The Witches of Eileanan (16 page)

Meghan found it much easier to swing herself down the tall steps than it had been to clamber up them, and so she was in good heart by the time she reached the bottom. The statues that guarded the arch were also in much better condition, sheltered by the high walls of the crater, and so she took the opportunity to study them carefully. They were superb works of sculpture, showing every rib and claw of the dragons' wings. She could almost believe they were real dragons, turned to stone by some great act of magic.

The cobbled road continued on past the wide, green loch and led to an identical archway at the foot of the opposite cliff. Meghan realized that there must also be a Great Stairway leading to the lands of the north, where the wild snow-dwelling tribes lived. She knew of the savage tribes, one having traveled to the Towers to study a few years before the Burning. He had flown to Lucescere on the back of a dragon, causing a sensation among the witches since dragons were notoriously hostile to humans and did not take kindly to being ridden. Before the dragon-lord had arrived, the witches had thought the stories of the snow-dwellers were merely tales of the imagination, for Tirlethan—as the land on the other side of Dragonclaw was named—was so inhospitable no one lived there except frost giants and blizzard owls.

Taking a deep breath, Meghan stepped out between the statues and onto the road. The smallest and youngest of the dragons slithered out of the loch, water streaming off his golden hide. He said nothing, but paced along beside her, dwarfing her with his sinuous length. One by one the other dragons followed suit, until Meghan's tiny form was surrounded on all sides by the great bronze bodies, their wings folded along their sides. Meghan, trying without success to control the fear their silent presence inspired in her, gripped her staff tightly and concentrated on examining the crater. Its walls rose high and sheer around the loch, zigzagged by the Great Stairway at the northern and southern ends. The loch filled most of the valley floor, with steam writhing above it, pale and ghostlike. In one side of the crater yawned seven great caverns, but unlike the caves which lined the walls of Meghan's valley, these were not natural. Shaped in a perfect arch and surrounded by intricate carvings, they were obviously built by whomever had made the Great Stairway.

The road led past the seven caverns, with wide, circular steps leading up to the greatest of the caves, the one in the center. The smallest of the dragons lead her up the steps, stepping daintily and apparently not noticing how awkward the high steps were for Meghan. Within the carved cave entrance was a wide roadway, curving down in a steep spiral so that Meghan could not see the end, and lit only at the entrance so that the heavily carved walls sank into gloom. Another dragon crouched within the shadows, his hide glimmering. Meghan bowed to it but said nothing, her breath coming fast in her throat.

Greetings again, witch,
the older dragon said in contemptuous tones.
I
see thou hast returned despite my warning.

Greetings, lordly one. May your bed always be warm, your skies always blue.

May thou live to see another dawn,
he replied urbanely, twitching his tail. He then led the way, pacing like a war-charger, his great head raised proudly.

Meghan followed, looking about her with amazement. The roof of the cavern was many hundreds of feet above her, smoothed into an arch and painted into the semblance of the sky, with moons and stars, comets and planets all gilded and jeweled so they glittered. The curving walls were carved like the trees of a great forest, the leaves and branches filled with the peering faces of animals and fairies, some as beautiful as a dream, others grinning wickedly. Soon it became so dark Meghan could not see, so she lit a witch light and set it at the head of her staff so she could see her way. Lit only by the faint blue light the faces seemed alive, winking at her as she passed.

The procession of dragons slowly descended into the mountain, the old witch in their midst, the taste of fear like steel in her throat. Gitâ, curled tightly into a ball, shivered in her pocket. Lost in shadows, the dragons were mere shape and sound—claws clicking on stone, wing and scale rustling, the hum of their breathing that seemed to swell and deepen the lower they descended. At last Meghan approached the end of the downward spiraling ramp and peered through the gloom, apprehension beginning to overwhelm her. The air smelled of smoke and sulphur, and the great cavern was filled with a sound like the sea, except the sea was many weeks' journey away. The sound came and went in billows like waves on a pebbly beach.

Meghan edged her way forward, hearing the dragons spreading out behind her. Beneath her feet were great flagstones, hollowed by centuries of dragons pacing, and massive round pillars supported the vaulted ceiling. Suddenly light sprang up in torches attached high to the wall in ornate brackets. The shadows shrank and fled, and the dragons' bright hides glowed. Their silhouettes, thrown against the walls, looked like a host of even greater dragons, lifting hooked wings and writhing tails in harmony with the dragons pacing forward below.

At the far end of the cavern was a set of shallow stairs that lead up to a wide dais piled high with treasures of all kinds—swords and cups and rings and statues—jeweled clasps and strings of pearls, all covered in dust and tarnished so that only here and there did gold gleam in the dancing light. The rhythmic roar grew louder, and Meghan's heart beat erratically, her fingers clenched on the staff. Between the mounds of treasure, she saw a great clawed foot, as high as her head. She lifted her staff and spread the witch light out higher and higher, at last seeing the great mound of the shoulder, taller than any tree. At her first sight of the great queen-dragon, Meghan felt her knees tremble and she fell to the ground, shaking with awe and terror. The queen was a dark bronze-green, and far larger than the others, the arch of her back hidden in shadows. Her great eyes were shut, her massive angular head resting between her front claws, her tail writhing out over the steps and along the wall. It was the sound of her breathing that filled the hall with the sonorous roar that came and went in great rushing billows. Meghan's skirt undulated behind her, the tendrils of hair that escaped from her plait blowing in the warm, sulphurous breeze of the dragon's breath.

At last Meghan gained the courage to look up, trying to control the clenching of her bowels and the trembling of her limbs. Looming through the flickering light were five other dragons, their hides a burnished green, their heads alone as large as a crofter's cottage. They were curled around mounds of treasure, in a loose half circle around the queen, their great unblinking eyes shining in the dim light. Dragon-fear washed over her in waves. If she could have moved, she would have run, but her body refused to respond to her panicked thoughts, and so for a long time the witch crouched, her arms crossed over her head.

At last Meghan's trembling eased a little, and she glanced up again, realizing as she did so that the male dragons had gathered at her back, and that they too knelt, their wings folded along their sides. There was a long silence, and then slowly the wrinkled lid rolled back and the queen-dragon looked at Meghan.

There was no looking away. The bright eye caught and held Meghan's, and she felt a great rushing, as if the world was falling away. Again time seemed to unravel, so that she saw stars wheeling in their heavens, the passing of seasons as forests bloomed and shriveled, the race of disintegrating clouds over skies that darkened and grew bright in moments. Flesh fell away from bones, the bones decayed into dust, grass sprung through, and all the while overhead the wheeling sun chased clouds across a flaming sky. She saw her own life, saw it in the space of a heartbeat—all the long years, her triumphs, sorrows and contentments sliding past and disappearing—felt herself unravel and blow away.

Thin and bright as a burning wire, she was floating somewhere beyond time. A voice spoke in her mind, and at the sound her whole being thrummed as if she was the string of a clarsach stroked by a minstrel's fingers.

Meghan of the Beasts, I am surprised indeed to see thee,
the voice said.
I
had thought thou were wise for a human. What folly is it that brings thee here?

Meghan felt like weeping.
I am . . . sorry.

Twice thou hast crossed our command. We do not like our will to be crossed.

Meghan tried to remember why she had come, what it was she wanted, but all she could do was stare into the mother-dragon's blazing eye and watch cities be built and destroyed, seas rise and disappear into abysses, mountains spout fire and crumble into dust.

My son tells me thou hast brought gifts. Show me.

Obediently Meghan brought out her rings and laid them on the ground before the dragon, though she was unable to tear her gaze away.

I
do not think this is all,
the dragon said, and Meghan felt her hand slip into her pocket and bring out her great emerald, flashing with green fire, and the opal, sorceress ring of spirit. With a pang of loss she laid her sorceress rings on the ground with the others.

Where is thy moonstone, sorceress?

I gave it to my apprentice, Isabeau, when she passed her Test, as is fitting.

Ah, so little Isabeau is now a fledgling witch.
The dragon seemed to sigh in satisfaction.
Her mother would be pleased.

I believe she was,
Meghan said boldly.
She seemed pleased.

The dragon's eye widened, and Meghan felt the world spin and topple. Time rushed past in a burst of sparks, and for an instant she saw the pattern the Spinners were weaving and found it terrible. Then the insight was lost and the world steadied. She still stared into the dragon's eye, but saw now only its vast rough color and the flare of torches and vault of pillar reflected back to her, and her own tiny dark form. With the steadying of the visions came a steadying of her resolve.

Indeed, thou art not only wise for a human but clever,
the dragon said.
So thou hast guessed the secret of Isabeau 's birth. Did she not give thee a ring in return, as is the custom of witches?

Meghan felt sorrow pierce her. Reluctantly she slipped her hand into her pouch and took out the simple moonstone ring that Isabeau had made for her. The loss of this ring hurt even more than that of her sorceress rings for it had been made and given with love.

The massive old dragon smiled, flickering a forked blue tongue as long as Meghan herself, though slender and supple as a snake.
It is the gifts which come hard that we appreciate the most,
she purred.

With a pain around her heart Meghan watched her rings as they were gathered up in the dragon's great claw and flicked away into the mound of treasure. Each of those tiny rings had been worked and longed for, won with years of patience and study, and worn with pride. It was hard to see them disappear into a dusty corner of a dragon's hall, just part of a pile of the treasures of ages.

So I was right?
Meghan asked, determined now to extract information to the equal weight of those hard-won witch rings.
Isabeau is Ishbel's bairn?

Indeed, she is. Well puzzled out, sorceress.
There was a trace of amusement in the mother-dragon's mind-voice.

Ye forget Ishbel was my apprentice at the time o' the Day o' Betrayal,
Meghan said coldly.
I ken she was with babe and I ken she escaped the Burning for I made sure she did.

And so, my clever little witch, dost thou know who her father was?

I remember her lover, the red-haired warrior from Tirlethan. Khaghard was his name.

And what dost thou know of Khan'gharad, Dragon-Lord, Scarred Warrior of the Fire-Dragon Pride?

Meghan spoke slowly, picking her words carefully and making sure she now pronounced his name correctly.
Khan'gharad came to the Tower o' Two Moons many years ago, when the Coven o' Witches was at the height o' its power. He said he came to learn from us, saying he had mastered all that his country's wise ones could teach him and he wanted more. He was, I remember, particularly interested in dragon lore, and so I arranged for him to be apprenticed to a warlock named Feld, a witch who had devoted much time to this study. My former apprentice Tabithas the Keybearer having long outgrown me, I had taken on Ishbel as my apprentice. She and Khan'gharad met and became lovers, despite my concern over the disruption to both their studies. Yet young people are young people, even witches, and so soon I was both pleased and dismayed to learn Ishbel was with babe.

For a moment memories threatened to overwhelm her and as if in mockery of her pain, she saw again in the queen-dragon's eye the burning of the Tower, the execution of the witches there, the escape of Ishbel and herself. Overcome with weeping, she dropped her face into her hands. Still the visions continued, though, and she saw the final confrontation with Maya the Ensorcellor, and the death of Khan'gharad at her own hands.

I
had to,
Meghan sobbed.
I
had no choice, it was our lives or theirs. I did no' mean to kill him, I did no' ken ...
Then she stopped, for even in her grief she could not lie, and she had known Khan'gharad was held by the Banrìgh, even as she ordered the earth to break open beneath their feet and swallow them. She had killed Khan'gharad, her apprentice's lover, in her blood-lust to destroy the Banrìgh, and she had never forgiven herself.