The Pool of Two Moons (8 page)

Enit nodded. "Indeed, it makes me angry also, my dear. Though I think ye will find most people will turn a blind eye to magic if it serves their purpose, no matter how devoutly they follow the Banrigh's Truth." Lilanthe slowly swallowed a mouthful of broth, then asked shyly, "How is it ye were able to cause us all to fall asleep? Surely that was magic?"

"Indeed, it was, it's the song o' enchantment."

"Are ye a witch, then?"

"No' a Tower witch, nay. My mother was a skeelie, my father a traveling minstrel. I grew up deep in the forest and used to sing the birds to my hand and coneys into the cooking pot. I learnt the songs o'

enchantment from a Yedda, who tried her best to bring me into the Coven. She said I had magic in my voice and could be a Yedda too if I gave up my freedom. I did no' want to bide, so I got in my wee cart and left, though Lizabet the Sea-Singer was angry that I should say her nay. I have lived as I wished, traveling and singing as I pleased, and now all my children and grandchildren do the same."

"So ye have no' sung the song o' sleep for long syne?"

"Nay, nor any song o' enchantment, though I find to sing at all is to work magic in some way. A spell like I cast today is far too dangerous to do lightly, and besides, I have no heart for it any more." Lilanthe wiped her bowl clean with the last remnant of bread and only then really looked around her. They were squatting on furs and old blankets piled on wide flagstones so old they were worn deeply in the center. The rafters of the vaulted ceiling were black with age, the walls below decorated with gargoyles. Though Lilan-the had not been within four walls for many years—and had thought it would stifle her to be so again—she felt comfortable and at peace. Through a broken gap in the wall the night flowed dark and warm, and outside she sensed the forest pressing close. The old woman, huddled in shawls, was kind and sang as sweetly as any bird, and Lilanthe had been alone for so long. With a sigh, she nestled back into her blankets, casting a glance over the recumbent forms of the others. Dide was curled on the blankets near her foot, his mouth half open, his olive cheek flushed. He had a tender, vulnerable look about him that gave Lilanthe a strange wrenching in her rib-cage. She felt Enit's eyes upon her, and flushed.

"How long will they sleep?" she whispered.

"All night long, I imagine. I hope the Satyricorns will sleep as long. I have no' yet told ye the news. Your friend, Isabeau—Meghan's young apprentice. She's alive! Somehow she managed to escape the witch-sniffers and made her way here, sick with fever. Brun tended her nigh on a full moon, for she was close to death, he says, and then the Celestine hiding here healed her." The tree-shifter exclaimed in excitement and relief, the cluricaun Brun saying happily, "I knew
she
would make Is'beau better."

"There was a Celestine here?" Lilanthe's eyes gleamed green with excitement.

"Aye, one o' the few Celestines still willing to consort with humans. She is Cloudshadow, a witch-friend who has often helped the rebels in one way or another. She and Meghan o' the Beasts are very close."

"So Isabeau is alive! She really and truly is still alive?"

"Aye, she's alive, though maimed in body and spirit. Brun says Cloudshadow healed her as best she could, but Isabeau still lost two fingers o' her left hand. She was tortured, ye see, and given the pilliwinkes."

"What are they?" Lilanthe's voice was faint.

"Thumb and finger screws. They crush your fingers at the joint . . ." The tree-shifter gave a shudder. "Poor Isabeau, how awful! But at least she's alive."

"She was last we heard, but the Satyricoms are on the prowl, and she had a long way to ride still . . ."

"On her quest."

"Aye—" Enit began, but was interrupted by the cluri-caun, who sat up solemnly, rocking forwards and back. "What force and strength canna get through, With a mere touch, I can undo." When they looked at him blankly, his tail drooped in disappointment. With one paw he made a gesture, like unlocking a door. Their expressions did not change, and he chanted the rhyme again. Enit said kindly, "I am curious still about the Celes-tine, Brun. Tell me, what else did Cloudshadow say?" Brun dropped his paw, bouncing a little in excitement. "She said Is'beau's head was wrapped in a veil, and that she had faery blood running in her veins . . ."

"Isabeau's
uile-bheistV
Lilanthe gasped. "She's a half-breed like me?"

" 'As much faery as human, if the people o' the Spine o' the World are included in your classifications,' " Brun quoted. Then in his normal voice, he said, "And
she
said that the answer was in the dark stars, and the coming o' winter is the time."

"The coming o' winter? Dark stars?" Enit whispered, tangling her gnarled fingers in her amber beads which glittered with sunshiny fire. "She sounds as enigmatic as all the Celestines." Silence dropped over the little party as Enit's eyes grew dreamy and distracted. Then she stirred and rattled her beads. "I have told Brun he must come with us. It is no' safe for him here with the Satyricorns so unsettled. Even if he can keep them away from the Tower itself, they will have sent word to the Banrigh o' activity hereabouts, and soldiers will come, or witch-sniffers." Her voice was contemptuous, and they knew she referred to the seekers of the Awl as much as to the bounty-hunters that plagued the countryside. "There has been too much magic happening for this Tower no' to come under notice."

"Where are we going now? What are we doing?" Li-lanthe asked.

"We came to the Tower o' Dreams because we had had news o' someone using the Scrying Pool here and we hoped it was one o' the Dream-Walkers returned. It seems clear, though, that it was the Celestine, and she is gone now. So we'll head into Blessem," the old woman replied. Immediately the cluricaun stopped his excited capers, his face ludicrously anxious. "Blessem bad," Brun said. "Blessem bad place for cluricauns."

"I shall keep ye safe," Enit promised.

Lilanthe was also shaking her head. "I canna go to Blessem. They will burn me if they find me. I'm an
uile-bheist,
remember. I canna go where there are soldiers."

"I be
uile-bheist
too," Brun said in a puzzled tone of voice.

"They will burn us if they find us. We canna go to Blessem!"

"Be at peace, my bairns," Enit said. "I shall keep ye safe. Do no' look so fearful, lassie. I have smuggled witches and rebels all over the land for near twenty years now! Morrell's caravan has a false bottom where ye can lie if we should come into danger, or ye can lie on the roof, hidden by the carvings. Ye shall be far safer with me, for sure, than here in the forest with the Satyricorns on the hunt and Red Guards on their way. Besides, ye said ye wished to help us. I have a reason for turning back into Blessem."

"What? Why is it so important? Canna we just stay here in the forest?"

"I be afraid no', my dear. Even if I wanted to spend the rest o' my life outrunning Satyricorns, I wouldna. Nay, I have had disturbing news from Meghan. She says a Mesmerd was with the Red Guards that attacked her secret valley at Candlemas. Also that bairns with Talent are being stolen from their homes, and she thinks the Mesmerdean may have something to do with it. I want to find if this is true, that it is the Mesmerdean and no' just a rumor. If it is, then I fear Margrit o' Arran mun be behind it. She is a bad enemy to have indeed, and I need to be sure she is no' plotting something that will disrupt our plans."

"What are Mes . . . Mes . . ."

"The Mesmerdean are faery creatures o' the marshes. They are dangerous indeed, and if the NicFoghnan has somehow convinced them to aid her in her schemes, then we may be in trouble indeed. Why the Mesmerdean would consent to accompany redcloaks, or steal bairns from their bed, I have no idea. It seems strange indeed. Why would Margrit NicFoghnan want them to? What scheme o' hers does it further? These are questions I wish to find answers for, and so we travel into Blessem, where most sightings o' the Mesmerdean have occurred. Happen we may need to go into the marshes themselves to find the answers. We shall see."

"But they will kill me if they find me . . ."

"Lass, if ye wish to fight against the Ensorcellor, ye mun face danger and possible death. I canna make that choice for ye. I will do my utmost to keep ye and Brun safe, but blaygird times be with us. What is your choice? Will ye trust me and the Spinners, or will ye try your luck in the forest?" The tree-shifter was silent, her hands twisting together in her lap. "I shall come with ye," she said at last.

"Though I feel sick with fear at the thought."

"That's a brave lassie," Enit said. "Just remember, all our lives are forfeit if ye are discovered. I have no desire to end up fodder for the Awl's wicked fires either. We have many friends scattered through the countryside who will help us, and jongleurs come and go as they please. So do no' fear, I shall keep ye safe."

The tree-shifter nodded, though her face was white and strained still. Enit patted her hand reassuringly, and said, "We'll get on the road at first light, and we'll plug our ears so I can sing the Satyricorn to sleep again. That would give us a few hours' head start. Brun, why do ye no' pack up what ye will need now so ye are ready to go?"

The little, hairy creature nodded solemnly and began to gather his belongings together. As he crammed a sack full of food and clothing, he softly sang to himself. "Over the hills and by the burn, the road unrolls through forest and fern,

taking my feet I know no' where,

happen I'll meet ye at the fair!"

A little prickle of excitement ran over Lilanthe's skin, and she thought to herself that she was being as brave and adventurous as Isabeau herself. After she and the apprentice witch had parted ways, she had felt restless and without direction. Isabeau had made her feel rather ashamed of her aimless wanderings. Now she would be following in Isabeau's footsteps and they could perhaps meet again. She had never felt such a close and natural affinity with anyone as she had with Isabeau the Foundling.

"Why do ye no' sleep some more?" Enit suggested, a black, hunched figure in her shawls and scarves. "It shall be a long day tomorrow."

Obediently Lilanthe lay back on the blanket. Through the gap in the broken wall she could see the stars swarming in a purplish sky. "Dark stars . . ." she pondered. "I wonder what the Celestine meant?"

"At night they come without being fetched, by day they're lost without being stolen," Brun said, pausing in his packing.

"What?" Lilanthe asked.

He pointed out at the night sky. "At night they come without being fetched, by day they're lost without being stolen," he repeated.

"Och, ye mean the
starsl"
Lilanthe cried, and he danced a little jig, crying, "The stars, the stars!" so that Lilanthe wondered just how much the little creature really understood. She pillowed her head on her arms and heard Brun murmur, "Dark stars and the coming o' winter." For some reason, the words sent a cold thrill over her skin and down her spine, and she wondered if she had made the right decision, joining the jongleurs in their fight against the Ensorcellor. As if sensing her unease, Enit Silverthroat began to sing a gentle lullaby and again the heavy darkness of sleep washed over her.

[chapter The Black Wolf Snow fell out of a leaden sky, swirling in a capricious wind so that the rider rose in his stirrups in a vain attempt to see more clearly. The howl of a wolf drifted out of the forest to his right, and he spurred his flagging horse on mercilessly. The wolves had been hunting him from the moment he crossed the river into Rur-ach, and the howls were growing ever closer. They came now from the left, so close the mare neighed in terror and plunged on through the snow.

The Seeker Renshaw leant forward, whipping the horse so she broke into a gallop. He could see the wolves now, streaking along behind him. They were great, grey, rangy beasts, eyes yellow with hunger, and they snarled menacingly as they ran. He could see the icy surface of Loch Kintyre to his right and knew Castle Rurach was beyond. He would be lucky to reach its protection, though, the wolves snapping at the terrified horse's hocks. He drew his dagger and plunged it into the breast of one that leapt up to try and haul him from the saddle. The horse broke free of the pack, galloping wildly, and the seeker wiped his blade on his white breeches.

Renshaw heard another howl ahead, and his heart thudded. He peered through the snowy darkness and saw a wolf sitting on the bridge over the Wulfrum River. Her muzzle was raised to the darkening sky, her black ruff almost invisible in the shadows under the trees. He recognized the beast. She had come close to killing him earlier in the day. He had only just managed to fight her off with boot and dagger and the fleetness of his horse. The mare was tiring now, though, and an early dusk was sinking over the snow-laden fields. The rest of the pack was close on his heels, and he could see other dark forms slinking through the copse of trees.

With a defiant cry he turned the mare's head and forced her off the road and down the bank. The snow was up to his mare's withers, his boots and legs submerged. Then the horse was on the ice, her hooves throwing up splinters of frost as she galloped across the loch's frozen surface. Renshaw heard the clamor of the wolves behind him and, looking over his shoulder, saw they were racing after him. Then the other pack broke from the shelter of the wood and angled across, threatening to cut him off from the shore. He whipped the laboring mare on.

He was only a few yards from the opposite shore, the two packs of wolves converging on him, when there was a great crack as the ice broke. With a scream, the mare was flung forward into the icy blackness. For a moment the seeker was swallowing water, then his head broke free and he grasped the stirrup. The mare was trying desperately to climb out onto the ice, but he dragged her back, using her height to climb out himself. Then he was running, for the castle was looming up ahead, and the wolves had reached the crack in the ice. He fully expected them to feast on his mare, who was still struggling desperately to be free of the icy water. To his horror, they bounded over her head and raced after him, the black she-wolf howling in triumph.