The Fathomless Caves (30 page)

It was too late. Meghan had crumpled. Isabeau threw herself at the marsh-faery, beating her hands against its hard shell, screaming incoherently. It ignored her, tenderly laying Meghan’s limp body down on the ground. The waves washed over her face. Isabeau fell to her knees beside her, dragging Meghan into her arms. The old witch’s limbs flopped about like a rag doll’s. She was as light as a feather, as if all her bones were hollow, as if she was nothing but withered skin and straggly hair.

With startling suddenness, the Mesmerdean all darted into the air and were gone. Isabeau hardly noticed. She
rocked back and forth, keening, stroking the white straggles of hair from Meghan’s tranquil face, kissing the thin, limp hand. Meghan’s rings cut into her cheek but Isabeau did not notice. ‘No, no, no,’ she wept. She kissed Meghan’s sunken cheek, then bent her head till it rested on Meghan’s body. Though the spray pounded upon her back and water crept ever higher around her, she did not move.

Gitâ crouched on Meghan’s throat, his head buried beneath her chin. He keened softly. The sea sucked at Isabeau’s strength. She realised she and Meghan were being dragged down the slope. She looked up.

Lachlan was standing waist-deep in water, the Lodestar held high. The sea was threatening to drag him under but Iseult was clinging to him with both hands. It was clear the Rìgh was exhausted. He did not let the Lodestar drop, though, and again its silvery radiance calmed the waves. Slowly the water sank back.

Everywhere people were struggling to climb above the waves. Some had failed and their dead bodies bobbed about in the water. Others were clinging together, helping each other keep their feet, or hanging from the branches of the trees. The
Royal Stag
was almost afloat, water lifting her keel from the ground, then dropping it down again.

‘The bairns!’ Isabeau suddenly cried. ‘Oh, Eà!’

A dark figure wading desperately through the water turned at the sound of her voice. ‘Beau!’

‘Dide!’

He caught her up in his arms. ‘Meghan,’ she sobbed. ‘The bairns!’

‘The bairns are safe. I lifted them up to the deck o’ the ship. What’s wrong with Meghan?’

‘She’s dead. The Mesmerdean killed her, the demons!’

Dide wasted no time on questions. ‘We must get ye to safety too. The sea retreats, and then surges up again, and what’s more the loch has risen high, trapping us on this little ridge. If we are no’ careful we could all still drown.’

‘Meghan …’

‘I’ll bring her body to the ship. Quickly!’

With Dide cradling the sorceress’s frail body in his arms, they stumbled through the mud and sea wrack to the ship, hearing a dreadful roar as the sea again began to surge towards them. ‘I do no’ ken how much longer my master can keep the sea away,’ Dide cried. ‘Already he has worked much magic tonight.’

‘The flying ship …’

‘Aye, is it no’ a wonder? Up ye go!’

Dide gave her a strong boost up and Isabeau caught a rope and clambered up the side of the ship. The Key thumped against her breastbone. Hands caught her under the arms and hauled her over the rail and she fell down to the deck. Dide passed up Meghan’s limp body, Gitâ clinging tightly to her breast, wet and shivering.

Maya knelt beside Isabeau. ‘Is that ye, Red?’

‘Aye,’ Isabeau said, trying to catch her breath. She lost it again as Donncan and Bronwen flung themselves upon her, both crying with fear and relief. She hugged them closely, saying sharply, ‘The babes?’

‘They’re here,’ Donncan cried. ‘Maura is with them.’

Isabeau could hardly breathe in her relief. She saw the dark shape of the bogfaery crouched against the mainmast, her arms tight about the twins. Both of the little children had their faces pressed against her skirt in terror.

Isabeau scrambled to her feet. With great clouds pouring in from the north it was hard to see a thing, but she peered over the side anyway. Racing towards them was another great wall of water, curving up and over, spume flinging from its crest. Tree branches tore free, were sucked down again. Then Isabeau saw something that made her shrink back in horror.

‘The Fairgean! They come!’

Riding the curve of the wave were a hundred sea-serpents, their heads held high out of the water, a Fairgean warrior astride their necks. Behind them leapt horse-eels, swollen to immense size, their poisonous crests raised. Fairgean warriors swam behind, carried at frightening speed by the force of the wave. All carried spears or tridents.

Just below the ship, Lachlan stood, his wings spread defiantly. The light of the Lodestar shone through the darkness, glinting off scales and jewelled tridents, highlighting the cruel curve of tusk. Behind him Iseult stood, raising high her little crossbow. Isabeau had never seen a more gallant or futile gesture.

The Lodestar sang. Silver radiance spread out from Lachlan’s hand. Once again, the fury of the waves was calmed. Though the wave broke down upon the land in a storm of white foam, it fell short of the ridge where Lachlan stood, the last ridge before the cliff below
which all his people cowered. The ship rocked as water swept under its lopsided keel. Water swirling up to his armpits, the Rìgh staggered.

The Fairgean fought their way through the tumult of water. One leant down from the neck of his sea-serpent, roaring with rage, as the beast struggled to stay afloat.

‘My father!’ Maya cried. ‘Oh, by Jor, it’s my father!’

Isabeau was frozen in horror. She saw the jewelled trident flash as the King raised it, and then it was flung across the foaming waters, straight through Lachlan’s breast. The Lodestar fell from his hand, its light winking out as it fell into the water. Iseult screamed and flung herself down beside him, but Lachlan’s body was dragged away from her, sucked under by the force of the retreating wave. With the loss of the Lodestar, no-one could see anything but the spray-swept darkness, but they all heard Iseult’s desperate cry. From all across the narrow ridge of land, more cries of horror and despair rang out, then they heard a triumphant ululation as the Fairgean swept forward.

‘
Dai-dein!’
Donncan screamed. Before Isabeau could stop him, the little boy launched himself into the air. Isabeau lunged after him, trying to catch him, but he had flown down to the water’s edge, his small form disappearing into the darkness. Then she felt a quick movement beside her. Again she was too late. Bronwen had dived after him. Isabeau heard the slight splash as her body cleaved through the retreating water. Then nothing.

‘Bronny!’ she and Maya screamed together. ‘No!’

Desperately the soldiers sought to keep the sea-warriors off. Regardless of their background, whether human, Khan’cohban or faery, the soldiers had all been raised with a superstitious fear of the sea, and so not only could none of them swim but they had to overcome their natural terror at the sight of so much water. Iseult was searching frantically through the water, staggering as the waves dragged at her legs. Duncan Ironfist took a blow that that was meant for her on the blade of his claymore, striking back with ferocious strength. ‘My lady!’ he cried. ‘We need ye!’

Tears choking her, Iseult raised her crossbow and sent an arrow whizzing through the breast of a sea-warrior about to strike down the MacSeinn. Again and again she wound on the little bow and fired, taking careful aim despite the clamour of fighting.

The waves came swirling back again, bringing with them sea-serpents that seized soldiers in their mouths and tore them asunder. Duncan Ironfist leapt onto the neck of one and plunged his claymore between its shoulders. It rolled, throwing him high into the air. He landed with a splash in the water and for an instant sank, but managed to regain his feet. Sea-warriors converged upon him and he fought bare-handed until Iseult flew to his side, throwing him her dagger. Back-to-back they fought, the drag of the retreating waves threatening to pull their feet from under them. The night rang with the clash of arms, the cries of rage and pain.

Maya was standing, her hands clenched on the rail, staring into the darkness. Isabeau got to her feet, hunched around herself, a feeling of bitter despair in her
heart. Even with her keen eyesight she could see nothing but tossing waves, foam, the swift flash of scale and sword and trident. She sought for her powers, but her staff had been lost with the first wave and she was sick at heart. She did not know what to do. She could not call the Lodestar to her, for none but a MacCuinn could touch it. She could not feel Lachlan’s mind in all the surging water. With an enormous effort she thrust away her grief and horror, rolling it all into a great ball of fire which she sent whizzing at the head of one of the sea-serpents. It screamed and dived back into the waves, extinguishing the flame immediately. Darkness fell again.

Suddenly, out of the darkness, a silver light began to glow. It spread and rose, bubbling up out of the water. Isabeau stared, amazed, frightened. Larger and larger it grew, and then Bronwen leapt out of the water, the shining Lodestar held high in her hand. Her scaled body streamed with glittering light, diamond-bright water cascading from her flowing tail. She landed back in the water with a great splash, and then crawled out, transformed back into her land-shape. There, on the very edge of the surging sea, one foot in the water, one foot on the land, she raised high the Lodestar.

Again its magical song rang out. The sea seethed and churned, black branches tossed about. For a moment everyone stood still, staring, wondering. In the bright light, all could see the strain on Bronwen’s face. The Lodestar seemed too heavy for her. Her webbed hand shook, the sea surged up around her waist.

Then Donncan flew down, his golden wings lumi
nous. He landed lightly beside her and raised both hands to cup the Lodestar, helping her hold it high. The song swelled out, stronger than ever, and the sea swirled away. Everywhere cheers erupted, and the fighting grew more intense. Slowly, inexorably, the Greycloaks began to push the Fairgean back.

The Fairgean king spun on his webbed foot and began to advance on the two children, his tusked face ferocious with rage and hatred. In one hand he hefted his trident. In the other was a long dagger. He used it to kill one soldier who tried desperately to stop him, and then slashed the throat of another. Bronwen and Donncan saw him looming over them and cowered back, the light of the Lodestar failing. Darkness engulfed them once more.

Dide waded through the icy water, the waves up to his waist, his dagger in his hand. Behind him the battle raged but he paid it no mind, calling, ‘Master? Master?’

Surely Lachlan could not be dead? Surely not? He searched desperately with his mind, but there was no spark of consciousness, nothing of the close link the two men had shared all their lives. Tears ran down his face.

Suddenly he saw, struggling to stay afloat in the deep water, a few white, desperate faces. He splashed towards them, fighting to keep from being dragged under by the swirling sea. There Lachlan floated, his head held out of the water by three pairs of young arms. There was
Johanna, barely managing to keep her own head out of the water, Finn, a little black cat clinging desperately to her head and almost pushing her under, and Dillon, his face contorted with the effort. Heart pounding with joy, Dide dogpaddled up to them, sliding his own arm under his master’s shoulder.

‘Is he alive?’

Johanna nodded, saying tersely, ‘Just.’ Her head went under and Finn hauled her up again, letting all of Lachlan’s weight sag into Dide’s arms to do so. Lachlan was heavy, dressed as he was in leather armour, and with his great wings sodden. Dide went under himself and only managed to come up with a superhuman effort.

He swallowed water. ‘We … have to get him … to shore,’ he gasped.

‘The rip is too strong,’ Finn said despairingly. ‘We’ve been trying and trying.’

Dide could feel it dragging them back. The shore seemed a long way away. He peered through the darkness, dreading another big wave, but the sea seemed to be slowly withdrawing. There had been light before, but now it was gone again. He could see nothing.

Suddenly the waves surged up and slapped him in the face. Dide felt something silky-scaly brush against his leg. He kicked out frantically. He had dropped his dagger when he had seized Lachlan’s shoulders. He was helpless now, unable to even punch out.

Then something rose up right beside him. He felt smooth, scaled arms hold him up, felt the unbearable drag of Lachlan’s weight taken from him. For a
moment he was giddy with the relief of it, and then he kicked back, desperate with fear. He could hear Johanna crying out, hear splashing and kicking, then he, and Lachlan with him, was being towed at great speed towards the shore.

For a moment Dide continued to fight, then the Fairge locked one arm about his throat, immobilising him as the oxygen was cut off from his lungs. Dide hung helpless, red lights pulsing in his eyes; then, unbelievably, he was dragged onto the shore, Lachlan limp beside him. In the darkness all he could see was the tusked face of a Fairge close to his, something round and dark hanging down onto its smooth chest. The Fairge made some gesture of reassurance, then plunged back into the sea. In a few moments Johanna and Finn were both towed to safety, coughing and retching.

‘What?’ Dide said dazedly.

Finn was on all fours beside him, vomiting into the mud. It was bitterly cold. They all shivered as the frosty air penetrated their wet clothes. They were at the far curve of the cliff, well away from the battle that raged around the stranded ship.

Johanna knelt beside Lachlan, feeling his pulse. ‘I think we’ve lost him,’ she sobbed. ‘Och no, I think we’ve lost him.’

‘Tòmas,’ Finn said. ‘We need Tòmas.’ She scrambled to her feet and set off into the darkness at a lurching run. Dide leant over Lachlan, weeping, gripping his slack hand. Johanna began to push down upon the Rìgh’s chest, and a great gush of water flooded out of his mouth. Just then the Fairge came staggering out of
the water, carrying Dillon in his arms. The sea-faery fell to his knees beside them, and laid Dillon down amidst the wreckage of the flood. Dillon was limp, his eyes closed.

‘Oh, no,’ Johanna cried. ‘No’ Dillon too!’

As the light of the Lodestar failed, both Isabeau and Maya screamed in horror. As Isabeau dropped clumsily over the side of the boat, she saw Maya plunge past her. She reached the two children only a few heartbeats before her father, holding them back against her.

He stood still, his trident raised menacingly, and said something in the lilting language of the sea people.

Maya answered him, defiance and contempt in every line of her body.

The King answered mockingly and waded closer, his trident raised to throw.

Maya clamped her hands over the children’s ears, calling, ‘Cover your ears, Red! Bairns! Do no’ listen!’

For an instant Isabeau did not move and then, comprehending, she flung her plaid about her head. There she crouched, she did not know for how long, the freezing water threatening to drag her forward, blind and deaf and terribly afraid.

A hand grasped her, dragged the plaid away. She flung up her hand, conjuring fire, but closed her fingers at the last moment. It was Maya. ‘Donncan? Bronny?’ Isabeau cried. Then she saw the two children, both holding high the Lodestar once again, silver light blazing up in its heart. Their faces were pale, their eyes
shadowed. The white lock at their brows blazed unnaturally white. Isabeau could not say a word. She leant her head against theirs, tears overflowing.

‘The King?’ she managed to say.

Maya made a gesture with her hand. ‘Dead,’ she answered.

Isabeau looked. The King lay just beneath the water, the waves flowing back and forth over his face, his hair drifting like seaweed.

After a long moment, Isabeau said, ‘What was it that ye said to him?’

‘He said, “I should have torn out your tongue like your mother’s.” I answered, “Yes, ye should have.” He said, “I shall tear it out for ye now.” I answered, “I sing this song for my mother.” And then I sang the song o’ death.’

Isabeau could only stare at her. The song of death was the most terrible and potent of all the songs of sorcery, the most dangerous. Even the Yedda had rarely chosen to sing it, choosing instead the more innocuous song of sleep. It took immense power of will and desire to sing such a song, and not have it recoil, or kill the wrong person.

‘Yes,’ Maya said. ‘And never have I sung so well. It was a shame none but my father could hear me.’

With the last of his strength Jay dragged Enit’s body a little bit higher. The water was up to her breast. He had done his best to keep her head above water, but the waves had come with such ferocity they had both been
dragged under again and again. He did not know how much longer he could keep her afloat.

‘Jay,’ she whispered.

‘Aye?’

‘Ye must … stop this terrible fighting. This war …’ She coughed and swallowed water as a wave slapped her in the face. ‘Too many deaths …’

Another wave crashed over them. Enit was almost dragged out of Jay’s arms. He clung to her, kicking desperately, managing to lift his head above the water. A log bashed against him. He flung one arm over it, dragging Enit’s head free of the water.

She retched, coughing harshly. ‘Jay, let me go.’

‘No!’

‘Ye canna … save us both. The water … too strong. Jay, play the song … o’ love. Play as I taught ye. Stop … the dying.’

Another wave hit them. He was dragged under, tumbled over and over. He clutched Enit tightly, felt one of her frail old bones break under his fingers. Somehow they both came to the surface, though Jay’s lungs were burning and his arms and legs were trembling so much he thought his strength must fail. Enit hung limply in his arms. He lifted her face desperately. ‘Enit, Enit!’

Her eyes opened. He could see them shining in the silvery light reflected off the water. ‘Your viola … the
viola d’amore
. It was made to play … such a song. Let her … sing … for me.’ She gave a little sigh and closed her eyes again.

Though Jay tried and tried, he could not rouse her.
Her weight, slight as it was, was too much for him to bear. He could find no pulse or feel no breath rising from her slack mouth. The waves dragged them further and further from the ridge. At last, choking with grief, he let her slide out of his arms and under the water. Then he began to struggle back towards the shore.

‘Do as I do,’ Johanna ordered. ‘Lean on his chest and pump rhythmically. We must get the water out o’ his lungs.’

Dazedly Dide obeyed, leaning his weight on Lachlan’s chest as she had demonstrated. Johanna then moved across to Dillon, leaning her ear against his chest, feeling for a pulse in his limp wrist. ‘He still lives. He’s very cold.’

An icy rain had begun to fall, penetrating straight through their sodden clothes. ‘We all need to get warm,’ she said, her voice trembling. Dide turned and looked at the broken tree branches and logs that lay scattered all about them, thrown up by the quake-wave. They suddenly dragged themselves together into a great pile which spontaneously burst into flame. The Fairge cried aloud in fear and cowered back.

Dide pumped Lachlan’s chest until his arms ached and his head swam. The bonfire burnt strongly, defying the wind and the sleet to warm them all. Then Finn came running out of the darkness, dragging Tòmas with her. He was whiter and thinner than ever, his cerulean blue eyes unnaturally large and bright.

Tòmas knelt beside Lachlan, laying his hands upon
the great ragged wound in the Rìgh’s chest. They all watched him, tense and expectant. Tòmas raised piteous eyes. ‘His heart has stopped beating.’

‘Oh, no,’ Finn breathed. Dide said nothing.

Tòmas moved his hands to Lachlan’s head. He touched his temples, the deep lines scored between his brows. ‘Maybe …’ he whispered. He closed his eyes.

For a long moment there was no sound but the clash of arms as the battle raged behind them.

‘Look at his hands,’ Johanna whispered.

Tòmas’s hands had begun to glow. Brighter and brighter the light grew until it was incandescent as a star. The ragged edges of the wound slowly closed together and healed, leaving only a small red scar. They saw Lachlan’s chest heave.

‘Ye’ve done it!’ Dide cried. Finn gave a cheer. Tòmas fell back into Johanna’s hands, the blazing light in his hands winking out. Johanna clutched the boy to her, leant over him. Frantically she worked on him, pumping his chest, breathing into his mouth. At last she raised her face, ravaged with grief.

‘He’s dead!’ she cried. ‘Och nay, my wee laddiekin, he’s dead!’

Once before Tòmas had saved the Rìgh from death, and in the healing of his terrible wounds had come close to death himself. That time Lilanthe of the Forest had given him a flower of the Summer Tree, the sacred tree of the Celestines, to eat. He had been healed himself, his powers returning greater than ever. There was no flower of the Summer Tree this time. Tòmas the Healer was dead.

Johanna, who had been so calm and sensible throughout the long, terrible night, now broke down completely. She grasped the little boy’s thin body close to hers, weeping bitterly. None of them could calm her.

‘Come,’ Dide said. ‘There is naught we can do for Tòmas now. We have to get my master to safety. Come, Johanna.’

He helped the distraught girl to her feet. She would not let Tòmas go, lifting him as easily as if he were only a babe. ‘Finn, help her. The only place we can shelter is the ship. Dillon, can ye help me support my master?’

Dillon was trembling in every limb but he clambered to his feet and came to help Dide. To their surprise the Fairge, whom they had all forgotten, rose too, coming and lending them his strength. Together they helped Lachlan to his feet. The Rìgh was dazed and confused, but he managed to stumble forward though the torrential rain, all of them slipping in the mud.

‘Who are ye?’ Dide asked the Fairge. ‘Why do ye do this?’

The Fairge shook his head, answering in his own strange, musical language. He was tall and slim, with muscles rippling through his chest and arms, and long black hair that hung down his back. Small white tusks curved up on either side of his strange, lipless mouth, and his wrists and ankles were all braceleted with flowing fins. Another fin, long and flat, curved out of his spine. Around his waist he wore a skirt woven of seaweed and jewels.

‘Have ye helped us afore?’ Dide asked. ‘Were ye one
o’ the Fairgean who saved us from the shipwreck?’

The Fairge glanced at him out of pale, almost colourless eyes and said haltingly. ‘I swore … I would not forget. I … true.’

With his help, they came round the side of the cliff at last. There was the
Royal Stag
, listing over on the side of the hill. Her sails were billowing out in the gale, so that it looked as if she still sailed upon the sea. The hillside was a ruin of broken trees and rocks and dead bodies, all thick with leaves and mud. Although the flood had once again subsided, the sleet fell thickly and large puddles of water were reforming in every dip and sag. Lachlan was so weak he could barely keep his footing in all the debris.

Soldiers and Fairgean warriors fought hand to hand on all sides. Most of the Greycloaks had taken up position on or around the ship. The storm lanterns on deck had been lit, so that the scene was illuminated with flickering golden light. Dide saw Isabeau and Iseult fighting side by side, their red hair unmistakable even when covered in mud and leaves and blood. Duncan Ironfist fought wildly beside the MacSeinn, whose face was livid with hatred and rage. On the deck of the ship crouched Maya, her arms around Donncan and Bronwen, her wet hair all over her face.

Meanwhile, the wind had risen sharply. The gale was so fierce that the witches were unable to use their traditional weapons of fire and air. A ball of flame simply sank away under the deluge of water or was snuffed out by the wind, which raged so strongly that broken branches were flung through the air like spears
and trees crashed down in the forest. The witches were only able to use their powers to protect their comrades, deflecting flying branches, pushing aside trident thrusts and dragging the wounded to the ship for the healers to tend.

All this Dide saw in an instant. He halted, looking about for a weapon, wishing he had not dropped his dagger in the flood. Then a band of Fairgean warriors saw them and turned to attack. Suddenly the Fairge beside them gave a high piercing whistle. Out of the lashing rain emerged a band of Fairgean warriors, coming up to their rear, all carrying wicked-looking tridents. Dide felt sick. He motioned the others behind him.