The Pool of Two Moons (3 page)

the nyx. It's a bottomless bag—very useful for moving house or escaping unexpected attacks. Unfortunately, ye must take things out in the same order that ye put them in, and so retrieving anything can be a nuisance."

As the wood witch spoke, Iseult helped the donbeag sort everything into piles, marveling at some of the extraordinary things Meghan had decided to include. A smith's hammer and chisel were followed by a broken arrow fletched with white feathers, and then by a wedding veil of lace so old Iseult was afraid it might crumble in her hands. There were beautifully woven plaids in blues and greens, red running through like a line of fire, while a dark-brown globe perched unsteadily on top of the tall pile of books. Iseult picked the sphere up by its ornate stand and spun it. "Where are we?" Meghan, without pausing in her unpacking, gently floated the globe out of the girl's hands and down onto the grass. "It is no' a globe o' our world," she said reprovingly. "That is one o' only two globes from the Other World, and it is irreplaceable. I keep it in the pouch so that time will no' touch it. Please take great care with my treasures, Iseult. Many o' them I saved from fire and treachery and I would no' like ye to damage them now."

She indicated one of the heavy books, dark with age, with a heavily embossed cover. "That is one o' the great treasures o' the Coven, and I came near death saving it from the Banrigh. It is
The Book o'

Shadows,
and it contains much lore and history, and many great and powerful spells. Now we are safe at Tulachna Celeste, I shall begin teaching ye and Lachlan again."

"More magic?" Iseult asked eagerly.

Meghan nodded, but said, "Ye and Lachlan have much else ye must learn as well. Alchemy and geography and history, among other things. Ye're both ignorant indeed!" At the old witch's words, Iseult sat back on her heels. Her jaw set in a way that Meghan was beginning to know well. "No stubbornness now, Iseult," Meghan warned. "Ye agreed to throw your lot in with me, and indeed I'm glad now that the Spinners brought your thread to cross mine. There is a design in this weaving, that I be sure o'. Ye must be made ready."

Iseult stilled her hands, which had begun to fidget in her lap.

"Besides, why no' take the opportunity to learn what ye can? Knowledge is power, surely ye must ken that. If ye are one day to be Firemaker, as ye wish, ye should want to do the best ye can for your people. I am sure your grandmother does no' wish ye to waste your time here." Still Iseult was silent, her lashes red crescents against her creamy, freckled face.

"And if I remember rightly, your father first came to the Tower o' Two Moons because he had learnt all that the wise ones o' your land could teach him. He wanted to learn our wisdom and skills, and while he was with us he studied hard."

At that Iseult looked up and said, "Ye are right. To be the Firemaker is to be in
geas
to the Gods o'

White. To no' take it on full-heartedly is to no' give all honor to the gods." She paused, and then said in a constricted voice, "I give ye my apologies then, auld mother, and confess both to fear and pride, worst o'

deficiencies." Meghan looked a little surprised and went to say something, but Iseult pressed on grimly. "I was afraid ye wished me to learn your wisdom so that ye could win me from the Prides, and turn me to your own path; and I was proud and angry for your nephew has scorned my offer o' coaching when indeed he should ken it was a rare compliment for me to offer at all!" Meghan's puckered old mouth twitched, but she answered gravely. "Indeed, Iseult, there is no need to apologize—all I wish is for ye to make the most o' your powers. Ye may return to the Spine o' the World any time ye wish, though I would no' like to lose ye at all."

"Then I shall bide a wee and see what pattern the weaver makes o' our lives," Iseult replied just as gravely.

Meghan was pleased at her words, for it showed the girl had at least listened once or twice, but she shut her mouth down grimly and said, "Do no' bother the lad, Iseult, it is no' kind o' ye. Indeed, it was a blaygird enchantment laid on him and he is bitter indeed at the Ensorcellor. He does no' find his life now easy to accept."

Iseult opened her mouth to protest, then flushed and said nothing, remembering the black mood her question the night before had provoked.
Biding with these southerners has made me rude and
disdainful,
she thought.
Asking unwanted questions!

When Bacaiche at last stumped back to the clearing, his curls were lank with sweat, his bare chest and shoulders marked all over with bramble scratches. Meghan beckoned him down to sit by her, her wrinkled face uncharacteristically soft. "Look, Lachlan my lad, I have my father's kilt and plaid for ye. His
sgian dubh
and sporran too. They were tucked away a long time syne. Ye need clothes, ye canna wander around the country in a pair o' Isabeau's auld breeches. Too small by far they are for ye!" Bacaiche seized the plaids eagerly, his topaz eyes blazing, his black mood forgotten. "Look, the sporran bears the MacCuinn crest—there's a brooch to hold the plaid too." He turned the brooch to examine it, and Iseult saw the device—a leaping stag carrying a crown in its antlers. "I have no' seen the stag rampant syne I was a bairn." His voice thickened. "And the dear auld tartan— my father never wore anything else."

"Nor mine." Meghan caressed the plaid that now hung on her shoulders. With its rich folds pinned together with a great emerald, it was easy to believe she was descended from righrean.

"Who exactly was your father, Meghan?" Bacaiche asked, stroking the dark green velvet of the jacket. "I do no' think I've ever really known what our relationship is. I just remember ye always being there when I was a bairn."

"Aye, I was indeed always there. I was there when your father was a babe-in-arms, and your grandfather and great-grandfather too. Indeed, so many o' your forebears have been dandled on my knee that I have near forgot them all. Great-aunt would be the most accurate description, if we left out about ten greats or so."

So rich with irony was Meghan's voice that both Ba-caiche and Iseult were not sure whether to believe her. She smiled and twisted the jewel at her breast. "My father was the Whitelock himself," she said proudly. "I was his eldest daughter, and Mairead the Fair who wielded the Lodestar after him was my younger sister."

"But Aedan Whitelock died four hundred years ago!"

"Nay, three hundred and fifty-nine only. He lived to a grand auld age, my
dai-dein,
though he gave up the throne when he turned seventy, thinking it was time his daughters had their chance. Mairead won the Lodestar and I won the Key o' the Coven in the same year—seven hundred and thirty-four. It's a year I shall never forget."

"But that means ye must be . . ." Bacaiche tried to calculate the years in his mind, but failed.

"Remind me to give ye some lessons in mathematics," Meghan said wryly. "I am four hundred and twenty-seven years auld, though it's hardly polite o' ye to ask. Dearie me, it makes me feel auld to say it, I had almost forgotten how long it has been. Cleaning out the bottomless bag has made me nostalgic . . . Go and put on my father's kilt and sporran, Lachlan, and wear them proudly, for truly he was a great man, perhaps the finest MacCuinn o' them all."

"Ye are calling me Lachlan." His voice was muffled. "Why now? Ye have no' let me be called Lachlan since the enchantment."

Meghan smiled and patted his smooth, brown hand with hers, gnarled and blue-veined. "We are safe here. There is no need to fear listening ears, none can scry on us within the protection o' Tulachna Celeste and none can approach who are no' faery friends. Besides, we declared ye at the jetty. Do ye no' think half o' Rionnagan knows by now that one o' the lost prionnsachan is found? I was no' yet ready to let Maya know that ye were alive and a threat to her power, but the massacre at the jetty forced my hand."

Iseult gritted her teeth and said nothing.

"So perhaps it is time for ye to stop being the Cripple and become a prionnsa again. I shall call ye Lachlan from now on, and so shall Iseult, and when we gather our troops together, they shall call ye the MacCuinn, as they should."

When Lachlan came back from the bushes, he walked with his head high and his wings spread, the kilt swaying above his talons with every stilted stride. "These clothes are no' really in the fashion o' the day, are they?" he said ruefully, though he knew he looked magnificent. He had thrown the plaid over his bare shoulder and pinned it with the stag device, the emerald eye glinting darkly.

"Bring me the shirt and I shall alter it for ye. If ye will let me measure and fit ye, I think I can make ye a shirt with wing-holes as well as armholes."

"Aye," Lachlan replied eagerly and unpinned ? the plaid, dropping easily into a crouch before Meghan. The firelight flickered over his olive skin, outlining the contours of his chest. Iseult could not help watching for, without his concealing cloak, Lachlan was a beautiful man, all muscle and smooth skin. Even folded, his wings were magnificent, glossy with blue highlights like the wing of a blackbird, while his tousled curls hung over his forehead in a way Iseult found quite disturbing. She reminded herself what a surly, ill-natured man he was, how rude and how ungrateful.

When Lachlan was well shrouded in linen and tied to her by a flashing needle and thread, Meghan said softly, "I ken ye are angry because Iseult spoke to ye about your wings and claws, but indeed it is time ye accepted your state, Lachlan, and tried to make the most o' it."

Surprised, he tried to jerk away. Meghan held him fast, saying calmly, "Lift your arm, laddie." After she had pinned him, she continued, "I ken it has no' been easy for ye and that ye grieve for your brothers still. I miss them myself and hope we will perhaps find one trapped still in the body o' a blackbird . . . Though thirteen years have passed—even under enchantment, I doubt they could have lived so long. I wonder ye managed to survive the four years ye did." She fell silent for a long while. When Meghan spoke again, her voice was low and stern. "Iseult has offered to teach ye to fight, yet ye are too proud to take up her offer. Much as I abhor violence, she is right, war is coming. If the omens are true, a dark and bloody war it will be. Ye say ye wish to have revenge on Maya for your ensorcelment, and prevent her evil schemes from coming to fruition, yet ye will no' learn the strength and skills ye will need. What kind o' Righ will ye be, when ye canna even grasp opportunities when they're offered to ye?" Even in the dim light of their fire, Iseult could see how red Lachlan had flushed. He gritted his teeth, and said, "Canna ye stay off my back, Meghan! All ye do is nag me and nag me."

"Do ye wish for revenge on Maya the Ensorcellor?"

"Aye, Ea damn the black-hearted witch!"

"Do ye wish to protect the people, as all your forebears have done, ever since our ancestor Cuinn brought them to this land?"

"I suppose so," he scowled.

"Do ye wish to rescue the Lodestar?"

"Aye," Lachlan answered after a moment, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "It's greetin', Meghan, I hear it all the time. I canna bear to have it slowly dying from want o' love and contact."

"Then put aside your pride and accept what Iseult and I are offering ye. Ye have ability, Lachlan, ye just lack discipline and focus. Accept that ye shall never have back your carefree childhood a"nd your strong, unblemished body, and make the most o' what ye have."

He said in a strangled voice, "Ye do no' understand."

"Indeed I do, my lad," and there was more affection and warmth in Meghan's voice than Iseult had ever heard. "My blood boils with anger that Maya can have harmed ye so. But I canna transform ye back, though I've tried all I know. Ye must accept your fate, laddie.

I have thought long and hard on this, and I wonder why else was Iseult brought to us at this time, if not to teach us what she knows o' battle and warfare? I must trust to the weaver to fly the shuttle true, and so must ye, Lachlan the Winged."

Lachlan did not reply. When Meghan had finished altering the shirt, he shrugged it on and submitted to her buttoning the back around his wings, but he said nothing. Scowling, he squatted again by the fire and prodded moodily at the coals with a twig. Iseult risked a glance at him and was disconcerted when he shot her a fierce gaze from under his brows. For a moment their eyes met, then Iseult looked away, embarrassed.

"Ye owe me a question, Iseult o' the Snows," Lachlan jeered softly. She met his gaze squarely. "That I do."

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise, then turned his gaze back to the coals. "I'll think o' a good one then."

"One should never waste a question," she agreed.

Involuntarily he smiled, though he turned away so quickly that Iseult saw only the crease of his cheek. She smiled to herself, turning her attention back to the spell book.

Every morning after that, Iseult had practiced with her weapons in a clearing in the forest, polishing her moves and stances, keeping her limbs supple and strong. Usually she worked naked, wearing only her boots and weapons belt, but Meghan had suggested she remain in her shirt and breeches in order to protect her fair skin from the sun. Iseult agreed and was glad later when she realized Lachlan was watching her from the shelter of a huge moss-oak. The memory of the time he had watched her bathing still gave her an odd squirming feeling deep in her stomach, and she was glad to keep her linen shirt on, despite the heat.

At first she was tempted to show off some of her more difficult aerial maneuvers. Iseult had been one of the most acrobatic of the Scarred Warriors. Even on foot she was capable of dazzling tumbling and somersaulting runs. Remembering, though, that Lachlan was a pupil, she did what she would do if she were teaching one of her young disciples back in the Haven. She showed how a relatively simple sequence of movements could translate into a powerful defensive move. Over and over she repeated the slow flowing movement of hand and hip, each time extending until at last she rose off the ground in a quick snap of her body, her foot kicking out and up. Without having to look, she was aware of Lachlan's brooding interest, and gradually she began to vary the moves so that he saw how many ways a learned reflex could be used.