The Caller

by Juliet Marillier

  Something was happening down there. The annexe had been opened up, and so had the screened area. And now, out onto the practice yard, came two teams of combatants. As in the bout I’d seen the first time I came up here, one team wore tokens of green, the other blue. Each team was made up of both fey and human folk, the human fighters being the young men from the south. As the two teams moved to take up positions opposite one another, Enforcers armed with swords or spears moved to encircle the entire area. The human combatants had weapons: thrusting spears too pale to be of iron, one or two clubs, something that looked like a whip. The Good Folk were unarmed. As the opposing teams arranged themselves in rough formations, I glimpsed two men moving up into the area of raised seating from which the king’s party had watched last year’s Gathering. Brydian and Esten. They seated themselves side by side in the front row. Now I felt cold inside. This was what I had climbed up here to see. But I would have given much not to have to watch it.

  At a shout from one of the Enforcers – Gill, the Wolf Troop leader, I thought – the teams rushed forward to join battle. For a short while it looked orderly, or as orderly as any fight can be, with small groups of combatants engaging one another and exchanging blows that looked almost rehearsed. But then, suddenly, it became chaotic and bloody, no practice combat but a real one. Gill and his assistants began yelling instructions, but nobody seemed to be listening.

  A call welled up in me. I should stop this. I should bid the Good Folk hold back. Then surely Gill would order the human fighters to do the same, and this would end before more damage was inflicted. But I could not call. If I did, chances were at least some of those folk would look up toward me, acknowledge me. It was only one step from there to finding myself immured in the cells alongside Flint, robbed of the chance to make any difference at midsummer.

  A surge forward by the blue team; screams of challenge. Several men fell, and the tide rushed over them. The green team retaliated, pushing the assailants back. Esten raised his arm, and the big creature I had seen earlier, the one with rock-like features, sprayed out a plume of smoke or steam, moving his head as he did to catch three young men from the opposing team right in their faces. They fell to their knees, screaming. Gill gestured toward Esten, and the king’s Caller cried out, ‘Stop!’

  The Good Folk stood still as if turned to stone. The young men lowered their weapons; I could hear someone moaning in pain. Then Gill yelled something at Brydian, and Brydian responded, and suddenly everyone was shouting. The rock-headed being waved a monstrous fist. A chorus of fey voices rang out in fury. They had complied with Esten’s call because they had no choice. He had forced their instant obedience. But despite that, they were making their anger known. Despite the Caller, despite the iron, they were making their voices heard. If Esten could stop the battle so abruptly, surely he could also calm the angry crowd. I considered what I would do if I were in his shoes right now; imagined a call drawn from the depths of earth, quiet and still, solid and unchanging. A strong, steady call. I felt it deep within me, and made myself hold it back.

  Wolf Troop men ran to fetch stretchers from the annexe; with the aid of the young men who had survived the bout, they laid the remains of the fallen on these and bore them away. Others stumbled off the field, propped up by their friends. There was Ean, helping an injured man to safety; it was a relief to see him apparently fit and well. I could not see Whisper. Had my friend already fallen victim to one of these ill-conceived performances?

  The Good Folk were making their fury plain, and not only by shouting. Flames licked the wooden benches and a cloud of grey-green vapour began to drift up toward Esten and Brydian. The voice of Gill came to me clearly now, above the racket. ‘Keep on like this and we’ll have no men left!’

  Brydian turned to Esten and said something. Esten lifted both arms.

  No question of what was coming. The urge to call was like a flame burning inside me. Oh, how I longed to bid these folk rise up against their captors, to run or fly or travel by magic away from the stone walls of Summerfort and back to their homes in forest or lake or mountain, where they need never be subject to such evil again. I wrapped my arms around myself, stifling the burning will to act. Perhaps I did have the power to set this captive army free, even when cold iron hemmed them in. But there was another army to command, Tali’s fey army, our allies at the Gathering. Without me, they would not fight alongside Tali and her rebels, because that was simply the way the Good Folk were made. I could hear Tali’s voice in my mind, strong and clear. You are our secret weapon, Neryn. Hold back until it’s time.

  So I looked on as Esten used his destructive call again, and the fey folk down there fell to their knees, wailing. Quelled; powerless; hurting. Those of the young men who remained out on the field simply stood there, as if beyond feeling anything. I had no words for this; all I could think was how sad, how horrified, how disappointed Flint would be if he could see it.

  ‘Not a pretty sight.’

  I started violently, losing my footing, and teetered on the brink. A strong hand came out and grabbed my arm, steadying me. ‘Careful, now. We wouldn’t be wanting you to fall. Not so close to midsummer day.’

  The Master of Shadows. He was right beside me, today no old man but a prince in his prime, his features hawk-like, his midnight hair long and flowing, his eyes a flickering blend of black and red. He wore a swirling dark cloak over a deep red robe. No sign of the dog. Perhaps it didn’t like heights.

  ‘My lord,’ I said in shaking tones. ‘This is . . . unexpected.’

  ‘Surprises keep life interesting. What do you think?’ He waved an elegant hand toward the practice area, where the Enforcers were now herding the Good Folk back toward their temporary accommodation.

  I must choose my words with care. He might disappear at any moment. He might decide to push me over the edge simply to amuse himself. I must make sure I asked the right questions. ‘You speak of surprises,’ I said. ‘There is one surprising thing here, and it is that you apparently trained that man, the one we just saw using what you taught him to harm your own folk. When we last met, you tested me and recognised me as a Caller. You seemed to understand what it was I intended to do. Why would you train a second Caller and allow him to be brought here?’

  He gave a slow smile. ‘What, you don’t have the ability to override that fellow’s call?’

  ‘I’m only asking why.’

  ‘And if I said it was for my own amusement, would you accept that answer?’

  He had once told me he loved playing games. He’d said that before we met again, I would need to get better at it. I did not understand this game at all. ‘You are a Guardian,’ I said. ‘I suppose you can do as you please. But I thought the Guardians were . . . wise in ancient ways. I thought they were forces for good.’

  That smile again, knowing and mischievous. He turned his gaze back to the practice yard, where Gill was still in dispute with Brydian as the last of the Good Folk were moved out of our view. Esten was slumped on a seat in the raised area, his head in his hands. ‘Your king is a human king,’ the Master said. ‘Your queen is a human queen. Their Caller is an ordinary man. I did not summon those folk into captivity; I did not herd them like cattle or subject them to pain and terror. It was your kind that did those things.’

  ‘But you trained him,’ I said. ‘He spoke of you, an old man with a little dog, a man carrying a bundle of sticks. Just the same as when I first met you.’

  ‘You’re wasting time,’ he said. ‘He is here, and you are here, and midsummer is only days away. Choose your questions more wisely.’

  ‘Very well.’ I drew a deep breath. ‘How can I protect my fey allies against cold iron?’

  He threw back his head and laughed, a wholehearted sound of genuine amusement. I waited for Brenn to come rushing up the steps, but he did not. Perhaps only I could hear it. ‘That is quite a question, Neryn.’

  ‘Now you are wa
sting time,’ I said. ‘I sought the answer with three Guardians, and in the end I was told that if anyone knew, it would be you. There will be a battle at midsummer; there’s no avoiding that. I cannot call our allies in unless they can resist iron. Otherwise they will suffer a worse fate than those poor folk that Esten dominates with his call.’

  ‘What answer are you expecting? If it were a matter of hanging a charm around the neck, or putting a clove of garlic in the pouch, or saying a spell before a body went into battle, what could you do about it now? You cannot pass the word to your allies out beyond the walls before midsummer.’

  And when I said nothing, feeling the weight of bitter disappointment, he said, ‘The answer’s right before your eyes, lassie. Fleeting as a shadow, maybe, but you’re quick enough. That’s if you’re still the woman you were last autumn.’

  Fleeting as a shadow . . . Could it be as simple as that? When we had met, I had captured his profile on the wall with a piece of charcoal, when the fire had thrown it there in shadow. The old lore said that when a person did such a thing, the one whose true image was caught had to grant a favour. I had told him, then, that I would not claim my reward straight away, but would wait until a time of need.

  ‘Quick now,’ he said. ‘I’ve my wee dog waiting.’

  ‘You owe me a reward,’ I said.

  ‘Aye, I do.’

  ‘Then protect all the fey folk against cold iron, at the Gathering.’

  ‘A big reward, that. Almost too big.’

  I said nothing. If he could play games, so could I.

  ‘All the Good Folk? Even those ranged against your rebel forces?’

  ‘If my call is strong enough they will all fight for us. Even those who have been imprisoned here; even those so hurt and damaged that they have good reason never to trust human folk again.’

  ‘You’re sure that’s the favour you want? Quite sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ I knew enough from the old tales to understand the peril of magical gifts. Ask too much – for instance, that the Master of Shadows should ensure my call was stronger than Esten’s on the day, or that we would win without any losses, or that somehow peace could be restored without the need for any fight at all – and what seemed a boon would turn out to be a bane. There would be a trick in it designed to teach the wisher not to overreach herself.

  ‘Done, then,’ he said. ‘For the length of the battle, and for as long as it takes your survivors to limp home, I will shield them.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I felt a great weight leave my shoulders.

  ‘I would wish you luck.’ He looked quite serious now, his strange eyes fixed on my face as if they would read what was in the deepest part of my mind. ‘But this is not a matter of luck. It’s courage, strength, resolve. And knowing the right moment to bring it to an end. Don’t forget that, Caller.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You wonder why I offered that fellow training,’ the Master said. ‘I did not seek him out. He came to me asking to be taught. I obliged, up to a point. Such a gift is best guided well, nurtured and shaped as, say, a fine apple tree might be. In some, such as yourself, the gift is strong, the mind is keen and the heart is sound. In others, flaws become quickly apparent; flaws that can never be remedied. Thus it was with this young man. I withdrew my support.’

  ‘And now he’s here at Summerfort with a powerful gift that he doesn’t know how to use wisely.’

  ‘That is for you to deal with,’ said the Master of Shadows.

  ‘Ellida?’ Brenn’s voice came from below the trapdoor. ‘Who are you talking to?’

  ‘Nobody,’ I said, glancing down. And when I looked back toward the place where the Master of Shadows had been standing, it was true. From one moment to the next, he had vanished.

  Two days until midsummer, and the last of the chieftains arrived: Sconlan of Glenbuie, Ness of Corriedale, and the formidable northern leader, Lannan Long-Arm, a towering figure with a mane of red hair and a look of harnessed power that put me in mind of an eagle. Such a substantial force had come with Lannan that the level ground beyond the fortress walls was full from one side to the other with horses, men and women, and all the paraphernalia required to sustain them. The keep was bursting at the seams.

  There were two guards stationed outside the infirmary door now, day and night – someone had put this arrangement in place straight after my night down in the cells. So close to the Gathering, I was especially glad of their presence. The small gifts and kindnesses continued; if Brenn had really been my husband, he might have had cause for jealousy. This all seemed somewhat odd, but I had no time to ponder it. Midsummer was looming, and I faced the test of my life.

  The special forces ceased training. Instead of dealing with combat injuries, we were tending to folk with cuts and bruises, pains in the belly, chronic complaints of one kind or another. Our job was made easier by the presence of two other healers: one from the household of Sconlan of Glenbuie, a chieftain whose allegiance I did not know; the other from that of Erevan of Scourie, who had been behind that raid on the house of the wise women. They’d set up a makeshift infirmary out in the encampment and were looking after the folk housed there.

  I had little news of Flint. The men were still saying the king planned to make an example of him at the Gathering. They talked about it often, and it seemed to me the anger among them was like a bed of coals that might flare high at any time. I felt a change spreading through the whole household. The punishment of Dai, the small son of Brand and Scia, had upset many people. Scia would not talk about it. Pale, red-eyed, composed, she went about her work in a tight silence as effective as any shield. Dai had recovered from the whipping; that much I knew. But I saw something new on Brand’s face as he stood in the great hall, watching the king and queen. The place felt like a spring wound close to snapping point.

  At supper time, Devan and I stood up in our places with everyone else as the chieftains of Alban and their wives made their way to the high table: Erevan of Scourie; Gormal of Glenfalloch; Keenan of Wedderburn. Sconlan of Glenbuie and Ness of Corriedale. At the end walked Lannan Long-Arm, proud and tall in his princely robes. If the battle was won, he would play a key part in Alban’s future, most likely as co-regent. I watched him as I picked at my supper, wondering if he would be a better leader than Keldec, or whether power might turn him, too, into a tyrant. I wondered what would happen to Tali and the other rebels if we won. What would their place be in that future Alban?

  Brenn was coming over to our table. Now that Stag Troop had been relieved of training duty, he and his comrades ate in the hall with the rest of us. He had another man with him, a sturdily built fellow in the green of Gormal’s household.

  ‘Ellida, you remember Macc, don’t you? Gormal’s master-at-arms?’

  I rose to my feet. ‘Macc, it’s good to see you.’

  ‘And you, Ellida,’ said Macc, who had never met me in his life before. ‘Lord Gormal sent me to deliver an invitation, seeing as Morven here will be participating in some of the activities of the Gathering. You’re not a tall girl, and there’s always such a press of folk out there on the day, you’ll be lucky to see anything. Lord Gormal says you’re welcome to sit with us. Some of the men have their wives with them; you’ll have plenty of company. We’ll be well positioned in that raised area, you know the spot?’

  ‘That would be wonderful, Macc. Please pass on my thanks to Lord Gormal.’ Elation and terror fought within me. Yes, it would be an ideal place; I would have a clear view across the open area. It would also be close to the king and queen, and to Esten.

  ‘Back row, most likely,’ Macc said in apologetic tones. ‘Among the men-at-arms. But you’ll get a good view.’

  ‘I’m grateful. I mustn’t miss the chance to admire Morven in action.’ Someone had arranged this perfectly for what I must do. I did not ask questions, simply accepted the gift it was.

  B
renn bent and kissed me on the cheek. ‘I hope to do you proud,’ he said.

  Devan looked at me a little oddly as the two men made their way back to their own table. ‘I suppose it’s different when your man’s an Enforcer,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Different?’

  ‘Just . . . well, I’ve heard some talk about what the Gathering’s like, and I think if I had the chance to spend the day in the infirmary, I’d be glad of it.’

  ‘Shh!’ The woman on her other side hissed a warning. ‘Don’t speak like that, someone might hear you.’

  Devan applied her concentration to her plate.

  ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be out there long,’ I said lightly. ‘Toleg will be needing me.’

  One day before the Gathering, and the place was strung still tighter. Toleg had gone grim and silent, and Scia kept dropping things. When Rohan Death-Blade took a turn on guard duty, I left my work and went out into the hallway to speak with him.

  ‘May I have a word privately, Rohan?’

  He nodded and we retreated out of earshot of the other guard.

  ‘What is it? All well?’

  ‘I was wondering . . .’ I shouldn’t ask.

  ‘Wondering what?’

  ‘Rohan, what will they do to Owen? Is there no way he can be saved? He . . . he seems a good man.’ For that speech alone, to the wrong ears, I could find myself on the list for the king’s punishment.

  ‘I can’t answer that, Ellida.’

  Of course he could not; we both knew the king intended Owen Swift-Sword to die, one way or another, before the Gathering was over. ‘I don’t suppose . . .’ I began, then stopped myself.

  ‘Owen told me nobody’s to go down there today.’ Rohan had guessed what it was I could not bring myself to put into words. ‘Brocc and Ardon are both on guard.’