A sudden, strange shiver of wind passed through the place of the cairns, stirring every tree, making the lantern flicker, blowing Silva’s dark hair across her face. The little one stepped onto my palm and I lifted it, cradling it against my chest. It was as light as thistledown.
‘Good,’ I said softly. ‘Now we’re going home.’
We made a bed in the egg basket, lining it with an old, soft cloth. To my surprise, the wee one curled up there and went straight off to sleep. The four of us gathered around the brazier, drinking Silva’s herbal brew, and held a council.
Ean had been shocked into silence by what he had seen. Silva was quiet, too – the loss at the cairns was a kind of death to her, and I thought she would have liked time alone to grieve, but that was not possible. As for Whisper, he was calm, though sombre. He understood the magnitude of what had happened; whether he would agree to my half-formed plan remained to be seen.
As simply as I could, I explained to Ean that the tiny being was vitally important to the participation of the Good Folk in the rebellion, and indeed to the future of Alban.
‘I can’t explain to you exactly what the wee one is, but it is the last of its kind here; there were more of them before the storm. They’ve been safe here because of . . . an ancient magic, a protective power maintained by the wise women’s rituals. After the fire, after the other women were killed, Silva kept that going by herself.’
Ean raised his brows. ‘What about you?’
‘Neryn helped me,’ Silva said, frowning at him. ‘But she’s not trained in the rituals. And she had her own work to do.’ When he made to speak, she added, ‘She’s needed for the end, Ean. For midsummer. Don’t you listen?’
The show of temper was a good sign; anything was better than the aching sorrow I had seen on her face when she realised the Lady was gone. ‘I’ve had my own work here,’ I kept my tone even, ‘but now that there is only one of these beings left, that work has changed. My next task must be moving the little one to a place where it can be safe, and where Silva or someone else can continue the appropriate rituals.’
‘But Neryn,’ said Silva, ‘this was the last place.’
‘That’s what I was told, yes.’ It was what the Lady herself had believed. ‘But don’t you think if we have faith and hope, and if we take steps to mend what’s been broken, we can change that? Maybe we can bring the magic back.’
The others stared at me, uncomprehending.
‘The sanctuary is gone,’ Silva said flatly. ‘The tree has fallen. The Beehives are no more.’
‘Besides,’ put in Ean, ‘Silva can’t stay here, not after this. She needs to come south with me. If you have any sense you’ll pack up your things and do the same.’ He glanced at Whisper. ‘At least, you will, Neryn.’
‘Silva,’ I said, ‘there is one left. We can’t give up hope while one survives, even such a small and fragile one. And maybe it’s not the place itself that matters so much as a . . . a meeting of things, time and place, hearts and minds, hope and belief. When all comes together, the magic is born. In my grandmother’s time and before, people performed rituals all over Alban, on hilltops and in caves and out in the forest. In their own houses, sometimes. Think about the song we were singing; the magic is present in every part of Alban, if only we look for it. Sometimes it’s hard to find. Sometimes it’s hidden away. Sometimes we don’t have the strength to keep on looking. But it never really dies. It never really goes away.’
‘Are you saying we should take the little being away from here?’ Silva’s voice was hushed with shock. ‘Wouldn’t it die?’
‘If it’s left behind on its ain,’ said Whisper, ‘it surely willna survive.’
‘But Neryn,’ protested Silva, ‘if the wee beings are what you said they are, we can’t . . . I mean we shouldn’t . . .’
‘If we’re stopped on the way and anyone sees that thing,’ Ean nodded in the general direction of the egg basket with its small occupant, ‘we’ll all be hauled up before the authorities, you know that, I suppose?’
‘All too well,’ I said levelly. ‘Fortunately, the being is small enough to be easily hidden. I wasn’t planning to carry it on my shoulder like a pet bird.’ I caught myself before I went any further; Ean was only asking the questions I might ask if the situation were reversed. ‘Ean,’ I said, ‘you told me you were living at Callan Stanes. And you said something about ritual. How did that place get its name?’ I prayed that my hunch about this was right.
‘The Stanes? Well, that’s what it is, an old stone circle. Sometimes called the Giants, though there’s more giants lying down now than standing tall. All covered over with moss and brambles. Godforsaken sort of spot. Nobody goes there anymore except rabbits and mice and a crow or two.’
I saw dawning comprehension on Silva’s face, and on Whisper’s. ‘A stone circle,’ I said. ‘And you said the rebel base is at a nearby farm. How near?’
‘A short walk. Further from the stones to the settlement. The Giants are not straightforward to find. There’s a tale about them.’
‘Oh, yes?’
Ean’s face was rosy in the light from the brazier; his expression softened. ‘People say the stones move around as they please. The Slow Dance, it’s called. Each time you go there, you’ll find them in different places. And . . . at certain times of year, at sunrise and at sunset, they say you can see them dancing. You can’t watch the stones directly or they’ll freeze in place. You have to watch their shadows.’
As her brother spoke, Silva’s eyes came alight. I felt my own heart beat faster. He had told me exactly what I wanted to hear.
‘It’s only a story,’ Ean said, looking at Silva. ‘But I thought you’d like it.’
‘Aye,’ said Whisper. ‘A pleasing tale. You say naebody visits this place save the wee field creatures? But you tell it as if you ken the spot weel. The brambles and the fallen stanes and all.’
Ean cleared his throat. ‘One or two of us have been there. The folk from the farm, I mean. Cut away some thornbushes, set one of the smaller stones back upright. There’s a girl knows some of the old prayers. The folk from the settlement don’t go there, and we haven’t cleared the path.’
Now all eyes were on him.
‘It felt right,’ he said. ‘That is, I thought it was what Silva would have wanted me to do. Back then, I didn’t know where she was. I didn’t know if she was dead or alive.’
Silva put her arms around him. ‘You did well,’ she murmured. ‘You did a good thing.’ He gave her an awkward hug in return.
‘It’s plain we need to move on after what’s happened,’ I said. ‘Silva’s reason for staying here is gone. Besides, as Ean pointed out, it’s far more likely folk will come out this way to have a look as the weather improves. What’s to stop them reporting back to the local authorities? We should go – all of us – to this farm near Callan Stanes. It sounds as safe for you as anywhere can be right now, Silva. The wee one might survive at the stone circle if you’re there to conduct the rituals. The girl Ean mentioned, the one who’s been offering prayers, might be able to help you.’
‘And you?’ asked Ean, eyes on me.
‘Whisper and I were planning to link up with your group when we left here anyway. Once we’ve spoken with your leaders we’ll move on to the south.’
‘Just one thing,’ Ean said.
‘What?’
‘Whisper,’ Ean said. ‘And you. You talk about moving away from here because of folk reporting to the authorities. But you intend to travel together. That’s a sure way of getting yourself turned over to the Enforcers.’
‘Are you volunteering to take his place as my protector?’
A flush rose to his cheeks. ‘You want me to put it more bluntly? I will, then. I came here to find Silva and bring her back across the border. I wasn’t expecting you, and I certainly wasn’t expecting you,’ he nodded toward Wh
isper. ‘You’ve helped Silva, and I thank you for that. I do understand that you need to come to Callan Stanes and talk to my group, if not now, then some time soon. But travelling with you and him together isn’t going to make Silva safer. The opposite, more likely.’
‘Neryn gaes wi’ me,’ Whisper said. His tone made it clear there would be no further discussion.
‘And Silva must go with me,’ I added. ‘Because I’m the one who has promised to take the little being to Callan Stanes, and her prayers are needed to keep it alive on the way. So, like it or not, if you want to escort Silva to the south, you’ll be travelling with all of us.’ Seeing his jaw tighten, I added, ‘Ean, arguing amongst ourselves is a waste of precious time. We’re all on the same side. We have a shared purpose. You know the way to Callan Stanes. We need you to show us.’
‘How soon were you thinking of heading off?’ Ean was still frowning, but it seemed he had accepted my argument. ‘Erevan’s got patrols in place all the way to the border. When I came the other way I saw king’s men on the roads, too. There’s far more activity than last winter. Almost as if they’re expecting trouble.’
Let that not mean the king had somehow got word of the impending challenge to his authority. One of the great strengths of our plan was its secrecy. But as the day drew closer, and the word spread more widely among both human folk and Good Folk, the risk increased that someone would break their silence. ‘We’ll wait for the weather to clear, of course. And Silva will need to do something about the animals.’ Silva was holding a chicken on her knee now, gentling it as if it were a cat or little dog; her thin fingers moved steadily, stroking the tawny feathers. ‘Perhaps there’s some way of getting them to a nearby farm without being too obvious.’
‘We could take Snow with us,’ Silva said.
‘What?’ Ean was incredulous.
‘She can walk to Callan Stanes, if we don’t go too fast for her. If we had her, we’d pass more easily as ordinary farm folk.’
‘Ordinary farm folk with a walking, talking owl.’
‘Did you no’ spot the wings, then, laddie?’
It took a moment before Ean realised this was a joke. He drew a breath, then visibly relaxed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s been . . . it’s been hard. Of course you would fly, and I’ve seen how you can change your appearance, become more . . . unobtrusive. I’ve been discourteous.’
‘We’re all slow to trust,’ I said. ‘With good reason. Now, are we all agreed that we’ll head for Callan Stanes together? That we’ll go as soon as the weather improves?’
Everyone nodded assent.
‘Good. Time enough to talk about goats in the morning. We’d best try to get some sleep.’ I moved to peer into the egg basket, which we’d set in one corner on a stool. All I could see of the tiny being was its wispy white hair; it was tucked in deep. With a careful finger I lifted the bedding so I could check that it was breathing. ‘I have no idea what they eat, or even if they do eat,’ I murmured to Silva, who had come up alongside me.
‘It’s so little,’ she whispered. ‘It’s hard to believe that something so tiny . . .’
‘Mm.’
‘I suppose we’ll find out how to look after it as we go,’ said Silva. It was the voice of the girl who had tended to her garden and her animals and, eventually, Whisper and me as well, without ever questioning whether she could manage it all.
‘I suppose we will.’ Indeed, we must. My instincts told me how important this was; in its own way, it was as vital as the challenge to Keldec. If a Guardian perished, the end of Alban was surely nigh. But I would not talk about that now. Ean would be useful for getting us to Callan Stanes, but his part in my journey went that far and no further. He would therefore be told what he needed to know and no more. Good, Neryn, I imagined Tali saying. You’re starting to think like a warrior.
Chapter Six
One storm ended only to be followed by another and then another, and we could not leave. We were wet, tired and ill-tempered. Ean did more than his share of work around the place, tackling the heavy jobs that were beyond Silva and me. But his anxiety made him sharp, and when he could not throw his pent-up energy into hard physical activity he was either snappish and quarrelsome or silent and brooding. His presence did nothing to lighten my own mood. Several times Whisper had seen some of the local men on the track between the settlement and the Beehives, and it seemed only a matter of time before we had visitors.
Ean had been with us for nearly a full turning of the moon before winter began to release its grip on the land. It was still bitterly cold. There were more wet days than dry, and the mud was everywhere. But little by little the sun began to show its face, and the first tentative shoots of bluebell and snowdrop appeared under the trees, and at last it seemed we would soon be on our way.
From the dwindling stores, Silva prepared hard bread and other supplies for our journey. She packed a healer’s bag containing salves and lotions, bandages and useful implements – between us, she and I had enough skill to tend to all but the most serious ailments and injuries.
The hens were already gone. Ean had suggested, earlier, that if we slaughtered one every few days we could have good eating while we waited for fine weather. Neither Whisper nor I would have dreamed of suggesting this to Silva. The look on her face had silenced Ean immediately. So, Whisper had flown off to find a suitable place to leave the birds, and had spotted a tiny farmstead where an old couple was eking out a living. It had a chicken run, well fenced, with a small flock in residence, and no rooster. Silva had been quick to raise difficulties – what if the other hens picked on hers, what if the old couple decided her hens would be for eating, not laying, what if they reported the sudden arrival to the authorities? But when the time came to take the birds, by night, to the farmstead and slip them into the enclosure, she cooperated with dry eyes and no further comments. She had accepted that this was the best we could do for her beloved flock.
The next day she was very quiet. But she had something else to keep her busy. The wee one, last remnant of the White Lady, had to be tended to. Since we had no way to discover its name, we were calling it Piper.
Piper did eat and drink. It liked honey water, dried fruit cut very fine, and tiny pieces of cheese. Our supply of cheese was low; there would be no more before we reached the rebels at Callan Stanes, and perhaps not even then. Piper slept in its basket, travelled about on my shoulder or Silva’s, and kept its distance from Whisper. Ean’s knives did not seem to trouble it. We were fortunate in that. On the way to Callan Stanes, Ean and I might both need to use our weapons.
The burial mound had been damaged by the flood, and one of Ean’s first tasks had been to build it up securely. He had carried larger stones to cover it, laying them in a pattern of Silva’s devising. At dawn and dusk, Silva took Piper down there and murmured her way through the ritual prayers. If the little one could not understand her human voice, that hardly mattered – she was continuing the wise women’s practice, the very thing the White Lady had said kept the last of her alive.
Sometimes I spoke to Piper, using the drum. I told the little one our plan; explained that Callan Stanes was another place of ancient ritual, sacred, quiet, safer now than the Beehives. I said that Silva would stay there, and that I would move on. I whispered my hope that in Piper the White Lady still existed, that in the wee one her great light still burned, and that maybe it could grow strong again.
We were not really sure if Piper was male or female, but I began to think of the small being as he; his sense of fun suggested a cheeky boy, and his garb was a leafy tunic with openings for his wings, diminutive trousers, and a fine gossamer cape. He accepted my explanations with unusual gravity, bowing with arms crossed on his chest, and sometimes replied in dumb show, which he seemed to enjoy. Could this be part of the White Lady and at the same time a lad? Perhaps, in a time so long ago that it was beyond human remembering, all the little b
eings together had made up Lord and Lady, man and woman, male and female.
Snow was still with us; none of us had managed to persuade Silva to part with her. There was, in fact, a strong argument for taking the goat south when we left. Snow was well known in the district of the Beehives. She’d been mated several times with other farmers’ billy goats and her offspring had fetched good prices at the market. Her sudden appearance on someone’s farm would surely attract attention to our departure, and while it was possible nobody in the settlement would care one way or another, we wanted to be well away from the Beehives before anyone knew we were gone. All rebel groups kept their existence secret, either by living in a remote location like Shadowfell, or – more usually – by maintaining an ordinary life as well as their covert one. The group at Callan Stanes was on an isolated farm. The last thing Ean would want was to attract notice to them.
We left on a crisp, fair day, just after dawn: two young women, one young man, an owl and a goat. Ean, Silva and I had staves and packs; Ean also bore his weaponry, and my knife was in my belt.
The mood was sober. Silva was leaving a beloved home and a place whose sacred rites had been the centre of her life. She was also walking away from those who had been her sisters, her family; leaving their grave untended. Ean had his jaw set firm and his gaze straight ahead, but I knew his responsibilities lay heavily on his young shoulders. As for me, I had done as Tali would have wanted, making a plan and acting on it as soon as I could. But inside, I was full of doubt. Could it really be right for me, a human woman, to remove Piper from the Beehives and transport him south on not much more than a hunch? The more I thought about it, the more outrageous it seemed. I longed for Sage to be here, so I could talk to my wise friend and seek her counsel. As for Whisper, he’d had very little to say in recent days, but that was nothing unusual in the company of Ean. Once we’d reached Callan Stanes, I told myself, once we’d seen Silva and Piper to their place of safety and had a word with the Glenfalloch rebels, we’d be on our own again, just Whisper and me. I was surprised to find myself looking forward to that.
The Caller Page 11
