The tower guards shot at them from the arrow slits but the angle was so steep and the men hanging so close to the wall, few were injured. Alarm bells rang out, causing sea birds to rise in a cacophony of white wings that did more to endanger those descending than the arrows. Since most were sailors, they were swift and nimble in their descent, however, and it did not take long before all were down in the water, clinging to the sides of the long boat. Finn fell the last ten feet, so faint with exhaustion that she could no longer manage to hold onto the rope. She hit the water with a great splash, and was dragged into the boat by Jay. She opened her eyes and looked up into his white, anxious face. ‘Told ye I’d be fine,’ she said.
‘Fine as a proud laird’s bastard,’ he answered.
She smiled, closing her eyes again.
Cannons boomed. ‘By the Centaur’s beard, that one was close!’ Dide coughed as black smoke enveloped the Speedwell. They leant the rail, staring at the ships that over pursued them, their yards straining under full sail. The lead ship was so close they could see the yawning black mouths of the cannons and see the men scurrying about on her deck.
‘They be big, those ships,’ Bran said anxiously. ‘Will they catch us, Dide?’
‘Nay, o’ course no’,’ he reassured her. ‘Ye can conjure a wind to sweep them away if they come close enough.’
Bran looked even more unhappy than before. The roar of the cannons sounded again and all were drenched by the lash of spray as the cannonballs missed the little caravel by a whisker.
‘Why do we no’ shoot back?’ Finn demanded.
‘Our range is no’ as long as those cannons,’ the young sailor Tam replied. ‘Why waste cannonballs shooting at the waves?’
‘Once we are past the Devil’s Vortex we should be safe,’ Dide said. ‘They will no’ dare follow us through the whirlpool.’
Finn’s stomach muscles clenched at the thought of facing that whirling maelstrom of water again. Somehow she had never given any thought to what would happen after they had rescued Killian the Listener. She had assumed their adventure would be over and Tìrsoilleir conquered. Yet she realised now how naive that assumption had been. They still had to take Killian the Listener and the other rescued prisoners to meet Lachlan and his army at the border with Tìrsoilleir. It could be months before the words of the earless prophet had ignited a fire strong enough to sweep away the Fealde and the General Assembly, and restore the monarchy. It could be years.
And in the meantime, they still had to escape the angry retribution of Tìrsoilleir’s ruling council, who had sent a fleet of great ships in pursuit. If the journey along the Skeleton Coast had been dangerous before, it was doubly so now, with the great galleons of Tìrsoilleir chasing them with all the power and speed of their massive, billowing sails and their decks of long-range cannons. Already the Speedwell had suffered some damage to her hull and rigging, but with all the extra willing hands, they had been able to repair the damage quickly, without slackening their headlong speed.
The Devil’s Vortex could only be crossed at high tide, when the rocks and reefs that caused the great tumult of water were almost fully submerged. The Speedwell had been tacking about waiting for the tide, and that was how the galleons had managed to come close enough to fire once more. The tide was running high now, though, and the Speedwell changed course once more, heading straight for the treacherous stretch of water. Finn sank down, gathered Goblin in her arms, and shut her eyes determinedly. She had no desire to watch.
‘Six times! Alphonsus the Sure will go down in legend!’ Jay shouted after an eternity of roaring, spinning darkness. ‘Open your eyes, Finn; we’re safe.’
Finn obeyed with alacrity, scrambling up to join the others at the rail. To their dismay, the galleons had not changed course but were racing along the outskirts of the maelstrom in pursuit. As they watched, one was caught in the rip and capsized, masts and rigging smashing down into the churning water. Men leapt into the water, only to be dragged under by the rip, their despairing hands disappearing under the water.
‘There must a hundred ships on the sea-bed just there,’ Tam said sombrely, his face white under his sunburn. ‘It is well named, the Devil’s Vortex.’
Although the other galleons found it difficult to maintain control, they were not so unlucky and soon were once again bearing down upon the Speedwell as she tacked to and fro amidst the Teeth of God.
‘We should be able to shake them now,’ Dide said with his usual optimism. ‘They may be bigger, but the Speedwell is quick and agile. She can turn much faster than those ponderous beasts and will be able to sail where they canna.’
At first it seemed he would be proven right, for the Speedwell was able to sail close to the cliffs, once racing right through a tall arch of stone where part of the cliff had crumbled away. Being much deeper and wider, the galleons had to head out to the open sea to avoid the rocks. For several days they were nowhere in sight, and the sailors of the Speedwell were able to relax a little.
But with the rising of the sun a few days later, the sailors were horrified to find the fleet of galleons bearing down upon them from the east. The Tìrsoilleirean ships had been able to gain much time by not having constantly to tack to avoid the many rocky islands. In addition, they were better able to use the light and fitful wind because of their greater sail power. Soon they would be within firing range again. Once again all hands were called on deck, and they laboured to regain their lead.
It was no use. The billowing white sails grew larger and larger, the great hulk of the galleons looming over them. Then they saw puffs of black smoke and heard the dull roar of the cannons. Confusion reigned as part of their rigging was again torn down, smashing upon the deck and trapping many of the sailors beneath it.
‘Canna ye whistle up a wind to take us out o’ here, Bran?’ Finn begged.
The cannons boomed once more. They coughed as foul-smelling smoke poured over the deck, then saw with horror one of the galleons looming up close beside them. They saw the cannons being reloaded and the smile on the face of the ship’s captain as he raised his hand for the order.
Bran hesitated. She wished that the Yedda they had rescued was strong enough to advise her, at the very least, but the strain of the escape had proved too much for Nellwyn. Weakened by years of deprivation and harsh treatment, the sea-witch had collapsed as soon as she had reached the deck of the Speedwell, and was still weak and disorientated. Besides, Bran knew that Nellwyn was no weather witch, having been trained in the use of the songs of sorcery, not in the ways of wind and water. She probably knew no more about controlling the forces of weather than Bran herself.
‘Happen I could try …’ She said at last, closing her eyes and clenching her hands into fists. Her lips moved soundlessly.
The black smoke swirled apart. They felt a freshening breeze on their cheeks. The Speedwell’s flapping sails billowed out and they felt the boat surge forward. The galleon’s cannonballs fell harmlessly into their wake.
‘Ye did it!’ Finn cried and hugged her cousin ecstatically. ‘I always kent ye could!’
‘I’m glad ye did,’ Bran replied wryly.
‘What do ye mean?’
‘I was never sure myself,’ Bran said, dropping her eyes.
‘But the MacSian clan have always been powerful weather witches. Why …’
‘But they were all trained at the Tower o’ Storms,’ Bran cried. ‘They were all taught from birth how to raise the wind and calm it. I was only two when witchcraft was outlawed on pain o’ death. I was punished severely if I even talked about magic! I remember getting into terrible trouble because I chanted a little rhyme my auld nurse had once told me, and almost drowned myself calling up the wind to fill the sails o’ my wee dinghy. I could no’ control the wind once it came and it caused terrible damage to the crops and all the crofters’ cottages, and I had to be rescued when my dinghy capsized. I never tried again, in fear o’ getting into trouble again and in fear o’ what I might do. I do no’
even remember the rhyme … so ye see, I really did no’ ken if I could do it. I’ve been so afraid ye’d all be realising I dinna have any Talent …’
‘No Talent!’ Finn cried, amazed. ‘But ye are the NicSian!’
‘Exactly,’ Bran answered. ‘Ye can see my problem.’
‘And ye were always going on about it, stopping me from riding out because ye said a storm was coming or …’
‘I ken, I ken,’ Bran said. ‘No need to rub it in.’
‘So ye really do no’ ken how … but ye must, ye just called up a wind then!’
Bran nodded, smiling rather sheepishly. ‘Aye, lucky, wasna it?’
‘Ye mean …’
‘I had always thought ye needed to be taught all the right words and rituals,’ Bran said, ‘and so when we met up with the MacAhern’s caravan, I begged the Loremaster to teach me. He told me witches’ talents were innate powers, born into ye. He said that learning to draw upon and use such power could be taught, but that ye either had or did no’ have the ability. He said if I had managed to do so as a bairn, I must have been born with the Talent and I could train myself to try and use it. He suggested that I try and learn as much about the weather as I could, listening and watching and figuring out how it works. Well, oddly enough, a boat is an ideal place to learn about such things. We are so dependent upon the wind and the tide. I have been practising calling the wind and keeping it steady …’
‘That is why the winds were so fair most o’ the time!’ Finn cried. ‘I’ve heard the sailors marvel it should blow so steady and always from the right quarter. Tam said having an auld witch bless the fleet with flowers and goldensloe wine works much better than one o’ their parsons with his holy water …’
‘Aye, but I was no’ sure if it were truly me or if it was just coincidence. And then the storm came …’
‘But ye bound the storm.’
Bran nodded. ‘I canna tell ye how happy I was when that auld spell o’ my nurse’s actually worked. I had no’ been sure afore then … and that could have been coincidence too, ye ken. But now I truly ken it was me! That wind came from nowhere and see how strong and steadily it blows.’
She turned and gestured up at the sails. Only then did the two girls realise that the galleons were close upon either side of the ship, so close that sailors were leaning down with grappling hooks to try and catch them in their ropes. The wind that filled the Speedwell’s sails had also filled the galleons’ and brought the great ships close upon the caravel’s stern.
For a second Bran stared, her mouth agape. Then she dropped her hands and swiftly untied her sash, still knotted in three places from where she had bound the storm. She ran up onto the aftercastle and leant over the railing, undoing the knots as fast as she could. Then she waved her sash at the two galleons bearing down so close upon them, shouting:
‘Wind and rain and lightning, I release thee! I release thee! I release thee! Hailstones, hurricane, thunderclap, I release thee, I release thee, I release thee! By the powers o’ air and fire and earth and water, I command thee, storm, to rage!’
There was a great roar as sheet lightning suddenly leapt from the end of Bran’s flapping sash, irradiating the sky with white fire that set the galleons’ sails ablaze. The air stank of sulphur. Everyone cowered down, screaming in shock, all their hair standing up from the static electricity in the air. Thunderclap after thunderclap boomed out, and the wind roared. When Finn opened her eyes, her hands still clamped over her ears, she saw Bran’s slim figure outlined against a great sheet of lightning, the ships’ masts black and smoking behind her, her sash billowing wildly in the gale. Then it began to rain, so heavily that it seemed dusk had fallen over the Tìrsoilleirean fleet while the Speedwell raced on through sunshine.
‘God’s teeth!’ Arvin the Just roared. ‘What witchcraft is this?’
‘Who cares?’ Captain Tobias cried. ‘Look!’
They all looked back and saw the galleons tossed wildly about in the storm, their masts broken, their sails tearing free. Hailstones as large as pebbles battered the decks, and they could hear cries of pain and terror that soon dwindled away as the Speedwell raced along, her sails full of wind, the water creaming along under her bows.
Bran swayed and crashed to the deck, the sash still clutched in her fist. Finn ran to her, kneeling beside her. Bran was unconscious, her cheek as white as the hailstones. At first Finn’s trembling fingers could find no pulse but then she felt a faint, erratic flutter, and sobbed aloud in relief.
‘They that sow the wind shall reap the whirlwind,’ Arvin the Just said with gloomy satisfaction.
Finn leapt to her feet. ‘Canna ye ever shut up, ye frog-faced lout!’ she cried.
His granite-hard countenance did not even quiver. ‘Fools think their own way is right, but the wise listen to advice. Fools show their anger at once but the prudent ignore an insult.’
‘Flaming dragon balls, if I hear one more o’ your bloody awful sayings I swear I’ll cram it down your throat with your own balls!’
She advanced on him with her fist raised high and he folded his massive arms and looked down at her impassively. Dide caught her arm and said soothingly, ‘Settle down, wild cat! Ye’d only bruise your knuckles. Come, help me carry Bran downstairs for the Yedda to look at. All Tower-trained witches are taught some healing skills. I ken Nellwyn’s weak still but she will ken better than anyone what do for sorcery sickness. Never mind Arvin, he ate too many sour crabapples as a bairn!’
‘All the words o’ my mouth are righteous,’ the first mate said sternly. ‘There is nothing twisted or crooked in them.’
‘I’ll give ye something twisted,’ Finn muttered, but allowed Dide to drag her away.
Nellwyn took one look at Bran’s clammy skin, as blue as skimmed milk, and crawled out of her bunk, her plaid clutched close about her nightgown. Though she was almost overwhelmed with dizziness, the Yedda at once took command, sending Finn to fetch boiling water and blankets and listing any number of herbs that Finn had never heard of, and was certain could not be found on board the ship. She did her best, meagre as that was, but was not allowed to linger by Bran’s bedside, the Yedda sending her back above deck.
All that could be seen of the storm was a single black thundercloud shaped like a fist, reaching from the sea to the heavens, the deluge of rain below it shrouding the galleons from view. Everywhere else the sun danced on the waves and sea birds circled, crying aloud mockingly.
All that afternoon and evening the wind blew steadily, even though Bran was sunk in a restless sleep like the one that had fallen upon Enit and Ashlin after the singing of the song of love. The young NicSian was gripped with fever and nightmares, tossing and turning on the bunk-bed, her skin slick with perspiration. Killian the Listener was in no better state, his blood poisoned by the infection that had sunk its claws deep into his many wounds, his temperature dangerously high.
Nellwyn the Yedda shook her head over them, wishing there was a properly trained healer with a bag of herbal tinctures to attend them. The tossing of the ship and the close, dank air below deck did not help, but she had a group of eager lads to assist her and the old sea-cook Donald had many a country remedy up his sleeve which helped greatly, rather to her surprise. Just after dawn Bran’s fever dropped a little and she slept more naturally, and Finn and Ashlin and Jay were at last able to curl up and sleep on the deck.
‘We come close to the border with Arran,’ Arvin the Just told them the following afternoon. ‘Only a few more days and we shall have reached Kirkinkell Firth, no’ far from the village where your winged Rìgh has made base camp.’
‘No’ just our Rìgh,’ Dide said sternly. ‘Lachlan MacCuinn is your Rìgh now too, remember.’
Arvin the Just sighed heavily. ‘Aye, happen that be true,’ he answered. ‘Times are changing and we with them.’
Finn was just settling down to her breakfast the next day when she heard the lookout’s cry, ‘Sails ahoy!’
Immediately the crew
were all on their feet, leaning over the bulwark and examining the horizon anxiously. Finn once again climbed to the very top of the topgallant mast to borrow the farseeing glass from the lookout boy. When she saw the ship on the horizon, her breath caught. She could clearly see marked on its white sails and flags the device of a scarlet fitché cross. It was another Tìrsoilleirean galleon.
The great ship gained on them rapidly, straining under full sail. The Speedwell’s crew leapt to haul up the mizzensail but by mid-afternoon, the galleon was close behind. There was no sign of any damage so it was clear this was a ship that had not been caught in Bran’s witch-storm.
The captain ordered the helmsman to bring the Speedwell about.
‘If we canna outrun them, we shall need to engage,’ he said grimly. ‘We shall see if we canna slip in close and hit them low with our own cannons.’
‘If only Bran was awake, he could conjure another storm to sweep it away,’ Finn lamented, staring down at the restless figure of her cousin, entangled in sweat-dampened sheets.
‘He’d kill himself if he did,’ Nellwyn said tersely. ‘Or send himself mad. He’s untrained in the art o’ sorcery and has exhausted himself dangerously with this storm-raising. It will be some months afore he will have strength to even light a candle.’
‘I do no’ think he can light a candle,’ Finn replied with a grin.
‘He conjured lightning, he can light a candle. Ye are no’ a bairn any more, lad, do no’ act like one.’
The Yedda looked more haggard than ever, the bones of her face and hands pressing up against her grey-hued skin as if seeking to break through. The nursing of Bran and Killian had obviously exhausted her badly, and her hands trembled as she set a fresh poultice upon the bruised face of the sleeping prophet. There was fire in her voice, however, and Finn was given a glimpse of the strength of character that had kept the Yedda alive through her years of cruel imprisonment.