The Witches of Eileanan (5 page)

Tumbling through the door, Isabeau was immediately pierced by Meghan's black gaze, though the old woman seemed for all the world asleep in her chair by the fire. Isabeau skidded to a halt, suddenly conscious of her gray dress covered in dust and straw, her lost cap, her red curls tumbling out of their braids, the laughter and comments from the customers. Mortified, she crept back into a dim corner, tidying herself and trying to melt into the walls. That she was reasonably successful was shown by the return of the room's attention to the jongleurs, who were at a table in the corner playing dice with some of the customers— a fat man in a furred cloak, a tall, saturnine man with a squint, and a quiet man who hardly spoke. The minstrel had put away his guitar and was tucking into a big plate of stew, one hand around the waist of one of the maids, holding her securely in his lap.

The jongleurs' bright clothes and loud talk dominated the room, and Isabeau was able to compose herself without any more comment. Dide had crept into her corner with her, and she knew he did not want his father to realize he had not gone home as commanded. The two of them whispered and giggled together for a while, Isabeau careful to stay out of Meghan's sight.

It soon became clear the jongleur was winning, as he scraped piles of coins toward him with a laugh and a jest. "We'll eat tonight," Dide whispered, and Isabeau turned to him in shock. Despite their isolation from the rest of the world, Isabeau had always had enough to eat. She looked at Dide's thin arms and legs, and the shadow of a bruise on his temple. Maybe traveling from town to town, juggling and telling stories, was not such an exciting way to live after all.

As the night wore on, Isabeau grew sleepy again, and she and Dide curled up together by the fire, watching the gamblers and listening to the minstrel as he softly began to play again. The jongleur's run of luck did not continue— soon he was losing again, and Isabeau watched in concern as the pile of coins slowly sank.

"Well, that's enough for me," the fat man in the furred cloak said, yawning and pushing back his chair.

"Ye canna leave yet, man," the jongleur laughed. "I still have some coins to lose."

Isabeau was conscious of Dide's sigh, and was glad when the fat man shook his head and stood up.

"C'mon, man, one more throw. I'll stake everything I have left against all o' yours." The jongleur pushed forward his small pile of coins, idly flipping one up and down so it spun in the light.

The fat man was tempted. He watched the coin flash as it spun in the air, then nodded and sat back down again.

"Only one throw, mind ye," he warned, and the jongleur smiled and nodded, and tossed the coin onto the table.

The tension in the room mounted as the fat man emptied out his pouch so coins rolled across the table. He threw first and smiled with satisfaction at the dice came up with double banrìghs. For the first time the jongleur's face was shadowed. He cupped the dice in his hands for a moment, frowning; then, with a flick of his wrist, he threw. The dice spun in the air and fell, and leaning forward Isabeau watched them roll over the table and slow. It seemed as if the jongleur would lose so, without thinking, Isabeau pointed her finger and the dice rolled over one more time and settled on double rìghs. There was a sigh from all round the room. The jongleur laughed and swept up all the coins, and after a moment the fat man shrugged and walked away from the table. Isabeau settled back in her chair, conscious of Dide's puzzled gaze and the strong steady look of her guardian.

"How did ye do that?" Dide whispered. Isabeau said nothing, just tried to look as if she did not know what he meant. The jongleur too was staring at her with a calculating look on his face, and with dismay she realized that the other player, the quiet man with gray eyes, was also leaning forward over the table to watch her. In confusion, she slipped back to Meghan's side and was caught close to her, tucked up in her plaid so no one could see her.

"Foolish lass," Meghan whispered. "Let us hope ye've done no harm."

Peeping out from the shelter of Meghan's arm, Isabeau saw that the jongleurs were picking up their cloaks and preparing to leave, still talking and laughing, with Dide high on his father's back. The quiet man was standing in the shadows, his face thoughtful, while the minstrel tried to kiss the maid and the innkeeper clattered pewter mugs together as he cleared the table. As the jongleurs crowded out the door, Dide's father looked over to her and winked, and Dide himself waved a tentative goodbye, a puzzled expression still on his face.

Meghan waited until the inn was empty before getting to her feet, pushing Isabeau before her. "We must go," she said. "Get your things."

"Leaving, mistress?" a voice said from the shadows.

"It's late to be taking the wee lass out into the town. Do ye no' have a bed?"

Meghan turned slowly, her back bent almost double. "Och, thankee, kind sir," she said in a cracked whine. "But I mun take the wee lass home to her ma. I shouldna stayed so late but the fire be so warm . .."

"But surely ye do no' bide in these parts. I've never seen ye afore," the voice said, and the man moved forward a little so the dim light of the fire flickered across his face.

"Aye, sir," Meghan said in her cracked voice. "The Collene family has bided in these here parts for aye long year."

"But surely that red hair is no' what you'd expect to find in these parts," the man said smoothly, and Isabeau was conscious of a sudden fear.

"Och, the reds be from her granda," Meghan cackled. "He didna bide here. He came from the west to jump the fire; a good man he be, if a wee hasty. But ye mun excuse us, sir, the lassie's ma will be fraitchin'." And without waiting for an answer, she hobbled out of the door into the dark night beyond, then immediately picked up her skirts and ran nimbly across the courtyard and into the stable. "Hush, Beau," she cautioned. "Say nothing. Do no' move."

Obediently Isabeau crouched by her side; as the man came out the door in a hurry and paused, peering down the street as if to look for them. They watched in silence until at last he shrugged and went back inside; then Meghan shook at her skirts and dragged Isabeau to her feet. "Ye'll be fetching water and cutting wood for a month after this, lassie!"

Meghan then hustled Isabeau out of the town as quickly and unobtrusively as she could. Since Caeryla had only three gates set in its high stone walls, each guarded closely, this had involved slithering down a sewer and into the loch below. The misty loch of Caeryla was famous for its
uile-bheist,
a mysterious serpentlike creature which often snatched those unwary enough to stand on its shores or swim in its waters. They had therefore slipped into the loch with a fair amount of trepidation, even though Meghan's charm worked on most beasts, fairy or otherwise.

That night they walked until dawn, at last finding cover in the forests to the east. Meghan had still not allowed Isabeau to rest, even though it was Candlemas, and so Isabeau's eighth birthday. In the fresh dawn, she lit a fire, and the two of them performed the Candlemas rites as Isabeau had done every year since she was born. This year was different, though, for once the rites were completed, Meghan did not douse the fire and allow them to rest, but tested Isabeau on her witchcraft skills and knowledge. The tests went on for hours, despite Isabeau's exhaustion, and the little girl knew she was being punished for her demonstration of power in the inn. At last Meghan was satisfied, and allowed her to sleep, but Isabeau's dreams were filled with nightmares.

When she woke that afternoon, she found to her delight that the caravan of jongleurs had chosen the copse of trees to camp in as well. Dide was there, impatient for Isabeau to wake so they could play again, with his little sister Nina tumbling about the copse without a stitch of clothing on, her hair almost as red as Isabeau's. For seven days they stayed in the shelter of the forest, Isabeau having the time of her life with so many playmates. Meghan seemed to have made friends, too, with Dide's grandmother Enit, a frail woman with a hunched back and hands like claws, and a sweet, melodious voice. The two old women spent a great deal of time huddled over the fire, reading manuscripts and arguing about spells, or else disappearing into the woods with the grandmother's familiar, a blackbird with one white feather above his left eye.

Isabeau was surprised to discover Meghan and Enit knew each other from old days, before the Day of Betrayal, since the wood witch had not demonstrated any sign of recognition when they saw the jongleurs in Caeryla. Isabeau was used to Meghan's mysteries, though, and so she took advantage of her preoccupation to have the best fun she had ever had. At the end of the seven days, they made the long journey back to the secret valley, this time avoiding the Pass and its guard of soldiers, making the long detour along the Great Divide instead. Isabeau was heartbroken to leave Dide, and Meghan seemed sad to leave Enit, her face as grim and shadowed as Isabeau had ever seen it. So silent and unhappy was Meghan on the long journey back that Isabeau was afraid she was still angry at her. When Isabeau stammered out another apology, Meghan merely looked at her absently, and said, "Och, that's right. I'd forgotten," which merely alarmed Isabeau more, for Meghan never forgot a trespass.

It had been another year before she and Meghan again ventured out of the Sithiche Mountains, and never again had they gone any further south than the highlands.

With such happy memories of their last long journey, it was no wonder Isabeau was excited at the prospect of another. She had always hoped for another meeting with Dide, though all she could remember were bright black eyes and silly jokes. She smiled at the memory, then tried to compose herself to sleep. The last thought to cross her mind was that no doubt she would find out about her future in Meghan's own sweet time, and not a second before. Meghan had a way of keeping secrets that infuriated Isabeau, but no amount of wheedling or sulking would ever convince her to tell before she was ready.

When Isabeau woke, she lay still for a moment, wondering why she should have such a feeling of delightful anticipation. Then she remembered and her toes curled with pleasure. Bounding out of bed, she threw on her clothes and clattered down the stairs calling, "Time for a swim afore breakfast?"

Meghan, who hardly ever seemed to sleep, was stirring the porridge while Seychella leaned against the wall, chatting. "If ye're quick," her guardian replied. "Take Seychella, I'm sure she'd fain freshen up. And would ye mind taking the folding up with ye when ye go?"

Isabeau opened her mouth to protest, since she had intended just to slip out by the secret passage, by far the quickest way out to the loch. However, one glance from Meghan's black eyes was enough, and she said nothing.

Seychella gave a look of dismay. "Swimming!" she exclaimed. "Dinna ye hear the Fairgean be returning to the lochan?"

"I hardly think we need worry," Meghan said with a dryness in her voice that Isabeau knew well. "The Fairgean need salt water, no' fresh. Besides, no Fairge could leap that waterfall, and there's no other way in for them."

"Well, if ye be sure . .." The black-haired witch sounded doubtful, but she followed Isabeau up the ladder, helping to carry the load of clean washing Meghan passed them.

They squeezed out of the tiny trapdoor at the highest level and, hand over hand, crossed the rope-bridge that hung between the trees, Seychella laughing and joking about Meghan's obsession with secrecy. Isabeau only smiled. She was used to her guardian's idiosyncrasies and, though she often groaned at the inaccessibility of the tree house, knew it was a matter of safety. Even one of Meghan's books was enough to condemn them both to death, not to mention the crystal balls, the jars of herbs and powders, the ancient maps and precious oils. Magic was dangerous, the Rìgh said. Witches were evil, and use of the One Power strictly forbidden. Isabeau had herself seen the Rìgh's Decree Against Witchcraft painted on the front door of the mayor's house in Caeryla. She had heard how the Red Guards were still having witch-hunts through the countryside, dragging out any woman or man who was suspected of witchcraft and taking them back to Dùn Gorm for trial. Meghan was full of pity for those taken. "They could have no power, or only a wee, if they were taken so easily," she would say as they climbed the steep paths home. "A true witch would escape those bullies without even lifting a finger."

Isabeau had her first demonstration of the wind witch's power when Seychella lightly bounded to the ground from a branch of the tree, rather than clambering down the great length of the trunk as Isabeau had done. Isabeau, who had always thought herself as agile as a squirrel, had let herself down easily enough, even putting in a quick somersault to show off her strength and flexibility, but Seychella simply leaped off the branch, landing lightly some forty feet below.

"How did ye do that?" Isabeau demanded, but the witch only amused herself by calling the wind so it whipped Isabeau's long hair around her face and into her mouth.

The water of the loch was, as always, icy cold. Seychella floated on her back, staring up at Dragonclaw, her hair floating out behind her like a mass of weeds. "Meghan really has found herself a magic valley, has she no'?"

Isabeau was not quite sure what the witch meant, but she nodded, "It is bonny."

The witch looked over at her, and idly turned and swam a few strokes. "And ye were born here, were ye no' ?"