ALSO BY JULIET MARILLIER
Shadowfell
Wildwood Dancing
Cybele’s Secret
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2013 by Juliet Marillier Jacket art copyright © 2013 by Jonathan Barkat Map copyright © 2012 by Gaye Godfrey-Nicholls of Inklings Calligraphy Studio
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Marillier, Juliet.
Raven flight : a Shadowfell novel / Juliet Marillier. — 1st ed.
p. cm. — (Shadowfell; 2)
Summary: “To rescue her homeland from tyranny, Neryn must seek out the powerful Guardians to complete her training as a Caller.”
—Provided by publisher
eISBN: 978-0-375-98367-2
[1. Fantasy. 2. Magic—Fiction. 3. Voyages and travels—Fiction.
4. Insurgency—Fiction. 5. Orphans—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M33856Rav 2013
[Fic]—dc23 2012039483
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Map
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Acknowledgments
AS THE LONE TRAVELER APPROACHED, THE FIVE Enforcers spread out in a line across his path. They waited in silence, a team of dark-cloaked warriors in full combat gear, astride their tall black horses. The fellow was roughly dressed—hooded cloak of gray felt, woolen leggings, battered old boots—and carried only a small pack and a staff. His gait was steady, though his head was bowed. He looked as if he’d been on the road awhile.
“Halt!” called Rohan Death-Blade when the traveler had come within ten paces and showed no sign of stopping. “State your name and your business in these parts!”
The man raised his head. The lower part of his face was covered by a cloth, like a crude imitation of the mask Enforcers wore on duty to conceal their identity. Above this concealment a pair of clear gray eyes gazed calmly at the interrogator. The man straightened his shoulders. “Have I been gone so long that you’ve forgotten me, Rohan?” Though harsh with exhaustion, the voice was unmistakable. They knew him before he peeled off the makeshift mask.
“Owen! By all that’s holy!” Rohan removed his own mask, swung down from his mount, and strode forward to greet their long-absent commander. The others followed, gathering around Owen Swift-Sword. “Where’s the rest of Boar Troop? We expected you long ago. When will they be here?”
“Not today.” A long pause, as if the speaker must dig deep for the strength to say more. “I must speak to the king. Straightaway. Have you a spare mount?”
“Take Fleet,” said Rohan Death-Blade. “I’ll go up behind Tallis. You’d best get yourself cleaned up before you see the king; you stink like a midden. Don’t tell me you walked all the way from Summerfort.”
“I have … ill news. Grave news. Keldec must hear it first.”
Something in his face and in his voice halted further questioning. They knew that look; they understood the sort of news that rendered a man thus grim and taciturn.
The king’s men mounted their horses and turned for Winterfort. Their troop leader rode with them. Nobody spoke a word.
“Up, girls!” The sharp command from the doorway was familiar now. No matter how early we woke, Tali was always up before us. She stood waiting as the four of us struggled into our clothes, tied back our hair, and straightened our bedding. When folk lived at such close quarters over a long winter, keeping everything in order became second nature.
“Hurry up, Neryn.” Regan’s second-in-command leaned against the doorframe, her tattooed arms folded, observing me as if I were a tardy recruit. “I planned to put you on the Ladder later this morning, but two young fellows have turned up at the door—Black Crow only knows how they got here through the snow—and I’ll have to test them today. So you’ll be training before breakfast. It’s the only time I can fit it in.”
My heart sank. When I’d first reached the rebel base at Shadowfell, I’d been weak. Three years on the road, living rough, moving from one place of hiding to the next, had left me undernourished, sick, and slow to trust. When I was on the run, I had not understood why the king’s men were pursuing me, only that my canny gift was more curse than blessing. Indeed, I had hardly known what that gift was. It had taken a long journey and many strange meetings before I’d learned that I was a Caller, and that my gift might be key to ending King Keldec’s rule.
My first weeks at Shadowfell had been spent resting, eating what was set before me, and having occasional visits from my fey friends Sage and Red Cap, who were lodged somewhere out on the mountain. I had not been invited to join strategic discussions or to study the various maps and charts Regan kept in the chamber where he did his planning. Everyone at Shadowfell had daily work to do, but I had not been asked to do anything except recover my strength. Regan and his rebel band had treated me as they might a very special weapon—they had concentrated on returning me to top condition as swiftly as possible.
Of recent days I had insisted on helping Fingal in the infirmary, where I could make myself useful preparing salves and tinctures, rolling bandages, and performing additional routine tasks. That freed Shadowfell’s healer for other work. Tali’s tough winter training regime resulted in a steady stream of sprains, cuts, and bruises for her brother to tend to.
And now, at last, I had been declared well enough to begin that training myself. For my canny gift, so valuable to the rebels, was not enough on its own; Regan would not allow me to work for the rebellion unless I had at least basic skills as a fighter. I would never be a warrior like Tali or Andra or the other women who shared the sleeping quarters. My years on the road had made me tough, but I was too small and slight to be much use in a fight. Still, I needed to be able to defend myself until someone could step in to help me. That was what Regan had said.
“Good luck,” muttered Sula, who had tied up her hair with practiced speed and was heading for the door.
“You’ll be fine, Neryn,” murmured Dervla as she passed me. Finet thrust her feet into her boots and followed the others out while I was still pulling on my skirt. Andra had been on night guard and had not yet come in. Despite our remote location, Shadowfell’s entry was constantly patrolled.
“You can’t wear that.” Tali’s dark eyes were not hostile, exactly, but they were not friendly either. Even now, when I had been at Shadowfell long enough to be accepted by everyone else, it was plain she still had reservations about me. “Hasn’t Eva found you some trousers? Get them on, hurry up, and wear your boots, not those soft slippers, or you
’ll end up injuring your ankles.”
I made myself breathe calmly as I changed skirt for trousers. Eva, who along with Milla was in charge of domestic matters at Shadowfell, had indeed made me the required garment, since all the female fighters wore male attire for active duty. I should have thought of this. Tackling the Ladder in a skirt would be impossible.
I put on my boots. I plaited my hair. I wondered if Tali would let me go to the privy before we began.
“That was much too slow,” she said now. “If we were sleeping in the open and there was an ambush, you’d be dead before you could pick up your weapon at that rate. We can’t afford any weak links.”
There were things I could have said about the numerous times Father and I had melted away into the woods when Enforcers came near. I could have mentioned that we had managed three years on the run without being caught, until the terrible night when the Cull came to Darkwater and my father perished. But I said nothing. Tali’s job was to keep us all fit enough to fight on, to survive, to spread the message of freedom out across Alban. For now, my job was to learn.
“Go to the privy,” Tali said, “then meet me at the Ladder. We’ve got it to ourselves until breakfast is over, and I want to make the most of that. Don’t dawdle.”
“Ready? Fifty steps this time, and I want it quicker. One, two, three, go!”
I climbed. Tali followed, apparently tireless, staying a few steps behind and keeping a rapid count. My thighs burned with pain. My chest ached. I hardly had the strength to hate her, only to keep on going.
“… forty-nine, fifty!”
I bent over, hands on knees, chest heaving. Tali stepped up behind me, not in the least out of breath. Now I really did hate her.
“Rest to the count of ten. One, two …”
The precipitous stone steps known as the Ladder lay at the end of a long, winding passageway, part of the network of cavelike chambers that was Shadowfell. Who had made the place, nobody knew. It was old and uncanny. From time to time it changed its shape, forming new caverns or hallways, or opening new doors and windows to the outside. There was a clan of Good Folk here, the fey folk of Alban whom the king had decreed human men and women should shun. They lived in the mountain beneath the rebel headquarters, or so my small friend Sage believed. Without the useful gifts they left, the human folk of Shadowfell could not have survived the harsh highland winters. Firewood. Freshly killed livestock. Vegetables that could not grow here on the mountain. The Good Folk teased the rebels with their closeness, but never showed themselves. When I’d first come here, I’d thought it might be easy for me to find and befriend them. My gift as a Caller allowed me to see and speak to uncanny folk of every kind. At least it had in the past. But these particular folk were proving as hard to coax from their bolt-hole as a hazelnut is to prize from its shell.
The Ladder went up the wall of a high, narrow cavern. At the top, the steps opened out to a broad ledge. People said that on a good day the view from up there was breathtaking: a sweeping vista of snowcapped peaks, high fells, and deep valleys. If you were lucky, you might see eagles soaring on the currents of air.
I had never been up before. Clearly the steps had been carved out from the rock by someone with a wicked desire to challenge folk to the breaking point. Either that or their creator had not imagined the use Tali might make of them.
“… ten. Ready? One, two, three, go!”
I climbed. I might have been almost too tired to move, but I could still obey an order.
“Good,” Tali said as I reached the hundredth step and bent double, gasping for air.
“Thanks,” I wheezed. From her, this was extreme praise.
“Don’t waste your breath talking. Rest for the count of fifteen. Then we’re heading for the top.”
She counted. I breathed. In the chill of the cavern, I was drenched with sweat.
“… fourteen, fifteen. Ready? One, two, three, go! Pick up the pace, Neryn! Move those legs!”
There were one hundred and twenty-seven steps in all. By the time we reached the ledge at the top, every part of my aching body wanted to collapse. I held myself upright, leaning back on the rock wall, working to slow my breathing. If there was anything Tali despised, it was lack of self-control. And she had a habit of springing surprises. It didn’t pay to lose concentration, even for a moment. She was perfectly capable of making me go all the way back to the bottom and start again.
“You can sit,” she said, moving out along the ledge and seating herself with her back against the rock wall and her long legs stretched toward the sheer drop. “You’re not a warrior; I do make allowances for that. And the way down is hard on the knees.”
Since she had given permission, I sat down beside her. The air was icy. It was a still day, without the whipping northerly that so often came up in the mornings. Low cloud wrapped the mountain closely. No view today beyond a few rocks here, a patch of barren hillside there. Shadowfell sometimes felt like the end of the world.
“What lies north of here?” I asked when I had enough breath to speak. “Are there settlements beyond those mountains?”
“Why do you ask?”
“It looks empty. Trackless.” When I had discovered I was a Caller, with the ability to summon the Good Folk to the aid of humankind, I had also learned that I must seek guidance in my craft from the Guardians of Alban. These ancient beings of great power had retreated to places of hiding when Keldec came to the throne. They could not bear to see our peaceful realm turned to a place of fear and cruelty. If I could find them, their teaching would enable me to use my gift to the full, and wisely. I’d met one Guardian already. The Master of Shadows had found me and tested me, then told me in his cryptic way what I must do next. I had three journeys to make and three more Guardians to find: the Lord of the North, the Hag of the Isles, the White Lady. North, West, East. “The Lord of the North must live in those mountains, or beyond them, so when the winter is over, I’ll have to go there.”
“Without a guide, you could wander about in that area until you died of starvation,” Tali said flatly.
“I can forage. I can fish. I know how to make a snare.”
“It’s not easy terrain. There are few settlements, few good tracks, few bridges. Even in summer, not much grows there.”
“At least there will be no Cull and no king’s men to contend with, if the north is so empty.”
“One thing’s certain,” Tali said. “You can’t do the trip on your own, no matter how much of a warrior we make of you by springtime. Regan seldom sends people out alone anyway, Flint being the obvious exception. He’ll insist you take someone with you as pathfinder and bodyguard.” She stared out over the cloud-veiled mountains. “If I were you, I’d go west first and seek out this Hag of the Isles,” she said. “Save the north for summer. Or do you need to follow a particular order?”
“The Master of Shadows didn’t say anything about that. I only know that I need to learn something different from each Guardian.”
“Mm-hm.” Tali was noncommittal; I could not tell what she was thinking. She lifted an arm ringed with tattoos—spirals, swirls, flying birds to match the ones around her neck—and pushed her dark hair back behind her ear. “It’s a long way to travel, Neryn. Perhaps farther than you realize. The north … it’s an unforgiving place. We’ve lost a lot of good comrades there.”
“I suppose I could go west first.” That would mean retracing the path I had taken to come to Shadowfell, a path full of difficult memories. Still, I had to do it sometime. If I went west, there was a possibility—slim but real—that I might see Flint. The thought of him was both joy and sorrow, for when he had left Shadowfell, we had spoken sweet words of forgiveness and hope. We had not spoken of love, not in so many words, for soft feelings were forbidden among Regan’s Rebels. But something deep and real had passed between us. Now Flint would be back at Winterfort and living his perilous life as Regan’s eyes at the heart of the king’s court. Keldec’s Enforcer; Keldec’s confidant; Keld
ec’s most trusted man. A rebel spy. Treading a very thin line, and in constant danger. I still dared to hope he might return to Shadowfell in time to travel with me in spring. But, knowing he would need to explain away the loss of an entire troop of Enforcers, I doubted the king would let him leave court again so soon.
“Have you thought of asking your uncanny friends to go with you?” Tali asked. “Or one of those folk that are supposed to be living downstairs?”
“The Folk Below, Sage calls them. You sound as if you don’t believe in them.”
Tali gave me a sideways look. “I’m not stupid, Neryn. I know there’s something in these caves apart from us. Especially now I’ve seen your unusual friends. We’d never have survived in this place without fey help. But they can’t be down that spiral stair. It leads nowhere. You’ve seen it for yourself. The passageway at the bottom ends in a solid rock wall. Yet Sage insists that’s where they live.”
I had nothing to say to that. Not even Sage had been able to raise so much as a squeak from the Folk Below.
“So why not ask them to go with you? Sage and the other one? Their magic could help protect you on the way, couldn’t it?”
“I don’t want to ask them. One of their kind died protecting me, on the way up here. You know iron is a bane to the Good Folk, as deadly as poison. Sage’s dear friend died with a chain wrapped around his neck and an Enforcer holding it tight. It was hideous. Cruel. He was just a small being, a creature of the woodland, and he stood up to the king’s men so I could escape. Sage has given up a lot for me already. Red Cap has a little baby to look after. If I ask them to come with me and it happens again, I don’t think I can …”
I felt the weight of Tali’s gaze on me. “Believe me,” she said, “I know how that feels. It’s something you learn to live with, because it’s the nature of what we do. This war won’t be won without losses. Regan will balance up the value of your gift against the risk of someone getting hurt protecting you, and he’ll insist you have a guard. If not one of the Good Folk, then one of us. You’ll have to swallow your scruples.”
Raven Flight Page 1
