The Pool of Two Moons (67 page)

Lachlan walked down the steps, the shimmering light blazing on the white lock at his brow and sculpting the planes of his face. His face was triumphant. The steps led straight into the water and he walked into it, and bent and dipped the Lodestar in the bubbling, light-filled water. There was a flash of bright light and music sounded. He held up the Lodestar triumphantly, streaming with glittering water like the bhanais bird's tail. "It is done!" he cried. "The Lodestar is renewed!" At that moment a hawk dropped out of the sky and snatched the Lodestar from his hands. He shouted in dismay, but the hawk beat its powerful wings and rose in the air. In two quick strides Lachlan caught up Ow-ein's Bow and shot an arrow into the sky. It curved in a perfect trajectory and pierced the hawk's breast. The bird gave a dreadful cry and fell, the Lodestar dropping from its claws. Lachlan flung up his hand but he was too late. Across the dark garden a tall shape sprang free of the shadows. With their night vision Isabeau and Iseult could both clearly see Maya, with the baby Bronwen in her arms. The baby laughed and held out its hands for the Lodestar and it flew to her.

As soon as the baby's tiny fingers touched the orb it swelled with music. Isabeau and Iseult could hear words among the melody, words of welcome and connection. "No!" Lachlan screamed. "No!" Maya walked across the garden toward them, while the baby balanced and spun the great orb on her fingertips as if she were a jongleur and it a juggling ball. "They say the Lodestar responds to the hand o'

any MacCu-inn," Maya said in a gloating voice. "We have it now, and as they say,
whoever holds the
Lodestar shall hold the land
..."

"So they say," Lachlan agreed grimly. Maya climbed the stairs and stood, the ruin of her face twisted into a smile. To Isabeau's grief, she saw Latifa's round form huddling in the shadows of the garden and she knew the old cook had shown Maya the way through the labyrinth.

"So at the end ye have lost, Lachlan MacCuinn, and I win. My daughter is very powerful, ye ken. She was conceived at the height o' the comet with a Spell o' Begetting, and it was made sure she would be born at the most potent hour . . ."

"Except Lasair made ye give birth prematurely," Isa-beau pointed out, "so Bronwen was born at the autumn equinox, not at Samhain."

They ignored her, Lachlan and Maya facing each other over the length of the pool. He said savagely,

"No» matter how powerful she is, Maya, she is but a babe." He held out his hand and called to the Lodestar with all . his will and all his desire. The Lodestar lifted from the baby's hand and soared towards him over the pool. The baby whimpered in disappointment and held up her little hand again. The Lodestar faltered, as if unsure whom to respond to. Isabeau was irresistibly reminded of her trial in Caeryla, when the young laird had made Lasair choose between her and his rightful owner, the Grand-Seeker Glynelda.

The orb hesitated only a moment, then flew to Lach-lan's hand. His fist closed about it in triumph. "See, I am more powerful and the Lodestar.chooses me. Prepare yourself for death, Ensorcellor!" Unable to use his bow with the Lodestar gripped tight in his hand, he drew his claymore and started towards them.

Maya glanced around in fear, then looked at the pool before her. The water was still bubbling with light, but it had begun to twist away at the center, like water running out of a sink. She flung Bronwen into the pool and dived cleanly into the swirling heart.

"No!" Isabeau cried and dived after them.

The water boiled with silver light. She saw Maya's feet disappear into a swirl of bubbles. Bronwen swam nimbly as a tadpole after her, reaching out one hand to grasp Maya's hair. Deeper and deeper into the sparkling, fizzing water Isabeau dived. Her eyes were wide open, but all she could see was luminosity, as if a great light shone from the depths of the pool. She kicked strongly, and saw Maya's feet ahead of her, both braceleted with flowing fins, as she dived straight into the heart of the spring.
Bronwen,
Isabeau called and the child looked back at her, her eyes shining strangely, her body glinting with scales, frills floating all about her hands and feet, a long, serrated fin curving out of her baby spine. Then she wriggled ahead, following her mother.

Desperately Isabeau caught her tiny foot, then the baby was squirming in her arms. She turned and struck for the surface, her lungs burning. It seemed a long, long swim to the surface, all the light beginning to die. At last she floundered to the surface, gasping and choking, the baby in her arms. Lachlan strode into the pool, the water swirling up to his knees. He grasped Isabeau and helped haul her out. "What did ye do that for?" he grumbled.

"Save . . . Bronwen . . . from drowning," Isabeau gasped, turning her body so the baby was out of his reach.

He gave a harsh laugh. "By the look o' those scales and fins, she would no' have to worry about death by drowning."

Isabeau, dripping wet and shaking with cold, realized with a jolt that he was absolutely right. Bronwen had swam as easily as any fish and had seemed quite happy in the water. Maya was gone, lost somewhere in the waterways below the garden. With two great rivers on either side, Isabeau had no doubt she would find a way free. Bronwen could have escaped with her and probably would have been safer with her than with a vengeful uncle who would see her as a potential threat to his throne and that of his heirs. With tears welling up in her eyes she realized her impetuosity had again led her to act before she thought.

Lachlan suddenly gave an almighty shout. "Look at me!" he cried. "Look at my feet!" They stared in stupefaction, for where Lachlan's black, scaly talons had been were two very white, shapely human feet. He lifted one, then the other, his swarthy face breaking into a delighted grin, then he threw back his head and sang, a clarion call of joy and triumph that rang through the garden. The Lodestar shone bright as a tiny moon in his hand, and birds rose from their roosts in hedge and tree with a clatter of wings, caroling with startled delight.

"When Magnysson shall at last hold Gladrielle in his arms, all will be healed or broken, saved or surrendered . . ." Isabeau cried and looked desperately at her hand. A sharp and bitter disappointment pierced her, for in the bright moonlight she could clearly see her hand was still missing the last two fingers. It took her a moment to realize her remaining fingers were straight and smooth as they had ever been. Even then, clenching her two fingers and thumb open and shut, grievous tears burnt her throat and dampened her cheeks, and she bent her head to Bronwen's so her tears were hidden from the others. Through the baby's dark hair she saw a silver lock glinting in the moonlight.

"It is done!" Lachlan said with immense satisfaction. "I have saved the Inheritance. Now I hold the Lodestar, I shall hold the land!"

A New Thread is Strung

To Rear a Child

Isabeau sat by the dying embers of the fire, rocking the child in her cradle with one foot. It was cold in her little room but she made no move to blow the ashes into flame. She was tired, chilled and dispirited. It was nine months since she had set out on her adventures with such high hopes. So much had happened. So much had changed. If she had not left Meghan on the slopes of Dragonclaw, how different would her destiny have been? She might have her body and her soul intact, her loyalties undivided, her future clear before her. She might have won the MacCuinn to love herself, and now be Banrigh of all Eileanan. She might have been the one to whom Ishbel the Winged taught her secrets. Instead, she had no place, no future, of her own. Meghan had called Lachlan and her twin the only hope of the country, yet what was she, apart from Iseult's maid-in-waiting and the baby's nursemaid? Tears trickled down her cheeks and she lifted the sleeping baby to her shoulder. The door creaked open, and Meghan came in slowly. She had aged terribly since her wounding—her face was heavily lined, and her snowy lock was lost among many other white streaks. Gita rode on her shoulder; he was rarely to be seen more than a few paces from his witch any more, and he clucked over her until she grew exasperated. At Meghan's waist hung the Key, polished to brilliance. Meghan saw the tears on Isabeau's face and sat beside her, taking her hand. "I think this is the first time I have seen ye alone since we first parted ways."

Isabeau nodded, rocking the baby gently. Meghan said, "I have no' got very much time, they are all so foolishly fussed about my health and insist I stay most o' the time in my bed. I thought ye would like to talk though." Isabeau nodded again, and the old witch said, "I wish ye were no' so silent now, Isabeau, I miss my chatterbox."

"I do no' feel much like chattering," Isabeau said, and her voice sounded childish even to her own ears. She made an effort, and said, "I am sorry, Meghan, it is just ye all seem to have a place here and I do no'. I have been a servant to these courtiers and they treat me so still, despite my mirror image sitting on the throne."

The old sorceress sighed, and said, "If I had only known what would come o' my climbing Dragonclaw, I would have taken ye with me, Beau, but I saw only danger and death before me. I thought ye would be safe, but ye had to stop and rescue Lachlan! It is ironic, because if ye had no', he would have been the one in the Awl's hands."

"Baron Yutta would have enjoyed that," Isabeau answered bitterly. Meghan hesitated, then said, "There are few witches who could have escaped their grasp, Isabeau. Your powers are great indeed, for they are married to imagination and quick thinking. I want ye to ken how proud I am o' ye."

At that Isabeau wept again, though this time there was a little sweetness in the mix. Gita flew from Meghan's shoulder to hers so he could comfort her, patting her earlobe with his little paw. She wept some more.

"Have ye noticed many changes in yourself since your dive into the pool?" Meghan asked, fixing Isabeau's face with her piercing black eyes.

"Apart from being able to use my hand a little? No, no' at all."

"What about in Bronwen?"

"I have seen her bring a toy to her hand when it has fallen to the floor," Isabeau said, "but who is to say if that is as a result o' the water. She called the Lodestar to her hand before she swam." Meghan was silent for a while. "Let me hold the babe," she said unexpectedly, and Isabeau handed her over gladly. The old sorceress held the baby gently, examining her closely. Bronwen returned her scrutiny with her unusual silvery eyes. She was a solemn baby, but she laughed now and reached for Meghan's face. She placed one fat starfish hand on the white lock and laughed again. Then she moved her hand to touch Meghan once, lightly, between the eyes.

"An unusual babe," Meghan said in a shaken voice.

"Yes," Isabeau agreed.

"I am going to tell ye something I've told no one else. Do no' ask me why. I have always guarded my secrets closely, for I am very auld now, Isabeau, and find it hard to burden others whom I still see as children. Even poor Latifa. I knew her when she was the fattest and most adorable baby you've ever seen." She sighed.

"Ye must have heard many things about me, Isabeau, which ye can no' know are true or no'. I canna help ye sort rumor from truth now, for I grow tired and need my bed. This I will tell ye, though. I am four hundred and twenty-eight years auld. Samhain was my birthday, and one o' the strangest I've known in all my long life. I was only eight at the time o' the last eclipse. That day I had my First Test and saw the moons eaten and the Lodestar created, and found my first familiar. A big day indeed." She paused, gray-faced, and Isabeau rose to pour her some goldensloe wine. "Now, I have often wondered if I have lived these many years because I drank o' the shining water when I was but a bairn. My father had forged the Lodestar in the pool, and I was curious and drank a mouthful—it seared through me like fire. I have often wondered if this long and heavy life is a consequence o' swallowing that water. Ye must be prepared to accept profound changes o' one sort or another."

"Healed or broken, saved or surrendered ..." Isabeau answered, and Meghan nodded. The old sorceress rose stiffly and handed back the baby, who tried to catch at the Key on her waist. She hesitated, then said wearily, "Isabeau, I know your path was thorny, but indeed things may have turned out very differently if ye had no' trodden it. I hope the price ye paid was no' too high, for things have turned out happier than I hoped. The Lodestar is safe and in our hands, Maya is dispossessed and, although the land is riven with war, Lachlan sits the throne, with two heirs already on the way." Isabeau nodded, knowing the witch meant the words as comfort. Meghan paused and said hesitantly,

"Beau, look after the babe. I am troubled indeed by Lachlan's black looks at her, and fear he may wish to do her harm. Jorge tells me he dreams o' her, and she has a role yet to play in this weaving. I do no'

ken what the future holds for us, but I want ye to have a care for her ..." Isabeau nodded, kissed the old witch and bid her good night. She suddenly remembered what Jorge the Seer had once said to her: "I see ye with many faces and many disguises; ye will be one who can hide in a crowd. Though ye shall have no home and no rest, all valleys and pinnacles will be your home; though ye shall never give birth, ye shall rear a child who shall one day rule the land." She caught her breath and looked down at the dreamy face of Maya's child. Bronwen smiled and reached for Isabeau's bright ringlets, and a pang of sweetness pierced her heart, sharp as any grief. She rocked the babe against her heart, and wondered if Meghan had been right, that only the lame could love, only the maimed could mourn.