The Witches of Eileanan (10 page)

In anger Isabeau threw another ball of fire, and the soldier that had killed the stag fell screaming, engulfed in flames, so that Isabeau began to retch with horror.

"Do no' falter now, Isabeau!" Meghan commanded, and threw up her hand so that the ground beneath the soldiers' feet split wide open with a horrible grinding noise, swallowing the foremost soldiers.

"Quick, run! Go now. Take Jorge, look after him," Meghan commanded.

Isabeau grabbed the blind seer by the hand and dived into the loch under the shelter of the pelting rain. She swam under the water, dragging the old man behind her. At first he kicked feebly but soon he was a dead weight and she had to struggle to make any headway at all. She surfaced on the other side of the loch and looked at him cautiously, but he was barely conscious, his face as white as milk. There was nothing she could do. Isabeau dived again, and by easy stages brought him to the other end of the loch. Several times she hid in the rushes at the edge of the water to see if anyone was following them, but all she could see was the battle still raging near the waterfall: great flashes of lightning, the roar of earth moving.

Isabeau saw Seychella bring the wind whirling upon the remaining soldiers so they staggered, their cloaks whipping over their heads or tangling in their legs. The Mesmerd suddenly flashed forward and Isabeau saw Seychella suddenly pause, motionless, staring at the winged creature with bemusement on her face. The Mesmerd caught her in its arms, then turned, as if sensing Isabeau's gaze upon it. With a rapidly beating heart she dived again, her fist clenched in Jorge's hair.

At last she swam under the overhang of rock that concealed the water-cave under the tree house. As soon as she had dragged Jorge up onto the sandy floor of the cave, Isabeau squeezed the water out of him until he was coughing and wheezing, then half carried him through the secret passage into the kitchen.

She was surprised to find Gitâ there, busily rummaging through the pantry, piles of supplies gathered together on the table. He chittered excitedly when he saw her, and dropped the bag to bound up her body, patting her cheek with one paw before taking flight from her shoulder.

"Quickly, quickly," he chittered, and leaped back onto the table, where Meghan's pack lay half filled.

Isabeau pushed Jorge into a chair, and looked around her in panicked bewilderment. The long ordeal of her Test, followed by the sudden onslaught of soldiery, had shattered all her defenses and she found herself scurrying about uselessly as a coney, tears rolling down her cheeks. She forced herself to be calm, to think, but the sight of the Mesmerd seemed like an omen and she was terribly afraid.

Gitâ gave an admonishing chitter, and Isabeau pulled herself together, kneeling to light a fire in the grate. She was worried in case the smoke might lead their enemies right to them, but the chimney was cunningly designed, and the storm still raged outside, so any smoke would be blown into tatters in seconds. It took her a few moments to light the fire, she was so tired and drained of energy. However, at last it flickered into life and she towelled herself dry and threw on some warm clothes.

Then she turned her attention to Jorge, rubbing his arms and legs vigorously, then making him hot tea. She wished she dared make him a hot bath to ease the shivering which racked his body, but she knew how intense their danger was. The tree house might be discovered at any moment— she had no idea how much the Red Guards knew. They must be ready to move out at a moment's notice.

As Jorge ate a hastily thrown together meal, Isabeau began refilling her belt pouches. Thank the Spinners she had spent that day in the mountain meadows! They were fully stocked with herbs, nuts and vegetables, and still had some dried fruit left over from the winter. Gitâ had already gathered many useful supplies, including his own winter store of nuts, and was now busily cramming them into Meghan's satchel.

Suddenly he gave a squeak of excitement and bounded toward the secret passage. Isabeau tensed and picked up her knife, knowing she was too exhausted to fight anymore with fire. It was Meghan, though, dripping wet, her gray hair in rat's tails to her knees.

"Well done," she said. "Get yourself ready as quick as ye can. They must have a witch-sniffer—all that magic you've been expending today drew them to us like a bear to honey."

Isabeau flew to obey as Meghan tried to climb the ladder, swaying as she gripped the handrail. "Seychella?" Isabeau asked anxiously, but Meghan only shook her head grimly.

A few minutes later, when Isabeau bolted up the stairs to get her boots and a change of clothing, she found Meghan, still wet and naked, kneeling on the ground before her chest. She was hurriedly throwing things into a tiny pouch. Isabeau was amazed to see the great book disappear inside it, although the pouch was no bigger than her hand and the book so massive she could barely lift it.

"You're shivering, Meghan, get dressed!" Isabeau cried.

"This is more important," Meghan said abstractedly. "I canna allow them to get their hands on my treasures."

Isabeau's eyes widened as Meghan threw more into the pouch than could ever have fitted naturally. Meghan saw her look. "Magic bag," she said briefly. "One o' the treasures o' the Towers. I used it when I first came here. Everything we own came out o' this bag! Do no' dawdle, Isabeau, they'll be here any minute!"

Isabeau ran up the ladder to her own room as fast as she could, pulling on her boots and dragging her knapsack toward her. She stuffed a spare pair of breeches, a soft shirt, a dress, a woolen vest Meghan had knitted, and her sewing kit into her sturdy pack. She ran downstairs again, and in the kitchen finished packing her and Meghan's knapsacks with provisions. From each she slung a bottle filled with water from the barrel. She stuffed two light kettles with cotton bags of various sizes, all filled with tea, flour, salt, oats, and other essentials. Her belt was hung with leather purses containing dried herbs and spices, for cooking and for magic spells. She packed her witch knife, and a small saucepan, some pewter bowls, some of Meghan's healing potions and grabbed her plaid and tam-o'-shanter from where they hung on a hook by the fire. All the time, her head whirled with everything she had seen and learned that day, and with the knowledge they had to leave the valley. She had always imagined setting out on adventures, but never like this.

Jorge was much recovered after his hastily swallowed meal and had wrapped himself in an old plaid while his clothes steamed before the fire. Isabeau took his tattered robe in her hands and tried to hasten the drying, but her powers were drained and she was as weak as any novice. She was plaiting her damp hair and trying to think what she had forgotten when there was a loud hammering on the trapdoor upstairs. Isabeau jerked to her feet and ran up the ladder. Meghan was in the top room, clearing out the shelves with ruthless abandon, Gitâ helping enthusiastically. Isabeau could hear, faintly, the sound of Seychella's voice, pleading with her to open the door.

"It's Seychella," she cried. "Should I open it?"

"Do no' be a fool," Meghan said, rummaging through the shelves in search of something.

"But what if she is trying to escape the Red Guards? They'll catch her."

"I would say they have caught her already," Meghan said. "Canna ye sense the Mesmerd? It's probably holding her."

The idea that the Mesmerd was right outside made Isabeau recoil in horror. Meghan stood calmly before the trapdoor and made a series of signs with her fingers. An intricate symbol of green fire flared up for a moment, and then was gone. Meghan repeated the gestures at each of the doors on the way down the ladder, after Isabeau had carefully bolted them closed. "That should hold them for a while," Meghan said in satisfaction.

"Should we no' be going? If the Mesmerd knows we're in here .. ." Isabeau shuddered. Her guardian kept placidly transferring the contents of the kitchen drawers into the magic pouch. "Meghan!"

"Patience, my bairn," her guardian said. "They will no' get through those wards in a hurry, and Seychella never ken about the secret passages, remember?"

"But what about Seychella?"

"There is nothing we can do for Seychella now. We must look to our own safety," the old witch responded implacably.

At last Meghan was ready. She looked about her sadly and laid her hand on the living wall of the tree. "Thank ye, my friend," she said. Only then did she let Isabeau pull open the hidden entrance to the secret passage concealed behind the pantry shelves.

As she waited, Meghan absentmindedly went through the knapsack, checking what Isabeau and Gitâ had packed. Seeing the full bags of provisions, the change of clothing, the knife and pan, she made a grunt of approval. "You've done well, Beau," Meghan said. "At everything. I'm very proud." She thrust her hand into the pocket of her damp gown and pulled out another ring, whose stone glittered topaz yellow in the dying firelight. This jewel was curiously set, with a tiny gold rose on either side, surrounded by an etching of thorns. Isabeau recognized the design immediately, for it was the same as the one Meghan had shown her the previous night, and which now adorned the moonstone ring Meghan wore on her middle finger. She also recognized the unusual yellow glitter of the jewel as the one Meghan had hidden from her the night of Seychella's arrival.

"This stone was found with ye," Meghan said. "It is yours now, ye've earned it today."

Isabeau stared at it in amazement. A sorceress ring! It had her name inscribed on the inside. She wondered if it held a clue to her mysterious heritage.

"I did no' name ye," Meghan explained. "Ye came with the ring. I have kept it all these years for ye. I knew it was a sorceress ring, though where it came from or what the device means, I do no' ken. The jewel is called 'dragoneye' and is very rare. Come, let us go."

Leading the blind seer by the hand, they hurried down the secret passage, Isabeau's heart thumping so loud she was afraid the soldiers would hear it. The passage came out under a giant thorny bush, so they were badly scratched struggling out. They were out of sight of the tree, but nonetheless went carefully through the thick undergrowth, wary of sentries. Jorge went with them, his blind head turning anxiously from side to side.

"Do no' use your magic," Meghan warned. "They have a seeker with them." In single file, walking softly and looking about them, they made their way through the forest. Both Isabeau and Meghan knew every track in this valley, and they encountered no trouble. The storm was already passing, so that between the thinning clouds they saw the red comet rising into the sky. It seemed a bad omen.

There was only one way in and out of the valley, and that was through a system of caves that riddled the mountain wall to the west. Some were only shallow, and others gave the promise of a way through, only to lead to a dead end. There was even a loch, far below the surface, an eerie place where stalagmites and stalactites touched fingers and the ceiling rose into an intricate cathedral of stone. The caves were a maze, and a natural defense; Isabeau could still hardly believe the Red Guards had been able to find their way through. They must have employed magic. Isabeau, remembering the Mesmerd, shuddered.

Without doubt the seanalair of the Red Guards would have left a guard, and so they regrouped in the shelter of the trees, and had a conference. "It'll be best if they do no' ken we have gone," Meghan said. "When they canna break in they will try fire, and eventually the tree shall burn. It'll be best if they think we burn with her."

"They may find one o' the openings to the secret passage."

"They may. It will still be best if they do no' ken how or when we left. I think I ken a way ..." Meghan lead them to a cave even Isabeau did not know, a hole under an overhang of brambles. They were badly scratched getting in, but felt safe they were unobserved. "Jorge, we will need light, unless ye can lead us?"

"I can see many things, but no' my way through this riddle," the seer answered, crouching by Isabeau's side in the darkness. "Meghan, dare we risk a sighting?"

Meghan shook her head. "I too would give much to use your Talent, my friend," she said. "But it is too dangerous. When we are free of the caves, perhaps we can risk it, though I'd rather no' use magic if we can help it. It's far too dangerous."

"The spirits are talking to me. We must get out o' here fast, Meghan!"

"Give us a trickle o' light, then, and I will have us away safely. Only a trickle. We must no' draw attention to ourselves."

Jorge complied, and by the faint flicker Meghan examined the tiny cave. She laid her hands on the stone and Isabeau could feel her concentrating. "Very well," she murmured and began to lead them upward, through a narrow chimney that at times had to be climbed with the help of knees and elbows. It was exhausting work, but soon they were in a larger cave and able to move more quickly. At intervals Meghan laid her hands upon one wall or another. Isabeau followed suit, trying to see what her guardian was doing.

Meghan smiled at her. "Listen," she said, and Isabeau concentrated. Soon she discerned a faint difference in the quality of the stone—one seemed colder, darker. "No' that way," Meghan said.

They wandered the stone maze for over an hour, until Isabeau was stumbling with tiredness and beginning to wonder whether Meghan knew where she was going. Once or twice they heard voices, and once they passed through the cave that looked out onto the other side of the mountain. Its rough floor was littered with the small, black bodies of the elven cats who normally guarded the entrance. A Red Guard stood uneasily in the entrance, peering out into the darkness. They flitted silently through and into an antechamber without him suspecting a thing. A few minutes later they were free of the mountain, Meghan leading them out through a crack in its flank. Outside the ground was thick with snow. Isabeau pulled her tam-o'-shanter down over her stinging ears, and huddled her mittened hands under her plaid. "Havers it's cold!" she cried.