The Skull of the World (30 page)
Read The Skull of the World Online
Authors: Kate Forsyth
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #Contemporary, #Witches, #General
Maya was staring at her, leaning forward, her lips parted.
Isabeau continued: "I think, though, that the metaphor we o' the Coven use is a better one in some ways, for to think o' our lives as a ship is to imagine ourselves as solitary, our choices only affecting our own course. And that is simply no' true. Our lives, our fates, are like a thread woven into the fabric o' the whole world. It is quite unique, quite separate, yet totally interlaced with the destinies o' others. Pull out just one thread and the whole cloth unravels."
Maya was silent. Isabeau could see her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. "How can any o' ye ever act, if that is what ye believe?" she said at last, her voice husky. "Everything ye do would have such repercussions . . ."
"Aye, it does," Isabeau agreed. "Sometimes far beyond what we could ever have imagined. I once turned over a pair o' dice in a gambling game so that a friend o' mine should not go hungry that night. I am still being astonished by some o' the consequences o' that choice. Ye being here on this coral island is one o' its long-reaching effects. No' only o' the choices I made, o' course. Many o' the forces that drove ye here were unleashed by your own choices and by other people's—your father's, the Priestesses o' Jor, your husband's, Lachlan's . . ."
"Aye, I can see that," Maya said, a little tremor in her voice. "It is odd, thinking o' that. I wonder . . ."
"If ye would have done things differently had ye kenned? Maybe your present would be different if your past had been, but then again, maybe no'. Ye have told me yourself that ye were driven by forces beyond your control, the ambitions o' the priestesses and your father, the hatred against humans instilled in ye from birth. Happen it is true and ye could no' have made different choices along the way."
There was a long companionable silence, both women lost in their thoughts. Then Isabeau stirred. "Until now."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Happen it is time for ye to be making different choices now."
She felt Maya stiffen, withdraw. Isabeau said quickly, "I have been wondering . . ." She hesitated.
"I think it is time for ye and Bronwen to return to Eileanan."
Maya sat up straight, shooting her a furious glance. ''Are ye mad?"
"The boys and I are stuck here," Isabeau said. "We canna return to the mainland without your help. I have no way o' reaching my sister to tell her where we are, for I canna scry over the sea. It is too far for us to swim. We canna hail down a passing ship for if one did happen to sail past, it would be a pirate ship and they would kill us." And though she did not say this to Maya, Isabeau knew she could not transform into a bird to fly the distance for she had barely survived the last bout of sorcery sickness. It would be too dangerous for her to use her witchcraft for some time yet.
"And what would your loving brother-in-law do to us if we returned to Eileanan?" Maya said icily. "I would be lucky if I were hanged, for at least then I would escape being burned to fire, which is what he threatened to do to me if he ever caught me! And what about Bronwen? Ye were the one who took her and fled Lucescere in fear o' what he might do to her, his own niece."
"Aye, but Lachlan is aulder now and no' so afraid o' losing his throne," Isabeau argued. "And it ye were the one to help restore his son and heir to him, he would no' be so quick to condemn ye. Besides, the Fairgean threat has grown worse every year. Ye would be able to advise him on how best to overcome them ..."
Maya laughed harshly. "Och, ye are a simpleton! Once the u
ile-bheist
had me in his clutches and his wee son safe in his mother's arms, do ye think he would care that I had aided in returning him there? I think I must ken him better than ye! He hates me, I tell ye, hates me with a passion."
"Ye should no' call him
uile-bheist,"
Isabeau protested. "Lachlan is no monster! Indeed, he has ruled wisely and kindly since he won the throne, and though he has his black moods, ye canna blame him when ye think what he went through as a lad, his father and all three o' his brothers being murdered and he himself being turned into a blackbird! It canna have been easy to have adjusted to life as a man again, and as a hunted outlaw instead o' a beloved prionnsa."
Maya opened her mouth to say something scathing but Isabeau went on impetuously, "Besides, all that was your doing, Maya. Ye transformed him and his brothers into blackbirds and set your blaygird priestess hawk to hunt them down, and ye ensorcelled his eldest brother and sucked him dry o' all his power and vitality until he was dead, and ye were the one who ordered all those witches to be burned to death. Lachlan is justified in hating ye! And ye are bitter and resentful because ye have lost your power and wealth and the adoration o' your people and are now exiled on this wee island. Well, ye are here because o' all that ye chose to do. It is time for ye to accept the consequences. Ye canna hide for the rest o' your life—"
Maya stood up abruptly. "And who says I intend to?" she sneered. "Was no' Bronwen declared the rightful heir by my husband the righ on his deathbed and proclaimed banrigh? There are still those who mutter against the rule o' the Winged Pretender."
"Who?" Isabeau cried. "I canna see any on this wee island."
But Maya had turned and strode off into the night, leaving Isabeau alone and much troubled in heart and mind.
And still I make the same mistakes, too quick to speak and too quick to argue,
she thought ruefully.
When will
I
learn?
The companionship which had grown up between Isabeau and Maya was replaced by a silence that seemed to reverberate with hostility and suspicion. Although they remained polite to each other, both were preoccupied with their own thoughts and worries.
The days passed and gradually Isabeau's strength returned. She began to think her only recourse was to leave the boys on the island while she resumed the shape of a swan and flew in search of help. Not only was she eager to let everyone know they were safe, she was anxious indeed about the pirate ships sailing in search of the royal fleet, for despite all her efforts, Isabeau had been able to cripple only a few of the pirate vessels. However, she did not dare risk changing shape, not only because of the sickness, but because she was loath to leave the boys in Maya's care while she was gone. What would the Fairge do if she knew Isabeau would be returning to the island with Lachlan and his men?
It would be terribly dangerous for Maya to try and flee to another island. As the days grew warmer the seas would fill with the migrating Fairgean. Isabeau knew the peculiar topography of this small rocky island was all that had kept Maya and Bronwen safe from the sea-fairies in the past three years. Surrounded on all sides by sharp-edged reefs, it was not worth the struggle to reach its one small beach when there were so many other islands nearby with long stretches of sand where the sea-fairies could rest and bear their young. As she could not leave, Maya might decide to use the boys as hostages. Lachlan's volatile temper and Maya's ruthlessness were like lightning and a forest dry from too little rain. Bringing them together could cause wildfire.
And it was not just the little prionnsachan that concerned Isabeau. The weeks she had spent on the coral island had rekindled all her love for Bronwen. With her sweet, winning ways, her striking beauty, her obvious intelligence and Talent, Bronwen had them all enchanted. Yet Isabeau was troubled to find Bronwen was very quick to use her beauty and the force of her nature to keep Donncan and Neil dancing in attendance upon her. She was even prone to use compulsion upon them, a trick of bending others to your will which was forbidden under the Creed of the Coven, since all people had the right to choose their own path.
So charming was Bronwen in her requests, so prettily grateful when they were acceded to, that it would have been easy to think it was just a natural desire to please her that drove the boys to compete with each other for her favors. But before long the friendship between Neil and Donncan became so strained that they came to fisticuffs, and then Isabeau's disquiet deepened into real distress. Not only did she feel it important to break Bronwen's dominance over the boys, Isabeau also knew that the young Fairge needed to be taught the rules and responsibilities of power. It was time Bronwen went to the Theurgia.
One morning Isabeau sat upon the headland, staring out at the great expanse of blue sea that stretched before her, crisscrossed with the curling break of water over reefs and great dark beds of swaying kelp. Desperation filled her. She had to find some way to escape the island! Her attention was suddenly caught by a splashing movement below her. She looked down and smiled in sudden delight, for a playful family of sea otters were romping about below her. There was a tall rock with a steep incline down into the sea and the baby otters were using it as a slippery slide, shooting down the wet slope on their backs to splash into the sea. One or two of the baby sea otters were chasing each other through the waves, while their mother watched tolerantly from a rock, rolling over occasionally to bake her other side in the sun.
Isabeau had known otters all her life and had counted them among her greatest friends. She had never seen a sea otter before and was struck by how much larger they were than the ones she had known, with strong webbed feet and a thick reddish-brown fur. Their antics were as playful, however, and their dark eyes as intelligent. As Isabeau watched, entranced, the father of the family floated on his back with a large stone resting on his belly, smashing mol-lusks with his powerful paws. He tossed the mol-lusks to his children and they leaped and dived for them, making sharp little cries of delight.
An idea suddenly came to Isabeau and she leaned forward eagerly, noting the strength and power of the sea otters' legs, the speed with which they swam through the waves. If swans could pull a sleigh through the air, why not sea otters through the water?
She would need more than this one family, however. The wooden sleigh was heavy and it was a long way to the mainland. She glanced around, wondering if there were many other colonies of sea otters on the island.
Out beyond the reef were a number of dark sleek heads bobbing up and down in the waves. Isabeau's heart leaped in delight, for she could easily get together enough sea otters to pull the sleigh with that great number. Then her heart was suddenly squeezed in the viselike grip of fear. She stared at the bobbing heads. She could see pale ovals of faces, and sharp upcurving tusks. Then a great scaled tail with a frilled fin broke the water's surface. They were not sea otters surfing along the break of water but Fair-gean!
Lachlan strode up and down the forecastle deck, his wings all ruffled up, his black curls in disarray. His dark face was haggard.
"Canna ye whistle up any more wind?" he called down to a tall, fair-haired girl who clung to the bowsprit below him, just above the
Royal Stag's ant-
lered figurehead.
"Nay, Your Highness," Brangaine NicSian called back breathlessly. "Any more wind and the sails shall tear free! We sail at full speed already. Besides, I can barely control the wind as it is. It is taking all my strength to keep it blowing fair."
Lachlan gave a groan of frustration and swung around, his kilt swirling up. Back and forth he paced, his hands clenched around the Lodestar. "If only there was something I could do!" he burst out.
"Ye could come and play cards with me," Dide said, looking up from the guitar he was lazily strumming with long brown fingers. "I thought long sea journeys were meant to be restful, but watching ye pace up and down like a caged saber leopard is about as restful as a march to war. Will ye no' sit down, master, and set yourself to amuse me? For, indeed, all this display o' energy is most wearisome for the rest o' us."
Lachlan cast the handsome young jongleur a look of exasperated affection. "As if I could sit and play cards while that cursehag has my son," he burst out, despair in his voice. "Och, surely we can sail more swiftly than this?"
Duncan Ironfist, the captain of the Yeomen of the Guard, said calmly, "We are doing all that we can, Your Highness. Wearing out the fo'c'sle deck with all this to-ing and fro-ing shall no' make the ship sail any faster. Why do ye no' rest and let the captain do his job? Ye have been driving yourself for months now, securing the peace in Tirsoilleir and keeping the lairds happy. Ye canna keep on this way. Rest, my liege, and let—"
There was a shriek of anger. Lachlan's gyrfalcon suddenly plunged out of the sky, talons clenched. Duncan took an involuntary step back. As solidly built as an ancient oak tree, with arms the width of most men's waists, even Duncan Ironfist could be dismayed by the sheer power and speed of the great white bird, which dropped as fast as a boulder and with almost as much weight. At the last moment Stormwing flung out his great white wings and landed on the Righ's shoulder, golden eyes blazing.
"No point in getting angry with me, Your Highness," Duncan said stolidly.
Lachlan stared out at the sea, his fists clenched. It was clear he was trying to control his temper but the young righ had hardly slept since hearing the news of his son's kidnapping. His shock and horror had come close on the relief and joy of their victory in Tirsoilleir, the contrast of emotion making it all that much more terrible.
Duncan looked at the rigidly set shoulders of his righ and said gently, "We are making record time down the coast, thanks to the NicSian's wind-whistling. Another week and we shall be sailing into the Berhtfane."
"Another week!" Lachlan cried. "And to think my poor wee laddie is in the hands o' that cursehag Thistle. It twists up all my insides even thinking about it."
Iseult had been standing against the rail, staring unseeingly at the waves billowing and surging against the ship's sides. She turned now and said, with a little quaver in her voice, "Isabeau went in search o' them. Isabeau will save them."
Lachlan turned on her with a falcon's screech, his wings outstretched, his head thrust forward. "Isabeau!" he cried. "Isabeau should've kept a closer eye on them. This would never have happened if she—"
Iseult went white, her blue eyes as hot with anger as his own. "Do no' dare blame Isabeau for this! It is Sukey who betrayed us, Margrit who stole the laddies. Isabeau is the only one who has a chance o' saving our son."
For a moment they stared at each other, then slowly Lachlan's wings lowered, the hostility dying out of his eyes. He stepped forward, his hand held out, his mouth twisting in contrition. "Och, I'm sorry—" he began.
Iseult was red with anger. "I've had enough!" she cried. "Why must ye be always so unfair? Isabeau saved ye from the Awl, she was tortured in your place and crippled horribly; she was the one that helped ye most to save the Lodestar and win your throne, she has been loyal and faithful every step o' the way! Yet right from the very beginning ye have been against her, ye have misread all her motives, ye have been cold and hostile to her. Why? Why?"
Lachlan did not answer, his wings hunched. Iseult drew away from him. "Isabeau is my sister, my womb-sister!" she cried. "She is as like me as my reflection in a mirror. How can ye love me and hate her?"
The black wings stirred. Lachlan looked away, color running up under his swarthy skin. "Happen that be why," he muttered.
She fell back a step. "What?"
He turned on her, every muscle in his strong body tense with anger and frustration. "I met Isabeau first, remember!" he cried. "When I met ye later, I thought ye were her. Apart from the cropped hair, ye were exactly the same, exactly! The same bonny face, the same fiery curls and summer sky eyes. I thought ye the most beautiful, bright thing I had ever seen. I thought
her
the most beautiful, bright thing I'd ever seen. She was naught but a child though. She had no idea what she was getting into. Ye say she saved me from the Awl and was tortured in my place. Ye are right! And aye, it was my fault, all my fault. But how was I to ken? I thought I had to get away from her to keep her safe. But all I did was throw her to the wolves. And when we met again, all that sweet innocence, that shining beauty, was ruined. Ruined."
Iseult stared at him, tense as a bowstring. He turned away, his golden eyes brooding, his wings hunched close about him. The gyrfalcon gave a hoarse, melancholy cry, and Lachlan smoothed his white feathers. "How can I love ye and hate her?" he said with a dark, mocking edge to his voice. "What else can I do? She has your face, your body, your fearless gaze. Or she
had.
Now she has a crippled hand and the knowledge o' terror in her eyes. And I gave her both. If I am no' to hate her, what am I to do? Love her?"
He laughed harshly and went away downstairs, leaving Iseult standing alone on the forecastle deck, the wind blowing her red-gold curls about.
Dide stepped forward, his face troubled. "He does no' mean it," he said gently. "Ye ken what he is like when his black mood be upon him. He does no' mean—"
Iseult turned her cold, autocratic gaze upon him. "Does he no'?" she said with a chill in her voice. "I think he does."
"Iseult—"
"Do no' look so troubled, Dide," she said. "Lachlan always suffers from feeling things too much, too intensely. He fears for Donncan very much. He will feel better when he is no' so confined by the ship. Once we are on land and he can stride about and shout orders and feel like he is doing something, then he will feel better." There was the slightest edge in her voice.
"Iseult . . ."
She turned away from Dide, drawing her plaid up about her shoulders, her profile set as cold and white as marble. "Oh, I ken," she said impatiently. "He will be sorry he spoke when his temper dies. I ken what he's like, better than ye. It does no' mean he did no' speak the truth." She gave a little shiver and looked out again at the blue undulating horizon. "Another week . . ." she murmured. "Oh, Isabeau, please, save them, save my wee laddie."
Isabeau scrambled down the rocks and ran along the sand, terror driving her steps. She burst into the hut, crying, "There be Fairgean in the water! They look as though they're swimming for shore."
Maya leaped to her feet, alarm on her face. She threw open the lid of a large, battered wooden chest and dragged out a clarsach. "Bronny, where is your flute?"
The little girl was white with terror, but she scrambled to her feet and grabbed her flute, which she always kept by her. It was her favorite possession, along with a ragged doll. Isabeau had given both to her back in the days when Bronwen had lived with her at the Cursed Towers. With the flute clutched in her small hand, Bronwen followed her mother out on to the beach.
"What are ye doing?" Isabeau cried. "Should we no' hide? I tell ye, they were swimming in past the reefs."
Maya did not answer her, striding down to the edge of the lagoon where she sat down on a rock with the clarsach on her lap. Bronwen stood beside her, the flute raised to her lips.
"What do ye do?" Isabeau cried again. "This is no time for a musical concert! Had we no' better find something to use as a weapon?"
Maya indicated her clarsach with a contemptuous gesture. "This be a far better weapon than any stick ye'U find on the beach."
With the frightened boys behind her, Isabeau stared out to the edge of the lagoon. She could see the dark heads of the Fairgean as they swam in past the last ridge of coral. "I thought ye said the Fairgean never bothered to negotiate the reefs!"
"They come sometimes," Maya said abruptly. "They harvest the kelp. Stop talking! Go and hide if ye wish. Bronwen and I shall defend ye." The last was spoken scornfully as Maya swept her hands over the strings of the clarsach. Beautiful music spilled out. Bronwen's fingers moved along the flute, silver notes trilling, catching the melody of Maya's little lap-harp, blending into delicate harmonies.
The intensity of Isabeau's fear and anxiety was dulled, wrapped about in music. Her mind was clouded, her senses benumbed. Her eyes began to shut and she felt her body swaying in response to the melody. Although all her witch senses prickled at the thrum of power in the air, the smell of enchantment, she was unable to fight against the fog which sank over her. It was like a dream in which she fought to stay awake, knowing there was something important she had to do. But the need to sleep was too powerful, too imperative. It dragged her down, a dark, heavy, oily wave that closed over her head and drowned her.
She woke much later, feeling as if her head was stuffed with wool. There was sand in her mouth and she spat it out, sitting up and looking about her.
It was just before dawn. The lagoon shifted and murmured before her, silvery in the growing light. Behind her the two boys slept where they had fallen, their naked bodies curled against the night chill. Bronwen sat beside Isabeau, the flute grasped in both her hands. There was enough light for Isabeau to see that her face was puffy with tears.
"What happened?" Isabeau asked groggily. She sat up and rubbed her face, trying to shake off her sluggishness. "Where are the Fairgean?"
Bronwen pointed down to the lagoon. There Isabeau saw, with a sudden little jolt of her pulses, the dark shapes of bodies strewn along the shoreline, half in, half out of the water.
"What?" she asked, uncomprehending.
"We sang them to sleep," Maya said from behind her. "They drowned."
"Can Fairgean drown?" Isabeau said, still bemused, not believing what she saw. "Do they no' have gills?"
"Aye, we have gills," Maya said. Her voice was without expression. "But we are no' fish. Our gills do no' provide us with enough oxygen to stay submerged for more than five or ten minutes. Fairgean sleep on the land. Do ye think we would have fought so fiercely for the coastlands if we did no' need them to survive?"
Isabeau was aware of a growing distaste, a sickness in her heart and belly. "So ye sang them to death," she said harshly.
"What do ye think they would have done to us if they had come on shore and found us?" Maya asked. "Ye and your precious lads would have been killed at once, and probably Bronwen and I too, for we are human enough for them to hate us. If they had realized we were halfbreeds they might have taken us for slaves, and if any recognized me, the King's half-breed daughter, well, I would have been taken back to face his justice." She spat out the last word. "This is no' the first time I have used the Talents I inherited from my mother to stay alive. She was a Yedda, did ye ken that? She could no' teach me her Skills herself, for my father tore out her tongue to make sure she could no' sing. Besides, she died when I was no' much aulder than Bronny is now. No, I learned the Yedda Skills from the few sea witches the priestesses allowed to live, ones too young or too weak to use their talents to save themselves. And I have taught them all to Bronny."
Isabeau looked from Maya's hard, closed face to Bronwen's, tear-streaked and swollen. "She is only six years auld and ye have taught her to murder?" she whispered, sickened.
"I have taught her the skills she will need to keep herself alive," Maya said harshly. "And why do ye look at me as if I were the monster? For centuries the Yedda sang the Fairgean to death. Why else were they honored and celebrated all over the land? They sang thousands to their death, babes among them."
"But ye are a Fairge yourself . . ." Isabeau was confused and dismayed, unable to express the repugnance she felt.
"My father was a Fairge and my mother was a Yedda. I am neither, hated and hunted by both. If the humans catch me I shall die, if the Fairgean catch me I shall die. What am I to do but save myself and teach my daughter to do the same?"
Isabeau could think of nothing to say. She stared at the dead bodies floating in the water, their long black hair streaming out like seaweed. The Fairgean were her natural enemy, they had inflicted great suffering on her own kind for centuries. She should feel relief and pleasure that they were dead. Yet she felt only revulsion and horror.
"We have to leave here," she said abruptly. "This is a horrible place."
"And how do ye propose to leave?" Maya said roughly. "Fly?" She bent and put her arm around Bronwen, who shrugged her away.
Maya straightened, her jaw set grimly. "It is so easy for ye to judge me, ye with all your talk o' choosing one's own course! Ye think this is the destiny I would have chosen for myself? What would ye have done if ye were me? Ye do no' understand what it is like to be chosen by the Priestesses o' Jor. Ye think me cruel and ruthless. Do ye think I feel nothing when I sing a man to his death? Yet if it be a choice between my life and his, I will choose my life every time. Every time! And I will kill to save Bronwen's too, and yes, even yours, Isabeau the Red, although ye despise me for it."
She raised both hands and rubbed contemptuously at her eyes, which were glittering with tears, then turned and strode away down the beach.
