has thrown down the witches does no' mean she is a Fairge, Lachlan, though I have often wondered if this could be the explanation for her actions. Either way, the babe is a MacCuinn and a soul in its own right, and I do no' want its blood on your hands."

"But—"

"Nay, Lachlan, our plans remain the same. We regain the Lodestar and wait on events. Only when Jaspar has died shall I let ye raise the Lodestar, for no' even for your youthful impatience shall I let the Inheritance o' Aedan be turned by MacCuinn on MacCuinn. Jaspar may have been ensorcelled by a witch from the sea, but he is still the rightful Righ and your brother."

"Some brother he's turned out to be!"

"How was he to ken, Lachlan? Have pity on Jaspar, for whatever spell she has laid on him is sapping all his vitality and Enit says he shall no' last the year."

"Now she carries his babe, she has no need o' him," he said bitterly. "She will kill him as she killed Donncan and Feargus! And I am stuck here in this blaygird forest, with my nose in books like a grubby scribe's apprentice, when I should be out there, trying to save him!"

"What could ye do?" Meghan said. "Ye'd burn on the fire as an
uile-bheist,
and our last hopes with ye. No, no, my lad, this is no' the time to lose heart. We have all three parts o' the Key now and are closer than ever to releasing the Lodestar."

"Its song is growing very faint." Lachlan's voice was somber.

"I think Maya means to make sure we canna release it before its song dies out altogether. If Jaspar dies and names the babe heir, then Maya shall rule in truth and that foretells a dark and desperate future for us all. We must get to the Lodestar before the birth o' winter! That means we must join the Key, get into the palace of Lu-cescere—and remember one wing o' the palace is now the headquarters o' the Awl—rescue the Lodestar and get it into Lachlan's hands."

"Or yours," Meghan's great-nephew said. The wood witch looked grave and said nothing. "Ye can wield the Lodestar too, Meghan," Lachlan said, rather anxiously. "I ken it was ye who really drove off the Fairgean at the Battle o' the Strand."

"Jaspar's hand was on the Lodestar," Meghan said gruffly. "That is what ye must remember."

"Ye told him what to do, though, and lent him your strength."

"Lachlan, I may no' be there to lend ye my strength or my knowledge. Ye must understand that. Ye must unlock its secrets yourself. Why do ye think I have been driving ye and Iseult so hard?"

"What do ye mean? Why would ye no' be with me?"

"We do no' ken the pattern the weaver is weaving, my lad."

"What do ye fear?" Iseult could hear undercurrents in Meghan's quiet voice. The sorceress looked at her with inscrutable black eyes. "I told ye Jorge has had dreams o' a black wolf hunting ..."

"But what does that mean?*

Meghan sighed. "Lachlan, can ye answer her question?"

Lachlan said slowly, "A black wolf is the crest o' the MacRuraich clan. They're known for their Searching and Locating Skills."

"Well done, my lad, ye have no' forgotten all ye were taught as a bairn! Aye, I fear the Banrigh has set the MacRuraich on my trail, and the black wolf is hard indeed to shake off once he has his nose to the spoor ... I shall have word o' his coming, though, do no' fear."

"He shall no' find ye. I shall keep ye safe, auld mother."

"Thank ye, Iseult," the sorceress replied, with the faintest inflection of irony. "I hope indeed ye shall. But we must take all possibilities into account, always. Anything may happen between now and Samhain. Which brings me to my next point. I wish to give ye your Tests. It is no coincidence ye and Lachlan each found a moonstone, Iseult. That is always a sign ye are ready to pass your apprenticeship test. It is the tradition o' the Coven that the real lessons in witchcraft do no' begin until ye have been accepted as an apprentice. Ye have been angry that I will no' teach ye more o' the skills o' witchcraft and witchcunning but, indeed, such knowledge can be dangerous. Only when ye have passed your Tests can I be sure ye have the discipline needed, and such things are best done in the right time and the right manner.

"Midsummer's Eve is a powerful time indeed, ye canna have a better time to take your Tests. That leaves us only a few weeks to polish up your Skills and have ye ready. This past week ye have both been as distracted as any crofter's lad at your lessons. I ken ye think me a hard taskmaster and wish to spend your days lazing in the sun and making love. Indeed I am glad ye have grown to care for each other and canna deny I had hoped such would happen. But we have no' got the leisure for courting. We have only a short while for ye to learn everything ye may need as righ and banrigh."

"But, auld mother—"

"Hush, Iseult, and let me finish. I think we should stay in the forest as long as we can—at least until Midsummer's Eve so Lachlan can sing the summer solstice with the Celestines and ye can jump the fire together—"

Iseult could keep silent no longer. "But Meghan, ye ken I canna be marrying Lachlan!" Lachlan looked up swiftly, his swarthy cheek coloring. "What do ye mean?"

"I am in
geas . .
."

"But ye lay with me—ye said ye loved me!"

"Yes, but - . ."

"Did ye no' mean what ye said?"

"Nay, I did, I just did no' realize . . ."

"But ye came with me into the forest? Did ye no' realize I meant . . . ? Did ye no' know I wanted . . . ?"

"Ye never said anything about
marrying."

"Ye do no' wish to marry me?" His voice was incredulous,

"But, Lachlan, ye ken I am no' free to do as I wish, that my life has been given in
geas
..." He scrambled to his claws, his eyes blazing yellow with anger. "It was all a lie, then, what we said to each other that night? Ye do no' care for me, is that what ye are trying to tell me?" Iseult felt anger rise to meet his. "Nay, why will ye no' listen to me? Ye know I am heir to the Firemaker!

I canna be betraying my great-grandmother's trust ..."

"But ye could be Banrigh o' all Eileanan!" Lachlan gripped her wrist cruelly.

"What is that to me? I know nothing about your righ-rean and banrighrean, I just wanted to be with ye . .

."

"But do ye no' see, I want us to be together always! How could ye think it was just for a night or a week? Ye carry my babe—did ye no' realize I meant for us to be married?"

"The Firemaker does no' marry," Iseult said arrogantly, tugging her wrist free.

"Go then! Go back to the snows if that is what ye want! I do no' need ye!" Lachlan turned and limped away into the forest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Can your great-grandmother scry?" Meghan asked. Wondering how the sorceress knew what she was thinking, Iseult shrugged. "I do no' ken," she answered, trying not to show how upset she was. "The Khan'cohbans can speak from one mind to another, sometimes over a fair distance, and my great-grandmother has spoken thus to me several times."

"Then ye should be able to reach her if ye try," Meghan said practically. "Your scrying skills have been growing in leaps and bounds. She is far away, though, and there is a range o' mountains between ye which may muffle your voice. See if you can reach her."

The winged prionnsa did not return to the clearing that evening. Her throat muscles unaccountably tight, Iseult tried again and again to reach her great-grandmother but failed every time. At last she rolled herself in her blankets and slept by the fire, for the first time since Beltane not slipping off into the forest to be with Lachlan.

She dreamed she was on the Spine of the World. All she could see were whirling snowflakes; all she could hear was the howling of timber wolves. Suddenly she could hear the crunch of feet on the snow. She brought fire flickering to life in her palm and held it up so she could see. The red-gold light flowed over the black-tipped white mane and snarling fangs of a snow lion, lifting its muzzle to her breast. Before she could cry out, the ferocious face tilted up further and it was her great-grandmother, wrapped in her snow lion cloak.

"Firemaker, I have found you," Iseult breathed in the language of the Khan'cohbans. "I have been calling and calling you. Give me your blessing, old mother."

The face beneath the snow lion's snarling mask was thin, high-boned and very pale. The hair had once been auburn, but was now so intermingled with gray, only flashes of fire remained. Slowly the Firemaker raised her blue-veined hand and made the mark of the Gods of White on Iseult's brow. "I heard you calling, my great-granddaughter. The restless mountains divide us, though, and I cannot speak with you across their clamor. So I have traveled the dream road to talk with you, feeling that your heart was troubled."

"Firemaker, I have a confession to make," Iseult said.

"Make me your confession and I shall judge," her great-grandmother responded. Feeling her knees shake, for the punishment of the Firemaker was always just and always severe, Iseult said in a low voice, "I have fallen in love with a man of this land, and lain with him, Firemaker. I am carrying his child."

The Firemaker's eyes gleamed cold and blue in her pale-skinned, autocratic face. "I know this, my great-granddaughter. I dreamed of the child's coming and knew the instant it was conceived." Iseult waited, but her great-grandmother said no more. She burst out, "What am I to do, Firemaker? I have failed you and failed my obligation as the Firemaker's heir. I have betrayed the Gods o' White." Her voice broke.

"You ask of me a question, Khan'derin. Do you offer me a story in return?" Iseult's heart sank. She had been too long away from the Spine of the World. Reluctantly she lowered her eyes. "Yes, Firemaker, no matter the question."

The Firemaker sat ramrod straight, her hands upturned on her furs. "I shall answer your question, Khan'derin, and a foolish waste of a question it was too. This is my answer: you must choose the path that you feel and believe to be right for you, then travel that path."

"That is your answer?" Iseult cried. Her grandmother said nothing. Iseult bowed her head, knowing she had been foolish. One did not ask such questions of the Firemaker.

"Now I ask of you a question in return, Khan'derin. Will you answer in fullness and in truth?"

"Yes, Firemaker." Iseult's voice was low. She dreaded her grandmother's questions. They cut to the bone.

"Do you love this blackbird man?"

"Yes, Firemaker," Iseult replied, rather shakily. "I have told myself I must not, and shall not, but I do, I do! I want to have his child, I want to be with him, he shakes me as no one has ever shaken me before . .

." She faltered to a close, knowing her tone was too vehement to please the Firemaker. With an effort she said, "Firemaker, I want to be with him. To imagine my life without him is to see the future as an icy waste. But I must listen to you and hear your judgment. Please help me! I want to do what is right. But know this—I will not leave Lachlan easily. He has his hand around my heart." The Firemaker took a deep breath. "I have something to tell you, Khan'derin, that perhaps I should have told you before." In the rhythmic chant of storytellers on the Spine of the World, she told again the story of how her twin sister was raised by the Pride of the Fighting Cats to be her rival even though twins were forbidden in the Khan'cohban culture, the youngest born left out in the snow to die. "One day the Old Mother said the daughters of Khan'fella would save the Prides from darkness. The Prides knew then that the child must be allowed to live, though all were afraid."

Iseult had heard this story many times before, but she knew better than to fidget or let her attention wander. Despite her anxiety, she sat still and listened as the Firemaker described her distress, many years later, when her own daughter died in childbirth, along with her baby daughter, leaving her with a mere grandson.

"I begged the gods to tell me why I had been so punished. There was no answer on the merciless wind, and my dreams were filled with omens I did not understand. I was shown the godhead must pass from daughter to daughter, and I railed against the gods that they should pass the Firemaker's powers into the hands of my sister, my enemy.

"At last my grandson left to travel into the land of the sorcerers. Then came dreams of fire and death and evil sorceries, and I knew my grandson had been lost. Again I cursed the gods of ice and blizzards, and again was sent a dream in return. This is the story of your finding, and one I have told you many times. My heart rejoiced to find you, for I knew you were the child of my grandson. I proclaimed you heir and laughed at the Pride of the Fighting Cats, who had thought Khan'merle, daughter of Khan'dica, grand-daughter of Khan'fella must inherit."

For the first time the Firemaker's story faltered, and she looked away from her grand-daughter. The old woman took a deep breath, then resumed softly. "It was wrong of me to take the dream and twist it to my desire. I knew that the sister of your womb was still living, and that the Gods of White must have some purpose in allowing you both to live. So at the Summer Gathering I broke the silence of generations and spoke to Khan'merle, Old Mother of the Pride of the Fighting Cats and now named heir to the Firemaker . . ."

"You've disinherited me?" Iseult was aghast.

Her great-grandmother ignored the interruption, though her face stiffened in disapproval. "The Firemaker was a gift of the White Gods to the People of the Spine of the World, in reward for their long exile. She was given to bring warmth and light to the howling night, to protect the people of the Prides from their enemies. The Firemaker is the gift of the Gods of White to
all
the People, and she must serve them in entirety."

Iseult's anger suddenly dissolved in a flood of happiness as she realized what her great-grandmother had said. She was free to follow Lachlan and bear his son as Meghan had predicted. For the moment nothing else mattered, although she knew she was still of the Fire-maker's blood, and one day the Gods of White would call her to account.