Isabeau smiled confidently. ‘Happen she did no’ ken the way o’ it,’ she answered. ‘Meghan always did say that anyone could learn a Skill if they watched and listened hard enough. I’ve seen ye transform before, remember.’
Maya backed away a few paces. It was clear she was afraid Isabeau might decide to turn her into some other creature in retaliation.
Isabeau flexed her fingers and saw the Fairge turn ashen. ‘I am taking Bronwen and the boys and going home. Do no’ try and stop me,’ she said menacingly. ‘I am sorry it had to be this way. I really hoped I could help ye somehow. Yet once again ye chose to go your own way.’
She gathered up her nyx hair pouch and drew Bronwen and the boys close beside her. Compunction touched her and she said, ‘I’m sorry, really I am. I wish it dinna have to be like this.’
Maya said nothing. Her face was deathly white, her pupils greatly dilated. It was clear she did not know what to do. She made an involuntary gesture towards her chest, as if seeking her clàrsach. Isabeau picked up the chest with her mind and hurled it through the grass-woven side of the hut. ‘I said do no’ try and stop me!’
Bronwen followed her and the boys outside, her steps faltering. With her ragdoll and the flute clutched close to her chest, she suddenly stopped and looked back. ‘Mam?’
‘Bronny!’ Maya cried, tears suddenly flooding down her face. ‘Oh, Bronny, Bronny.’
Bronwen ran back and embraced her mother fiercely. ‘Beau will make everything grand,’ she gabbled. ‘She’ll fix it all up so ye can come home too, and we can be happy together and never be afraid again. Willna ye, Beau?’
‘I’ll try,’ Isabeau said, tears springing up in her own eyes. ‘Though I am afraid your mam will have to stand trial for what she has done.’
‘Nay, nay, ye’ll make it all grand, I ken ye will,’ Bronwen cried, pressing her face against her mother’s shoulder.
Isabeau once again felt all her doubts rise to engulf her. ‘Bronwen, the tide is on the turn,’ she said gently. ‘We must go.’
Maya straightened, holding Bronwen away from her. ‘Do no’ greet, my wee lassie,’ she said unsteadily. ‘Ye must go. The tide is indeed on the turn.’
Maya and Isabeau’s eyes met. There was a long moment of silent communion, acceptance, understanding, forgiveness. Isabeau helped the children into the sleigh, the sea-otters already leaping and barking excitedly in their harness. She picked up the reins. ‘Maya, how will I let ye ken?’
Maya shrugged. ‘I will find out. Ye do no’ think I would let my daughter into the care o’ my greatest enemy without keeping an eye on her, do ye, Red? I am no’ totally without power.’
Seeing Maya’s twisted smile Isabeau suddenly realised, with a triumphant and joyful leap of her heart, that she had succeeded in withstanding the most powerful and dangerous sorceress in the land. Tabithas had been defeated by Maya. Even Meghan had been sorely tested. Isabeau the Shapechanger had, however, defeated her and outwitted her and perhaps even converted her. Isabeau could not help smiling in pure satisfaction.
‘If it is the moons that move the tides of the sea, who is it, or what is it, that moves the tides o’ destiny?’ Maya suddenly asked.
‘It is Eà,’ Isabeau replied, smiling still. ‘Eà, the World-Soul, the stuff o’ the universe, the source o’ all life, all magic. Eà.’
Maya stepped back, her brows creasing. Isabeau leant forward and tapped her on the breastbone. ‘We all carry a wee bit o’ Eà around with us everywhere we go,’ she said simply. ‘Your soul is part o’ the stuff o’ the universe, dinna ye realise that? That part o’ ye that aches sometimes with the beauty and terror o’ it all, that part o’ ye that made ye weep just now, that part that wishes ye could live your life over again, be like one o’ these wee bairns, all shining with love and trust and promise. Ye think I do no’ feel that too?’
Maya was weeping again. ‘How will I ken? How will I ken?’
‘Trust in the Spinners,’ Isabeau replied serenely and found her own faith renewed, when she had not even known it had been shaken. She reached forward and grasped Maya’s hand, and the Fairge’s tears fell upon her wrist.
‘Have a care for my daughter?’
‘I will indeed,’ Isabeau replied and squeezed Maya’s hand one more time before letting it fall.
‘Sails ahoy! Two points on the port side, sails ahoy!’
At the shout of the lookout, Iseult looked up. She had been staring blankly at the ornate carvings of lions, angels, devils and gargoyles that decorated the high poop of the ship, her expression very sombre.
All around the deck, her companions looked up also. The crippled jongleur Enit Silverthroat craned round in her chair, her grandson Dide leaping to his feet in sudden concern. Elfrida NicHilde, her face blotched red from days of weeping, let her sodden handkerchief fall, while her husband Iain of Arran looked up from the navigational chart, his thin face creasing in anxiety. Dillon and Jay had been playing trictrac. The young squire dropped the dice at the shout, leaping to his feet with his hand on his sword hilt.
Even Lachlan came out of his cabin for the first time in three days. He was haggard and dishevelled, his shirt hanging untied, his eyes bloodshot. ‘Sails?’ he asked with a slight slur.
‘Aye, sails!’ the lookout boy called down. ‘Lots o’ them. They’re coming fast.’
‘Pirates?’ the ship’s captain frowned.
‘Pirates?’ Lachlan repeated. This time the slur was more pronounced. He endeavoured to climb up onto the railing, but his foot slipped. Dide put his hand under his elbow and unobtrusively helped him up. Lachlan stared out at the horizon. He squinted first one eye, then the other. ‘Where?’
‘Two points on the port side, Your Highness,’ Captain Tobias boomed. He was a tall, stern-looking man with close-cropped grey hair under a tricorne hat, and a clean-shaven face, tanned and creased with the sun like a piece of old leather.
‘Speak Eilean, for Eà’s sake, man,’ Lachlan replied irritably.
‘Off to the left, master,’ Dide said softly, keeping his hand under Lachlan’s elbow.
Lachlan shaded his eyes with his hand and stared where the young jongleur pointed. There on the horizon, like a billowing of soft cloud, were many curved white sails. The Rìgh’s scowl darkened. ‘Och, there be a fair few o’ them.’
‘Aye,’ Dide answered. ‘We canna be fighting off such a fleet! The odds are impossible. What are we to do, master? Try and outrun them?’
Lachlan nodded wearily. ‘Though they are bearing down upon us, no’ attacking from the rear. Unless we turn about, they must meet up with us at some point, if that is their intention. Which it seems to be.’ He rubbed his temples.
‘So should we change course, Your Highness?’ Captain Tobias asked, his voice strained.
‘Nay!’ Lachlan burst out. ‘We could spend weeks dodging that bloody fleet! We have wasted too much time as it is. My son is in terrible danger, we canna let a bunch o’ mangy pirates make us turn tail and run. What are we, chicken-hearted curs? We’ll fight them and we’ll defeat them!’
‘That be the whisky talking,’ Captain Tobias said coldly. ‘We have only six ships, remember, Your Highness, or are ye seeing double?’
Lachlan swung around on the captain, who took an involuntary step back at the look on his face. ‘Do no’ ever talk to me like that again, do ye understand?’ the Rìgh said softly. ‘Ye have sworn fealty to me, and by Eà’s green blood, ye shall treat me with respect!’
‘Aye, Your Highness,’ the captain replied with a little bow. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Pardon granted,’ Lachlan said crisply. ‘I am no’ a fool, captain. I ken we have only six ships and they have thirty or more. I do no’ need to understand much about sailing to ken we are in for a battle o’ grand proportions. We have right on our side, though, and firepower. Have ye forgot that we have witches on board? No’ to mention the Lodestar.’ He lifted the sceptre from its sheath on his belt and a white radiance leapt to life in the milk
y sphere. ‘We must prevail and so we shall.’
‘Aye, Your Highness,’ Captain Tobias replied with a new respect in his voice. He made a gesture to the bosun who blew shrilly upon his whistle and called in a stentorian voice, ‘All hands on deck! All hands, I say!’
Though the six ships in the royal fleet strained all their sails and rigging to breaking point, sailing so close to the cliffs at times that all feared they must be swept upon the rocks, still the sails on the horizon grew closer and closer. Soon the fleet of ships was near enough for them to see the dreaded black and red hammerhead flag. There were thirty-seven ships in the attacking fleet, and Lachlan was enraged to see many of them were his own ships, lost to the pirates over the previous few years.
‘They look as if they have already been under attack,’ Captain Tobias observed. ‘See how their sails are torn and charred? And look, there are holes in the hulls that have been patched with tar. Look at the size o’ the hole in that one! That must have been some cannon.’
‘Isabeau,’ Iseult said with certainty, unable to help shooting a meaningful look at her husband. ‘Those holes be caused by witch-fire, no doubt at all.’
Lachlan’s scowl only grew deeper. He did not look at Iseult, lifting his fingers to surreptitiously massage his temples once more.
The captain snapped out his orders and the sailors leapt to obey. Weapons were handed out from the armoury; the cannons were all lifted into position and secured, heavy cannonballs heaved down their throats and gunpowder carefully poured in. Buckets of water were hauled up the side in case of fire, and the sails were all trimmed and secured.
‘Master,’ Dide said diffidently.
‘Aye?’
‘Have ye learnt to use the Lodestar then? I thought …’
Lachlan flushed. He cast Dide an angry look, opened his mouth to snap at him, then closed it again. His wings fidgeted uneasily. ‘The Lodestar is no’ an easy thing to master,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘And ye ken as well as I that I have had little time for lessons in witchcraft and witchcunning these past few years. We’ve been at war every day since I won the throne! But Iseult and I have been studying with Gwilym every spare moment we’ve had, and with Meghan when we’re with her.’
‘But can ye sweep away a fleet o’ forty ships?’
Lachlan gripped the Lodestar in both hands, his face set like stone. ‘Let us hope so.’
The pirate fleet bore down upon them. They were close enough now to see the jeering faces of the pirates, who all hung over the railing, waving their pistols and cutlasses. Iain and the court sorcerer, Gwilym the Ugly, watched them with narrowed eyes as they discussed the best way to combat the pirates with sorcery. There was a sudden blast of smoke and fire as the pirates began to fire their cannons, and the royal fleet was quick to retaliate. Soon the air was thick with clouds of acrid smoke, the booming of the cannons, the shouts and screams of men, the dull bang of the harquebuses and pistols, the whine of arrows and then, ominously, the clash of arms as pirates leapt on to the deck of the Royal Stag. The crew fought to keep them away from the forecastle deck where Lachlan and his comrades gathered, awaiting their instructions.
‘We had best m-m-make a circle o’ power,’ Iain said calmly, taking up a lump of charcoal from the brazier. ‘Come, Elfrida, I ken ye are no witch but ye have s-s-strong powers, and ye too, Dide and Enit. J-J-J-oin us.’
‘If we could just manage to make a full circle o’ thirteen, we might be able to summon some real power!’ Gwilym said and began counting the heads of those in the Rìgh’s party. His saturnine face suddenly lit up with a smile of rare charm. ‘By Eà’s green bluid, do ye ken, I think we might just make it!’
As the others drew together at Gwilym’s command, the Rìgh strode up and down the deck, the Lodestar clasped close to his breast. He was muttering under his breath, every now and again groaning and sighing and hitting his head. A soft white glow twisted in the heart of the Lodestar and Iseult could faintly hear the rise and fall of its song as it responded to Lachlan’s closeness.
Iain drew a twelve-pointed star within a large circle, leaving a small gap on one side. One by one they filed inside. Lachlan sat cross-legged at the centre of the circle, his wings folded behind him, the Lodestar held before him. He faced due east, the direction of the element of air, for that was the element whose power they needed the most.
Of the twelve people who took up their positions at the different points of the star, only Iain, Gwilym and Nellwyn, a Yedda who had been rescued in Tìrsoilleir, were fully trained sorcerers. Iseult had been studying hard though, and had already shown she had the power to conjure storms.
Elfrida was the descendant of Berhtilde the Bright Warrior-Maid and had shown some power, too, although she had received only a little training in the use of it. The jongleurs Enit and Dide were gifted indeed, even though they had always preferred to remain independent of the Coven. Enit’s young apprentice Jay had already proved his strong natural Talent, while Brangaine was the direct descendant of Sian the Storm-Rider and had inherited the power to call up the wind at will. Similarly her cousin Finn was descended from Rùraich the Searcher and although her Talents did not involve the powers of the weather, her strength would lend much potency to the magic circle.
Lachlan’s squire Dillon was also chosen for he wielded a magical sword with immense strength and ferocity, a sign that he had strong powers of his own. They had trouble convincing him that he must not draw his sword and join the fighting, for the nature of the sword Joyeuse was that it could not be sheathed until the battle was won.
‘If the circle o’ power fails,’ Iseult told him, ‘well, then we shall all be fighting for our lives and Joyeuse shall be needed indeed. But for now, Dillon, give us the strength o’ your spirit and no’ your arm.’
The last to enter the circle of power was only thirteen years old. Although he was a thin, frail-looking boy, he had the potential to be the most potent of all. Tòmas the Healer had the miraculous power to heal with a touch of his hands and so always rode with Lachlan’s army, saving many thousands of lives. All thirteen hoped to use the circle of power to support and strengthen Lachlan as he sought to raise the Lodestar, for the magical orb’s powers were not easily evoked and the young rìgh had never before attempted to draw upon it.
‘If only Meghan were here,’ Lachlan said despairingly.
‘The Spinners are with us,’ Iain said reassuringly. ‘A full thirteen, and m-m-m-most with their greatest strength in the p-p-p-powers o’ air and water. Do no’ fear. We shall prevail.’
Gwilym took up his position at the apex of the star, his staff set upright behind him. ‘Take each other’s hands,’ he instructed. ‘Close your eyes. Draw in all your will. Focus it upon the Lodestar. Imagine it in your mind, imagine it flaming with power. Imagine feeding all your own power into Lachlan. Imagine he and the Lodestar are a sword that ye wield in your hand. Imagine he and the Lodestar are a flute into which ye pour all your breath. Imagine that he and Lodestar are a torch that ye carry in your hand, that ye light with all your energy. Feel yourself grow light and empty, feel how heavy and strong Lachlan grows …’
All seated within the circle of power were conscious of feeling light and giddy. A great wind of power rushed around them, dizzying them with its speed and brightness. They heard none of the crash and bang of the battle raging around them, did not smell the smoke or feel the shudders of the wooden deck beneath them. All their attention was focused on Lachlan, who seemed to loom huge and dark within the spinning spiral of power, his winged form flung in shadowed relief by the blazing Lodestar.
Then Gwilym began to chant and all felt a surge of excitement, for they recognised the words and were able to join in. Louder and louder they chanted, Enit’s silvery voice rising in beautiful descant. Then Lachlan’s deep, strong voice joined in and all felt the quickening of their pulse, the prickling of their skin, the smell of thunder in the air that meant great magic was being worked.
‘In the name o??
? Eà, our mother and our father, who is Spinner and Weaver and Cutter o’ the Thread, who sows the seed, nurtures the crop, and reaps the harvest; by the virtue o’ the four elements, wind, stone, flame and rain; by virtue o’ clear skies and storm, rainbows and hailstones, flowers and falling leaves, flames and ashes; in the name o’ Eà we call upon the winds o’ the world, in the name o’ Eà we call upon the waters, in the name o’ Eà we call upon the winds o’ the world, in the name o’ Eà we call upon the waters …’
Then at a counterpoint to the other witches’ voices, Gwilym began to chant:
‘Come hither, spirits o’ the east, bringing wind,
‘Come hither, spirits o’ the east, bringing storm,
‘Come hither, spirits o’ the east, bringing gale,
‘Come hither, spirits o’ the east, bringing whirlwind.’
Suddenly the Rìgh rose and lifted the Lodestar high, shouting, ‘I command thee, sea and wind and storm, obey me! Destroy these black-hearted pirates and keep us all safe! Destroy these black-hearted pirates and keep us all safe! Hailstones and rain, gale and wind, sea waves and seafoam, lightning bolt and thunder, obey this, my will! Obey me! By the powers o’ air and fire and earth and water, I command thee! Obey me!’
There was a sudden roar. The spinning cone of light whirled even faster about them. All they could see was the white incandescence of the blazing sphere and the black shape of Lachlan, his magnificent wings spread wide. All round was black motion, whirling faster and faster.
Iseult gave a sudden gasp. She had just seen a ship flying through the air, its masts broken, sails torn asunder like enormous white ghosts. A quiver ran around the circle as everyone tightened their grasp, many crying aloud in amazement and fear. Suddenly lightning blasted all around them. Everyone flinched. Again and again the lightning flared, the masts black against all that brilliant white. In each flash they saw scenes of incredible devastation. Waves tossed wildly, ships foundered, ships flew, men screamed in terror.