‘Mmm, I’m so glad to be back I simply have to kiss Arran’s sweet soil at every opportunity,’ Gwilym responded sardonically. He brushed off his mud-smeared tunic with his hand. ‘I look like a mudsprite,’ he said ruefully.
‘What’s a mudsprite?’
‘One o’ the more delightful faeries o’ the bog,’ Gwilym answered. ‘Mudsprites lie just below the surface of the mud and pull unwary passers-by in.’
‘Charming.’
‘Indeed, like so many things o’ Arran. It is a charming place indeed.’
‘Ye think so?’ Douglas’s voice preceded him out of the darkness. ‘Personally I think it a horrible place, I’ll be happy if I never have to come here again.’
‘Happen we should get out o’ it before we start worrying about returning,’ Gwilym replied, not bothering to explain he was being sarcastic.
They looked around and realised the procession had already moved out of sight. ‘Let’s hurry,’ Douglas said, shivering a little.
They could see the faint, dancing blur of Iain’s witchlights and set off in pursuit, Gwilym holding his staff high so the light at the apex spread before them.
‘I canna hear the others,’ Douglas said. ‘Should we call, tell them to wait?’
‘It’s risky enough showing the lights,’ Gwilym said. ‘If the Khan’cohban hears shouting, he’ll be on our track in a flash.’
They pressed on into the misty darkness, hurrying now. Gwilym slipped again and fell with a curse, and Douglas tried to help him up, only to have his hand thrust away fiercely. ‘I can manage, thank ye,’ Gwilym said roughly. ‘No need to wait for me, I’ll catch up.’
Douglas opened his mouth to protest, caught an admonishing glance from Dide, and shut it again. He led the way instead, testing the path ahead with a stick. Once he gave a scream and pointed shakily at two huge eyes staring at him out of the darkness. Gwilym brought the witchlight flickering up, and they saw a huge frog sitting placidly on a log. It was squat and broad, as high as Dide’s waist, with bulbous eyes that gleamed orange.
‘That thing does no’ eat humans, does it?’ Douglas’s voice shook.
Gwilym shook his head. ‘Nay, insects and Mesmerdean only.’
‘It eats Mesmerdean?’
‘The creatures’ only natural predator,’ the warlock answered.
‘Glad to ken something gets those nasty creatures,’ Douglas murmured. ‘Let’s hurry, I can feel them watching us.’
‘It will no’ be Mesmerdean watching so near the frogs.’
‘Well, something is watching us and I do no’ like it!’
They left the frog behind, its deep belling tone ringing through the marshes, and hurried in the direction of the wavering line of lights. Gwilym was frowning, his harsh-featured face set in grim lines. Once he called, ‘Iain!’ but there was no response.
‘I thought ye said no’ to call?’ Douglas objected.
‘I think we should try and catch them up quickly.’ Gwilym’s voice was bleaker than ever. ‘I have a very bad feeling.’
‘Hey, the path seems to have disappeared,’ Douglas said suddenly. ‘I canna feel any firm ground on either side.’
Gwilym pushed up next to him, raising his staff so they could see further. On all sides mud puckered and gurgled. They were standing on a floating hillock which teetered under their weight. ‘But the lights …’ Dide said, pointing. Ahead floated a few pallid balls of light, flickering slightly, enticing them on.
Gwilym groaned. ‘Wisps! We’ve been led astray by bloody wisps!’ He struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘Fool!’ he grated. ‘Gwilym the Fool.’
They turned and were gingerly making their way from hillock to hillock towards the trees, in search of firmer land, when Douglas suddenly gave a shriek and toppled into the swamp. He was sucked under quickly, only his desperate white face visible above the mud. Quick as thought Gwilym flung himself down and reached out his staff to the boy. Douglas caught hold of it, but they had a hard struggle to draw him free of the quicksand.
At last he was hauled out, plastered with evil-smelling mud. ‘Something pulled me in,’ he cried. ‘I felt a hand on my ankle.’
‘Mudsprites!’ Gwilym groaned. ‘Just what we need.’
They huddled together on a hillock. ‘What do we do now?’ Dide cried. He saw a pale hand creep out of the mud and swiped at it viciously with his staff. It withdrew quickly, and there was a plop of mud nearby.
‘Hope we did no’ wander too far from the path and that the others realise we are missing soon and come to search for us,’ Gwilym said. ‘Otherwise, try and survive the night.’
Douglas swallowed. ‘Ye say that as if ye do no’ think it is likely.’
‘That’s because I do no’ think it likely,’ the warlock responded. ‘We are in the middle o’ a mudsprite field, we have a Khan’cohban hunting us, and all the snakes in this blaygird bog are poisonous. I got out o’ this marsh alive once; I do no’ think I can rely on my luck a second time.’
Douglas was very white under the mud and rotten leaves sticking to his face. ‘If we just retrace our steps …’
‘We can try,’ Gwilym said in a weary tone.
They saw another line of dancing lights to their far left. ‘Do ye think …?’ Douglas cried hopefully.
‘It’ll be wisps again,’ Gwilym said and sat down on a half-submerged log. ‘Better get used to them, lad, else ye’ll be following them deeper into the marsh.’
Dide gradually became aware of a prickle at the back of his mind. He shook it away, but it returned in greater force. Suddenly he plunged his hand into his pack and drew out a golden ball. It shone dimly in the darkness. He stared into it incredulously. ‘Lilanthe?’ he whispered.
Dide. Are ye there?
Lilanthe?
Aye. We are searching for ye. Do ye ken where ye are?
Dide gave a sardonic laugh. Somewhere in the marshes …
Iain wants to ken if ye can see landmarks. He says ye may die if we do no’ reach ye. There are many dangerous things in the bog, he says we must find ye soon, that his magic had been keeping many o’ the creatures away …
There is too much mist, I canna see anything.
I can sense ye … I will lead Iain to ye.
No, Lilanthe, it’s too dangerous …
But the tree-shifter had broken off the contact, and Dide was left staring into the ball. He looked up and told them what she had said. Gwilym said heavily, ‘She will no’ be able to find us, the marsh gases confuse the mind and everything looks the same.’
‘She has strong mind-powers,’ Dide said slowly. ‘If anyone can find us, it is Lilanthe.’
The three of them rested a while, beating off the mudsprites with their sticks and sharing some food. A bright green snake slid by, watching them with narrow black eyes, and all round them giant frogs sang. ‘At least we are safe from the Mesmerdean while the frogs sing,’ Gwilym said dourly.
‘How come? I thought we were safe from them anyway.’
‘Iain was safe from them,’ Gwilym replied. ‘The Mesmerdean know who I am. They have caught me once before to please Margrit—one may decide to do so again.’
‘Well, ye are cheerful company,’ Douglas said, whacking at a pair of bulbous eyes floating towards him through the mud. ‘Remind me never to spend a night with ye in a swamp again.’
‘Believe me, if we come through this night alive, I shall never go anywhere near a swamp again,’ Gwilym said. ‘May Eà be my witness.’
Dide …
Lilanthe? Where are ye?
I can feel ye close now. Can ye light a flare o’ some sort?
Dide obliged, sending a tall blue flame shooting up into the night.
‘If that does no’ bring the Khan’cohban down on us, nothing will,’ Gwilym sighed.
They heard a cry, and then a chain of white-blue lights came bobbing towards them.
Careful, it’s all bog and quicksand, Dide projected anxiously.
Iain is cutti
ng down some sort o’ tree with big leaves, Lilanthe responded. He and Brun are throwing them into the bog, making a path. Can ye see us?
Aye, I think so. If they are your lights and no’ more o’ those wicked wisps.
I can see your light. Hang on, we’ll be there soon.
Dide relayed the message to the others and was glad to see Douglas’s tense face relax a little. The mist was beginning to pale, and the mudsprites made a concerted rush at their hillock as if anxious to drown them before the sun rose. They had ten minutes of hard fighting, throwing off the mudsprites with boot, stick, stump and fist, before Iain reached them over his impromptu bridge. He dismissed the faeries with a flick of his hand and a contemptuous word, and they sank back below the mud with a splash and a gurgle.
‘Led astray by wisps!’ Iain said, a smile cracking his tired, muddy face. ‘Gwilym, I be surprised at ye, intrepid marsh explorer that ye are.’
The warlock smiled in return and allowed them to help him across the sinking bridge of glossy leaves, too tired to insist he needed no assistance.
Lilanthe and Brun were waiting anxiously on the shore, both covered in mud and leaves from head to toe. Lilanthe had never looked more like a uile-bheist but Dide walked straight out of the bog and into her arms, hugging her fiercely. He found he had tears in his eyes.
‘Clever lass!’ he cried. ‘I never even thought o’ the ball! I gave it to ye in case ye got lost, no’ I!’
Lilanthe could not speak, content to have Dide’s arms hard around her and his face wet on her neck. She hugged him back, her own eyes prickling with relief, while birds sang around them in the dawn.
If the Khan’cohban had seen their distress flare, he was too far away to reach them in time. Iain was able to lead them out of the marshes and into Aslinn without further incident. They were greeted with cries of relief. It had taken Iain and Lilanthe much longer to rescue their three companions and retrace their steps than expected, and it was now fully light. They were all too exhausted to walk any further and collapsed onto the blankets to rest.
‘Ye canna sleep now, we have to warn the Rìgh!’ Douglas cried. ‘We have to tell him the Bright Soldiers are coming.’
‘The Bright Soldiers?’ Dide echoed sharply. ‘Ye mean the Tìrsoilleirean?’
‘Aye, they signed a t-t-treaty with my m-m-mother. They plan to invade Eileanan.’ Quickly Iain told them about the Bright Soldiers’ schemes.
Gwilym and Dide glanced at each other. ‘Aya meant their armour shining in the sun,’ the jongleur murmured. ‘And no doubt heard them called the Bright Soldiers, as they always are.’
‘And that explains the reports o’ strangers and lights in the marsh,’ Gwilym replied. ‘Though what did they want with the firework magicians?’
‘We have to head for Rhyssmadill! My father is there and the Rìgh—they’ll be taken by surprise!’ Douglas warned.
‘When did M-M-Mother say they intended to attack? After the Lammas Congress? We’ll never make it, n-n-no’ even if we had flying horses to ride on,’ Iain said. ‘We could head for Dùn Eidean though, G-G-Gilliane and Ghislaine’s grandmother is the d-d-dowager banprionnsa and the city will listen to her.’
‘What about Rhyssmadill?’ Douglas cried.
Gilliane said diffidently, ‘I could try and send a dream message to my mother. She and my father went with my aunt and uncle to Rhyssmadill.’
‘Ye can send dream messages?’ Dide’s voice was excited.
‘My mother is a NicAislin,’ she replied, shrugging. ‘I travel strange places in my dreams and so does Ghislaine. I have never been taught how but the banprionnsa was sure we could learn to be Dream-Walkers—that is why she stole us.’
‘So we will head for Dùn Eidean to warn the MacThanach’s m-m-mother, and Gilliane will try and warn Rhyssmadill …’ Iain began.
‘I do no’ want to go back into Blèssem,’ Lilanthe cried. ‘These last few months have been a nightmare, I dinna want to go through that again.’
Gwilym was also shaking his head, as were the two half-faeries from the Theurgia. ‘They tried to stone me to death in Blairgowrie,’ the corrigan boy said, his one eye obdurate as stone. ‘Do no’ tell me ye can keep me safe in Blèssem! Everyone kens they hate uile-bheistean.’
‘I am going back to the forests,’ the tree-shifter Corissa said.
‘But do ye no’ wish to help us?’ Douglas asked, incredulous. ‘All o’ Eileanan is under threat!’
She shrugged. ‘Wha’ is that to me? I care no’ who rules as long as I can run free as I please. Humans have done naught but ill to me.’
‘How can ye say that?’ Douglas was incensed. ‘If it was no’ for us, ye’d still be in that blaygird tower!’
‘If it was no’ for humans, I’d no’ be in the tower in the first place,’ Corissa pointed out, calmly devouring a second bowlful of vegetable stew.
‘Do no’ judge all humans by the few ye have known,’ Enit said gently. ‘But o’ course, ye are free to go as ye please. May I make some suggestions?’
Everyone nodded. The old woman said, ‘We have to get word to the cities quickly, and I canna see that a pack o’ children on foot are the way to do it. If it is true the Bright Soldiers plan to attack Dùn Eidean and Dùn Gorm, the whole countryside will go up in flames. Ye will all be killed. Nay, I have a much better plan.’
‘What? What will ye do?’ they cried.
Enit’s eyes twinkled. ‘I shall scry to my friend Muire in Dùn Eidean. She is maid to the dowager banprionnsa herself. She will have the news in a minute, rather than weeks. I shall also send news to the rebels in Dùn Gorm and elsewhere, telling them to prepare for the attack, and contact Meghan NicCuinn who will relay it to a spy o’ hers in Rhyssmadill. I hear her spy has had the ear o’ the Rìgh since he was a lad.’ She laughed at their expressions. ‘I have friends everywhere, my bairns. I have travelled this land in my caravan since I was a mere lass.’
‘W-W-What about us?’ Iain asked, rather crestfallen. Their imaginations had been running wild with the idea of saving the whole land and being heroes.
‘Why do ye no’ join the rebellion? I shall take ye into Rionnagan. The rebel camp is gathering there—and an auld friend o’ mine has already gathered many children o’ Talent for a Theurgia.’
Immediately there was an outcry, and Enit laughed. ‘Be at peace, my bairns, Jorge the Seer is the gentlest o’ men and his Theurgia will be quite unlike that o’ Margrit o’ Arran’s! Besides, it need only be for a short time. Perhaps the land will be saved and ye can travel where ye wish.’
Enit filled her silver bowl with water and set it by the fire, staring into it for a long while. At last she looked up, her wrinkled face weary. ‘I have spoken with Muire and she is hastening to tell the dowager now. She swears she can convince her to take action and warn the city in time.’
The children cheered in excitement, and Douglas and Iain shared a weary grin. Enit said more slowly, ‘I canna reach Meghan. We scry the same day each week, always at dawn, but she has no’ answered me these last few weeks … I feel uneasy. Dide, perhaps ye could try and reach Bacaiche?’
The old jongleur called birds from the forest to her hand and attached coded messages to their legs, speaking to them earnestly in their language before throwing them up into the sky. Meanwhile Dide stared into the bowl, his face darkening. At last he looked up and said bleakly, ‘Enit, I have spoken with my master. Meghan has been taken. And she has set the MacRuraich on our trail.’
The old woman played with her beads, her eyes hooded. At last she looked up, and said, ‘Indeed, I was afraid that is what might have happened. Meghan told me the black wolf was on her trail. Well, we had best be moving. The last place we were seen is Blèssem, let us put as much ground between us and the blessed land as we can.’
The howl of a wolf reverberated around the valley, and the glum-faced soldiers riding along the narrow path hunched deeper into their cloaks. Anghus MacRuraich was unable to control his start of pleasure. He loo
ked round eagerly and saw the shape of a wolf silhouetted against the crimson glow of the rising moon. The wolf howled again, muzzle raised to the sky, and Anghus had to stifle the desire to shout his sister’s name. He saw Floinn Redbeard make the age-old gesture against evil, and wondered again how he could rid himself of his unwelcome escort.
He had spent the week after Meghan’s capture in the hot, submerging embrace of alcohol. He only stopped drinking when the black fumes finally overcame him. When he woke again, it was to reach for the silver flask. He was sick at heart, angry and, for the first time in his life, bewildered. What was he to do? The revelations Meghan had made about his sister and daughter had turned everything topsy-turvy. Tabithas a wolf? His little daughter Fionnghal an apprentice thief and beggar? His own Talent twisted back on itself by a simple reverse spell? He longed for his wife. If only Gwyneth were with him, to wrap him in her pale silken hair, her pale silken body, to soothe his brow with her cool mouth, to tell him she loved him. It had been so long since she had said she loved him.
It had been his faithful gillie who had jerked him out of his fug of misery. On the fifth morning he had stood by the prionnsa’s bed until at last Anghus had rolled over and peered at him from eyes that felt like they had been scorched in with pokers.
‘Obh obh, so ye’ve decided to wake,’ Donald had said, adding belatedly, ‘my laird.’ He passed his master a glass of water, which Anghus pushed away, demanding whisky instead. ‘Ye’ve drunk your flask dry again, my laird,’ Donald answered meekly.
‘Then get me some more!’
‘Soon enough, my laird. I have some food for ye first, and some tea.’
‘I do no’ want tea, Eà damn ye!’
Donald did not answer, plates clinking as he set up the table for Anghus. He brought his master cold water and a towel and, after a glowering moment, Anghus washed his face and head, groaning and complaining. He lurched from the bed to the table where he picked at his food irritably, too proud to ask again for his whisky but not wanting anything else.