‘They follow the blue whale,’ Isabeau said. ‘The tiny creatures the whales eat live only in the icy seas, and the Fairgean hunt the whales for their meat and bone. In the spring the whales swim south so they can breed in the warmer waters, and so the Fairgean follow in their trail. When the tides turn in the autumn, the whales head north again, and so do the Fairgean. They do no’ feel the cold as we do.’
Lachlan shuddered and cast her a look of suspicious dislike. ‘How do ye ken so much about the blaygird coldblooded fish-people then, Isabeau?’
Isabeau was not foolish enough to tell him that Maya the Ensorcellor had told her much about the Fairgean when they had first met on the shores of Clachan. Instead she said blandly, ‘I have been reading all the scrolls and books I can find on them, for Iseult says one must know one’s enemy to defeat them.’
‘Very true,’ Isabeau’s twin said and cast her husband a quelling look. ‘So when can we expect the Fairgean again, Isabeau?’
‘Theyll come again in the spring,’ she answered. ‘The tides run highest at the spring equinox and that is when we’ll have the most to fear. But as long as we keep away from the rivers and lochan they canna do too much damage. Most can only keep their land shape a few hours, I have read—’
‘What about the Ensorcellor?’ Lachlan sneered. ‘Sixteen years she lived amongst us and none but I knew she was a Fairge!’
‘Did she no’ tell ye she was born o’ a human mother?’ Meghan said. ‘Happen being half human made it easier for her.’
‘What about her blaygird servant?’ Lachlan pointed out. ‘She was a true Fairge and yet she also lived among us for sixteen years. Even with the seawater pool in Maya’s quarters, she must have been able to retain her land shape for many hours.’
‘That’s true,’ Isabeau conceded anxiously. ‘Perhaps the books are wrong …’
‘Or perhaps Sani the Sinister was unusual among her kind,’ Meghan said. ‘I have heard the Priestesses o’ Jor have a cruel apprenticeship, and are taught to suffer all manner o’ pain and deprivation. And we ken this plan o’ theirs was years in the making, so happen she had a long time to learn to survive above water.’
‘I wish I knew where the Ensorcellor has fled,’ Lachlan mused, pacing the floor in his usual restless way. ‘It troubles me that she is lurking somewhere out there, plotting against us and spinning her foul enchantments.’
‘Do no’ fear,’ Meghan said wearily. ‘She would have returned to her own kind; besides, did Isabeau no’ say we have a few months before we need worry about them? Let us plan how best to oust the Bright Soldiers, for it is they who concern us more nearly.’
‘And this time let us lance the boil altogether,’ Lachlan said grimly. ‘Too long Tìrsoilleir has been a shadow on our borders, with their bizarre rites and cruel practices. Why Aedan Whitelock ever allowed them to stay independent is beyond me. They should have signed the Pact o’ Peace and joined with the rest o’ Eileanan. Arran should have too!’
Iain bowed a trifle stiffly. He was the son of Margrit NicFóghnan, the Banprionnsa of Arran, whose clan had always been the traditional enemy of the MacCuinns. Having no great love for his cold and disdainful mother, Iain had fled Arran with the pupils of his mother’s Theurgia to warn the Rìgh of the Bright Soldiers’ planned invasion.
‘The Thistle has always s-s-stood alone,’ he responded. ‘But perhaps the t-t-time has come when the M-M-MacFóghnan and MacCuinn clans c-c-can be friends and allies instead o’ enemies.’ There was a gentle reproof in his voice, and Lachlan flushed a little and fidgeted his wings.
‘Indeed, Iain, and Im sorry if I sounded surly. I am glad indeed to have ye and your wife here, and I see clearly what aid ye can give us in bringing peace to Eileanan. At least we know now how the Bright Soldiers are flooding into the land, and your knowledge o’ the fenlands will help us indeed in driving them back, no’ to mention your witch skills. I did no’ mean to sound as if I did no’ appreciate your offers o’ help and support, nor as if I did no’ understand how difficult it must be to stand against your own mother.’
Both Isabeau and Iseult glanced at the Rìgh in surprise, for it was unusual for him to be so conciliatory. He was looking at Iain with genuine sympathy and friendliness, however, and the prionnsa flushed and took the hand Lachlan held out to him, gripping it fervently and muttering something in response.
Iain’s wife Elfrida leant forward. ‘Am I to understand by your words, Your Highness, that ye intend to invade Tìrsoilleir and overthrow the Fealde?’
Lachlan looked at her warily. ‘I suppose I do, my lady.’ He knew, of course, that Elfrida was the last of the MacHilde clan, one-time rulers of Tìrsoilleir, who had long ago been ousted by the militant religious leaders of that country.
Although it would have been easy to assume Elfrida was a bitter opponent of the Fealde, Lachlan also knew she had for eighteen years been indoctrinated with the philosophy of the Kirk. The army camped throughout southern Eileanan was made up of her countryfolk, and it was entirely possible she felt some qualms at the talk of war against them. Most tellingly, she had several times exclaimed in bemusement and even horror at some tenet of the Coven’s beliefs. Like the others, she had spent many hours of the past few weeks at the Tower of Two Moons, being taught about the history of the land and the philosophy of the witches. There was no doubt it was far different to what she had been taught. The Tìrsoilleirean believed in one god and one god only. They believed all who chose to worship a different deity or in a different way were condemned to eternal agony in a fiery realm. Their god was a cruel and jealous god who rode the sky in a flaming chariot, sweeping the land with fierce eyes in search of sinners and heretics.
The Coven of Witches, however, believed only in the natural forces of the world. Everyone was free to seek their own path to wisdom and to worship in whatever way they pleased. If they prayed, it was to Eà, who encompassed both light and darkness, life and death, the creative and the destructive. Eà was neither good nor evil, male nor female. Eà was both and neither.
The tensions between Arran and the rest of Eileanan had always been both personal and political, but the differences with Tìrsoilleir were religious, and therefore far more dangerous. It was no wonder Lachlan looked at Elfrida warily as he spoke of invading her homeland and overthrowing the ruling council.
‘And what do ye plan to do with my country once ye have conquered it?’
Lachlan flushed and gripped his sceptre tightly, the Lodestar mounted at its crest glowing brighter in response. ‘I will demolish its evil temples and free the people from the tyranny o’ the Fealde,’ he retorted hotly. ‘Everyone should have the right to believe as they please, and no’ be forced to sacrifice their children and mutilate their bodies at the direction o’ a passel o’ filthy, pain-loving priests!’
‘It is only the berhtildes who must mutilate themselves and that is the command o’ the Fealde and no’ the General Assembly,’ Elfrida replied hotly, before blushing in confusion and stammering, ‘I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but indeed it is no’ true what ye say. The pastors do no’ sacrifice children, though it is true many mortify their flesh in repentance for their sins.’
‘But are there no’ cruel punishments for those who do no’ agree with your priests’ teaching?’ Meghan asked in interest.
Elfrida nodded. ‘Aye, indeed, many are maimed in reprisal for confessions o’ heresy, or burnt alive, or drawn and quartered. But ye should no’ call them priests, my lady, that is an heretical term. There are the pastors and the elders and the berhtildes who together make up the General Assembly who rule the land.’
‘I can see it is a blessing the Spinners have brought our threads to cross,’ Meghan said. ‘Indeed, it has been so many years since we’ve heard from beyond the Great Divide that we really know very little about your countryfolk. If it is true that ye must know your enemies to defeat them, as Iseult says, then whatever you can teach us shall be a boon indeed.’
‘And what shall ye
do with my people once ye have conquered them?’ Elfrida asked, colour rising again in her pale cheeks.
‘We shall rebuild the witches’ tower in Bride and bring Tìrsoilleir back into the fold o’ the Coven,’ Meghan said calmly, stroking the soft brown fur of her donbeag. ‘If Eà permits that we prevail.’
‘And who shall rule?’ Elfrida asked, back straight as a ramrod, hands folded over the swell of the child she carried within.
‘Ye shall,’ Meghan responded, her voice drowning Lachlan’s. ‘Ye are the last o’ your line, the direct descendant o’ Berhtilde herself. We shall restore the monarchy in Tìrsoilleir and ye shall swear fealty to Lachlan MacCuinn in return for our support and sign the Pact o’ Peace on behalf o’ your people.’
Lachlan relaxed and nodded his head as Elfrida inclined hers. ‘Then I shall do what I can to help ye. Ye know nothing about the Bright Soldiers or why they follow the berhtildes. I shall tell ye what ye need to know, if ye swear to restore my throne to me.’
‘I shall do my best,’ Lachlan promised with a relieved smile. ‘But first we must drive them from my land and the lands o’ my people, and that shall no’ be easy to do. They occupy most o’ Blèssem and Clachan and have access to all their storehouses o’ grain and meat while we live off nuts and porridge. They bombard the walls o’ our cities with their foul-smelling balls o’ iron and fire, while we are lucky to have a sword in the hand o’ half our soldiers. Worst o’ all, the only trained soldiers were all in the pay o’ the Ensorcellor and many remain faithful to her, while the Bright Soldiers are taught the craft o’ war with their mother’s milk. How are we to stand against them?’
‘I ken ye only have a small troop, and that badly equipped and poorly trained,’ Elfrida said slowly, ‘but canna ye trick them into thinking ye have greater forces at your command? And they are afraid o’ the powers o’ witchcraft, thinking them the works o’ the Archfiend. If ye use magic against them, it will throw them into superstitious terror.’
‘Both Iain and Gwilym have the power o’ illusion,’ Dide cried eagerly. ‘With a little trickery, we could conjure an army from thin air!’
‘And surely we could turn this foul weather to our advantage?’ Iseult suggested.
Excited murmurs ran around the room, with suggestions thrown from every corner. Lachlan’s yellow eyes blazed with excitement. ‘They need no’ know we have only a handful o’ fully trained witches,’ he cried. ‘If we can just relieve Rhyssmadill, then we shall have the royal treasury back in our hands and all its food and weapon stores. Our contacts in the blue city say the palace has no’ yet fallen, though fighting has been fierce on all sides. Once we have Rhyssmadill back in our hands, then we can march on the rest o’ Blèssem and free Dùn Eidean and the other towns.’
The Prionnsa of Blèssem, Alasdair MacThanach, cheered. He and his family had been caught at Rhyssmadill when the Bright Soldiers had attacked and had fled to Lucescere with Jaspar. A practical man, he had quickly thrown his lot in with Lachlan and the rebels after Jaspar’s death, despite his long-held views against witchcraft. Better a strong rìgh with a few witch tricks up his sleeve than a bawling babe, he had decided.
‘If we are to have the Bright Soldiers in flight before the Fairgean return with the spring tides, we are going to have to move fast,’ Iseult said, frowning.
‘Let us start planning a strike against them now, then.’ Lachlan stretched out his wings, flexing them so the candles danced in the breeze he created. ‘They shall no’ expect us to strike through the snow storms, and if we are canny, we may be able to steal some o’ their supply wagons and have ourselves a real feast for the New Year!’
Iseult stood before the tall mirror, frowning ferociously at her reflection. The light of many candles bathed her naked body in a warm, golden glow. Her skin was white as snow, the damp curls on her head and at the junction of her thighs red-bright as the flames on the hearth. Over her swollen breasts and the great mound of her stomach, veins ran blue as spring water.
‘I canna bear this any more, Isabeau!’ she cried. ‘When will these babes be born? I should be with Lachlan, no’ lying about, huge and ponderous as a woolly bear.’
‘They’ll come soon enough, fear no’,’ her twin replied. She lay Bronwen back in her cradle and wrapped Iseult in her furred robe. ‘It’s too cold to be standing about like this, even with the fire built so high. Do no’ fret, Lachlan will return soon. He promised he’d be back as quickly as he could. He wants to be here for the birth, ye ken that, and he knows it is time. Besides, there are all the New Year festivities tonight and he knows how important they are to keep up the spirits o’ the people.’
‘I should be there, helping him. I canna believe he rode out without me!’ Iseult walked restlessly to the window, pulling aside the brocade curtains so she could stare out at the grim afternoon, the sky so heavy with snow clouds it was as dark as evening. ‘Ye ken he knows little about war and the Yeomen o’ the Guard are so happy to be back in the Rìgh’s service, they would do anything he said, never mind how foolish.’
‘Come, ye canna say that is true o’ Duncan Ironfist, and he’s there at Lachlan’s side. Sit down, Iseult, all this fretting is no’ doing ye or the babes any good. Ye couldna have ridden into battle only a few days before the babes were due!’
‘Ye dinna understand—I promised Lachlan I would always be with him.’
‘I am sure he did no’ mean on the battlefield …’
‘Where better to protect him!’ Iseult cried, pacing back and forth. ‘I should be there with him, why did he ride out without me?’
‘Come, Iseult, ye know he thinks only o’ ye and the babes. That is why he rode out while ye were sleeping, no’ because he does no’ wish ye with him.’
Iseult sighed and allowed Isabeau to lead her back to the armchair before the fire. Isabeau passed her some warm slippers, and rang the bell for the maids to come and take away the hipbath.
Lying in her cradle, Bronwen kicked her feet and wailed thinly. She shook little crumpled fists in the air and screwed up her silvery-blue eyes, tears leaking from the corners. A white tuft stuck up out of her dark thatch of hair, the result of her bonding with the Lodestar on the night of the dead.
‘Hush, my wee one,’ Isabeau said. ‘Ye can have your bath later.’
‘Let her use the bath if she wishes,’ Iseult said. ‘We can ask the maids to bring fresh water.’
Isabeau shook her head. ‘Nay, she can bathe later. I have no desire to get wet from head to foot just yet.’ She kept her eyes lowered. Although Iseult regarded the baby with casual indifference, Isabeau had no wish to remind her of Bronwen’s Fairge ancestry. As soon as the child was submerged in water, she transformed into her quicksilver seashape, glimmering with scales and fins, the gills in her neck fluttering. Bronwen’s wish to swim beat at Isabeau’s consciousness, but she kept her attention turned firmly away.
Although only three months old, the baby banprionnsa had an imperious will which saw those about her dance to a soundless tune: Isabeau’s maid Sukey would feel a shiver of cold and build up the fire, not noticing that the baby’s silken coverlet had fallen to the floor. Courtiers in velvet doublets would bend and retrieve her jewelled rattle, though had they dropped their own handkerchief they would have waited for their manservant to pick it up for them. The wet nurse, a large placid woman named Ketti, came hurrying from the kitchen as soon as the baby woke, even though Bronwen had had no time to utter more than a few wailing cries. ‘I thought the wee one would be waking by now,’ she would say, not thinking it odd that she should have been happily drinking ale by the fire until the very moment the child woke.
Only Isabeau and Meghan knew Bronwen was already showing powers far beyond her age. Sometimes, when they were alone in the nursery, Isabeau resisted the urge to do things for the baby so she could watch the child and ascertain the limits of her abilities. She had seen toys float from the shelves to the cradle, and the baby’s brightly painted mobile often spun in a nonexiste
nt wind. Once she sat silently in the shadows as Ketti came in with two pitchers of water which she poured into the baby’s porcelain bath, her face empty of all thought. No-one but Isabeau was allowed to bathe the baby, and the wet nurse flushed in chagrin when Isabeau made her presence known. ‘I be sorry, my lady, I canna think what I was doing,’ she had stammered. ‘I was taking the water to the Prionnsa o’ Rurach, I do no’ see how I came to bring it here. I mun have been woolgathering, my lady.’
Isabeau knew Bronwen was happiest when submerged in salted water, but she only let her bathe once a day and then only in seclusion. Lachlan barely tolerated his niece at all; Bronwen was a constant reminder to him of her enchantress mother, who had transformed him into a blackbird when he was only a young boy. His sable wings were all that were left of the enchantment, but he blamed Maya for the death of his three brothers and for the current unrest tearing Eileanan apart.
When the chambermaids came to take away the hipbath, Isabeau called for her maid Sukey. The young girl had been a scullery maid with Isabeau back in Rhyssmadill and had recently become Isabeau’s personal maid, a massive promotion for a country lass who would normally have spent many years scrubbing iron pots and turning the spits. Like most of the palace servants, she had been astounded to discover Isabeau’s true identity and was now rather in awe of the young apprentice witch.
‘Would ye please send a messenger down to the barracks to see if there has been any word of His Highness, Sukey,’ said Isabeau. The Rìgh and three hundred of his men had ridden off to Dunwallen several weeks previously to strike a blow against the Bright Soldiers and had been expected back the previous afternoon to prepare for the New Year festivities.
Sukey’s round, pink cheeks flushed even brighter at Isabeau’s words, and she bobbed her head shyly, murmuring, ‘Yes, my lady, at once, my lady.’
Isabeau sighed as Sukey scurried away. She wished they had been able to remain friends, but the apple-cheeked maid was all too well aware of Isabeau’s newly discovered noble ancestry and treated her with nervous deference.