The Fathomless Caves (31 page)

Dillon stepped forward, calling in a high, strange voice, ‘Come to me,
Joyeuse
. Come!’

Out of the stormy darkness flew his sword. Dillon caught it deftly and crouched low in a fighting stance, the sword pointing unwavering at first one group of warriors, then another. His lips were drawn back in a snarl.

The Fairge beside them gave another high whistle and pointed desperately at the group approaching from the ship, making a thrusting gesture. He then pointed to the other group of Fairgean, and folded his hands and bowed his head.

Dillon frowned but he could not defend against both groups at once. He had to trust the Fairge, who had already helped them so much. Shouting, ‘For the MacCuinn!’ he rushed forward to engage with those attacking from the ship. His sword flashed as he thrust
and parried, swiftly killing four of the sea-faeries.

The other warriors came up beside them, ringing around the grey-faced, staggering Rìgh and the two frightened girls. Seeing Dide had only a heavy stick he had seized from the ground, one offered him a dagger of sharpened coral, hilt forward. Dide accepted with a curt nod of thanks. Then the Fairgean reached them and battle was joined.

‘Lachlan!’ Iseult screamed. She kicked down the Fairge seeking to stab her, and flew up into the air. Nimbly she avoided the spears flung to impale her, soaring above the heads of the fighting men to land lightly beside her husband. They embraced passionately; then dashing the tears from her eyes, Iseult turned to join the others in fighting a way through to the ship. Lachlan seized her axe from her weapons belt and joined in the clash, although he was obviously still weak and disorientated. Finn fought too, though Johanna merely clung to Tòmas’s dead body, her eyes blank with shock.

There were too many Fairgean, though. Far too many. The Greycloaks were all exhausted after the long day and night, and they had lost hundreds to the surging sea. Despite their desperation, it seemed as if they must all be overwhelmed.

Suddenly a new sound struck through the cacophony. Deep as the throb of the ocean, passionate as the whisper of a lover, tender as a mother’s lullaby, warm as the blaze of a winter fire, a viola’s contralto voice wove gold and crimson ribbons of music through the storm.

A lull fell over the fighting. Everywhere faces turned to follow the sound. Up on the cliff a slender figure swayed, a viola held under his chin, his hand wielding the bow weaving the most enchanting song they had ever heard.

‘It’s Jay,’ Dide cried. ‘He plays the song o’ love. By Eà’s green blood, he plays like an angel!’

Swords fell from nerveless fingers, tridents dropped. Faces that had a moment before been twisted with hate now relaxed, intent upon the music, which was filled with such longing, such pathos, such a heartfelt desire for love and peace and redemption that all who listened were touched to the very core of their being. All were exhausted and traumatised by the long and ugly war. There was not one who had not secretly wished for an end to the fighting, for a return to happier days. Centuries of bitter hatred and misunderstanding were ripped away like an infected scab, allowing a yearning for forgiveness and understanding to well up slowly like clean red blood. Entranced, men and Fairgean alike listened.

Up to her knees in mud, Isabeau felt a stab of pure joy. Tears trickled down her filthy face. She looked about the battlefield, amazed. Some men wept. Many slung their arms about the shoulders of their comrades, their faces alight with joy and delight. Then a small bedraggled figure scrambled to his feet beside Jay. Brun the cluricaun, his fur all matted with mud, lifted his flute to his mouth and joined the song. Pure and silvery, the voice of his flute soared up and up in an exquisite refrain. Many among the Fairgean began to whistle and
croon in accompaniment, their flat alien faces alight with emotion, their slim scaled bodies swaying in time to the music.

Dide stood straight, his face transfigured, and lifted up his voice to join the song. Others nearby sang too, though none with the strength and beauty of Dide. The soldiers swayed, humming along, only each other’s arms keeping their exhausted, mud-caked bodies upright. Nellwyn the Yedda lifted up her golden voice and Lachlan joined her, though his voice was hoarse and cracked from swallowing so much saltwater. Iseult was kneeling beside Lachlan, her arms about him, her face wet with tears. Johanna and Finn clung together, laughing and weeping at the same time. They too began to sing.

Suddenly another voice joined in, a husky contralto that thrummed with power. Isabeau turned quickly, having heard that voice before. It was Maya. She stood on the tilted deck of the ship, holding herself straight and tall as she sang the song of love. A thrill ran all through Isabeau. She felt the hairs on her body rise. Never had she heard a choir of such heavenly beauty. Never had she felt such an upwelling of love for all about her. She seized Dide’s hand and sang along with all of her heart.

Fand crouched on a rocky ledge, pressing her body against the cliff behind her. Her long hair was plastered to her face and she shivered, though not from the cold. A sick horror chilled her through and through.

The Isle of the Gods was drowned. Just below her the sea raged, throwing up huge waves all marbled and streaked with spume. She and Nila used to sit on this ledge, looking across the ruins of the Tower of Sea-singers to the shore. There had once been a wide beach there, with a grey town rising behind high walls. There had once been a green swathe of forest, framed by a spectacular curve of sharp-pointed mountains. Now there was nothing but water. No ruin. No forest. No Isle of the Gods. Nothing but water.

The Priestesses of Jor had all been terrified by the force of the magic they had raised. None had expected their own island to explode into fire, nor for the tremors to rock the land quite so powerfully. None had expected the sea to flood through into the deep, hidden chambers of the gods’ own island. The attack of the humans upon their island had roused the volcano to greater fury than any had expected.

After the Nightglobe of Naia had smashed upon the floor, Fand had merely crouched, staring about her, not understanding where she was or what was happening. From the red slit of the Fiery Womb, molten lava had lashed out, killing a handful of priestesses immediately. Again and again it had spat out white-hot sprays of fire. Then the water had begun to rise. In her terror and bewilderment, Fand would have drowned if the Highest Priestess had not grasped her by the hair and slapped her viciously, three times, across the face.

‘Wake, useless girl,’ she had hissed. ‘You know the way above ground, to where the humans built their useless tower. Show me!’

Fand had stared at her, frozen in shock and horror as her memory slowly returned. The Highest had slapped her again. ‘The magic was too strong. We shall all die. Show me the way!’

So Fand had led the priestesses through the Fathomless Caves to the steps the witches had carved out of rock. It was a perilous journey. The hot springs boiled and seethed, throwing up geysers of steam, and behind them raced the icy sea, forcing its way in through every crack and cavern. The priestesses had had to swim through deep water in many passages, fighting the strength of the dragging water. At last they had crawled up the steps to the old ruin, only to find the sea had risen high all around. They had had to climb the peak, while the sea sucked at their feet. Many young priestesses had been dragged into its wild frenzy and lost.

So here they crouched, Fand and the strongest of the priestesses who had worked their sea-magic to hold back the waves long enough to climb to safety. The Highest had in her hands a round mirror, its surface black and shimmering. She hung over it, muttering and cursing. She was a grotesque creature, squat and strong, with pale gleaming eyes, bulbous like a viperfish, and huge, thick scales. It was rumoured that she was incredibly old, kept alive by the blood of pretty young slave-boys, but no-one knew the truth. Certainly her strength was alarming. She had almost broken Fand’s neck with her slaps, and Fand’s swollen jaw now throbbed painfully.

Suddenly the Highest gave a roar of fury. ‘The King!
He Who Was Anointed by Jor! He is dead.’

There was a flurry of distress among the priestesses. The Highest rocked back and forth, her heavy face distorted with rage. Suddenly she whipped round and seized Fand by the hair again. Fand shrank back, terrified.

‘The humans prevail,’ the Highest hissed. ‘We cannot have made such sacrifices only to lose because of the folly of our late, unlamented king. You must work your foul human magic and raise the storm against them once more. You must lash them with ice and lightning and whirlwind until all of them are dead. Do you hear me?’

Fand was sick to the very depths of her being. She wanted no more of their evil brutality. She did not want to kill any more.

Faltering, she said, ‘I cannot. The Nightglobe of Naia is broken.’

The Highest pressed her face very close to Fand’s. ‘You may use mine. Am I not as powerful as Naia ever was? Am I not alive now when she is long dead? Use my nightglobe, spawn jelly.’

She drew out her nightglobe from under her cloak, and at once the hideous green luminance played all over their faces. Fand leant forward and vomited over the Highest’s webbed feet. When she looked up, terribly afraid, the Highest had a sharp dagger in her other hand. ‘Work your magic, spawn jelly, or I will cut your throat and drink your lifeblood. Then shall I have your magic in my stomach and shall work the spell myself. Do it!’

Weeping, her stomach still heaving, Fand put out her shrinking hands and laid them upon the nightglobe.

High in the sky the storm winds began to rise, gaining height and velocity at an incredible rate. The clouds began to gather closer, bulging at the top, spreading out until they formed the shape of a giant blacksmith’s anvil. Lightning streaked out, white-hot, cracking into the ground. Thunder boomed. From the top of the immense black cloud, blue jets of fire burst upwards. Red sprites danced, dangling long green tentacles like enormous jellyfish.

The wind spun and spun, forming a funnel of twisting, rising air. It swayed forward, spinning faster and faster, sucking up the sea into an immense waterspout, dragging up fallen trees and smashed timbers and throwing them high into the air. A sea-serpent was dragged up, screaming, its long body twisted round and round like a wound rope. Lightning spat out continually, illuminating the immensely high, narrow shape of the twister. Hail began to rattle down, lumps of ice as large as pigeons’ eggs. Faster and faster the whirlwind swung and waltzed across the ravaged land.

The last haunting chords of the viola lingered in the air. Jay lifted his bow and slowly opened his eyes. He stared down at the crowd, his face transfigured. They all stared back at him, the entrancing power of his music still holding them in thrall. The spell was broken by Finn,
who hurled herself across the clearing and up the cliff face, as quick and nimble as any elven cat. She threw herself upon him, laughing and crying at once. He had to hold his viola and bow high on either side of her to keep them from being crushed as she embraced him fervently, sobbing, ‘Och, Jay, I always kent ye could do it, I always kent ye could! What a song! Look, the battle is over, the battle is won …’

He bent his head and kissed her on the mouth, gently folding his arms about her, the viola and bow crossed behind her back. For the first time in her life, Finn the Cat was rendered silent.

Down on the valley floor, everyone was bewildered and disconcerted. No-one knew whether to embrace their enemy or again take up their weapons. A few dour old soldiers found they had their arms slung about the necks of Fairgean warriors and scrambled away, astonished and embarrassed.

Then the slim warrior who wore the black pearl about his neck turned and inclined his head towards Lachlan, his hand on his heart. He ululated, a long, clear, warbling call that echoed and echoed from hill to hill.

‘My brother offers you his compliments,’ Maya said drily.

Lachlan stood still for a moment, leaning heavily on Iseult, then he too laid his hand on his heart and inclined his head, in imitation of the Fairge prince. ‘Please return mine to your brother,’ he said curtly. ‘And ask the sea-warriors to lay down their arms.’

Maya sang and whistled and crooned, and the
Fairgean listened, their flat scaly faces wary and suspicious. Then the Fairge prince replied, at length.

‘No’ until ye all lay down yours,’ Maya translated at last.

‘We shall lay them down together,’ Lachlan said, smiling wearily. He jerked his head, and slowly, distrustfully, all the soldiers and warriors laid down their weapons. They stood, unarmed, in the midst of the wreckage and stared at each other, then a few grim faces cracked into smiles, and a ragged cheer arose.

‘Who would’ve believed it possible?’ Lachlan said, shaking his head. He offered his hand to the Fairge prince who looked at it in bafflement and then, urged on by Maya, reached out and clasped it. The cheers rose higher.

Suddenly Isabeau felt a brush of electricity along her arms. All the hairs on her body stood up on end. She looked around and lost her breath in a gasp. Racing up the valley behind them was a storm of such ferocity and speed that she could only stare, lost in awe. High in the sky was an immense black cloud, lit from within by constant flares of lightning. Hanging below it was a spinning funnel of cloud, swaying back and forth, its tail lost in another great cloud of water and debris.

She dragged at Dide’s hand, trying to speak but able only to point. At last her voice rose in a scream. ‘Whirlwind … comes!’

The cheering faltered. Screams and shouts rang out. People began to run, to look for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere. Within minutes the twister would be upon them.

‘Get down!’ Lachlan cried. ‘Find something to hold onto!’

‘Caves!’ the MacSeinn called. ‘The saltpetre mines are nearby. If we could just get to the caves …’

‘Can ye run?’ Lachlan shouted. His voice was almost drowned in the booming thunder. ‘Show everyone the way. Run!’