The palace warden, Lady Tremaine, was in charge of the daily running of the palace and had not missed a single opportunity to criticize Dawn. After nine months in her role, Dawn still wasn’t able to ignore the warden’s withering remarks.
She took the heavy Palace Whisperer’s robe from its place in her dressing chamber and slipped it on over her southern-style tunic and trousers. Immediately, Ebony landed on her shoulder, her talons tight but not sharp through the padding of the robe.
As she trod the wide flagstone corridors towards the king’s council chamber, Dawn’s head was awash with the details of the day ahead. Only Ebony’s calming presence kept her panic at bay.
The council chamber was ominously silent. Alone at the vast rectangular table sat James Valderin, the Head of the Palace Guard. He looked up, nodding politely at Dawn as she entered. Dawn took a seat close to Valderin, feeling Ebony shift impatiently on her shoulder.
The silence stretched and Dawn was on the verge of forcing out some pointless small talk when the double doors at the far end of the room burst open and the palace warden strode in, closely followed by King Eneron himself. Dawn rose to her feet, as did Valderin. They all waited as the king ambled to the head of the table and slumped into his gilded chair.
The warden glanced briefly at the king to see if, for once, he might open the proceedings according to the royal custom; but King Eneron simply stared, glassy-eyed, through the tall chamber windows, out towards the rippling flags on the battlements beyond.
“Well, then,” said the warden. “Let us begin.” She gracefully seated herself at the right hand of the king and opened a worn leather case that was stacked neatly with papers.
As this was happening, Ebony switched on to Dawn’s other shoulder in a brief flurry of flapping.
Lady Tremaine immediately looked up from her papers.
“This is a chamber of council, not a falconry exhibition,” she snapped, staring across the table at Dawn. “It would be polite if you could keep your animal under control in the presence of the king.”
The presence of the king? whispered Ebony. The king is barely present himself.
Dawn might have smiled if she hadn’t been pinioned by Lady Tremaine’s ferocious glare. She nodded meekly to the warden then turned to address King Eneron. “My apologies, Your Grace. My companion is merely restless after a night spent patrolling the palace grounds at Captain Valderin’s request.”
The king showed no sign of being offended by Ebony’s presence, nor of having heard any word that Dawn had spoken. Unsurprisingly, it was the warden who supplied an answer.
“Patrolling?” she sneered. “Not very thoroughly, it seems. Valderin, tell our resident Whisperer what happened last night.”
Now it was Valderin’s turn to squirm in his seat.
“Well,” he began, turning awkwardly between Dawn and Lady Tremaine, “the palace aqueduct seems to have been damaged. The supply of fresh water from the hill springs is compromised.”
“Sabotage,” said Lady Tremaine, banging her fist on the table and temporarily startling the king from his reverie. “The palace water supply has been deliberately tampered with.”
Through the bond, Dawn felt Ebony mirror her own embarrassment. Security was Valderin’s responsibility, but Dawn and Ebony had offered their help and now this didn’t look good for any of them.
“So,” the warden continued, “how, I’d like to know, did both Head of Guards and our Whisperer’s famed companion fail to prevent such a dangerous act of sabotage? Is the king’s water supply not worthy of protection?”
Valderin shifted in his chair. “I’ll begin an investigation right away,” he said.
“See that you do,” the warden barked, before turning her attention back to Dawn. “And I would think our Palace Whisperer had enough to do without playing at guard duty as if it were a game. You should stick to healing and scholarly pursuits from now on. It’s a shame Esther didn’t teach you that much before she passed away.”
Dawn felt her cheeks burn. She had been trying to help and, again, she received nothing but condescension. She wanted to stand and yell at the warden, to tell her that she hadn’t asked for this job and nor did she want it. She wished Esther were still alive, so she didn’t have to put up with this pressure and cruelty every day – especially from someone who was supposed to be helping her.
From then on Dawn remained quiet, brushing off all of the barbed comments Lady Tremaine had to offer. She listened closely as Valderin laid out the details of the sabotaged aqueduct. It was a strange occurrence indeed, and no one around the council table could guess who might have wanted the palace water supply stopped.
Dawn scribbled notes, and anger and determination surged through her bond with Ebony.
She would go with Valderin after the meeting and take a look for herself – no matter what Lady Tremaine said. She was a Whisperer. Protecting the kingdom was her job, not just poring over old books and keeping records.
When the council ended, she bowed to the king and left the chamber feeling as deflated and overworked as usual.
That went well, said Ebony, stretching her wings.
Dawn allowed herself the faintest of smiles, wondering for the thousandth time how on earth her life had grown so complicated.
CHAPTER 5
Alice opened her eyes to the first dim light of morning. The cottage was colourless and grey. Shadows stretched from the furniture and the roof beams.
“You’re awake,” Moraine greeted her from the kitchen. “Good. We must go to the village.” She carefully placed a small glass vial into her embroidered leather satchel, then another.
Alice rubbed her tired eyes and sat up. Her back ached from her awkward position in the armchair and the guilt of having slept the night away came upon her suddenly. She had slept, warm and safe in the cottage, whilst Storm had been out in the forest running from the Narlaw. Alice reached out for Storm’s presence, but there was nothing. She glanced urgently around, and then looked imploringly at Moraine, who simply shook her head.
“Not yet, my dear,” Moraine said. “Come. We have to warn the elders.”
Hazel swooped through the canopy above them, keeping watch, and Moraine’s eyes darted up to her companion as the pair silently communicated. If she was angry with Alice, she did not show it. Alice peered out into the trees. The chill light of dawn made the forest seem empty and deserted. But it was not empty. There were creatures out there, demons whose sole desire was to lay waste to the mountainside.
There were no wolf cries on the morning air, nothing but silence when Alice reached out with her Whisperer sense. To keep panic from rising up inside, she concentrated on the task at hand: to protect the village and somehow banish the Narlaw back to the Darklands. No such thing had been attempted for a hundred years. Moraine knew the theory, but she had never tested herself against a real Narlaw. She had never had the chance. Once, Moraine had hinted at the existence of an elderly Whisperer, a survivor from Queen Amina’s time hiding somewhere in the northern mountains. Perhaps she could help? But this was little more than a rumour. To perform the act of banishment seemed impossible now.
Alice realized with a jolt that this was what being a Whisperer meant. This was what she had been born for, but it filled her with a deep and terrible apprehension. She followed Moraine out of the trees towards the village. At the gate the guard straightened, surprised at their sudden appearance.
“We’re here to see the elders,” Moraine told him. “Please tell them to ring the bell for council.”
The guard stood dumbstruck as the two Whisperers strode past him, Hazel gliding low above their heads. Alice hurried along beside Moraine, between the tightly packed cottages and barns, the shuttered stables and the occasional smoking chimney. They crossed the market square, under the festival tree to the squat grey bell tower of the village hall.
As they reached the heavy, wooden door of the hall, the guard caught up with them. He was out of breath. “Elder Garth is not
yet awake,” he said. “If you could just wait in the inn, then perhaps…”
Moraine rounded on him. “We are here to protect the village,” she said, “from the demons now at large in these mountains. I suggest you unlock this door. I shall ring the bell for council myself.”
The guard stuttered wordlessly. He was a young man and Alice felt sorry for him. Under Moraine’s powerful gaze he eventually fumbled a key from his tunic and climbed the steps to unlock the door. Inside, Moraine stalked straight past the rows of benches to the base of the bell tower and began climbing the tight spiral staircase. All of her bookish uncertainty was gone now that she had seen the Narlaw with her own eyes.
Alice made her way to the raised platform at the front. Her footsteps echoed on the polished wooden floor. Seconds later the bell tolled urgently overhead. Three rings, then a pause, then three more, the pattern repeated over and over.
It didn’t take long before a small crowd of villagers had formed outside. The air hummed with the after-song of the bell as Moraine joined Alice at the door. Below them, the crowd split to allow Elder William Garth to the front.
“What on earth is going on here?” He glared at them irritably. “Please tell me you have not woken the village to spread more ridiculous rumours.”
Alice stepped forwards angrily, but Moraine shot her a fearsome glance and she held her tongue.
“I’ve called a council,” Moraine said. “Last night Narlaw were encountered in the forest. They have taken the forms of the missing hunters.”
Several of the gathered villagers gasped. A shout went up asking whether the hunters still lived.
“They are in the ghost-sleep,” Moraine replied. “Alive but at the mercy of the Narlaw. The Narlaw who have stolen the hunters’ likenesses must be banished from Meridina before the sleep can be lifted.”
More anxious cries issued from the crowd, but above them came Elder Garth’s humourless laughter. “Not this again,” he said. “It is nothing but hearsay, which I refuse to respond to. Especially when it is spread by … wild animals.”
“Those wild animals saved me!” Alice cried out without thinking. “They’re the only reason we were able to warn you at all – you should be thankful!”
Garth stared at her, red-faced in shock. He turned to Moraine. “How dare this child speak to me in such a way? And how dare you enter the village hall without permission? Everyone go home. Go about your business, there is no emergency…”
But by now there were loud exchanges passing through the crowd. There was talk of a rescue party for the hunters; some claimed this was a Whisperer ruse; some even called for the complete abandonment of the village.
“Quiet!” Moraine bellowed over the throng. “Quiet, please! Alice is right. The wolves have given us some time. Not much, so we must prepare immediately for a Narlaw attack and send word to the palace at Meridar.”
The crowd swelled and grew increasingly restless. Two more elders pushed their way to the front and joined in secretive conversation with Garth.
Alice placed a hand on Moraine’s arm. “What should we do?” she asked. “No one is listening.”
“We must do our duty, dear, and protect the village.”
“And the banishment?” Alice asked.
Moraine smiled, but her eyes betrayed her doubt. “We will practise,” she said. “We will send to the palace for help and we will seek out a friend of mine – a very old friend who lives here in the mountains.”
“The mountains?” asked Alice. “Does your friend know banishment?”
Before Alice could press Moraine further, a scream rose above the noise of the crowd, followed by a chorus of panicked, urgent cries. From the steps of the hall she could just make out the disturbance: people waving wildly, brandishing sticks of firewood or whatever they could lay their hands on.
Was it the Narlaw? Had they come already?
A howl split the air, a sound that Alice felt rather than heard. She leaped from the steps and barged through the crowd, elbowing her way until she was out in the open, staring past a line of armed villagers at the three wolves who had arrived in the market square. The grey-black fur of the lead wolf made her heart skip.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Stop! They’re friends!”
She charged past the villagers and threw her arms around Storm. Relief flooded between them.
I thought they’d taken you, she whispered. I thought they’d put you to sleep.
Not me, said Storm. Two others, but not me.
I’m so glad you’re safe, said Alice.
Storm licked her cheek. And I’m glad you made it back, she said. You must be part wolf after all.
Alice smiled. Part wolf or part crazy, she said. I saw a Narlaw. It changed shape and put a wolf to sleep. How are we going to fight them, Storm?
I don’t know, Storm replied. We counted six demons in the forest, but more may come. Soon they will regroup and attack the village.
Come on, said Alice. She led Storm and the other two wolves towards the hall. The crowd parted with a murmur of awe. At the steps they found Moraine deep in conversation with the elders. Garth was nodding thoughtfully. He looked embarrassed, like a small child who has realized his own foolishness.
“Storm,” Moraine said, smiling. “Come inside, both of you. We have much to do.”
Moraine drew up a letter explaining all that had happened and requesting urgent assistance. She addressed it to the Palace Whisperer in Meridar. Moraine’s signature was joined by that of Elder Garth. Alice was also asked to sign.
“It was you and Storm who alerted us to the threat,” Moraine said. “You should sign too.”
Alice wrote her name as tidily as she could with the stiff quill pen. She had never signed anything before and felt foolish doing so. But Moraine watched her with approval.
Storm had spoken with the two wild wolves, who now paced impatiently around the edges of the hall. The letter was sealed and fastened inside a leather tube. Storm carried it in her jaws to the taller and leaner wolf, and the two wild wolves left the hall immediately.
They are the fastest on the mountain, Storm said. The palace will hear from us by nightfall.
Alice relayed this to Moraine and the elders.
“Good,” Moraine said. “Now we must prepare the ward.”
Alice stood close to Storm, absently running her hand along her companion’s sleek back. They were outside the village, beside the high protective wall. Moraine crouched on the grass, examining the contents of her satchel as Hazel circled high overhead.
They had left the elders to deal with the agitated crowds. Every now and then a small party of villagers set out from the nearby north gate. Word was being sent to the isolated farms and the mountainfolk were being called in to the relative safety of the village walls.
“Here,” Moraine said.
Alice took a vial of clear liquid. She had done this before. A protective ward was one of the most vital Whisperer skills. Like all such rituals it involved an exchange, a gift offered to the earth and, if done correctly, a favour obtained in return. In this case the favour was protection.
Moraine nodded solemnly to Alice, who returned the nod. They then set off slowly in opposite directions around the wall.
Alice silently chanted the arcane words and let a drop of the liquid fall to the ground at each step. Behind her, all along the wall, green shoots began to crack the surface of the soil. She continued, deep in concentration, speaking directly to the earth, reaching out with her senses to the living world in a way that only a Whisperer could.
The shoots grew and twisted, waist high, then to shoulder height, clinging to the wooden stakes of the wall. Alice crossed paths with Moraine, but they did not speak or even look up at one another. The stalks reached the top of the wall and small, white, star-shaped flowers began to blossom.
Alice let the liquid fall. She paced and chanted. When she met Moraine the second time the two of them stopped, silently entreating the earth in perfect unison.
The old language left their tongues, the ritual came to an end and Moraine raised her head.
“Can you feel it?” she asked.
Alice nodded. The ward was there, a new presence in her mind as if another person – a Whisperer or companion perhaps – had arrived nearby. It was a shimmering circle, full and strong, and if it were broken both she and Moraine would feel it instantly.
“It’s broader than a ward should be,” Moraine said. “Fragile. But if the Narlaw break it then at least we will have some warning.”
They left the village and headed into the woods towards the cottage. Alice glanced back at the newly flowered wall. The village had never looked so beautiful; or, indeed, so vulnerable.
In the cottage kitchen, Alice waited for Moraine. The forest creaked and whispered outside, shaken by the powerful breath of the wind. Storm was out there, keeping watch with Hazel. Alice imagined the Narlaw darting through the trees, turning streams into mud and dust at their touch. She felt the isolation of her mountain home more than ever. There would be no help from the palace for at least two days; until then, the fate of the village depended on them, and them alone.
Moraine emerged from her study. “Come,” she said.
Alice noticed the difference in the way Moraine held herself, a forced briskness that spoke of uncertainty, or even fear. Together they stepped out into the yard. The wind had grown strong, whipping every which way and bending the treetops as if they were blades of grass. Alice looked to Storm, who patrolled slowly at the edge of the clearing.
Do not fear, said Storm. You are safe. Free to learn.
Thank you, she whispered back.
Moraine led her a short way into the woods, to where two wooden benches lay opposite each other and woven charms hung from the trees.
A Whisper of Wolves Page 3
