The Shining City (2 page)

sabre leopard
: a savage feline with curved fangs that lives in the remote mountain areas
sacred woods
: ash, hazel, oak, rowan, fir, hawthorn, and yew

Samhain
: the first day of winter; festival for the souls of the dead. Best time of year to see the future

satyricorn
: a race of fierce horned faeries

scrying
: to perceive through crystal gazing or other focus. Most witches can scry if the object to be perceived is well known to them.

Seekers
: a force created by former Rìgh Jaspar the Ensorcelled to find those with magical abilities so they could be tried and executed

seelie
: a tall, shy race of faeries known for their physical beauty and magical skills
seneschal
: steward

sennachie
: the genealogist and record-keeper of the clan chief‟s house

sgian dubh
: a small knife worn in the boot

Siantan
: northwest land of Eileanan, famous for its weather witches. Ruled by the MacSian clan
skeelie
: a village witch or wise woman

Skill
: a common application of magic, such as lighting a candle or dowsing for water
Spinners
: goddesses of fate. Include the spinner Sniomhar, the goddess of birth; the weaver Breabadair, goddess of life; and she who cuts the thread, Gearradh, goddess of death

Talent
: the combination of a witch‟s strengths in the different forces often manifest as a particularly powerful Talent; for example, Lewen‟s Talent is in working with wood and Nina‟s is in singing.

Test of Elements
: once witches are fully accepted into the Coven at the age of twenty-four, they learn Skills in the element in which they are strongest, i.e. air, earth, fire, water, or spirit. The First Test of any element wins them a ring that is worn on the right hand. If they pass the Third Test in any one element, the witch is called a sorcerer or sorceress and wears a ring on his or her left hand. It is very rare for any witch to win a sorceress ring in more than one element.

Test of Powers
: a witch is first tested on his or her eighth birthday, and if any magical powers are detected, he or she becomes an acolyte. On their sixteenth birthday, witches undertake the Second Test of Powers, in which they must make a moonstone ring and witch‟s dagger. If they pass, they are permitted to become apprentices. On their twenty-fourth birthday, witches undertake the Third Test of Powers, in which they must remake their dagger and cut and polish a staff. If successfully completed, the apprentice is admitted into the Coven of Witches.

Apprentices wear black robes; witches wear white robes.

Theurgia
: a school for acolytes and apprentice-witches at the Tower of Two Moons in Lucescere
thigearn
: horse-lairds who ride flying horses

Tìreich
: land of the horse-lairds. Most westerly country of Eileanan, ruled by the MacAhern clan
Tìrlethan
: land of the Twins; ruled by the MacFaghan clan

Tìrsoilleir
: the Bright Land or the Forbidden Land. Northeast land of Eileanan, ruled by the MacHilde clan

Tòmas the Healer
: a boy with healing powers who saved the lives of thousands of soldiers during the Bright Wars; died saving Lachlan‟s life at the Battle of Bonnyblair

The Towers of the Witches
: thirteen towers built as centers of learning and witchcraft in the twelve lands of Eileanan. Most are now ruined, but the Tower of Two Moons in Lucescere has been restored as the home of the Coven of Witches and its school, the Theurgia. The Coven hope to rebuild the thirteen High Towers but also to encourage towns and regions to build their own towers.

tree-changer
: a woodland faery that can shift shape from tree to humanlike creature. A half-breed is called a
tree-shifter
and can sometimes look almost human.

trictrac
: a form of backgammon

uile-bheist; uile-bheistean (pl)
: monster

Yedda
: sea-witches

Yeomen of the Guard
: Also known as the Blue Guards. The Rìgh‟s own personal bodyguard, responsible for his safety

O
lwynne sat up in her bed, choking back a scream. For a moment her nightmare beat around her head with dark, suffocating wings. Then the dream dissolved away, leaving her with little more than an impression of overwhelming grief and horror.

The air was cold on her damp skin, and she pulled her eiderdown up around her, grasping reluctantly at the tattered remains of the nightmare. Her aunt Isabeau said she should pay attention to her dreams, for they were often messages sent to warn or illuminate. All Olwynne could remember, though, was her father falling away from her into some deep pit, his black wings bent over his face, and then hundreds of ravens, an unkindness of ravens, plummeting from the sky to peck out her eyes.

She shuddered and curled her knees to her chest. The wind was keening around her windows, rattling the old leaded glass in its frames, and sighing through the trees outside. It sounded like banshees wailing. Olwynne told herself it was only the wind, but still all the hairs on her body stood erect and quivering, and her pulse rate accelerated. Such a feeling of morbid foreboding came over her that she almost cried out again, but she bit her lip and wrapped her arms about her knees, her face pressed into her pillow. Still the strange, high wailing went on. As it grew louder, Olwynne realized that it was not the wind making that unearthly keening cry but something else.

Something living.

Shivering uncontrollably, Olwynne crept out of bed and went to stand by her window, pulling the curtain back a crack so she could peer out. It was a clear, starry night, with both the moons at the full. The sky was full of flying things, a whirling hurricane of bat-winged creatures that seemed to beat against the bright coins of the moons like moths against the glass of a lantern.

Tall as the tallest of men, their limbs were like twigs and their tempestuous hair flowed and swirled like wind made visible. As they hurled themselves through the night sky, they screamed and sobbed, tearing at their wild manes of hair, beating themselves on their heads and breasts.

Olwynne stood transfixed. She had seen the nyx fly before, on nights when the moons were full, but never before had she seen so many, and never had she heard them sing. It was a lament of such wild grief that Olwynne felt tears start to her own eyes and her breath catch in her throat.

Though she did not know why the nyx sorrowed, Olwynne slowly slid down to the floor and wept with them.

By the time the night had drained away, the grey walls and flying buttresses of the Tower of Two Moons rising from the darkness, the nyx had all gone. Olwynne released her clutch on the curtains and stood up stiffly.

She was very cold. She dressed herself in the long black gown of an apprentice-witch, then splashed her face vigorously with water. She combed back her sleep-tossed hair into its usual long, severe plait and wrapped her plaid tightly about her body. Still she felt cold and stiff and weary, but she had been taught to ignore the demands of her body. She opened the door to her little cell of a room and stepped out onto the balcony that ran the length of the building.

Everything was deathly quiet. It was too early for the bell to have sounded to wake up the students. Only the occasional bird called out.

Olwynne went swiftly along the balcony and through a doorway into the Theurgia. She

negotiated a number of stairs and corridors, coming at last to the northernmost tower, the building assigned to the Circle of Sorcerers. A magnificent spiral staircase wound up the center of the tower, its stonework carved with the crescent shape of two moons and a single star, set amidst intricate knot-work. Olwynne climbed the staircase all the way to the top floor, her feet settling into deep hollows worn in the center of each step. Her aunt Isabeau had her rooms up here, far away from the noise and bustle of the Theurgia.

Olwynne stood for a while outside her aunt‟s door, listening. Although she was sure Isabeau would be awake, she hesitated to interrupt her. It was very early. Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door opened and Isabeau stood in the doorway, smiling at her.

“Morning, Olwynne,” she said. “Come in. The kettle is just boiling. Would ye like some tea?”

Olwynne nodded and came in shyly. She looked about her with pleasure as Isabeau went and swung the steaming kettle off the fire. She loved the Keybearer‟s room. Shaped like a crescent moon, it took up half the top floor of the tower. There was a fireplace at either end, one to warm the bed with its soft white counterpane and pillows, the other warming Isabeau‟s desk and chair where she worked. Comfortable chairs with deep blue cushions were drawn up before both fires.

A spinning wheel was set up near one, with a little loom pushed up against the wall. A tapestry was half-woven upon it. Olwynne could see the pointed towers of Rhyssmadill overlooking a stormy sea and wondered what Isabeau was weaving. Olwynne knew her aunt loved to spin and weave the old tales and songs, but had little time for it with all her other duties as Keybearer of the Coven.

At the other end of the room, where Isabeau was busy making the peppermint tea, her desk was piled with papers and books. An old globe, so stained with age the lands upon it could hardly be seen, stood upon a wooden stand nearby. A crystal ball glowed softly to one side, set upon clawed feet. More books filled the bookshelves that rose from floor to ceiling all around the curve of the room. Set at regular intervals between the bookshelves were tall windows that looked out across the gardens to the golden domes of the palace, gleaming softly through the morning mist.

The Keybearer was dressed in her long white gown trimmed with silver, and her hair was neatly combed and bound away from her face. Once Isabeau‟s hair would have been the same fiery red as Olwynne‟s, but its color had faded to a soft strawberry blond, with grey at the temples. Her eyes were as vivid a blue as ever, however, and her figure was slim and upright.

Isabeau poured the tea into two delicate bone china cups and beckoned to Olwynne to sit by the fire. Olwynne obeyed with alacrity, for she was still cold and shaken. She held the cup between both her hands and sipped the hot liquid, feeling some of her tension drain away.

“Ye heard the nyx fly?” Isabeau said tranquilly.

Olwynne nodded.

“Aye, it was uncanny, was it no‟? I have never heard such a lament. It made all my skin come up in goose bumps.”

“Me too,” Olwynne said eagerly. “Auntie Beau . . . what was wrong? Why did they sing like that?”

“Ceit Anna is dead,” Isabeau said after a moment, her face shadowing.

Olwynne lowered her cup. Although she knew of the oldest and most powerful of the nyx, who had lived in a cave deep under the sewers of the palace, she herself had never seen the ancient faery. Stories were always told of her, though. Ceit Anna had woven the cloak of illusions that had kept Olwynne‟s father, Lachlan the Winged, hidden in the shape of a hunchback for so many years. She had woven the cloak from her own hair, as she had woven a pair of gloves to conceal the magical hands of Tòmas the Healer, and as she had woven the choker that kept Maya the Ensorcellor mute and powerless. Ceit Anna appeared in many of the MacCuinn clan‟s stories, and Olwynne knew she would be greatly missed.

“The nyx live very long lives,” Isabeau said. “I certainly have never heard the death flight afore, and I ken none who have. I was just reading about it in
The Book o’ Shadows
.” She indicated the old and enormously thick book that lay open on her desk nearby. “The last time one was recorded was during the time o‟ Feargus the Terrible, when Aldus the Dreamy was Keybearer.

O‟ course, we ken many nyx died during the Burning, but if the death flight was flown, there was certainly no one around to record it.”

Olwynne was silent.

Isabeau looked at her intently, then bent forward to lay her right hand on Olwynne‟s knee. The other hand, her crippled one, was kept tucked in her lap. “What is troubling ye so much, my dear? Is it just the funeral song o‟ the nyx or is there more?”

Olwynne shrugged and looked away, embarrassed her aunt could read her so clearly.

“Are ye still having those nightmares?” Isabeau asked.

Olwynne nodded, fiddling with her cup. “Last night I was attacked by a flock o‟ ravens, hundreds o‟ them, beating all around my head and trying to peck out my eyes.”

“Ravens,” Isabeau repeated, her brows drawing together.

Olwynne nodded. “I thought at first, when I saw the nyx flying last night, that it was their wings I had dreamed, all those black wings against the moon. And it seemed I had dreamed that too, only . . . it is so hard to remember. For there are other wings in my dreams. My father‟s wings.

And Donncan‟s too, turning all black like
Dai-dein
‟s. A dark shadow falling on him, like the shadow o‟ wings . . . or happen a black cloak . . . or a shroud. Sometimes I‟m being suffocated by feathers. Or maybe I‟m buried alive, in a tomb. Or Donncan is—I canna always tell. It doesna make sense. And I wake with this horrible sense o‟ foreboding, like something awful is going to happen, and happen soon. . . .” Her voice trailed away.