The Tower of Ravens

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘My love, I’ve been thinking. Happen we should ride down the eastern side o’ the Findhorn River. I ken the roads are said to be bad that way, but we need to get back to Lucescere just as soon as we can. The Rìgh will want to hear all we ken about Connor’s death.’

  ‘But, Iven, should we no’ go back past Ravenscraig, as we planned? The MacBrann may wish to question us.’

  Iven shrugged. ‘This is a matter for the Rìgh, Nina, no’ for the MacBrann, even though it happened here in his land. Even if we go to Ravenscraig we will need to hurry on to Lucescere just as fast as we can. The murder o’ a Yeoman is a matter for the royal courts.’

  Rhiannon gripped her knife hilt. She was amazed how Iven and Nina were able to speak of one thing and seem to speak of another. To her, and to Lewen, she imagined, it was clear they were debating whether it was best to take her, Rhiannon, to Ravenscraig to face the reckoning, or head straight to the capital, for her to explain herself to the mysterious and powerful Rìgh they all seemed to admire so much. To the other apprentices, though, there can have been no trace of the dark undercurrent of suspicion that Rhiannon heard so clearly.

  ‘We will head down the eastern bank then,’ Nina said tiredly. ‘We’ll save a week or more if we do no’ have to cross the Findhorn.’

  Iven nodded. ‘More, probably, for once we get to Ravenscraig we’d have to stay for days, no doubt. Ye ken how slowly things move there, with all the confusion after Malcolm’s death. The Rìgh will want the news as fast as possible. Which reminds me, my love, do ye think ye can send a bird across the mountains with a message?’

  Nina sighed. ‘I do no’ want to be the one to tell the news. It’ll break Johanna’s heart.’

  ‘They must be anxious about Connor already. Surely it’s kinder to let them ken than keep Johanna in a fret o’ worry for the weeks it’ll take any message to get there from Ravenscraig.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Nina said unhappily.

  She got up and shook out her skirts. ‘I’ll need a hawk at the very least. I had better go and start calling.’

  Fascinated, the apprentices all followed her outside. As Rhiannon went past Lewen, she cast him a look from under her lashes. His set expression suddenly broke. His hand shot out and caught her arm, in the crook of her elbow, and he pulled her aside, letting the others pass by.

  ‘Rhiannon,’ he whispered, his voice breaking. ‘Ye had naught to do with Connor’s death, did ye? Did ye?’

  She dropped her eyes, saying, ‘Nay, it was no’ me.’

  He lifted her hand in both of his, smoothing his thumb over the callouses on her palm. ‘Ye have the hands o’ an archer.’

  Her colour deepened. ‘I can shoot a bow and arrow, aye. I bet I can outshoot ye! That does no’ mean I killed him.’

  He dropped her hand, and very gently touched the saddlebags she had clasped under her arm. ‘Are there papers in there?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nay.’ A memory returned to her. ‘He had papers. They used them to feed the fire.’

  He sighed and dropped his hand. ‘Rhiannon?’

  ‘Aye?’

  He shook his head. ‘Naught. I’m just glad it was no’ ye who killed him. I kent him well, ye see. When ye spoke o’ a Blue Guard that the herd took prisoner, I never imagined it would be Connor. I saw him only a month or so ago, at Ravenscraig. I canna believe he rode right past Kingarth and did no’ stop to see us. He must’ve had urgent news indeed!’

  Rhiannon said nothing. She remembered how Reamon had begged her to help the captured soldier. ‘He has news he must take to the court – the Rìgh is in dreadful danger,’ he had said. But the soldier was dead and his news lost. There was nothing she could do about it now.

  ‘Rhiannon, the Rìgh will want to ken all ye can tell him about Connor’s death,’ Lewen said. ‘He will be angry and upset, he loved Connor well. Ye … ye will tell all ye can, won’t ye? And be polite and respectful? I would no’ wish …’ His voice trailed off, and he sighed. ‘Happen we had best try to teach ye some court manners afore we arrive in Lucescere.’

  Rhiannon nodded her head. ‘Aye, happen so,’ she answered, surprising him. His head came up and he scrutinised her face closely.

  ‘I no’ want offend him,’ Rhiannon explained.

  ‘Nay,’ Lewen said and laughed. ‘Very wise, wild girl.’

  Together they went out of the warm inn and into the chilly afternoon. The sun was setting behind the mountains and long blue shadows were cast by every tree and hill. Nina was standing out in the centre of the field behind the inn, her eyes closed, her hands loose by her side. Her long chestnut curls were blown about wildly by the wind. The others all sat on the fence, a respectful distance away, watching in silence. The sunbird perched beside them, occasionally giving a little questioning trill. Whenever it did so, Iven tapped its beak with his finger and it would quieten, though it never took its bright eyes off Nina.

  ‘What she doing?’ Rhiannon whispered after a while.

  ‘Calling a bird,’ Edithe answered curtly.

  ‘But she’s no’ making any sound.’

  ‘She’s calling it with her mind,’ Fèlice explained with a quick smile.

  A few minutes later, Rhiannon heard a high, yelping call. She looked up into the sky but could see nothing. The sun was balanced in a cleft in the mountains, sending wide golden rays high up into the colourless sky. The yelping cry came again, and then Rhiannon saw, far up above, the shape of an eagle. It swung in the air as if suspended from a string. Without opening her eyes, Nina suddenly raised one hand. The eagle folded its wings and came plummeting down. Involuntarily everyone flinched back as it landed heavily on Nina’s hand. It was enormous, with strong talons, a cruel beak and golden-bronze feathers. Only Nina did not recoil. She opened her eyes and stared into the fierce golden eye so close to hers. For a long moment they communed in silence, then Nina brought it to stand on the fence so she could attach a message-tube to its great clenched claws. Then it spread its beautiful, barred wings and launched itself into the air, climbing swiftly up into the grey vault of the evening sky.

  ‘If anyone can cross the mountains and come safely to Lucescere, it will be her,’ Nina said, sounding tired. ‘I wish she carried happier news.’

  Iven nodded and put his arm about her waist, and slowly they made their way back to the inn.

  They were up and away early the next morning, leaving the river behind them as the road swung east through the hills. Occasionally they saw a small huddle of houses round a village green, or a solitary croft set among old plum trees, and midmorning they saw a goose-girl driving a flock of great white indignant birds along the road, hissing and honking, and terrifying the horses with their aggressively held heads on long, snaky necks.

  Blackthorn was startled into the air, the first time she had flown since Rhiannon had captured her. Rhiannon was almost jerked off her saddle-pad, clinging to the mare’s mane so desperately the coarse hair cut her flesh. She had refused to admit she was frightened of flying on the mare’s back again, and so she hoped no-one noticed how pale and cold her skin was when at last Blackthorn dropped down to the ground again. To her relief, no-one seemed to have noticed, being too full of the mare’s beauty and grace to pay her rider any heed at all.

  The sun had slipped behind the mountains by the time Iven finally called the halt, drawing up his gaudy caravan in the shelter of a copse of trees by the road. The riders were all stiff and tired and cold, but the horses had to be attended to and firewood gathered before they could at last sit down and rest. Iven and Nina made camp with swift efficiency, and so it was not long before the campfire was burning merrily and the enticing smell of hot stew was filling the air.

  While Nina stirred the big iron cooking pot, Fèlice showed Rhiannon where she was to sleep. The blue caravan which Iven drove was the one set aside for the journey-apprentices. Inside were four hard, narrow bunks, one set above the other on either side. Fèlice had lit a lantern hanging by the door. By its smoky, uneven ligh
t, Rhiannon peered into the dimness, noting the girls’ clothes hanging from the rails, the shoes and bags shoved under the bunks, the piles of securely bound trunks and barrels and sacks of supplies. It was all very cramped and dark and smelly, and Rhiannon did not like it at all.

  ‘Where others sleep?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nina and Iven and Roden sleep in the red caravan,’ Fèlice said, ‘and the boys sleep round the fire generally. I dinna ken what they’ll do if it rains. Sleep under the caravan, I guess. It’s no’ very salubrious, is it?’

  Rhiannon did not know what salubrious meant, but she agreed with Fèlice’s tone.

  ‘Me no sleep here,’ she said flatly.

  ‘But where else would ye sleep?’ Fèlice asked in surprise.

  ‘Me sleep outside.’

  ‘With the boys? Surely no’? It wouldna be seemly, Rhiannon.’

  ‘What this seemly?’

  Fèlice was lost for words. ‘No’ … no’ proper. No’ appropriate. Boys and girls do no’ sleep together. I mean, no’ unless they … no’ unless they’re married.’ She blushed rosily.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s just no’ appropriate.’

  ‘Me no care …’

  ‘Ye should say “I do no’ care”,’ Fèlice said.

  Rhiannon cast her a look of irritation. ‘I dinna care! I no’ sleeping here.’

  ‘But why no’? I mean, I ken it’s small and rather crowded with all our luggage … and I must admit I’m used to having a room to myself and found it hard to grow accustomed to sharing.’ She giggled. ‘I hardly slept a wink the first few nights for Maisie’s snoring. And Edithe kept banging on the bottom o’ her bed to try to make her stop. But I’ve got used to it now, I hardly notice it anymore. Or maybe I’m just so tired from riding so far. And it’s only for sleeping in. We spend all our time till we go to bed sitting round the campfire, talking and listening to Iven’s stories and songs. It’s rather fun, actually.’

  ‘I canna sleep in here,’ Rhiannon said. ‘It’s too small, too close.’ She gave a little shiver and backed out of the caravan, into the fresh air. Above her was a vast arch of starry sky, and a sharp cold wind blew through the leaves, making the flames dance. Rhiannon took a deep breath and a tension she had not known was there seeped away.

  ‘Nina, Rhiannon says she canna sleep in the caravan,’ Fèlice said, sounding troubled. ‘She wants to sleep out here with the boys.’

  ‘I always sleep out here,’ Rhiannon said, indicating the wind and the stars and the trees with a sweeping gesture of her arm. ‘I do no’ like being all …’

  ‘Cooped up?’ Nina said, when Rhiannon’s vocabulary failed her.

  ‘Makes I feel … trapped,’ Rhiannon said.

  ‘Makes me feel trapped,’ Fèlice corrected automatically.

  ‘Makes me feel trapped? Why me? And no’ I? I all other times.’

  Nina smiled. ‘Do ye ken, Rhiannon, I have no idea why. But Fèlice is right. Happen I should set her to teaching ye the rules o’ grammar, for to tell ye the truth I’ve never really understood them. I grew up naught but a jongleur lass, ye ken. I probably make Fèlice and Edithe shudder with the way I speak too.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Fèlice said, horrified. ‘I mean, I would no’ presume …’

  ‘Och, no need to blush. I’m no lady, no’ me. Or should that be “no’ I”?’

  ‘No’ I,’ Fèlice said apologetically.

  ‘There ye go. Ye’re hereby appointed as Rhiannon’s language teacher.’

  Fèlice looked at Rhiannon a little dubiously but could not help laughing at Rhiannon’s scowling expression. ‘I’ll be gentle, I promise,’ she said.

  ‘And about sleeping outside, I see no reason why Rhiannon canna sleep under the stars if she so wishes. I often do in summer, I must admit. The ground’s a little too cold for me at this time o’ year but if Rhiannon does no’ mind, I do no’ see why we should.’

  ‘But …’ Fèlice said doubtfully.

  ‘Are ye worried about the proprieties? I wouldna be concerned, Fèlice. Witches rarely worry about such things. I for one ken Rhiannon can look after herself.’

  Rhiannon smiled at her radiantly. ‘So I can,’ she asserted. ‘Or should that be “So me can”?’

  Fèlice sighed.

  The other apprentice-witches were all huddled by the fire in their cloaks, surreptitiously rubbing at their bruises and complaining about their aches and pains. Nina passed around a jar of salve and promised to warm up bags of dried herbs for the girls to take to bed with them, apologising for the hard pace they were being set.

  ‘Weather’s chancy in the highlands,’ she said, ‘and we want to make good time while we can. Last time Iven and I were in the Broken Ring o’ Dubhslain, we ended up being stuck in a goatherd’s cottage for two weeks while a snowstorm raged.’

  ‘But it’s springtime,’ Fèlice cried. ‘Surely we shallna get snowed in now?’

  Nina shrugged. ‘Like I said, the weather’s unpredictable here. It’s something to do with being circled by mountains on all sides.’

  ‘Cold the wind blows and bleak the raven cries, down the stony glens o’ black Dubhslain,’ Landon murmured. ‘What rhymes with “slain”? Wane? Fain? Pain?’

  ‘I think ye could do something with “pain”,’ Fèlice murmured, rubbing her backside ruefully. Everyone laughed.

  ‘Do ye ken why it’s called the Broken Ring o’ Dubhslain?’ Iven asked. ‘I dinna ken if it be true, but they say there was a great act o’ sorcery in these hills, many years ago, in the time o’ Brann the Raven himself.’

  He paused for effect, taking a sip of ale. ‘Now Brann was one o’ the First Coven, as ye ken. But many o’ his people hated and feared him, for he was a cold-hearted ruthless man and much given to dabbling in mysteries that would have best been left undisturbed. One summer, it was said, Brann and his retinue were here in the highlands for he had decided to hunt down and capture the fabled black winged stallion for himself.’

  He nodded and smiled at Rhiannon, who was listening, rapt. ‘Some o’ his men decided to lay a trap for him and murder him, making it seem like an accident. Brann’s son Dugald was only thirteen then and they thought they could rule through him. Brann saw into their hearts, though, and laid a trap of his own. In those days this valley was surrounded on all sides by mountains in a perfect ring. They had a hard journey climbing up here, but Brann urged them on, taunting them with their cowardice and weakness until at last they climbed the last cliff and came inside the ring. On they travelled, towards the high peak o’ Ben Eyrie where it was said the black winged horses flew. Three days they travelled, and always the rebels waited for their chance to slay the Raven. He never seemed to sleep, however, and they dared not face him awake.

  ‘On the third night, Brann at last seemed to rest and they drew their knives and crept upon him. Just as the ring-leader raised his blade, Brann leapt up and sent him flying back with the force o’ his magic. The rebels turned to flee but Brann struck the ground with his staff, enacting a great spell o’ incredible strength by using the perfect ring o’ mountains as his circle o’ power. The earth itself groaned and shook, and a great crack opened up in its flank.

  ‘A fountain o’ water burst up from the deepest depths o’ the earth and swept away all that lay afore it, including all o’ Brann’s men, traitorous or no’. And the ring o’ mountains was broken and the land cleared all the way to the sea, farms and villages and towns all drowned in the flood. And where Brann’s staff had struck was a great black fathomless lake, which he called Dubhglais.

  ‘Then Brann came down alone from the mountains, following the new river, which he named the Findhorn. And where the river fell through the broken ring in a great roaring waterfall he built a castle and named it Ravenscraig. And on the far shore, in the shadow o’ the broken mountain, he built his witches’ tower. And no-one ever dared rebel against him again.’

  ‘I’m no’ surprised,’ Landon said, looking up from the fire with dreamy eye
s. ‘He was a cold, strange man, by all accounts. Did ye ken he swore he would outwit Gearradh in the end, and live again?’

  Everyone sighed and shivered and looked up at the tall icy peaks surrounding them on all sides but one, and hunched closer to the fire.

  ‘Who that?’ Rhiannon whispered to Lewen.

  ‘Brann? He was one o’ the sorcerers from the Other World, who brought humankind here to Eileanan. We call them the First Coven. Ravenshaw – this country we’re in now – that was Brann’s land and is still ruled by one o’ his descendants, Dughall MacBrann.’

  ‘I meant t’other. The one that made everyone shiver.’

  ‘Gearradh? Oh. She is the one who cuts the thread, the third of the weird sisters, that we call the Three Spinners.’ Seeing Rhiannon’s puzzled face, Lewen tried to explain again. ‘She … I suppose she is like the goddess o’ death. She decides when it is time for us all to die.’

  ‘No wonder everyone shivered.’

  ‘It was as much at the idea of Brann the Raven living again,’ Lewen said. ‘He was a scary man.’

  Nina laughed at their sombre faces and bade Iven play something to cheer them up while she served the stew. ‘Ye willna fancy ye hear ghosts crying on the wind with a bowl o’ hot stew in ye,’ she said.

  Iven strummed his guitar and sang lustily:

  ‘O Eà let me die,

  wi’ a wee dram at my lip,

  and a bonny lass on my lap,

  and a merry song and a jest,

  biting my thumb at the sober an’ just,

  as I live I wish to die!

  So drink up, laddies, drink,

  and see ye do no’ spill,

  for if ye do we’ll all drink two,

  for that be the drunkard’s rule!’

  Despite the merry tune and the hot stew, the shadow of the tale lay on them all still. That night, as she lay rolled in her blankets by the fire, Rhiannon could still hear the wind sobbing in the trees and feel the dark gaze of the mountains upon them. It took her a long time to find sleep, and she heard the sighs of the other apprentices as they too sought sleep that would not come.