Still Iseult was silent, her lashes red crescents against her creamy, freckled face.
‘And if I remember rightly, your father first came to the Tower o’ Two Moons because he had learnt all that the wise ones o’ your land could teach him. He wanted to learn our wisdom and skills, and while he was with us he studied hard.’
At that Iseult looked up and said, ‘Ye are right. To be the Firemaker is to be in geas to the Gods o’ White. To no’ take it on full heartedly is to no’ give all honour to the gods.’ She paused, and then said in a constricted voice, ‘I give ye my apologies then, auld mother, and confess both to fear and pride, worst o’ deficiencies.’ Meghan looked a little surprised and went to say something, but Iseult pressed on grimly. ‘I was afraid ye wished me to learn your wisdom so that ye could win me from the Prides, and turn me to your own path; and I was proud and angry for your nephew has scorned my offer o’ coaching when indeed he should ken it was a rare compliment for me to offer at all!’
Meghan’s puckered old mouth twitched, but she answered gravely. ‘Indeed, Iseult, there is no need to apologise—all I wish is for ye to make the most o’ your powers. Ye may return to the Spine o’ the World any time ye wish, though I would no’ like to lose ye at all.’
‘Then I shall bide a wee and see what pattern the weaver makes o’ our lives,’ Iseult replied just as gravely.
Meghan was pleased at her words, for it showed the girl had at least listened once or twice, but she shut her mouth down grimly and said, ‘Do no’ bother the lad, Iseult, it is no’ kind o’ ye. Indeed, it was a blaygird enchantment laid on him and he is bitter indeed at the Ensorcellor. He does no’ find his life now easy to accept.’
Iseult opened her mouth to protest, then flushed and said nothing, remembering the black mood her question the night before had provoked. Biding with these southerners has made me rude and disdainful, she thought. Asking unwanted questions!
When Bacaiche at last stumped back to the clearing, his curls were lank with sweat, his bare chest and shoulders marked all over with bramble scratches. Meghan beckoned him down to sit by her, her wrinkled face uncharacteristically soft. ‘Look, Lachlan my lad, I have my father’s kilt and plaid for ye. His sgian dubh and sporran, too. They were tucked away a long time syne. Ye need clothes, ye canna wander around the country in a pair o’ Isabeau’s auld breeches. Too small by far they are for ye!’
Bacaiche seized the plaids eagerly, his topaz eyes blazing, his black mood forgotten. ‘Look, the sporran bears the MacCuinn crest—there’s a brooch to hold the plaid too.’ He turned the brooch to examine it, and Iseult saw the device—a leaping stag carrying a crown in its antlers. ‘I have no’ seen the stag rampant syne I was a bairn.’ His voice thickened. ‘And the dear auld tartan—my father never wore anything else.’
‘Nor mine.’ Meghan caressed the plaid that now hung on her shoulders. With its rich folds pinned together with a great emerald, it was easy to believe she was descended from rìghrean.
‘Who exactly was your father, Meghan?’ Bacaiche asked, stroking the dark green velvet of the jacket. ‘I do no’ think I’ve ever really known what our relationship is. I just remember ye always being there when I was a bairn.’
‘Aye, I was indeed always there. I was there when your father was a babe-in-arms, and your grandfather and great-grandfather too. Indeed, so many o’ your forebears have been dandled on my knee that I have near forgot them all. Great-aunt would be the most accurate description, if we left out about ten greats or so.’
So rich with irony was Meghan’s voice that both Bacaiche and Iseult were not sure whether to believe her. She smiled and twisted the jewel at her breast. ‘My father was the Whitelock himself,’ she said proudly. ‘I was his eldest daughter, and Mairead the Fair who yielded the Lodestar after him was my younger sister.’
‘But Aedan Whitelock died four hundred years ago!’
‘Nay, three hundred and fifty-nine only. He lived to a grand auld age, my dai-dein, though he gave up the throne when he turned seventy, thinking it was time his daughters had their chance. Mairead won the Lodestar and I won the Key o’ the Coven in the same year—seven hundred and thirty-four. It’s a year I shall never forget.’
‘But that means ye must be …’ Bacaiche tried to calculate the years in his mind, but failed.
‘Remind me to give ye some lessons in mathematics,’ Meghan said wryly. ‘I am four hundred and twenty-seven years auld, though it’s hardly polite o’ ye to ask. Dearie me, it makes me feel auld to say it. I had almost forgotten how long it has been. Cleaning out the bottomless bag has made me nostalgic … Go and put on my father’s kilt and sporran, Lachlan, and wear them proudly, for truly he was a great man, perhaps the finest MacCuinn o’ them all.’
‘Ye are calling me Lachlan.’ His voice was muffled. ‘Why now? Ye have no’ let me be called Lachlan since the enchantment.’
Meghan smiled and patted his smooth brown hand with hers, gnarled and blue-veined. ‘We are safe here. There is no need to fear listening ears, none can scry on us within the protection o’ Tulachna Celeste and none can approach who are no’ faery friends. Besides, we declared ye at the jetty. Do ye no’ think half o’ Rionnagan knows by now that one o’ the lost prionnsachan is found? I was no’ yet ready to let Maya know that ye were alive and a threat to her power, but the massacre at the jetty forced my hand.’
Iseult gritted her teeth and said nothing.
‘So perhaps it is time for ye to stop being the Cripple and become a prionnsa again. I shall call ye Lachlan from now on, and so shall Iseult, and when we gather our troops together, they shall call ye the MacCuinn, as they should.’
When Lachlan came back from the bushes, he walked with his head high and his wings spread, the kilt swaying above his talons with every stilted stride. ‘These clothes are no’ really in the fashion o’ the day, are they?’ he said ruefully, though he knew he looked magnificent. He had thrown the plaid over his bare shoulder and pinned it with the stag device, the emerald eye glinting darkly.
‘Bring me the shirt and I shall alter it for ye. If ye will let me measure and fit ye, I think I can make ye a shirt with wing-holes as well as armholes.’
‘Aye,’ Lachlan replied eagerly and unpinned the plaid, dropping easily into a crouch before Meghan. The firelight flickered over his olive skin, outlining the contours of his chest. Iseult could not help watching for, without his concealing cloak, Lachlan was a beautiful man, all muscle and smooth skin. Even folded, his wings were magnificent, glossy with blue highlights like the wings of a blackbird, while his tousled curls hung over his forehead in a way Iseult found quite disturbing. She reminded herself what a surly, ill-natured man he was, how rude and how ungrateful.
When Lachlan was well shrouded in linen and tied to her by a flashing needle and thread, Meghan said softly, ‘I ken ye are angry because Iseult spoke to ye about your wings and claws, but indeed it is time ye accepted your state, Lachlan, and tried to make the most o’ it.’
Surprised, he tried to jerk away. Meghan held him fast, saying calmly, ‘Lift your arm, laddie.’ After she had pinned him, she continued, ‘I ken it has no’ been easy for ye and that ye grieve for your brothers still. I miss them myself and hope we will perhaps find one trapped still in the body o’ a blackbird … Though thirteen years have passed—even under enchantment, I doubt they could have lived so long. I wonder ye managed to survive the four years ye did.’ She fell silent for a long while.
When Meghan spoke again, her voice was low and stern. ‘Iseult has offered to teach ye to fight, yet ye are too proud to take up her offer. Much as I abhor violence, she is right, war is coming. If the omens are true, a dark and bloody war it will be. Ye say ye wish to have revenge on Maya for your ensorcelment, and prevent her evil schemes from coming to fruition, yet ye will no’ learn the strength and skills ye will need. What kind o’ Rìgh will ye be, when ye canna even grasp opportunities when they’re offered to ye?’
Even in the dim light of th
eir fire, Iseult could see how red Lachlan had flushed.
‘Canna ye stay off my back, Meghan! All ye do is nag me and nag me.’
‘Do ye wish for revenge on Maya the Ensorcellor?’
‘Aye, Eà damn the black-hearted witch!’
‘Do ye wish to protect the people, as all your forebears have done, ever since our ancestor Cuinn brought them to this land?’
‘I suppose so,’ he scowled.
‘Do ye wish to rescue the Lodestar?’
‘Aye,’ Lachlan answered after a moment, his voice unexpectedly gentle. ‘It’s greetin’, Meghan, I hear it all the time. I canna bear to have it slowly dying from want o’ love and contact.’
‘Then put aside your pride and accept what Iseult and I are offering ye. Ye have ability, Lachlan, ye just lack discipline and focus. Accept that ye shall never have back your carefree childhood and your strong, unblemished body, and make the most o’ what ye have.’
He said in a strangled voice, ‘Ye do no’ understand.’
‘Indeed I do, my lad,’ and there was more affection and warmth in Meghan’s voice than Iseult had ever heard. ‘My blood boils with anger that Maya can have harmed ye so. But I canna transform ye back, though I’ve tried all I know. Ye must accept your fate, laddie. I have thought long and hard on this, and I wonder why else was Iseult brought to us at this time, if not to teach us what she knows o’ battle and warfare? I must trust to the weaver to fly the shuttle true, and so must ye, Lachlan the Winged.’
Lachlan did not reply. When Meghan had finished altering the shirt, he shrugged it on and submitted to her buttoning the back around his wings, but he said nothing. Scowling, he squatted again by the fire and prodded moodily at the coals with a twig. Iseult risked a glance at him and was disconcerted when he shot her a fierce gaze from under his brows. For a moment their eyes met, then Iseult looked away, embarrassed.
‘Ye owe me a question, Iseult o’ the Snows,’ Lachlan jeered softly.
She met his gaze squarely. ‘That I do.’
He lifted an eyebrow in surprise, then turned his gaze back to the coals. ‘I’ll think o’ a good one then.’
‘One should never waste a question,’ she agreed.
Involuntarily he smiled, though he turned away so quickly that Iseult saw only the crease of his cheek. She smiled to herself, turning her attention back to the spell book.
Every morning after that, Iseult practised with her weapons in a clearing in the forest, polishing her moves and stances, keeping her limbs supple and strong. Usually she worked naked, wearing only her boots and weapons belt, but Meghan had suggested she remain in her shirt and breeches in order to protect her fair skin from the sun. Iseult agreed and was glad later when she realised Lachlan was watching her from the shelter of a huge moss-oak. The memory of the time he had watched her bathing still gave her an odd squirming feeling deep in her stomach, and she was glad to keep her linen shirt on, despite the heat.
At first she was tempted to show off some of her more difficult aerial manoeuvres. Iseult had been one of the most acrobatic of the Scarred Warriors. Even on foot she was capable of dazzling tumbling and somersaulting runs. Remembering, though, that Lachlan was a pupil, she did what she would do if she were teaching one of her young disciples back in the Haven. She showed how a relatively simple sequence of movements could translate into a powerful defensive move. Over and over she repeated the slow flowing movement of hand and hip, each time extending until at last she rose off the ground in a quick snap of her body, her foot kicking out and up. Without having to look, she was aware of Lachlan’s brooding interest, and gradually she began to vary the moves so that he saw how many ways a learned reflex could be used.
By the third day Lachlan was restless, wanting to try the moves out for himself, and only then did Iseult show him what training and discipline could do, throwing herself into a series of cartwheels that ended with a soaring somersault that took her high into the leafy canopy. He came out then, though frowning, his arms crossed over his chest. Since donning the clothes of his ancestor, he had seemed both more rìghlike and less mysterious. Iseult was conscious of a feeling of anticipation.
‘Why do ye always cover your hair?’ he had surprised her by asking, tugging at the long tail of her linen cap.
‘Is that the question ye wish me to answer?’
‘Nay. Though I would like to know … So ye wish to teach me to fight.’
‘Aye, if ye would like.’
‘Meghan seems to think it may be o’ use. Just try no’ to lecture me or put on that superior smirk o’ yours.’
‘So gracious as always, Your Highness.’
So while Meghan had paced the clearing and scryed through her crystal ball, Iseult had begun teaching Lachlan how to fight. At first it had been difficult, for he had never worked out whether to stride like a man or hop like a bird. By now, however, he was at least able to defend himself if attacked, and his movements were not so awkward as he limped about the clearing.
Meghan had found the weeks of waiting till the spring equinox difficult and her temper this evening was bitter and hot. As they drank the herbal potion she gave them, the wood witch scolded them angrily, testing them on the rites of the equinox. Both Iseult and Lachlan had learnt them the previous day, but in his resentment at her mood, Lachlan either could not or would not remember them.
‘It’s about time ye took the rituals o’ the Coven seriously, Lachlan! Ye must ken all the chants for all the festivals—they are no’ all for show and mystification …’
‘Why do I need to ken them all? I shall be Rìgh!’
‘Ye come from the line o’ Cuinn Lionheart himself, and great power is latent in ye. Ye canna wield the Lodestar if the power lies dormant. Ye must learn as much as ye can about your own Skills and Talents afore ye can even think o’ winning the Lodestar. Ye want to be Rìgh o’ all Eileanan? Ye’ll need everything ye have o’ strength and knowledge and wisdom, and still ye will need more …’
‘Aye, aye, I ken, ye’ve told me all this afore,’ Lachlan muttered.
Meghan clambered to her feet and began gathering together her witch’s paraphernalia. ‘Then why will ye no’ heed what I say?’ She thrust a load of firewood into Lachlan’s arms and piled Iseult’s up with wreaths of evergreen leaves. Gitâ clinging to her plait, she began the walk through the forest to Tulachna Celeste.
‘If it’s so important for me to learn the Skills o’ witchcraft, why did ye leave me with Enit all those years?’ Lachlan suddenly flared, rustling his wings behind him. ‘She’s no Tower witch, just a forest skeelie that sings for her supper.’
‘Enit may no’ be Tower-trained, but she has powerful magic o’ her own,’ Meghan snapped, leaning on her staff to catch her breath. She continued in a troubled voice, ‘Ye ken why I had to leave ye with Enit. Ye were more than half bird still. Enit can charm any bird, even one as fierce as ye were, more falcon than blackbird, I swear. She could speak with ye in your own language …’
‘The song o’ the blackbird, ye mean,’ Lachlan scowled. Lifting his head, he sang so sweetly a pang hooked through Iseult’s throat and she had to swallow and look away.
‘It was dangerous for ye to be with me.’ Meghan’s voice was low and quick. ‘I was hunted everywhere, with a price on my head and every seeker in the land focusing on me. I hoped the Banrìgh would not find out ye had survived her ensorcelment, and so I had to keep ye well hidden. No-one had cause to suspect the jongleurs, and Enit could safely conceal ye and keep ye safe.’
‘Still, a jongleur’s caravan is no’ the place to be learning the tricks o’ witchcraft,’ Lachlan responded. ‘Ye can hardly blame me for no’ knowing as much as ye would like, when ye left me to be brought up by gipsies.’
‘Aye, happen ye are right,’ Meghan responded with unusual mildness, ‘but that is no excuse for no’ learning now that ye are with me again. Besides, ye ken ye wanted to stay with Enit once ye knew she was working with the rebels. Ye were filled with black rage aga
inst the Banrìgh and wanted to be striking against her.’
‘Aye, because ye would no’!’
‘Do no’ be a fool,’ Meghan snapped as she reached the stone-crowned summit. ‘Ye ken I was working with Enit all the time, I could no’ be wandering around in the countryside with a price on my head and a face that every crofter and shepherd knew. Ye just could no’ stand to work in shadows, ye had to be out, flaunting yourself and gaining a reputation! Besides, ye ken Enit tried to teach ye some o’ the Yedda Skills but ye were as always too impatient, too sulky.’
‘I could hardly remember to speak, Meghan, if ye remember. It was ages afore I could even summon the One Power again.’
‘Yet ye were always very strong as a bairn, I still canna understand why ye fear the Power so much now—’
Lachlan opened his mouth to retort, but Meghan held up an imperative hand, insisting on silence while she made the genuflections necessary before she would cross through the great doorway of stone. When they passed through to the inner circle of stones, the sun was tilted on the far distant peak of the Fang, turning the glacier to rose and lavender. It was sunset, time for the rites to begin.
The spring equinox marked the end of winter and the dead time, and the beginning of the summer months. It was a time when the magical tides turned, a shift in the harmonies of the earth. For the first time since the coming of the cooler weather, daylight lingered as long as the night. Though not as important to the witches’ calendar as Beltane or Midsummer’s Eve, it was still a key event and was usually celebrated with the burning of fragrant candles, the making of wreaths and the ringing of bells.
Although the three of them were alone in the forest, Meghan intended to celebrate the equinox as fully as if the Coven of Witches were still a power in the land. Once every family would have decorated the house with evergreen branches and chanted the rites, and the bells would have rung out loudly from every village meeting-house. Now that the Coven was outlawed and witchcraft forbidden, only a few would dare celebrate the vernal equinox, and they would do it in secret. Even fewer would endure the hours of fasting and praying that Meghan insisted upon first; and when they spoke the incantations, it would be in low voices and with fearful glances.