The Pool of Two Moons (44 page)

From Tireich came the MacAhern clan, who had traveled through Ravenshaw to get to Rhyssmadill. The prionnsa, Kenneth MacAhern, caused an absolute sensation by riding in on one of the famous flying horses. It was a deep-chested, honey-colored animal, with rainbow-tinted wings and a pair of spreading antlers. The MacAhern rode without saddle or bridle, as all thigearns did. One did not tame a flying horse with such constraints.

Piquant as the arrival of the horse clan was, it did not excite near as much interest as the diplomatic party from Tirsoilleir continued to do. The white surcoats of the Bright Soldiers were to be seen everywhere in the palace and city. Some carried a long, oddly shaped weapon over their shoulders called a harquebus, which the potboys said shot out fireworks with a loud bang. Isabeau could not see any reason for a weapon that shot fireworks, and the idea made her uneasy. Her sleep was filled with nightmares, many which took the shape of silver and white soldiers.

Her bad dreams had increased in frequency and intensity until Isabeau was reluctant to close her eyes at night. She dreamed she was trying to escape through mist, running desperately away from something, someone, only to have her feet caught by mud, her body by thorns. She had dreams of war, filled with blood and flame. She had dreams of love, both beautiful and strange. Sometimes the face that bent to kiss hers was dark and passionate; other times it was alien, with great glittering eyes. A few days before the harvest festival, her guardian appeared in a dream. Isabeau was filled with pleasure as sharp as pain at the sight of Meghan's narrow, wrinkled face and glittering black eyes. She was shrouded in shadows hovering like dark wings about her.
Isabeau . .
. She called as if from a long way away.
Isabeau, ye must come. Ye must come ...

Where?

To Lucescere. To the auld palace. Ye must come with the Key . . .

Meghan, where are ye?

Come to Lucescere. Ye must bring me the Key. Isabeau, I need ye. Come to Lucescere . . .
When Isabeau woke, she crept down into the kitchen where Latifa was stoking up the fires. The keyring at the cook's belt jingled, and Isabeau looked longingly at it. Her months carrying one-third of the Key had left her with a yearning she found hard to shake off at times. Keeping her voice low, she told the old cook what Meghan had said.

Latifa frowned, and clutched her keyring. "It be far too dangerous for ye to set out for Lucescere by yourself," she said. "Particularly on the suggestion o' a mere dream. Very few have the ability to walk the dream road and ye are still only a fledgling witch—I have never seen any evidence ye have that Talent! If Meghan wanted me to give the Key into your hand, she would have told me so. Yet she does no' answer me when I scry to her, and we have heard nothing o' her since she disappeared. I canna be letting the Key out o' my hand just because ye've had a nightmare."

"But Meghan said—"

The cook's voice softened. "It be natural that ye dream o' her, worrying about her as ye mun be. And ye are a nervy thing, I can see ye have no' been sleeping. Dreams are chancy things, my lassie, often naught but fragments o' the sleeping mind."

"But why would I dream o' Lucescere, it means nothing to me . . ." She shrugged. "Lucescere is a fabled city, spun about with rainbows and auld tales. I think it is natural for ye to dream o' it." Though she spoke kindly, there was an edge to her voice, and she caressed the keyring with possessive fingers.

"But—"

"It was just a dream, lassie. Let it rest."

Meghan began to haunt Isabeau's dreams, as frequent as the beautiful, golden-eyed man or the alien creature who brought her such bliss, as frequent as the dreams of flame and blood. In desperation Isabeau drank cham-omile tea before she went to bed, but even in her deepest sleep the dreams still came.

During the day, the guests were amused by jongleurs and troubadours, while the gardens were turned into a sort of fair, with stalls handing out sherbets, jellies and cups of ice-cold bellfruit wine. Small groups of men talked quietly in corners, occasionally erupting into sword fights or wrestling matches. The women flirted and gossiped and whispered behind their fans.

Isabeau was filled with curiosity and excitement. This was closer to her expectations of life in the Righ's palace—a court filled with prionnsachan and banprionnsa-chan in gorgeous clothes, swirling with intrigue. She longed to eavesdrop on the Lammas Congress, and wondered if there was any way she could conceal herself in the conference room. She might pick up invaluable news for Meghan and the rebellion and restore herself in the eyes of her guardian. For Isabeau had been unable to throw off a sense of failure, despite the successful joining of two parts of the Key. She had been so cocksure when she had parted ways with Meghan, but it had only been with the help of the Celestine that she had completed her quest at all. Now Isabeau's strength and health were slowly returning, she wished to be involved in the rebellion once more.

The morning of the Lammas Congress, as she and Latifa were making fat yellow candles for their Lammas sabbat, she expressed her wish rather wistfully to the old cook.

"So ye wish to hear what the prionnsachan say? Well, ye have worked hard and are no' so bad at shielding your thoughts now. I shall let ye listen in when I do, but ye must keep your mind carefully guarded."

"So ye were planning to watch the Lammas Congress?"

Latifa smiled at her, her little raisin eyes disappearing into folds of skin. "Indeed I was. Ye'd think I'd let slip such an opportunity? O' course I have to listen. It is very dangerous, though, Isabeau. I shall only let ye watch with me if ye stay quiet as a mouse."

Isabeau nodded excitedly.

"And I do no' mean your body, for we shall be well away from the conference room. I mean your mind, my lassie. The Banrigh's blaygird servant shall be listening and watching too, and we do no' want to draw her attention. So ye must curl up your impatient, questing thoughts and keep them locked up tight as ye can."

Isabeau nodded again, and knew she could do it. These last few months had taught Isabeau much about screening her thoughts. She could even hide herself from Latifa now, which made the cook rather grumpy.

They watched the conference from the safety and privacy of Latifa's room. The fat old cook lit candles all around them, ones made with murkwoad, hawthorn and rose, to aid divination and clairvoyance. Isabeau thought it was very interesting how Latifa added precious essences to her candles to aid her own Skills, and she stored away the recipe for future use.

Latifa bid Isabeau stare into the heart of the fire. With the sweet smoke clouding her senses, she became absorbed in the patterns of fiery light and darkness. The room behind her faded. She experienced a sensation of lightness, giddiness, as if she was floating. She let herself drift. It was as though Latifa had touched her on the top of her skull but there was no physical connection. She felt herself drawn up into the air, as though Latifa were pulling her by her hair. She could see nothing but flames, but it was as if she was turning, twisted into Latifa's fabric like a strand of wool is twisted into a thread. There was a sensation of spreading. She was light and fragile as dust motes floating in sunshine. Then she saw shapes in the embers of the fire and heard words.

Gwyneth NicSian was describing the reign of terror the Fairgean had implemented all along the coast of Sia-tan and Rurach. Many of the fisherfolk and sea-hunters had been massacred, coastal villages from Morrigan Bay to the Wulfrum had been raided, river trade had halted as boats were sunk and capsized from below, and the mountain villages were flooded with refugees. They did not have enough grain for the merchant ships from Rhyssmadill had never arrived.

"Also," the banprionnsa continued in a careful voice,

"the continued absence o' my husband, the MacRuraich, makes finding solutions to our problems difficult."

"The Prionnsa is away on the Righ's business and canna be recalled," Sani said in her sibilant voice. Isa-beau wondered why the Righ did not speak for himself. She tried to see the Banrigh's servant, but in the fire-pictures she was merely a black, hunched shape.

The MacAhern said his people had simply withdrawn from the Tireichan coast, taking their caravans into the hinterland. They missed being able to exercise their horses on the sand dunes, however, and supplementing their diet with fish and crustaceans. The Tireichan were also keen and canny traders and regretted the closing of the trade fairs. In the five years since the Fairgean had begun raiding, the summer fairs had gradually been abandoned and this greatly hurt the wealth of the Mac-Ahern's people. The MacSeinn tried hard to keep his deep sense of betrayal out of his voice but it rang through every word. His land had been invaded. His people had been brutally massacred. He, the laird of the MacSeinn clan and direct descendant of Seinneadair the Singer, was a refugee, dependent on the kindness of others. His eldest son had been killed in the invasion. His daughter had died in the scramble to escape. His last living child had been stolen from the Righ's own court.

"If we had struck hard at the Fairgean and driven them from Carraig when first they invaded, perhaps the whole country would no' now be suffering," he said earnestly. "They have built themselves a base in my land and have used it to strike at others. We should have nipped them in the bud five years ago! It is no'

too late."

The MacThanach had not suffered much human loss at all, Blessem being protected from the sea by Aedan's Wall. He had plenty to say nonetheless. Many of the missing children had come from his territories. Two of them were his own kin, and descendants of Aislinna the Dream-Walker herself.

"Something has to be done to find out who is stealing all the children," he shouted. He complained about the dangerous creatures infesting Aslinn, so the trappers, charcoal-burners, foresters and miners were afraid to go about their business. The MacThanach needed base metals to make ploughshares, charcoal for his whiskey vats and timber for the building of new crofts. "Why do your Red Guards no' clear the forests o' the blaygird horned faeries, instead o' causing trouble in the provinces with their drinking and whoring? My grain is rotting on the docks, and yet Siantan is rioting for lack o' bread. We must get the trade routes open again!"

This caused an uproar, for the fleet of heavily armed ships that had been sent north at Midsummer had simply disappeared. No word had come from them since they sailed out of the firth into the Muir Finn. Dughall Mac-Brann of Ravenshaw said they had been sighted by his father's people off the coast, but the lookout at the mouth of the Wulfrum had scanned the sea without success for the past month.

"I have heard reports o' pirates in the seas again," Dughall said. "Apparently they're hiding in the Fair Isles. Could they have attacked the fleet?"

"It must be the Fairgean," the Admiral of the Righ's navy said. "My sailors ken how to throw off an attack by those blaygird pirates. Only the Fairgean could have sunk an entire fleet, with their sea-serpents and whales."

He was attacked from all sides with criticism, and when he responded his bluff voice was defensive. "Ye must realise, my lairds, no work has been done on the navy's fleet for nigh on fifteen years. His Highness the Righ said the Fairgean were defeated, and he needed the money for other things. We've maintained only a skeleton fleet, and many o' those ships are old and ill-kept. Most o' our men were conscripted to serve in the Red Guards, and so our forces are much depleted. Can we no' call them back to the navy to help us get our ships in order?"

"We need the Red Guards to hunt down the rebels,"

Sani responded. "In fact, the Righ has signed an order for each clan to assist us with two hundred more men."

There were sighs and groans all around the room. Sani said suavely, "I ken ye all wish to knock the rebellion on the head, for those wicked outlaws have been raiding all over the country."

"But what about the Fairgean?" the MacSeinn cried. "They are far more dangerous than a handful o'

rebellious youngsters!"

"I think the Righ is in a better position to decide what is the greatest threat to this country," came Sani's hiss.

Dughall asked about the Lodestar. "There are rumors," he said in his cool, mocking voice, "that the Lodestar was no' destroyed by the witches on the Day o' Reckoning, but was hidden somewhere in the ruins o' the Tower o' Two Moons. Surely our blessed Righ would know if the Lodestar was still intact? It is our greatest weapon against the Fairgean, perhaps our only weapon now." The soft, feeble voice of the Righ spoke for the first time. "I do no' know, Dughall," he said with weary affection. "I have long heard the song o' the Lodestar and thought it must be whole still, and undamaged. But the song has faltered, and I know now it was only my memories tormenting me. The Lodestar was destroyed by Meghan o' the Beasts, something I thought she would never have been able to do. But she is a ruthless, cold-hearted witch, and her powers were obviously enough to overcome the powers o' the Inheritance o' Aedan. So there is no hope. We canna rely on the Lodestar to help us fight off the Fairgean."

The meeting dissolved into acrimonious argument. Linley MacSeinn said bitterly, and with no attempt to lower his voice, that the murder of the witches had done nothing but throw the rest of them to the Fairgean. Alas-dair MacThanach warned him he was speaking treason. The MacSeinn said, "I do no'

care. It is the truth. For a thousand years the witches defended us against the terrible sea people and now they are gone, we have no defense but to abandon the coast. We canna survive without the freedom to sail the seas!"

Around and around the arguments went, and tempers began to rise. The Righ spoke rarely, and when he did, it seemed as if he had been hardly listening at all. Maya was not present, but her servant Sani spoke as confidently as if she were the Banrigh herself, and certainly no one challenged her or spoke to her with disrespect.

Indeed, by the end of the Congress, she was the most vocal of all, speaking on behalf of the Righ as well as his wife. It seemed to Isabeau that she was subtly encouraging the tension and indecision, rather than looking for solutions, but no one else seemed to notice the way she goaded the MacSeinn and mocked the Admiral, or if they did, no one dared say anything. She even derided the Righ's cousin Dughall when he urged they divert funds to the navy, build up the fleet and defend the coast. With a few smooth words, she made him seem nothing but a pleasure-loving fop who had wasted away his inheritance on gaming and fripperies.