The Witches of Eileanan (2 page)

"But I want to listen," Isabeau protested.

"Ye can still listen," Seychella soothed. "I will talk while ye bathe."

A little shy at the idea of bathing before a stranger, Isabeau nonetheless pulled out the hip-high tub from the corner beside the fire and poured in hot water from the kettle. She mixed it with cold water from the barrel on the other side and tested the temperature with her finger. It was only just lukewarm, so Isabeau stirred the water with her finger and concentrated. Slowly she felt the water around her finger begin to heat until steam billowed up from the rippling surface. She felt rather than saw the exchange of glances by the two women, and flushed.

"So the lassie heats her own water," Seychella murmured, and Isabeau clearly heard the amusement in her voice. "Well, certainly quicker than boiling the kettle over and over!"

Slowly Isabeau unbraided her hair, conscious of the dark-haired woman's gaze. Fiery red and very curly, Isabeau's hair reached below her knees and, released from its tight braids, stuck out in a frizzy halo all round her face and body.

"So she has no' cut it like so many lassies do now," Seychella said in satisfaction.

"O' course no'," Meghan responded grumpily. "I'm no' yet that far removed from the Coven!"

"No, ye be an auld-fashioned one, that be for sure!"

Ignoring them, Isabeau tossed a bundle of fragrant rose leaves into the water and a few drops of oil scented with Starwood, before stripping off her grimy breeches, the woolen jerkin and her sweat-stained shirt.

"Does she ken
ahdayeh?"
Seychella asked as the girl stepped into the water, studiously ignoring the older women's gaze.

"The rudiments," Meghan responded. "Only what I could teach her, and ye ken I canna move around as much as I once did. She knows all the stances though, and I've been as critical as I could."

Isabeau concentrated on scrubbing her back with the long-handled brush. She had always been more interested in swimming in the loch or exploring the valley with her animal friends than in
ahdayeh,
the art of fighting. She just could not imagine needing to fight or use a weapon.

"What else can she do?" Seychella asked, rather contemptuously.

"She does have a way with animals," Meghan admitted grudgingly. "She was talking to the birds when she first toddled, and she can charm any coney, deer or snake."

"I spoke to a saber-leopard one time," Isabeau said, trying very hard to keep her pride out of her voice. "It was frightening, his words were so fierce, but it was exciting too."

"And what did the saber-leopard say?" Seychella raised an eyebrow.

From Isabeau's mouth came a deep purr that rose into a snarl at the end.

"Sweet sweet the wind rich in smell the step o' horned one the taste the smell the sweet chase the pound o' blood the chase the dance the smell the taste o' flesh the sound o' muscles tearing oh die beloved oh die!" Meghan translated, and smiled. Seychella snorted.

Isabeau lathered her hair with rose soap, and winked at Gitâ the donbeag. The soap smelled delicious. She and Meghan made it every year, some with rose petals for their calming properties, some with lavender and some with murkwoad and trefoil for their healing properties. The murk-woad was a luxury, since it was one of the precious essences that Meghan had brought to their forest home from the outside world.

Although Seychella had promised Isabeau could listen as she and Meghan talked, Isabeau could hear only snatches of their murmured conversation. What little she did hear only inflamed her suspicions that somehow Seychella's visit was to do with her.

"So what are ye going to do with the lass?" Seychella said quite clearly as she poured herself some more tea. Meghan's answer was inaudible, but the black-haired witch then said, "If she really does have some ability, we must do what we can to help her."

Excitement filled her. Perhaps, at last, Meghan would begin to teach her the secrets of the One Power. A wood witch, Meghan had always thought it more important for Isabeau to learn how to heal, and to nurture plants, and speak the languages of the woodland creatures. So that is what Isabeau had learned, at least until a few years ago when the coming of her menses had brought her a surge of power that saw her red hair crackle and her blue eyes glow. Isabeau had always been able to exercise her will in small ways and, simply by watching Meghan, had learned how to start a fire or move small objects. The week her blood began to flow, she inadvertently started a fire by snapping her fingers, when all she meant to do was light a candle.

Remembering, Isabeau grinned, and lay back in the bath, looking up at the scorch marks on the wooden ceiling. "That is no' the thing to do when ye live in a tree," was all Meghan had said when she came limping down the ladder to find Isabeau, frightened and in tears, desperately trying to put out the fire. After that, the wood witch had agreed to give Isabeau occasional lessons, for she could see her ward would keep on trying things in secret and the sooner she learned control, the better.

After her bath, in her soft shirt and leggings, Isabeau sat on the stool, combing her damp hair. She was longing to ask questions, but knew that if she had something to do with Seychella's mysterious appearance, she would soon find out. So she helped Meghan serve the thick vegetable stew that was their normal evening meal and sat back in her corner to eat in silence.

The two witches kept up a light conversation all through the meal, talking of people Isabeau had never heard of and places she had only seen on the map upstairs. Gitâ came down out of the rafters and curled up in Meghan's lap, his eyes bright. Isabeau listened in interest, her curiosity about her guardian's former life growing with every story. For many years she had taken the house in the giant tree and her life here with Meghan for granted. It was only recently that she had begun to wonder how they came to live here, and why Meghan took so many pains to keep their life secret. Meghan rarely answered her questions, only occasionally letting drop a tantalizing scrap of information that only made Isabeau more curious. Listening now to the women's conversation, she realized with greater force than ever that Meghan had not always lived in the Sithiche Mountains, collecting herbs and knitting by the fire. They spoke of journeys on the sea, flirtations in great castles, spells cast and foundered, and news of other witches, in exile or in hiding.

"I have news o' Arkening," Seychella said in a low voice. Meghan lifted her eyes from her knitting. "She has been hiding in the Sgailean Mountains, near the Rurach border. I saw her as I came through the mountains from Siantan."

"I have no' heard from Arkening since the Day o' Betrayal," Meghan said quietly. "I have only been able to find a few o' the sisters, and then only those who are no' too frightened to answer my messages."

"I'll no' tell ye a lie, I barely recognized her, she were so auld and ragged. She was begging in a village square. She would no' talk to me, she be that terrified o' being called a witch; the witch-hunts in Rurach have been savage the past five years, ye ken."

"Aye, I heard."

"Ye would." Seychella's voice was ironic. "What else have ye heard? It amazes me how ye can live so deep in these misbegotten mountains and still hear more news than I!"

"Aye, but ye never really mastered the Skill of scrying through water and fire, did ye? Your abilities lie elsewhere."

Seychella shrugged her shoulders irritably.

Meghan continued knitting placidly, saying, "I have news from Rhyssmadill, at any rate. Our auld friend Latifa sends me regular dispatches, though I worry for her safety. She says things are getting worse every day. The Rìgh does no' go out anymore, he does no' even seem interested in eating, let alone the affairs o' the country. The forests are infested with bandits, and the merchants are bitter about the standstill o' trade with the other islands—without the songs o' the sea witches, they say the sea serpents are getting very bold and no ships dare go out, even though the winter tides are receding. Then there is great dissatisfaction amongst the lairds, especially the MacSeinn clan, who were driven out o' Carraig by the Fairgean four or five years ago, with the Rìgh doing nothing to help them regain their land."

"There be dissatisfaction out in the countryside as well," Seychella said. "The peasants in Siantan have been hiding weapons in the thatch, and there be much talk o' a man they call the Cripple. They say he rescues witches from the fire and champions the poor. For the first time in many years I have heard talk against the crown ... and I hear yon Banrìgh grows more careless each day. One day soon she'll take a stumble, and then who kens what could happen."

"I do no' believe it," Meghan said flatly. "More arrogant, aye, that I'll believe. But Maya is cunning as a snake; if she seems careless, it'll be because she hopes someone will make a move against her."

"Rebellion be in the air, Meghan, I smell it."

"Maybe so, maybe no'," Meghan responded.

"It's true our attempt at rebellion in Rurach was no' at all successful. I had gathered together many with Talent, and we made contact with the rebels there, as you directed. It was from them that I first heard o' the Cripple—the stories they tell! Did ye ken he rescued a whole cartload o' witches from under the Banrìgh's very nose? The rebels all worship him, though no one kens who he is. Sometimes I think he's only a myth and all the stories fabrications ... though some o' the orders that came through for the rebels were nothing short o' brilliant, and they had to come from somewhere. With our help, the rebels rescued many a skeelie and cunning man from persecution by the Red Guards, and we even managed to save some Tower witches from the fire, no' that it did us much good in the end. I do no' ken how she found out about us—I'm sure the local crofters did no' betray us, for the people o' Rurach have never forgiven the Rìgh for the banishment o' Tabithas, and they helped us hide Skeelies many a time. I hope it were no' the MacRuraich who lead the Awl to us, though he certainly hunted us all down afterward. I find it so hard to believe Tabithas' own brother would betray us. The Banrìgh must have laid a spell on him."

"There are other compulsions." Meghan's voice was sad.

"Ten years I spent building up the resistance in Rurach, and a couple of hours was all it took for the Red Guards to destroy it all. The MacRuraich hunted each and every one o' us down ..."

"Ye were no' hunted down," Meghan observed.

"I am the only one who escaped. The only one!"

"Still, ye ken the MacRuraich would have found ye if he had so wished. The MacRuraich clan find anything they search for. That is their Talent."

"Aye, we had no hope once the Banrìgh set Anghus MacRuraich on our trail. I do no' ken what sort o' spell she could have laid on him, to turn him against us like that. The MacRuraichs have always been loyal to the Coven."

"I'm no' sure I understand," Isabeau said, unable to keep silent any longer. "Ye speak o' the Banrìgh as if she is a witch herself, yet how can she be? I thought she was supposed to hate witches and magic."

"All magic but her own," Seychella growled.

Meghan turned to her charge. "Isabeau, how many times have I tried to teach ye about the Day o' Betrayal, only to have ye sneak out to go swimming or playing in the meadows as soon as I turned my back?" Isabeau had the grace to blush. In fact the only lessons she had really concentrated on were those in magic or woodcraft. "It's important ye understand this, Isabeau. I want ye to listen and remember what I tell ye now, for the shadow o' the Day o' Betrayal still falls upon us and we're all fighting to be free o' it. If witchcraft is ever to be a power in the land again, all witches must understand what it is Maya has done." Isabeau nodded, awed by the tone in her guardian's voice. "Can ye remember the story o' the Third Fairgean Wars, Beau?"

"Well, I ken the Fairgean invaded us—I do no' ken why ... it was years ago, afore I was born. They came in stealth, filling up the lochan and rivers so that it was dangerous to even water the herds . . . The Rìgh called together the first army in centuries . .. since the Second Fairgean Wars. They drove away the Fairgean ... He died, I think ..." Isabeau's voice faltered.

"Listen to me well, Isabeau, a witch needs to learn as much as she can—only with knowledge and understanding can she gain the High Magic. Ye are no' a bairn anymore. If the rumors be true, there may be civil war across the land and that will affect us all, even ye and me in this wee valley o' ours. Now listen well," Meghan said. "Twenty years ago Parteta the Brave was killed, fighting off the invasion o' the Fairgean, who had come with the rising tide to try and win back the coast o' Clachan and Ravenshaw. That same day his eldest son Jaspar was crowned the new Rìgh, kneeling amongst the blood and fire o' the battlefield, the Lodestar blazing in his fist. Although he was still a boy, without hair on his chin or chest, Jaspar drove the Fairgean from the shores o' Clachan, and they fled back into the sea."

Isabeau nodded, though she could not see much difference between what she and Meghan had said.

"The Rìgh Jaspar returned to Lucescere as a hero, to be greeted there in joy and sorrow by his mother Lavinya, and his three younger brothers, Feargus, Donncan, and Lachlan. For three years peace and prosperity reigned, till Lavinya followed her husband into death. Again the castle mourned, for Lavinya had been both kind and wise, and she would be sorely missed. The Rìgh was now standing on the threshold o' manhood, strong and bonny like a sapling tree, and all Eileanan had reason to believe he would be a rìgh as his father had been and his father afore him—just but merciful, strong but compassionate, brave but wise. However, by his eighteenth birthday, the Rìgh was filled with a restlessness he did no' understand, and was growing impatient with affairs o' state. When a bonny stranger came to the castle dressed in red velvet with a hawk on her wrist, the Rìgh was struck with love for her as if by lightning. They were married that week, with much rejoicing in the city, and so it was that Maya the Unknown became Banrìgh o' Eileanan." The musical lilt of Meghan's voice hardened with rage, and Isabeau thought that she spoke the name of the Banrìgh with hatred.