The Witches of Eileanan (26 page)

Lilanthe nodded, though fear was ugly on her face.

"At least ye ken who your mother and father were," Isabeau said bitterly. "I could be half frost giant for all I ken."

"No' with that hair," Lilanthe laughed, and then put up her hand self-consciously to her own, green as a new leaf. Then she sighed. "I be sorry, Isabeau, ye just do no' understand what it be like. My father used to beat me if I tried to change, would lock me inside so I could no' get to the forest. He used to sell me to the village men, for no one thought o' me as anything but an
uile-bheist.
When he died, they told the Red Guards, who came to get me. I had lived among them all my life and none would look me in the eye when they took me away. The soldiers used me as the village men had done, and taunted me with what the Questioners would do to me afore I died. Eventually I managed to escape: some fool let me put my feet to ground. Although they ken I was an
uile-bheist,
they never thought to ask what my fairy nature was. I hid in my treeshape for six days, and eventually they left. I have lived in the forests ever since. Five years! Five years I've been free, and I could never bear to leave the forest again."

"How auld were ye?" Isabeau whispered.

"Thirteen," Lilanthe answered. "Tree-changers develop much as humans do, I think. I was very much like a human bairn, in all but a few respects." She covered her face with her hands and gave a sharp gasp. Then her face was up again, and she was glaring at Isabeau with a wild look in her eye. "So there ye have it all. What are ye going to do?"

"Tell ye my story," Isabeau said comfortably. "Fair's fair. I was raised by a witch in a tree house deep in the mountains. I was taught much o' the ancient wisdom, and was only last week initiated into the forbidden Coven o' Witches. I think my guardian is in contact with the rebels, for sometimes we receive strange messages by carrier bird. I am now on a perilous quest for her, carrying a magic talisman to a spy in the Rìgh's castle itself. If we succeed, the evil Banrìgh will be toppled, and fairy and human can again live in harmony," she finished with a flourish, her blue eyes sparkling. "Now what are
ye
going to do?"

Lilanthe's eyes were brilliant. "How wonderful!" she breathed. "On a quest! Really?"

"Aye! Look, I'll show ye." Isabeau fished inside her shirt and brought out the black pouch. Opening its drawstrings, she pulled out the triangular talisman.

Immediately Lilanthe gasped. "I can feel its power!" she cried. "It's like a torch in your hand! Why is it I could no' feel it afore?"

"I think the pouch hides magic objects," Isabeau said frowning. "M ... M ... M ..." She tried to say her guardian's name but her tongue seemed to twist about in her mouth and she could not. "I was told to keep it in there," she finished.

"Maybe that is why I could no' sense ye," Lilanthe said. "Normally I can sense anything living for quite a way, but with ye I could no'. I stumbled across your tracks and could no' believe someone was passing through my territory without me knowing it. That was why I followed ye— no' only because ye looked interesting, but because there seems to be some veil about ye so I canna read your mind. I wonder if it is the wee pouch, but if so, it must be very powerful."

Isabeau fingered her rings, which she had also hidden in the bag, then reluctantly stowed them away again. "I wish I could wear my rings," she said. "I canna wait for the day when witchery is no longer outlawed."

"Or when tree-shifters are no' hunted down like animals," Lilanthe said sadly. "It is lonely in the forest sometimes. I wish ye did no' have to keep going, or that I could travel with ye. I will miss ye once we reach the edge o' the forest."

"Me too," Isabeau said, feeling pity for her friend squeeze her throat. "But it is too dangerous."

"Are ye no' frightened?"

"Och, no," Isabeau said airily. "I only have to get to Caeryla, really, and then I'll have help."

"So ye really are no' going to tell anyone that I'm hiding out in the forest?" Lilanthe asked nervously.

"Of course no'!" Isabeau exclaimed, then mimicked her, "Are ye sure ye willna tell anyone I'm on a secret mission to overthrow the evil Banrìgh?"

Lilanthe laughed. "Oh aye, sure, I'll go up to the next Red Guard I see and say, 'I ken I be only a tree-shifter and ye are beholden to kill me, but if I tell ye where to find a witch, will ye leave me alone?' No, I'm going to stay right away from any soldiers, believe me!"

The two girls parted company three days later on the very edge of the forest. They hugged and kissed and wept a few tears, then Lilanthe melted back into the trees and Isabeau set her face toward the Pass. At last she reached the top of the last hill, and stood there in silence, smelling the wind. The Pass, a narrow ravine that ran through the last barrier of mountains, looked as though some crazed frost giant had chopped at the mountain with an axe, cutting a path through the very rock. It was not a giant's axe, however, but the Rhylister, carving its way through the rock over many thousands of years.

The sun was setting rapidly, and the shadow of the mountains was falling upon the meadow before her. With a sigh, Isabeau decided she must spend another night in the forest, for the path through the Pass was narrow and dangerous and should not be negotiated at night. There was no other way down into the highlands of Rionnagan, for the mountains in this area were virtually impenetrable. Quickly she turned and scrambled back down the steep slope, looking about her for a safe place to camp. She knew there were few things in the forest that she could not contend with, but she was tired and hungry, and the forest held many strange creatures.

She found at last an old tree whose massive roots rose into large cavities like shallow caves. She propped her satchel inside the largest, then hid her pouches of herbs at the back. Carefully she built a fire and, with her finger, lit the twists of dry leaves and bark so a tiny blue flame sprung into life. Blowing gently upon the embers, she fed in more twigs and dry leaves until a small fire blazed between the roots of the trees. She thrust some sweet roots into the embers and put on her little pot to boil. Shadows danced like goblins over the twisted roots and the trunks of the trees about her, but Isabeau was not afraid.

During the night she was woken suddenly by a presentiment of danger. The fire had died, but the talisman she carried in its black pouch was burning hot, scalding her through the cloth of her shirt. Carefully she stretched out her hand and touched her knife, trying to scent what was in the air. She thought she could smell horses, and the next moment she could hear them, crashing through the undergrowth.

Quietly Isabeau tied her boots to her waist and gathered together her belongings. She could hear the riders now— they were swearing, and the bridles jingled. She kicked dust over the remains of the fire and, barefooted, swarmed up the tree. It was easy climbing, since the roots provided many handholds, and Isabeau was safely concealed in its branches by the time the party reached the clearing.

She heard the riders enter the clearing and, peering through the branches, could make out the shapes of men as they dismounted. There was a thud as some bundle across one of the horse's saddles was thrown to the ground, and the clink of metal as the horses were unbridled.

"In Truth, I hate this wood," one of the men said. "It fair gives me the creeps. If I did no' ken better, I'd swear there were spirits abroad this night."

"What sort o' spirits?" a woman's voice said, and the silky, menacing tone made Isabeau shiver. "If ye are no' careful, Carldo, people might start thinking ye believe in... spirits. People might start talking, and talk travels. Talk can travel places ye'd rather it wasna heard."

There was a tiny pause, and then Carldo said in a startled tone, "Och, but my Lady Glynelda, no one would think . . . everyone knows I was brought up right, I've been taught the Truth. No one would think otherwise."

"Still, one should be careful," Glynelda said. "The Awl does no' like those that speak against the Truth."

Carldo made a grunt of fervent assent, but the woman cut across him with a gesture. Then she spoke, very low, so that Isabeau could hardly hear her. "I can smell ... enchantment."

Isabeau froze. A witch-sniffer! Terror ran like ice through her veins. What bad luck to come across a seeker. It might even be the one that had discovered the secret valley where she and Meghan had lived, forcing them to flee. She wished now she had lit her fire with flint, not magic, and she pressed back deeper into the shadows of the branches. The talisman seemed to be branding her skin, it burned so hot.

Another man spoke up. "This forest is probably stiff with enchantments, m'lady. Think on the monster we have already found. The Truth alone kens what evil things have bred up here in these cursed mountains. We mun keep our wits about us."

The group began to settle for the night. Isabeau heard the sound of other parcels being thrown down, and a whickering snort from a horse, which sounded like a rumble of discontent. She heard one of the men take his boots off, and another said something about starting a fire. Isabeau shrank back into the concealing branches, afraid the light would reveal her to the men below. She could escape them, of course, but would rather no one saw her passing.

By the light of the flickering flames, she saw eight men, six in the red cloaks of the Banrìgh's Guard; two dressed roughly in brown wool and leather, who sat together at one side of the fire. By herself on the other side was a woman wearing a severe red dress, buttoned high to the throat. She had a stern face, and sat with her back as straight as a ruler. Backed into the trees stood the horses, most of them rough hacks, one a finely-bred chestnut. One of the men hung a black pot over the fire, and Isabeau could smell meat. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Should we feed the
uile-bheist?"
Carldo asked hesitantly.

"Feel sorry for it, do we?" another man said snidely.

Carldo shook his head violently. "No, no, I just thought it'd be better if it did no' die afore we got it to the palace. Surely she'd rather it be alive?"

After a moment, the seeker said, "True. Feed it then, if ye want."

Carldo got to his feet clumsily, and approached the shrouded bundle they had thrown down earlier. Isabeau leaned forward, watching him struggle to undo the rope that was passed several times around the object. At last Carldo managed to undo the knots, and pull aside the cloth. A young man lay inside, his mouth gagged tightly.

"Are ye hungry?" Carldo asked gruffly, pulling aside the gag. He was answered with an unearthly cry of despair and defiance that rose into the night like a clarion call. Quickly Carldo kicked him into silence.

"What in dragons' balls was that?" Carldo muttered. "I never heard such a thing!"

"Keep it quiet!" Lady Glynelda snapped, her voice frightened. "Do ye want all the creatures o' the forest down upon us? Feed it if ye must, only keep it quiet!"

Carldo looked as if he did not want to go near the prisoner again, but reluctantly he spooned some of the stew into a bowl and gave it to him, undoing his bound hands first and menacing him into silence. The prisoner ate hungrily, shoveling the food into his mouth with both hands. Carldo stood over him with his claymore in hand, looking uneasily out into the forest, which rustled and murmured with all its night sounds of wind and bird and branches tapping. Isabeau wondered if Carldo could still hear the echo of that strange song, as she could.

At last the bowl was empty, and although the prisoner gave a short squawk and motioned for more, Carldo took the bowl away and tied him up again. Isabeau busied her mind with plans of rescue. She wondered uneasily whether Meghan would approve if she knew—her guardian's instructions had not included the saving of a stranger with the voice of a bird. Then she smiled and shrugged. She had always been one to go her own way.

After a while, the party slept, the prisoner again bound and gagged. One man stayed on watch, but he sat with his back to her, staring uneasily out into the night. Slowly Isabeau slid out of the tree, and waited, crouching in the shadows, until his head was nodding. Then she slowly shook some valerian powder out of one of her pouches into her hand and lightly scattered it over him. He gave a snort and a start, but almost immediately began to snore. Isabeau smiled, and scattered a pinch over the others. She waited until the rhythm of their breathing had deepened, then slipped silently over to where the prisoner lay awkwardly on his side with the rough cloth draped over him.

"Do no' sing," she breathed into his ear, first in her own language, then in the language of birds. At the sound of the bubble of music, one of the men shifted uneasily, and Isabeau froze. She waited almost ten minutes, before saying again, "Do no' sing." She hoped he had understood.

Quickly the girl sliced the rope around his feet and hands, and rubbed them urgently, knowing how painfully circulation would return to his limbs. In the faint firelight, she saw that he was naked beneath the rough cloth, which made her blush with confusion. Isabeau had never had much to do with men, and the obvious differences between her body and his filled her with embarrassment. He clutched the cloth to his body and, looking the other way, she tried to help him to his feet, which were roughly bound in sacking instead of shoes. But it was no use, the prisoner was crippled by the long hours spent bound, and could not walk. Isabeau looked around quickly, and saw the horses resting in the shadows. They were awake, and watching what she did with some interest. The chestnut, a tall stallion with a fiery mane and tail, pawed the ground, then stepped forward daintily and nuzzled against her arm. She stroked his silky nose and said, "Thank ye," knowing the horse had understood what she wanted.