“I understand.” The thought of bidding Sage and Red Cap farewell made my chest hurt. They had been staunch friends to me, loyal, brave, and true. But even if we were all heading west, I knew it would not be safe for us to travel together.
“Don’t look so downcast, lassie,” said Sage. “We’ll meet again, I know it. Maybe by then I’ll have persuaded Silver to set her doubts aside.”
“Do that, and you can do anything,” said Red Cap.
The fire died down; the midwinter feast was consumed; the mead cups were filled and drained, filled and drained again. The musicians played fast reels and slow laments and a few tunes that were without question of fey origin. Brasal sang a lullaby; he and Bearberry together rendered an old song of farewell. Last, we sang the ancient anthem forbidden by Keldec: the song of truth. Not all of us had singing voices as pleasing to the ear as Brasal’s or Regan’s, and many of us were weary, but when our voices rose as one, fey and human together, I felt the stones of Shadowfell come alive with the power of it. My skin prickled. Tears started in my eyes. The last line seemed to echo on in the chamber long after we fell silent. My spirit is forever free.
Then, without another word, the Folk Below collected their belongings and formed a procession as before, Hawkbit leading with the lantern, the others following in turn. Pearl-Wort carried the basket that was our gift to them. Milla had packed up some leftover cakes and other morsels, and these were borne away in the small baskets and bags the Good Folk had brought with them.
Woodrush lingered beside Sage. “Blessings o’ the season on ye, wise woman,” she said, and took Sage’s hands in hers.
“May the White Lady light your footsteps, wise woman,” said Sage, and for an uncanny moment, as they looked into each other’s eyes, they seemed as alike as twins. The moment passed; Woodrush turned toward me.
“Travel safe, Caller,” she said. “There’s a long road ahead o’ ye.”
I bowed my head respectfully. “I hope you too will be safe. Your presence here tonight honors us.”
“Ye comin’?” Vetch looked back over his shoulder at Woodrush. The others had all filed out of the chamber, on their way to the stair.
“Aye, I’m comin’, foolish wee man.” Her tone was affectionate as she moved away.
I got up and followed her out. Regan was standing at the top of the stair. As the Northies passed down, he bade each a grave farewell. For Bearberry he had more words, and the young Northie lingered to talk to him. I thought each had recognized in the other something of himself. Fingal stood by Regan, watching. When our guests were halfway down the stair, they began to sing. This time there were words in it, but they were in a tongue I could not understand. I guessed the song was of renewal, a ritual chant to honor the night of turning, when the wise crone sinks into her long sleep and the bright warrior awakens. Tonight the year began its slow ascent to light. The human folk of Alban had allowed such lore and wisdom to fade away. Yet here, in this unlikely place, the hand of friendship had been extended between folk long distrustful of each other. We had not only reached a truce, but also found a shared pathway forward.
The last of our visitors vanished below; the light from their lanterns faded and was gone. We stood there in silence for a few moments. Then Fingal, who had hardly said a word all evening, spoke in a tone of awe. “They told me they have healers. Imagine what we could learn from them, given time.”
“Such cooperation did not take place even in the years before Keldec,” Regan mused. “This evening’s work has been truly astonishing. The enchanted map … This is beyond anything I hoped for, Neryn. Bearberry confirmed that some of his kind have the power of flight, and that some can communicate with creatures, including birds. I hardly need tell you what an immense difference that could make to us.”
“Anything they share with us we must use with caution,” I said. “The power of such gifts is balanced by peril.”
“Of course,” Regan said, but there was a light in his eyes that told me his thoughts were far ahead, seeing the day when Alban would be free again.
Tali came strolling through from the dining area, a half smile on her lips. “So,” she said, coming to lean on the wall beside me. “You did it.”
“I did it? Hardly.”
“You think they’d have come up here for the first time ever, and eaten our food, and offered us all kinds of help if we hadn’t had a Caller among us? Come on, Neryn, you’re no fool. It’s your presence that draws them out. It’s your canny ability that’s finally turned them to our way of thinking.”
This thought made me deeply uncomfortable. “All of us did this together—Milla with the food, Eva with the gift, Regan with his stirring speeches, you and your warriors with your readiness to clear the place of iron and do without your weapons for a day. Besides, they spoke of changing times and the Master of Shadows—only a small part of this is my doing.”
All three of my companions were smiling as if I were saying something mildly amusing.
“A Caller,” said Fingal. “Maybe we’re starting to realize what that is. And maybe it’s more than any of us expected.”
IT WAS HARD TO LEAVE SHADOWFELL. FOR SO long I had been without a proper home, without the certainty of enough food and a roof over my head at night. For years my only purpose had been keeping my father out of trouble and surviving one more day. Now I had a purpose so grand it hardly bore thinking about, and it was time to move on with the journey.
The plan was to seek out the Hag of the Isles, then head northward to find the Lord of the North in time to get home to Shadowfell before autumn storms made the mountain tracks impassable. An ambitious plan, with little allowance for the vagaries of the weather or the possibility either Guardian might choose not to cooperate. But it was the only one we had.
Sage and Red Cap, with the child, were already gone, heading west toward their home forests and their own people. They would carry the message out among the Good Folk in their Watch. As for the Folk Below, once they had made up their minds to help us, they had startled us with the efficiency of their preparations. They had organized their clan into groups that would set out soon to spread the word across the Watch of the North. Bearberry had been up the stairs many times, often with Hawkbit or Woodrush, to discuss strategy with Regan. The rebels had various missions to undertake before midsummer, when folk would return to Shadowfell to report their progress. Regan and Fingal were heading south to meet with a rebel group in Corriedale.
Regan and Fingal. That had been a shock to everyone, and most of all to Tali. She always traveled with Regan as his personal guard, standing at his right hand, keeping him safe. Always. Her presence by his side meant Shadowfell’s leader survived to inspire and invigorate us. There was no doubt his stirring speeches, his bright-eyed enthusiasm, his unswerving dedication to the goal were what kept us all strong.
But when the time had come for Regan to allocate tasks to his team, he had announced that in view of the vital nature of my mission, Tali would be going with me as my guard and protector. Tali hadn’t said a word. It was not her way to lose control in public. But I’d seen her face turn sheet-white. I’d seen her clench her jaw and curl her hands into tight fists. I doubted she’d heard what Regan said next, about how my safety was his first priority, so he was giving me Shadowfell’s most able and versatile warrior as my companion on the road. Had there been any chance Flint would reach Shadowfell in time, he would have been the one to travel with me; but he had not come yet, and we all knew it was unlikely he would be here at all. Regan did not include him in the plans.
There followed some challenging days. Regan and Tali argued behind closed doors. Tali stalked about with a face so shuttered and grim that nobody but Fingal dared speak to her, and when he did, she snarled at him. Our bedchamber was a place of tight silences and averted eyes. Tali was like a storm confined in a small space, near bursting with wounded fury, but too proud to talk about it save in her private protests to Regan. It was not that she objected to the job
of guarding me, Fingal told me, but that she believed Regan would not be safe without her. Since Fingal himself was to be Regan’s guard now, that suggested Tali had a lack of faith in her brother, and I could see that Fingal was somewhat put out by this.
“At least, if Regan is hurt, he’ll have you there to patch him up,” I told him, attempting a joke. Shadowfell was too small to hold Tali’s rage, and everyone was edgy. The only good thing that could come of this was that Shadowfell’s warriors would head out on their expeditions in top fighting condition, thanks to the extreme rigors of their current training. An angry Tali made a fearsome taskmaster.
At a certain point she accepted the inevitable and the arguments ceased. She gave me curt instructions about what to pack and told me, without consultation, which path we’d be taking. She avoided talking to Regan.
He seemed much as usual. He sat down with Bearberry, Hawkbit, and me, and we went over what the Folk Below had shown us at midwinter. Tali and I both knew the way to Darkwater, a settlement on a western sea loch. But we would not pass through the place where my father had died. Instead, we would make for Pentishead, some miles to the south, and embark on the voyage Twayblade had demonstrated in the nest-boat: out between the inner islands, then to Ronan’s Isle, steering clear of the skerries.
“What about a boat?” I asked.
“Leave that to Tali,” said Regan. “Once you’re out of the mountains, you’ll travel as a pair of women seeking work. It’s the best choice for avoiding notice. Once you reach the coast, you’ll likely find someone to ferry you over for a few coppers. Flint has been expert thus far at keeping the king’s attention away from the outer isles, using the argument—true enough—that they’re hard to reach and not many folk live there. That can only be to your advantage.”
“There are sure to be Enforcers on the road now spring’s come, especially around Summerfort. The idea of traveling openly does scare me.”
“Between Tali’s good judgment and your instincts, I’m confident you’ll reach the isles safely.” A pause here, as he turned his searching blue eyes on me. “Believe me,” he said, “it never gets any easier to send the folk of Shadowfell out across Alban, not knowing how many will come back in one piece. We’ve lost a few over the years and never found out what befell them. But we have work to do, a message to spread abroad. With Tali to protect you, you’ve a better chance than many of making the journey without coming to harm.”
I said nothing, only nodded. A look passed between Bearberry and Hawkbit. It told me they, like me, were thinking this perceptive human leader had missed the important fact that the Good Folk had played a significant part in keeping me safe on my journey to Shadowfell, and perhaps in those difficult years before. Sage had been watching over me from a distance for some considerable time. Never mind that; Sage was gone. I did need a strong human companion, and there was no doubt Tali was strong, though whether she could be a good companion was yet to be seen.
The rebels left Shadowfell a few at a time, taking advantage of breaks in the weather, going their separate ways. The night before Regan and Fingal departed, I dreamed of Flint riding out from Winterfort with his Enforcer troop, though I could not tell where they were headed. When I woke, Tali was sitting on her bed, polishing an already gleaming knife by the dim light of the lantern that hung out in the hallway. I caught her eye, but the look on her face told me to hold my tongue. I lay awake for some time, as was usual when Flint had appeared in my dreams, and she said not a word. Later, when I had dozed fitfully and woken again, she was folding garments into a pile with meticulous precision—she, who tended to throw clothing in a heap on the floor, unless it was her combat gear, which was cleaned and oiled and stored with as much care as her weapons. I thought of things to say and discarded each of them in turn. Eventually I slept again. When I woke, soon after dawn, she was up and gone. Perhaps she talked to Regan before he left, perhaps not. When the time came, I bade him and Fingal farewell with the best smile and the bravest words I could find. But it seemed to me that when Regan went down the mountain, Shadowfell lost its heart.
Tali and I were next to go. As we made our way down to the river and across the shaky rope bridge, I tried not to wish it were Flint walking beside me. The longing for him was a physical ache in my chest, all the stronger because we had walked this path together, coming the other way.
We passed the place of last autumn’s ambush, where the bodies of Flint’s Enforcer comrades had been piled up and burned. No sign was left of that carnage. If there had been remains, the rebels had made sure they did not lie there long. We went by quickly, not talking.
We did not take the path along the valley past Corbie’s Wood, the burned village that had been my childhood home, for we wanted to avoid the busier tracks as long as possible. Instead, we went by Lone Tarn, along the ridge that looked westward over the valley. It was a journey of several days from Shadowfell to Three Hags Pass. By night we sheltered in caves, or under overhangs, or—once—in a tumbledown hut: not the place where Flint had tended to me when I was sick, but a ruin that was home only to spiders and beetles. Tali and I barely spoke to each other, except for her curt instructions about taking the left fork or the right, or keeping quiet, or waiting while she scanned the territory ahead. When we camped for the night, she set snares; a rabbit or two supplemented the supplies we carried.
I had wondered if Silver’s clan, the Good Folk who had helped me when I came the other way, would appear again. Once past Lone Tarn we were back in the Watch of the West, their home territory. But then, Tali was armed; Silver’s people had steered clear of me while I was with Flint because of his iron weaponry. My own knife traveled in its protective sheath. Tali would not shield her blades. “I understand the difficulty,” she’d said. “But there are many dangers between here and the coast, including troops of Enforcers, and I can’t protect you without iron. I need my own weapons and I need them ready to use.”
Traveling with Tali was quicker than it had been with Flint. I was fitter, of course, after a winter of warmth and good feeding, not to speak of all that running up and down the Ladder. But there was more to it. I began to realize how careful Flint had been for my welfare on that earlier journey, making sure I rested and ate well, pacing the walks to suit my shorter legs, often refusing to let me help with the tasks of making and striking camp. Tali treated me as an equal or, on occasion, a not especially useful underling. She made few concessions. When night came, I slept the sleep of sheer exhaustion.
Once we were over Three Hags Pass, Tali changed into her female clothing. From here on we would encounter more and more other travelers, and the less of a warrior she appeared, the less likely she’d be to attract attention. There was no need for her to say she hated wearing a skirt; the way she walked in it made it perfectly clear.
With the pass behind us we were in the Rush valley, where the river tumbled and roared and swept its way down to lose itself in Deepwater, close by the king’s stronghold of Summerfort. So early in the season it was unlikely Keldec would be in residence, but there would be Enforcers guarding the place, and folk coming in and out with supplies—while the king only lived at Summerfort in the warmer months, he maintained permanent households both there and at Winterfort in the east. There was only one road down the valley, and that was the king’s road, which crossed the Rush by the king’s bridge, where there were always guards. We wouldn’t be using that bridge.
“Hollow will let us over,” I told Tali as we descended the upper valley in our working women’s clothing. Tali had a swathing kerchief around head and neck, concealing her unusually short hair and her tattoos. “He’ll provide a night’s shelter too. I just need to speak to him nicely, make sure he remembers me.”
“A brollachan.”
“A brollachan, yes. No stranger than some of the others you’ve encountered in recent times.”
“Aren’t brollachans fiercely territorial? That’s what I recall from the old stories. The idea of sheltering in one’s h
ouse doesn’t sit well with that.”
“Hollow can be fierce; when I first met him, he almost knocked me off his bridge. But we soon became friends. It’s just a matter of saying things in the right way.”
Tali glanced at me sideways. “Or being a Caller.”
I shrugged. “It probably helped, though I never called Hollow. His job is to leap out when anyone sets foot on his bridge and stop them from crossing. But we’re approaching the other way this time.”
“Wonderful. What happens when a brollachan thinks he’s being attacked from the rear, by stealth?”
“It will be all right, Tali, I promise. Just one thing.”
“What?”
“You’ll have to wrap up your weapons. Not so much to protect him—I’m sure he has the strength to withstand iron, or he wouldn’t have been able to hold the bridge for so long—but as a sign that we mean no harm.”
She said nothing, simply looked ahead down the track, where now we could see a scattering of farmsteads on either side with strips of grazing land behind, and farther down the hill the narrowing of the valley that signaled the entry to the defile. In that place, for the length of two miles there was only room for the track and the river; sheer rock walls rose on either side. When Enforcers had caught up with me there, only my gift had saved me.
“No need to put your knives away until we’re nearly at Brollachan Bridge,” I told her. “It took me half a day to walk between there and the defile last time. Of course, I was sick then. We’ll be a bit quicker.”
“You’re not looking so well now.” Tali glanced across at me.
“There’s a farm farther down where I sheltered and woke to find myself cornered by folk with pitchforks,” I said. “Just about everyplace on this path has bad memories. Even Hollow’s lair. A friend of mine died by the bridge. That was the only time I’ve seen iron used as a weapon against the Good Folk, and it was hideous. If you’d been there, you’d understand why I insist on knives being guarded.”
Raven Flight Page 8
