Raven Flight

by Juliet Marillier

  They brought out a pallet, which they raised up on benches so the crowd could see. They fetched a pair of flaming torches, which they set in iron holders. These were not yet necessary for light, but perhaps they enhanced the spectacle. Here was a black robe, which Flint put on over his plain attire. Here was a warm blanket, which he placed, folded, on the pallet. Now a pillow. Last, a flask and a small goblet. The Enforcer who held these items was the man I had seen in a dream, talking to Flint atop the guard tower. Perhaps a friend; perhaps a betrayer. What was happening here made a mockery of right and wrong; it set everything in confusion.

  Cry out! my heart told me as they tipped back Tali’s head and forced a draft down her throat. Cry out shame! There he was, grave and still, waiting at the head of the pallet until she collapsed in her captors’ arms and was lifted up to lie there, as still as an enchanted princess in an old tale. Her dark head on the pillow, the brave necklace of raven flight, her arms ringed with the patterns of her ancient clan. They took off her boots. The guards stepped back, and Flint moved to lay the blanket over her, as gently as if he were tucking a beloved child in bed. Now Tali was covered to the neck, her modesty restored. Her prone form looked surprisingly small.

  Flint spoke to the other Enforcers and they moved back a little, leaving Enthraller and victim alone in the circle of torchlight. Perhaps the preparations had taken longer than I imagined, for now the sky had a reddish tinge. The air was perceptibly cooler. I shivered, lifting my hand to wipe away the treacherous tears. Bear witness. You must bear witness as you did once before. I was back in the cottage at Corbie’s Wood, the cottage that had long been home and refuge, place of wisdom and peace. Standing hidden, watching through a chink in the wall as they forced the draft down my grandmother’s throat. Watching as they changed her forever.

  “Cold, are you? Here, wrap this around your neck.” The young man offered me a woolen scarf, and I took it rather than risk words. “What’s this, tears? Have you never seen an enthrallment before?”

  I shook my head. Out there, Flint had laid his hands along the sides of Tali’s head.

  “It’s not so frightening,” the man said quietly. “The fellow will sing a bit, and the woman will sleep. Then they’ll wake her up again and she’ll have lost her argumentative ways. A remarkable thing. No need to be upset about it.” And, as an afterthought, “They say this fellow, Owen Swift-Sword, is the best of them all. In a way he’s doing the lass a favor.”

  I nodded. He passed me a handkerchief; I took it and mopped my cheeks. Grandmother before enthrallment had been a strong, wise old woman. The charm had done her no favors; it had been botched. She had survived only to endure a life-in-death.

  “He won’t make any mistakes,” the farmer said, his eyes on Flint, who stood still as stone, eyes closed, hands gentle against Tali’s face. He had not yet started to sing the charm.

  I realized, suddenly, the implication of the man’s words. Of course Flint wouldn’t get this wrong; he never did. Tali would not wake as a witless, shambling mockery of herself. She would not be like Grandmother or that poor man-child Garret whom I’d encountered last autumn. No, the enthrallment would work the way the king wanted it to, and Tali would become as faultlessly loyal to Keldec as she had been to the cause of freedom. The first thing she would do when she woke was expose Flint as a spy. The second thing she would do was identify me as a rebel and as a Caller. The third thing would be to tell what she knew about Shadowfell. The cause was doomed.

  I had to get out. I had to get away. If I could make it up into the woods and find Sage, if I could run as far as Brollachan Bridge before they tracked me down, perhaps I could use the Good Folk to get a warning to Regan. One of Sage’s clan, in bird form, could fly to Shadowfell in the morning, tell the rebels it was all up, bid them scatter across Alban and go to ground. I must get out now, quickly, before the enthrallment was completed. Before the new Tali woke. But the crowd had moved in close, blocking any way out. To push through would be to attract immediate attention. I was trapped.

  Flint was singing the charm. It might have been a lullaby, so quiet and gentle was it, falling on the ears like soothing balm. Insidious. Evil. An ancient art, devised for healing the wounded mind and spirit, turned to a tool of power, a blade that would reach into a person’s mind and twist their very being to the king’s will. Wrong. Oh, so wrong. And yet so beautiful to hear. Many people in the crowd had stopped their ears or covered those of their children. There was an Enforcer stationed not far away, but his gaze was not on us. Caught by Flint’s voice, he stared at the blanketed form of Tali and the somber one of the Enthraller. Willing away her very self. Willing away all that had made her so magnificent. Farewell, Tali. Farewell, bright spirit.

  Perhaps it was over quite soon. It felt long. I became dizzy and had to lean on the wattle fence to stay upright. My tears had dried up. I was numb; my mind was refusing to accept what was coming. Maybe she wouldn’t see me. She couldn’t know I was here, would have assumed, surely, that I’d have fled to the woods as soon as I could once she was taken. She would accuse Flint first anyway. That would grab everyone’s attention. I must seize that moment to slip through the crowd and out the gates, then head up to the forest before it was too dark to find a way. Perhaps, by some miracle, I could get across the river without being spotted. None of it seemed real. Perhaps I would wake soon to find myself in the mountains with Tali sleeping beside me, and this would be only another dream.

  The charm was finished. Flint stood silent for some time, still cradling Tali’s head. Then he removed his hands and took a step back. I felt, rather than heard, the crowd’s indrawn breath.

  Flint glanced over at the Enforcer who had been helping him and gave a nod. This man advanced toward the pallet; another Enforcer came in on the other side. One lifted Tali to a sitting position, tipped back her head, stuck his fingers in her mouth to hold it open. The other produced a tiny bottle, from which he dripped what seemed a very small amount of something onto Tali’s tongue. She was lowered gently to the pillow; the blanket was drawn up again. As a loyal warrior of Keldec, she would no longer be beaten and reviled, but treated with respect.

  Again we waited. The torches flared in the breeze, sending sparks high into a sky in which the rose of sunset mingled with the gray-blue of a summer dusk. I had to reach the cover of the forest before it was too dark to find my way. There’d be no returning to Shadowfell now; the best I could hope for was to get a message to the rebels before the king’s men got there. It would be life on the road again, fleeing from one small settlement to the next, half a step ahead of the Enforcers. Oh, gods, let Sage or some of her clan be up there in the woods tonight. Let me not be entirely alone.

  Tali stirred. A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. She moaned, lifting her head, rubbing her eyes. She sat up.

  There was a moment, no longer than a single indrawn breath, when I thought she would leap to her feet, herself once more, defiant and strong. Then she tried to stand, and her legs gave way, and she collapsed to the ground beside the pallet. A sound came from her, a terrible, wrenching wail that had no words in it, only blind animal terror. One of the Enforcers came up to her, an imposing figure in his high boots and black clothing. He reached down to help her to her feet, but she shrank away, curling in on herself, pressing close to the bench that supported the pallet. A babbling spilled from her, mindless, meaningless, its only message utter panic.

  I fought back a wave of nausea. Gone. She was gone. The peerless Enthraller, the man whose skill had never before let him down, had made a mistake. The charm had gone wrong, and Tali would never be herself again. Nor would she ever be a servant of Keldec; that wreck of a woman would not be training new recruits or standing guard at court. Flint had destroyed her. Didn’t they say it was the strongest, the most defiant, the most courageous who were hardest to turn? A vile thought came to me. Could this have been deliberate? Had Flint taken this path so Tali would not become subject to Keldec’s will? Would he ru
in a friend’s mind if the alternative was her betraying the cause?

  “Black Crow save us,” muttered the young farmer. “I thought they said this fellow had never lost one.”

  “First time for everything,” put in someone else. “Look at her! Like a helpless infant. See, she’s wet herself.”

  Two Enforcers had hauled Tali upright; there was a dark patch on her shift and a puddle at her feet. She fought them, not with the harnessed force of earlier, but wildly, like a frustrated child. Neither of them hit back now; they only held her.

  Flint had neither moved nor spoken. The torchlight played on his grave features as he looked up at the king. The crowd was alive with murmuring, whispering, conjecture; above that came the sounds of Tali’s terror.

  I was twelve years old again, back in my grandmother’s house, watching from my hiding place as she woke from a long sleep, after the Enthraller charmed her. The confusion in her eyes—why were these men here, leaning over her bed? The pathetic cries—her words were all fled, she could remember nothing. The smell as she lost control of her bowels. Knowing I could not come out to help, could not comfort her until the king’s men had left the house. Knowing the wise woman I had so loved was gone, gone forever. And later, knowing that the pitiful remnant there before me, shuddering, weeping, unable to help herself, had no one to turn to except me.

  King Keldec rose to his feet. The crowd quieted. Flint had failed; perhaps he would die regardless. Perhaps I would lose both of them before this dark day ended.

  “Twelve out of thirteen is, I suppose, still a fair record,” Keldec said with a little smile. He spoke above Tali’s wailing. “And there is no doubt you have provided us with entertainment, if not exactly the kind we anticipated. You must sharpen your skills before next time, Owen. Had this been a man, a potential recruit to our Enforcers, I would view your error with less leniency.”

  “Yes, my lord king.” As calm as if this were an ordinary day; as if Tali were not crouched there at his feet, sniveling like a beaten child.

  “Since this was done under Queen’s Privilege, it is for my lady to have the final word,” said the king. “It is late; my people are weary and in need of some supper and sleep. Tomorrow is a new day, full of fresh diversions for all. My lady, will you speak?”

  She stood, regal in her crimson gown. “Thank you, my lord king. People of Alban: we know the power of enthrallment, how it can turn a wandering mind back to the path of patriotism and loyalty. Sometimes, as with this woman you see before you, an individual is too warped, too blind, too set in her ways to be healed by the charm, even when fortunate enough to be in the hands of an expert such as Owen Swift-Sword. Disobedience brought this woman here; disobedience, defiance, a blatant disregard for the king’s law. It is entirely appropriate that our attempt to help her has resulted in the pathetic spectacle you see before you.”

  A wordless roar burst from Tali, who was thrashing around in her captors’ grasp. One of the guards put a hand over her mouth, then cursed as she bit him.

  “Take her away!” Varda commanded. “The girl is not fit for this company, or indeed for any company at all. The sight of her offends me. Dispose of her. Take her right away. Now!”

  A brief consultation between the Enforcers. Then Flint and the man I’d seen in the dream hauled Tali up, each taking one arm, and dragged her away, heading for the same place where they had taken the unfortunate loser of the log-lifting contest. Close to where I stood; too close. I hunched myself down. Dispose of her. What did that mean?

  On the far side of the open area, the official was calling for quiet. Enforcers were already taking away the pallet and the benches on which it had stood. The trumpets sounded a new fanfare, and a pair of oxen came out through the fortress gates, pulling a cart laden with joints of roast meat and barrels that likely contained ale. As the eyes of the folk around me moved to this new diversion, Flint glanced over and saw me. He started in shock, then rearranged his expression to that of the king’s man, remote, impassive. A practiced dissembler. He gave the very slightest jerk of his head toward the open gates to the encampment. Then they moved on, the two men heading out with Tali between them. This was the opportunity, the one chance. Too late for her, but not for Shadowfell.

  “Sorry, need to be sick, excuse me—” Quickly, while everyone was looking at tonight’s promised supper and exclaiming over Keldec’s generosity. Quickly, before the king began another address to his loyal people. I pushed my way through, bag over my shoulder, staff in hand, heedless of whose feet I stepped on. “Sorry—going to be sick—”

  “My loyal people!”

  I was out, beyond easy view of crowd or guards, an instant before Keldec’s voice rang out again in what must surely be the final speech of the day. There they were, not far beyond the open gates and apparently heading across the encampment toward the river. They’d gone right past that outbuilding where several of today’s losers had been taken. I ran after them, not sure what I could safely say with that other Enforcer present. What did the queen expect them to do, take Tali up into the woods and make an end of her? Abandon her when quite clearly she could not look after herself? They turned, saw me, and halted.

  “Caaah …” Tali struggled in the men’s grip, trying to say something. Her tone was loud and flat. A half-wit. That was what people would call her from now on. If she lived among ordinary folk, she would be shunned, ridiculed, ostracized. “Gaaah …”

  “It’s all right, Luda,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm as I walked over to the three of them. I took off my shawl and reached to wrap it around her shoulders, over the inadequate shift. My hands were shaking; my heart was drumming. “I’ll look after you.” Then, to Flint, “I am this woman’s friend. I was her traveling companion until she was seized. My name is Calla, and I will take her home.”

  “And where is home?” asked the second Enforcer.

  “West, then south by Hiddenwater,” I said. That way lay Tali’s ancestral territory of Ravensburn, so it was not quite a lie.

  “Out of sight first, Rohan,” Flint murmured, drawing Tali toward the river again. “That’s what the queen ordered. We want to be up there, under the trees, before folk start streaming out here again.” And to me, “Give me that, it’ll be quicker if you’re not carrying anything.” He took my bag and slung it over his shoulder.

  Crossing the river was awkward. Here, where the Rush spilled into Deepwater, there were three separate channels. Tali was frightened; it took both men to guide her over, while I made my own way, using my staff for support. The river bottom was all sliding stones, and although the water came only to my knees, the flow was swift. I saw Flint looking at me, a little frown on his face. Trying to convey something with his eyes, perhaps an apology. There should have been some other way, I thought grimly, though I knew this was unfair. For him, for Tali, there was no way but the cause. Flint had put his position at court, so critical to Regan’s strategy, ahead of Tali’s survival. I knew that if he had consulted her on the matter, she would have expected no less. Andra had stayed silent in the woods while her brother died. It was a rebel’s choice. You valued your comrades, you respected them, you fought alongside them. And sometimes you sacrificed them for the greater good. Right now, it was hard to accept that. It was hard to walk with Flint and not to judge him.

  On the far side of the river, forested hills rose up from the loch shore. The two men took a path that meandered up the hillside through a stand of beech and birch; we climbed up and up in the long summer twilight. By the time Flint called a halt in a small clearing, evening shadows had robbed the forest of its color. Somewhere in the trees a bird sang a melodious, plaintive farewell to the day. Tali sank to the ground, hugging the cloak tightly around her. Her noisy protests had long since subsided to a weary whimpering.

  “You’ll camp here.” Flint examined us in the fading light, his face giving nothing away. “Make no fire tonight. Head off west in the morning and make sure you keep her quiet. The smirched aren’t
welcome on the main roads. Don’t make trouble again. Believe me, we’ll be far less helpful next time.”

  “You have supplies?” Rohan asked. “Enough for your journey home?”

  “We’ll get by.” Since neither man had brought supplies to offer us, his question seemed pointless. “Thank you for your help,” I made myself add. I didn’t seem to be able to stop shivering.

  They looked at us for a moment, and in their eyes I saw what they saw: myself, small, slight, and visibly distressed; Tali with her tall, strong body and the mind of a terrified infant. A heavy pack. A long walk through rough terrain. Folk on the road and in the settlements who would either shun us or subject us to open ridicule because of what Tali had become. “We can manage,” I said.

  They looked at each other. Rohan lifted his brows, then turned and headed off down the hill.

  “Travel safe,” murmured Flint. For just a moment his gray eyes met mine, but what he read in them I could not guess. Love, disgust, gratitude, reproach—they all tangled in my mind, along with a bone-deep exhaustion at the thought of what lay ahead. He turned away, strode off down the path, and was lost in the shadows.

  TALI SAT WITH HER ARMS AROUND HER KNEES, quiet now. Around us the forest was hushed. The sound of the men’s footsteps faded away. I knelt to unfasten the pack; my hands needed something to do. I would not remember that last sad season with my grandmother, when I had fed her, cleaned her, held her when she panicked, kept steady vigil day and night as she shrank and faded and crumbled away. I would not think of how it might be with Tali. And yet, as I rummaged for the last scraps of our food, as I made sure the iron weapons were still well wrapped so I could call to Sage once I was certain the Enforcers were gone, that was the only image in my mind.