Raven Flight

by Juliet Marillier

  “You can tell them,” she said.

  Regan gave her a nod. “Andra and her brother Manus were in my team from quite early days,” he said. “They were captured by the Enforcers while on a mission, and subject to beatings and worse while the king’s men sought to break their will and extract their secrets. After two nights they managed to escape and headed off into the woods. But Manus was severely injured and could not move quickly. A day later, while Andra was fetching water from a nearby stream, the Enforcers found their makeshift shelter and recaptured her brother. He was by then too weak to talk; no use to them. It was Andra they wanted. So they strung Manus up and began to kill him very slowly.

  “Our folk are supplied with certain substances that can be taken in such an extreme to end their own lives. But the king’s men had removed the bags Andra and Manus had when they were first captured, and with them the two lethal doses.

  “The cause comes first for all of us, no matter what. That is the rebel code. Andra could not save her brother. If she had tried to rescue him, she herself would have been recaptured. The Enforcers would have worked on her further, perhaps subjected her to enthrallment. Manus, now weakened to the point of death, would have been considered of no further use to them, and killed. So, from a place of hiding, Andra watched her brother die. Then she slipped away into the deeper concealment of the forest, and at length brought the tale back to Shadowfell.”

  Utter silence. Andra was so still she might have been a warrior of stone, her strong features set grim. I thought of my brother, Farral, who had died in my arms after the raid on Corbie’s Wood. At least I had held him; at least I’d been able to say goodbye.

  “Aye,” said Hawkbit eventually. “Aye. Ye want an undertaking we’ll keep this secret? Ye have it.”

  A subdued chorus of ayes from the circle.

  “If we want the support of the most influential chieftain, we must confront the king at the next Gathering but one,” Regan said. “The midsummer after next. We’ll have to achieve a near miracle. But then, it is most rare for our kind and your kind to work together in cooperation. If we can do that, I believe the mission will succeed.”

  At this point, Milla brought the platter back around with a fresh supply of sweetmeats. Red Cap helped himself to a small confection, then divided it neatly into five, passing a piece to each of the tiny folk, who seemed to have taken a fancy to him. When the infant squalled in protest, Woodrush bid it rather sharply to hush, then handed it the honeyed violet from atop her own sweetmeat.

  “So far, so good,” murmured Sage.

  “You’d best tell us the plan,” said Hawkbit. “The Gatherin’—’tis held at the king’s stronghold by Deepwater, aye? In the Watch o’ the West?”

  “That’s right, at Summerfort,” I told him. “The chieftains attend with many of their household retainers. Ordinary folk come too. In the past it was an opportunity for the clans to mingle, celebrate, play games, and do business. Under Keldec it has become something very different. All of his court will be there, and every troop of Enforcers.”

  The Northies’ guard moved, coming over to seat himself beside Regan. He did indeed have the look of a badger, though his features were those of a young, sturdy man and he wore a shirt and trousers of old, soft leather over his black-and-white pelt. “Name’s Bearberry,” he said by way of introduction. “What you’d want is a sort of ambush, aye? Your own folk planted in the crowd, disguised as farmers and washerwomen and travelers. And you’d be wanting these chieftains to have their fighters all ready to back you up. If not, the king’s men would make mincemeat of you before you could say a word.”

  “Enforcers would cut ye doon like barley stalks in autumn,” said Vetch.

  “If they tried it now, aye,” Bearberry said. “But there’s time. Remember what Whitlow told us—the Caller has to travel to the Big Ones; without that, she won’t be able to lead when the time comes. While she’s away learning, we might be making ourselves useful. There’s plenty of ways to do that, and they don’t all involve fighting.”

  Whitlow. That must be the gray-cloaked door warden. I found I was holding my breath in anticipation, for this was starting to look like the change of heart we so badly needed.

  “Quite right,” Regan said carefully, “and I would very much welcome your advice on that. Neryn plans to set off on her journey to find the Guardians as soon as the spring thaw arrives. Others will travel also. We have hopes of winning over one more chieftain, at least, before next winter; possibly two. And we need to get word to our other teams, make sure everyone knows exactly what is planned. Our folk are spread widely across Alban, and reaching them takes time. We are only human, and there is only so much ground we can cover. And there are many dangers. Distrust has clawed its roots deep into the soil of Alban.”

  Milla came around with the mead jug to top up folk’s cups. The chamber seemed to grow warmer. I did not see anyone leave the double circle, but in a corner, a wee man was strumming on an old crooked harp.

  “There are two things we’re hoping you can offer,” Regan said. “First, strategic advice. Ideally, since we are all here at Shadowfell and shut in by the winter, we can meet again and exchange ideas. You understand, I suppose, what Neryn’s presence means. When it comes to the final confrontation, we will need your kind on our side in order to prevail. There are workers of magic in the king’s household. We must be able to withstand what they can do.”

  Suddenly every eye was on him. Cups halted halfway to open mouths; crumbs of cake fell to the floor unheeded.

  “So,” said Vetch, “we come tae the point at last. What you want is for us tae stand up against an army o’ folk wi’ iron weapons. You want tae destroy every last one o’ us.”

  “No!” I said. “We would not ask that of you. I know some of the Good Folk can withstand cold iron. The stanie men, for instance. Others too.” I remembered Sage standing strong against a pair of armed Enforcers, using her little staff to shoot out fire. She had won me time to escape them. “If I can reach the Guardians and persuade them to teach me, surely I can learn to call only those of you who are strong enough to stand up in that battle.”

  “Reach them, persuade them, learn a particularly tricky kind o’ magic, and be ready tae call humankind and Good Folk into a grand battle in a year and a half?” Woodrush’s brows went up. “ ’Tis nae small thing.”

  “Neryn is no ordinary woman,” said Regan. “If you will help her, she can do it.”

  “The Lord o’ the North is sleepin’,” said Woodrush. “They say he canna be woken, not even by his ain folk. The White Lady—we know little o’ her. The Hag … she’d be the one tae try first, seein’ as you are a woman o’ the west yourself. Could be that old creature’s prepared tae be found, if word’s come tae her ears about the Master o’ Shadows. If he’s out and about, anythin’ can happen.”

  “Is it possible … can you tell me where I might find the Hag of the Isles?” I ventured. “In the west, of course, but there are many islands there; I could spend all spring and summer looking, and I must travel north as well before next winter.”

  “ ’Tis secret knowledge you’re seekin’,” Hawkbit said.

  Sage had been unusually restrained. Now she rose to her feet and faced the little man. “Regan has shared his secret knowledge with you,” she pointed out. “He’s passed on information that could see his whole venture wrecked and each of his folk at the mercy of the Enforcers, should you betray him. Don’t tell me our folk cannot match that.”

  A kind of shiver went around the circle of Northies; then Woodrush spoke. “So be it, then. Set your wee cups down; show the lassie her way.”

  The Northies rose to their feet and joined hands, all but the tiny folk. A ripple went through the air, and I felt my skin prickle with the awareness of magic working all around us. Then someone whistled a few notes, like the start of a sea chantey, and to a collective gasp from the rebels, there appeared in the space within the circle a seascape in miniature: most of it chu
rning ocean, with a hummock of land rising here and there, the larger ones grassed, the smaller mere rocky outcrops against which the waves dashed themselves, sending a fine salt spray into the air. I could feel the droplets on my face; I could hear the wash of the waves.

  “Get on out there, Twayblade,” ordered Hawkbit. By the edge of the map, the tiny folk were emptying out the basket Eva and I had crafted as their gift. One of them climbed in, and the basket, now a boat, headed out across the wavy map.

  “Ye must set out frae a place called Pentishead, down the coast frae Darkwater,” Hawkbit said, setting a shiver in me. I never wanted to go back to Darkwater as long as I lived. “There are high cliffs to the north and hidden skerries to the south. Fix the peak o’ Ronan’s Isle to the north o’ your prow, or ye will founder before ye reach the sheltered moorin’.” The wee boat passed the inner isles, heading westward. “A lang way. A lang, hard row. Beach your craft in the cove on Ronan’s Isle, then tak’ the narrow pathway tae the west, ower Lanely Muir. At the end o’ that path, ye’ll get a sign.”

  The tiny being demonstrated every stage of the journey as Hawkbit spoke: the long row between the isles, the boat drawn up on shore, a steep climb from the anchorage and a walk to the west. It crossed the moorland to the far end of Ronan’s Isle, where sheer cliffs dropped away to the sea. There it sat down, gazing out in the direction of the setting sun. Warm light illuminated its wee features.

  “Done,” said Hawkbit. The Northies released their grip on one another’s hands and the image of sea and islands vanished. The chamber was once more our familiar dining hall, now under the ordinary light of lanterns. Savory smells drifted over from the cooking area. The Northies sat down in their circle, the tiny folk among them. Woodrush retrieved the basket and began repacking the contents.

  “ ’Twere a grand wee boat,” someone said in a tone of regret.

  “That was … impressive.” Regan sat down cross-legged a little behind Hawkbit. “Sit down, all of you.” This was addressed to our own people, who seemed incapable of moving after the startling display.

  “Aye,” said Hawkbit, grimacing. “Dinna loom.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “That was the best map I could ever imagine. Am I right in thinking Ronan’s Isle is not the farthest island to the west? I thought I saw one or two beyond it.”

  “Aye, ane or twa,” said Woodrush. “But dinna gae beyond the spot Twayblade showit ye.”

  “We are deeply grateful,” Regan said.

  “I willna say we’re happy tae help ye.” Hawkbit’s dour expression left no doubt of that. “The lassie seekin’ out the Big Ones, that’s ane thing. Us gettin’ wrapped up in fightin’, that’s different.”

  “It’s not all fighting.” The Northie guard, Bearberry, spoke directly to Regan. “We ken your people head out in spring on their various missions. What’s to stop one or two of ours traveling with every team of yours? While you conduct your business, we could pay a wee visit to our own kind, for they can be found everywhere in Alban. We could pass on the word that things have changed, that we’re all working together now. You won’t find any traitors among our people, though there may be some closed ears and closed doors. There’s ways of knocking on those doors, even those that are barred fast, and being heard.”

  An outraged muttering arose from the Northies at this speech, which was indeed remarkable in its boldness. Bearberry, I thought, had the courage of a true warrior.

  “Us travel wi’ the likes o’ them?”

  “Ye’ve lost your wits, laddie!”

  And then, from Hawkbit, “Ye’re suggestin’ we travel ower the border? Oot o’ the Watch?”

  “Have you thought,” offered Sage, “that there might be no need to go in company with the human folk? We’ve our own ways of crossing the land, and they carry us far quicker than a pair of human feet or the hooves of a riding horse. All you need do is find others of our kind within the Watch of the North and carry Regan’s message to them. Tell them that a rebellion is afoot, and that there’s a Caller in training, and that when the time comes, we need to be sure of their support. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Every eye turned to me.

  “I believe so,” I said. “However many of the chieftains we have on our side, at the end Keldec won’t go down easily. Not only does he have the most powerful army in Alban, he has magic. We must fight magic with magic, or we cannot win. Once I’m properly trained, I can bring uncanny folk together to fight against the king’s forces. Bearberry’s suggestion sounds very good to me. You could get the word out to your own kind all across the north.”

  “You say we can carry the word in our own Watch,” Woodrush said to Sage. “But what about the other Watches? You’ll have told your own folk in the west. But that’s only two from four.”

  “Aye.” Sage sounded dour. “And I can’t say I’ve spoken to every clan in the west, nor convinced every single body that this is a good idea. There are some stubborn folk among us, but I don’t suppose that’s a surprise to you. As for south and east, I know little of them.”

  “But ye dinna care about borders,” put in Vetch. “Ye can hop ower there and tell ’em yersel’.”

  “Ach, hold your tongue, you silly wee man,” snapped Woodrush, startling me. “Is Sage a sorceress, that she can be in a’ parts o’ Alban at the same time?” She stood up and looked around the circle, and folk fell quiet. “We need tae take a risk,” the little woman said. “Ye know it as well as I do. We must go out, not only through the north, but ower the border as well. If Sage and Red Cap can do it, so can we. We ken what’s afoot. We ken it’s a time o’ great change for all o’ us. I say we divide up. Some gae north, some south, some east. If more work’s needed in the west, Sage and Red Cap attend tae it. Each time we find a clan that’s willin’ tae help, their ain folk can move out and spread the word farther. Start small, grow bigger. That’s the way it’ll be.”

  “Aye, if we’re no’ squashed under the boots o’ king’s men before the summer’s ower,” muttered Vetch.

  With impeccable timing, Milla came back at that moment bearing a deep bowl from which fragrant steam arose. My mouth watered. “I couldn’t help overhearing some of what you were saying,” Milla said, setting the bowl down in the circle and fishing a wooden ladle from her apron pocket. She had an eye on Vetch, whose wrinkled face wore an intractable look. “Of course, you’ll have noticed that not all of us go away over the summer. There’s always work here preparing for the next cold season. Drying and salting fish, not to speak of catching them; trips out onto the fells to find and gather herbs; picking and preserving the berries that can be found in the valley. Sewing, mending, cleaning, storing things away. And, of course, there must be someone here to keep the place ready when our people pass through and to relay messages. Usually that’s Eva and me. I imagine it’s the same for you folk; always something to be done back home. So you can’t all go.”

  “Oh, aye,” said Vetch. He looked somewhat relieved.

  “Now, who will try my hot pot?” Milla asked as Eva brought a stack of little bowls. “There’s plenty for all. I used the plump hens someone very kindly left at the door this morning, and I’ve stuffed them with mutton-fat porridge. It’s a tasty old dish my grandmother taught me to cook. Brasal, will you fetch the mead, please, and pour everyone another cup?”

  I think perhaps we wore down their last resistance with our good hospitality. All of us ate, the rebels from larger bowls, and it was indeed a hearty midwinter feast, the sort of meal I remembered from my early childhood. The fire crackled on the hearth. One of the Northies had brought out a miniature set of pipes, whose sound blended surprisingly well with that of the wee harp. Little Don found his fiddle, others added whistle and drum, and Brasal was persuaded to sing. He started with a sad ballad and followed it with the goose ditty, which the Northies greeted with riotous applause.

  At a certain point Regan and Bearberry went out into the hallway, where they stood in earnest conversation for some time. A li
ttle later, Tali went to join them, and then Woodrush. I stayed where I was, between Sage and Red Cap, enjoying the music and good fellowship. If Regan needed me, he would call me.

  Red Cap’s infant had fallen asleep, cradled in its father’s arms.

  “Does the child have a name yet?” I asked.

  Red Cap shook his head. “That’s given at one year old. If they live so long, they’ve a chance of growing up.”

  I was silenced. I had never asked him if the child had a mother or where she was. I had assumed the babe was strong, or Red Cap would not have brought him halfway across the highlands, following me.

  “Bairnies are rare among our kind, and so doubly precious. The wee one looks robust, I know, but he’s fragile like all of our infants. He’s done well to thrive so long.”

  My mind filled with things I could not say. Folk had to make their own choices. If his words had made me sad, it would be wrong to say so. “You’re a brave spirit, Red Cap,” I told him instead, “and a fine father. The wee one is lucky in you.”

  Red Cap gave a nod but said nothing.

  “You know, don’t you,” Sage said, “that we won’t be traveling with you in springtime, even if we all head west. That fellow, Bearberry, was right—it’s time for us to go back home and make sure Silver and her cronies haven’t undone the good work we started.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “You won’t be on your own,” Sage said. “That fellow of yours might be back from court by then, and if he isn’t, no doubt Regan will give you one of the others as a guard.” She glanced around the chamber, where human folk and fey folk were engaged in a number of animated discussions. Big Don was trying out the harp, which looked like a toy on his knee. Finet sat cross-legged, drawing with a piece of charcoal on a scrap of bark from the woodbox; the five tiny folk were clustered around her, watching and chattering in their high voices.