The Cursed Towers (33 page)

"Why do you scorn the White Gods' gift of blood and flesh? I have seen you grow sick and pale as we feast, and press your hand against your mouth and turn away into the shadows. You eat only seeds and wild grains like a sword-billed flutterwing. To eat flesh is to grow strong and fierce and hot-blooded. To eat seeds is to be weak and thin and defenseless."

Isabeau smiled rather ruefully. Indeed she had trouble finding enough to eat here in these snowy heights. Most of the pride's gathering of grains, fruits and nuts was done in the summer and stored in huge, stone jars in the Haven. Isabeau could not ask that she be given more than her fair share of this jealously guarded hoard, particularly since she had not shared in its gathering. She was often hungry, therefore, and had grown adept at finding fallen nuts and edible barks beneath the snow to give her the protein she needed.

Rhythmically, choosing her words and hand gestures carefully, she replied, "My first teacher, wise as the Soul-Sage, powerful as the Firemaker, taught me to revere all life as sacred. Each bird, each seed, each stone, is filled with life force, the soul, both unique and universal. To destroy that life-force is to diminish the universe itself."

"But by eating a plant, does that not destroy it?" The Scarred Warrior struggled to understand. Isabeau shook her head. "We eat only of its fruit and leaves, allowing the plant itself to grown and flourish. We never strip the plant completely or uproot it, so it may spread its seeds and continue the life cycle uninterrupted. We do not kill an animal for its skins but gather its wool for spinning. We do not cut down a tree for firewood but gather its discarded branches. We drink the milk of our goats and sheep but do not drain them dry so their young must thirst. I wear these skins only because I know the animal they belong to no longer has use for them, having died in its natural time, and if I did not accept its gift, I myself should die. I give thanks to Ea, our mother and our father, that this is so." The Khan'cohban shook his head in puzzlement. "It is very odd," he said. "You shall never win your scars as a hunter and warrior with such philosophies."

Isabeau smiled at him. "I know."

He stood up and stretched down his many-jointed fingers to help her up. "You already wear the seventh scar of the Soul-Sage at your brow and I have observed the Soul-Sage often willfully starves herself before casting the bones or skimming the stars. As a Soul-Sage you shall not need to hunt or kill, so perhaps the Gods of White do not take offense at your strange beliefs, knowing you do not scorn them or their gifts."

"Indeed I hope so," Isabeau replied with a little shiver. Already she knew how cruel these mountains could be.

"You shall still need to know the art of the Scarred Warrior if you are to survive your initiation journey," the Khan'cohban said, leading the way on through the deep snow. "Soon the long darkness shall be here. When the ice storm blows without pause and the Gods of White roam the world, then I shall begin to teach you."

It was not very many more days until the brief hours of sunlight were swallowed into an incessant storm of ice and darkness that heaped the snow so high that the mouth of the cave was almost closed. Icicles hung down like transparent fangs, and the fires were guarded jealously. Isabeau's days were divided between the still meditations of the Soul-Sage and the moving meditations of the Scarred Warrior. In both, she was taught to control her every breath, to narrow down her consciousness to a single point of flame.

Isabeau found to her amazement that the slow, flowing movements of the Scarred Warrior were called
ahdayeh,
just like the fighting exercises she had been taught as a young girl. Each of the thirty-three stances or movements had the same title, named for the mountains' creatures of prey, the snow lions, saber leopards, lynxes, bears, wolves, and dragons. She wondered how it was the witches of the Coven had learnt
ahdayeh,
when humans and Khan'cohbans had lived so far apart for so many years. Then she remembered her own father had traveled down out of the mountains to the Towers of Roses and Thorns, years before she was born, and wondered if he had taught this art to the Coven. Contrary to Isabeau's expectations, the art of the Scarred Warrior was not about pitting one's strength against one's adversary and trying to overcome them. It was instead a matter of stepping aside or back, tempting one's opponent to overreach and lose their balance. It was about maintaining one's own balance and own inner harmony, and confronting the other with their own chaos.

"Be as snow," the Scarred Warrior told her. "Snow is gentle, snow is silent, snow is inexorable. Fight hard against snow and it shall always smother you with its softness and silence. Submit to snow and it shall melt away before you."

So as the long darkness passed, Isabeau was as snow: quiet, gentle, inexorable, and cold.
Angel of Death

"Rise up, bonny lassies, in your gowns o' green,

For summer is a-coming in today,

Ye're as fair a lady as any I've seen,

In the merry morn o' May."

Through the dim streets of Blairgowrie danced a long procession of men and women carrying torches. On their heads were crowns made of leaves and spring flowers. Dide the Juggler danced at the head of the cavalcade, leafy twigs tied to every limb, a thick garland of leaves on his head. As he spun and leapt he sang in his clear, strong voice:

"Rise up, rowdy laddies, we wish ye well and fine,

For summer is a-coming in today,

Ye've a shilling in your pocket and I wish it were

in mine,

In the merry morn o' May."

Lachlan and Iseult watched the procession from the wall of the great keep, smiling and waving to the crowd below. The young prionnsa Donncan sat on the Banrigh's hip, laughing in delight as the passing men and women bowed and curtseyed before dancing on. Meghan and Jorge sat close behind, smiling as they watched the May Day procession winding through the town. It had been a long time since the Beltane fires had been lit on every hill at the rising of the sun, creating a chain of fire as far as the eye could see. Although the hills of Blessem and Clachan would remain dark this morn, every hill in Rionnagan was to be lit, and that made the Keybearer of the Coven a very proud and happy old woman.

"Be brave, my laddies, be canny and bold,

For summer is a-coming in today,

Let us build a mighty ship and gild her all wi' gold,

In the merry morn o' May."

Iseult leant closer to her husband and whispered: "The problem is we have the Bright Soldiers coming in from the east through Arran, through the north from Aslinn, and sailing up the coast and into the Berhtfane. No matter what we do, our forces are being split. If we could only find a way to plug one o'

those approaches!"

"Ea curse it, the forests o' Aslinn are so thick and there are so few roads, we could spend years crashing around in there and then pass within a mile o' one o' their encampments and never ken it," Lachlan replied, his smile growing strained. "The fenlands are even worse, even if we do have Iain and Gwilym to show us the paths. And I'm no' sure we are strong enough to face Margrit and her blaygird Gray Ghosts yet. As long as the Mesmerdean guard the marshes, the potential cost is too great to even attempt an attack."

"Aye, it's true the Mesmerdean are no friends o' ours," Iseult replied with a little shiver. Even though it was two years since the marsh faeries had first attacked them in the Veiled Forest, she knew they would not have forgotten or forgiven the death of so many of their kin. Their attack last summer was proof enough of that.

"Be gay, my lassies, for ye may soon be wed,

And summer is a-coming in today,

Let us make a garland o' the white rose and the red,

In the merry morn o' May."

"Well, at least the Fairgean are on the rise again and are keeping the sea free o' the Bright Soldiers'

ships," Lachlan said, bowing and smiling as some girls in the crowd threw him a handful of roses. "Who would have guessed we'd have occasion to be grateful to those black-blooded sea demons?"

"Well, I think we should push on for Dun Eidean," Iseult said. "Ye ken Meghan is keen to win back as much o' Blessem as we can so she and Matthew the Lean can plant the fields. And the MacThanach is worried indeed about his mother, who's been holed up for all this time. They must be close to starving in there, but the auld dowager has sworn she will no' give in."

"A feisty auld biddy," Lachlan said appreciatively. "Who would have thought she could keep the Bright Soldiers from Dun Eidean for so long?"

"We need to keep the MacThanach's support," Iseult said, shifting her son to the other hip to ease her arm. "If we lose him, we lose the Blessem lairds and all o' their men. That's almost half our troops. Besides, I think it will take the Bright Soldiers by surprise. They ken as well as we do that our forces are being split. They'll expect us to concentrate on driving them back one way or another, no' drive right down the middle and split
their
forces."

"Och, as long as we do something soon!" Lachlan cried, shaking his wings. "It's been a year since we won Blair-gowrie, and since then we've been scuttling back and forth across Blessem like crabs! It seems we cut off the head o' the monster only for it to grow two more."

"War is like that," Iseult replied somberly as the laughing, singing procession below them passed out of the gates and down the hill.

Lachlan bent down and picked up a rose to give her. "Happen we'll win peace in the end,
leannan,
and then we can rest and raise our son and have nothing to worry about save how to spend our Lammas tithes."

Iseult smiled slightly and tucked the rose into her bodice. "The Khan'cohbans say, 'If ye want peace, prepare for war,' " she answered. "Come, let us see if we can find a way to free Dun Eidean and we'll worry about peace when we have it."

* * *

Meghan sighed and sipped from her goblet of wine. "Come, my lairds, must we always be arguing? The Righ has made his decision, now it is your job to help ensure his commands are carried out. This war has dragged on a year and a half as it is, and it is time we struck another decisive blow. Has anyone any ideas how we can break the blockade at Dun Eidean?"

A chorus of angry voices answered her and she sighed and threw up her hands. The war council had been sitting for several days now, and all that the lairds did was argue and prevaricate. To everyone's surprise, Elfrida leant forward and said in her clear, childish voice, "Ye will never make the Tirsoilleirean turn and run merely by showing strength o' arms, Your Highness. They are taught to think the only honorable death is dying with a sword in their hand."

"Then if we canna make them retreat, we'll just have to beat them back by force," the MacThanach boomed.

"But, my laird, ye ken we have less than half their number, even if we pull all the MacSeinn's men away from the east and bring them in to reinforce us," Iseult said with the most patience she could muster. The arguments broke out again and Elfrida had to raise her voice to cut across them. "But what if ye
could
make them run away?"

Iseult turned to her wearily. "But I thought ye just said they would never retreat and never surrender. They are like the Scarred Warriors then; it is no use dreaming o' what might be."

"I said force o' arms would no' make them flee. I did no' said
nothing
would." Iseult's gaze sharpened. "If no' force, then what?"

Elfrida shrugged, a little discomfited. "Well, ye ken I have been spending time talking with the Tirsoilleirean prisoners o' war and persuading them to our cause."

Iseult and Lachlan nodded, while Meghan stroked Gita's soft brown fur, her face tired. "Well, it seems the Bright Soldiers think ye are some incarnation o' Auld Clootie," Elfrida continued, color rising in her face.

Meghan looked up, her interest caught, though Lach-lan frowned and said, "Auld who?"

"Auld Clootie," Elfrida repeated. "Ye ken, the Archfiend, the Prince o' Darkness." The Righ and Banrigh looked at each other, puzzled.

"The Tirsoilleirean believe in omnipotent forces o' absolute good and absolute evil," Meghan said, a slight trace of sarcasm in her voice. "They call their idea o' evil manifest the Archfiend, among many other names."

Lachlan's skin darkened. "Ye mean they think me some sort o' spirit o' evil?" Elfrida nodded, blushing even more.

"What have I ever done that's so evil?" Lachlan cried. "I did no' invade their country and burn their houses! I do no' ask my women soldiers to cut off their breasts or give up their family life! I do no'

sacrifice bairns to a bloodthirsty god!"

"Neither do we!" Elfrida cried. "I've never seen the elders kill a baby!" The Righ rose to his feet, his face ugly. "I will give them evil!" he cried, slamming his fist into his hand. "I will give them more wickedness than they ever dreamed o'!"

"Hush,
leannan,"
Iseult murmured, rising also and laying her hand on his tense upper arm. "Ye always kent this was a holy war. O' course the priests and the berh-tildes have tried to make ye seem evil and depraved. This is no surprise, and the lady Elfrida would no' bring it up if she did no' see how we could turn it to our advantage."

Elfrida's color subsided and she nodded her head once, jerkily. "Indeed, Her Highness is right. I did no'

mean to insult ye, Your Highness, truly I did no'."

Lachlan remained standing, his jaw still gritted tight with anger. "Well, then, what advantage is it to us to have the Bright Soldiers calling me this Prince o' Darkness?"

"It is hard to explain because ye ken so little about what we ... I mean, the Tirsoilleirean believe," she said slowly. "It is true we are taught there is an evil force that spends its entire existence trying to overthrow our God the Father. As there are many angels that support our Holy God, so are there many demons that support the Archfiend. It is said the Prince o' Darkness is the first angel that sinned. The elders say he deceived the whole world and was cast out into the earth, and all his angels cast with him. Ever since, in his sinful pride and ambition, he has sought to regain his place in heaven."