The Raven Lady

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  The forest floor was blanketed with fern fronds, and I bent and began shifting the greenery so I could see underneath. Finally, I found him.

  “Will!” I helped him to sit up. “What has happened?”

  Frowning in concentration, eyes closed tightly, he held out a hand to stave off my questions. “What day is it?” he asked. “Or was it, when we left. I need to know precisely.”

  I thought for a moment—the date of the ball had been that of the full moon. The next day I had married the king, and this morning we had arrived at Dublin Castle.

  “I’m not sure,” I said anxiously. “Very near the end of March, maybe—”

  “No, not the calendar,” he said. “They don’t—how many days since—” He broke off, then continued, “How many days since the first day of spring?”

  First day of spring—Finvara had mentioned it the morning we went into the forest together. The day we fought the wraith. I closed my eyes and counted back. “Six days, I think?” Suddenly it occurred to me why he might be asking—was he issuing instructions about the battle? The vertigo returned. I dug my fingers into the loose earth of the forest floor, retching again. Then I choked out, “Tell them tomorrow, Will! Seven days after the first day of spring!”

  As he continued, deep in concentration, I noticed movement behind him. Next to one of the monster trees I saw a face, so dark and woody that at first I mistook it for another knot-and-bark illusion. But I recognized this face.

  Treig! She was smaller, her features softer—the likeness was eerie. As I stood up, her wide eyes followed my movement. “Treig?” I said. She started at the sound of my voice, then her lips curled in a smile and she turned and ran off, leaving waggling fern fronds in her wake.

  “I think I’ve done it,” said Will, “or at least I’ve tried my best.” He reached for my hand.

  Before I could ask questions, the world was spinning again. I felt a jerking pain in my middle, and for a few seconds glimpsed the starry sky. Then I lost my balance and fell.

  “Blast!” I swore, rubbing a bruised knee. The welts on my hips were throbbing too. “Have we just traveled back in time, Will?”

  “And forward too, lady, or so it would seem.”

  I stared at him in disbelief, and a wild notion came to me. “You have a time travel device in your head. It is the reason for the ticking noise.”

  “I’m almost sure I have become a time travel device. And I’m not exactly sure how I feel about it.”

  The calm demeanor, the mild tone of voice—Will was himself again. Yet his reaction was so unlikely under the circumstances that I began to laugh.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, appalled at myself, “I am not—I don’t mean to laugh. I just—I have never met anyone quite like you.”

  He smiled. “You’re not the first person to say so, my lady.”

  “Tell me about the trees,” I said. “What have you—”

  “Hrafn.”

  I jumped up, instinctively reaching for a weapon—I had none. The weapon display in Dublin Castle’s great hall had provided an opportunity almost too good to pass up, but I’d been afraid to carry anything with me into the Gap gate lest I come out with it somehow attached to my body. Seeing Ulf now standing a few yards away with an arrow knocked and pointed at me, I decided it would have been worth the risk.

  “So you have found your way home,” growled my bodyguard. “Your father said that you would. Tired of the coward already?”

  I tried to see behind him. Had he come with a patrol? I felt my furies stirring—the familiar pressure in my chest—yet I held them back. Though Ulf was no sorcerer, he had learned long ago how to counter the illusion. Releasing them would be a waste of my own limited magic.

  “Finvara may not be ruthless,” I replied, “but he is no coward.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  I hesitated—there was no point in lying to him again. If he took me back to Knock Ma, my father would not be gentle this time; he would force the truth from me. All I could do now was try to forestall the inevitable.

  “I am here to prepare the way for him,” I said. “You may take me to Father, but Finvara will come regardless. Queen Isolde, too, has been alerted. No Fomorians will be coming to aid you.”

  Still eyeing me down the shaft of the arrow, Ulf replied, “Alfakonung is not afraid of your husband, and he has guessed that you would go to the Irish queen.”

  “Then he must see that he is cut off and alone. He would be a fool not to return to Iceland while he can.”

  Ulf shook his head slowly. Will, somewhere behind me, had not made a sound—but Ulf would not have missed him.

  “The queen has reinforced her coastline then,” said Ulf.

  “Father’s allies will not get past her ships. The Fomorians are still limping after the defeat at Ben Bulben.”

  Ulf smiled. “Then it is good our strategy does not require them to. Now that Alfakonung is on Irish soil, he is no longer interested in dealing with the Fomorians. They involved us in a war that reduced our fighting force by nearly half. They negotiated a treaty that left us weak. He was left no choice but to make peace with the Irish, until he was approached by the druid.”

  I frowned, wondering at his confidence. “Father must see that it is pointless for him to hold out at Knock Ma. Even should my husband fail to remove him, the queen’s army will eventually take up the task.”

  “Once Alfakonung has defeated your husband, we will march on Dublin. By the time we reveal our presence in the city, we will hold the queen and many of the families of the very men who would return to fight against us. We will welcome the rest of Alfakonung’s army into Dublin. This queen is no sorceress. Without her army, she is no match for your father.”

  I began to fear our cause was more hopeless than I’d imagined. Only my father could be so bold, so arrogant, as to march on Dublin alone. The problem was that like Ulf, I believed he could take the city. And only my husband and I were in any position to stop him.

  Now that the Morrigan had the information she wanted, would she honor her promise to bring Finvara back to Knock Ma? Unless and until she did, Will and I, along with my furies and possibly the trees, were on our own. It would have been laughable had it not been so dire.

  “I have a proposal for you, hrafn.” Ulf at last lowered his bow.

  I eyed him warily. “Go on.”

  “Fight me,” he said. “If you win, I will join you against your father.”

  I stared at him—was he serious? Ulf had trained me in hand-to-hand fighting and we had sparred many times. I had even beaten him. Twice—in nearly eighty years.

  “And if I lose?”

  “You will come with me back to the castle.”

  I glanced at Will. His eyes were wide, and he shrugged helplessly. I realized he couldn’t understand our conversation—we were speaking Elvish.

  Turning again to Ulf, I said, “I am not going back to the castle, my friend. Not until my husband and I can return there together.”

  His heavy brows knit. “I will take you back, over my shoulder if I have to. I am offering you a chance.”

  I shook my head at the absurdity. Somewhere Loki was laughing. “Why would you suggest such a thing?”

  He grinned. “Because I like you, hrafn. Because I respect you. And because it would be fun.”

  Fun. Ridiculous as it was, I thought I understood him. The fight would serve to reinforce the bond between us, and remind us what we were to each other and to my father. There was no question in his mind that he would win. There was hardly a question in mine.

  What choice did I have?

  “I have your word that if you lose, you will join me against Alfakonung.”

  “You have my word. But that fellow behind you must not scamper away or the deal is off.”

  I nodded. “I agree.”

&
nbsp; As we followed Ulf out of the forest, I explained to Will in Irish what was happening.

  “If I win, he lets us go,” I said. “I’ve promised you won’t run, but if I lose, I want you to get away.”

  “Less talking,” grunted Ulf in Elvish.

  He drew two long-knives—scramasaxes—from sheaths at his waist. Stepping closer, he flipped one so the hilt pointed away and offered it to me. I took it, and we backed a few yards away from each other, bright moonlight glinting off our blades.

  Then Ulf charged.

  Though my heart was pounding, I easily danced out of reach of his first strike—it was only intended to get my attention. I knew no one better with a blade than Ulf. The only advantage I had over him was my size—it allowed me to move more nimbly—but he was well aware of it. Instead of chasing me and tiring himself, his strategy had always been to spend his energy in a slow and deliberate way, hoping I’d tire myself out. And I often did.

  I feinted once, then twice. Ulf didn’t take the bait, and we continued to circle each other. We were warming our bodies now, and thinking through strategy. I reminded myself not to hurry—it was my greatest weakness.

  The first real strike I attempted was almost my last. I had not taken the change in my body into account, and the extra weight of my wings threw me too far forward. Ulf dodged the blow and brought his elbow down on my arm hard enough to knock the knife from my hand. In my panicked grab for my weapon, my wings lifted and the bony joint at the left wing’s curve struck him hard in the face. He stumbled backward a step, and I grabbed the knife and put a little distance between us.

  Grinning like an idiot, he wiped his nose and held up his hand for me to see. “First blood.”

  He motioned me toward him, but I held my ground, waiting for him to come to me.

  When he did, he drove powerfully. I prepared to block, then at the last moment he tossed the knife into his other hand and dragged the blade across my waist, slicing through my dress and drawing blood.

  The cut was not deep, but it hurt. I retreated to catch my breath. He granted me only a few seconds before reengaging, forcing me back into the dance.

  I kept to feints for a while, conserving my strength for his strikes, which were coming faster. He had discovered I couldn’t move as quickly as before. I was constantly shifting my wings to maintain my balance, and the extra weight and effort were wearing on me. Perspiration dripped down both sides of my face, and my back muscles were screaming from the strain.

  “Do you yield?” he asked, punctuating the question with a fast jab.

  I responded with a block and counter.

  “Hrafn, you cannot win,” he said, blocking, and this time he managed to lock up my arm. Both of us were panting now. “I will speak to Alfakonung for you. I will ask him to divide the punishment between us.”

  I curled in toward him and shoved my free hand up into his chin, jamming his head back. He cursed and stumbled, and I darted away, jogging a few yards further and doubling over with my hands on my knees, struggling for breath.

  “You must know there are few I have ever cared for,” I said, panting. “My mother, you, my husband. That is all.”

  “You have known him days!” he snarled, standing still and pointing his knife at me. “You have been with us at Skaddafjall for decades. Why did you do it? Why did you turn on us?”

  Flipping the blade of my knife into my hand, I shouted, “Why did you let him lash me?” On the word “lash,” I flung the knife. My question struck him like a slap, and his dodge came a second too late. The blade lodged in his left shoulder and he growled in pain.

  “You chose Father over me, again and again. You were willing to protect me from everything except him. It was time I made a choice of my own.” Tears rolled down my cheeks and I burned and shook with anger. “I didn’t have to miss!”

  I sounded like a child, but I wanted him to know I could have killed him. His expression darkened, and he reached up and pulled the knife from his flesh. Blood streamed from the wound, but I knew he could still fight—and he had both knives now.

  Finally I released my furies, and they swooped out of me in every direction, shadows flitting against a moon-bright sky. I parted my lips to shout a challenge, and my voice came out like the ragged cry of a raven. I ran across the clearing, my furies gliding beside and ahead of me. I saw the uncertainty in Ulf’s eyes as he realized these birds were more than shadow—my spell had grown stronger. He raised his arms to shield his face, and I crashed into him. He staggered backward, and the force of my attack carried us both over the rocky drop at the viewpoint—the same spot where Finvara and I had stood looking out over the green hills, both of us longing for the things we could no longer have. Our bodies crushed together—Ulf’s limbs tangling with mine—and my wings folded around us. The ravens swarmed us like angry bees.

  Focusing what strength I had left, I managed to extend my wings—Ulf was heavy, and I beat hard at the air. The thick cloud of ravens, too, lent us some lift, so that when we struck the ground in the lower clearing, near the tomb, it was not with enough force to break us.

  The birds dissipated with the impact. I lay splayed across Ulf’s chest, blood from his shoulder seeping into my hair, too sore and exhausted to move. It was hard not to think about how I’d lain like this with Finvara, though under very different circumstances. It gave me a hollow feeling in my chest.

  “Loki’s sack, hrafn,” grumbled Ulf.

  I raised my head and caught the glimmer of a knife blade, lying not far from Ulf’s wounded shoulder. Grabbing the weapon, I pressed the tip against the underside of his chin.

  “Do you yield?”

  The fool began to laugh.

  “Do you yield?” I insisted, drawing a bead of blood.

  “I yield, but you might as well take that knife and slit both our throats, because your father will make us wish we had never been born.”

  I pushed myself to my feet, and I stretched my hand out to him. He grasped it, and I helped haul him up.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  PRODIGALS

  Finvara

  The day that we had intended to return to Knock Ma dawned cloudless and warm. It was the first real day of spring. Preparations for departure were underway, and I intended to proceed as if there’d been no hitch in the plan. I started my morning on the battlements, waiting and watching.

  The night before, Izzy had watched with me for nearly an hour. Unlikely as it seemed, her presence was comforting. She could needle and harp like no other—truly she took a perverse joy in it—but in a moment like that, I could not think of another person’s company I could have tolerated.

  Perhaps one other person.

  Koli’s departure had been a blow from which I was still reeling. Despite what she’d said in her note, it felt like a betrayal. Whatever she and the Morrigan had planned, there was something about it that made her feel that she had to sneak away. She still didn’t trust me.

  I was heartsore over it, but even worse was my fear that they might hurt her again. Was it possible she would pay with her life this time? Would Ulf allow that?

  She had left me powerless to do anything but wait—wait for the Morrigan to return, wait to see whether Koli was alive and whole. I could neither rail at her about how ill-used I felt, nor help her if she found herself in trouble.

  Before I was a husband, I was a king—and much as I might like to make light of it, a subject of the Irish crown. My country was again at war, and I would have to forge on. Even now, the queen and General Varma were hammering out details of a second strategy, should my wife and her patroness fail us. It was time I joined them.

  I let out a sigh and swept my eyes over the horizon once more. There were guards in the battlements and I knew I would be notified of any change. Just as I was turning to go, I noticed a dark smudge in the sky over the far west end of Dublin. I
t could have easily been a flock of crows, stirred up by the mild weather. But I knew that it was not.

  I confess that I had hoped to find my bride aboard Corvus, though in her note she hadn’t said that she would return. And I had too much to do now to dwell on it.

  We trusted that the Elf King would not anticipate a strike coming this soon after our escape, so there was urgency to our preparations. Because we would be outmanned initially—our reinforcements would have to travel west by train, then by horse and wagon into the very rural country around Knock Ma—the element of surprise was critical.

  By late morning we had begun to load soldiers aboard the airship, as well as aboard Sea Aster. It had occurred to me that if Corvus towed the great gas balloon behind it, we could carry an additional one hundred men. Had we been forced to cover the distance in the normal way, it would have made for a ridiculously cumbersome and slow journey. But the shortcut through the Gap would save us that. And provided I could communicate our plan to the Morrigan, she could navigate out of the Gap at some distance from the castle, where the Sea Aster could lower with her passengers, who would disembark along with most of Corvus’s soldiers, and engage in an overland attack.

  I would remain on Corvus. I hardly considered myself her captain—I merely served at the Morrigan’s pleasure, and could not afford to forget it.

  Our journey began inauspiciously, with me staring in bafflement at the navigator device lashed to the rail in front of the helm, while the queen and her attendants looked on from the battlements. I had assumed Koli only made off with Mr. Yeats because he was familiar with the device, and that she would return him along with the ship. The fact that she hadn’t returned him made me worry that all had not gone according to plan.

  Not knowing what else to do, feeling like an utter fool, I addressed the ship, explaining our plan, and asking her to carry us into the Gap. A moment later, the propeller fired up, the wing-shaped oars dug into the air, and we cruised away from the tower. I ordered all my men below deck for the perilous crossing, and I lashed myself to the rail.