‘… open your secrets to our sight, find in us the depths and height, find in us surrender and fight, find in us jet black, snow white, darksome light and shining night,’ Lilanthe murmured, and found herself thinking of her childhood, in the years before the Faery Decree. Tears stung her eyes, and slowly she turned and slithered backwards into the darkness.
The next morning she was drawn back to the camp by the bustle of packing. Silently she slithered up a tree so she could watch the final farewells of the jongleurs and the last entreaties for the fire-eater’s caravan to stay with the others.
‘Ye ken the songs just do no’ sound right unless ye and Dide and Enit join in,’ one of the women said, resting on the steps of her cart, a guitar cradled in her arms. ‘And the acrobatic troupe will sadly miss your wee Nina.’
Dide’s father shrugged. ‘Och, well, I’ve a fancy on me to see the auld ways. Ye ken I be nervous about travelling in Blèssem since that trouble in Dùn Eidean.’
‘That’ll teach ye to cheat at dice!’ the woman said, strumming a few notes.
The jongleur gave a sharp crack of laughter. ‘Obh obh, Eileen! Ye ken I dinna cheat—the dice just seemed to fall my way!’ He was tall and very dark, his crimson shirt the same colour as his lips, his leather waistcoat grown a little tight across his stomach.
‘Och, for sure, Morrell, loaded dice certainly help Lady Luck along! It’s up to ye, o’ course, but wha’ shall ye do in the depths o’ the wilds? Eat fire for the amusement o’ the birds?’
‘I might have a holiday,’ Morrell answered. ‘Eà knows I’ve been working the roads long enough. Besides, I picked Blèssem clean on my last way through, I doubt ye’ll find much left to fill your bellies.’ She gave a snort of derision. ‘No,’ he continued, ‘I’ve a mind to find some fresh pastures. There mun be some woodcutters and charcoal-burners left somewhere in these forests, and if there’s no’, well, I still have half a barrel o’ whisky and a side o’ salted pork, what more do I need?’
‘Wha’ makes me think ye’ve some devilry in mind?’ one of the other men said, leaning against the side of his caravan. ‘Still, your loss, our gain. I will no’ have to be sharing the takings wi’ ye when ye’re so drunk ye canna even light your torches.’
‘And wha’ will your show be without my fire-eating and Dide’s guitar?’
‘A lot more reliable!’ Eileen chortled at her own quick wit, then jumped to her feet before Morrell the Fire-Eater could think of a retort. ‘No, no, Morrell, leave me wi’ the last word for once! It seems like a guid way for us to be parting. Happen we’ll see your cart at Dùn Gorm for the summer festivals?’
‘Perhaps, perhaps no’. We’ll see how well the woodcutters pay up and how long my barrel o’ whisky lasts!’
He waved the other caravans farewell as they trundled off down the wider, smoother road, then called to his son and daughter to pack up camp. ‘We’ve finally got rid o’ them! The road’s our own, let’s be on our way!’
With one scarred leather boot he kicked dirt over the coals and stamped them into the ground. Nina came running out of the forest, her mouth stained with berries, her reddish hair filled with leaves and twigs. ‘Ye look like a tree-changer yourself!’ her father laughed and picked her up and swung her around. ‘Ooof! Ye’re getting too big for this!’
‘I have no’ grown at all!’ Nina laughed. ‘Ye’re just getting too fat!’
‘Me? Fat? I’m in the prime o’ my life!’
‘If ye believe that ye have no’ looked in a mirror lately,’ his mother said in her melodious voice. Snowy hair combed straight back from her wrinkled brown face, Enit limped painfully back to her caravan. Lilanthe had not yet met Dide’s grandmother, for the old jongleur could not walk easily, crippled with a twisting of her bones that made her fingers look like knobbly twigs. She rarely moved more than a few paces from her caravan and guarded its interior jealously.
‘Dide!’ Morrell cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed his son’s name loudly. ‘Where in hell’s bells are ye?’
‘Here, Da! I was just looking for Lilanthe, to tell her the other jongleurs have gone at last … She’s shielding, though. I canna find her.’
Lilanthe crouched lower on the branch. She had been too long alone to give up her freedom lightly. They called for her, then harnessed the mares to the caravans. ‘Do no’ worry, son,’ Morrell said. ‘I doubt she’ll stop following us after all this time.’
‘Something may have happened to her. I wish she wouldna shield herself from me.’
Lilanthe smiled to herself. It was easy for her to think of trees and sky and wind and sunlight, the thoughts playing on the surface of her mind effectively hiding the thoughts below. It was much harder for humans, who had so little control over their thoughts and so little connection with the world around them. Even Dide, who was surprisingly good at it, was unable to shield as effectively as Lilanthe.
She waited until the horses had plodded almost out of sight, then slipped out of the tree and began to follow them. Morrell’s words had caused a brief smart of humiliation, but they were essentially true. Lilanthe had no intention of losing touch with the jongleurs.
It was some hours later that Lilanthe became aware of other minds brushing the edge of her awareness. Cautiously she cast her mind out, and encountered hunger, blood-lust, the hunters’ impulse. They were not minds she had ever encountered before, though the thoughts were familiar, akin to the thoughts of a rat-catcher she remembered from her childhood, a man who set packs of rats upon dogs for the amusement of the villagers. Shuddering a little, Lilanthe increased her pace, deciding she should really stay a little closer to the caravans. She wondered if Dide could sense the minds as well, and was answered when he began to call for her, peering anxiously into the glades stretching on either side of the narrow road. She began to hurry forward, casting aside her shield.
Hurry! he thought. Danger coming!
Lilanthe ran as fast as she could, but the caravans were swinging out of sight. She felt the pursuit growing closer and swung round to face it, digging her bare feet into the soil. She felt the shiver of changing run over her, felt rather than saw them burst out of the woods and gallop towards her.
There were seven of them, long-haired women with cloven hooves and horns of all different shapes. They wore short kilts of badly cured leather and necklaces of animal and human teeth that bounced against their three pairs of breasts. Down their spines grew a ridge of coarse, wiry hair that ended in a long, tufted tail. Hollering with vicious glee, they waved rough clubs made of wood and stone tied together with cord.
Lilanthe’s torso stretched and twisted, her arms lengthening and diverging into slim white branches that dangled towards the ground. Her hair sprouted and grew into long trailers with tiny green flowers clustered along the stem.
They charged her, heads lowered, and she was grateful for her sturdy roots when one hard body after another crashed into her trunk, shaking loose leaves and twigs. Restlessly they leapt around her, butting their horns against her slender trunk, but without the scent of blood to agitate them, they soon galloped after the caravan.
As soon as she dared, Lilanthe reversed the changing process, anxious about the safety of her friends. Knowing there was nothing she could do to protect them, she nonetheless ran as fast as she could in their tracks. She came round a corner to see the caravans backed up against a tree, the horned women cavorting around them. Nina was in one doorway with a frying pan in one hand, just managing to keep them off. Morrell was slashing all about him with his claymore, trying to defend the mares who reared and neighed in terror. Dide was crouched beside Enit’s cart, a long dagger in each hand. As the horned women rammed the caravan, he slashed one on the shoulder so blood splattered down her side. The blood only served to excite them, and the caravan rocked dangerously.
Suddenly a woman with seven horns bounded up the steps and rammed Nina, ignoring the frying pan raining blows on her naked shoulders. Nina screamed and fell. Just as L
ilanthe thought she must be trampled, Enit began to sing.
The song wrapped Lilanthe’s mind in smooth harmonies. She felt her senses benumbed, the frantic beating of her heart stilled. Without realising it she took a step closer, then another, her body swaying, her eyes half closing. Something close to a purr began in her throat. Humming and swaying, she thought of spring mornings and deep water and starry nights. Closer and closer to the caravan she danced. Part of her mind noted without curiosity the dancing, swaying figures of the horned women. Dide and Morrell were dancing too, and little Nina jiggled about on the step, a blissful smile on her face. The music softened and Lilanthe felt her eyes closing, her breath slowing. One by one the dancing figures sighed and drooped, curling where they lay to sleep.
When Lilanthe woke it was night and she was wrapped in a blanket that smelt of horses. She opened her eyes, wondering why she felt so at peace, so wonderfully rested. Behind her was a stone wall, firelight flickering over it. She lay still, listening to the voices speaking beside her.
‘Pretty song teach?’ a gruff voice asked.
‘It canna be taught, Brun,’ Enit replied. Her voice was sad. ‘I had sworn never to use it again. The Yedda are dead and gone, the song-masters lost. What use living in the past? Besides, it be dangerous.’ Without changing the timbre of her voice, Enit then said, ‘Our tree-changer is awake. How do ye feel, Lilanthe?’
‘I am no’ a tree-changer,’ Lilanthe said. ‘My mother’s people are tree-changers, but they will no’ accept me either. I call myself a tree-shifter.’
‘I have never heard o’ a tree-shifter afore.’
‘Neither have I,’ Lilanthe said. ‘I think I’m the only one.’
‘Hmm, I imagine human and tree-changer offspring are rare. I dinna even think it was possible.’
‘Well, it obviously is,’ Lilanthe answered and sat up, stretching. ‘What happened? Who are those horrible women? Where are we?’
‘I sang them to sleep,’ Enit said. ‘Unfortunately, I sang ye all to sleep too, but the magic is indiscriminate.’
‘No’ sing me,’ the furry voice said. Lilanthe raised herself on her elbow so she could see who had spoken. It was a cluricaun, a short, hairy creature with a pointed face and large, tufted ears. When he moved, the many small bright objects hung around his neck clashed and jingled, and Lilanthe remembered that cluricauns were never to be trusted with anything flashy.
‘No, that’s right, Brun,’ Enit said. ‘Why is it ye were no’ lulled to sleep? All creatures within sound o’ me should have slept.’
‘Magic songs no’ magic to me,’ Brun said and hopped to his feet so he could stir the pot hanging over the fire blazing in the massive stone fireplace. Above the mantle was a stone shield emblazoned with stars and faint runes of writing, and below it a device of two masks, one weeping, one laughing.
‘Cluricauns are immune to magic,’ Lilanthe said. ‘Although they have no magic o’ their own, they have the ability to sense magic and to resist it.’
Enit glanced at her with interest. ‘Is that so?’
‘That is what my mam always taught me.’
‘Indeed? I thought ye’d been brought up by your father.’
‘I was. My mam was nearby, though. I often used to climb in her branches, and she would talk to me. She told me many things, about all the forest creatures, and what things were like afore ye humans came.’ There was bitterness in Lilanthe’s voice. ‘I tried to run to her many times, but she was no’ always there, and tree-changers do no’ have strong family ties. She did no’ understand why I would want to be near her.’
‘While ye, o’ course, wanted your mother like human children do.’
‘Aye.’
‘And tree-changers roam at will, do they no’? They have no villages or settlements? Nowhere ye could go?’
‘Nay. I’ve been looking, but when they are in tree-shape they’re hard to find. Besides, they would no’ want me. My mother always thought I was a very odd-looking creature.’
‘Bonny lass ye are.’ Brun smiled at her, showing sharp, pointed teeth.
Lilanthe was amazed to feel blood rushing to her face. Enit smiled and said, ‘Aye, she’s a very bonny lass, if no’ quite your average Islander. I’m interested ye woke so early. Look at the others, they still sleep soundly, and I’d bet a full crown that the satyricorns are still fast asleep.’
‘Satyricorns? Is that what they were? I’ve never seen one afore.’
‘Brun has been telling me the forests around here are infested with them. They come from Tìreich originally, I believe.’
Enit ladled hot broth into a bowl for Lilanthe and broke her off some bread, her twisted fingers making the task difficult. ‘Brun says the satyricorns were released here by soldiers. That makes me wonder whether Maya the Unknown is no’ taking advantage o’ their natural nastiness to keep these forests clear. Maintaining guards in these forests would be difficult—there are few paths and very few settlements. How much easier to let satyricorns roam free, killing anyone who was silly enough to trespass.’
‘But are they no’ uile-bheistean? Surely the Banrìgh would execute them?’
‘Maya has shown quite clearly she is prepared to make use o’ those faery creatures that have qualities she needs.’
Lilanthe found she was shaking with anger, her resolve to fight against the Banrìgh strengthened. Why should she be hunted down when the Banrìgh let other uile-bheistean live?
Enit nodded. ‘Indeed, it makes me angry also, my dear. Though I think ye will find most people will turn a blind eye to magic if it serves their purpose, no matter how devoutly they follow the Banrìgh’s Truth.’
Lilanthe slowly swallowed a mouthful of broth, then asked shyly, ‘How is it ye were able to cause us all to fall asleep? Surely that was magic?’
‘Indeed, it was, it’s the song o’ enchantment.’
‘Are ye a witch, then?’
‘No’ a Tower witch, nay. My mother was a skeelie, my father a travelling minstrel. I grew up deep in the forest and used to sing the birds to my hand and coneys into the cooking pot. I learnt the songs o’ enchantment from a Yedda, who tried her best to bring me into the Coven. She said I had magic in my voice and could be a Yedda too if I gave up my freedom. I did no’ want to bide, so I got in my wee cart and left, though Lizabet the Sea-Singer was angry that I should say her nay. I have lived as I wished, travelling and singing as I pleased, and now all my children and grandchildren do the same.’
‘So ye have no’ sung the song o’ sleep for long syne?’
‘Nay, nor any song o’ enchantment, though I find to sing at all is to work magic in some way. A spell like I cast today is far too dangerous to do lightly, and besides, I have no heart for it any more.’
Lilanthe wiped her bowl clean with the last remnant of bread and only then really looked around her. They were squatting on furs and old blankets piled on wide flagstones so old they were worn deeply in the centre. The rafters of the vaulted ceiling were black with age, the walls below decorated with gargoyles. Though Lilanthe had not been within four walls for many years—and had thought it would stifle her to be so again—she felt comfortable and at peace. Through a broken gap in the wall the night flowed dark and warm, and outside she sensed the forest pressing close. The old woman, huddled in shawls, was kind and sang as sweetly as any bird, and Lilanthe had been alone for so long. With a sigh, she nestled back into her blankets, casting a glance over the recumbent forms of the others. Dide was curled on the blankets near her foot, his mouth half open, his olive cheek flushed. He had a tender, vulnerable look about him that gave Lilanthe a strange wrenching in her ribcage. She felt Enit’s eyes upon her, and flushed.
‘How long will they sleep?’ she whispered.
‘All night long, I imagine. I hope the satyricorns will sleep as long. I have no’ yet told ye the news. Your friend, Isabeau—Meghan’s young apprentice. She’s alive! Somehow she managed to escape the witch-sniffers and made her way here, sick with f
ever. Brun tended her nigh on a full moon, for she was close to death, he says, and then the Celestine hiding here healed her.’
The tree-shifter exclaimed in excitement and relief, the cluricaun Brun saying happily, ‘I knew she would make Is’beau better.’
‘There was a Celestine here?’ Lilanthe’s eyes gleamed green with excitement.
‘Aye, one o’ the few Celestines still willing to consort with humans. She is Cloudshadow, a witch-friend who has often helped the rebels in one way or another. She and Meghan o’ the Beasts are very close.’
‘So Isabeau is alive! She really and truly is still alive?’
‘Aye, she’s alive, though maimed in body and spirit. Brun says Cloudshadow healed her as best she could, but Isabeau still lost two fingers o’ her left hand. She was tortured, ye see, and given the pilliwinkes.’
‘What are they?’ Lilanthe’s voice was faint.
‘Thumb and finger screws. They crush your fingers at the joint …’
The tree-shifter gave a shudder. ‘Poor Isabeau, how awful! But at least she’s alive.’
‘She was last we heard, but the Satyricorns are on the prowl, and she had a long way to ride still …’
‘On her quest.’
‘Aye—’ Enit began, but was interrupted by the cluricaun, who sat up solemnly, rocking forwards and back.
‘What force and strength canna get through,
With a mere touch, I can undo.’
When they looked at him blankly, his tail drooped in disappointment. With one paw he made a gesture, like unlocking a door. Their expressions did not change, and he chanted the rhyme again.
Enit said kindly, ‘I am curious still about the Celestine, Brun. Tell me, what else did Cloudshadow say?’
Brun dropped his paw, bouncing a little in excitement. ‘She said Is’beau’s head was wrapped in a veil, and that she had faery blood running in her veins …’