Iseult took the salt and scattered it with a handful of snow and earth around the circle, chanting, ‘I consecrate and conjure thee, O circle o’ magic, ring o’ power, symbol o’ perfection and constant renewal. Keep us safe from harm, keep us safe from evil, guard us against treachery, keep us safe in your eyes, Eà o’ the moons.’
Meghan obviously managed to teach ye something,’ Isabeau said.
‘No’ much,’ Iseult admitted. ‘She often compared me unfavourably to ye.’
‘Ye must be bad, then,’ Isabeau said with a laugh, tossing handfuls of rosemary, rose hips and thyme that she had cut from the garden into the fire.
Iseult scattered salt, earth and melting snow along the lines of the six-sided star, chanting the rites. They sat opposite each other, Isabeau at the southern point, Iseult at the northern, and closed the circle about them. Isabeau lit the fire with a thought and rejoiced to have her powers returned to her.
Fingers shaking, Isabeau removed the reverse spell from the thrice-crossed hoop, a green signal of fire flaring up. They both felt the power of the Key thrumming around them. Holding her breath, Iseult suspended her triangular talisman above the hoop. It hung there, singing. Hovering a few inches away from each other, the song swelled. They waited for the sun, and as it reached the zenith of the sky, Isabeau and Iseult chanted the rites.
With a little jerk, the circle and triangle clicked together as if they had never been dismembered, and the song burst into a triumphant orchestra. The Key spun and hovered, pulsating with power. Kneeling together in the snow, Isabeau and Iseult struck their hands together in jubilation. It was done!
Margrit of Arran raised the twelve-thonged whip again, preparing to lash the torn and bleeding back of her chamberlain one more time. Khan’tirell hung before her, his wrists manacled to the wall, his horned head hanging. The steel-tipped whip was whistling down when suddenly the banprionnsa staggered and the stroke fell awry.
She clutched her head in her hands. ‘No! It canna be! They’ve united the Key!’ Her face distorted with rage. The Khan’cohban glanced at her sideways, one side of his pain-twisted mouth lifting. She caught his thought and grasped the whip again in a fury, savagely thrashing his sinewy back.
‘If they recover the Lodestar, I swear someone will suffer for it,’ she hissed. ‘As ye shall suffer, Khan’tirell, for allowing my son to escape. As my son shall suffer, and his mealy-mouthed bride. As the MacCuinns shall suffer. One does no’ thwart the Thistle without pain!’
Deep in the forests of Rionnagan, Iain and Douglas stopped mid-stride, looking at each other in amazement. The air seemed to resonate as if somewhere a giant gong had been struck, and they could feel the ground thrumming under their feet. All around them the cold wind sang.
‘Wha’ is that music?’ Dide cried.
Enit’s face was alight with triumph. ‘The Key! Thank Eà, they have joined the Key! We must be near a line o’ power to hear its song so clearly. Och, this is grand indeed—soon the Lodestar will be renewed, and then the land shall be free. We shall all be free!’
Dide grasped Lilanthe by the waist and waltzed her round, shouting with excitement. A smile of satisfaction and relief spread over Gwilym’s pock-marked face, transforming it. The children jumped up and down, laughing and clapping their hands, even though they did not understand the adults’ animation.
‘What force and strength canna get through,
With a mere touch, I can undo,’
the cluricaun chanted, dancing a jig.
‘If only we could travel faster,’ Dide cried. ‘I want to be there! The master is storming the palace, and I am no’ there to fight at his side. They’ve joined the Key, the rescuing o’ the Lodestar canna be far away.’
Excited chatter burst out, and the cluricaun did a forward roll in his excitement. Suddenly Enit cried out, and her blue-veined, twisted hands clutched her breast. ‘No!’ she moaned. ‘Meghan!’
From the garden there came a sound as if of trumpets, and a wave of power washed over them all. Meghan turned, her face lighting up. ‘They’ve done it! Lachlan, they’ve done it! The Key is joined!’
They clustered together, laughing with delight. Suddenly Gitâ gave a shriek of warning. Meghan turned and saw Maya darting towards her with a shard of mirror held in her hand like a dagger. Before the witch had time to do more than stumble back, Maya brought the dagger of glass down, plunging it into Meghan’s breast. The old witch fell into Lachlan’s arms, blood beginning to well up around the silver glass. Maya laughed with bitter triumph, catching up the cloak of invisibility from where Lachlan had discarded it on the floor. As Duncan lunged forward, his claymore whizzing down, she disappeared and the sword clanged fruitlessly on the floor.
Both Isabeau and Iseult were clinging to each other with joy and the glow of accomplishment when suddenly Isabeau staggered, her hand to her breast. Iseult felt the shock of the blow as well, though without the intensity of Isabeau’s pain. ‘Meghan!’ her twin whispered through white lips.
They looked at each other in horror, their thoughts flying to the palace. Isabeau would have set off for the palace at a run if Iseult had not caught her and kept her still. ‘Ye must never step outside the magic circle—there is a cone o’ protection about us! Wait! We must finish the rite.’
White-faced and trembling, they opened the magic circle and scattered it and the fire’s ashes into the muddy snow. Isabeau put the Key in her pocket, ignoring Iseult’s imperious hand. Then they set off in a staggering run towards the palace, the fastest pace they could muster after twelve hours of constant action. Tapping his way along the walkway was the blind seer, led by a small boy with fair hair. Isabeau and Iseult ran to meet them.
‘Jorge, something has happened to Meghan!’ Isabeau cried.
‘I felt it. We are on our way to see if we can help. She lives still, and while there is life there is hope.’
The warlock’s pace was too slow to satisfy the twins, and they ran on ahead. They reached the palace and, holding their sides to ease the stitch there, bounded up the stairs towards the royal suite.
Breathing harshly, they raced into Maya’s room and saw Meghan lying back in Lachlan’s arms. She was grey to her lips, blood splashing crimson down her dress. Gitâ was keening in distress, clinging to her neck, his fur wet with her blood.
Lachlan was distraught. Iseult had to fling her arms about him to make him release Meghan so Isabeau could examine her wound. Kneeling by her side, Isabeau cut Meghan’s dress away so she could probe around the wedge of glass. Red blood was pulsing up around it.
‘It’s arterial blood,’ Isabeau said. ‘I do no’ think I can save her.’ She caught her breath, tears making tracks through the soot and grime on her face.
‘Isabeau, listen to me,’ Meghan whispered. ‘If it is time for my thread to be cut, then nothing ye can do can stop Gearradh. Ye must save the Lodestar. Look after this for me, Isabeau, and look after Lachlan and Iseult. They are Eileanan’s only hope. Ye must go to the labyrinth near sunset. It is designed to trick those that enter without the secret—I could have shown ye the way through, but I canna now. Read The Book of Shadows, Isabeau. Ye are the only one who can do it. I am trusting ye, Isabeau, do no’ let me down.’
The old witch fell back in a faint. Isabeau dared not pull out the shard of glass and, without her herbs and potions, could do little but press with her hand to try to slow the pump of blood. Jorge came in, tears on his face, the little boy trotting ahead. As soon as Tòmas saw the sorceress, her eyes sealed shut, the breath barely whistling through her lips, he stripped off the black gauntlets he wore. Immediately Isabeau felt the power concentrated in his hands and cried out. She had heard rumours of the lad with the healing hands, but had certainly not expected him to be this cherubic-looking boy, no more than eight years old.
Tòmas knelt and laid his hands on the wound. He was frowning. ‘She slips away,’ he whispered. ‘The glass has pierced her heart’s wall. I will try …’
They saw
the shard of glass slowly rise out of the wound as the flesh and muscles beneath began to knit together. The pulsating blood began to slow and then it clotted, black and sticky. Meghan moaned. Tòmas was ashen now, panting with the effort. He pulled the shard free and fresh blood leaked through, but at the touch of his fingers it dried. He fell back. ‘I can do no more now,’ he said, his voice thin. ‘She was at the very gates o’ death. I have used her own strength as well as mine to save her. She may still slip away, but I can do no more.’
Duncan lifted him away and set him at the table, giving him wine to sip. Tòmas was shaking with exhaustion and said piteously, ‘There are so many hurt, I can feel them crying to me.’
‘They will have to wait,’ Duncan said firmly. ‘Ye will do no guid killing yourself to save them.’
Isabeau was kneeling beside Meghan, weeping. The sorceress lay still, grey-faced, her breathing only marginally stronger. On her breast was a great scar, as large as Duncan’s fist and black with clotted blood. ‘Help me lift her to the bed,’ Isabeau said. ‘Get me some o’ that mithuan and the poppy syrup from beside the Rìgh’s bed—she will be in great pain when she wakes.’
They set Meghan in the great bed, Gitâ curled by her side, and closed the curtains against the afternoon sun. Isabeau would have sat beside her, but she was so white and trembly that Jorge himself tucked her up in her cot in the nursery. He sent one of the rebels standing guard outside to fetch food and tea for the three of them, and insisted on Lachlan and Iseult sleeping as well.
‘Meghan said ye must enter the labyrinth near sunset. Ye have no’ slept all night and it has been a long and hard one. Sleep, my bairns, and I shall watch over ye.’
Jorge woke them in the late afternoon and made them eat and drink some wine. All were white and tired still, but the overcharged tenseness had left their faces and bodies and he no longer feared anyone would collapse.
Duncan Ironfist had searched the palace and grounds for the Dowager Banrìgh but there had been no sign of her. The old cook had also disappeared from her room, and there was no sign of the baby, declared Banrìgh only that morning and now already dispossessed. They all hoped Latifa’s disappearance was not related to Maya’s, for if the Dowager Banrìgh escaped with her daughter, they could be a rallying point for any future insurrection.
Isabeau slowly led the way through the garden. Even if they had felt the urgency of the morning they were simply too tired to move any faster. ‘So where in the name o’ the White Gods is this blaygird maze?’ Iseult asked wearily.
‘Good question. I was hoping Meghan had told ye.’
‘Nay, all she ever said was something about The Book o’ Shadows having the answers.’
‘Ye have the Book safe?’
Iseult nodded. Isabeau smiled wanly. ‘We should no’ have any problems then.’
Her twin groaned. ‘Ye think so? We’ve only managed to make The Book o’ Shadows work for us once and we have no idea what we did.’
‘Ye never do, with The Book o’ Shadows,’ Isabeau said. They reached a long, high hedge, wild with brambles.
‘Do ye have any idea where we are going?’ Lachlan asked in a surly voice. He was blaming himself for Meghan’s injury and had hardly said a word to either of them.
‘No’ really,’ Isabeau admitted. ‘I tried to work the maze out the other day but just got lost and frustrated. We have the Key now, though, and the Book, so we should manage.’
They came to the parterre garden and sat on the stone bench. The yew trees and hedges were black, the sky a pure blue-green, only the dome of the observatory was still burnished with light. A wind ruffled the leaves, making them jump.
‘I was here the other day,’ Isabeau said, ‘and could no’ help thinking how much this garden looked like it was built around something. Do ye see what I mean? There is the pathway up the centre, quite wide, the clipped lavender bushes and cypress trees, the archway—and then just a hedge. Why would they design it that way?’
Iseult shrugged. She knew nothing about gardening and did not want to. Isabeau had always loved plants and flowers, though, and had spent a lot of time with Riordan Bowlegs in the palace gardens at Rhyssmadill.
‘I think this garden is enchanted, too. The other day I stumbled across it twice, in different parts of the garden. I’ve never yet heard o’ a garden that could move itself at will, so it stands to reason it’s enchanted. That’s why I headed here. Do ye have the Book?’
Iseult got it out of the pouch at her belt, and Isabeau received it with a pleased cry. It filled her arms, bound with embossed red leather and iron. She laid it on the bench between them and rested her hands on the cover. She was still for a moment, breathing deeply, relaxing her muscles. Then she held the book between her hands and let it fall open.
On the pages were a carefully sketched design and many lines of writing. Isabeau pored over the tiny, crabbed words. ‘It is a description o’ the planting o’ the gardens and maze by Martha the Wise. She designed it while the Tower of Two Moons was under construction. It says here her father, Lachlan the Stargazer, had built an observatory at the sacred pool o’ the Celestines. Once the pool had been protected by forest, but the Coven had torn down the forest to build the city and palace. Martha the Wise decided to protect the pool and observatory with a maze, for she had discovered the pool had great magical powers that could be used by the dishonourable for their own ends …’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Well, that’s about as useful as anything else I’ve ever got out o’ The Book o’ Shadows,’ Iseult snorted in disgust.
Isabeau stared at the page, then said softly, ‘No, do ye no’ see? Look at the drawing. It is a sketch o’ Martha MacCuinn’s plan for the maze—see?’
Iseult looked carefully, but all she could see were circles, triangles and squares set in harmonious patterns on the page. Isabeau’s finger traced out a square at one end. ‘See, this is the parterre garden. We are sitting on this bench, and that long oblong is the hedge. But look! From where we sit the hedge is solid, but in the drawing the path runs straight ahead, lined with hedges on either side. Come on!’
She jumped to her feet, closing the book before Iseult could warn her not to, and walked down the flagstones. Her twin followed closely, her dagger drawn, with Lachlan by her side. Together they came to the hedge. Iseult and Lachlan stopped before their faces were scratched but Isabeau kept on walking and the hedge disappeared as if it had never been. Instead it formed into an arch over their heads.
They were standing at one end of a long path, lined on either side with ancient cypress trees and enclosed with tall hedges. At the far end of the path was a tall, thin gate, made of wrought iron. Beyond the gate they could see more hedges, with the dome just visible above.
‘Are we in the maze?’ Iseult said. ‘That was easy.’
‘Too easy,’ Isabeau agreed. ‘But let us go on.’
They walked down the path, cool in the shadows of the cypress trees, and came to the gate. It was locked with a chain. Isabeau carefully examined it and smiled. ‘Look, we need to fit the Key into the lock to open it.’ She showed Iseult the shape of the circle and hexagram set into a padlock about the size of their hands. The Key fitted easily into the depression, and the chain fell open at a single turn.
‘That was easy too,’ Iseult said.
‘At the risk o’ repeating myself, I have to say too easy again,’ Isabeau replied, and let Iseult push ahead through the gate. They closed it behind them but could not lock it. This troubled them all, with the maze now open to the garden and the Ensorcellor still at large.
Directly ahead was a hedge, with the path now running south to north so they had to choose between turning left or right. Isabeau recalled the shape of the maze and said, rather hesitantly, ‘Left.’
‘Ye should no’ have closed the Book,’ Iseult said. ‘It had the design o’ the maze in it and now we’ll never find the page again.’
‘We had to close the Book,’ Isabeau said. ‘It will only ev
er give ye an answer once. I memorised the layout o’ the maze from the tower, and then checked it against the design when I had the page open. They were the same.’
Iseult looked at her in grudging admiration. ‘Ye can do that?’
‘Did Meghan no’ teach ye visualisation and memory skills?’
Iseult laughed. ‘She tried to.’
After wandering the maze for close on an hour, they were all tired, hot and bad-tempered. The dome mocked them, swinging so close they thought they were almost there, then swinging away again. By now it was just a black curve against the sunset sky, and it was dark between the hedges, so that Isabeau had to summon a light.
Lachlan would not believe that Isabeau knew the way, and he kept insisting on exploring different paths. They were all jumpy, and at last they sat in the shade of the hedge and Iseult made tea for them all, heating it with her finger. That made Isabeau give a weary smile, for that had always been her trick.
‘I canna understand it,’ Isabeau said. ‘I swear I memorised the path. We should have been there by now.’
‘Ask The Book o’ Shadows,’ Iseult suggested.
Isabeau reluctantly agreed, and they got out the massive tome again. The wind rustled the hedge near them so they looked around warily, but they could sense nothing near them but mice and hedgehogs. Out in the night a hawk shrieked, and they heard the death squeal of a dormouse. Isabeau looked up, startled and worried, and waited long moments before turning back to the Book.
The clue to using The Book of Shadows was not to ask it or order it or even beg it for its secret knowledge. Instead, one just had to trust to its wisdom and open it, knowing the answer would be revealed. Isabeau had read through the pages of The Book of Shadows since she was a child, but still she had to focus her thoughts and let go of her doubts to make it work. She did so now, but when the pages fell open on the reverse spell—a page she had read a hundred times—she swore and slapped it with her hand and said, ‘I do no’ understand what is wrong with it!’