The Cursed Towers (4 page)

Behind the five members of the council had walked those few fully trained witches who did not have either the power or the training to have won their sorcerer's ring. Toireasa the Seamstress and Riordan Bowlegs were accompanied by a wizened old woman called Wise Tully who had trained at the Tower of Ravens many years earlier, and a gloomy-visaged man called Matthew the Lean who had escaped the burning of the Tower of Blessed Fields. With them, her face lowered in shame, walked Latifa the Cook, who had been pardoned for her betrayal during the Samhain rebellion after much pleading by Meghan. As the Keybearer said, there were very few witches of any ability left at all, and they were in much need of Latifa's culinary magic with so many hungry mouths to feed.

Altogether they only made ten, and Meghan was bitterly conscious of the gaps in their ranks. The former Keybearer Tabithas was still trapped in the shape of a wolf, while hundreds of her former friends and colleagues had been burnt to death.

Still, all journeys began with the first step. Meghan hoped that more witches would emerge from hiding and return to the Tower of Two Moons as word of the successful rebellion spread. Meanwhile behind the witches walked a small flock of apprentices, Isabeau among them. Close behind were the Theurgia, those children aged between eight and sixteen who had joined the witches' school. Many of the city's young had joined, while the school's numbers had been further swelled by the children of refugees only too glad to know their offspring would be housed and fed. At their head marched the League of the Healing Hand under a fluttering banner of blue and gold carried by Tomas the Healer. The procession had been a brave sight, and it brought a lump to the throats of many of the elderly among the crowd, who well remembered the great days of the Coven. Isabeau had been deeply affected too, for she had been raised by Meghan of the Beasts and had dreamt of the return of the Coven all her life. As she lay awake, mulling over all Lilanthe had told her, Isabeau dreaded the difficult days that lay ahead of them. The only one of their enemies who had been satisfactorily dealt with was Sani the Seer, Maya's servant and the High-Priestess of Jor, whose crumpled body had been found in the garden of the Pool of Two Moons, a white-fletched arrow through her heart. Maya had not been found anywhere, and they feared she had returned to her Fairgean father with many secrets about Eileanan's defenses and strengths. Many people were suspicious of the news of Maya's evil deeds, thinking them mere propaganda spread by the new Righ to absolve him of any wrongdoing. And now there was all this talk of restoring Maya's daughter, Bronwen, to the throne, the baby who had been Banrigh for a few short hours before being dispossessed by Lachlan. Loving the baby as she did, and fearing for her future, Isabeau did not sleep at all that night.

Isabeau woke Lilanthe at dawn and they did not return to their sleeping spots until the wee small hours of the next day, a pattern that was to become their routine over the coming weeks. The red-haired apprentice witch was teaching a large troupe of trainee healers everything she knew about herb lore, and much of the morning was spent foraging in the snowy forest for anything that had curative or nutritional value. Nuts were shaken out of trees, roots of all kinds were dug up, and bark was carefully stripped from the winter-bare trees. Isabeau even begged the donbeags and squirrels to part with some of their precious winter hoards to help feed the thousands of refugees who crowded the streets of Lucescere. What was not made into soups and coarse bread and ladled out twice a day to the crowds at the gate was distilled into healing potions to help cure the many illnesses that plagued the city. With the help of the League of the Healing Hand, Isabeau cared for the sick and injured, offering comfort and restorative medicines and trying to prevent Tomas the Healer from exhausting himself too much. The young boy spent all day in the hospital, but they had limited him to healing only those who would have otherwise died. Nonetheless, he was as delicate as a bellfruit seed, with dark shadows under his sky-blue eyes. Isabeau also assisted Matthew the Lean in the conser-vatory, where young plants in all stages of growth were, carefully nurtured, their development coaxed along with magic so that the scanty food supplies would soon be supplemented. Anyone who showed any ability with plants was being trained to feed the seedlings with their own powers, and Lilanthe found she was soon spending many hours in the conservatory's warm, steamy interior, crooning the plants to spurts of unnatural growth. The two friends spent their afternoons in study at the Tower of Two Moons, under the tutelage of whatever witch could be spared to take the class. Shivering with cold and exhaustion, they struggled to understand and use the One Power, the energy force that existed in all living things and which the witches drew upon to work their magic. Lilan-the also found herself lecturing about the ways of the forest faeries, for although she considered herself appallingly ignorant about her mother's people, she still knew more than anyone else in Lucescere. Along with the clur-icaun Brun, she did what she could to change the attitude of the common people to the faery folk.

There were no idle hands in the city that winter. Every beggar, thief and refugee was put to work. Many an abandoned warehouse in the city was turned into a weaving factory where women toiled to produce cloaks and kilts for the growing army, blankets for the shivering homeless and oiled tents to shelter them in. Blacksmiths labored at the forges, shaping swords, daggers, pikes, and arrowheads from every spare scrap of metal that could be found. Stonemasons sweated through the wintry days, repairing the city walls and rebuilding the burnt-out shell of the Tower of Two Moons, which had been destroyed by Maya's soldiers so many years before. Even the jongleurs were only able to catch a rare hour of sleep, singing themselves hoarse in every inn and tavern in the city. Ballads were composed honoring Lachlan the Winged and describing the beauty of the faeries and the valor of the witches. Old songs about Aedan Whitelock and old tales about the great days of the Coven were dug out, and new ones composed. Even the prionnsachan and great lairds spent the days hunting stag and wild boar to feed the people, and the evenings teaching the finer points of the craft of war. Everyone between the ages of sixteen and forty was being taught to fight, for Lucescere was a city under siege. Although no army had yet attempted to broach its walls, the entire countryside beyond the Rhyllster was occupied by the Bright Soldiers of Tirsoilleir, with legions camped outside every walled town and castle.

"The only consolation," Lachlan said moodily one night, "is that the blaygird Fairgean seem to have disappeared. I canna understand why. All o' Clachan and lower Rionnagan lay open before them, yet they swam out to open seas again and we have no' seen them since."

"They went north again," Isabeau said, rocking Bron-wen against her shoulder. "They spend the winter in the polar seas."

"But why? It is all icebergs up there at this time o' year. Why do they no' stay down here in the south where at least the seas do no' freeze over?"

"They follow the blue whale," Isabeau said. "The tiny creatures the whales eat live only in the icy seas, and the Fairgean hunt the whales for their meat and bone. In the spring the whales swim south so they can breed in the warmer waters, and so the Fairgean follow in their trail. When the tides turn in the autumn, the whales head north again, and so do the Fairgean. They do no' feel the cold as we do." Lachlan shuddered and cast her a look of suspicious dislike. "How do ye ken so much about the blaygird cold-blooded fish-people then, Isabeau?"

Isabeau was not foolish enough to tell him that Maya the Ensorcellor had told her much about the Fairgean when they had first met on the shores of Clachan. Instead she said blandly, "I have been reading all the scrolls and books I can find on them, for Iseult says one must ken one's enemy to defeat them."

"Very true," Isabeau's twin said and cast her husband a quelling look. "So when can we expect the Fairgean again, Isabeau?"

"They'll come again in the spring," she answered, "The tides run highest at the spring equinox and that is when we'll have the most to fear. But as long as we keep away from the rivers and lochan they canna do too much damage. Most can only keep their land shape a few hours, I have read—"

"What about the Ensorcellor?" Lachlan sneered. "Sixteen years she lived amongst us and none but I knew she was a Fairge!"

"Did she no' tell ye she was born o' a human mother?" Meghan said. "Happen being half human made it easier for her."

"What about her blaygird servant?" Lachlan pointed out. "She was a true Fairge and yet she also lived among us for sixteen years. Even with the seawater pool in Maya's quarters, she must have been able to retain her landshape for many hours."

"That's true," Isabeau conceded anxiously. "Perhaps the books are wrong ..."

"Or perhaps Sani the Sinister was unusual among her kind," Meghan said. "I have heard the Priestesses o' Jor have a cruel apprenticeship, and are taught to suffer all manner o' pain and deprivation. And we ken this plan o' theirs was years in the making, so happen she had a long time to learn to survive above water."

"I wish I knew where the Ensorcellor has fled," Lachlan mused, pacing the floor in his usual restless way.

"It troubles me that she is lurking somewhere out there, plotting against us and spinning her foul enchantments."

"Do no' fear," Meghan said wearily. "She would have returned to her own kind; besides, did Isabeau no'

say we have a few months before we need to worry about them? Let us plan how best to oust the Bright Soldiers, for it is they who concern us more nearly."

"And this time let us lance the boil altogether," Lachlan said grimly. "Too long Tirsoilleir has been a shadow on our borders, with their bizarre rites and cruel practices. Why Aedan Whitelock ever allowed them to stay independent is beyond me. They should have signed the Pact o' Peace and joined with the rest o' Eileanan. Arran should have too!"

Iain bowed a trifle stiffly. He was the son of Margrit NicFoghnan, the Banprionnsa of Arran, whose clan had always been the traditional enemy of the MacCuinns. Having no great love for his cold and disdainful mother, Iain had fled Arran with the pupils of his mother's Theurgia to warn the Righ of the Bright Soldiers' planned invasion.

"The Thistle has always s-s-stood alone," he responded. "But perhaps the t-t-time has come when the M-M-MacFoghnan and MacCuinn clans c-c-can be friends and allies instead o' enemies." There was a gentle reproof in his voice, and Lachlan flushed a little and fidgeted his wings.

"Indeed, Iain, and I'm sorry if I sounded surly. I am glad indeed to have ye and your wife here, and I see clearly what aid ye can give us in bringing peace to Eilea-nan. At least we know now how the Bright Soldiers are flooding into the land, and your knowledge o' the fen-lands will help us indeed in driving them back, no' to mention your witch skills. I did no' mean to sound as if I did no' appreciate your offers o' help and support, nor as if I did no' understand how difficult it must be to stand against your own mother."

Both Isabeau and Iseult glanced at the Righ in surprise, for it was unusual for him to be so conciliatory. He was looking at Iain with genuine sympathy and friendliness, however, and the prionnsa flushed and took the hand Lachlan held out to him, gripping it fervently and muttering something in response. Iain's wife, Elfrida, leant forward. "Am I to understand by your words, Your Highness, that ye intend to invade Tirsoilleir and overthrow the Fealde?"

Lachlan looked at her warily. "I suppose I do, my lady." He knew, of course, that Elfrida was the last of the MacHilde clan, one-time rulers of Tirsoilleir, who had long ago been ousted by the militant religious leaders of that country.

Although it would have been easy to assume Elfrida was a bitter opponent of the Fealde, Lachlan also knew she had for eighteen years been indoctrinated with the philosophy of the Kirk. The army camped throughout southern Eileanan was made up of her countryfolk, and it was entirely possible she felt some qualms at the talk of war against them. Most tellingly, she had several times exclaimed in bemusement and even horror at some tenet of the Coven's beliefs. Like the others, she had spent many hours of the past few weeks at the Tower of Two Moons, being taught about the history of the land and the philosophy of the witches. There was no doubt it was far different to what she had been taught. The Tirsoil-leirean believed in one god and one god only. They believed all who chose to worship a different deity or in a different way were condemned to eternal agony in a fiery realm. Their god was a cruel and jealous god who rode the sky in a flaming chariot, sweeping the land with fierce eyes in search of sinners and heretics.

The Coven of Witches, however, believed only in the natural forces of the world. Everyone was free to seek their own path to wisdom and to worship in whatever way they pleased. If they prayed, it was to Ea, who encompassed both light and darkness, life and death, the creative and the destructive. Ea was neither good nor evil, male or female. Ea was both and neither.

The tensions between Arran and the rest of Eileanan had always been both personal and political, but the differences with Tirsoilleir were religious, and therefore far more dangerous. It was no wonder Lachlan looked at Elfrida warily as he spoke of invading her homeland and overthrowing the ruling council.

"And what do ye plan to do with my country once ye have conquered it?" Lachlan flushed and gripped his scepter tightly, the Lodestar mounted at its crest glowing brighter in response. "I will demolish its evil temples and free the people from the tyranny o' the Fealde," he retorted hotly. "Everyone should have the right to believe as they please, and no' be forced to sacrifice their children and mutilate their bodies at the direction o' a passel o' filthy, pain-loving priests!"

"It is only the berhtildes who must mutilate themselves and that is the command o' the Fealde and no' the General Assembly," Elfrida replied hotly, before blushing in confusion and stammering, "I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but indeed it is no' true what ye say. The pastors do no' sacrifice children, though it is true many mortify their flesh in repentance for their sins."