Sweat trickled down his face. The others must all be watching in bewilderment. How long could he hold that weight up there?
Hours, probably. The spirit… He thought it was watching him, and such delusions were the toes of madness.
He heard no answer but he knew what the answer must be:
He swayed back to throw and again his muscles locked.
So go ahead and be damned! Start by chopping off Rory's head. Then run Meg through and… Ugh!
He jerked forward, hurling the monster from him like a deadly snake. A spasm of pain almost pitched him face-first into the pool.
The sword spun across the lake, struck the rock wall on the far side, and seemed to fly apart as the scabbard broke open. Water flew up, splashing over the stone draperies and cornices. Tiny waves rushed out, lapping over the edges of the platform. Two narrow planks of wood floated, but the blade had gone.
The spirit stayed where it was, a misty glimmer hovering above the surface a few feet away from him.
'And one already known to you!' Murray cried.
Rory tossed something into the pool without taking his eyes off Toby. There was not enough light to reveal his expression.
'Accept these, their humble tokens!' the keeper brayed. 'Guide them in goodness. Holy Shira, hear their prayer!'
The shimmer drifted toward him.
'Most Holy Spirit,' Father Lachlan squeaked, an octave higher. 'We thank you for rescuing us last night from the evil that pursued us. We thank you for giving us sanctuary here. We come seeking guidance. There is one among us who is grievously troubled.'
The cave fell silent. Then:
'Lachlan, Lachlan!' said a new voice. 'Why does a man of peace consort with men of violence?'
It could have been the voice of a woman, or an adolescent boy. It was soft, tuneful, appealing. It came from Father Murray, but it was emphatically not his voice. He knelt very still, head bowed, face concealed. He was enveloped in the shimmer of the immortal.
Father Lachlan grunted, and took a moment to frame his reply. 'They are not evil men, Holy Shira — no more evil than others. They would gladly go home to their wives and children and be at peace, if only their enemies would do the same.'
'We see,' said the spirit, through the keeper. 'And how do their enemies feel?'
'I think they feel the same.'
'Tell us, then, why do they not do this?'
'If the English will go away to their homes, then the war will end. If the rebels go to theirs first, then the English will kill them.'
'So why do the English remain here?' asked the haunting, insinuating, inhuman whisper. It might be genuinely seeking knowledge on a tricky ethical problem, or it might be trying to make Father Lachlan admit that he was supporting an evil cause — Toby could not tell.
He did not care overmuch. He had won a victory of some sort. His heart ached for that splendid giant sword, but he was jubilant at having found the strength to discard it — he was not damned yet! But why had it been such an effort? What had the others thought? What had Meg thought?
Then he realized that Father Lachlan's ordeal had ended and the conversation had turned to him.
'Let him speak for himself,' said whatever spoke through Murray's mouth. 'Ask us what you would know, Tobias.'
'You are in great danger. Two dangers. The hexer and her demon host await you. She will not trespass here in search of you, but we cannot defend you at any great distance — and would not, anyway. You must go forth and face her.'
So spirits were capable of evading issues? It had not answered the question.
'Will you tell me what she wants of me?'
'Your body and your soul.'
No evasion there! He almost wished he had not asked. Before he could frame another question, the spirit put one of its own, in its calm, delicate voice:
'Why did you throw away the sword?'
'I could not stand the smell of it.' Then Toby realized that Meg might recognize her father's words. She must have heard that story a thousand times. Too late to call them back… 'Is it a demon sword?'
'No more than any other sword,' the spirit whispered. 'Because you gave it to us, Tobias, and because we know what that giving cost you, we shall give you in return what hope we can. We do not fully understand the ethics of the burden you bear, so we shall leave it to others vaster in wisdom. If you can thwart the hexer, which will not be easy, then your troubles will be only starting. We see no great evil in you — not yet — but the possibility is there. So is the possibility of greatness. You are a gathering storm, and we cannot tell where or how you will strike. Be resolute and true to yourself and go with our blessing.'
After a moment of silence, Toby realized that the spirit had departed.
'Advise us,' Father Lachlan cried, 'how best we may escape the woman and her unholy minions.'
There was no answer, of course. Toby began to rise. Rory grabbed his shoulder to stop him.
Toby rose anyway. 'It's gone.'
'You could
'Yes. Let's get out of here!' He had learned nothing of any use. He had thrown away a valuable sword to no purpose.
'It is customary to wait for the keeper,' Rory snapped. 'He needs to recover…'
Murray stirred and raised his head. 'What did you hear?' he mumbled in his normal coarse voice.
'Nothing much!' Toby reached down and lifted Meg bodily, setting her on her feet. 'Let's go!'
'Take your hands off me!'
'Fine!' he said. 'I'll wait outside.' He turned and marched up the tunnel.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The rain seemed less and the day brighter, but that might just be after the dark of the cave. Toby was staring out at the rain and the narrow glen when the others came blinking into the daylight. They regarded him warily, as well they might. Gathering storm…! Twaddle!
'I wish the spirit had advised us how best to proceed,' Father Lachlan fussed. 'But the fact that it did not shows that it has faith in our judgment.'
'Or it doesn't know!' Toby growled.
'What?' The old man blinked, peering up over his glasses.
The spirit was frightened of Valda and had not answered Toby's questions because it had no answers. But to say so would just get him accused of blasphemy. Hamish had
'I promised I'd get Meg to Oban. Which way from here?'
Rory shrugged disdainfully. 'Back the way we came yesterday and through Pass of Brander. The Sassenachs will still be there, I expect. Or you can go down the glen, but that takes you in the wrong direction, and you will have to get past Inverary. In case you don't know, that's the seat of the earl of Argyll, a traitor who never misses a chance to lick the Sassenachs' boots. You will be stopped and questioned.'
