The Pool of Two Moons (5 page)

At last Meghan and the Celestine returned from their intent conversation. Meghan's face was bright, her black eyes soft with pleasure. "Come, let us eat o' the flesh o' our mother and drink the water o' her body and let us rejoice, for the seasons have turned and the green months are upon us," she intoned, then her voice thrilled with a deep joy. "And let us rejoice, for Isabeau is alive and on her way to Rhyssmadill!

Cloudshadow has seen her, and though Isabeau was sore hurt, she healed her at the turn o' the tides. She gave Isabeau the Saddle o' Ahearn to help her make haste to the blue palace. She says the portion o' the Key which Isabeau carried is safe still. Such a dark load off my mind!" Meghan turned to Cloudshadow and made the low humming noise in her throat which seemed to be the Celestines' language. The Celestine trilled back, and came and sat by Iseult's side, eagerly breaking the bread and biting into a piece of fruit.

Greetings, Iseult NicFaghan
...

Iseult looked up and around, but Meghan and Lachlan gave no indication they had heard anything. Then she realized the Celestine was smiling at her and humming gently in her throat. Her eyes were clear and translucent as water.

We of the Celestine do not have the same sort of vocal cords as you humans. We cannot speak
your language and it is the rare human who can learn to mimic our sounds. Meghan is the only
one I have ever known to have managed it, and it took her centuries. Some of us can speak into
your minds, though, if you are receptive. You have the blood inheritance of the Khan'cohbans in
your veins. They are cousins of a sort to the Celestines, and so that makes it easier for me to
speak to you thus.

"What did ye call me?" Iseult asked.

Iseult NicFaghan. I could just as easily have called ye Khan'derin daKhan'lantha, for both are
your names. You are the offspring of the ill-fated union of Faodhagan the Red and Khan'lantha of
the Fire-Dragon Pride, many hundreds of years ago. Although your ancestors bred but rarely with
Khan'cohbans, you have still inherited some of their qualities
—
your clear eyesight, your fighting
spirit
—
but 1 call you by your human name, for that is where your destiny lies.
But I am heir to the Firemaker!
Unconsciously Iseult answered without words.
And heir also to the witches' tower. It is time for the descendants of Faodhagan to take their place
in human society. A thousand years your family has dwelled apart from their kin. It is time to be
united . . . I have met your twin sister, you know. You are much alike, more so than I expected.
She has a hard journey ahead of her, hut then, I think the cost of your destiny will also be high.
You have difficult choices to make, and more depends on your decision than you can be aware of.
Do not be afraid, though. Although there is sorrow ahead, there is also great joy.
I do no' understand what ye are talking about.

Always I find it difficult to communicate with humans such as yourself. I have studied your
thought and emotion patterns and yet always there is this gap between what I know and what I
can say. I am always surprised by how muddled your thinking is, and how vague your emotions.
I do no' think I'm muddled . . .

Amusement rang clearly through the Celestine's mind-voice. No,
of course you do not. Humans never
do. I have encountered few races more arrogant, especially when so many are so stupid. Still, the
best of you have great minds and hearts, and I try hard not to judge the few by the many.
Thank you
....

The Celestine gave a high trill, causing Meghan to look up and smile.

Humans always surprise me. I forget how lightly you

live. It is true your lives are short. I fear the Celestines take everything too seriously, Meghan says
we lack a . . . sense of humor, if that is the right term. An odd expression, for how is humor a
sense? There are only six senses . . .

My grandmother is always admonishing me for not taking life seriously enough.
Yes, the Khan'cohbans do live heavily. They are conscious always of the weight of death pressing
them down.

For the first time in their strange conversation, the Celestine had made a sound. She had said

"Khan'coh-ban" as the People would have said it: a harsh, guttural "Khan," followed by two descending notes—the Gods! Children of. The sound had the same skin-shivering quality as the desolate cry of a raven at dusk.

In the same language Iseult replied, "Life on the Spine of the World is hard."
Indeed it is. We of the forest are fortunate. Or at least, we were.
Melancholy now clouded the soft voice in Iseult's mind.
We that you humans call Celestines were once as many as the stars in the sky.
We lived in the forests and vales and cared for the land. We had our enemies. Who does not?

What you call Satyricorn harried us often, and cursehags and gravenings too. Sometimes the
Khan'cohbans came down from the snowy peaks in hordes . . .

Iseult realized with a start that the complicated bud of wrinkles on the Celestine's forehead had parted and she was being regarded with a third, dark eye. It gleamed with liquid reflections, so bright it struck through her like a sword. Below, her two other eyes were clear and empty.

Involuntarily Iseult started back, and the Celestine regarded her gravely, her long-fingered hands folded in her lap.
The sight of my third eye frightens you? For some reason it always makes humans
uneasy, perhaps because they lost theirs so long ago. Yet if I keep it shut, how else am I to see you
clearly, or find the means to speak with you?

Iseult regarded the eye in the middle of the Celestine's forehead.
Ye see me differently through your
third eye?

Indeed. It is hard for me to describe. It is your emotional energies I see, your hidden thoughts . . .
Do we no' have a third eye too? Meghan said something...

Yes, but your forehead is smooth, your third eye cannot physically see. It is as much the sixth sense
that you use. Your third eye is wrapped in veils, and you must learn to unwrap them. Your sister,
of course, her third eye was sealed shut by Meghan, but she suffered a sharp blow to her head and
that has shaken Meghan's mark off. She will find the veils unraveling quickly now.
So what do ye see o' me through your third eye?

You are yearning for the winged boy, yet you reprimand yourself for allowing yourself to think
about him. He is bad-tempered and arrogant, you tell yourself many times. Be at peace, I tell you,
for I feel your destiny and his lie together. The winged boy has enchantment in his voice. This
morning saw the strongest running of the sum-merbourne in years. The summerbourne feeds the
forest and the garden and all shall spring into life now and be renewed . . . Do not be angry with
me for speaking of what I see. Your emotions are so tangled about this boy I can see very little
else.

Lachlan MacCuinn imitates and exasperates me, if that is what ye mean by my emotions being
tangled. Other than that I rarely think o' him.
Iseult looked down at the fruit "in her hand, avoiding the Celestine's three-eyed gaze.

I
think I see you more clearly than you see yourself. It is of no use avoiding truth with a Celestine,
you cannot lie to us about emotions . . . I must go and walk with my grandfather now, he has
missed me much in recent months. Think on what I have said, and be at peace. One cannot always
control what one thinks and feels, there is no wrongdoing in discovering one's path lies in a
different direction than one has thought.

I am the heir to the Firemaker,
Iseult thought defiantly.

Cloudshadow rose to her feet, dusted off her pale silk gown, and smiled down at Iseult.
Farewell, Iseult
NicFaghan . . .

Iseult looked up to find Lachlan's topaz eyes fixed on hers, and scowled at him. Immediately he scowled back.
Yearning for that sour-faced lad? I do no' think so!

Darksome Light And Shining Night

Dillon the Bold crawled on his stomach towards the ridge, motioning to his lieutenants to keep down, then raised his head to peer over the edge. The path that ran along the fast-paced Muileach River was empty of all life as far as he could see. He waited for a few minutes, listening and watching, then pursed up his lips and whistled, three ascending notes like a bluecap swift. Immediately his second-in-command, Jay the Fiddler, beckoned forward the group of ragged children crouched behind a boulder to the rear. They hurried forward, leading a feeble old man in beggar's robes, whose long, knotted beard was thrust through a belt of rope. He tapped his way across the rough ground with a tall staff, his eyes white and clouded.

"The path is clear ahead, Master, I think it be safe for us to scoot ahead," Dillon said, caressing the black-patched head of his shaggy puppy.

"That be good," Jorge the Seer replied, turning his blind head. "Tonight is the spring equinox and I really think we should hold the rites and do a sighting, though it troubles me to open myself so wide here in the wilderness. If any soldiers be near and see us, they'll know we are following the auld ways and then we'll be in trouble indeed."

"Do no' fear, Master, we shall guard ye and keep ye safe."

"Thank ye, I know ye shall," the old seer replied with no trace of irony in his voice. After the last few weeks traveling in the company of Dillon the Bold and his gang of beggar children, he knew they would care for him with great efficiency.

Jorge had first met the children in the slums of Lu-cescere, where they had helped him and his young acolyte Tomas escape the, clutches of the Anti-Witchcraft League. The little boy had the miraculous ability to heal by his touch alone, and had drawn the seekers' attention by curing those incarcerated in the Awl's dungeons. Word of the miracle had spread quickly, and riots against the much-despised Awl had broken out. Led by the sturdy, shock-haired Dillon, who was known then by his nickname Scruffy, the beggar children had led the city soldiers in circles while Jorge and Tomas fled into the mountains. Grateful to Dillon for his help, Jorge had suggested he join their travels but had not expected the beggar boy to accept on behalf of the entire gang.

Jorge had found himself quite unable to tell the ragged, dirty children to return to the slums of Lucescere, however. He had grown up in those alleyways himself. He knew just how harsh a life it was. No matter how arduous traveling through the countryside might be, or how dangerous, the children would be safer with him than living wild off the streets of Lucescere.

After a week in the company of the League of the Healing Hand, as they now called themselves, Jorge had to admit that, rather than the children being under his protection, he was under theirs. Dillon the Bold was the leader of the League, of course, and he had deployed . his troops with the ingenuity and expertise of a battle-seasoned general. Although he had lived all his life in the city's slums, several of his gang had been brought up in the country and he had grilled them to find out everything they knew about hunting and tracking in the countryside.

False trails were laid, their tracks covered, roots and berries gathered, camping spots found, snares set for coneys and birds, and patrols ordered to scour the land ahead and behind. Only the eldest girl, Johanna, an anxious-looking waif with long plaits of mousy brown, had begged to be let off the scouting parties, content to forage for food and cook them messy meals instead.

Within days the city of Lucescere had been left far behind, the green foothills steepening into sharp cliffs and ravines filled with forest and the tinkling of waterfalls. Sharp pointed mountains rose on either side, while the river snaked through a deep gorge that forced the small band of travelers to stay on the narrow path. The main problem was that the Red Guards also had to follow the river if they did not want to force a way through the heavily forested ridges that rose on either side. Subsequently the League's journey was a game of hide-and-seek, aided by the long sight of Jorge's raven flying overhead and the old man's prescient witch senses.

The biggest danger was presented by the seekers of the Awl who occasionally accompanied the patrols. Jorge could shield himself with the ease of long practice, but the other members of the gang were more difficult. Tomas was protected by a pair of enchanted nyx-hair gloves, but the others had no way of hiding their thoughts, and some of them clearly had the potential for working magic. A seeker was trained to search out anyone that had any hint of magical ability, and there was a real danger that one of the children would inadvertently commit some act of magic that would alert a seeker to their presence. Jorge had already had to forbid Jay the Fiddler from playing his old, battered violin. The thin, olive-skinned boy had played for them one night, and Jorge had been able to see the magic woven into his music as easily as a man with eyes could see the stars in the sky. He had shushed the boy quickly, afraid that what human ears could not have heard from a few hundred yards away, a seeker would be able to sense with ease.

The younger of the two girls, a lissom, mercurial child called Finn, had been quite distressed on Jay's behalf and had tackled Jorge the next morning. "Dinna ye like what Jay was playing last night? Why did ye tell him to stop? He's a flaming witch with the fiddle, I always think! Did ye no' like it?"