The cursed towers 272
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"Annihilate a whole race to save one auld witch?" Meghan's voice was gently mocking. "A witch who
should've died long ago? Nay, Iseult, this is the best solution. Besides, I do no' mean to let them have me
now. There are still a few things I need to do. Iain says the Mesmerdean are patient. They can wait
awhile."
Iseult shook her head, too choked with tears to speak. Meghan smiled and stroked her wet face with
one finger. "Glad I am to see ye weeping, dearling. I thought ye must have been born without tear ducts.
Come, ye o' all people must understand. Death is as much a part o' our existence as birth or life. There is
nothing to fear in death."
Iseult could only stare at her. Meghan put her hand up and stroked Gita's soft, brown fur. The donbeag
was almost strangling her, he had crept so close about her neck, quivering and keening in distress. "We
all must die," Meghan repeated, a touch of impatience in her voice. She glanced at Gwilym and Duncan,
who had come up behind Iseult, their faces full of distress.
"Did my beloved Jorge no' sacrifice his life to save his loved ones? Why should I do any less? If I can
save ye, well then, I shall go gladly into the Mesmerd's embrace."
They protested, Duncan reaching out his huge hand to seize her arm. She wrenched her arm free,
snapping, "There is no need to weep and wring your hands. Why should we all die if one o' us shall
suffice? Iain admits that they have said they will willingly pledge us their support and release ye all from
their vendetta if they may have me. Well, let them have me! All I have asked for is time. Time for Iseult
and Isabeau to reach their full potential, time for me to teach Lachlan to use the Lodestar, time for me to
make sure the Coven is restored to all its strength and wisdom."
"How much time, auld mother?" Iseult cried.
"Till the red comet has risen and sunk again," Meghan said, rather heavily. "Four years. Jorge said that
was when the Fairgean come, with the rising o' the red comet. So I shall wait till then, to make sure ye
are all safe."
Again Duncan protested, pleading with her not to sacrifice herself. The old sorceress sighed and rolled
her eyes. "There is no need for all these dramatics. We all must die." She reached out and took Iseult's
hand between her own, holding the Banrigh's gaze with her own, black and snapping with vitality
between their wrinkled lids. "Death comes to us all," she repeated gently. "It is like birth, a door into
another place, another life. It is nothing to be afraid o'. Ye ken that, Iseult."
The Banrigh nodded. "Yes, auld mother. I ken."
Swans Over the Swamp
Isabeau sat in her chair by the fire, her chin in her hand, her eyes on the flames dancing in the hearth.
Bronwen played at her feet, while Maya rather sullenly chopped herbs and mushrooms at the table for
their evening meal. It was her turn to cook dinner but the Fairge had never grown resigned to helping
Isabeau with the daily chores. The apprentice witch was always having to remind Maya that she was no
longer her servant and she had to be careful not to respond instinctively to the Fairge's haughty orders.
The firelight wavered over the tangle of tree roots, all crowded with jars and tins, and strung with herbs
