The Pool of Two Moons (20 page)

Her great-grandmother softened her storyteller's stance, dropping her hands to stroke the thick white fur of her cloak. "You shall meet your sister on the first day of winter. It is then the veil between the worlds is thinnest. You have been apart; then is the time to join and be strong. You are like the petals of a rose, joined at the heart. Only together will you be whole. This I have dreamed." Her fierce blue eyes blurred away, and her sharp-angled face. Iseult was conscious of running, as the snow-whirled darkness overtook her, then she fell through fathoms of darkness. It was with a great sense of dislocation that she woke to see dawn filtering through the leaves of the forest, and Meghan watching her, Gita bright-eyed on her shoulder.

"Is all well?" the sorceress asked. Iseult nodded and got to her feet. "Lachlan did no' return? I need to speak with him."

Iseult climbed the steep slope with a buoyant step and found Lachlan crouched against one of the great menhirs. His face was as fierce and wild as she had ever seen it, the eyes red-rimmed, the mouth hard and unforgiving. She knelt by his side, taking his hands in hers. He stared straight ahead, and said nothing.

"My great-grandmother has said I may choose my own path, and I told her I wanted to be with ye. I can marry ye if ye still wish me to."

He looked at her somberly. "Is that what ye wish?"

"Aye, indeed it is. I wish our paths to lie together. Do no' ye?" He nodded and turned his hand so her fingers were gripped in his. They were trembling. "Are ye sure?" he asked. "I do no' want ye to be sorry later."

"Sorry to be with ye? I'll never be sorry for that."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "Ye must no' say these things lightly," he said. "I need to know, Iseult, I need . . ."

She kissed him, hard on the mouth, and said, "I love ye, Lachlan, I swear it. I want to be with ye, always."

He crossed his arms over her back, so hard she could not breathe or move, his wings wrapping her in darkness. "Ye must promise never to leave me, Iseult," he said, so low she could barely hear him. "Never leave me, never betray me."

"I promise," she said, and knew she had given herself in
geas
again. Riordan Bowleg's sunny courtyard became a haven for Isabeau through the difficult weeks of early summer. He and the kitchen maid Sukey were the only ones who showed her any sympathy, the other servants impatient with her constant mistakes. She gained some satisfaction from winning over the little dogs, who were as tortured by their proximity to the roasting meat as she was, though for far different reasons. She did not once use the switch, but coaxed them to her with the beef that she surreptitiously fished out of her bowl. She knew the other servants would think her aversion to eating meat odd to say the least. At the worst, it would be seen as being proof of a witch-friend, for many scions of the Coven had abhorred the eating of animal flesh, her guardian Meghan among them. The servants at Rhyss-madill were all ardent witch-haters, and the scullery boys sickened Isabeau with their stories of witch burnings at Dun Gorm.

She worked hard at appearing a normal country lass, talking only of sheep and crops when asked about her life. Her refusal to use the switch on the spit-dogs did cause some ill-natured teasing, but once the kitchen hands saw how eager the dogs were to please her, the attention died down. Despite her love for horses, Isabeau avoided the stables. She disliked the impudent stable-lads, and found all the noise and activity too much to bear. Besides, the sight of the horses only reminded her of her friend, the red stallion Lasair, who had brought her from Aslinn to Rhyssmadill faithfully, and near killed himself in the attempt. She had left him running free in the forests of Ravenshaw, but she was conscious of the dangers to him so close to people. The city was filled with discontented sailors, the bored lairds went out hunting nearly every morning, and times were hard with the trade routes closed by the Fairgean. Mobs of dissatisfied merchants and ship captains filled the great hall during the day, trying to arrange an audience with the Righ but being fobbed off by court officials. The winter ice had melted more than a month ago, and the spring tides had retreated, making the conditions perfect for an attempt to sail up the western coast. However, with reports of Fairgean in the seas, the ships were wary of setting out without the promise of protection.

At last the merchants succeeded in catching the Banrigh and she agreed to send a fleet of heavily armed merchant ships to Rurach and Siantan. They would carry sacks of grain, barrels of ale and whiskey, and great blocks of salt from the Clachan salt basins, as well as finely worked knives and jewelry from the metalsmiths of Dun Gorm. On their return journey the ships' hulls would be packed with marble, saltpetre and precious metals mined from the Sgailean Mountains. In the meantime, many of the hungry city folk went foraging in the forest, and Isa-beau fretted about both the stallion and the sacred relic the Celestine had lent her, Ahern's Saddle, which she had hidden in the woods.

It was impossible to escape the palace, however, and so Isabeau could only hope they were safe. She did not dare tell Latifa about her fears. Although the old cook looked a lot like one of her own gingerbread men, she ruled the vast staff with inflexible authority. With a large muslin cap tied over her gray curls, and a huge bunch of keys dangling from a hoop at her waist, she seemed to be everywhere at once, eyes darting, nose quivering, fingers testing for dust.

Like all of the palace servants, Latifa expressed a strong devotion to the Banrigh, though most of them only rarely caught glimpses of her as they bustled here and there around the palace. Among some of the maids, the adoration had grown so intense they harbored velvet scraps from her dresses or slivers of soap from her bath.

One morning Isabeau woke in the early dawn and went down to the kitchen early, thinking of wandering in the dim, scented garden for a while. She so often felt stifled and confined within the palace walls. Latifa was in the kitchen, kneeling before one of the great fireplaces.

"Guid, ye have come," she said without preamble. "I wondered if ye would heed my call. I thought we should have a chance to talk. Do no' fear, this hearth is marked with sacred symbols, so is safe from scrying eyes. If ye can, I wish ye to join me down here each morning before the sun is fully risen. Your guardian tells me ye have a Talent with fire and would like to learn more about it. I also need to teach ye about shielding your thoughts for ye are downright noisy, and I will no' have ye endangering me simply because ye do no' ken any control."

"I'm noisy?" Isabeau asked in disbelief. Never had she been so quiet and withdrawn as she had been these last few weeks. How could Latifa think her noisy?

"In your thoughts, ye silly bairn. Ye have no control whatsoever. If ye wish to remain safe here, ye mun never let your mask slip. Ye mun never allow yourself to even think that which ye wouldna want someone to ken. Just because the witches are gone, does no' mean there are no' those that can overhear your thoughts, lassie. I can myself, and ye are shouting yours. Luckily the only ones to have heard them so far are no danger to ye, but I canna let ye go anywhere in the palace until ye learn to control your thoughts."
I
do no' understand,
Isabeau thought.

The old witch nodded. "Nay, I can see that. It is no' your fault, so do no' look so anxious, lassie. Let me explain. Ye see, Isabeau, Meghan placed a seal upon your third eye, to prevent ye from speaking o' her. She first imposed it on your eighth birthday, for ye brought both her and yourself to the attention of a seeker o' the Awl and caused much trouble. Nay, hush, lass, let me finish. Every day for eight years afterward she reinforced the seal, so ye see, it was very strong. Somehow the seal was knocked loose."

"The Grand-Seeker threw a paperweight at me during the trial, and it hit me very hard," Isabeau said tentatively, fingering the scar between her brows.

"Aye, that would do it. Such a sudden dislodgment has its price, and I can see ye have been hearing things that ye would rather no' have heard. Also ye've been suffering headaches and dizziness. These are all effects o' the loss o' the veils over your third eye. The Coven believes there are seven veils, usually discarded slowly, over many years. Because o' the way Meghan's seal was knocked away, ye have lost at least the first three veils at one time.

"This is no' the way we would have liked to have it happen. I was planning to remove Meghan's seal slowly and gradually, while teaching ye as much as I could about the use o' the spirit . . ."

"Ye mean M ... M ... M ... She blocked me?" Isabeau was incredulous. Conflicting emotions raced through her—humiliation, anger and hurt, only a little alleviated by a faint relief. It was comforting to know there had been good reasons for her failure at the Trials of Spirit. She had often worried why she did not seem to have any of the preternatural senses that a witch should. That Meghan had deliberately blocked her without telling her infuriated Isabeau, but also made a great many things clear. Why she had not been able to say Meghan's name at any time during her travels, despite ensorcelment, torture or the wish to confide. Why the tree-shifter Lilanthe had not been able to sense her despite an extrasensory perception as precise as Meghan's. The Celestine, Cloudshadow, had said her face was wrapped in a veil not of her making. Now Isabeau understood what she meant.

"It was necessary, Isabeau. Meghan was recognized by the witch-sniffer after that wee contretemps in Caeryla. It got very risky for her to move around in Rionnagan after that For eight years she had been able to travel through the countryside fairly freely, for noone knew if she were alive or dead, or where she might have fled. Once ye used the Power in view o' a seeker, however, ye drew attention to her and it did no' take long for the descriptions to go out again. Every seeker has dreamed o' capturing Meghan o' the Beasts, last seen in Rionnagan..."

"I dinna ken," Isabeau whispered, now feeling guilty, and resentful too.

"She knew that there was a guid chance that she could be captured and she wanted to protect ye. So ye see, it was no' done lightly. Also, I may as well tell ye, Meghan knew ye were very strong and was afraid o' what ye might do with your powers in such dangerous times. So she sealed up your third eye until such a time that ye were auld enough to understand."

Isabeau knew that Latifa was soothing her down, but she felt some of her indignation subside nonetheless. The old cook went on briskly, "Now, we have no' got much time for the lassies will soon be rousing. Show me how ye summon fire."

Isabeau had always had a ready facility with the power of fire, but she had not handled it since her capture and torture. She did so now hesitantly and found that she was only able to summon the merest spark and that soon faded away. Latifa pursed up her lips and said nothing. Isabeau explained stumblingly, but Latifa waved her to silence. "Your sufferings will no' have affected your innate ability," she said kindly. "But drawing on the One Power requires trust in yourself, and I can see yours has been shaken. We shall start at the beginning."

Latifa thrust her podgy hand deep into the blazing heart of the fire and let it lie there, cradling the coals in her hand as if they were onions. "Fire is the strangest o' all the elements, the most dangerous, the most difficult to control," she said. "Like water, it makes a good servant but a cruel master. Ye must always be wary when dealing with fire, for it can twist in your hand like a viper and burn ye. To become a Sorceress o' Fire, ye must be reforged and reforged in the fire like a sword. Purity and strength are what is needed, and to be so tempered, ye need to suffer.

"All said, it is still the kindliest o' all the elements. It warms ye while ye sleep, illuminates your way in darkness, allows ye to cook and eat, to send messages. By the light o' the ceremonial fire we dance and chant, and when we marry it is over the fire we jump. The fire o' the stars shines for us every night, and the fire o' the sun all day. It is in the healing fire o'
mithuan,
and so also the poisoned fire o' nightshade. It is the life spark, and so too the element o' death and ashes. And here is the deepest secret o' fire, for from the ashes comes rebirth. Fire is the element o' transformations." Latifa's voice slowed to a murmur, and she held out her hand for Isabeau to see. Although it had been resting in the fiery coals all this time, there were no burn marks on her red, chapped hand, nor any sign of strain on the round face.

"The secret o' mastering the element o' fire is in control," she said. "With the other elements precise control is no' always needed, but with fire ye never want to lose your dominance. Your guardian tells me ye have power but little control, and so that is what I shall teach ye first. At the same time ye'll be learning to discipline your own thoughts and to shut out others. It shall take a long time so I warn ye now. Impatience is o' no use to ye with the One Power, and particularly no' with fire. Ye will find it hard, for I can see ye are o' an impetuous and hasty nature. This is one o' the paradoxes o' the One Power—those who have the character and disposition most favorable for a certain element are also the most handicapped in using it. Do ye understand?'

"Ye mean that because I have a fiery nature, I am most strong in the element o' fire, but that I canna learn to use fire properly until I first learn to control my temperament."

"Exactly! I am glad to learn ye are no' such a fool as I first thought. Now, are there any questions ye wish to ask me before the palace starts stirring?"

Isabeau asked shyly, "I was wondering about Maya . . ."

"Never call the Banrigh by her name like that!" Latifa admonished. "Who are ye to be speaking o' her like that, a wee snippet o' a lass like ye?"

"But I—"

"Ye mun always remember to mind your tongue, lass," the plump old woman said. "Although no seer can overhear us here, anyone can eavesdrop. Ye mun never forget that a slip o' the tongue could mean your death. What is it ye wish to know about the Banrigh?"