The Fathomless Caves (17 page)

‘God’s teeth!’ the cook cried, startled out of her hysterics. ‘No wonder the blaygird witches won the war!’

‘We won the war because we were quicker and smarter than ye!’ Isabeau cried. ‘Why do ye sit there,
weeping and wringing your hands? Come help me, in the name o’ Eà’s green blood!’

For a moment the cook stared, open-mouthed, colour surging. Then she gave a belly laugh that set all her double chins shaking, heaved her great bulk to her feet, and seized a knife.

The potboys came running in with sacks of potatoes, carrots, barley and leeks, and great sheaves of spinach they had dragged from the kitchen garden.

‘Make yourself useful and get peeling,’ Isabeau ordered. Obediently they sat down and began peeling potatoes at a great pace, their eyes round with amazement as they watched the wooden spoon whisk round and round in the cauldron, the knives chopping away, and the lids of herb jars float up by themselves, as pinches of that herb and this floated down into the boiling water. As each vegetable was peeled it flew by itself to the knives and was duly chopped and then flung by an invisible hand into the soup. Meanwhile, Isabeau was kneading dough while the bread pans greased and floured themselves. The oven door flew open and the dough settled itself into the pans as they flew into the oven, the door shutting itself behind them.

‘Now,’ Isabeau said, looking about her with floury hands on her hips, ‘is there any cheese?’

In little more than half an hour the chamberlain was able to show the Rìgh and his retinue into a long dining room sparkling with crystal and silver and decorated with bunches of flowering herbs which the cook herself had helped to pick.

The servants brought in steaming tureens filled with
a thick, delicious-smelling white soup, platters of hot bread sprinkled with poppy seeds, wedges of roasted vegetables and a tray of little cheese and spinach pies. The mood in the room brightened immediately. The servants poured out wine that Isabeau had chilled between her hands, and served the food with a flourish. For quite a time there was no sound but chomping jaws, sighs of appreciation and the occasional mumbled request for more.

At last Alasdair Garrie of Killiegarrie leant back in his chair and said, ‘My word, that’s the best meal we’ve had in months. My compliments to your chef, my lady.’

As hearty endorsements were heard all round the table, Elfrida said her thanks in a rather puzzled voice. She had seen the cook in the full flight of her hysterics and could not think how such a feast had materialised so quickly. Isabeau grinned at her, rubbing away a smear of flour on her cheek, and Elfrida gave her a heartfelt look of gratitude.

‘I do no’ ken how ye did it,’ she whispered as they left the dining room, ‘but och, thank ye!’

‘I was a cook’s apprentice once,’ Isabeau answered, smiling in remembrance. ‘I dread to think what Latifa would have said if she’d seen the state o’ those kitchens. Och, so dirty! And rats in the grain bins and the kitchen garden all neglected. Ye have work ahead o’ ye here.’

Elfrida sighed as she showed them back into the drawing room, where the children all slept, curled on couch and chair. ‘But I do no’ ken a thing. I wish ye could stay and help me get things in order.’

‘And no’ just the kitchen,’ Meghan said, her voice
still rather sharp, though her manner had mellowed a great deal since she had eaten. ‘The whole country is in disarray, Elfrida. The filth in the city streets! And all those crows spouting hellfire! The people have no lift in their step, no spirit in their eyes. There is much to be done!’

Elfrida sighed. ‘I ken! And ye all marching off to war again and taking my husband wi’ ye. I do no’ ken how I shall cope.’

‘Ye will find the strength.
Bo Neart Gu Neart
,’ Meghan said sternly. Isabeau recognised the quotation as the MacHildes’ family motto,
From Strength To Strength
. ‘Have ye forgotten ye are a NicHilde?’

Elfrida said dispiritedly, ‘Nay, I have no’ forgotten. How could I? Ye keep reminding me o’ it all the time.’

‘Come, we are all tired,’ Isabeau said, slipping one hand under Elfrida’s elbow and giving it a little squeeze. ‘Let us go to bed and all shall look better in the morn. Happen we shall no’ be moving on again so quickly and we shall all have time to help ye a wee.’

Elfrida nodded, though the heaviness of her expression did not lighten. She picked up an elaborate golden candlestick and gave it into Isabeau’s hand, saying, ‘At least there is plenty for me to sell to try to raise some money! I have never seen such a wicked waste as all this gold and velvet. And everything so gaudy! When I remember how I was whipped for wanting a little ribbon to trim my cap.’

Isabeau lit the candles with a thought. ‘Well, ye are banprionnsa now and can wear as much ribbon as ye like. And I would, Elfrida. I bet the people o’ this
country are starved for a little colour and finery, just as they are for festivity. When I remember that crowd this afternoon, all grey and black and not a touch o’ colour among them—it made me want to drag them out into the country and show them all the colours o’ the fields and forest. How can they think it wrong to wear colour when the whole world is clothed in brightness?’

‘Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain,’ Elfrida protested. ‘We are taught it is wrong to flaunt ourselves and wear bright colours or jewels or big buttons, or to surround ourselves with luxury.’

Isabeau lifted the golden candlestick. ‘The Fealde dinna seem to mind.’

‘Aye, but the people o’ Tìrsoilleir rose up against her and helped us overthrow her,’ Elfrida reminded her. ‘They hated the fact that she clothed herself richly and hung jewelled crosses in the High Kirk and dined from plates o’ gold.’

‘Aye, but surely it was the hypocrisy?’ Isabeau asked. ‘They all preached denial and self-sacrifice but dinna practise it. That would make me angry too, particularly if I was punished for it. I do no’ think a wee bit o’ ribbon would hurt, or wearing some other colour except grey. It does no’ have to be scarlet, in the name o’ the Spinners! Though ye’d look lovely in red, wi’ all that fair hair.’

‘I couldna wear red!’ Elfrida was scandalised.

‘Why do ye no’ try blue then? Or some bonny flowery print. Though red be a lovely colour, the colour of roses and sunsets and elderberry wine. It’s the colour o’ your family plaid, after all.’ Elfrida said
nothing, her lips thinned, and Isabeau said cajolingly, ‘Come, ye must be tired o’ grey!’

‘Well, I am,’ Elfrida admitted. ‘But what about ye? Ye wear white most o’ the time, like all the witches.’

‘Now I am a sorceress I’m allowed a little silver trimming. So daring!’ Isabeau said with a laugh. ‘Nay, ye saw how I leapt at the gorgeous dress ye gave me in Arran. Witches really only have to wear the witch-robe during rituals or when performing our duties. It is just that I am always on duty at the moment, Meghan being my mentor and us all riding to war. Besides, I do no’ really have very many clothes, having never spent much time at court.’

‘Well then, I’ll make ye a deal. We’ll each have ourselves a new dress made up and be really daring and choose something colourful. Like pink or yellow!’

‘No’ wi’ my hair,’ Isabeau said ruefully. ‘But either o’ those would suit ye. I’ll have green, to remind me o’ the forests.’

‘Grand!’ Elfrida said, excited. ‘Let us shake hands on it then.’

They spat their palms and shook hands like children, and then Elfrida went back to the dining room, a smile on her lips and a spring in her step, to direct the lairds to their rooms and make sure all were comfortable.

Meghan had sat silently through all their conversation, her eyes closed. She opened them now and smiled at Isabeau, saying rather gruffly, ‘Ye did good work tonight, my Beau, and I do no’ just mean cooking for all those people.’

‘Thank ye,’ Isabeau said. ‘Come, ye must be
exhausted. Let us get these bairns to a bed and find one ourselves. Havers, I be tired!’

As she bent to pull the old sorceress to her feet, Meghan surprised her by kissing her cheek and patting it with her trembling hand. ‘Ye’re a good bairn, my Beau,’ she said. ‘Though no’ a bairn any more, are ye? A woman and a sorceress.’ She sighed and smiled a little, and went very slowly out of the room, Gitâ a little round bulge in her pocket.

Nila stood before his father, his cloak of seal fur hanging down his back, his tusked face raised proudly. His shadow stretched long and thin across the sand.

The King was sitting on a high rock, water ebbing and flowing around his webbed feet. Even in the diminishing light it was clear that he was very angry. The sound of his roars echoed all round the cove, and his skin was flushed the colour of seagrapes. Behind him stood his own personal pod of warriors, many looking troubled, while on either side stood Nila’s ten brothers, all grinning like tiger sharks.

‘So what do you have to say for yourself, you jellyspined fool!’ the King roared.

‘I have told you what happened,’ Nila said quietly. ‘My pod has given their evidence also. She has the power to sing as the human witches do. Many, many of our kind have drowned as the result of their enchanted singing. We were lucky to have survived.’

‘I had thought you had grown some sense with your tusks. I thought that being given your own pod and
your own sea-serpent would see you begin to show some respect for your king and your people,’ his father roared. His face was purple with rage, his tusks gleaming yellow in the long rays of the setting sun. ‘Yet you capture my misbegotten daughter, my sly sneaking treacherous daughter, the double-dealing snake-eel that betrayed me and failed me! You had her in your fingers and you let her slip through.’

‘You’re shark bait,’ one brother said.

‘Burrowing barnacle,’ said another contemptuously.

‘Thought yourself so proud, flaunting a black pearl upon your breast,’ Lonan, his eldest brother, hissed.

‘You let yourself be tricked and ensorcelled!’ the King raged. ‘As soon as you knew she could sing the foul songs of human sorcery you should have torn out her tongue! You should have slit her throat and fed her to the sharks!’

Nila could feel anger building inside him but he said nothing, knowing no excuse or explanation would be acceptable. His silence only enraged the King further.

‘Impudent beardworm! What did you and your misbegotten sister talk about so long? What slippery treachery do you plan?’

Nila could keep silent no longer. ‘I plan no treachery!’ he cried. ‘I have always been loyal!’

‘You and your taste for filthy human flesh,’ Lonan jeered. ‘Always cuddling and canoodling with halfbreed dugongs. You lost your little slave, so seek now to replace her with another filthy halfbreed—’

Disgusted, Nila launched himself at his eldest
brother. ‘How can you say such things?’ he shouted. ‘Maya is our sister, you loathsome seaslug!’

‘You think I claim kinship with that treacherous snake-eel?’ Lonan said contemptuously, knocking Nila to the ground. ‘Daughter of a human slave? I’d rather claim kinship with an elephant seal!’ He kicked him in the head.

Nila rolled free and staggered to his feet, only to be tripped over by another brother. Lonan laughed, bending down to rip the black pearl from Nila’s throat. ‘Think yourself chosen by Jor? I am the Anointed One, jellyfish! I am the heir to He Who Is Anointed by Jor!’ Viciously he kicked Nila in the ribs. As Nila rolled in pain, clutching his ribs, Lonan hung the black pearl about his own neck, already laden with necklaces of sea-diamonds, carved coral and white pearls.

Nila managed to get to his knees, but all nine of his brothers circled him, jeering, kicking and punching him mercilessly until he was unable to stand or fight back any more. Dazed, panting, bruised and covered in sand, he was dragged before the King once more.

‘So you feel sympathy for your traitorous
sister
?’ the King asked, his pale eyes glittering. ‘You let her escape our justice out of pity? She is nothing but a halfbreed slave, worth less than a blob of spawn jelly. Do you not realise we could have defeated the humans by now if not for her, we could have wiped them off the face of the earth! They would be mere bones picked white by crabs and fish, dissolving at last to sand. We would be once more the rulers of the sea and shore, the mightiest warriors in the world!’

There was a ragged cheer.

Knowing his case was hopeless, Nila drew himself upright, spitting out a mouthful of blood and sand. ‘Do you not understand that you condemn us all to doom?’ he said. ‘For a thousand years we have thrown ourselves against the humans and been dashed to pieces. It is our people who are picked clean by the crabs, it is our people who suffer hunger and cold and exile because of this stupid feud. When are we going to stop? When are we going to find some way to live in peace, forever and happy? When are we going to realise that the humans are here to stay?’

He was cut short by a vicious elbow in the face. He fell down to one knee, holding his jaw, involuntary tears welling in his eyes. He dashed them away with one hand and looked up at his father, who was roaring with rage.

‘You have lost seven sons already,’ Nila said. ‘How many more will you lose? How many more sons will your people lose?’

‘Only one more,’ his father roared. ‘Take him and kill him, the traitorous snake-eel!’

Nila’s brothers seized him and dragged him back, but Nila kept on shouting. ‘You have summoned the powers of Kani, you seek to raise the powers of the earth to drown all the land, but do you not realise you will kill us all as well? Do you think you can control Kani? Do you think you can subject
her
to your will? You condemn us all to death and destructiveness. How will the whales survive being flung upon the land? How will the fishes survive? How will we?’

Then there was only the roaring red of blows and kicks and taunts, and then the roaring black of unconsciousness.

Isabeau rolled over once again, bunching up the pillow under her head and sighing with frustration. Although she was so tired her very bones ached, she found herself unable to sleep. Her mind travelled round and round in well-worn paths, despite all her attempts to break free, and at last she sat up with a sigh of exasperation.