The cursed towers 284
Bạn đang xem bản rút gọn của tài liệu. Xem và tải ngay bản đầy đủ của tài liệu tại đây (3.07 KB, 1 trang )
"Fire burn, ashes turn,
Evil spirits disperse
I now remove this curse
By the power o' the moons so bright,
I bless ye, I bless ye, I bless ye!"
The flames leapt up, green and foul smelling, and they watched as the poppet was burnt to cinders. Then
Isa-beau threw a handful of dried dragon's blood on the fire so the flames hissed violet and blue and
green, then purified the circle again with salt and earth, water and ashes. "So," she said softly. "It is done.
In Ea's name let us hope it is enough!"
Iseult leant her head on her hand and watched as the early morning light fingered across the wall and
through the bed curtains. Although she was tired, having endured the Ordeal with the other witches, she
did not want to leave her husband's side and seek her own cold, lonely bed. In almost a year of sleeping
alone, Iseult had not grown used to not having Lachlan beside her. Although she had slept alone the first
sixteen years of her life and they had been married only two and a half years before he fell, still her body
craved his beside hers, his wings curving over to cup her through her sleep. She lowered her head onto
his slack hand and let unaccustomed tears seep through her lashes.
The sunshine crept down onto the pillow and then over the face of the sleeping man. His eyelashes
fluttered and he turned his face away from the light. His eyes opened and he looked about him blankly.
He was in a strange room, ornately furnished with tapestries and silken cushions. The double doors were
carved with the shape of flowering thistles. He felt very light and weak. He looked down and saw Iseult's
red-gold head pressed against the coverlet. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his hand in hers and gripped her
fingers. She looked up, startled, and he saw her eyes all wet and red-rimmed.
"Why, leannan," Lachlan said, surprised at the hoarse croak that issued from his lips, "why do ye
weep?"
The Pact of Peace
The sun shone down warmly on the dancers, who skipped and twirled their way through a long archway
of upraised arms. Jongleurs played and sang from the sidelines, and children ran screaming with laughter
through the crowd. It was Lammas Day and everyone had come to watch the Righ being whipped and
the loaves blessed by the Coven.
Suddenly a small voice piped, "They come, they come!" The music stopped abruptly and the dancers
jostled to the side to make room for the merry procession winding its way down the hill.
The Righ was there on his black stallion, his bonny banrigh riding by his side, the prionnsachan behind
