Shadowfell

by Juliet Marillier

  To your lost, your slain, your broken

  Grant forgiveness, set them free.

  Rise in strength, in truth and honour

  Live for Alban’s liberty.

  ‘Stirring stuff. A call to arms. What do you think?’

  My spine tingled with the strangeness of it. I wanted to weep. Farral would have loved those words. ‘I think it is very curious how an ancient rhyme can fit so well,’ I said, keeping my voice calm. ‘Almost as if it was written for me. But others must have been required to prove themselves in the same way.’

  ‘Maybe the rhyme is different every time,’ my companion said, offhand, and accepted a cup of the steaming brew. ‘Maybe it changes, fits itself to each Caller, who knows? It does appear you’ve met the requirements: six virtues in the first verse, only one in the second, but perhaps that one is the most difficult. As for rise in strength and so on, it’s your choice whether you obey those words; it’s what a Caller does, but not everyone with the gift chooses to follow that path. For some it’s too much; too hard. As for what you were shown, it’s odd that there were only three maps, not four. What about the south?’ He grinned, and for a moment his teeth were those of a predator, shining white and sharp as knives.

  I swallowed, not wanting to show my ignorance. I might well be wrong about him. ‘You haven’t told me who you are,’ I said, ‘and I haven’t asked. But it seems to me perhaps I don’t need to travel to the south, because the south has travelled to me.’ Master of Shadows guard my sleep, those were the words of the old song. I could not think of anyone less likely to induce peaceful sleep than this volatile being.

  ‘Good brew,’ said the old man. ‘Reminds me of a woman I knew once, can’t recall her name, but she’d a rare gift with herbs. Short-lived, like all your kind, more’s the pity. I liked her. As for the south, don’t think you get off so lightly. We’ll meet again some time, you and me, and it won’t be over a friendly cup of tea. There’s a long journey ahead of you, much to learn, and some stubborn old creatures to persuade. Me, I don’t play by any rules but my own, and I change those when the mood takes me. Before you next encounter me, practise your tricks. I like tricks.’ He glanced at the charcoal drawing again. ‘You didn’t do so badly.’

  I nodded, trying to convey gratitude without saying thank you. To utter such words to a fey being was to place oneself under an obligation that could later prove troublesome. I could hardly believe that I was sitting here talking to one of the Guardians in the flesh.

  As if he could read my thoughts, the man said, ‘The others won’t be so easy to find. They’re hidden deep, and that’s by choice. You’ve quite a journey ahead of you.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Come, dog!’

  I unwrapped the garment he had given me from around my shoulders. It was no more than a black rag. ‘You’ll be wanting this back.’

  ‘Keep it,’ he said, downing the rest of his tea in one gulp and clicking his fingers to the dog. ‘I’ll be off, then. Make sure your fire stays burning, lassie.’

  Beyond the creepers that screened the cave, the sky had turned to violet-grey. Evening shadows lay over the land. I helped the old man get the bundle of wood onto his back and watched him walk away across the fells into the dusk. The little dog scampered ahead, turning every now and then to check that he was following. When they were lost to my eye, I went back into the cave and sat down very carefully by the fire. If not for the obvious signs that it was almost night, I might have been inclined to think the journey into Odd’s Hole had been a mad dream. Somewhere inside me there was a burning will to reach Shadowfell, to march into battle, to wave the banner of freedom. At the same time I felt like an old cloth that had been soaked, boiled, thumped on the stones and wrung out hard.

  ‘I can’t tell him,’ I murmured to myself as I sipped at my drink and stared into the little fire. ‘Not this. Not yet.’

  When my cup was empty, I got up and wiped the charcoal marks from the cave wall, turning the striking profile into nothing but shadow.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Despatch: To Owen Swift-Sword, Stag Troop Leader (for his eyes only)

  District of Corbie’s Wood

  End of autumn

  Owen, sent in haste. Keldec has recalled Stag Troop to Winterfort under my command. Boar Troop heads up the Rush Valley in response to rumours of rebel activity. It is late in the season for such a venture, but the king’s councillor overruled my protests. Sending this with Dugald, who leads them.

  I hope to see you in the east before winter closes in. Be careful, friend.

  (signed) Rohan Death-Blade, Stag Troop

  Before full dark I saw Flint coming along the ridge from the nearest stand of pines. He’d checked a trap on the way in; the limp form of some small furred creature hung from his hand, swaying to and fro as he approached. His expression was carefully guarded. It was only when he had come into the cave, set down his bag, his weaponry and the little corpse he carried, that I saw the look in his eyes.

  ‘I’m happy to see you back safe,’ I said, keeping my tone steady and reassuring. The day had been momentous for me. After my visitor was gone, I had wept alone by my fire, but they had been good tears, shed for the past I had let go. Now I felt like a weapon new-forged, shining, eager. But Flint . . . What had he seen today to set such darkness on his face?

  ‘Mm.’ He took out his knife, squatted down and began skinning the creature.

  ‘Did everything go to plan?’

  ‘Mm.’

  I kept quiet while he finished his butchering job. He did it untidily, as if his mind were elsewhere. When he had reduced the catch to a few chunks of meat, he threaded them on a sharpened stick, using more violence than was quite necessary.

  ‘I did cook a meal,’ I said. ‘We can save part of that for the morning.’

  Flint made a sound that might have meant anything and sat back with his bloody hands around his knees. I set the cooking pot on the fire and found a stick to stir the oatmeal mixture with. Outside, it was already night. The days were growing short indeed. I found a cloth, trickled water on it from the skin, passed it to him. ‘Clean your hands,’ I said.

  It was only then that he seemed to notice the blood. He gave his hands a cursory wipe, then reached to turn over his skewered meat. ‘There’s a change of plan,’ he said, not looking at me.

  I was suddenly cold. So close to Shadowfell, with my tests passed, and now this. Had the Enforcers found out where I was? Had his comrades started to suspect him? ‘What change?’

  ‘I can’t take you on straight away. You’ll need to stay here awhile. Another three days and it should be safe to move.’

  ‘Three days?’ After today, the prospect of a delay was hard to bear. ‘Why? No, don’t answer that.’

  ‘I’ll need you to lie low. I’ve picked up a few more supplies for you today. If you’re careful, there will be sufficient to last you until it’s safe to go on. Stay in the cave. You’ll have to go out to the stream for water and for your ablutions, but try to keep that to once a day if you can, and while you’re out there be constantly alert. Keep the knife with you. No other forays, you understand? The risk is too high.’

  I sat there staring at him. ‘You mean you’re not staying.’

  Flint was avoiding my gaze. ‘I’ll be here tonight, then I must be gone. There’s a matter to attend to, something I don’t want you involved in. Do as I bid you and you’ll be perfectly safe. I will come back for you. Three days, perhaps four.’

  After a lengthy silence, he said, ‘You’ve managed on your own before.’

  I bit back a retort. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t be leaving me if he didn’t need to. ‘I can remember you telling me I was making a pretty poor job of it,’ I said, struggling for a light tone.

  He looked at me now and his eyes were steady, though the shadow still lurked there. ‘I was perhaps a little unfair in my comment. You were weak, sick. You frightened me.’

  ‘That meat is burning,’ I said, dropping my gaze. ‘What was
it, a marten?’

  ‘Hardly worth the effort. A mouthful or two each. Just as well you cooked something.’ A fleeting smile touched his lips. ‘I’ll fetch more wood for you in the morning. Any sign of activity today? Friends, helpers?’

  ‘You mean . . . no, there has been no sign of them.’ After a moment I added, ‘You need not worry that I’ll be tempted to go on alone. You’ve succeeded in scaring me out of any such inclination.’

  The smile was gone. ‘I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Believe me, you’re safer not knowing. I’ll give you some explanations when we reach Shadowfell.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t staying on there.’

  ‘I can stay a few days.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘No more of this,’ Flint said. ‘Let us eat this meal, and sit by our fire together, and sleep peacefully, for this one night at least.’

  ‘You’ll need to leave early, I suppose.’ I hated that look on his face, his mouth tight, his eyes full of unrest.

  ‘Not so early that I cannot fetch wood and make sure you have what you need.’ Already I was hearing farewell in his voice.

  ‘I’ll miss you.’ The words were out before I had time to consider how they sounded, what he might take them to mean. I stared down at my hands.

  ‘Look on tonight as a gift.’ Flint’s voice was a murmur. ‘Time. Quiet. Companionship. I had not understood the value of such things.’

  I served the meal without a word, sharing the gruel-like mixture between pot and pannikin, pushing the pot over to Flint. He took the pieces of meat from the skewer and divided them between us.

  ‘Let us forget the world beyond this cave until tomorrow,’ Flint said.

  ‘Alban was different once,’ I said, dipping my spoon in the bowl. ‘Before Keldec, people told tales around the fire after supper. Sang songs. Nobody listened to make sure the words were safe.’

  Glancing across in the silence that followed this, I met Flint’s eyes and saw there a curious expression; it was almost hungry. I remembered the little boy of my dream. Had that child grown up with harp and whistle and the telling of tales?

  ‘The year I was born was the year Keldec came to the throne,’ I told him. ‘I never lived in that other Alban. But I did grow up hearing stories. My grandmother knew many, and my father loved to sing. Back then.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘She died when I was three years old, giving birth to a stillborn son. Father was heartbroken, but he was a stronger man then. He still had Farral and me, and Grandmother to keep him on a straight path.’

  ‘Neryn.’

  I looked across at him again.

  ‘Was your father canny too?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Your grandmother?’

  ‘She had a gift. The Sight, people used to call it. Sometimes she saw things that were to come. She couldn’t summon her ability when she felt the need. It came of itself, as a vision in a pool or a bowl of water. Or in the flames of a hearth fire. What she saw scared her sometimes.’

  Flint looked into the fire as if it might hold mysteries stranger than any tale. ‘Did she tell you about her visions?’ he asked.

  ‘Not often. She said it was dangerous to know the future. Too much knowledge might set a person on wrong paths. If you knew something bad was coming, you might take steps to try to prevent it. The Sight doesn’t work that way. You can’t know if what you’re shown is the certain future or simply a possible future. She didn’t have time to teach me everything she wanted to. Some of it, she was keeping until I was older. But . . . well, you know what happened.’ I hesitated. ‘When I told you, it was the first time I’d told the whole of that story to anyone. About what they did to her. I was never able to say it before.’

  ‘You say she was teaching you. Does that mean you share the same gift?’

  ‘I don’t have the Sight, no. Grandmother was a herbalist, a healer. She was teaching me those skills. Which plants to gather and when; what is effective against certain conditions; how to make infusions, decoctions, salves; how to extract oils. How to set a broken limb or lance a boil. Simple enough skills; they should be no cause for suspicion. But they are. So she taught a very little at a time. I wish I had learned more.’

  ‘At Shadowfell,’ Flint said quietly, ‘there are folk who can teach you, if that is the path you wish to follow.’

  I did not think I would be spending time on herbs and healing. After today, it was all too clear what my path must be. But it was too soon to share the revelations I had been given. When we reached Shadowfell I would tell him.

  Beyond the cave mouth, the darkness deepened. It was a night of no stars; the moon lay hidden behind a veil of heavy cloud. We sat by our fire, exchanging a word or two from time to time, nothing of much import. We did not tell tales or sing songs, though I allowed myself to imagine a future in which I would pass on to him the stories my grandmother had told me when I was growing up, and the tunes my father had whistled, and maybe the grand old song I had sung to the ghosts of Hiddenwater and shared with a brollachan. Once or twice the two of us would glance up at the same time and our eyes would meet, and I wondered if the feeling that passed through me was the same for Flint. Not desire, not exactly, though his plain features had become pleasing to me. I liked his strong, capable hands and his well-made form. But the trust we shared was too new-found, too fragile for anything beyond the touch of hands, the occasional brushing of one body against another. All the same, our eyes spoke of something good, something deep, something that could grow and flower if the world we lived in would allow it. Something too precious to put into words. Something I would not dare let out into the light of day, not yet.

  I wanted to tell him to stay safe, to take care, to make sure he came back to me. I wanted to ask what had made him so grim and quiet when he emerged from the trees earlier. I wanted to be the one who could gentle that hunted look off his face, who could reassure him that the world was not all hurt and violence and madness. But that was to assume too much. He was not staying at Shadowfell. He was going back to Keldec. The questions that hung over that choice could not be asked, not now, and perhaps not ever. They forbade any expression of tenderness. They forbade my speaking to him as if I had a right to care about his welfare. I hoped my eyes might convey, at the very least, that I was going to be lonely without him.

  Some time in the night I woke with a start to hear the voices of wolves on the wind. The sound was eerie, forlorn, a song of cold and loneliness and survival. It was a hungry season for all who picked a living in this harsh place. I moved to add wood to the fire, which had burned down to embers.

  I looked across the fire. Where Flint had been lying wrapped in his cloak, there was nobody. I felt a jolt of panic. Gone already? He had said in the morning. He had said he would gather wood, he had told me –

  ‘Neryn? I’m here.’ His voice came like a breath of darkness. He was up by the cave mouth, gazing into the night, where the pale moon now peered out between clouds, setting a chill light on the rocks around our haven.

  I threw my cloak over my shoulders and scrambled out to stand beside him. Gods, it was cold! My fingers were numb; I could barely feel my feet.

  Flint was as still as a man of stone. The moonlight touched his features, revealing him as a person of flesh and blood, for on his strong face the cold glow illuminated the glittering path of a tear.

  Nothing to say; how could I find the right words? I laid my hand against his back and kept it there, willing some of my warmth to flow into him. We stood thus a long time. Eventually he moved, muttering something about my getting cold, and the two of us returned to the cave.

  ‘It’s freezing,’ I said. ‘Why don’t we put one cloak underneath, and the two of us lie on it, and the rest of these covers can go over both of us?’ And when he said nothing, just looked at me, I said, ‘All I’m suggesting is that we keep each other warm. If you feel responsible for my welfare, this is your way to make sure I don’t freeze to death before
I get to Shadowfell.’ I realised that I had said it; I had spoken the word aloud to him at last.

  He might have said, What about tomorrow night? But he did not, merely helped me spread out his cloak on the cave floor. The two of us lay down on it awkwardly, side by side, and pulled the rest of the bedding over us. Without touching him I felt Flint’s unease. Without touching him I felt the warmth from his body spreading into mine, banishing the chill and filling me with wellbeing, comfort, rightness. Outside, the night was quiet now. Within our haven, the fire made dancing patterns on the walls.

  I fell asleep with my heart at peace. I opened my eyes at first light. I was lying on my side under the coverings and Flint was curled behind me, his body touching mine at chest and thighs, his arm flung over me. If I had been half-asleep a moment ago, I was wide awake now. I should get up, move away. To be so close to him was utterly wrong. But he seemed so peaceful; I did not want to wake him. I did not really want to move at all. I will remember this, I thought. I’ll remember it when I’m cold, weary and alone. I lay still awhile, not thinking beyond the sensations in my body. Then Flint woke, and without a word about the semi-embrace in which we found ourselves, we moved apart and rose to face the new day.

  Flint packed his bag. I heated up the leftover food while he fetched more wood and stacked it for me. He gave me a bigger knife, a serious-looking weapon I hoped I would not need to use. And then we were sitting by our fire once again, and there was a quality in the silence that was more troubling than all my fears for his safety.

  ‘Neryn?’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘I have something to tell you. Something I want you to hear before I go. Will you promise to listen until I’ve said all I need to say?’

  I did not like the tone of his voice, or the words.

  ‘Are you sure you want to tell me now?’ If he had to go away, let him get on with it before I had time to think too much. Let him complete today’s mission, whatever it was, and come safely back so we could go on together. Let him perform the task without being killed or hurt or taken. The time for explanations was when we reached Shadowfell.