Shadowfell

by Juliet Marillier

  ‘But ye’re nobbut a wee lassie.’

  ‘I come from a place called Corbie’s Wood.’ I saw in Hollow’s eyes that, isolated as he was, this name meant something to him. ‘You’ll know, maybe, that it was one of the villages destroyed by the Cull. We stayed on awhile. My grandmother could not be moved. When she died, we got a whispered warning. Someone had told the king’s men about me, hinted that I was . . . unusual. What folk call smirched. We’ve been on the run ever since, slipping from place to place, trying not to attract notice.’ That had not been easy toward the end, with Father unable to tell reality from fantasy. He had truly believed he could win that final wager. ‘Father’s gone now, too,’ I added.

  ‘So ye’re a’ on yer ainsome, just like me.’

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  ‘I did wonder,’ Hollow said, ‘how it was ye stood up tae me, when I could hae knocked ye off the brig wi’ ane push o’ ma wee finger. As for your gift, there might be mair tae it than ye think, lassie. We’ll talk o’ that, but first I’ll keep my side o’ the agreement.’ He rose to his feet. His head almost touched the cave roof. ‘Bide ye here awhile. Dinna be afeart o’ the shadows, they canna harm ye. Sit quiet; ye look weary tae the bane. I willna be lang.’

  The shadows cast by the fire did indeed move oddly, making shapes on the stone walls that suggested all manner of creatures: a bat, a heron, a newt, a running fox. I sat quietly as I had been bid, stroking the sleeping pookie as it purred deep in its throat. I considered all the folk who had been kind to me, both human and uncanny, and knew how lucky I was. Kindness was in short supply in Keldec’s Alban. Reaching out the hand of friendship was perilous when any passing stranger might be a spy. But Mara had not alerted anyone to my presence, I was sure of that. It was her neighbour who had done it. I had seen something of myself in Mara, and I knew I would never betray someone to the king’s men, not unless they ripped the truth out of me with their instruments of torture. I hoped that even then I would have the strength to keep silent.

  Through the aperture above the hearth a faint moonlight showed. I prayed that if my friends had perished out there, their deaths had been quick and clean. I cursed myself for not running back, for not trying to protect them, for not standing up to my pursuers, for making the impossible choice: to save myself at the expense of the Good Folk. I prayed that none of them had been taken prisoner. They could escape human snares and traps easily, using earth magic. But if a man had cold iron, he could bend them to his will. Did every Enforcer carry a chain on his person? Or had they expected that I might have fey help and come specially prepared?

  After some time I heard Hollow’s deep voice from the tunnel. ‘Mind yon corner. Go slow, slow . . . Aye, that’s the way.’ My heart leapt. Someone was with him. Someone had survived.

  They emerged into the firelight and I jumped to my feet, hope and horror warring in me. Hollow bore a limp form in his arms. Sorrel’s leafy pelt was all broken stems and patches of red, raw skin. And now, behind Hollow, came the figure of Sage, her face ashen, her eyes swollen, her mouth a grim line. Against the grey pallor of her skin her nose looked more beak-like than ever. She still carried her oak staff, but it was in two pieces. Her cloak was scorched and ripped.

  ‘He’s awa’ hame,’ Hollow said, coming to lay Sorrel down on the blankets. ‘Couldna dae mair than bear him ower. I’ll mak’ ye a brew.’ He glanced at Sage, who was standing by the fire now, staring into the flames as if she hardly knew where she was. ‘Neryn, talk to yon wee wumman. Show her a’s well wi’ ye. I’ll say this, ye hae braw friends.’

  I said nothing at all, simply went over to Sage, knelt down beside her and took her in my arms. She stood rigid a moment, then collapsed, her knees buckling, her small body racked with sobs. I held her, blinking back my own tears. This was my fault. Her friend was dead; but for me he would have lived. Her staff was broken. She had seemed so strong and now she looked defeated.

  Hollow busied himself with various dried leaves, making a brew. After some time, Sage stirred in my arms and stepped back, disengaging herself. ‘You’re safe then,’ she said. ‘He’d be glad of that. We won you another day, at least.’

  ‘I’m sorry –’ I began.

  Her hands went up in a gesture curiously like one Hollow had used earlier. ‘No, no, none of that. We did what we did so you could run ahead and be safe. Sorrel would have been mightily annoyed if you’d turned back and fallen victim to king’s men. That wouldn’t have saved his life. It would likely have been the end for all three of us.’

  ‘What about Red Cap?’ I made myself ask. ‘And the little one?’

  ‘Red Cap’s no fighter. We bade him stay hidden, well clear of it. He’ll take the word to Silver and the others, let them know you got across, tell them we’ve lost one of our own.’ A pause.

  I opened my mouth to say sorry again, and shut it without a word.

  ‘This journey you’re on,’ Sage said. ‘You’ll be tested hard, to prove your mettle. That part you must do on your own. The journeying, the getting there, we can help you with.’ She looked over at the still form of Sorrel. ‘And we will, lassie. Even if it kills us.’

  ‘Drink up,’ Hollow said. ‘Dinna speak a word mair until it’s a’ gone.’

  Some time later, when the brew was finished, and Hollow had asked a lot of questions about Sorrel, and Sage had answered them by telling us stories of the times her friend had been brave, and the times he’d been foolish, and the times when he had annoyed her to the point of screaming, I realised how wise the brollachan was. Perhaps his long lonely days and nights had given him time to ponder death and loss and acceptance. For when the tale with its tears and smiles was all done, and Hollow had drawn a blanket gently over Sorrel, I saw that some of the animation had come back to Sage’s face, and some of the life to her beady eyes.

  ‘Ye could sing him that sang,’ Hollow said now, looking at me. ‘That fine auld sang. Tae send him on his way.’

  So I did, all four verses, and when I was done Sage wiped her eyes and said, ‘It’s a long while since I heard that. Hag of the Isles, eh? If that old one was still walking the earth of Alban, I’d ask her to mend my staff for me. A powerful mender, she was, in her time. But they’re all gone now, the Big Ones, gone deep down where they can’t see a human king making a mockery of their fair land. More’s the pity.’

  ‘Ye’ll be wantin’ tae sleep,’ Hollow said, eyeing her. ‘I’ll help ye lay the wee fellow tae rest in the mornin”.

  ‘Ach, no. I’ll sit by Sorrel. I won’t leave him alone in the night.’ Sage looked over at me.

  ‘I’ll keep vigil with you,’ I said.

  ‘Aye, weel, it’s rare enow for me tae have the company o’ ane fine lassie, let alane a pair o’ them,’ said Hollow. ‘I willna waste the time in sleepin”.

  ‘You said something before about my canny gift, Hollow,’ I ventured. ‘That it might mean more than I thought. Could you tell me what you meant?’

  ‘Before he starts on that,’ said Sage, ‘there’s something else you need to know. One of those two men, I burned with my staff. He’s dead, and Hollow here sent him down the river. The other fellow, I couldn’t finish. I hurt him, but not so badly that he couldn’t run. So he ran. You’ll need to move on quick, Neryn.’

  I had known this might happen. All the same, I felt chilled to the marrow. ‘He ran back toward Summerfort?’

  A mirthless smile appeared on Sage’s lips. ‘I gave him no choice of ways,’ she said.

  ‘Naebody crosses Brollachan Brig,’ Hollow added in his deep rumbling voice. ‘Naebody dares.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Aye, weel, ye didna flinch at the challenge. Ye proved yourself. ’Twere plain to me at first eyeblink that ye were somethin’ apart.’

  ‘How, apart?’ My mind was racing. What was best? Head off at dawn and hope I could walk fast enough to get into the woods higher up the valley before that man sent a troop of Enforcers to look for me? Hide in Hollow’s cave and hope nobody
would dare fetch me out? Maybe my pursuers had known who they were following, and maybe they’d only been investigating a report of a suspicious stranger in the area. But they’d seen me in company with uncanny folk, and those folk had taken up arms to defend me. I could expect to be hunted down. Maybe I should leave right now. The moon was up; perhaps I could find my way. A spasm of coughing overtook me.

  When I had caught my breath again, Hollow said, ‘I’ll tell ye a tale. A lang, lang time since, in the far north, there was ane summer when the Sea Folk rose up, urged on by a wicked queen, and took it upon themselves tae wage war on the brollachans who lived in the shore caves nearby. So evil was this queen, she had her folk breakin’ and crushin’ and killin’ in every corner o’ that place, and human folk were drawn into it too, what wi’ their boats being sunk and their nets slashed and their bairnies stolen from the shore before their very eyes. Now ye may know, Neryn, that humankind doesnae trust a brollachan. Folk like me, we’re in the tales your kind tell their bairnies tae frighten them awa’ frae spots such as high cliffs, slippery ledges and holes in the ground. And my kind, we’re nae sae fond o’ your kind, what with the way ye stamp all ower the land, regardless of wha cam there afore ye. So the war raged on, and everybody suffered for it.

  ‘It wasnae until a fellow steppit forth frae the human folk o’ that place that the tide turned. Corcan, the lad’s name was. He’d always said, from the time he was nobbut a bairn, that he could see and hear uncanny folk a’ across the isle. When Corcan was sixteen or so he went awa’ journeyin’, naebody knew whaur, and when he returned he wasnae the same. He’d grown quieter, wiser, older than his years. Turned oot he’d been off learnin’ his craft as a Caller, and when he got back hame and saw the trouble his folk were in, he put what he’d learnit tae verra guid use. He callit the brollachans, and the brollachans came tae him, because o’ what he was. Then, against their natures, human and brollachan fought side by side tae defeat the Sea Folk and send them back oot tae their lonely isles, never mair tae set foot on that shore. Some say the Lord o’ the North himself was callit forth that day, but I dinna know if any call would be powerful enow tae summon a Guardian.

  ‘Ye know about canny gifts, lassie. They come about frae a coupling o’ oor kind,’ he glanced at Sage, ‘and your kind. Good Folk and humankind dinna oft lie doon in the same bed, but frae time tae time it happens. Oft-times the gift will come oot in the family lang years after. Sudden like, there’s a bairnie wi’ a rare talent for singin’ or dancin’ or fightin’ or understandin’ creatures and their ways. Once in a lang, lang while, there’s a Caller: a body who can summon the Good Folk in a’ their forms and bring them tae work on a task together. Ye need tae understand, we’re a’ shapes and sizes, a’ sorts and kinds, and we dinna mix much. We keep oorselves tae oorselves. It’s no’ in oor nature tae band together and fight, or build, or plot and plan. But if a Caller summons us tae a task, we must obey. We canna refuse the call.’ He glanced at me, his small eyes assessing. ‘Wi’ a gift like that, ye could be marchin’ oot tae war wi’ a great army at your biddin”.

  There was a telling silence, in which it became apparent to me that this astonishing statement had not surprised Sage in the least.

  ‘Me?’ My voice came out as a shocked squeak. ‘You think I am one of these Callers? But that’s ridiculous. I didn’t call Sage and Sorrel to me. I didn’t call any of the Good Folk I’ve met on the way. They just appeared. My gift is to see and hear uncanny folk, not to . . . command them.’ Such a notion shocked me to the core. No man or woman should wield such power. In the wrong hands, it could wreak unimaginable evil.

  ‘What’s your opinion on the matter, wee wumman?’ Hollow looked at Sage.

  ‘I believe you could be right, brollachan.’ Sage sat with one small hand resting on the blanket that shrouded Sorrel’s still form. She was solemn as an owl. ‘I’ve had my eye on Neryn since she was a smaller creature than I am, digging in her grandmother’s vegetable patch and learning which were the good herbs. Even then I sensed she was something rare. Though I have to tell you, my opinion is not widely shared among my own kind. We’ve long disagreed about just what you are, Neryn, and how important you might come to be. If wretched Silver and her band hadn’t been so stubborn about it, we could have stood in numbers against your enemies just now, and this braw wee fellow wouldn’t be growing cold here beside me. I told her . . .’ Sage fell silent for a little, her face shadowed.

  ‘Callers don’t come along often,’ she said eventually. ‘Two hundred years could pass with none such walking the hills of Alban. It’s uncommon enough for a girl or a boy to have the knack of spotting us and hearing our voices, but not so uncommon that there would not be a few such scattered somewhere in the settlements and farms of the highlands if a body went looking. That’s a good gift to have, right enough, though in these times, dangerous. Calling starts off the same way, with a rare ability to see our kind even when we are in hiding. To draw us out. Without the right training, it may never become more than that. But if a body does what Corcan did – finds a teacher, learns and practises the skills – this can become a powerful gift indeed. A gift that can win or lose wars. A gift that can bring about great changes. You’d think human folk would remember that. But your kind have short lives and short memories. Like as not such a phenomenon’s forgotten entirely between one Caller and the next.’

  I could hardly think what question to ask first. It seemed desperately unlikely that I was what they thought I was. On the other hand, if it were in any respect true, it could transform my future entirely. It could make Shadowfell not simply a refuge, but . . . No, it could not be true. I would have had some inkling of it before now, surely. ‘Why would you believe this of me?’ I asked them.

  ‘We feel it in the truest way,’ Hollow said. ‘In oor banes. The moment I clappit eyes on ye, wobbling ower the brig, I knowit what ye were.’

  ‘Then why did you make me dance and sing and play games?’

  ‘Just testin’ ye, tae see if I was right. I wouldna hae let ye fa”.

  ‘I don’t think you can be right,’ I said. ‘I’ve never heard of Calling. I have no understanding at all of how it’s done. I am in my sixteenth year: a woman, not a child. If I had such a powerful gift, surely there would be more sign of it.’

  ‘The signs are there,’ Sage said quietly. ‘Sorrel saw them too. Others disagree, as you know. There’s many don’t have faith in you; there’s many think me addle-headed to pursue this. Ask me for proof that I’m right and I cannot give it to you. It’s for you to prove yourself, and that will take time. But ask yourself why king’s men want you so badly. And ask yourself why you’re still alive, after three years of running. Your gift makes you valuable beyond measure. And it helps keep you safe.’

  I felt a prickling all over my skin. I shrank from the immensity of this. I did not want it to be true, yet the more I thought about it, the more possible it seemed. When the ghost warriors of Hiddenwater had sung the song and bade me fight, it was not an ordinary girl they had seen, but someone who could rally folk, someone who could make a real difference. A gnawing horror gripped me. ‘If the king heard someone might be a Caller,’ I said, and now my voice was small and shaky, ‘he wouldn’t want that person killed. He’d want her working on his side. Doing his bidding. He’d want her rendered obedient.’ I made myself draw a steadying breath. ‘I’m a danger to you both,’ I said. ‘I must move on at first light. I can’t use this gift, I don’t know how, I’ll bring trouble on anyone who tries to help me.’

  ‘A bairn doesna learn to run before he can walk,’ Hollow said.

  ‘Or sing verses before he can speak his mother’s name,’ said Sage, nodding agreement.

  ‘Or wield a broadsword before he can feed himself wi’ a spoon.’

  ‘Or weave a blanket before he can tie up his shoes.’

  ‘What are you telling me? That I should learn how to be a Caller, as the young man in the story did? Who could teach me?’

&nb
sp; A long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

  ‘I dinna ken,’ Hollow said eventually. ‘That tale, it’s auld. Auld as these stanes.’

  ‘I’ve heard of none skilled in a Caller’s art since the time of my grandmother’s grandmother,’ said Sage. ‘If there’s any left in Alban, they’re hiding away. And who’d blame them for that?’

  ‘More likely there’s nane,’ said Hollow. ‘Nae wonder king’s men are after ye, Neryn.’

  ‘But how could they know what I was? I didn’t even know myself.’ The people of Corbie’s Wood had known only that my grandmother had been teaching me her healing craft. While that was enough to make me suspicious to the Enforcers, it was hardly sufficient to explain their continued pursuit of me. Could it be that my father, incautious after too much ale, had at some point hinted at my ability to see the Good Folk? Had this reached the ears of someone who knew about Callers? The thought set a sick feeling in my belly.

  Hollow had settled to rest, his imposing form stretched out all along one side of the hearth, his head pillowed on a massive arm. ‘Ye could talk about that a’ nicht lang and still be nane the wiser,’ he said. ‘Ane thing’s sure: ye must move on at cockcrow. Whaur ye headin’?’

  ‘North. Up the valley.’

  ‘Now that ye know what ye are,’ Hollow said, ‘are ye fleein’ awa’, or gaein’ forward?’

  ‘I’m going forward, Hollow. On my own.’ I hesitated. ‘Sage, you said something about proving my mettle. I’m not sure how to do that. Are there certain tests I must pass? And what comes next? You must know I’m not simply wandering about, I am going somewhere, but . . . if it’s true, if I am a Caller, then . . .’

  ‘If you are,’ she said, ‘my guess is that soon enough it’ll be plain to you what’s next. As for tests, a Caller needs to show some particular qualities. They’re known as the virtues. A body cannot be told what they are until she’s proven herself; it’s set out in the Old Laws.’