Shadowfell

by Juliet Marillier

  A crash outside, and an oath. I froze. The voice came again. ‘Poxy good-for-nothing cur!’ I could hear someone breathing hard. ‘Now look what you’ve done! I spent all day gathering that wood.’ Then a moan of pain. ‘Ah! My back!’

  The voice was an old man’s, unsteady, a little querulous. It sounded as if he was just beyond the cave mouth. He must know someone was here: the smoke from my fire would be obvious. I edged to one side, and now I could make out the figure of a man, bent double with a hand pressed to the small of his back.

  A little dog raced into the cave and came to an abrupt halt a few paces from me. The old man straightened, groaning. Through a gap in the screening foliage I saw his face clearly. His eyes had the milky colour of the sightless.

  The dog – curiously patterned, as if one side had been painted black and the other white – had begun a shrill, furious barking. As for me, my heart was racing and my palms were sweaty, but I hung on to my common sense. This old man was not the Enforcer I had dreaded. He seemed too infirm to be any threat to me – I could easily outrun him if it came to that. I drew a steadying breath and spoke above the dog’s fanfare of challenge.

  ‘Have you hurt yourself?’ I moved forward, keeping one hand on the knife in my belt. The dog planted its short legs wide, quivering. Its voice rose to a shriek. ‘Do you need help?’

  The old man was as gnarled as an ancient juniper, with a tangle of dirty white hair to his shoulders. He was dressed in shapeless garments of indeterminate colour, clothing that looked as if it was a natural part of him, as bark is of a tree. He stood crooked, weathered to that shape by his years. I was reminded, piercingly, of my grandmother.

  ‘Tripped over the dog, lost my wretched firewood. Hurt my poxy back again. Stick a stopper in your mouth, dog!’ The old man’s gaze was unnerving. What was a blind man doing coming all the way up here for wood? Was this a trap to lure me out from my safe shelter? ‘Stop that!’ he rapped out.

  The little dog fell silent, though when I took another step forward it growled deep in its throat. ‘Are you injured?’ I asked the old man.

  ‘A girl,’ he said. ‘I did not expect to find a lassie hiding in Odd’s Hole.’

  ‘That’s the name of this place? Odd’s Hole?’

  ‘You’re not from these parts, then?’

  I did not think he would expect an answer to this, and I did not offer one. He had indeed been carrying a huge bundle of firewood. The sticks lay scattered all around the cave opening, along with the cord that had tied them.

  ‘Wretched dog keeps getting underfoot,’ the man muttered. ‘It’s her way of being helpful.’

  ‘Perhaps you should leave her at home next time.’

  He chuckled, then winced with pain. ‘Can’t do that, lassie. She’s my eyes.’

  So he was blind, or so nearly blind that he could not get about on his own. I glanced to left and to right and down the hill. There was nobody else in sight. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll gather these up again for you?’ I said. ‘Have you far to walk?’

  ‘Far enough.’ He lowered himself onto a rock, cursing under his breath, and sat there as I picked up his fallen cargo and tied it back into its bundle. The dog had vanished inside the cave; I hoped it was not eating the last of the provisions. ‘A brew would go down well,’ the old man said. ‘Got a good wee fire there. I can smell it.’

  There was plenty I could have said to this, but I held my tongue. He was old and tired. Best that I treat him with courtesy and go along with what he wanted, provided it was reasonable. With luck he would leave and not think to tell anyone he had met me. His presence here, so far from any settlement, was surprising. I did not ask him where he lived. Asking questions meant you had to answer questions in return, and I had no answers to give.

  When the bundle of wood was secure, I went back into the cave, filled the pot from my water skin and set it on the fire. The two-coloured dog had curled up on the blankets, but it was not asleep: one eye was open a crack, keeping careful watch on me. The old man came in after me. He settled on the ground with somewhat more ease than he had shown earlier, then extended knotty hands to the fire’s warmth and sighed.

  I made a brew. The supply of dried herbs was almost exhausted. Just as well Shadowfell was only a couple of days away. Neither of us spoke again until I had put his cup into his hands and settled with my own. I looked at my companion through the rising steam and hoped I had not made a terrible mistake.

  ‘You’ll be going four ways, then,’ the old man said.

  My skin prickled. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘North, south, east and west.’ This was delivered with exaggerated patience, as if he thought me rather slow. ‘You’ll be visiting each in its turn.’

  Perhaps his great age had addled his wits. Or perhaps this was something much more devious. ‘I would hardly visit them all at the same time,’ I said mildly. If he thought I would tell him where I was going, he was a fool.

  The old man roared with laughter, startling the dog, which leapt to its feet. ‘Indeed not,’ the fellow said when he had recovered his breath. ‘But you’ll be making a wee journey.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘When I say wee,’ he elaborated, ‘I don’t mean short, you ken? In miles, it’ll be long. In other ways, even longer. I hope you make a better fist of it than Odd did of his travels.’

  What was he talking about? Did he know something about me, or was this just an old man’s rambling? I grabbed at the only part of it that seemed safe. ‘Odd – you mean the man this cave was named after? What was his story?’

  ‘Got any food with you?’

  I suppressed a sigh. ‘I may have some cheese,’ I said, fishing in the bag of supplies Flint had left. ‘And a little dried fruit.’

  ‘That should fill the spot.’

  As soon as I produced the cheese, the dog fixed its attention on me with unnerving intensity, reminding me of Hollow’s pookie. The animal’s markings were indeed odd; I had never before seen a creature so neatly divided into sun and shadow, day and night. I gave the man what I thought we could spare, then offered the little hound a scrap of cheese, expecting it to snatch the morsel greedily from my fingers. But it accepted the gift with some delicacy and, when it was done, settled again on the blankets.

  ‘That fellow, Odd,’ said the old man considerably later, when he had finished dusting crumbs from his ragged garments. ‘Long story. Not explored the back of the Hole yet, have you?’ He appeared to be looking over my shoulder to the inner parts of the cave.

  ‘No.’ I wanted to hear the story, but I also wanted my unexpected visitor to leave. It seemed important that he be gone before Flint returned.

  ‘Ah. Not much of an adventurer, then.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘It goes a long way down. A long way in. A long, long way. Folk have told tales about this place for more years than a lass like you could imagine. The cave had a different name once, a name that’s forgotten now. Odd had a certain talent, and he heard the stories. His tale’s simple enough. He came here to have a look. He went in. He went down. He didn’t go properly prepared, and he never came back.’

  ‘That’s hardly a long story.’

  ‘It could be longer.’ The old man folded his hands in his lap.

  ‘Was there something in the cave? What did the old stories say? Was Odd looking for anything in particular?’ A certain talent, he’d said. Could that be the same talent as mine?

  ‘He might have been.’

  ‘Treasure? A creature of some kind? A portal?’

  ‘I could show you,’ the old man said, and when I looked at him, suddenly I saw a different person, a taller, more powerfully built figure whose eyes were not the white orbs of the blind but flickering puzzles of light and shade in which fiery red chased night-black one way then the other. My heart thudded. What was he? When the Good Folk were nearby, I felt their presence deep within me, as if they were part of me. This man had seemed quite ordinary. As ind
eed he was now, for from one breath to the next he was as he’d first appeared, blind eyes, wizened skin, stooped shoulders and all.

  ‘I could take you in,’ he said, smooth as honey.

  ‘Odd’s tale suggests that would not be very wise.’ I worked hard to keep my voice steady. ‘I’m here for shelter, nothing more.’ How long would it take me to bolt past him, out into the open, and run up to the concealment of the woods?

  ‘It might be very wise indeed,’ he said. ‘Not big on courage, are you? I see you’re keeping that little knife within reach of your hand.’

  I felt a cold creeping sensation in my spine. ‘If you can see that,’ I said, ‘then you don’t need a wee dog to find your way for you.’

  ‘Ah,’ the old man said. ‘There’s seeing and seeing.’

  ‘As for going further into the cave, I exercise common sense. I can’t think of any good reason to go in there. I can think of quite a few reasons not to.’

  ‘Might be a while before I pass this way again. I could lead you in, and I could bring you out. Could be there’s something you badly need in Odd’s Hole. But if you won’t go down, you’ll never know.’

  I bit back the retort that sprang to my lips, words that would have dismissed him and sent him on his way. The virtues. Maybe this was a chance to demonstrate one of the qualities required for a Caller, along the lines of the Giving Hand, but different. A test of courage, perhaps. What exactly did lie in the dark shadows of Odd’s Hole? ‘Would that something be by way of a . . . challenge?’ I asked.

  The old man grinned, and there in his place was a boy of about twelve, white-faced, dark-clothed, with a flickering light falling across his features that was not made by my little fire. His hair stood up around his head in dark wild filaments. The eyes were as I had seen them before: black, red, black, red, drawing my gaze. ‘It might well be so,’ the boy said, lifting his brows and giving me an unsettling smile. ‘Down there,’ he motioned toward the back of the cave, ‘you will find a pool of water. They say Odd drowned in it, drawn deep by what he saw there. Too deep. But you would not drown. Not if I held your hand.’

  Gods, what was this? A trap? Or a vital part of my journey toward becoming a Caller? What kind of being could hide his uncanny nature thus? He put me in mind of a trickster from ancient story, a being all twists and turns, whose favour could only be gained if one were able to pin down his likeness between one disguise and the next. A will-o’-the-wisp, a player of games, unreliable in every respect.

  ‘Speak plainly,’ I said, my fingers closing around the hilt of the knife, though I was beginning to think an ordinary weapon would be of no use at all in this situation. ‘Are you here to help me or to hinder me?’ I rose to my feet, taking a step toward the boy, though my instinct was to shrink away.

  The dog growled deep. Too deep for such a little creature, surely. I risked taking my eyes off the boy to look at it, and my breath faltered. The dog had grown bigger. Its back was as high as my waist, and its slender body was now sturdy and muscular. Still growling, it drew back its upper lip to show me a set of purposeful teeth. The message was clear: I can take a full-grown boar on my own. You? One bite.

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ the boy said, and became once more the ancient wood-gatherer. ‘As for what you might find in Odd’s Hole, you might find a test and you might find a map. You might see your whole journey set out in that. Of course, sometimes it doesn’t help to know what’s to come, which friends will die before their time, what grave errors you’ll make, who’ll betray your trust, whom you’ll destroy and whom you’ll offend. On the other hand, a map helps us know where we’re going. In your case, it’d be four maps.’

  A test. A test down there in the darkness, in a deep pool. ‘I can’t swim,’ I said. My voice came out like that of a child, alone and scared. I gathered myself and spoke more strongly. ‘There’s no point in passing a test if I drown.’

  The grin again, and a flickering series of changes, each so fast I had hardly the time to take it in before it was gone. Either this was a skilful practitioner of magic, or it was indeed one of the beings mentioned in the old tales. Could a canny human perfect shape-changing to such a degree? I doubted it. But if he was one of the Good Folk, why did he show no fear of the naked knife?

  ‘Trying to make sense of me?’ the man quipped, as if, despite the blind eyes, he knew how intensely I was scrutinising him. ‘You won’t. I’m the biggest puzzle in all Alban, and there’s no untangling me. One piece of advice, take it or leave it. Before you meet me again, and you surely will, you’d best develop a liking for games. Without that, your journey will surely end in tears. As for drowning, some do and some don’t. One thing’s sure: if you’re too scared to try, there’s no passing the test.’

  ‘I have a feeling that if I agree to this I will end up as Odd did, in the hole forever, stone dead.’

  The man laughed, throwing back his head. The sound of it rang from the cave walls, setting the dog howling. ‘When Odd went down,’ he said, ‘he had no guide. You have the best and only guide, lassie. Show courage and I’ll keep you safe. Turn to a jelly and I might be tempted to let you fall. But in token of goodwill, I’ll give you a wee rhyme before we go, to put some fire in you. Ready now?’

  I stood mute, waiting.

  The old man’s voice rose in quavering song. As he sang, the words came back to me from long ago, so dear and familiar that I could not believe I had forgotten them. Beneath the man’s voice I heard my mother’s, singing to a tiny Neryn, barely two, as I sat on her knee, and before us in the water the seals danced their slow mysterious dance under a sunset sky purple as heather, grey as a dove’s wing, red as fire.

  ‘Canny Eyes and Strength of Stillness

  Guide your path across the land

  Open Heart and Steadfast Purpose

  Flame of Courage, Giving Hand.’

  He turned his filmy eyes in my direction. Whether he could see me, I did not know. ‘That’s six,’ he said. ‘You’ve got those out of the way already, or so I’ve been told. There’s some wee folk would argue all day long as to whether each requirement had been met, but I’d say that’s a waste of time. Now, will we get on with the next part of this or won’t we?’

  Was it only my imagination or had the cave become unnaturally dark and the air unusually cold? I tried not to shiver. ‘You’re telling me I’ve demonstrated six out of seven virtues already?’ That was not possible, surely.

  ‘Don’t be too pleased with yourself, lassie,’ said the old man. ‘You’re not done yet. That rhyme’s got another whole verse to it.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘Ah, not so fast.’ He raised his hands as if to ward me off. ‘Come down the Hole first, do what you have to do, and I’ll give you the rest when it’s all over.’

  There was a story I recalled, in which a gullible young man goes down a well to fetch treasure for a mysterious old woman, with promise of a small reward, and then, when the treasure is duly brought to the surface, the crone snatches it and pushes the adventurer back down to his death. But the old man had spoken as if he knew we would meet again. You’d best develop a liking for games, he’d said. So perhaps I would not perish in the depths of Odd’s Hole. What would Flint expect me to do if he were here? He’d probably be standing guard over me with his weapons drawn and an Enforcer look on his face. But if he were to face this choice himself, I knew he would not refuse it. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it.’

  My companion rose to his feet. For a moment I saw his profile silhouetted on the cave wall behind him. It was not the shadow of a bent old man, nor yet of a wild-haired boy. The features were proud and strong, those of a warrior, a leader. He turned his head and the image was gone. ‘Come, then,’ he said. ‘We don’t have all day.’

  I drew a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m coming.’ I slipped the knife into my belt. I picked up a stick from the fire, wondering if there was any chance it would keep burning long enough to light our way there and back.
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  The dog went first, small again. The old man followed his creature with confident feet; either he had a different kind of sight, or he had done this so many times before that his feet found the way all by themselves. I came last, with my burning brand in one hand and my other hand free to grab the knife. This place is called Neryn’s Folly, I thought grimly. She followed an old man and a dog down there one day and was never seen again.

  Soon enough the cavern narrowed to a tunnel, piercing the rock of Alban’s spine. A long tunnel. Here and there side passages opened off, or perhaps they were merely shallow caves. The air was cold and fresh, suggesting that somewhere, not so far away, there were openings to the outside. Yet that seemed unlikely, for I sensed we were deep underground.

  We walked for a long time, long enough for my legs to start aching with weariness. I recalled that Flint and I had already walked for half a day before I found the cave. He might be back there by now, finding the place deserted, perhaps thinking I had gone on alone. What if he headed off toward Shadowfell looking for me, and when I emerged from here it was too late to go after him? I banished those thoughts and concentrated on moving forward.

  Oddly, the torch I had brought did not burn away to nothing or wink out in the draught, but flamed steadily, lighting our way through the dark passage. The tunnel began to slope downward. First a gentle descent, then a steeper one. The place was damper here. The tunnel walls shone with moisture, and I felt a clammy chill on my skin.

  Man and dog came to a sudden halt; with difficulty, I managed not to crash into them. I lifted my torch. Its wavering light revealed that the way had become a set of narrow, precipitous steps going downward. Something gleamed at their foot, pale as moonlight. Pool, well, mirror? Perhaps it was all three.

  ‘This is the place.’ The voice was not the old man’s, nor yet the boy’s. It was strong and authoritative, and when I glanced sideways I saw beside me a tall man whose profile matched that I had seen on the wall, cast by shadows. A person of kingly bearing, a being of power. ‘Go down,’ he commanded.