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."
"Am I possessed by a demon?"
"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 see it?"
"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 Cynic! written in his eyes.
"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."
Trapped!
"North it is, then," Toby said. "We'll try Pass of Brander at night. Come along, Meg." He stepped out into the rain and was alone. He turned.
She was standing very close to Rory with her chin up. "And suppose I don't want to come?"
What had made her so mad all of a sudden?
"Then I'll put you over my shoulder and carry you!" Couldn't they see? He had a hexer and four demons to worry about. The spirit had as good as told him he had to go and fight them. He could not keep running away. He must stop and fight — and he had no idea how to begin.
"You lay a finger on me, Toby Strangerson," Meg screamed, "and…"
"Yes?"
"Master Glencoe will defend me! Won't you, sir?"
Rory doffed his bonnet and clasped it to his heart. "My life is at your command, dear lady. I'm not sure I can defend you from Wee Willie, though — we are dealing with a gathering storm, remember. But I do have a suggestion. A mile or so down the glen lies the home of Sir Torquil Campbell, whose heart is as true to Scotland as the heather. He's also a friend of mine. I dropped in on him this morning and asked him to lay on a meal for eight hungry men. I meant us, you see, counting you as one and the Tyndrum Mauler there as four. Why don't we go and eat, and then perhaps we shall all feel a little more agreeable?"
Meg beamed.
Toby spun around and strode off down the track. Outsmarted again!
He was shortly joined by Hamish, red-faced, out of breath, and intent on leaving before anyone remembered that he was supposed to stay here.
Toby stopped at the cottages only long enough to snatch up his bundle. Common sense suggested he should wait there for the others to arrive, but he was too mad to listen to common sense.
He gained control of his temper when he reached the end of the trees and was faced with the heaviest cloudburst yet. He took shelter under a massive sycamore, leaning against the trunk to wait. At least he was no longer encumbered by a ton of scrap iron on his back.
Hamish was staring at him in solemn silence. The boy must be ill!
"So you don't want to be deputy keeper of the shrine? Where are you heading?"
Hamish bit his lip, looking uncomfortable. "Eric, I suppose. Glasgow. I can write to Pa and explain."
Toby nodded. Hamish could look after himself, which was more than anyone would say for Toby Strangerson. Why had he gone and upset Meg like that? Worse, he wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong.