Raven Flight

by Juliet Marillier

  By the time our long vigil came to an end, I was almost beyond noticing. Half-asleep on my feet, I heard a scraping sound, as of a stick drawn across a rough stone surface, and I felt Tali’s grip tighten on my hand.

  “Close your eyes,” said Whisper from right beside me. “Count to five. Now open them.”

  When I did so, there was light: not the first rays of the dawning sun, nor yet the welcoming glow of the Good Folk’s lanterns, but a cool blue light like ice under a full moon. It was so bitterly cold that my breath caught in my chest.

  After the time of utter darkness, even this low light was an assault on my eyes, and for a little I struggled to see clearly. One thing was certain: we were no longer in the forest. As my vision accustomed itself to the change, I saw before me a landscape of stone and shadow, remote and still, lovely in its chill perfection. We stood on a hillside, facing north. And now, to the east, the sun rose over snowcapped mountains, touching their higher slopes with rose and gold. To the north were more great peaks. What was it Tali had said once, that people hadn’t seen real mountains until they came north of the river Race? Above us arched a pale and cloudless sky, and as we rubbed our eyes and stretched our aching bodies, an eagle flew over, its powerful wings bearing it westward.

  “Aye, well,” said Whisper, who was on my left and apparently none the worse for wear after the long night’s vigil. “You might be wanting tae splash your faces and stretch your legs before we move on. Down that way there’s a wee stream. You might be needing tae crack the ice first. I’ll wait for you here.”

  There was indeed a stream, and a hollow where a few straggly bushes grew, providing some cover while we performed our ablutions. Tali broke the ice with the heel of her boot. The bracing chill of the water was welcome, rendering us sharply awake. Together, we went through a sequence of exercises familiar from our time on the skerry, limbering up our cramped bodies.

  “Move on,” Tali murmured. “How far, I wonder? I have to say, you’ve looked better in your time, Neryn.”

  “You look surprisingly good, all things considered.” In fact, she looked pale and tired, and she was not moving with her usual confidence. She was surely in pain; it wasn’t long since she’d been beaten by the king’s men. “But you need that salve.”

  “What I crave right now is sleep. But after last time, I’m not fool enough to hope for anything. We were probably lucky to get a wash and time enough to relieve ourselves.”

  We did not need to walk far. Whisper led us to a hall whose entry was in a fold of the mountain. It reminded me of the passages and chambers, the stairs and doorways of Shadowfell, and I wondered whether once, long ago, a powerful entity such as the Hag or the Lord had made a home there.

  Inside, the Lord’s hall was far grander and more spacious than Shadowfell. Even indoors it was bitterly cold. The arching walls were the stone of the mountain, but here and there paler patches glinted and glowed in the light of suspended lanterns, suggesting ice. Great skins softened the rock floor, skins of creatures whose kind I could only guess at. Wolves three times bigger than any known to man; jet-black cattle with hair as soft as a cat’s.

  Whisper led us deeper in. Chambers opened to one side or the other, and there were many folk about, not men and women but Good Folk, though they were generally taller than the Westies, some of them of a height with humankind. Most were clad in gray, and some bore weapons. None of them were talking.

  We came to a halt outside a doorway covered by a curtain of sturdy weave, patterned in various shades of gray. Whisper did not announce our presence, but suddenly the curtain was drawn aside and there was a wee woman in a gown and apron, her startling red hair as curly and wild as Sage’s, her eyes bright as glass beads, and a welcoming smile on her face. A wave of warmth came from the chamber behind her.

  “Ye’ll be wantin’ a bath and a bittie breakfast,” she said. “Come on, then, dinna stand aboot lettin’ in the chill.” This small personage addressed Whisper. “Ye can leave the lassies tae me,” she said. “They’ll no’ be fit for anything until they’ve had a cleanup and a guid sleep.”

  Whisper went off without a sound. Perhaps he too was tired.

  “Bath first,” the wee woman said. “Ye’ll be the Caller, nae doot. And ye the keeper.”

  “I’m Neryn.” I was not quite tired enough to forget the importance of courtesy. “And this is Tali. A bath … Thank you, this is more than we hoped for.” There were indeed two bathtubs in the chamber, ready and waiting for us. They must have known we were coming before we reached this hall. And there was a hearth with a fire; it was blissful to feel the warmth of it.

  “Aye, weel, ye’ll be cold. ’Tis no’ the easiest way tae mak’ a journey, Whisper’s way. Quick, aye. But chilly. And hard on the knees. Strip off your things. Here, let me help ye.”

  At the sight of Tali’s bruises, she sucked in her breath. “Ach! I’ll be findin’ a salve for those. Ye puir lassie. Into the tub wi’ ye, go on now. Ye can ca’ me Flow.” After a pause, she spoke again, and her voice was shaking. “Is it true, what the messengers hae been tellin’ us? Can ye really wake the Lord?”

  In the face of her naked hope, I found myself incapable of telling her how unlikely that seemed. “I can’t be certain of anything, Flow. I will do my best, I promise.”

  When we were washed, fed, and clad in new clothing that fit us perfectly, Flow led us to a little round sleeping chamber with a pair of shelf beds that appeared to have been hewn out of the rock. Each was furnished with pillows and soft bedding, atop which was spread a fur cloak, luxuriously warm.

  I had never seen Tali so exhausted. Flow had salved her bruises, using a mudlike mixture, and covered one or two with dressings of moss and linen held on by neat bandages. Perhaps that had reminded Tali of the beating and of what had come before and after. I would not ask her about it. If she wanted to tell me, she would do so in her own time. Not now; both of us were dropping with weariness.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, watching Tali as she checked every corner of the chamber, then came back to lean my staff against the wall close by her own sleeping place. Her staff had been lost when she was taken prisoner.

  “What are you doing? Lie down and rest.”

  “It feels wrong to have nobody on watch. But the fact is, I’m too tired to do anything about it.”

  “We’re safe here. I’m sure these people have their own guards.”

  There was a silence, during which she folded her arms and looked down at the floor. Then she added, “I’ve failed you once, maybe twice. I wouldn’t want to do it again.”

  “Failed me? How?” What was she talking about?

  “In the isles, I let them take me from the skerry and leave you alone out there. By Deepwater, I had to leave you on your own again. I should have known you’d come after me. I should have known you wouldn’t put your own safety first. And now look where we are.”

  I blinked at her. “Safe, warm, bathed and fed, and exactly where we intended to be.”

  “But—”

  “Lie down, shut your eyes, and stop thinking so hard. If you weren’t so tired, you’d know you’re talking nonsense.”

  “But, Neryn—”

  “If we don’t sleep now, we won’t be at our best to face whatever comes next. Do as you’re told—lie down, and not another word out of you.”

  She managed a smile, then winced in pain as she lowered herself onto the bed.

  “I know you’re worried about Regan,” I told her. “But they said he went back to Shadowfell, and he has good advisers.”

  “Mm.” She pulled the covers over herself and lay down.

  “Sleep well, Tali,” I said. But there was no reply.

  We woke and found ourselves feeling better; Flow brought us a meal, which we ate hungrily. It could have been morning or evening when Whisper came to fetch us.

  “I’ll show you where the Lord lies,” he said, and led us through a maze of passageways to a grand chamber, its roof so high above us that i
t seemed lost in shadows. Silent attendants stood in ranks to either side of the hall, which was illuminated by a double row of flaming torches. At the other end of the room, on a pallet set high on a dais, a man lay sleeping. One guard stood at the head of his bed, another at the foot. They were tall, broad beings, manlike, but each would have dwarfed even Big Don. Their cap-like helms and breast-pieces were of a glittering substance I could not identify, and they held spears of pale bone. Brothers, I guessed, for their faces were nearly identical, strong-boned and impassive. Their eyes were as gray as their garments. I was reminded of Flint.

  As Whisper led us forward, the vast cavern seemed full of an expectant hush. These people thought, perhaps, that I could work a miracle. Or their long-held hope had made them clutch at straws. Hadn’t someone said the Lord of the North had been sleeping for hundreds of years?

  We came before the dais. The guards did not move.

  “You can go up,” Whisper said.

  I climbed the steps to the pallet; Tali stayed at the bottom, my staff in her hand. I looked down at the Lord of the North.

  He was tall and appeared to be in his prime. His clothing too was gray, and over it was a coverlet of pure white fur. His face was snow-pale, his hair was dark, and his wide-open eyes were the color of a chill dawn sky. I waited until I had seen his chest rise and fall seven times before I accepted that he was not dead.

  I cleared my throat, but found no words. This was not sleep, surely, but something deeper, a kind of living death that lay far beyond the limits of my understanding.

  “Can you help him, lassie?”

  I started in shock. The deep voice belonged to one of the formidable guards. He’d turned to look at me, and I saw the same hope on his face as I had seen on Flow’s. These folk loved their lord. Above all things, they wanted him back. “I don’t know,” I said. “Whisper, how long has he been like this?”

  “Long years,” Whisper said. “Long, long years. We’ve done our best tae tend tae him. We’ve kept things going in his ha’. We’ve waited. But we canna bring him back. Before he lay down here, he ordered us not tae wake him.”

  “Doesn’t that mean—?”

  “He didna give you any orders.”

  There was no arguing with that. “You say he lay down. He put himself into this trance? Why?”

  “You’d best talk tae Flow. She’ll give you the story. We’ll leave him in peace now. We dinna expect you tae bring him back in an instant. Stane moves awfu’ slow.”

  As we made our way out between the rows of silent attendants, Tali asked him, “May we move about here? Talk freely to folk?”

  “Aye, wander as you please. Anyplace we dinna want you prying, there’ll be a guard on the door.”

  “I’ve seen some unusual weaponry here,” Tali said. “Is there perhaps an armory? A master-at-arms, a person who is in charge of such things?”

  “Oh, aye. There might be both. I’ll have a wee word.”

  Later in the day—or possibly night, for in this underground hall there was no way of telling if it was light or dark outside—we had settled in a small chamber where there was a hearth with a fire. Flow had suggested we would be more comfortable there, and had offered a choice of mending or cutting up root vegetables for our supper to keep us occupied. She had promised to tell me the tale later.

  I was working my way through the mending; Tali had already accounted for the parsnips and carrots, wielding Flow’s bone knife with precision. When someone marched in without knocking, she was on her feet in an instant. The implement, rock-steady in her hands, was aimed straight at the being’s heart.

  “Friend,” the visitor said, holding up open hands to show he meant no harm. Tali lowered the knife but stood her ground. I set down my sewing.

  Five of them came in, and the chamber was suddenly full. They were uniformly clad in short hooded cloaks over plain gray clothing and sturdy boots. Most striking were the leather protective garments they had on, arm braces and breast-pieces not unlike those worn by the warriors of Shadowfell. Three resembled shortish human folk, one was more wolf than man, and the fifth seemed to change its shape each time I looked. Two bore staves; all had sheathed weapons at their belts. Fighters.

  “Next time, knock,” Tali said, putting the knife down on the table.

  “Then we wouldna hae seen how quick ye were.”

  “You want a demonstration of my fighting skills, just ask.” Tali folded her arms. Her stance, feet apart, chin up, was all challenge.

  “Er … this might not be the place for that,” I put in.

  The spokesman for our visitors folded his own arms. He had to tilt his head back to look Tali in the eye, but there was something in both his stance and his expression that suggested he’d be happy to give her a good fight if she wanted one. “As tae skills, we’ve heard ye might have a thing or two tae teach us.”

  “You know nothing about me!” she snapped. “How could you?”

  “A bird,” I suggested. “Yes?”

  “Your tale came before ye. A wee skirmish wi’ the king’s men, aye? One agin four or five, that’s what we heard. Not to speak o’ the way ye train those fighters o’ yours, back hame.”

  Tali scowled. “That doesn’t explain your storming in here and almost getting this knife through your chest.”

  “Stormin’? Lads, were we doin’ any stormin’?”

  The other four shook their heads.

  “Ye want tae see stormin’, just say the word,” the spokesman said.

  It was time to intervene. “My name is Neryn,” I said, “and this is Tali. You have a fighting force here? I thought the Good Folk shunned conflict. I thought you would sooner go to ground than become involved in such things.”

  The five of them took this as an invitation, strolling over to seat themselves on the benches beside us. One reached out to help himself to a piece of carrot; Tali’s glare stopped him before he set a finger on it.

  “Ye got it wrong, lassie,” said one of the others, a red-bearded fellow almost as broad as he was tall. “The disputes o’ human folk, aye, we steer clear o’ those, unless one o’ your kind comes along—a Caller, that is. Even then we dinna much care tae get caught up in them. Oor ain fights, they’re a different matter.”

  “Your own fights?” asked Tali. “Against whom?”

  “A’ sorts. Brollachans; trows; wolf-men. There’s some grumly old creatures in the north.”

  “Then there’s clan disputes,” put in one of the others. “Over land, over law, over trifles. The winters here are lang; folk need somethin’ tae keep theirselves occupied.”

  Tali and I exchanged a glance.

  “How many fighters do you have here?” Tali asked.

  “Ach, that’s no’ information tae be given oot lightly. Ye dinna hae oor names yet, and already ye want oor strategic secrets. We’re no’ fools.”

  “Understood.” Tali was smiling now. “If the situation were reversed, I surely wouldn’t give you that information. As for names, you have ours; if you choose to introduce yourselves, I have a suggestion you might perhaps want to consider.”

  They looked at one another.

  “It’s to do with the long winters, and not getting restless, and honing your combat skills.”

  “Oh, aye?” The red-bearded one sounded unimpressed, but there was no concealing the glint of interest in his eye.

  “Piece of carrot, anyone?” Tali asked.

  Grins broke out on every weathered face. “Scar,” said the spokesman.

  “Stack.”

  “Grim.”

  “Steep.”

  “Fleabane.”

  “His mither was a herb-wife,” said Scar in explanation.

  “A suggestion, ye say.” Stack stroked his beard thoughtfully. “What suggestion might that be?”

  “Seems we have the same problem: an army that needs to keep busy over the winter months, so it’s ready for action once the thaw comes. And by busy, I don’t mean folk getting into foolish disputes among t
hemselves. I have ideas that I may be prepared to share once I know you better. If you want my help, I’m offering it.”

  “At what price?” The wolflike being, Grim, was staring at Tali through narrowed eyes. He looked as if he might leap to the attack if she said a wrong word.

  “I’d like to see your armory and talk to you about your weapons,” she said with perfect calm. “In time, I’ll tell you more about our future plans, though you may know something of that already. It seems messengers have been carrying the word about our cause to the Good Folk all over Alban.” She hesitated, glancing at me. “Our leader would be interested to know you have a fighting force here.” I saw her deciding not to ask them if they were immune to the fell effects of iron. “You’ve done a remarkable job to keep that going all this time without your Lord.”

  “Aye, ’tis a lang while,” said Steep. “The best we can dae, while we’re waitin’, is keep fightin’. Keep oor heads up.”

  “Weapons sharp, backs straight, hearts high,” I murmured.

  They stared at me with new respect. “Aye,” said Scar after a moment. “Aye, ye got it exactly.”

  “Like you, I don’t much care for being idle,” Tali said. “Neryn has a job to do here. While she’s working on it, I think I can help you; I think you can help me. But, of course, it’s your decision. The only thing is, there’s a limit to how much of the day I can occupy in chopping vegetables.”

  The fighters roared with laughter. Then, without another word spoken, they were all on their feet. “Come on, then,” said Scar. “Lang way doon tae the armory. Best be movin’.”

  Trust had come with surprising speed. Tali glanced at me, brows raised.

  “Go on,” I said. “I’ll be fine. Flow’s not far away, and the place is full of guards.”

  “Guards?” Steep spoke with derision. “Ye mean them in the ha’? Just for show, they are, save for the Twa. The real fighters, we’re a’ doon below. We’re the strong backbone o’ this place; wi’oot the likes o’ us, wha’d keep the Southies in check?”