Heart of Stars (11 page)

‘Your father may have been the same age as my own father, but where my father grew bent and frail, and at last senile and drooling afore he died, your father was as strong and lusty as a much younger man. Lustier even,’ she snapped back, her lip curled in a sneer.

‘Yet he is dead now, and in his grave where he belongs,’ the MacBrann answered quietly.

‘Aye, murdered in his own bed, by his own son’s hand!’
she flashed. ‘Ye call him evil, but what are ye but a traitor and a murderer? A fine son ye turned out to be.’

‘Three times I struck him,’ the MacBrann said. ‘Once for my mother, once for my wife, and once for the wee babe that died in her womb.’

‘How did ye get in?’ she demanded. ‘The gates were closed to ye, and all my laird’s men warned to watch for ye!’ Her breast was rising and falling sharply, and her eyes glittered in the pale witch’s light.

‘I see ye do no’ ken all my father’s secrets,’ he said contemptuously. ‘I suppose I should be grateful to ye. It is hard to catch my father unawares. He never seems to sleep. I was lucky to find him at the moment o’ rapture, his senses closed to my approach. Else I do no’ think my dagger would have found its mark.’

‘How dare ye!’ she hissed. ‘Ye are contemptible!’

‘I am contemptible? What then are ye, Aven?’

‘I at least am loyal to my laird and master,’ she cried, clenching her hands into fists. ‘Ye are naught but a treacherous, murdering dog!’

‘At least I do no’ murder in cold blood, as ye have done in your master’s service,’ he said, his voice trembling. ‘I do no’ bathe in the blood o’ my victims, and drink it like wine. I have right and justice on my side
…
’

She laughed out loud. ‘Oh, so very noble,’ she mocked. ‘Ye play your part well, Dugald. The poor wronged son, intent on revenge, and wrapping it up in the guise o’ what is right and just. Oh, the bards will write songs o’ this night’s work!’

‘I am glad it was ye in his bed and no’ some poor innocent lass who may have been shocked at the sight o’ so much blood,’ the MacBrann retorted angrily. ‘Though I must admit I was very surprised. I did not expect to find ye in his bed.’

She flushed an ugly crimson. ‘And why no’?’ she demanded.

‘I thought my father had grown tired o’ ye long ago,’ the MacBrann said. ‘After all, ye are no longer in the first flush o’ your youth, Aven. I had heard ye had become his procuress, bringing him ever younger and choicer tidbits for his bed. Are there no young virgins left in Ravenshaw, that he was willing to spend his seed in ye?’

Her mouth worked, and the ugly flush deepened.

‘Let me guess? Ye were determined to win your place in his bed again, and he acquiesced, having nothing better on offer, and no’ wanting to offend his most faithful acolyte.’

‘I am no acolyte,’ she flashed, caught on the raw. ‘I am the Second Sorceress in Brann’s circle, his most trusted and–’

‘Brann is dead,’ his son said cruelly, ‘and his circle no more.’

She smiled. ‘Do ye no’ ken? Brann swore he would live again. If he says something shall be so, so it shall be. Ye may have stabbed your father a thousand times, for the thousand ills he has done ye, and it would be to no avail. He will live again!’

Her voice rang out rapturously, and even in the shape of an owl Isabeau felt the terrible power of the words and shrank down upon her rafter. Buba hooted softly in comfort and reassurance.

‘He is dead, and dead he shall remain,’ the MacBrann said very quietly.

Aven gave a terrible cry, and again threw a whiplash of power at him. This time he staggered as he thrust it away, and she lashed him again and again. Each time he was able to block her, though the effort left him white and shaken.

‘Ye canna defeat me this way,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I am still Brann’s son, ye ken. There is naught ye can do, Aven.’

She gave an eldritch scream of rage and frustration. Lightning bolts rained about him, white-hot and smoking. As he threw up his hand to protect himself, she darted at him, a dagger suddenly in her hand. It plunged down towards his unprotected armpit, but then Colin leapt forward, deflecting the dagger and taking off her head with a single sweep of his great sword. Blood spurted, and her head bounced and rolled to lie at the MacBrann’s foot, the eyes wide and staring, the mouth still open in a scream.

Dugald MacBrann stared down at it for a long moment, panting and wild-eyed, then he gave the severed head a gentle kick with his foot so it rolled away to rest at the base of the steps, the dreadful staring eyes and mouth turned towards the stone. Then the MacBrann walked forward and dropped his hand on Irvin’s shoulder.

‘What do ye do here, lad?’ he said gently. ‘Did I no’ give orders none were to leave the castle?’

‘She
…
my lady Aven said
…
she promised me a great reward.’

‘Do ye no’ ken she meant to sacrifice ye to bring my father back to life?’

‘Sacrifice?’

‘Aye. It is the dark art, necromancy. Blood for blood, a life for a life.’

‘She meant to kill me?’

‘Aye, lad. Come, ye are shaking. Colin, give the boy a wee dram and take him down to Robin, then come back to me. I shall need your help to
…
to clean away the blood.’

He resolutely did not look at the headless body of the sorceress, crumpled in a pool of blood in the middle of
the floor. Colin led away the shivering young man, wrapping him up well in his own cloak, and returned a few minutes later, his face grim. Isabeau and Buba watched as the MacBrann and his captain hurriedly mopped up the blood with the sorceress’s long dark cloak, and then wrapped her and her head up in it together.

‘We shall bury Aven within the tomb,’ the MacBrann said, climbing swiftly up the steps and laying his hand on the head of the stone sorcerer’s staff. ‘I do no’ want any to ken o’ this night’s doings.’

Colin carried the body up the steps, trying not to show his revulsion on his face. The MacBrann twisted the head of the staff; there was a slow grinding noise and the stone ledge swung sideways, revealing a dark gaping hole. Within was a very narrow and steep spiral staircase that wound down into the earth. With great difficulty, Colin managed to negotiate his way down the steps, the dead woman and her severed head in his arms. A few minutes later he climbed back again, looking very white, his jaw set hard.

The MacBrann raised an eyebrow, and he nodded. Together they swung the stone slab back over the secret staircase, and it clicked into place, the stone sorcerer resting supine as if he had never been disturbed. The only sign of Aven was the smears of blood left on the stone floor, and Colin polished these away with the hem of his own cloak.

‘Can we go away from here now, my laird?’ he said. ‘This place makes me nervous.’

The MacBrann shook his head. ‘Others will come,’ he said with certainty. ‘Perhaps no’ tonight. But they will come. Brann will no’ rest quietly, I can assure ye o’ that.’

‘Please tell me I do no’ have to spend the rest o’ my life guarding his grave,’ Colin said.

The MacBrann smiled briefly. ‘If no’ ye, someone,’ he answered. ‘I will no’ rest easy otherwise.’

‘Well, I’ll no’ rest easy spending another minute in this blaygird place. I swear I feel eyes upon me.’

‘I also,’ the MacBrann said. ‘Come, Colin, give me this one night, and tomorrow I shall set up a roster o’ guard duty so the burden can be shared among us all. Indeed, I was no’ jesting when I said I would guard the grave a hundred years if I had to.’

‘Well, I wouldna like the auld man to walk again,’ Colin said heavily. ‘Let us sit it out till dawn, just in case we get any more nasty surprises.’

‘Thank ye, Colin. I ken this is far more than anyone should demand o’ their captain.’

‘All in a night’s work,’ Colin answered, with a poor attempt at humour.

No other disturbances occurred that night. Dugald MacBrann was able to sleep rolled in his cloak while his faithful captain sat nearby, sword resting on his knees. Isabeau and Buba dozed, their heads sunk into their feathery shoulders. They woke before dawn and flew out into the silvery grey, coming down soundlessly onto a branch above Dide’s sleeping head.

The three witches and two Celestines had taken shelter under an ancient hemlock tree. Curving down to the ground, the heavy branches created a dim green tent that hid them from the sight of any passers-by. Ghislaine had been given the dawn watch, the easiest of all, and she sat quietly, her arms wrapped around her knees, deep shadows under her eyes. In her rough travelling clothes, her long fair hair plaited up under a brown tam-o’-shanter, she looked very different from the cool, pale sorceress Isabeau knew so well.

All well-hooh?
Isabeau hooted.

Well-hooh, and with-hooh you-hooh too-hooh?
Ghislaine hooted back in perfect owl-language.

Isabeau sat on her branch a while longer, her feathers ruffled. She dreaded having to return to her own shape. She knew Brann’s ghost waited for her.

‘Come down, Beau,’ Ghislaine said gently. ‘Ye must have time to recover, else ye’ll be sick as a cat. It is almost dawn. We do no’ have much time left.’

Isabeau shook herself all over, shifted from claw to claw, and then, reluctantly, flew down to the grass, transforming back into the shape of a woman. At once she heard the hammer of Brann’s insistence in her brain.

I shall live again, and ye shall be the one to raise me. All ye need is a soul, willing or unwilling, and a very sharp knife …

Isabeau pressed her hands over her ears, but it was no use. The ghost did not speak with mouth and tongue but in the soundless voice of the mind, which could not be blocked out.

Ghislaine had her clothes ready and, dizzy and sick, Isabeau dragged them on. It was taking all her strength to resist the duress of Brann’s spell, and so she had little energy left to recover from the shapeshifting, which was always a heavy drain on her powers. Her legs trembled so much she had to sit down and rest her head in her hands. Ghislaine was worried by her shivering and urged her to stretch out on a blanket, with another tucked around her. Isabeau obeyed. She always felt sick and shivery after too long out of her own shape, but this was different. It was like a giant hand had seized the strings of her nerves and was wrenching them this way and that, trying to force her to rise and find the dead man’s grave, and dig through to his coffin with bare hands, if a shovel could not be found, and drag his limp, stinking corpse out into the fresh air, to lie staring sightlessly at the sky while she found a living soul, willing or unwilling, and a very sharp dagger
…

I shall live again, and ye shall be the one to raise me.

Isabeau dug her fists into her ears and hummed loudly, trying to tune out the voice.

Biting her lip with worry, Ghislaine made her tea, heating the water with her finger, and warmed up some day-old griddle-cakes between her hands. She had to hold the cup to Isabeau’s chattering teeth, for the Keybearer would not stop rocking and humming, grinding her fists into her ears. She could not eat, but she managed to swallow some of the hot liquid and that seemed to help a little. Drawing Isabeau’s head onto her lap and stroking a circular shape round and round between Isabeau’s brows, Ghislaine said softly, ‘Rest while ye can. We have a long way to travel today.’

‘Back to the beginning,’ Isabeau said under her breath.

‘Ye ken where to go, to find them?’

Isabeau shook her head, her eyes shut. The soft stroking of Ghislaine’s fingers acted as a counter-weight against Brann’s spell, making it easier to bear. Still she found her muscles slowly tensing against the onslaught of his will, the endless demand in her ears.

A soul, willing or unwilling, and a very sharp knife …

‘We canna go wandering through times, willy-nilly, hoping to find them,’ Ghislaine said. ‘Yet find them we must.’

I shall live again, and ye shall be the one to raise me.

Isabeau’s breath shortened. Her limbs jerked every now and again as her muscles went into spasm. She found it hard to concentrate on Ghislaine’s words.

Come to the time o’ my death, come and bring a living soul, willing or unwilling …

Isabeau shuddered.

‘What is it?’ Ghislaine’s voice was very soft.

‘I am afraid
…
’ Isabeau answered, just as low. ‘Will
I ever be free o’ this spell, this compulsion? I have no’ had a moment’s peace since I read the blaygird thing. Except while an owl, and I canna spend the rest o’ my life in a different shape.’

‘We will find a way to break the spell,’ Ghislaine said firmly. ‘Somehow.’

‘We must.’ Dide’s voice came quietly out of the green gloom. ‘I do no’ want to spend the rest o’ my life wondering if ye’re going to pull a knife on me again.’

‘I
…
I’m sorry,’ Isabeau said inadequately. ‘It’s like a madness. It’s in my ear all the time, it’s
…
it’s very hard to resist.’

‘Then let us get as far away from Brann as we can,’ Cailean said, propping himself up on one elbow. ‘Ye must feel it so much more strongly here, ’cause we are so close to the time o’ his death. Let us go and find Rìgh Donncan and Princess Thunderlily, and go home.’

There was no surcease from his voice at home
, Isabeau thought, but she nodded and sat up rather gingerly, clasping her hands together to try to stop their spasms.

‘How are we going to find them?’ Ghislaine said. ‘Cloudshadow, do ye know where they are?’

The Celestine shook her head. She looked very tired and sad.
Back to the beginning, my daughter wrote in the tree-language. Yet where is the beginning? There is no beginning, no end. Such words are only ways of ordering our experience, of making sense of what cannot be understood.

Her words filled them all with a desperate melancholy and weariness.

Isabeau dropped her head into her hands, felt her fingers writhing through her curls, tugging at the roots of her hair. The sudden sharp pain drowned out the words beating at her skull, long enough for her to think. She
tugged at her hair again and again, until Dide, in distress, tried to stop her.

‘No! It’s all right. Cloudshadow? The celestial globe Stormstrider carries? That was Thunderlily’s, was it no’?’ Isabeau said.

The Stargazer nodded.
It is one of the treasures of the Stargazer family. Thunderlily took it with her to the Theurgia so she could study the star-lore in her spare time, ensuring the traditions of our people were not forgotten. It was agreed between us, also, that she could come home at any time if she so desired, and she would need the star-map to help her navigate, not having ever travelled the Old Way by herself before.

Isabeau remembered the first time she had travelled the Old Way, carried on the back of the horse Lasair. She had had no idea of where they were going, or how. It made her feel very uncomfortable now, realising how dangerous such a journey had been.

A living soul, willing or unwilling, and a very sharp knife …

‘It will remember her touch,’ she said curtly. ‘There are six o’ us here. We can make a circle o’ power and use the star-map to show us where Donncan and Thunderlily are. It is a shame Finn is no’ with us; none o’ our Talents lie in searching and finding, and so we will have to rely on a spell.’ She looked about her. ‘We will have to be quick. It is almost dawn, and I canna stand much more.’

All her years of training, of denying the body rest and food, of controlling her impulses and seeking tranquillity in meditation, these were the only things that stopped her from rising to pace from side to side, or gnaw her fingernails to the quick. Already she had torn the cuticles on her thumb, and bitten her lower lip till it was swollen and sore. She wished she could change back to Owl.

It was still dark and gloomy under the hemlock, though along the east the sky was flying banners of crimson and gold, and birds were singing. Isabeau conjured a tiny witch’s light and hurriedly pushed the others into a rough circle, alternating male and female. She asked them to remove all their weapons and tools, and to lay their packs down beside the tree trunk. Dobhailen lay beside the packs to guard them, his massive head on his paws. Buba watched from above as Stormstrider set up the celestial globe in the centre of the circle. His steady, deliberate care almost drove Isabeau mad with impatience, and she rocked on one foot and chewed at her thumbnail until at last the globe was ready.

Isabeau then cast the circle with her witch’s dagger, having to take several deep breaths to stop herself from hurrying the ritual. ‘I consecrate and conjure thee, O circle of magic, ring o’ power, symbol o’ perfection and constant renewal, guardian and protector, eternal and infinite,’ she chanted, walking the circle three times, sprinkling first salt and then water from her water-skin. The familiar words helped calm and centre her, and her anxiety eased a little.

She had a bundle of small white candles in her pack, and had removed six, anointing them with precious oils of angelica and hawthorn flowers for increased powers and protection from evil. Now she placed the anointed candles at the six points of the star she drew within the circle. Each of the six companions took up position before the candle, kneeling, and stretching out their arms so that they could hold hands. Isabeau glanced at Cloudshadow and Stormstrider, wondering if they would protest or endanger them all by breaking the circle, but they both looked calm and focused. Isabeau realised with a little jerk of her heart that both of them had their third eye wide open. She took
a few deep breaths to calm herself, feeling dangerously overwrought. Her limbs were trembling and her heart pounded erratically. She waited until she was calmer before attempting to call on the One Power.

At last she felt able to begin the chant. Cailean, Ghislaine and Dide chanted with her, their voices sure and firm, and then she heard a low sonorous hum rise from the throats of the Celestines as they caught the rhythm of the words and echoed it. Isabeau felt the hairs rise on her arms, felt the surge of the One Power within the circle.

She raised her arms and all round the circle the linked hands rose. ‘O blessed Eà, I call upon ye this day to show us those who have been lost, to point the way forwards so that we may find them and save them and bring them home, in peace and in the blessed radiance o’ your protection, so let it be, so let it be, so let it be.’

The others murmured the refrain with her, their eyes shut.

The metal hoops of the celestial globe all began to slowly rotate, illuminated by the ghostly glow of the witch-light that hung overhead. Faster and faster they moved, under the fascinated eyes of the witches and the Celestines, until at last they came to a halt, in a different configuration to before.

Dide and Stormstrider would have surged forward to see, but Isabeau would not let them break the circle until she had blessed it and opened it with her dagger. Only then did she give in to her own urgent desire to see what the star-map would show them.

She said back to the beginning
, Cloudshadow murmured when she had studied the new configuration of stars and moons and planets.
She meant before you humans came to Eileanan. She has gone back to the time
when the Celestine rules the forest and all were at peace, before the ship that sailed out of the sky.

‘She never meant to do as Johanna commanded!’ Dide cried.

‘Back to the beginning,’ Isabeau murmured and felt her heart bound. Surely she would be free of Brann’s curse if she went further back in time, to before he and the First Coven had even arrived in Eileanan?

‘Come, let us go swiftly. We must run. If Brann’s son sees us, he will try and stop us. We shall have only a few moments. Cloudshadow, are ye ready to lead us?’

Cloudshadow nodded. She had her head bent over a handful of small white stones, deftly drawing runes upon them with a nub of charcoal.

‘When we are back in our own time, I shall have all the stones erected again,’ Isabeau said. ‘They should never have been thrown down.’

Cloudshadow looked up and smiled faintly.

As if realising she sought to escape him, the voice of the ghost was hammering at her again, getting louder and more insistent with every passing second. Isabeau’s skull throbbed and her heart pounded.

Dide took her hand.

‘Let’s go,’ he said softly. ‘Run!’

Hand in hand, the six companions ran out from the shelter of the tree and sprinted towards the pool. Cloudshadow clutched one of the rocks in her free hand; at the end of the chain, Cailean ran, his hand on the neck of the huge black dog that loped behind him. Dobhailen was so very large the sorcerer did not need to stoop.

Cloudshadow was humming in her throat, and Stormstrider repeated her melody in a different key, so low it sounded like the earth rumbling.

The first light of the sun struck the surface of the pool,
making it glint. Cloudshadow hurled herself towards it, and a deep red shimmer began to rise from the ground, marking the opening of the gateway.

‘Stop!’ a voice shouted. ‘Stop, I say, else I’ll shoot!’

Isabeau glanced round. On the steps of the crypt stood Captain Colin, a crossbow in his hands. It was wound on, with a savage-looking bolt to the string.

‘Let us be!’ Isabeau cried back. ‘We mean ye no harm. Let us go!’

‘Stop now, else I’ll shoot!’

‘Jump!’ Isabeau cried.

Cloudshadow leapt forward, dragging Isabeau behind her. She felt the familiar red roar of the gateway suck her in, felt the strange spinning and stretching as if she were bound on an immense rack. For one long, unendurable second, she spun between times as stars bloomed and died around her, then there was a rush and a wrench, and once again Isabeau fell to her knees beside the Celestine’s pool on the green hillside where Brann the Raven had built his tomb sixty-two years later.