The Witches of Eileanan (42 page)

They shot out into another big square filled with people and Isabeau had to rein Lasair in sharply or risk killing someone. Across the square a man driving a gaudy caravan raised his hand and she thought she heard her name being called, but hot on her heels were two Red Guards, both young and both relishing the chase. Isabeau kicked Lasair on, trying to weave through the crowd, looking everywhere for some means of escape. A hand came up and gripped her reins and she caused the leather to burst into flame, so the soldier dropped them with a yell. A spear came whizzing toward her and only her training saved her, her hand coming up and deflecting it away into a wall.

She was trapped now, her back to the wall, only Lasair's flailing hooves keeping away the guards with their long spears. And Isabeau was very tired, barely able to keep her seat, blood seeping from the wound between her eyes, and her injured hand throbbing sickeningly. She made one last valiant effort, kicking Lasair forward in a great surge of speed, but the young Red Guard spurred his horse forward and the stallion slammed into its bulk. Isabeau lost her balance and lurched out of the saddle, the paving stones rushing up to meet her.

When Isabeau was slapped into consciousness, it was sunset. She was lying on a wooden landing place in a puddle of cold water, while mist wreathed about them and the waters of the loch rocked against the jetty.

"I wanted ye to ken what was happening," the seeker hissed into Isabeau's face. "Ye thought to make a laughing stock o' me!" And she slapped Isabeau hard, so her head snapped back onto the wooden floor.

There was a crowd of people about, including the young laird looking scared, and the great bulk of Blyn, his face still covered with the sinister black hood. Isabeau was so dazed and in such pain from her injuries that she hardly registered what was happening. She was half pushed, half carried to the edge of the jetty, the waters below black, obscured by the drifting mist.

Long speeches were made, but Isabeau did not register a word, just stood dully, staring into the fast-dropping darkness. Suddenly there was a cry, and everyone scurried back from the edge.

"It comes!" the laird cried, half in excitement, half in dread.

Isabeau looked up blearily to see a great sinuous neck, topped by a tiny head, approaching fast through the pale tendrils of mist. The head moved this way and that, as if smelling the air, and everyone screamed and ran off the jetty, except Isabeau, bound hand and foot, the grim-faced seeker in her red robes, and the hooded executioner. The serpent of the loch had arrived.

In fascination Isabeau stared up at it, then she was pushed hard, between the shoulderblades, and she fell, the dark waters closing over her head with a swirl.

Maya the Banrìgh

The Banrìgh sat at the long ornate table, crumbling her bread and nodding her head in agreement to what the laird beside her was saying. The Prionnsa of Blèssem and Aslinn, Alasdair MacThanach, was protesting the cessation of trade with the other islands in the archipelago, but his words seemed to have no effect on the Rìgh, who stared morosely into the dregs of his wineglass. Maya touched his elbow with her arm, but he took no notice, and so Maya was forced to answer the laird herself, something she was always loath to do.

She knew the laird of the MacThanach clan was concerned about how he was to sell the yields of his rich fields after he harvested in late autumn. Traditionally, the land of Blèssem shipped its grains and fruits round Eileanan's coastline to the other countries and across the eastern seas to their neighboring islands. Eileanan had a monopoly on grains such as wheat, corn and barley because, according to the old stories, the seeds for such crops had been brought to this planet by the First Coven, and were not native to the islands.

As she spoke the soothing words he desired, she saw the Prionnsa of Carraig, Linley MacSeinn lean over and mutter something into the ear of his neighbor. Maya regarded him thoughtfully. Although she could not hear what he said, she could guess he had said something scathing about the loss of the sea witches. The Yedda of Carraig had been for centuries the only weapon the islanders had against the Fairgean, having the power to mesmerize the sea people with song. However, the destruction of the Tower of Sea-Singers in Carraig had meant there were no Yedda left to sing the trading ships to safety. It was for this reason that the merchants no longer dared set sail from the shores of Eileanan, for outside the rocks of the harbors the Fairgean waited.

"Ye have a solution to our problem, MacSeinn?" she asked, and had the satisfaction of seeing him blanch.

"No, no, Your Highness," he answered. "Though I still no' have word from His Highness about the Fairgean's invasion o' my lands. It has been four years syne I fled here, and nothing has been done!"

"Rest assured, the Rìgh is no' idle," Maya responded and wished her husband would wipe the foolish smile off his face and take note of the conversation. "His Highness has sent more scouts into Carraig, as ye ken. We have no' yet heard news, but it has been a long and snowy winter, and the mountains have been impassable. Now that the Time of Flowers is here, happen we may receive some news." She turned back to her barely touched meal, but the laird of the MacSeinn clan was not satisfied.

"It has been four years, Your Highness! Four years since my clan had to flee our land because o' the foul, murdering
uile-bheistean!
I want to ken when the Rìgh is going to raise the navy and drive them back to the sea where they belong!"

A red tide of anger filled Maya's ears and eyes. She glared at the loud-mouthed laird and hissed, "We canna send out the navy for the same reason the merchant ships loll at anchor in the harbor! The seas are thick with Fairgean, who would hole and sink the ships as soon as the sight o' land falls away!"

"If the Yeddas were still alive, this would never have happened," blurted out Lord MacSeinn's young son, and immediately went fiery red as sharply indrawn breaths were heard all round the great table. The Prionnsa of Carraig went quite pale, for what he might mutter to his friends and family was not safe to repeat at the Rìgh's own table. Jaspar seemed not to have heard, however, and although Maya's instinctive reaction was to have the whole MacSeinn clan thrown into the dungeons, she controlled her temper. If Jaspar had not reacted to the treasonous statement, she could not exert her power so publicly as to arrest one of the island's great prionnsachan and his family. She gave the young lad an admonishing glance, and Lord MacSeinn a warning one, before returning her attention to her plate.

On her other side the Rìgh sat slumped in his chair, staring at his untouched meal and sighing at something only he could hear. Maya kicked him with her foot, aware of the curious glances of the court that ate and drank and whispered poisonous gossip all around them. He did not seem to notice. She sighed. It was becoming harder and harder to reach him, when once he had hung on her every word. He seemed to be retreating into a twilight world, where only his childhood memories and the far distant song of the Lodestar had any meaning for him. The tangled affairs of the court and country, the vying for position among the lairds and minor prionnsachan, the return of the Fairgean, none of this seemed to concern him anymore. The Rìgh was happy to leave everything to his wife, but it did not suit Maya to rule so openly. She worked best in secrecy and subterfuge, in planting a suggestion here and a hint there. And now that the many threads she had spun over the past sixteen years were slowly twisting together, Maya would have liked to be free of such petty matters as the merchants' fears, the weavers' taxes and why young children were being snatched out of their beds at night, never to be seen again. Maya was particularly vexed at the moment by many of the lairds insisting on keeping their young with them, even at the high table. The outbreak earlier by the young MacSeinn would never have happened if people were not so foolishly troubled by the tales of ghosts that came at night and silently spirited away their young. He should have eaten at the lower tables, as did all the other pages!

Maya did not feel well. The heat was bothering her as it never had before, the roast pork made her queasy, and the drone of voices made her head ache. Anxiety was always with her, a knife blade twisting beneath her breastbone, and sometimes she longed for the dim peace of a country farm wife, with nothing to worry about but the crop and her husband's moods. As she sighed again, and dropped her uneaten bread back on the plate, her elbow suddenly slipped, falling onto the edge of her plate so her entire meal was tipped into her lap, splattering both the laird on her left and the Rìgh on her right with gravy. Maya almost betrayed herself with a most unbanrìgh-like curse, but caught herself in time, smiling and making some light comment about her clumsiness, before getting up and leaving the room.
Some blasted witch bad-wishing me again,
she thought, and knew she must be distracted indeed to allow such a small thing to slip under her guard. Normally Maya could turn the bad-wishes of the witches away without any effort, but now her belly was swelling with the babe, she was feeling so unwell and so preoccupied, it seemed they were slipping under her guard all the time. For the past few months, ever since the comet had passed through the skies and she had enacted the Spell of Begetting, Maya had been dropping things, bumping her hip, stubbing her toes, spilling sauces, knocking over ornaments, and tripping over her skirts. It seemed as if every witch in the country must be bad-wishing her!

Suddenly Maya's eyes narrowed, and she wondered if she had inadvertently stumbled across the truth. Perhaps the thrice-cursed witches could read the omens in the sky as well as Sani could. Maybe they knew that all her plans were only now coming to a head, that soon—if all went as planned—the land would once again belong to her people, and all these humans would be slaves.

When she came into her quarters, her servant was waiting for her, her pale eyes snapping with impatience. "Thank Jor ye've come at last, Maya. What have ye done to your dress—more bad-wishing? Canna ye rid us o' these pesky witches?"

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Maya grumbled, stripping off the food-stained skirt and throwing it on the floor. Then her eyes brightened. "Sani, ye should really try no' to swear by the god o' all the seas! Imagine if someone should hear ye!"

Sani shot her a venomous glance and opened her mouth to retort, only to shut it again for, really, there was nothing she could say. She had castigated Maya many a time for exactly the same thing.

Feeling much better, Maya finished undressing and slipped into the pool in the center of the room. "Careful!" Sani warned sharply, but Maya was past caring. She had not been able to go down to the sea for several days, and felt as knotted up as a tangle of twine. She let the salt water lap against her parched skin and slowly let herself relax.

Sani clicked her tongue with anger, and locked the door. "I feel uneasy," she said. "Such chills have been running down my spine! I fear me something has gone wrong."

Maya rolled luxuriously, sending waves splashing over the edge of the sunken bath.

"So I have my Banrìgh's permission to use the mirror?" Sani said sarcastically, and Maya indicated that she did, too happy to be in the bath to take offense at the tone. The tiny old woman crossed the room, and unlocked a drawer in the tallboy that sat next to Maya's bed. Reverently she drew out an oval hand mirror, its handle sinuously shaped like the tail of some slender fish. She sat at the table, laying the mirror down carefully, and making a secret sign above it. For a long time she stared into its silver face, while Maya swam back and forth and wished for the sea. Then the old woman suddenly stiffened, and went pale. "Maya, Maya! The dragons! What will your father say?"

"What has happened?" Maya said, surfacing again.

"The dragons have retaliated. They have wiped out the entire legion o' guards we sent against them!"

Maya felt dread run through her, and sank back into the water, shivering. "Did the dragons . . . burn them?"

"I fear me, aye."

Suddenly Maya was angry. "But I thought they would no' attack the soldiers o' one o' their precious MacCuinns! We were assured they would no' attack! What o' their sacred pact? Did they try to take them by surprise? How can this have happened?" She thrashed from side to side, causing great spouts of water to splash into the room.

"I do no' ken," Sani said. "I focused in on the Seeker Thoth, but all I could see was smoke so I rose higher, and saw the pasture filled with the bodies o' t' slain, all charred and torn. Higher I rose, until I could see the battlefield, and there was a dragon, his nostrils still steaming, his chomps all bluidy, chewing on the body o' one o' your soldiers."

Revulsion shot through Maya, and with a flip she was out of the pool, water streaming from her sleek body. At that moment there was a knock on the door. "Quickly, my daughter," Sani ordered, and she carefully covered the mirror with a cloth and went to the door. Maya struggled to her feet, then wrapped herself in her bedgown before Sani opened the door.

"Why do ye interrupt the Banrìgh when she is bathing?" the old woman scowled.

The cook Latifa stood outside, holding a tray. "I be sorry, Mistress Sani, I just noticed our Banrìgh did no' eat any o' her dinner and thought happen she needed something to tempt her appetite and knowing how important it is she keep her strength up and all, I just—"