The Forbidden Land (34 page)

‘Och, it be easy enough. I’m sure Iain kens how. Why do ye no’ ask him to show ye?’

Elfrida hesitated. ‘The elders may no’ like it,’ she said. ‘Word would be sure to get back to them.’

The elders were the most powerful group in the community, chosen from all walks of life by the congregation to oversee the running of the kirk by the pastor. The General Assembly which ruled Tìrsoilleir was composed of the most powerful elders and churchmen, and was very strict in its ideas. They frowned upon any form of entertainment, called a pack of playing cards ‘the devil’s prayer book’, a pair of dice ‘the devil’s bones’ and a violin ‘the Archfiend’s box’. Any form of personal adornment was abhorrent to them, so that a woman could be lambasted in the kirk for tucking a daisy in her belt. Dancing was particularly loathsome to the elders, who regarded it as inherently licentious. None of the elders of the Kirkenny parish had come to the Samhain feast, all no doubt considering it a lewd and heretical event, but Iseult knew as well as Elfrida did that they would have their spies among the gathering there tonight.

‘So?’ Iseult said. ‘When ye are banprionnsa it will be your job to change things around here. Ye may as well let them ken now.’

Elfrida hesitated then shook her head. ‘Nay, I’d better no’.’

‘Then I shall,’ Iseult said and put down her cup of spiced ale and rose to her feet. Lachlan met her glance with a smile and crossed the floor to meet her, the two of them joining in the dancing with enthusiasm.

Finn was dancing too, her green-flecked hazel eyes alight with excitement. As always, the infectious melody of Jay’s fiddle was working its magic so that even some of the most disapproving locals were nodding their heads and tapping their toes in time. When the air was finished, Finn found herself right next to Jay and impulsively she cried, ‘Och, I love your fiddle, Jay! Ye have magic in your fingers indeed.’

‘Thank ye,’ he answered gruffly, not looking at her, and lifted his bow and swung at once into another tune. Finn’s excitement ebbed away. She found herself feeling rather low and stepped out of the line to refill her cup of Samhain ale, sweet with apples, honey, whiskey and spices. She saw her elven cat Goblin curled on a cushioned chair near the fire and went to seek the comfort of her soft fur and affectionate purr. Many of the locals looked at her askance as she lifted the elven cat to her shoulder, and Finn stuck out her tongue at one rude boy who made a less than surreptitious sign against evil.

She watched Jay from her vantage point by the fire, but not once did he glance her way or show any sign that he was aware of her regard. She was used to a current of silent communion always running between them, a wordless connection fed by their shared sense of the ridiculous, their reverent love of music, and their knowledge of each other’s minds.

Her misery at his coldness soon gave way to anger. When Dide and Nellwyn began to sing a very sweet and proper love song together, allowing Jay to lay down his viola and take a rest, she marched over to confront him, Goblin riding on her shoulder.

‘Why are ye angry with me?’ Finn demanded. ‘What have I done?’

‘I’m no’ angry with ye,’ Jay replied coolly, filling his cup with spiced ale.

‘Then why are ye being so peculiar? Am I no’ your friend any more?’ Anxiety replaced anger in Finn’s voice.

He looked down at her then, and twisted his mouth wryly. ‘I’m sorry. O’ course ye’re still my friend. It’s just …’

‘What?’

He made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘I canna … I ken it’s no’ your fault … it’s just …’

Just then, the song came to an end and Gwilym the Ugly limped forward, his hand raised high for silence. He was dressed now in his flowing white witch’s robes, with his long dark hair unbound and rings heavy on his fingers. As usual his witch’s staff was as much a crutch as a symbol of his communion with the Coven, for Gwilym had lost one leg in the torture chambers of the Awl and now wore a wooden peg strapped to his thigh.

‘Samhain Eve marks the turning o’ the season, the beginning o’ winter and the dead months,’ he said. ‘It is the night when the souls o’ the dead may return if they choose, to haunt those that have done them harm or speak with those that they have loved. On Samhain Eve the doors between all worlds are open, the door between the dead and the quick, the door between the past and the future, the door between the known and the unknown. It is a fearful time, for no’ all spirits o’ the dead are welcome and no’ all visions o’ other places and times desired.

‘It is a time to think o’ the past and what we may have done better and o’ the future, and what shape we wish for it to take. So on this night we o’ the Coven encourage all to cast away the faults and failings o’ the past and seek to make ourselves stronger and wiser, more courageous, more compassionate, truer to our secret self. In pursuit o’ this intent, we ask that all o’ ye present write down upon a piece o’ paper your greatest weakness or failing and cast it into the Samhain fire, making a wish as ye do so. This is a time to be truthful with yourself, to see yourself with clear eyes as others may see ye, and to think about what is your heart’s true desire.’

He then relaid the fire with logs of the seven sacred woods—ash, hazel, oak, blackthorn, fir, hawthorn and yew—and tossed upon it salt and powdered herbs so the flames leapt up in brilliant colours of violet, green and blue, sending sweet-smelling smoke out into the room.

Slowly, one by one, people took the quill and parchment offered to them, wrote upon it after long deliberation, crossed the room to the fire and cast their Samhain wish upon it. Some did so with embarrassed laughter and coy looks at each other. Others were very serious, watching their paper devoured by flames and disintegrate into ash with intent eyes and a prayer murmured under their breath.

‘Do ye remember the last time we all did this together?’ Johanna said as the League of the Healing Hand gathered together to ponder their wishes. ‘Ye were no’ there, Finn, but the rest o’ us were. We had no ink so Dillon made us write it down in our own blood.’ She gave a little shiver at the memory, half-serious, half-mocking. ‘We were in the ruined witches’ tower and all o’ us were terrified o’ the ghosts.’

‘Ye may have been,’ Dillon said. ‘I wasna.’

‘I wished I was no’ such a scaredy-cat.’ Johanna smiled in reminiscence. ‘And just after I had to go out into the storm with all those ghosts and wolves howling and ring the tower bell. I thought I would die o’ terror!’

‘But ye did it,’ Connor cried proudly, and his sister smiled at him.

‘Aye, I did it. Since then I havena really been scared o’ anything much. I suppose that was the most terrifying thing for me, having to do that alone, yet I managed to survive it.’

‘Ye made me write “tyrant” on my bit o’ paper,’ Dillon said. ‘I suppose I was rather autocratic.’

‘Just a wee,’ Finn laughed. She turned to Jay, colour running up into her cheeks. ‘What did ye write?’

He glanced at her then away, scuffing his boot against the carpet. ‘I dinna remember.’

‘I ken ye wished for someone to teach ye to play the auld viola the way it should be played,’ Johanna said. ‘So your wish has come true too.’

‘I suppose so,’ Jay said, without any pleasure in his voice.

‘What did ye wish for, Tòmas?’ Brangaine asked with a gentle smile.

He looked up at her with huge cerulean-blue eyes. ‘For peace, so that I could go home to my mam.’ They all fell silent, troubled. Tòmas said, ‘So ye see, I am the only one whose wish did no’ come true.’

‘Except Anntoin, Artair and Parlan,’ Jay said harshly.

The celebratory mood now truly broken, everyone looked unhappy, glancing down at the bits of paper in their hands with anxious eyes.

‘Well, I ken what I’m going to write,’ Brangaine said cheerfully. ‘I want to be the best laird to my people that I possibly can be, and I think that means I have to unbend a wee, and try and have more understanding for people’s faults and weaknesses. I dinna want anyone calling me a muffin-faced prig again.’ She grinned at Finn and wrote, in her beautiful courtly hand, ‘muffin-faced prig’ on her scrap of paper.

‘Flaming dragon balls!’ Finn cried. ‘Who would’ve guessed it?’

‘Well, I want to be the greatest healer in the world,’ Johanna said. ‘And a great healer should always be patient and compassionate and sensitive to the feelings o’ others. I found one o’ the other healers crying last week because I’d called her a numbskull and a twit, and I ken they hate the way I order them around all the time. So I guess it’s my turn to burn the word “tyrant”!’

‘If ye’re going to write what I wished for last time, I’ll take what ye wished for,’ Dillon said with no trace of laughter. He bent over the table, laboriously writing ‘scaredy-cat’ in his clumsy scrawl.

‘To no’ be afraid any more?’ Johanna asked softly. ‘But why, Dillon? I do no’ ken anyone more courageous than ye.’

He met her eyes, his hand caressing the ornate silver hilt of his sword. ‘She will have blood,’ he answered simply. ‘One day it will be mine.’

Johanna nodded, her eyes soft with sympathy. Together they crossed the floor and cast their wishes into the fire, watching them disappear into smoke with an intent gaze.

Without saying a word, Tòmas wrote ‘peace’ in his round, childish script and Connor quickly followed suit, with a shy smile for his friend. Together the two boys crossed the floor, both with fair hair and wide blue eyes, but one a thin, frail figure, the other much taller and sturdier, even though there was only a few months of age between them.

‘What are ye going to write, Ashlin?’ Brangaine asked.

He flushed, looking quickly at Finn and then away again. ‘Och, to no’ be such a gowk all the time,’ he said awkwardly. ‘To be brave and strong so I can serve my lady well.’

‘Och, do no’ call me “my lady”, I’m no lady,’ Finn said automatically and he flushed even redder than before. He turned round so none could see what he wrote on his scrap of paper and then, with one final glance at Finn, went to the fire with Brangaine.

‘What will ye wish for, Dide?’ Finn said rather diffidently, hoping he would not snub her again. He glanced at her, then said softly, ‘I ken I should wish to lose this futile longing for what I canna have, but I shall no’. I can no’. So I shall go on wishing for what I’ve always wished for, and go on longing.’ And with great deliberation he wrote Isabeau’s name upon his piece of paper and went to the fire to throw it onto the coals.

Finn felt a sting of tears in her eyes. She knuckled the edge of one eye and turned back to find Jay’s eyes upon her. ‘What?’ she said, flushing.

‘Naught,’ he said. ‘Just wondering what it was ye were going to write.’

‘I have so many faults it’d be hard to find just one,’ Finn answered with a sigh. ‘I’d need a whole scroll o’ paper.’

Jay laughed. ‘What’s your worst fault then? Write that down.’

‘They’re all so bad, it’s hard to choose. I’m impatient and loud-mouthed and always have to stick my nose into other’s people’s business. I punch people who irritate me and smoke too much and drink too much and my fingers are made o’ lime-twigs, I find it hard to resist filching someone’s pocket when they leave their swag in such easy reach.’ She sighed. ‘Ye see my problem.’

‘But ye wouldna be Finn the Cat if ye were no’ so curious and interested in everything, and did no’ have such amazing turns o’ speech. Ye ken everyone is always quoting ye.’

‘Aye, much to my mother’s horror. Happen I should try no’ to be such a filching-mort. Picking people’s pockets is no’ the way for a banprionnsa to behave.’

‘Nay, I think ye’re probably right,’ Jay said with a laugh in his voice.

‘Well, I do try but the temptation is just too much sometimes. I usually put it back again later, unless it’s tobacco which really they should guard more carefully, it being so rare these days.’

Again Jay could not help laughing, though he said with a great deal of sympathy in his voice, ‘So that’s what you’re going to write? No more stealing so ye can be a better banprionnsa and laird to your people?’

‘I suppose so,’ Finn said unhappily. Jay said nothing, just looked at her inquiringly. ‘I ken what I’d really like to wish for,’ she burst out.

‘What’s that?’

‘To go on like this,’ Finn said, flushing. ‘The League o’ the Healing Hand together again, having adventures, saving auld prophets from prisons, outwitting the enemy, breaking into castles, fighting back to back. I’ve been so happy these last six months, happier than I’ve been since we helped Lachlan win his throne.’

‘Is that really what ye’d wish for?’ There was more warmth in Jay’s voice than there had been in some weeks.

Finn nodded. ‘I ken I should no’. I ken I have to go back to dreary auld Rurach and be a dreary auld banprionnsa, but when I think it might be years afore I see ye again, or any o’ the others …’ Her voice broke.

Colour rose in his cheeks. ‘Happen ye can,’ he cried eagerly. ‘There must be some way. Canna ye do what your aunt did and join the Coven? Ye canna rule if ye be a sorceress; they never let ye do both.’

Finn’s eyes kindled. ‘Happen I could do that,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to be a sorceress. We could go to the Theurgia together; it’d be grand! We could be witches together and travel about … Oh, I wish I could!’

With sudden resolve she uncrumpled the paper clutched in her hand and wrote on it, ‘To stop being what other people want me to be. To be myself. Finn the Cat, adventuress, sorceress, thief’. She showed it to Jay, who said, ‘Are ye sure?’

She nodded. ‘What about ye?’

‘I canna write,’ he said in a stifled voice. ‘I canna do anything but play the fiddle.’

‘What a dray-load o’ dragon dung,’ Finn said rudely. ‘Here, let me write it for ye. And then tomorrow I’ll start teaching ye to write so that next year ye can write it for yourself.’ She seized his scrap of paper, smoothed it out, and wrote upon it, reading the words aloud: ‘Jay’s wish. To stop being such a silly gowk and start being proud o’ who he is, Jay the Fiddler, adventurer, sorcerer, the best fiddler in the land and the best friend anyone ever had.’

They grinned at each other, then seized each other’s hands and ran across to the fire, throwing in the scraps of paper with excited laughs.