Dragonclaw by Kate Forsyth Page A

frustration, vowing to ask Seychella to call up the wind again so she could divine the trick of it. In the meantime, she let Seychella instruct her in the art of ahdayeh , and found the black-haired witch a much more exacting teacher than Meghan.
    Later that day Isabeau was digging for roots and vegetables for their evening meal when she suddenly became aware that she was being watched. Again she was filthy and covered in sweat, since Meghan would never allow her to plant the seeds in a neat, orderly row like other gardens Isabeau had seen. All of their food was grown scattered through the forest so that no sign of cultivation would indicate to any stray intruder that people lived nearby. Isabeau had therefore been scrounging around in the forest undergrowth for the better part of an hour, trying to remember where she had planted the potatoes.
    The feeling began as an irritable prickling on the back of her neck. Isabeau rubbed at it with her grubby hand, and continued digging with her small wooden spade. The sensation intensified, and Isabeau suddenly swung round. An old man sat on a log behind her. A stray beam of sunlight fell through the branches and he sat in its light, so at first he was almost invisible in its dazzle. Everything about him was old and frail. His face was a mass of wrinkles; his pale scalp showed clearly through the thin, white hair, and the hand holding a carved staff was gnarled as a bird’s claw. His straggly beard was so long it flowed over his knees, trailing in the leaves of the forest floor. In the trees above him a raven sat, regarding Isabeau with bright eyes.
    â€˜So this is the bairn Meghan discovered on the mountain,’ the old man said. Isabeau wanted badly to protest her maturity, but something held her silent. She was glad a moment later when the man continued in his faded voice, ‘A bairn no longer, it seems. How auld are ye, lassie?’
    â€˜Sixteen tomorrow,’ Isabeau replied gravely.
    â€˜Time then to take your Test,’ the old man said.
    Isabeau’s heart leapt, but still she said nothing, sitting back on her heels and gazing at the old man as he gazed at her. With a shock, Isabeau realised the old man was blind, his eyes glazed over with a white film.
    â€˜I am Jorge the Seer,’ the old man said. ‘I have come a long way for ye, Isabeau the Foundling. Come kneel afore me.’
    Isabeau’s surprise and wonder were so great she could not say a word. Obediently she crossed the clearing and knelt in the dust before the white-haired man. She felt bony fingers on her hair, then Jorge was holding her head, his thumbs together in the middle of Isabeau’s forehead. She felt a strange burring in her mind, and shook it off irritably.
    â€˜Odd …’ Jorge murmured.
    â€˜What can unlock a dream o’ a thousand years?’ It was Meghan’s voice. Isabeau could not turn to look at her guardian because the old man still held her head firmly in his bony hands, but she heard her cross the clearing.
    â€˜Ah,’ the old man said, and leant forward to kiss Isabeau on the forehead, between her eyes. At once Isabeau’s head was filled with a thrumming and drumming like the sound of horses’ hooves on hard ground. His knobbly fingers dug into the skin of her temples and she had to resist the impulse to pull her head away.
    â€˜It is true, ye do have power,’ the old warlock said at last, sitting back and resting his hands on his staff once more. ‘Ye are ignorant, though, ignorant and arrogant. How can ye be so ignorant after living all your life with Meghan o’ the Beasts?’
    â€˜She was always a wilful bairn,’ Meghan said softly. ‘It is glad I am to see you, Jorge. I could only hope that ye would come. I was afraid …’
    â€˜I have been away a long time,’ Jorge said. ‘It must be seven years or more. There are omens in the sky, Meghan, I can feel them tugging me.’
    â€˜Aye,