Raven's Ladder

by Jeffrey Overstreet

  Bowlder crouched at the foot of one of the vawns, trying to raise it so he could pluck out a thorn that had set the steed to grumbling. Refusing to budge, the animal stared, dull eyed and drowsy, at the soldier.

  “Where’s Jes-hawk?” Warney asked.

  The brooding soldier gestured to the vawns, of which there were only three.

  “Did ya hear them riders last night?”

  Bowlder nodded. He was tickling the vawn’s toes with a feather now, hoping to get a reaction.

  “Is that what Jes-hawk’s gone to check out?” The soldier shrugged.

  “Seven days in unfamiliar lands, and the only signs of beastmen we’ve seen are a few filthy arrows. No prey, no beastmen, I s’pose.”

  Bowlder, digging his fingers into the soil beneath the vawn’s foot, stood up and strained, growling and cursing. At last the vawn bent its leg at the knee, exposing the bottom of its scaly foot. Warney dashed to Bowlder’s side, squatted down, and scowled. “A whole stickery branch is stuck deep here.” He nimbly pinched the strand between its thorns and jerked it free. As he did, the vawn kicked and sent Bowlder staggering backward, a wind gusting through his nose. When he fell, his head hit the earth with a thump. Warney tossed the thorn branch aside and ran to kneel by the unconscious, mountainous man.

  The vawn lifted its foot and snuffled at the open wound, whimpering.

  “Things just keep gettin’ worse,” Warney fussed. “The king’s disappeared. Krawg’s sick. Bowlder’s hurt. And now I’m the only one awake in this camp. What’ll go wrong next, I wonder?”

  The vawn sighed, feeling some relief. Then, before Warney could cry out, it set its foot back down squarely on that very same bramble. Its eyes bulged, it flung its head back, and it shrieked and stamped in a fury.

  That was the moment Jes-hawk came dashing through the trees to the camp. “They’re in the forest!” he shouted.

  “Who?” Warney backed toward Krawg. “Beastmen?”

  “No! I think it might be the…” Jes-hawk stopped, stunned at the sight of Bowlder’s sprawled body. “Is he still asleep?”

  “Rather,” said Warney.

  “And where’s Lynna?”

  Warney blinked. “I thought she was with you.”

  Jes-hawk turned as white as the ash of the firepit. “I told her to watch the camp. Riders passed right by us last night.” He ran to the animals, which grumbled nervously. “Where’s the king’s vawn?”

  “Gone,” groaned Bowlder, sitting up slowly and clutching his chest. “Gone. With Lynna. And all her belongings. Gone before I woke up.”

  Jes-hawk stared about as if he would run in every direction at once. “How? Were we raided?”

  “You know we weren’t.” Bowlder tried to get to his feet, thought better of it, and lay down again.

  “Why would she leave?” Jes-hawk hustled about the clearing, studying the leaves and grasses. “For two days we’ve been talking about Barnashum and Cal-raven, and she’s been full of questions.” He dashed a few steps into the trees, listening, his eyes scanning the ground. “She was so excited about seeing everybody again.”

  Bowlder shrugged. “She’s a Bel Amican now. Of course she went back.”

  Jes-hawk looked likely to attack the soldier in a fury, but Krawg surprised him by speaking while his eyes were still closed. “Will you track her?”

  “I learned to track by playing Seek and Go Hiding with Lynna when we were children.” Jes-hawk began to untie his vawn. “I learned to track, but Lynna learned to hide. If she’s decided to go back, I doubt we’ll catch up with her.” All of a sudden he unsheathed his sword and swung it hard against a tree, slicing halfway through the trunk.

  Warney crouched down and helped Krawg sit up. “Glad to see you’re up again. If you’d gone and died on me, I’d have given you a beating you’d never forget.”

  Bowlder bound back his long black hair into a tail, strapped his sword belt back on, and draped his woodscloak around him. “So… who were the riders?”

  Jes-hawk slumped to the ground. “I didn’t see anything of the riders but their wide, trampled path. I did see something else—a great company in the woods about a day’s ride between us and Barnashum.” He shook his head. “I hardly believe it myself, but it appears our return journey’s been cut in half.”

  “How?” asked Warney.

  Bowlder scratched his head.

  “Something’s happened. And it can’t be good. Abascar’s coming to us. On foot.”

  What did the Keeper look like in your dream?

  It was Madi’s question, and her two sisters thought it over as they lay silently, the crowns of their heads almost touching, their toes pointing toward the brightening sky, their legs swaying like cloudgrasper trees.

  It was the seventh morning of the march. The travelers were rising from their blankets and grumbling about the hard work of finding anything more than fruit for breakfast.

  In my dream, answered Luci, the Keeper had a neck like a tree, with bark for skin and moss for hair. Its body was so big that if it stood over you, it would protect you from a storm.

  That’s not what I saw, said Margi. I saw something come out of the sea. Like a dragon, it pulled itself onto the shore. Its wings had scales. Its head was like a horse’s head, just like what Cal-raven sculpted.

  I’m hungry, Madi mused.

  Which of us is right, do you think? asked Margi. She held up her hands, weaving her fingers together in contortions, trying to make the outline of the creature she had seen. The Keeper can’t be all those things.

  Oh yes it can, Luci thought. It can change. Who’s to say what powers it has?

  I’m not just hungry, thought Madi. I’m thirsty.

  Isn’t it strange? Luci was wondering. We all dreamed of it at the same time. That hasn’t happened since we were kids. We are kids, thought Madi.

  “Maybe it was here!” Luci got to her feet, leaf fragments clinging to her arms so they seemed like feathers to complete her owl costume. “Maybe it’s playing a game of Seek and Go Hiding. Let’s go look for it.”

  “She just wants to go looking for Wynn,” muttered Margi. “She keeps hoping he’ll catch up with us. But he won’t. It’s been days.” But she got up anyway and followed her sister, her fluffy cat tail hanging from her belt and dragging along the ground. Madi stopped to put on her rabbit-ear hat, then hopped along behind.

  They scampered through the grumbling crowd, singing out the Gatherers’ names as the ragged harvesters carried nets and baskets into the brush.

  They tried to ignore Brevolo when they saw her, for her sadness frightened them.

  And then they were out across the damp ground of the woods.

  Madi noted that there were plums and pears and hard-shell applenuts all over the ground. “Fruit’s falling early,” she said, plucking a plum from the ground. “Ugh. It’s fine on one side, rotten on the other.”

  “Leave the fruit,” said Margi, and her painted whiskers twitched as she wrinkled her nose. If the Keeper’s hiding, we’ll have to look for clues.

  They followed a path that wound through an old, disordered orchard. The ground sloped downward sharply, and soon they found that the gully was thick with knee-deep grass, with the burdened fruit trees leaning out over them on both sides. They stopped and looked about.

  What a very fine place to play, thought Luci. The light in the trees. And I think there must be a stream up ahead.

  Something isn’t right, thought Margi.

  A large stone tumbled down the slope toward them, and Madi had to jump out of its path. It crashed against the opposite slope, then rolled back to settle in the creek bed. They looked at the stone. They looked back up the hill.

  Maybe it’s the Keeper, thought Luci. Margi squealed in excitement.

  My ankle hurts. Madi grimaced as she sat down in the grass and pulled down her stocking. I think I twisted it.

  “Maybe we’re not following the Keeper,” said Luci. “Maybe it’s following us!”

 
; “Let’s draw it out into the open then,” whispered Margi.

  Madi felt a strange sensation, like terror and delight all at once. She got up to follow her sisters on a run up the creek bed, trying to ignore the flare of pain in her foot. The path led them around a bend, guiding them into a darker place where the gully narrowed and the boughs above them reached to interweave with those of the opposite bank, as if the trees were bracing against each other to keep from falling.

  “Can’t go any farther! Gotta stop!” Madi hopped on one foot, the fabric of her rabbit ears flouncing against her cheeks.

  “Shh. Look.”

  In the dark, dense trees up ahead, a figure like a torn strip of the sunlight beckoned to them, then moved as if carried on a silent wind into the shadows.

  Did you… …see that?

  Silence cloaked their fearful contemplation. And then they all spoke the word together. “Northchild.”

  Where’d it go? Luci took a few steps forward.

  What’s that there? Margi pointed up the shadowbound slope ahead, far above where they’d seen the shimmering phantom. A lamp’s been lit in a window. Is that a Northchild cabin?

  They huddled closer together, bumping knees and elbows, Madi and Margi holding Luci’s leaf-feathered sleeves to keep her from running uphill to investigate. The window’s warm light wavered like the glow through the curtains of an inn on a winter night.

  We should run, thought Margi. I’ve heard that Northchildren tear people up, eat their insides, and then drag the bodies over the Forbidding Wall.

  Why would anybody build a fire indoors on a hot summer day? asked Madi.

  Margi’s answer was assured. To roast the people they’ve captured.

  They’re roasting Wynn, thought Luci. She broke free and began hurrying up the slope, quiet as an owl taking flight.

  Margi padded after her on all fours, her feline tail swinging behind her.

  Madi hissed in outrage, then slumped down to the ground. I’m not going. Sheepskulls, both of you. I’m the oldest. I know best. She unbound one of her sturdy toughweed slippers and flexed her foot, pressing all around the knobs of her ankles to see if anything felt wrong.

  Voices, came Luci’s clear and anxious thought. Voices in the house. They’re telling stories, I think.

  What’s that language? asked Margi, suspicious. It’s not Common. It’s beautiful, thought Luci. Look. There’s no fire. It’s the Northchildren. They glow. Madi could no longer see her sisters. They had gone around behind the shack. Taking a stone the size of a bread loaf, she softened it with stone-mastery and drew out handfuls, which she released so that they hardened into smaller stones—perfect for throwing in case anything approached her.

  I should aim one at Luci’s head, she muttered. Knock her wits back to where they belong. Luci, if you climb that stair, they’ll hear you! said Margi. Margi, come and see! They’re reading to each other from scrolls written in fiery script. And then…

  Their lights have gone out! They’re hiding from us! Luci, what are you doing?

  Madi looked up. The magic drained from her hands. She sat still as a suspended breath.

  Luminous apparitions tiptoed in a line down the slope just ahead as if they were anxious to slip away, alarmed at having been discovered. They were tall and elegant like kings and queens, features veiled by shimmering shrouds. Some of them paused to glance in her direction. Then they moved on through the narrowing gully into the deep woods’ shadows.

  The sound of distant water came to Madi from the dense trees ahead. When it did, an urgent thirst brought her to her feet.

  What a strange cabin, came Margi’s thought. They sat together, in a circle.

  Madi limped along the path, slowly at first. But as she came to a place where the trees had descended the slopes and now embraced each other in the soft earth of the creek bed, she lost sight of the last shining phantom.

  She stepped into the trees.

  Madi, are you coming up?

  I cannot climb, she answered back. She tried to stop thinking about the apparitions. If her sisters sensed what she had seen or what she was doing, they’d come charging down the slope, and she would never find the North-children.

  She pushed through thick ferns, trying to focus. It was colder here. The sound was louder now, and she was almost certain she could smell a creek.

  A circle of light appeared, a glow from within a ring of stones. A well, she thought.

  The light began to fade.

  They’ve gone into the well.

  What’s that? came Luci’s eager inquiry. You’ve found them? They have a well?

  If it hadn’t been for small, twinkling blue flowers coiling from between the wellstones on green stems, Madi might have passed right by this place. I’m thirsty, she thought.

  Horses? came Margi’s urgent question. Luci, do you hear horses?

  Is Tabor Jan coming after us? Are we in trouble?

  They told us not to stray out of sight!

  The horses are coming from the other direction.

  Luci! Hide! They’re not from Abascar!

  Madi? Where are you, Madi?

  Madi couldn’t move. She could see the riders now in the dark trees up the western slope.

  Luci, get in this closet! Quick!

  They’re on the stairs! Margi, they’re coming inside!

  A storm of turmoil—her sisters’ panic and dismay—filled Madi’s head. They’d been discovered. They’d been seized by strangers, who were dragging them from the house.

  Run! came the urgent, harmonious message.

  A man on horseback wandered down through the trees toward the well.

  Madi leaned her head over the open mouth of the well, her rabbit ears flopping in front of her. She found a rope bound there to an iron ring. Far, far below she saw faint flickers of light, like candles in a heavy wind, and she heard water rushing as powerfully as a river.

  “You there!” The shout was harsh and commanding as hoofbeats quickened through the trees.

  Madi climbed onto the stones and sat with her feet dangling inside, then pushed off, grabbing hold of the rope and trying to let herself down. But the rope was damp and slippery. It began to slide through her hands. Looking up, she saw a torch over the well’s mouth, and then her pursuer leaned in to reach for her. She quit fighting the rope and let herself slide farther down, trying to evade his reach.

  But the rope had been severed, and its frayed end passed through her hands. She fell.

  “Madilyn!” Luci cried out as the soldier carrying her mounted his horse. I can’t feel her! Margi’s thoughts were shouts.

  Dizzy and sick, the girls leaned forward, holding the horses’ manes with their left hands, clutching at their hearts with their right. The horses, the shouts of the men in their bristling vests, and the barbed throwing spears in the riders’ hands were all so alarming that the two girls had no time to make sense of it before the riders joined a large troop riding in a circle around the perimeter of the Abascar camp.

  The sisters saw the people crowding in together, shouting in a defiant hubbub. Abascar’s archers were down on their knees, arrows notched to bows and trained upon the moving circle.

  Then a massive rider in a sweeping cape and wooden mask dragged both girls from their horses and pushed them into a run, advancing swiftly behind them.

  As Luci and Margi were welcomed into the crowd, the man behind them roared, “People of Abascar, put away your fears.” It was a boastful and commanding voice, sharp as a sneer. “You look as if you’re being attacked. In truth, we’re carrying heavy arms to defend you. We’re your saviors.”

  Tabor Jan stepped from the crowd, sword unsheathed. “We summoned no rescuers. Leave us. This forest is not the property of any house.”

  “Things change,” snapped the voice behind the mask. “Everyone knows that the house of King Cal-marcus fell to pieces. Surely we can’t leave the forest to the beastmen. And the philosophers of Jenta? They hide in the desert. The forest is not their
concern.” He spread his arms as if presenting the whole world to the travelers. “House Bel Amica accepts what the Expanse has offered them. We’re expanding our territories.” He advanced toward Tabor Jan. “We’ll show patience with ignorant trespassers. But, yes, you do need permission to pass through this—”

  “House Abascar survives,” said Tabor Jan. “We have not entered into any bargain with Bel Amica about changing borders. We move through open country on the orders of our king.”

  “Your king?” The challenger looked about. “Should I not speak with him?”

  After an uncomfortable hush, Tabor Jan said, “King Cal-raven has gone on ahead.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he has. Until he returns—and let’s pretend, for a moment, that he will—let me treat you as guests and escort you to House Bel Amica for shelter, hot meals, and soft beds.”

  An elated cry burst from someone in the Abascar assembly.

  “Ah.” He pointed to his wide-eyed audience. “Perhaps some of you have some sense after all. While you rest, Queen Thesera’s advisors will offer just the guidance you need to determine Abascar’s future.”

  “We are not interested in listening to the Seers,” Tabor Jan seethed. “Nor will we take one step toward House Bel Amica unless our king directs us to do so. His party will return shortly.”

  “His party? Would they by any chance resemble these?” The challenger snapped his fingers.

  The circle broke, allowing four more riders through. Before each one of them was seated a bound and bag-hooded figure.

  “A few nights ago,” said the man, “these trespassers slept in the Bel Amican way station at Mawrnash under false pretenses. They informed us that they had broken away from Abascar and had no intention of returning.”

  Shanyn emerged from the crowd, panic in her face, but Tabor Jan waved her back.

  The man, whose stature resembled that of a powerful beastman, strode to one of the riders, reached up, and seized the bag over a prisoner’s head. It came free, revealing a bruised, bloodied face.

  Jes-hawk! thought Margi.

  “I’m told there was a fifth member of their party,” the challenger mused. “They claim he is out there on his own.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue and then withdrew his mask. A wild, ragged mane, striped white and black, fell about his shoulders, framing a face patched with white bandages that concealed all but his flaring red eyes and his bearded jaw. “It’s possible your king has been abducted by mercenaries or killed by the Cent Regus.