The Fathomless Caves (20 page)

Somewhere, a long way away, she heard Meghan’s voice.
Isabeau, Isabeau …

She followed the sound.

Isabeau came back to consciousness only slowly. She was aware first of angry voices. She recognised Meghan’s, sharper than she had ever heard, then Lachlan’s deep baritone, and then, surprisingly, Maya’s voice, raised in angry denial. Isabeau lay in a sort of stupor, wondering why they all sounded so angry. Then the oddness of it struck her. Lachlan and Maya?

She opened her eyes. She lay curled on her side in sand. It was dark, but a group of men stood nearby with lanterns in their hands, casting wavering orange light over pale sand and the dark shapes of people. The orange light seemed to throb, making her feel sick. She turned onto her hands and knees, and retched into the grass. The ground seemed to tilt under her body.
She clutched it, trying to reorientate herself, but the sand slithered away under her fingers. Then Meghan knelt beside her, holding her, asking her how she was. Isabeau had to concentrate hard to understand the meaning of the sounds. Then she said shakily, ‘In a minute. I’ll be fine in just a minute.’

Meghan cradled her, soothing her as she would a sick child. Then Lachlan was kneeling beside her, gripping one of her hands. ‘What did she do to ye?’ he asked fiercely. ‘Did she try to enchant ye?’

Isabeau did not understand. ‘Iseult …’ she whispered, then as agony suddenly lanced through her arm, she screamed. ‘Oh, Eà, Iseult!’

Lachlan let go of her hand. ‘Iseult?’ he asked. There was an odd intonation in his voice. ‘What about Iseult?’

Isabeau turned her head restlessly. ‘She was hurt, injured. She was near death. I could feel her slipping away. The pain … the cold … I had to go. I have never skimmed so far. I kent it was dangerous but I had to go.’

‘Iseult is hurt?’ Lachlan’s voice, his whole manner, had changed. He leant forward, seizing Isabeau roughly by the shoulders. ‘Where? What happened? Is she …? What happened, tell me, in Eà’s name, tell me!’

‘She’s alive.’ Isabeau found herself weeping. ‘I could no’ make them understand me, the soldiers searching for her under the snow, I could no’ make them hear me. I could feel her slipping away, it was so cold, it was so cold! At first it was like knives and then …’ She could not go on. She wiped her eyes with her hands, tried to catch her breath.

‘But she’s alive?’ Meghan said. ‘Are ye sure? Ye can feel her?’

‘Aye, I can feel her. The pain, I can feel it here and here and here.’ Isabeau pointed to her ribs, her arm, her knee. ‘They have set her broken arm. I could feel it, damn it. Why, oh, why do I have to feel everything she does?’

‘Oh, ye do, do ye?’ Lachlan said, raising an eyebrow.

Isabeau could not look at him. She was grateful for the darkness. ‘How did ye ken?’ she said to Meghan. ‘I could never have found my way back if ye had no’ been here.’

‘Your wee owl came and got me,’ the sorceress said. ‘Luckily I speak Owl quite well, for she was very distressed indeed. She told me ye’d been speaking to someone on the seashore when ye’d suddenly fallen and then flown out o’ yourself. She told me ye were lost. I dinna understand at all, o’ course, but I came where she led me and Lachlan and the Blue Guards too. That was when we found Maya.’

Isabeau sat up with a jerk. ‘Maya!’ Her gaze flew across the beach. She saw the former banrìgh standing proud and tall within the grasp of two burly soldiers, a dagger held to her throat. ‘Och no!’ she cried.

‘Naturally we thought the blaygird Fairge had tried to ensorcel ye,’ Lachlan said angrily, ‘though she swore she had no’.’

‘I told ye I had done naught to Red but stand guard over her when she fainted,’ Maya said silkily. ‘Ye always think the worst o’ me, MacCuinn.’

The soldiers jerked her arms, crying, ‘Silence!’

‘Maya, why did ye stay?’ Isabeau said in distress. ‘Ye could have swum away and no-one would’ve kent. Oh, why did ye no’ flee?’

‘Ye mean ye kent she was here?’ Lachlan said incredulously. ‘We thought ye must have stumbled upon her and tried to detain her.’ His voice sharpened. ‘Ye met her here on purpose?’

‘Aye, I did,’ Isabeau said angrily, ‘and do no’ start thinking the worst, Lachlan MacCuinn, for if ye do, I swear I’ll slap ye! Why canna ye ever trust anyone, for Eà’s sake?’

‘Why?’ Lachlan began angrily. ‘Ye can ask me that?’

‘Aye, I can,’ Isabeau blazed. ‘We all ken ye suffered greatly, Lachlan, but ye are no’ the only man in the world to be betrayed and hurt. Do ye really think I’d betray ye? Do ye? Do ye think I’m a spy for the Fairgean?’

‘Well, no,’ Lachlan admitted.

Isabeau’s temper suddenly drained out of her, leaving her deflated. ‘Well then,’ she said, suddenly at rather a loss.

‘Ye have got to admit I’ve a right to be angry,’ Lachlan said reasonably. ‘My own wife’s sister, sneaking out at night to meet with Maya the Ensorcellor. What am I meant to think?’

‘That I had a damn good reason,’ Isabeau said, her anger sparking again.

‘Well, I would fain hear it,’ Lachlan said.

Isabeau eyed him resentfully. ‘I’ve been trying to tell ye.’

‘So, tell me.’

Isabeau took a deep breath. ‘Maya came to give me
news,’ she said. ‘At considerable risk to herself, I might add! She came to tell us we’re heading into some sort o’ trap. The Fairgean are expecting us to make a strike against them, they’re prepared for it.’

‘Well, that is no’ altogether news,’ Lachlan said slowly. ‘I did no’ really expect to find Carraig empty and undefended, in spite o’ all your assurances that the Fairgean all swim south for the summer.’

‘
My
assurances!’ Isabeau cried. ‘Ye asked me to tell ye what I kent, I only—’

‘Aye, aye, I ken. No need to get your drawers in a tangle. Is that the only news she has, for if so—’

‘Nay,’ Isabeau cried, thoroughly exasperated. ‘She has more, much more. But if ye are no’ interested …’

‘Come, my bairns, that’s enough fraitching!’ Meghan said. ‘Ye are as bad as Owein and Olwynne, I swear ye are. Is this the place for a discussion such as this? We are all tired and overwrought and talking in circles. Let us go back to the safety o’ the camp and talk about all this in private. And since the Ensorcellor has so kindly travelled all this way, and at such a risk to herself, to give us this news, happen she can do it herself. And explain
why
she would take such a risk. Forgive me, Maya, if I’m sceptical but I, like Lachlan, find it hard to believe ye would warn us out o’ the goodness o’ your heart.’

‘I did no’,’ Maya said huskily. ‘Why would I? Nay, I came to warn Red because she has my daughter. I do no’ want my wee Bronny to be drowned.’

‘Drowned?’ Lachlan said cynically. ‘She has fins and gills, remember. I doubt she’ll die o’ drowning.’

‘Ye will all die o’ drowning if the Priestesses o’ Jor have their way,’ Maya replied indifferently. ‘As far as ye or your nasty auld aunt there are concerned, I do no’ care. But I do care about my Bronny, and oddly enough, about Red. I came to warn
her
, no’ ye.’

‘Oddly enough, I believe ye,’ Meghan said. ‘Please, this damp sea air makes me ache all over and that makes me very irritable. Let us retire to somewhere where we can all sit down and talk things over in a civilised manner.’

Lachlan gave a snort of incredulous laughter. ‘I suppose ye’ll want me to offer the Ensorcellor some wine and a wee bite o’ supper.’

‘Thank ye,’ Maya said suavely. ‘That would be most pleasant.’

Lachlan laughed, though with a razor-sharp edge. He gave a courtly bow and offered Maya his arm. ‘Madam, may I escort ye to the royal pavilion?’

‘Thank ye, kind sir,’ Maya replied, the same bitter sarcasm making the words a mockery.

Together they strolled away from the beach, the soldiers lighting their way with lanterns. Dide came and pulled Isabeau to her feet. ‘Whoever would have thought we’d live to see that?’ he said. ‘It just goes to show, all things are possible.’

Isabeau did not reply, too tired and troubled at heart to think of a witty response. He squeezed her arm. ‘Do no’ look so worried, Beau. I can feel the Spinners’ hand in this. Can ye no’ feel it? A new thread has been strung and who kens where it shall take us.’

Snow flew up from the sleigh’s runners in a perfect parabola.

The
ulez
cantered down the slope, their ugly heads held high with eagerness. Lying in the sleigh, one arm in a sling, her ribs tightly bound, Iseult watched the green forest come closer and closer. The Spine of the World was behind her, the ugly chaotic world of wars and politics and courtly intrigue before her once again. She sank her chin down into her furs with a little smile.

Her father had known without needing to be told. He had merely said, ‘So ye travel wi’ us to Carraig?’ and she had answered merely, ‘Aye.’

So, tucked up in one of the sleighs, the Scarred Warriors swooping and skimming all around her, she had left the Spine of the World for the last time. Soon they would be among the trees, and the sleighs would have to be abandoned. She would have to get out and walk like the other soldiers. Iseult could hardly wait. She hated being treated like an invalid, hated to be reminded that she had been foolish enough to be caught in an avalanche. The MacSeinn and his men had thought they were being kind, fussing about her and forbidding her to exert herself, but Iseult was a Scarred Warrior. She wanted to be invincible.

Of them all, only Khan’gharad understood. He made no mention of her injuries and treated her as if she was whole and well. Not once did he offer to help as she limped about the camp, doing her duties as usual, nor did he ever enquire how she had slept.

Slowly Iseult’s strength was returning. It would be some time before she had the use of her broken arm
again, but the healers said her fractured rib was knitting well, and already the swelling and discolouration round her knee were fading. It was the injury to her pride that would take longer to heal; and all the fussing over her health, and constant exclamations over the strangeness of her rescue, only exacerbated her feelings.

For some reason Iseult’s rescue by a snow-lion appealed to the superstitious imaginations of humans and Khan’cohbans alike. Iseult was rather perturbed to find that the story was already reaching mythic proportions, with many a new rich detail embroidered to the plain fabric of the truth. No matter how many times Iseult told them that it was her twin sister Isabeau who had sent the snow-lion, they all thought she had been merely hallucinating due to the cold and the shock. The snow-lion was a manifestation of the Gods of White, said the Khan’cohbans. Maybe, agreed the human soldiers. ‘It’s certainly no’ natural, a great wild creature like that coming down out o’ the storm to dig out the Banrìgh. It must mean she has a great destiny to fulfil. It must be a sign.’ Iseult could only hope they would find something new to talk about soon.

At last the procession reached the edge of the forest. Tall trunks rose high all about them. The
ulez
came to a panting halt, nudging their noses through the thin snow to find the grass beneath. Iseult threw off her furs and clambered out of the sleigh, refusing Carrick’s eager offer of help.

‘We shall leave the sleighs here,’ Iseult said. ‘We are below the snowline now. The
ulez
can carry most o’ the luggage on their backs, but from now on all the
men must carry their own weapons and their own supplies. We shall see some good hunting, I think. The land is lush and, by the looks o’ it, there is plenty o’ game.’

Douglas MacSeinn was looking about him with undisguised pleasure. Sunlight struck down through the columns of trees in long, slanting lines. Small, brightly coloured birds darted about, twittering and chirping. The grass was thick and green and wound about with bright flowers, gold and crimson and blue. Hovering above the flowers were huge butterflies, their wings an iridescent blue. Iseult had never seen butterflies so big. They were larger than both her hands clasped together. They dipped their wings lazily, sipping at the flowers’ honey, their black velvety antennae quivering.

‘It be aye bonny,’ Douglas said eagerly. He had been only a child when he had left Carraig and this homecoming filled him with joy and excitement.

‘Aye, that it is,’ his father said, looking about with satisfaction. ‘I have never actually been up here. I had no idea it was so pretty, or for that matter that the land was so rich. The MacSeinn clan have always been tied to the sea. No-one ever came up this way except the furriers and fossickers.’

‘What were they fossicking for?’ Douglas asked, settling down on the grass to eat his rations in two huge bites.

The MacSeinn shrugged, chewing his portion with rather more circumspection. ‘Gold, jewels? What do fossickers usually look for?’

‘Havers, imagine if we found gold,’ Douglas said excitedly. ‘Then we’d have the money to pay back the Rìgh and to pay all our men, and to build a new castle …’

His father frowned at him. ‘That’s enough, Douglas! As far as I ken, none o’ them ever found more than a handful o’ gold dust. Nay, when we have won the war we shall have to reopen the saltpetre mines and start manufacturing gunpowder again. Eà kens we’ve been using enough these past few years!’

‘Though once we’ve won the war, who’ll be needing gunpowder again?’ Douglas said, lying back in the grass and staring up at the green-golden-blue interlock of leaves and sky, as bright as any enamelled glaze.

The MacSeinn looked unhappy. ‘Aye, would that no’ be my luck? I own the richest saltpetre mines in all the land and canna access them when we need the stuff, and as soon as I win back my lands, the need is gone.’

‘We shall need fireworks to celebrate,’ Douglas said. ‘It’ll be the biggest explosion o’ fireworks ever, won’t it, Your Highness?’

Iseult opened her eyes. ‘Aye, indeed it will,’ she said, trying not to show how much her ribs were paining her. ‘Come, we have rested long enough. Let us be on our way.’

The MacSeinn looked at her shrewdly. ‘Why do we no’ make camp here?’ he said. ‘We have travelled far today and indeed I am feeling weary.’

She smiled at him. ‘And ye so keen to be striking the first blow against your enemy,’ she replied, gently mocking. ‘Nay, my laird. I can hear water. Let us push
on till we reach the river. It is no’ too much further, and once there I can busy the men to start felling trees to build us some rafts. Why should the river no’ carry us to the sea?’