Kate Forsyth - The Pool of Two Moons: Witches of Eileanen Book 2 (Witches of Eileanan)

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The Pool of Two Moons

Book Two of The Witches of Eileanan

KATE FORSYTH

A ROC BOOK

For my dearest mother, Gillian Mackenzie Evans

A witch or a hag is she which being deluded by a league made with the devel through his persuasion, inspiration, and juggling, thinketh she can design what manner of evil things soever, either by thought or imprecation, as to shake the air with lightnings and thunder, to cause hail and tempests, to remove green corn or trees to another place, to be carried of her familiar (which hath taken upon him the deceitful shape of a goat, swine or calf) into some mountain far distant, in a wonderful short space of time.

William West, sixteenth-century English lawyer

The Hunchback

It was the darkest hour of the night, when the pulse runs slowest and the tides of energy are at their ebb, that the three travelers left the woods. They went warily, their heads turning from side to side as they scanned the shadowed landscape. Although it was a clear night and the snowy peaks of the Sithiche Mountains shone faintly in the light of the two moons, the valley below was filled with mist so that their travelers' path sank into a mysterious whiteness.

"Can ye sense anyone ahead, auld mother?" Iseult asked.

"No' on the path, Iseult, though the inn seems quite busy. Let us push onwe can stop and rest soon enough."

"So ye've been saying all week!" Bacaiche snapped, leaning heavily on his rough club. "I'm sick o'

stumbling around every night and hiding all day like a frightened hare! When are we going to do something useful?"

The old woman turned and looked up at him. "Come, Bacaiche, ye'll be glad we pushed on when a plate o' hot stew is slapped in front o' ye. Ye've been complaining o' hunger long enough."

"Considering all we've eaten these last few days is shriveled carrot soup!"

"Better to forage on the way than stop for supplies when we have the Red Guards on our trail," Meghan replied grimly, beginning to push ahead.

"I shall go first." Iseult held her back with one hand, sliding forward noiselessly. "Bacaiche, stay close." Soon the starry sky was completely obscured, the mist clinging cold about them. The path led downward, branches looming up through the grayness like skeletal hands. The hunchback could not help giving a shiver of apprehension, and Iseult glanced at him disdainfully.

Their feet sank into mud, the still waters of the loch just visible below the drifting mist. To the left, the inn loomed out of the fog, lit by flaring torches. From within the low building, they heard a burst of laughter. Iseult said to Meghan, "Are ye sure we should go in, auld mother?"

"It's damp and foul out here, the ferry will no' arrive for another few hours, and we haven't eaten a proper meal in days," Meghan responded irritably. "Ye can stay out if ye want, but I'm going in!" Pushing open the door, she warned, "Keep the cloak wrapped tightly about ye, Bacaiche."

"I'm no' a fool," he snarled, lurching after her.

The three companions made their way to the fire, stepping over sleeping bodies and bundles of belongings. The fire was the only light except for a lamp on a table where four men were still awake, drinking ale and playing dice for coppers. They looked up, calling, "How are ye yourselves?" Meghan replied gravely, keeping her cloak wrapped close about her. The innkeeper showed them to a table. "Is it hungry ye are?" he asked. "We have mutton stew if ye'd like it, or vegetable soup?"

"The soup would be most welcome," Meghan replied. He nodded and brought them thick soup in wooden bowls with trenchers of dark bread. "It be a full house ye've got yourself tonight," she said. He nodded and scratched his beard. "Aye, there's been a witch fed to the uile-bheist and so they've been thinking the ferry run will be safe this morning, with the serpent's belly full."

"Indeed!" Meghan exclaimed. "That be lucky for us then." The innkeeper laughed. "Och, I'll tether some goats at the water's edge. No use tempting the beastie." With that he went back to his game of dice, and the three travelers ate their soup and warmed themselves by the fire.

"Best get some sleep," Meghan said. "There'll be clean straw in the corners."

"Anything will be better than bloody stones, which is all I've slept on in weeks," Bacaiche grumbled. He wrapped the black cloak tighter around him and lurched to his feet. The flickering lamplight played over his hunched back, making him look more sinister than ever. The gamblers glanced at him suspiciously, and he glared back so that they surreptitiously crossed themselves in the age-old gesture against evil. Soon all was quiet. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the occasional snore or sigh of those sleeping. Iseult rested her bow on her knees and stretched her back. Tired as she was after the last few arduous weeks, she had no intention of sleeping. She would stay on guard until they were safely on the other side of the loch. It was her duty and honor to guard the Firemaker Meghan, and despite the quietness of the inn, Iseult knew danger was all around.

For almost three weeks she and her companions had been on the run, harried through the highlands by the Banrigh's soldiers. Iseult had had to grit her teeth to prevent herself from turning and fighting. This game of hide-and-seek seemed cowardly to her, though Meghan had forbidden her to attack them, saying, "We must slip away and leave no trace, for we are no' yet strong enough to start a war." They were heading now toward the Veiled Forest, the great, dark forest that covered most of the western shore of the loch. There Meghan hoped to meet with Iseult's twin sister, Isabeau, in the safety of the Celestines' garden, which was concealed deep in the heart of the enchanted forest. At Tulachna Celeste, Meghan said, they would all be safe.

Light was beginning to seep through the shutters when the innkeeper came clattering back down the stairs, tying a scarred leather apron over his kilt and rubbing his curly head. Iseult pretended to sleep, not wanting to draw attention to herself, as he put porridge on to boil and flung open the shutters to the dawn. All around sleepers began to stir, stretching and yawning, and the fire leapt up under the black pot, crackling loudly.

Meghan sat up, looking impossibily old and frail in the cruel dawn light, the donbeag peeping his velvety nose out of her pocket. Iseult helped her up, and Meghan stretched and cracked her back, then gathered her satchel close. "Ye should have slept," the old witch said reprovingly. "I had told ye there was no danger here."

Iseult wondered how she could have known, but shook her head anyway. "I will sleep when I have ye safe, auld mother," she replied.

"Well, prepare yourself for many sleepless nights then, my dear!" A bell announced the approach of the ferry, and they all went out onto the jetty and watched it cross the dull silver of the water, a broad-bottomed boat pulled along by a weed-draped cable. The crofters bunched together at one .end of the wharf, looking askance at Bacaiche's hunched back. He frowned and glared at them malevolently from his peculiar yellow eyes, his black hair tousled and wild, his jaw dark with stubble.

As always the loch was wreathed with fog, but in this cold, fair morning it was a light mist which parted easily before a wayward breeze. As soon as the ferry had nudged against the jetty, the passengers on board were scrambling off and those waiting were jumping on, sacks of grain and bales of hay hastily thrown on and off. No one was waiting around for the loch-serpent to rear his long neck. Through the mist came the nervous bleat of the goats tethered down the shore, and those few animals who were aboard the ferry were tightly muzzled.

The journey across the loch was made with the same nervous haste, the wiry little ferry-master searching the mist with anxious eyes. They were more than halfway across, the walls of Dunceleste looming closer through the mist, when a fat matron suddenly screamed with fright. "The uile-bheistV she cried. Every head whipped around in horror to see where she pointed.