Dragonclaw (9 page)

‘Come here, Beau,' Meghan said, and Isabeau heard the pride in her voice. She ran and knelt in front of her guardian, burying her crimson face against her lap. ‘How many times do I have to tell ye to do only what ye are told to do and no more!' the wood witch scolded. ‘Ye must learn obedience, humility and self-control!'

‘Aye,' Isabeau said humbly, too happy to even think of a canny comeback.

‘Hold out your hand.'

Isabeau complied, tears stinging her eyes as the sorceress Meghan slowly slid the moonstone off the middle finger of her right hand and slipped it onto Isabeau's. The moonstone was small and perfectly round, and set in silver smelted to resemble two protecting hands.

‘Isabeau, with this ring ye are admitted into the Coven o' Witches. Ken that ye are bound to seek knowledge, and use the One Power wisely and sparely. Ken that ye have taken but the first step on a path that may be fraught with dangers and loneliness. Ken that ye are to use the One Power only to teach, to heal, to help, but never to hurt or harm, except in the defence o' yourself and others. Ken that the use o' the One Power is in itself dangerous, filled as it is with the glamour o' power. Swear to me that ye ken and will remember these things!'

‘I swear,' Isabeau said, and looked down at the moonstone glimmering on her right hand. As the Coven decreed, she then handed her guardian the ring she had made and smiled at her, surprised at the trace of tears in the usually sardonic black eyes.

Meghan smiled back and thanked her, then said, ‘By the Creed o' the Coven o' Witches, ye must swear to speak only what is true in your heart, for ye must have courage in your beliefs; ye must swear no' to use the Power to ensorcel others, remembering all people must choose their own path. Ye must use the One Power in wisdom and thoughtfulness, with a kind heart, a fierce and canny mind, and steadfast courage. Do ye swear these things?'

‘I swear. May my heart be kind, my mind fierce, my spirit brave.'

‘Ken this, though, Isabeau, in times o' trouble and dissent, such as we ourselves are now living, choose how and when ye tell your truth. Too many witches have died or been banished or maimed for too candid a courage. Ye were always a chatterbox and a mischief-maker—well I remember the time ye almost had us pointed out as witches in Caeryla! Watch and listen, and be wary.'

Seychella leant forward and looked into Isabeau's eyes intently. ‘Isabeau, these times are difficult. The Coven o' Witches is broken, its members scattered or dead, much o' its knowledge lost. Ye are now an acknowledged witch, though merely an apprentice. Ye must learn as much as ye can. Ye show some power, though your will is unbridled. Ye must do what ye can to gather knowledge and skill, for the time will soon come when every witch in the land will be needed. Do ye understand?'

‘Aye, Sorceress Seychella.'

Jorge leant forward to take Isabeau's hand in his frail birdlike claw. ‘Do no' fret, my dear, that ye were unable to see clearly. The veils will fall when it is time, and ye shall see and hear what is now hidden to ye. Keep faith, and may Eà's blessing be upon you.'

‘And on you,' Isabeau answered, and he squeezed her hand gently before leaning back to allow the silver-haired stranger to pass. She knelt by Isabeau's side, her eyes a vivid blue in her pale face, and embraced the newly admitted apprentice witch fiercely, much to Isabeau's surprise.

‘Ye have done well, very well. I am prouder o' ye than I can express. Ye fulfilled all o' the challenges, and it is a rare witch that can do that.' For a moment she glanced at Meghan and murmured, ‘It is more than I was ever able to do.' Then she hugged Isabeau again, and tangled her fingers in her unruly red-gold curls. ‘It is glad I am indeed to see you so strong and bonny. Welcome to the Coven, even in these dark and dangerous times, and keep yourself safe. I could no' bear … There has been enough death and pain. Be careful, Isabeau, and guard your spirit carefully.'

‘I will,' Isabeau responded, a little surprised by the emotion in the witch's voice.

‘Let us go back and celebrate!' Seychella said. ‘It has been a long time since we've given the Test! I do no' ken about Isabeau, but I am exhausted!'

‘No' yet,' Meghan said.

Isabeau looked up from contemplation of her gently glowing moonstone. She recognised that note in her guardian's voice. Something was wrong. Meghan stood by their fire, and said, ‘I would fain give Isabeau one more Trial.'

‘Be ye mad? It's pouring down!' Seychella said, and indeed the rain had begun, first as a splatter of great drops, but increasing in speed and ferocity as the wind whipped the surface of the loch into whitecaps. Meghan nodded, her face so grim Isabeau began to feel afraid. ‘A wee while ago the wards to the valley were breached. I could no' stop the Trials after waiting so long and working so hard to make sure Isabeau was given her chance. In all the twenty years I've lived here no-one has ever breached the wards. This is no stray shepherd! The animals have reported a large contingent o' Red Guards … and something else—a winged figure—the hare calls it a ghost.'

Seychella and Jorge were on their feet in alarm. ‘We must flee,' Seychella cried. ‘We canna withstand a Mesmerd!'

‘They are already searching the valley,' Meghan said grimly. ‘The beasts tell me where they are. It is too late, they will have seen the fire by now. We will have to distract them, and meet back at the tree-house. Do no' let them follow ye, and seek shelter in the trees if ye must for the Red Guards will no' find ye there.'

‘What about the Mesmerd?' Seychella said angrily. ‘It has wings, it can fly?'

‘Avoid the Mesmerd at all costs,' Meghan said, just as Isabeau gave a cry of dismay. Through the trees she could see a line of red as soldiers ran down towards them. There were about sixty of them, and by the expression on their faces, they had seen the five witches.

‘I want to give Isabeau the Sorceress Test o' Fire,' Meghan said.

The stranger-witch looked at Isabeau with her very blue eyes. ‘Sorceress level? Is she ready?'

‘In the name o' the Spinners, hurry!' Seychella shouted.

‘What is it?' Isabeau cried, as the Red Guards lifted their claymores and began to run towards them. There was no doubt that they were in very real danger, for the signs of witchcraft were all about them: the circle and the pentagram scratched in the dust, the bowl of water and the pot of soil, the unbound hair and beringed fingers of the witches. If they were taken, they would be burnt to death.

Meghan gripped Isabeau's arm. ‘The Sorceress Test o' Fire—to use flame as a weapon,' she said. ‘Now, Isabeau!'

Instinctively Isabeau threw a great ball of flame and was shocked to her core when soldiers fell screaming, one desperately trying to beat out the flames that engulfed him. Shaking with an inner chill, she threw another and another, but the soldiers just kept coming. Jorge huddled by her side, not even trying to protect himself as arrows rained towards them from the crossbowmen. Without even thinking, Isabeau deflected the arrows and brought up a great sheet of flame between them and the soldiers. Jorge's raven dropped suddenly out of the sky, beating at the soldiers' heads with his wings. Seychella shouted into the wind, bringing the whole force of the storm whirling upon the Red Guards. As the five witches huddled in the calm eye of the storm, the soldiers fought to advance against the wind and the rain.

The unknown witch took Isabeau's hands. ‘It is time for me to go. Ye have done well, my daughter. Be no' afraid o' your Power. It is true it does terrible things, but ye can also use it for good. Remember that, and do no' lose your way.' Isabeau tried not to sob. The use of fire as a weapon had indeed shocked her—she had never harmed another living thing, except by accident. However, she did not regret using the fire, for the alternative could well be imprisonment and death. ‘Remember what Meghan has taught ye; she has been a better mother to ye than anyone could have been.' The blue-eyed witch kissed Isabeau and then hugged Meghan.

‘Go in love, Ishbel,' Meghan said, a look of great sadness on her face. ‘Shall I see you again?'

‘I do no' ken,' the blue-eyed witch responded, and there was such melancholy in her voice that Isabeau felt sorrow piercing her in sympathy. ‘If the Spinners wish it, our threads will cross again. But now I must go.'

Before Isabeau could exclaim in surprise, Ishbel the Winged was gone, her masses of hair billowing out behind her. She simply rose into the air and flew away, like a feather dragged by the wind. Isabeau cried out and even put out a hand as if to catch her, but it was too late, Ishbel had gone over the cliff.

‘Will she be safe?'

‘I hope so,' Meghan responded grimly. ‘But let us look out for ourselves at the moment.'

Isabeau spun to see the soldiers very close now, the Mesmerd hovering right behind them, its arms stretching forward as if to embrace her. Rearing up against the billowing clouds, it was more than seven feet tall, with a face of inhuman beauty, huge gauze wings and a double set of multijointed arms. Around its body fluttered grey draperies, and its clusters of eyes shimmered with iridescent light. Isabeau found her gaze being drawn irresistibly to those huge glittering eyes, and her fire faltered and dropped.

‘Do no' look at it!' Meghan shouted. ‘Do no' let it breathe on ye!'

Wrenching her gaze away, Isabeau tried to engulf the Mesmerd in fire, but in a sudden and gut-wrenching move it darted sideways and forwards, avoiding her fire and suddenly so close Isabeau could smell its marshy, muddy odour. With a shriek she scrambled backwards, slipping and falling, then a great woolly bear lunged at the Mesmerd, drawing its hypnotic gaze so Isabeau could crawl away. Before the bear's wicked claws could do more than rake the air between them, the Grey Ghost had enfolded the bear in its arms, pressing its hooked mouth against the bear's snout. With a shudder, Isabeau saw the woolly bear droop and fall to the ground in a shaggy heap, then the Mesmerd again darted forward, nimbly avoiding the strike of lightning that Seychella called down against it.

The great stag, king of the valley, tossed its horns and stampeded the Mesmerd, but the creature darted away, its translucent wings whirring. Bellowing hoarsely, the stag turned and stampeded the soldiers, wounding one severely in the shoulder and knocking another to the ground. Suddenly there was a blood-chilling snarl, and a sabre-leopard leapt from a rock onto the back of a soldier. Moments later it raised its fierce head, its tusks stained with blood, then with a graceful bound, leapt for the throat of another.

All the animals of the forest were there, fighting by the witches' side, called to their aid by Meghan of the Beasts. Donbeags flew from the trees, their sharp little claws raking at the soldiers' faces; coneys and hares lolloped around their feet, causing them to stumble; birds shrieked their defiance, attacking their heads and shoulders with beaks and claws; even a pack of wolves came slinking through the undergrowth, harassing the soldiers from behind. For a moment, Isabeau was exultant, thinking they must win, then she saw the Mesmerd hypnotise the sabre-leopard with its myriad glittering gaze, grasp it with its four arms, and kiss the great cat's life away. The stag fell beneath an arrow, struggled to its feet, only to fall again as a soldier's claymore sliced into its neck, and the crossbowmen turned and shot down the wolves with their arrows, one grey body after another falling in mid-stride.

In anger Isabeau threw another ball of fire, and the soldier that had killed the stag fell screaming, engulfed in flames, so that Isabeau began to retch with horror.

‘Do no' falter now, Isabeau!' Meghan commanded, and threw up her hand so that the ground beneath the soldiers' feet split wide open with a horrible grinding noise, swallowing the foremost soldiers.

‘Quick, run! Go now. Take Jorge, look after him,' Meghan commanded.

Isabeau grabbed the blind seer by the hand and dived into the loch under the shelter of the pelting rain. She swam under the water, dragging the old man behind her. At first he kicked feebly but soon he was a dead weight and she had to struggle to make any headway at all. She surfaced on the other side of the loch and looked at him cautiously, but he was barely conscious, his face as white as milk. There was nothing she could do. Isabeau dived again, and by easy stages brought him to the other end of the loch. Several times she hid in the rushes at the edge of the water to see if anyone was following them, but all she could see was the battle still raging near the waterfall: great flashes of lightning, the roar of earth moving.

Isabeau saw Seychella bring the wind whirling upon the remaining soldiers so they staggered, their cloaks whipping over their heads or tangling in their legs. The Mesmerd suddenly flashed forward and Isabeau saw Seychella suddenly pause, motionless, staring at the winged creature with bemusement on her face. The Mesmerd caught her in its arms, then turned, as if sensing Isabeau's gaze upon it. With a rapidly beating heart she dived again, her fist clenched in Jorge's hair.

At last she swam under the overhang of rock that concealed the water-cave under the tree-house. As soon as she had dragged Jorge up onto the sandy floor of the cave, Isabeau squeezed the water out of him until he was coughing and wheezing, then half carried him through the secret passage into the kitchen.

She was surprised to find Gitâ there, busily rummaging through the pantry, piles of supplies gathered together on the table. He chittered excitedly when he saw her, and dropped the bag to bound up her body, patting her cheek with one paw before taking flight from her shoulder.

‘Quickly, quickly,' he chittered, and leapt back onto the table, where Meghan's pack lay half filled.

Isabeau pushed Jorge into a chair, and looked around her in panicked bewilderment. The long ordeal of her Test, followed by the sudden onslaught of soldiery, had shattered all her defences and she found herself scurrying about uselessly as a coney, tears rolling down her cheeks. She forced herself to be calm, to think, but the sight of the Mesmerd seemed like an omen and she was terribly afraid.

Gitâ gave an admonishing chitter, and Isabeau pulled herself together, kneeling to light a fire in the grate. She was worried in case the smoke might lead their enemies right to them, but the chimney was cunningly designed, and the storm still raged outside, so any smoke would be blown into tatters in seconds. It took her a few moments to light the fire, she was so tired and drained of energy. However, at last it flickered into life and she towelled herself dry and threw on some warm clothes.

Then she turned her attention to Jorge, rubbing his arms and legs vigorously, and making him hot tea. She wished she dared make him a hot bath to ease the shivering which racked his body, but she knew how intense their danger was. The tree-house might be discovered at any moment—she had no idea how much the Red Guards knew. They must be ready to move out at a moment's notice.

As Jorge ate a hastily thrown together meal, Isabeau began refilling her belt pouches. Thank the Spinners she had spent that day in the mountain meadows! They were fully stocked with herbs, nuts and vegetables, and still had some dried fruit left over from the winter. Gitâ had already gathered together many useful supplies, including his own winter store of nuts, and was now busily cramming them into Meghan's satchel.

Suddenly he gave a squeak of excitement and bounded towards the secret passage. Isabeau tensed and picked up her knife, knowing she was too exhausted to fight any more with fire. It was Meghan, though, dripping wet, her grey hair in rat's tails to her knees.

‘Well done,' she said. ‘Get yourself ready as quick as ye can. They must have a witch-sniffer—all that magic you've been expending today drew them to us like a bear to honey.'

Isabeau flew to obey as Meghan tried to climb the ladder, swaying as she gripped the handrail. ‘Seychella?' Isabeau asked anxiously, but Meghan only shook her head grimly.

A few minutes later, when Isabeau bolted up the stairs to get her boots and a change of clothing, she found Meghan, still wet and naked, kneeling on the ground before her chest. She was hurriedly throwing things into a tiny pouch. Isabeau was amazed to see the great book disappear inside it, although the pouch was no bigger than her hand and the book so massive she could barely lift it.

‘You're shivering, Meghan, get dressed!' Isabeau cried.

‘This is more important,' Meghan said abstractedly. ‘I canna allow them to get their hands on my treasures.'

Isabeau's eyes widened as Meghan threw more into the pouch than could ever have fitted naturally. Meghan saw her look. ‘Magic bag,' she said briefly. ‘One o' the treasures o' the Towers. I used it when I first came here. Everything we own came out o' this bag! Do no' dawdle, Isabeau, they'll be here any minute!'

Isabeau ran up the ladder to her own room as fast as she could, pulling on her boots and dragging her knapsack towards her. She stuffed a spare pair of breeches, a soft shirt, a dress, a woollen vest Meghan had knitted, and her sewing kit into her sturdy pack. She ran downstairs again, and in the kitchen finished packing her and Meghan's knapsacks with provisions. From each she slung a bottle filled with water from the barrel. She stuffed two light kettles with cotton bags of various sizes, all filled with tea, flour, salt, oats, and other essentials. Her belt was hung with leather purses containing dried herbs and spices, for cooking and for magic spells. She packed her witch knife and a small saucepan, some pewter bowls, some of Meghan's healing potions and grabbed her plaid and tam-o'-shanter from where they hung on a hook by the fire. All the time, her head whirled with everything she had seen and learnt that day, and with the knowledge they had to leave the valley. She had always imagined setting out on adventures, but never like this.

Jorge was much recovered after his hastily swallowed meal and had wrapped himself in an old plaid while his clothes steamed before the fire. Isabeau took his tattered robe in her hands and tried to hasten the drying, but her powers were drained and she was as weak as any novice. She was plaiting her damp hair and trying to think what she had forgotten when there was a loud hammering on the trap door upstairs. Isabeau jerked to her feet and ran up the ladder. Meghan was in the top room, clearing out the shelves with ruthless abandon, Gitâ helping enthusiastically. Isabeau could hear, faintly, the sound of Seychella's voice, pleading with her to open the door.

‘It's Seychella,' she cried. ‘Should I open it?'

‘Do no' be a fool,' Meghan said, rummaging through the shelves in search of something.

‘But what if she is trying to escape the Red Guards? They'll catch her.'

‘I would say they have caught her already,' Meghan said. ‘Canna ye sense the Mesmerd? It's probably holding her.'

The idea that the Mesmerd was right outside made Isabeau recoil in horror. Meghan stood calmly before the trap door and made a series of signs with her fingers. An intricate symbol of green fire flared up for a moment, and then was gone. Meghan repeated the gestures at each of the doors on the way down the ladder, after Isabeau had carefully bolted them closed. ‘That should hold them for a while,' Meghan said in satisfaction.

‘Should we no' be going? If the Mesmerd knows we're in here …' Isabeau shuddered. Her guardian kept placidly transferring the contents of the kitchen drawers into the magic pouch. ‘Meghan!'

‘Patience, my bairn,' her guardian said. ‘They will no' get through those wards in a hurry, and Seychella never ken about the secret passages, remember?'

‘But what about Seychella?'

‘There is nothing we can do for Seychella now. We must look to our own safety,' the old witch responded implacably.

At last Meghan was ready. She looked about her sadly and laid her hand on the living wall of the tree. ‘Thank ye, my friend,' she said. Only then did she let Isabeau pull open the hidden entrance to the secret passage concealed behind the pantry shelves.

As she waited, Meghan hurriedly went through the knapsack, checking what Isabeau and Gitâ had packed. Seeing the full bags of provisions, the change of clothing, the knife and pan, she made a grunt of approval. ‘You've done well, Beau,' Meghan said. ‘At everything. I'm very proud.' She thrust her hand into the pocket of her damp gown and pulled out another ring, whose stone glittered topaz yellow in the dying firelight. This jewel was curiously set, with a tiny gold rose on either side, surrounded by an etching of thorns. Isabeau recognised the design immediately, for it was the same as the one Meghan had shown her the previous night, and which now adorned the moonstone ring Meghan wore on her middle finger. She also recognised the unusual yellow glitter of the jewel as the one Meghan had hidden from her the night of Seychella's arrival.