Read The Shining City Online

Authors: Kate Forsyth

Tags: #Fantasy - Epic

The Shining City (9 page)

BOOK: The Shining City
13.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“Ye mean Nina‟s little boy?” Olwynne asked. “The heir to Caerlaverock?”

“Aye. He was kidnapped, and Rhiannon rescued him. Nina and Iven promised they would speak up for her, tell the Rìgh what happened. And now she‟s rotting in some foul dungeon and Laird Malvern is being waited on hand and foot in one o‟ the tower‟s best rooms!”

“Who?” Owein and Olwynne asked together.

“The laird o‟ Fettercairn,” Lewen said impatiently. “He was the one who kidnapped Roden. He‟s a murderer and a traitor and a foul necromancer, and if it wasna for Rhiannon, we‟d all probably be dead!”

Even Olwynne was beginning to be bewildered by the complexity of Lewen‟s tale. “I‟m sure it willna be for long,” she said hesitantly. “
Dai-dein
will get to the bottom o‟ it all, I‟m sure.”

“But she hates being confined,” Lewen said miserably. “When I first found her, she‟d never even seen a house afore. It‟ll send her half-mad, being locked up in a dungeon.”

“I‟m sure it‟s no‟ that bad,” Olwynne said.

“Ye didna see the captain‟s face,” Lewen retorted.

“He was pretty angry,” Owein agreed.

“I‟ve got to get in to see her!” Lewen cried, lifting his face to look at his friends. “I‟ve got to reassure her. Please, ye‟ve got to help me.”

“O‟ course we‟ll help ye,” Owein cried. “I‟ll bang the guard on the head and we‟ll steal his keys and then—”

“Dinna be such a gawk!” Olwynne said crossly. “We canna do that.”

“At least I‟m no‟ a namby-pamby muffin-faced prig,” Owein retorted, firing up.

“Ye‟ll get yourself and Lewen into dreadful trouble and only make things worse for this Rhiannon girl,” Olwynne said.

“Aye, happen we‟d be best slipping something into his wine,” Owein said thoughtfully. “Then he‟ll just think he dozed off.”

“And the captain will order him put to the lash,” Olwynne snapped back. “That hardly seems fair.”

“Well, got any better ideas?” her twin jeered.

“Aye, I do, as a matter o‟ fact.”

“O‟ course ye do, Miss Perfect,” Owein muttered.

“Let‟s just go and see
Dai
,” Olwynne said. “Surely if we just explain to him how important it is that Lewen gets in to see her . . .” Her voice faltered. She could not look at Lewen as she asked,

“Just
why
is it so important, Lewen? I mean,
Dai-dein
will be in conference. . . .”

Lewen raised his face from his hands and gazed at Olwynne imploringly. If anyone could intercede with the Rìgh, it was Olwynne, for Lachlan adored his only daughter and often declared she was the only one with any sense in the whole family.

“I‟m in love with her,” he said haltingly, a hot rush of color burning his cheeks. “Wait till ye meet her, Olwynne. There‟s never been a girl like her. She can ride like a thigearn and fight like a man, and she‟s clever as a bag full o‟ elven cats. I . . . I want to jump the fire with her. One day, I mean.”

Olwynne looked away, biting back angry words.

Owein grinned. “Lewen‟s in lo-o-ove,” he sang.

Lewen flushed again. “Well, I am,” he said doggedly. “And she loves me. And I promised I‟d look out for her and make sure all was well. I canna let her be hanged.”

“But how can ye stop it? If she‟s found guilty, I mean?” Olwynne asked.

Lewen looked stubborn, an expression Olwynne knew only too well. “I dinna ken how, but I will if I have to, I swear it. Ye‟ve got to help me, Olwynne. Ye‟ll love her too, when ye meet her. I ken ye will.”

Somehow Olwynne doubted that.

The Lord of Fettercairn’s Skeelie

J
ohanna the Mild sat listlessly in the cushioned window seat of her room. Outside she could hear the students talking and giggling, and the gruff voice of the sorcerer Jock Crofter as he ordered them in to their supper. It was growing late and, as head of the Royal College of Healers, Johanna should have been doing her rounds at the hospital and preparing for the evening lectures. But today she could not even find the energy to rise and put on her long green healer‟s robe, let alone face a room full of rowdy students.

Her brother was dead. She had heard of his death more than a month ago, after Lewen had used the Scrying Pool at the haunted Tower of Ravens to contact the Rìgh, but the news that his murderer had been brought to Lucescere to face trial had torn the wounds wide open again.

Johanna had no one else. Connor had been her only family. Orphaned when they were very small, they had spent their childhood begging on the streets of Lucescere, scrounging through rubbish and stealing whatever they could lay their hands on, just to stay alive. Then they had met the blind seer Jorge and his apprentice Tòmas the Healer, a little boy with the miraculous ability to heal any wound or illness with the mere touch of his hands. Johanna and Connor had helped them escape the witch-sniffers and had had to flee Lucescere to avoid being captured themselves.

Along with the rest of their gang of street kids, they had formed the famous League of the Healing Hand, sworn to help and protect Tòmas and to help bring back the Coven of Witches so all with magical powers would be safe.

Tòmas and Connor had been only seven years old. Johanna had been sister and mother to them both. For the next few years, the League of the Healing Hand had worked to help Lachlan the Winged overthrow Maya and her Anti-Witchcraft League, then beat back the Bright Soldiers of Tìrsoilleir, then win the war against the Fairgean so that Eileanan was finally at peace. Along the way, most of the League of the Healing Hand had lost their lives, including Tòmas himself. He had then been just twelve years old, and Johanna had been heartbroken with grief. It had seemed so cruel, so unfair, that the little boy who had saved so many thousands of lives, including that of the Rìgh, should not live to see the peace he had helped bring about.

Twenty years of peace and prosperity had numbed Johanna‟s grief. She still thought of Tòmas often, but her own busy, happy life as the head of the Royal College of Healers had filled the void his death had left, and she had still had her brother, tall, handsome, accomplished Connor, who had risen through the ranks of the Yeomen of the Guard to be one of Lachlan the Winged‟s most trusted lieutenants.

But now Connor was dead.

Her grief was a barbed and spiky creature with bloody jaws, chewing ravenously away at her entrails. She did not think she could survive the pain. Nothing helped her. Even drinking a vial of poppy syrup did nothing except plunge her into swelteringly hot, garishly colored nightmares where she saw Connor‟s grey decaying body rise up out of filthy foam, holding up beseeching crippled hands, his beautiful mouth a bloody and empty ruin where that satyricorn had hacked out his teeth, his eye sockets gaping where fish had fed on his laughing blue eyes, a crimson and black hole plunging through to his heart. It was better not to sleep.

Johanna had forced herself to keep working, filling her days and nights by easing the pain of others. This at least meant that her body was so weary that when she laid herself down on her bed at night, sometimes she did manage to sleep, for a few hours at least.

But today her brother‟s murderer had ridden into the city. Johanna had heard the news almost straightaway, for Captain Dillon had been the one to form the League of the Healing Hand so many years ago. He was one of her oldest friends and her occasional lover, and he had come to tell her the moment the prison doors had clanged shut behind the satyricorn. Like Johanna, he was filled with a bitter corrosive hatred of the girl who had snuffed out Connor‟s bright life so heedlessly. All the while Johanna wept, he had stood still, caressing the hilt of his sword with obsessive tenderness, his eyes fixed on nothing. He had made no attempt to comfort Johanna. He knew there was no consolation, except perhaps the justice of seeing the satyricorn hang. That might ease Johanna‟s pain.

Johanna pressed her fingers against her throbbing eyes. She was filled with a heavy lassitude that weighed down her bones and made every movement an effort. Her head ached.

There was a knock on the door. Johanna sighed. When it came again, she said wearily, “Yes?”

“May I come in?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

“Who is it?”

“I‟m a visitor here to the tower, ma‟am. I‟m interested indeed in herbs and healing and was told ye were the one who kens more than any other living soul. May I come in and introduce

myself?”

“It is no‟ a good time,” Johanna said with an effort.

“I ken, ma‟am. I ken all about your trouble. I am so sorry. I think perhaps I can help.”

Johanna covered her eyes with her hand, saying nothing.

“I come from Ravenshaw,” the voice went on. It was the voice of an older woman, brisk and warm. “I ken this girl, the one who shot your brother.”

Johanna sat up as abruptly as if a thorn had been driven in under her fingernails. “What?”

“Aye. I met her at Fettercairn Castle. I may be able to help ye, ma‟am.”

Johanna hesitated, then stood and went to the door, unlocking it.

The woman on the other side smiled at her sympathetically. She was at least fifty years of age, with rosy cheeks all withered like a winter apple and brown eyes. Her figure was plump and soft, and her eyes and skin glowed with health.

“I am sorry to disturb ye, ma‟am,” she said. “I was told I could find ye here.”

“Who told ye? What do ye want?” Johanna was too distressed to be polite.

The woman smiled at her and stepped inside so that Johanna was forced to take a step back.

Putting down her basket on the table, the visitor shut the door behind her and ushered Johanna back to her chair with one broad hand, saying warmly, “I am so sorry to intrude upon ye like this.

I do feel for ye so much. Please, sit down again. Ye must be worn to pieces. Let me get ye a cushion. Your poor head must be aching so much.”

Rather dazed, Johanna let the stranger put a soft cushion behind her head, which was indeed aching most unpleasantly. The woman then went to her basket and pulled out a bottle,

dampening her handkerchief with lavender water and bringing it back to press against Johanna‟s brow. Johanna shut her eyes, tears stinging her lids.

“There now, that‟ll help a little. Let me put your feet up. Ye look worn out.”

“Who are ye?” Johanna asked, even as she submitted to being made comfortable.

The woman clicked her tongue. “There now, how rude o‟ me. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Dedrie and I‟m the laird o‟ Fettercairn‟s skeelie.”

Johanna‟s eyes flew open, and she tried to sit up.

Gently Dedrie pressed her back down again. “I see ye‟ve heard o‟ my master, and naught good, I‟d warrant. Indeed, that satyricorn girl has done naught but evil, as far as I can see. She murdered your brother in cold blood, and blackened my poor master‟s name, and had him

thrown in prison, and all because he wouldna be taken in by her tricks. All he did was try to stop her from escaping.”

“Really?” Johanna gripped her hands together.

Dedrie dabbed at Johanna‟s forehead with the cool, damp cloth. “Aye, indeed. It makes my blood boil just thinking about her. Och, she‟s a wicked one, cold-blooded and cruel. Just look at the way she murdered your brother! And pulled out all his teeth to make a necklace for herself, I heard.”

Johanna caught her breath in a sob.

“Och, I‟m so sorry, I‟ve upset ye again. Come now, do no‟ weep. Here, let me dampen that cloth again for ye. It must be hot by now.” Dedrie rose and uncorked the bottle of lavender water again, bathing Johanna‟s temples and then laying the cloth over her eyes. “Lay your poor head back now; there ye are. Is that better? Now let me make ye some tea. Chamomile and orange blossoms, I think, and perhaps some rose hips to give ye strength to bear it all.”

“Ye‟ve kent the laird for long?” Johanna asked, pressing the cloth over her eyes with one hand.

She heard the rustle of Dedrie‟s dress as she went to the fire and swung the kettle back over the flames.

“Och, aye, I‟ve worked at Fettercairn Castle since I was a lass. At first I was nurserymaid to the young heir, Laird Malvern‟s nephew, but after he died I stayed on at the castle, nursing his mother and anyone else in the Fetterness Valley who needed help. I dinna ken much, but I learned what I could from those who still had skill and managed as best I could. The witch hunts were cruel hard in Ravenshaw in those days, ye ken, and all the old skeelies and cunning men were burned on the fires, so there was no one left to teach me.” Her words were punctuated by the whistle of the kettle and the clink of glass and china.

“Aye, they were bad times,” Johanna said, her eyes still shut. “Much knowledge was lost.”

“And they were no‟ the days to be seeking after such skills,” Dedrie said, unscrewing a lid. “I was lucky to be under the protection o‟ the laird and no‟ accused o‟ witchcraft myself, as anyone who grew herbs and plants for healing often were.”

Johanna opened her eyes, glancing over at Dedrie with warm sympathy. The skeelie was pouring boiling water into the teapot. “Aye, it was brave o‟ ye. The people o‟ Fetterness were lucky.”

“Och, nay! Indeed, I was no‟ much o‟ a healer at first. Over time, though, I learned more and I think I helped a wee. I wish I could do more. Which is why I am here, ye see.” She hesitated, fumbling with the teapot, then turned and straightened up, squaring her shoulders. “The thing is, ma‟am, I‟m wishing to be learning more. The sorceress Nina, the one they call the nightingale, she says ye ken more about the arts o‟ healing than anyone. . . .”

BOOK: The Shining City
13.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Las mujeres que hay en mí by María de la Pau Janer
Chase (Chase #1) by M. L. Young
Depraved 2 by Bryan Smith
Extraordinary by Nancy Werlin
Absence of Grace by Warner, Ann