The Witches of Eileanan (22 page)

"So the prides fight among themselves?"

Khan'derin stared. "O' course. We have always fought. What else is there to do?" When Meghan did not reply, she continued. "The Fighting Cats are jealous o' our Haven, which is large enough for all the pride, and high enough to be free o' any attack from the demons in the valleys. The Fighting Cats' Haven is much deeper north, on the ice plains, where spring is very late in coming and where the frost giants live. Their pastures are no' as lush as ours and, indeed, it has been a very hard winter."

"So ye are scarred as a sign o' hunting and fighting prowess?"

"Aye. All o' us are scarred, according to our calling. I chose to become a Scarred Warrior, which is why I do no' want to leave. Ye will want me to learn your tricks and treacheries, when all I want is to stay with my pride and fight for them and feed them, as is the way o' the Scarred Warrior."

"Was your father a Scarred Warrior?"

"Indeed, he was, the greatest o' them all. He received all seven scars, which I will too one day."

"What does this mean, the seven scars?"

"Only those who have the seven scars can order the Council o' Scarred Warriors. In my lifetime, I have heard o' only two Scarred Warriors with all seven scars."

"Explain to me again about how ye won your scars, and what it means. Ye said ye would have led the pride now?"

"No! No Scarred Warrior leads the pride, that is the job o' the Auld Mother. One day I will be Firemaker, and that is why I must win my scars. No, the Council o' Scarred Warriors discuss war plans and when to leave the Haven and head for the summer pastures, that sort o' thing. The Auld Mother decides, o' course, but she listens carefully to the Scarred Warriors."

"And ye are to be Auld Mother one day?"

"I am the only daughter o' the blood—at least I thought I was. Now ye tell me I have a sister. That is no' good. Who is to be Auld Mother and Firemaker?"

"I do no' ken. Surely that is still a long way off?"

"Indeed, I hope so. I need to win my scars first, and then be taught the way o' the wind, and how to travel in dreams."

"I canna teach ye that, but I can teach ye other things. How to talk to animals and understand the ways o' the earth, How to read omens and signs, how to ken what others are thinking."

"Feld has tried to teach me such things but I canna see how they will help me."

"If ye are to become Firemaker, they will help ye greatly. In the meantime, though, what o' your Auld Mother's dream?"

"I do no' want to leave the pride."

"Sometimes we must do what we do no' wish to do. Tell me what she dreamt and I will tell ye what I think."

"I do no' ken what she dreamt. All I ken is what she said to me as I was preparing to leave for the Cursed Valley. She said she had dreamed I was to leave the Spine o' the World and follow in the footsteps o' my father. She said I must test my wings."

"That is all I want ye to do," Meghan said. "I felt such an omen when first I met ye. I feel the Spinners are twisting the threads o' our lives together."

"So ye think I should go with ye?"

"Aye, I want ye to, Khan'derin."

She turned on her heel. "I will think on it."

Meghan spent the day in the library with Feld, finding out more about Tirlethan and its strange history. The original inhabitants of this mountain country, who called themselves Khan'cohbans, or Children of the White Gods, lived in groups called prides. They were not human, though very similar in bodily structure, being closely related to the Celestine, the race of forest-dwellers who had ruled Eileanan before the time of the First Crossing. Faodhagan the Red had been fascinated by their ancient culture, and had spent much time with them after the establishment of the Towers. He had fallen in love with one of their women and had fathered twins with her.

So,
Meghan thought,
Isabeau and Khan'derin are probably descendants o' his line, half human, half fairy. No wonder Isabeau's magic is so powerful!

Later that day the white-clad youngster came up behind Meghan, startling her with her noiseless approach. "I have thought long on this, auld mother," she said reluctantly, "and if ye and my grandmother both think it is my fate to travel away from the Spine o' the World, then that is what I must do."

"I am pleased to hear that," Meghan responded gravely.

"I am very unhappy," Khan'derin said. "I have never crossed the mountains—I ken nothing o' your people or your land."

"They are your people too, Khan'derin, do no' doubt that for a moment. You may have been born into a fairy tribe, but human bluid runs strong in ye. From what I have learned, ye are the descendant o' one o' the First Coven, Faodhagan the Red, and that makes ye and Isabeau o' the very finest bluid. A ban prionnsa, no less. If that were no' enough, I sense much Power latent in ye. I canna allow that to go to waste. But there is no need for ye to be afraid."

"I am no' afraid!" Khan'derin snapped. "I just do no' think o' your people as being my people. The prides have kept to themselves for many hundreds o' years now. Only the Firemaker crosses the mountains, and then only when it is time to mate." She sighed. "Perhaps this means it is time for me to mate."

"Does that mean the Firemakers do no' marry and interbreed with the people o' the prides?" Meghan was fascinated.

"Sometimes. Khan'fella did. But mostly the Firemaker crosses the mountains in search o' a suitable mate. When she is with babe she returns to the Spine o' the World."

"What is a suitable mate?"

Khan'derin sighed. "A man, strong and wise, with blue eyes like those o' all the Firemaker's get and hair with red in it... that is what the Firemaker seeks." Meghan nodded thoughtfully. Khan'derin continued, "Children o' the White and Children o' the Red should no' mate, there is always tragedy if they do. That is how the Towers o' Roses and Thorns came to be deserted in the first place, and the valley cursed ... So the Firemaker crosses the mountains when it is time, and the People stay behind, waiting in fear for her to return safely. Auld Mother says the only man o' our people to cross the mountains in generations was my father."

"And now ye follow in your father's footsteps, and indeed, that may no' be a bad thing."

"So where do we go?"

"I think I would fain return to my home first," Meghan said. She told Khan'derin how the Red Guards had attacked her home in the tree, and how anxious she was to return to see who and what had survived.

"Are ye no' concerned the soldiers will still be there?" Khan'derin asked.

"The animals will tell me," she answered.

Meghan spent the rest of the day with Feld, telling him some of her plans and asking his advice. The old sorcerer knew very little, however. He had lived all these years in the Towers of Roses and Thorns quite happily absorbed in his books and the care of the sleeping sorceress whom he loved like a daughter. He had thought it impossible that any of his former friends and colleagues could have escaped the Day of Betrayal, and had not tried to track any of them down.

Meghan also spent some hours sitting with Ishbel, holding her hand and wondering at the nest of hair that cocooned her. Ishbel's magic had always been strange. She had never mastered many of the simple acts of magic that is all most witches manage. She had never been able to light a candle or move an object or read its past. It was as if all of her magic was concentrated in that one Talent, the Talent of Flying, such a rare ability that the Towers had always been rather in awe of her. Perhaps that is why she and Khan'gharad had fallen in love, for he had flown the dragon's back and that too was a strange marvel and frightening to most witches.

Meghan decided it was time to go and brought Ishbel's hand to her mouth to kiss. "I am sorry," she whispered. "Sleep safely, my dear." Then, on impulse, she bent and kissed Ishbel on the forehead, between her eyes. The silver-haired witch stirred, and her eyelashes fluttered and opened. Ishbel looked about her with a wondering gaze and raised herself a little in the shining nest of hair.

"Meghan . . ." Her vivid blue eyes filled with tears.

"Ishbel, ye have woken!"

"I felt your presence here," she whispered. "I do no' want ye. Please go."

"I'm sorry, Ishbel. . ."

"I ken ye did no' mean to kill my love, my darling, but ye did, ye did!" Ishbel began to wail, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Och, he is dead, my Khan'gharad is dead!"

"Ishbel, the dragons say he still lives! Strange as it seems, they say he is no' dead. We could try to find him for ye, Ishbel, we could try."

"He's dead, he's dead," the silver-haired witch wept, and sank back into the nest of hair, burying her face in her hands.

"But the queen-dragon said—"

"Ye think I would no' ken if my love was alive? I ken he is gone from me, for I search and search, I call for him, and there is no answer. Go away, Meghan, I do no' want to remember, I want to sleep . . ." As she spoke, Ishbel's eyes began to close but Meghan shook her awake, rough in her urgency.

"Ishbel, we need ye! We are rising against the Usurper, we need your help! Now is no' the time to sleep. Things are afoot."

Ishbel gazed at her with wide blue eyes and said softly, "Ye have my daughters, is that no' enough?"

Meghan said frantically, "I ken Isabeau was your babe, Ishbel, she had your eyes. I did everything I could for her, I brought her up as if she was my own ..."

"I ken, Meghan," Ishbel said, "and I thank ye for it. I heard your voice in my dreams, calling for help and so I came to ye, to judge her Tests as is fitting. But it was too much, too much. To see her all grown, when last I saw her she was still slimy with my birth fluids. To ken sixteen years have passed . . . that my love has been dead for sixteen years and still I live on ... I canna bear it!"

"Ishbel, please!"

"Do no' think I hate ye for what ye did, but I canna bear to see your face. Too well I remember that day. It is seared into my memory. I canna bear to remember, I canna bear ..." Slowly her words slurred and her eyes closed, tears still trickling from beneath their lids, her breath whimpering.

Meghan shook her fiercely again. "Ishbel, Ishbel, what about the Key? What happened to the Key?"

"I do no' ken," she whispered, not opening her eyes.

"What did ye do with the Key? Do ye have it still?"

"No ..."

"What happened to it? Ishbel, ye must try to remember!"

"I do no' ken . .." Her voice slurred into silence, and none of Meghan's pleas and admonishments and shakings could wake her, though her sleep grew more and more disturbed until at last Meghan desisted, sobs bitter in her throat. She was entangled now in the constantly floating hair as if in a giant spider's web and she was hard put not to fight it off with frantic fists. She stood still, fingers clenched by her side. Gitâ crept from her pocket, soothing and petting her, pushing his silken head beneath her chin. After a moment, she encircled him with her hand, and he buried his cold nose against her palm. "So be it," she said. "We keep on searching, and hope Isabeau is safe." Then she carefully disentangled herself and went back to her room.

After gathering her things together, Meghan left to say a subdued farewell to Feld, who looked as grave as she felt. "Feld, I may need ye in the end, when we raise our hands against Maya the Ensorcellor. Will ye help?"

"I am but an auld man, very tired—" Feld began.

Meghan interrupted him. "I am far aulder than ye, Feld. I remember when ye came to the Tower as an eager novice, still wet behind the ears. And I too am tired, so tired I sometimes wonder how I manage to keep this auld body creaking along. But this is no' the time to be worrying about such things! Our country is being ground to dust beneath the heel o' an evil sorceress, and for sixteen years we have nursed our wounds and wished for the grand auld days to return. Well, they canna return but we can start again. Eileanan needs ye, Feld. We need your wisdom and learning, we need your magical strength. Can I call upon ye when I need ye?"

After a moment the old warlock nodded, and his wrinkled face was ashamed. "Aye, Keybearer, ye can," he replied.

With Gitâ riding on her shoulder, Meghan made her way through the ruined corridors of the Towers. Cobwebs hung in splendid, dusty festoons from pillar to pillar, broken masonry littered the floor, and the old witch had to clutch her skirts tight around her boots to prevent them from snagging on the rubbish of centuries. Her spirits were very low, and Gitâ crooned to her softly, holding on to her ear with one black-tipped paw.

Suddenly there was a loud screech and a huge white shape took flight over her head. Meghan jumped and put her hand to her heart.

"No need to be afraid." Khan'derin's voice came out of the gloom. "It is merely a blizzard owl. They say the Red Sorceress had one as her familiar, and after she threw herself to her death from the heights, only her owl dared stay in the Towers."