The Witches of Eileanan (50 page)

The corridors were nearly all lit with strong-smelling torches that were placed sporadically along the way and could burn for days without being replaced. As they all argued, the torch nearest to them suddenly went out and they were plunged into darkness. Immediately a scared hush fell over the band of thieves. Tomas sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

The thieves were whispering, "Wha' should we do? Where are we? We're lost!"

To Tomas's surprise a finger touched his hand briefly, then withdrew. A voice said in his mind,
"come, lad."

"Ceit Anna?" he whispered.

"None other. Come."

"Wha' about the others?" he said. At his words, the thieves had fallen silent and although he could not see them, he could feel them staring in his direction.

"What do I care about a gaggle of thieves? Come."

"Please, Ceit Anna, I canna leave them."

The nyx sighed, and Tomas felt her leaning over him.
"Very well, but only because the guards are close, and they have lights and I do no' like the light. Bring them if you wish."

Tomas took the nyx's hand, and he felt a shudder go through her at his touch. His hand was still bare, the gauntlet tucked in his pocket with the kitten, who had been miaowing pitifully for sometime now.

"Take my hand, Scruffy," Tomas commanded. "She canna bear the light so we mun go in darkness."

"Who? Wha' are ye talking about?"

"A ... friend. She will help us get free. Trust her, she likes the guards less than any o' ye."

And so, linked by hand, the long line of prisoners made their escape through the endless tunnels of darkness. Again and again one of the thieves' courage would fail and the line would halt while arguments went on, but each time the nyx said indifferently in her dry-leaf whispery voice, "Leave them. They will die in these tunnels, but no one will care," and each time the thief would hastily grasp someone's hand again and on they would go.

It was many hours before the nyx at last halted, and said to Tomas,"
We are under the great square. If they climb up into the sewers they should be able to find their way out."

Tomas told Scruffy, who told Culley behind him, and so the word passed down the line. Most of the thieves obeyed the nyx, and scrambled up one of the great pipes, thanking Tomas over and over again, bowing to him, and kissing the edge of his cloak. "It was no' me, it was Ceit Anna who got us out," he said tiredly, but the thieves were too afraid to even try to see the nyx through the gloom.

Scruffy, the old man and his daughter, Culley, the black-haired giant, and a handful of others stayed.

"Do no' send us away, my laird," the old man said. "Your magic is a wonderful thing. We would stay wi' ye and have ye tell us wha' ye wish us to do."

Tomas was only seven years old, and very tired and hungry. He clung to Ceit Anna's hand and could think of nothing to say. Scruffy took it upon himself to answer. "Ye can hang round if ye want, but do no' be expecting him to touch ye again. He's worn out!"

The nyx bent and whispered in Tomas's ear. "Jorge is waiting for ye in my cavern. Once he told me what had happened, I came to find ye. It is lucky ye took off your glove, for otherwise I might no' have been able to follow ye. No one knows these tunnels like I do."

The old seer did not scold Tomas, just gathered him in his arms, hugged him tight, fed him milk and porridge, and put him to bed. While the little boy slept, the kitten curled up at his side, Jorge spoke to the remaining thieves, and his words resounded. He spoke of how a winged rìgh was coming, how the Lodestar would be saved, and a new era of peace and enlightenment would dawn on the land.

"But the Lodestar was destroyed in the Day o' Reckoning!" the old thief's daughter cried.

"It was no'. It was saved by Meghan NicCuinn and hidden until such a day could come when it might be used again. The Lodestar shall again protect the people o' Eileanan. Magic shall again be revered and used for the good o' the people."

By the time Tomas woke at noon, hungry again and eager to see Jorge, the thieves had gone to spread the word through the city. Only Scruffy remained, Jed curled up on his lap chewing a strip of dried meat. "Your auld man let me stay," he said jubilantly. "I'm to travel wi' ye!"

They spent the afternoon resting and preparing for the next stage of their journey. Scruffy had reluctantly given back Tomas's boots, and had bound his feet up in rags in an attempt to protect them from the stones of the road. Jorge took the kitten back to its mother and returned with a leather satchel full of supplies donated by the chandler's wife, which made Scruffy's eyes widen in excited anticipation. Jorge was looking worried, for the streets had been filled with blue-clad city soldiers, searching for the escaped thieves, and a "lad, fair, charged with the foul practice o' witchcraft." The Guild of Seekers had also mobilized, causing the old man's face to furrow up like crumpled paper.

Jorge had planned on slipping out of the city the way they had come, mingling with the crowds of people crossing the Bridge of Seven Arches before Lucescere's gates shut at sunset. The legions of soldiers marching the streets and guarding the gates and the great crowds of excited citizens made this plan impossible, however, and he racked his brains trying to think of an alternative plan. The Ban-Bharrach and the Muileach Rivers were too fierce to be crossed without the bridges, and the only other way out of the city was through the palace grounds, far too risky to be attempted.

Seeing the worried expression on the old man's face, Scruffy cheerfully asked what was eating his goat. Absentmindedly Jorge explained his problem, only to have the freckle-faced lad grin and say, "Och, no need to fraitch yourself. That be no problem. We'll slip out the Thieves' Way." In answer to Jorge's question, Scruffy explained that the thieves had to have a secret way to come and go without the soldiers knowing, and that as the son of Adair the Bold, he naturally knew the way. "Me and the gang'll help ye, master," he said.

So, rather reluctantly, Jorge agreed to put himself and Tomas into Scruffy's very grubby hands. Leaning on his gnarled staff and holding Tomas's gauntleted hand tightly, he followed the beggar boy out into the crowded slums and was perturbed to hear the ragged cheer that rose up from the throng. Crowds gathered behind them, calling blessings on their heads and reaching out to touch Tomas. Small gifts of flowers, cakes, bundles of scented candles and skins of wine were thrust into their hands, and mothers held out babies for Tomas to touch. The little boy clung close to Jorge's side, but Scruffy swaggered boldly, exchanging ribald comments with the crowd and waving to those he knew.

Soon a ragged band of children was swarming round them, saluting Scruffy and asking for news. Jay, the most able of Scruffy's lieutenants, began to play on his fiddle, and the discreet withdrawal which Jorge had planned turned into a procession of laughing, dancing, shouting townsfolk. Stout matrons and thin whores waltzed together on the muddy cobblestones; bellfruit sellers dropped their great flat baskets and danced jigs, their legs bare and hairy under their bright robes; a crippled beggar hopped wildly on his one good foot, waving his twisted stick and knocking off a plump merchant's tam-o'-shanter; children sang hastily composed rhymes of winged warriors and healing hands.

The procession wound its way through the muddy alleyways, torches hissing in the constant gray drizzle. Resigned, Jorge shrugged, clutched his rag of a blanket closer around his shoulders, and limped along, his dirty beard flapping in the wind. There was nothing he could do but trust in Scruffy's gang to alert them to any soldiers and to hide them in the crowds. Besides, it did his old heart good to hear Lucescere singing the praises of witches again. Lucescere had always been proud of its magical heritage, the one-time home of the MacCuinn clan, the most powerful family of witches in the land.

Jorge heard the sound of marching feet before his ragged guide did, but even as he reached forward to grip Scruffy's shoulder in fear, the beggar boy had begun deploying his troops. Jay the fiddler boy kept marching forward, playing his violin with such skill and passion that the townsfolk kept dancing and singing in his train without realizing their hero, the little boy with the sky-blue eyes, was no longer with them.

Scruffy pulled back a grubby curtain and ushered Jorge and Tomas through, as two boys promptly began to play knucklebones in front of it, hiding their passage. As the soldiers ran into the square, a crowd of small, very dirty children ducked and weaved about their feet. A few of the soldiers staggered, and one almost fell, grabbing hold of a pile of crates to steady himself and bringing them crashing to the ground, spilling their contents across the mud. All was confusion, and by the time the saighdear had sorted out his troops and begun questioning the crowd, there was no sign of the blind beggar with the raven on his shoulder, nor of the little boy the soldiers were seeking so desperately.

The Baron of Lucescere had put a high price on the head of the Lad with the Healing Hands, once the stories racing round Lucescere had reached his ears. Worse, he had threatened his soldiers with a whipping and a severe cut in their pay unless the source of all the rumors was tracked down quickly. Baron Renton knew that his rule over Lucescere was tenuous, and only maintained with great brutality and the excellence of his spies. Lucescere had been a trouble spot since the Day of Reckoning, filled with witch-lovers and rebels who worked constantly to undermine his protector the Banrìgh Maya, and therefore him. Sixteen years of harsh rule and the public burning of any witches found had done little to cement his domination, and the Baron knew the boy's so-called miracles would be enough to cause an open uprising. Not only would he then lose the life of luxury and power he enjoyed so much, but any failure on his part would not please the Banrìgh, and he knew he must keep pleasing her at all costs.

So, despite all Scruffy's diversions and tricks, it was a hard chase through the narrow alleys of the slums, soldiers seemingly around every corner. Once or twice they were sighted and the chase grew fierce, Jorge having to pick up his ragged robes and run. Once he only escaped after diving through the half open door of a carriage-way, Scruffy slamming it shut and bolting it behind them so that the soldiers had to use their shoulders to break it down. By the time the door was smashed through, the alley beyond was empty, though if the soldiers had thought to look up they might have seen a small bare foot disappearing over the edge of the gutter as Scruffy chivied his charges over the rooftops. Another time Jesyah was almost spitted on a spear after dive-bombing the soldiers as they emerged into an open square. Distracted by the flurry of black feathers and the raucous screeching of the raven, the soldiers failed to see an old man tapping his way round a corner, a mangy puppy at his heels. Instead, the soldiers hurried in a different direction, tricked by the sound of running footsteps that turned out to be merely two beggar children playing.

By now Scruffy had led them down into the poorest part of the city, the huddle of shacks and shanties built into the side of the cliff below the waterfalls. Here the roar of the Shining Waters was so loud Scruffy had to yell to be heard, and their clothes were dampened by the constant spray. The uncobbled pathways were knee-deep in mud, and they made their way across the reeking slime by stepping on unsteady bridges made by broken planks and stones. Here there were no singing crowds, no gifts of bread and wine. Thin girls huddled in corners, coughing and hiding their bruised faces behind filthy rags. Men with scarred faces that caused Tomas's heart to race with fear peered from doorways and fingered notched daggers before melting away. The puppy Jed kept up a low growl in his throat, causing Scruffy to bend and stroke his black-patched head. In several places the water roared down right past them and they had to cling to the slimy cliff wall to avoid being swept away. Far below them was the loch, while above the dark cliff loomed over them, broken by the white rushes of water. The air smelled foul, and Tomas kept his gloved hand clapped tight over his mouth.

"Where are ye taking us?" Jorge asked, his voice trembling a little. Although he too had grown up on the streets of Lucescere, he had rarely been in this part of the city, known as a cesspool of disease and crime. Only those who wanted to hire a cut-throat or arrange for the burning down of a rival's warehouse would venture here, and even then they would hire one of the Guild of Thieves as a go-between in preference to braving these streets themselves.

"Ye'll see," Scruffy answered, then embarrassed, said, "I mean .. . ye'll find out soon enough."

Once or twice they were accosted, and each time Scruffy, his voice shrill with fear, cried, "In the name o' Adair the Bold and the King o' Thieves, let me through," and each time they were allowed to pass. By now the key members of Scruffy's gang had caught up with them—the thin-legged Jay who had played the fiddle so beautifully, a lass called Finn who called out cheerful insults to the men lurking in the shadows, the two freckled lads who had played knucklebones, and a younger boy, only about nine years old, who hung close to Scruffy's shoulder. They came and went like shadows, reporting to Scruffy who would then send them off on yet another errand, to return five or ten minutes later with another summary of the location of soldiers or witch-sniffers.