by Kate Forsyth
Maisie, Edithe and Fèlice were sitting curled together on a couch, covered by a soft blanket. Only Edithe was still awake, and she had her head pillowed on her hand and her cup resting in her lap, looking as if she would slip off into sleep at any moment.
Annis led Rhiannon to the only remaining chair, made her sit and poured her a cup of some kind of pale, flower-scented hot tea. Rhiannon sipped at it suspiciously.
‘Chamomile,’ Annis said, smiling. ‘It will help you sleep. Go on, drink it up. Ye all look worn out.’ She sat down on the ground at Rhiannon’s feet, fondling the spotted ear of the three-legged mongrel, and nodded at her encouragingly. Rhiannon drank obediently.
Ashelma turned to her and smiled. ‘I was just telling the others about all the animals. They think I keep some kind o’ menagerie but indeed it is no’ my fault. Annis collects wounded animals but somehow, once they are healed, they do no’ wish to leave. The only creature that is mine is Strixa the owl, and believe me, it is only because o’ the deep love she bears me that she tolerates all the other animals. Particularly Serena the hare, our newest guest. We have to keep a close eye on Strixa in case she forgets herself and swoops on her for her supper.’
The owl hooted contemptuously and spat a hard pellet towards the sleeping hare, who at once sat up, her long ears twitching nervously.
‘The orphanage is Annis’s idea also,’ Ashelma went on. ‘I do no’ ken quite how it happened, but we now have nine boys and one girl staying here with us. Most are from across the river. Nina, I do no’ wish to alarm ye but ye must ken that it is dangerous for little boys over there. All o’ the murdered bairns were boys, most around five or six years auld. Quite a few o’ our lads were brought here by their parents for safekeeping. I wish ye would reconsider crossing the Stormness. I ken ye wish to reach the capital in time for the royal wedding, but surely your wee laddie’s safety is more important?’
Nina was white. ‘That’s no’ fair, Ashelma,’ she said angrily. ‘Ye must ken Roden is the most important thing in the world to me. O’ course I feel anxious with all these tales o’ lads going missing and being found murdered. But we are only passing through. In two days we’ll be gone. I think Iven and I can keep Roden safe till then. We shallna let him out o’ our sight.’
‘I’m sorry, I dinna mean to offend ye,’ Ashelma said.
Nina took a deep breath. ‘That’s all right,’ she said after a moment. ‘The fact is, Ashelma, we did no’ choose to come this way lightly. If our only concern was getting back to Lucescere in time for the wedding, we would’ve gone the usual way. We have plenty o’ time, the wedding is no’ until midsummer.’
Ashelma nodded, looking an enquiry.
‘Nay, the truth is we were forced to change our plans. As we came through Barbreck-by-the-Bridge, we found the body o’ a murdered Yeoman, one o’ His Highness’s most trusted and beloved men. He had been beaten and tortured cruelly afore he died. Both Iven and I kent him well. There will have to be an enquiry into his death. His Highness will be most anxious for us to make our report, and Connor’s sister … she will want to ken all we can tell her.’
‘How terrible!’ Ashelma exclaimed. ‘I’m sorry, I dinna realise.’
‘How could ye?’ Nina asked. ‘Ye must see now that we shall save more than a week in the travelling coming this way. And I must admit it was in my mind to try to find the Scrying Pool at the Tower o’ Ravens and use it to speak to His Highness.’
‘Och, nay, ye must no’ do that,’ Ashelma said. ‘The tower is haunted, do ye no’ ken? Few who go into the ruin come out again, and those that do are stark raving mad, they say. The ghosts there are malevolent and cruel, and hate the living.’
Nina frowned. ‘I have heard that,’ she admitted. ‘I was hoping it was all an exaggeration, however.’
‘Och, nay,’ Ashelma said. ‘It is all true. And only getting worse, it seems. The land that lies beneath the Tower o’ Ravens has been an unhappy place since the Day o’ Betrayal but recently it seems the whole valley is cursed. No-one is safe, no’ man, woman or child. Particularly not young boys. Nina, in the twenty-five years since Lachlan the Winged won the throne thirty or more lads have gone missing.’
‘Thirty or more boys? Vanished?’
‘Murdered. Their bodies were found, but there’s no sign o’ what killed them and no witch or skeelie nearby to examine the bodies more closely. Do ye wonder that the mothers o’ boys dare no’ stay in Fetterness anymore? Those that canna leave bring their lads across the river to me, but I have no room for any more and besides, they shouldna be with me, they should be safe with their families. Indeed, I do no’ ken what can be done.’
Nina shook her head, looking appalled.
‘And that’s not the worst o’ it. Nina, the dead canna rest there. Graves both auld and new are found open and the corpses walk around in broad daylight, dragging their rotting flesh behind them, seeking to come home again.’ She shuddered and wrapped her arms about her body in a vain attempt to warm herself. Rhiannon shuddered too.
‘And we fear the evil shall find a way to cross the river and shadow all o’ us here. Already we’ve found two graves robbed, or broken out o’, though we have no’ seen the dead they once contained walking about, thank Eà! And our town watchman has disappeared. We have his children here, Casey and Letty. He went out one night to investigate a noise and did no’ come back. We never found his body. Since then the town reeve has put a gate across the bridge and locked it, and only those that come across in daylight and can satisfy him they have true business here are allowed through. Most are wanting work this side o’ the river but we canna take any more, and so now they head south towards the ports. No-one has come knocking on the gate for close on two weeks now, and we’ve had no news since then.’
Nina looked shaken. ‘I had no idea it was so bad!’ she exclaimed. ‘We heard rumours, o’ course, but … surely the MacBrann should ken o’ this?’
‘We sent a message to Ravenscraig last market-day, but have heard naught from the laird. Who kens if he even heard it? When the carrier returned from Ravenscraig it was with the news o’ Malcolm MacBrann’s death and all the court was in mourning. Our messenger had no chance o’ seeing the new laird. He passed the news on to a guard at the gate and came away. What more could he do? And I canna scry to the court sorceress, even though we are so close, for we are bounded by two rivers here and both are deep and fast. Just as it is too dangerous to try to cross in a boat, so it is too noisy for my thoughts to cross.’ She sighed. ‘So we do what we can to help the people o’ Fetterness, those who have no’ fled, and shelter their children and guard our own doors and hope the MacBrann will send his guards to investigate when he can. Happen ye will tell the Coven yourself, if … I mean, when …’ Her voice trailed away unhappily.
‘I will,’ Nina said firmly. ‘Now we must to bed, for my lasses are asleep in their chairs and I myself am sick with weariness. I am sorry for your trouble. I will certainly tell the Keybearer and when she can, she will no doubt come herself to listen in the ruins and see what the ghosts have to say. For now, do no’ fear for us. I ken the songs o’ sorcery. We shall be safe.’
Ashelma nodded, looking tired and troubled. She stood up, gently tipping the cat in her lap to the floor, and helped Annis rouse Edithe, Maisie and Fèlice. Nina lifted Roden to her shoulder, his curly head nestling into her neck, and followed the witch and her apprentice up a broad flight of steps to a bedroom on the upper floor.
Rhiannon followed quietly behind, her head ringing with the witch’s words. Satyricorns were afraid of nothing living, but had a profound horror of anything supernatural. They spilt a little blood every day in supplication of the dark fiends they believed dwelt in every shadow and cleft, and if they had failed in the hunt that day, they would open their own vein to make sure the sacrifice was made. Rhiannon had not spilt blood once since leaving her herd, having been determined to leave all of that part of her behind like a snake’s cast-off skin. Her whole body was s
huddering now, though, down to the very marrow of her bones. She swore she would slice open her vein this very night and make an offering to the dark walkers of the shadows.
There was only one bed in the room but it was enormous, standing on its own platform with a velvet canopy hanging overhead. Annis helped the other girls sleepily strip down to their shifts and climb up into the bed, which had been warmed by long-handled brass-lidded trays filled with hot coals. They were to sleep two at either end, with a trundle bed made up before the fire for Nina and Roden. Rhiannon allowed herself to be tucked up under the white counterpane, pretending to be almost asleep so Nina or Annis would not try to speak with her. The sheets were stiff and smelt of herbs, and the pillow was very soft. She was so very tired it took a strong effort of will not to succumb to the insistent weight of sleep on her limbs. She lay quietly, watching from under her eyelashes as Nina tucked up her son, washed her face and hands, and shed her own clothes.
The jongleur did not climb into bed at once, though. She picked up the small bag she always wore tied to her belt and rummaged inside it, taking out a small stick and a few little cloth bags tied up with string. She opened one and threw what looked like dead leaves on the fire. Little green-hearted flames sprang up and curled away, scenting the smoke sweetly as they died.
She then drew her dagger from its sheath, a gesture that made Rhiannon’s eyes open wider and her muscles tense. Nina hesitated and turned to look towards the bed, as if she had heard the subtle change in the rhythm of Rhiannon’s breath. Rhiannon breathed slowly, pretending to sleep.
After a moment Nina knelt before the fire and gathered together a little handful of ashes from the hearth, spreading these around her in a circle. She shook salt from one of the bags and sprinkled it on top of the ashes, then sprinkled water about her as well. Then, with her back straight, she swept the stick in her hand all round her, tracing the shape of the circle, then repeated the gesture with the dagger, muttering words under her breath. She knelt naked in the centre of the circle in silence for quite some time, unmindful of the cold, her unruly red-brown curls her only covering. At last she opened her eyes and rose up onto her knees, her wand in one hand, the knife in the other. Facing the fire, she chanted in a low, sweet voice:
‘Goddess o’ life, Goddess o’ death,
Goddess o’ all power that is the universe,
Shine your light o’ white upon me and mine,
Shield all within this house from that which is evil,
Give to me peace and protection from harm,
By the power o’ the fire, by the life in this blade,
By the power o’ the earth, by the life in this wand,
By the powers o’ air and water, cup and bowl,
By the powers o’ stars and moons and cold distances,
Shield us, Eà o’ the green blood, and keep us safe.’
She then reversed the movement of wand and dagger, and swept up the salted ashes with her hands, pouring them into a little muslin bag with some of the dead leaves. She tied the top of the bag with blue ribbon and then slipped the cord about the neck of her son, kissing him gently on the forehead. He murmured in his sleep and turned, tucking his hand under one round cheek. Shivering, Nina dragged her shift back on over her head and then crept into bed beside him, pulling the boy close against her body.
Rhiannon felt an odd prickling in her eyes, a hot ache in her throat. It’s the smoke, she told herself irritably, and set herself to waiting till Nina was asleep. The jongleur seemed comforted by her little charade by the fire and soon slipped into sleep. Rhiannon waited patiently a while longer, listening to the sound of the wind in the branches outside, the sudden wash of rain. When she was sure all was quiet and still, she slipped out of the warm bed and went to kneel where Nina had knelt, in the half-obscured circle of ashes and salt. She gazed into the black and orange puzzle of glowing coals, unsheathed her dagger and slashed it quickly across her outstretched wrist. Blood welled up, thick and dark, and dripped from her wrist onto the flagstones.
Walk elsewhere, dark lords, Rhiannon said silently. Drink this blood I freely offer you and seek not to take our souls. Walk elsewhere.
Then she raised her wrist to her mouth and sucked at the cut, tasting the saltiness of her blood. She used her dagger to tear a strip of material from her shift, having nothing else to hand, and bound the wrist thoroughly. Almost immediately the white material was blotched with a growing stain. She shrugged, slipped the dagger back into the sheath strapped to her thigh, and crept back into the warmth of the bed, feeling faint and sick yet obscurely comforted, ready now to brave the falling shadows of sleep.
Next morning, the rain fell so heavily it was like a curtain of water drawn across the windows. Rhiannon had slept badly, her wrist throbbing and her dreams troubled. When she woke her eyes felt hot and scratchy as if filled with sand. It was so cold and grey outside, she could not find the will to throw off the counterpane and get up, and neither could the other girls. They all lay there drowsily, talking desultorily among themselves.
‘Listen to that rain!’ Fèlice murmured, and a while later moaned, ‘Och, my legs! I swear I am chafed raw.’
‘I wish I could lie abed all day,’ Edithe muttered, ‘but I guess there’s no chance o’ that. They’ll make us ride all day in the rain, just to make sure we really ken what misery is.’
‘Surely no’?’ Maisie poked her head out from under her pillow, her plaits all tousled. ‘I would like to bide here a wee. I was so sleepy last night I dinna see a thing.’
‘Just a whole lot o’ smelly animals and that disgusting owl that kept spitting things at me,’ Edithe said crossly.
They all burrowed back under the counterpane and were quiet. Rhiannon cradled her wrist against her breast and, when no-one came to rouse them, allowed herself to hope they would not have to ride out that day. She closed her eyes, feeling herself slipping back into sleep.
The door crashed open.
‘Rise and shine, slug-a-beds,’ Nina called, holding the door open with her foot, a tray in her hands. ‘It’s long past dawn and time to be getting on our way.’
A chorus of groans met her.
‘But it’s raining,’ Fèlice said.
‘And I ache all over,’ Edithe said.
‘Surely we should wait for the rain to stop?’ Maisie pleaded.
‘Blackthorn does no’ like the rain,’ Rhiannon said firmly. ‘And she is still tired. Niall said I must no’ ride her too hard. He wouldna want me to ride her in the rain.’
‘Is that so?’ Nina said. ‘So ye lassies think we should wait for the rain to stop?’
‘Aye!’ they all cried.
‘What if it doesna stop for days?’ Nina said. ‘The Stormness is already swollen with the melting snows. If it rains like this for much longer it could break its banks and then we’d be marooned here for weeks and weeks.’
‘Weeks?’ Edithe cried in dismay.
‘Aye,’ Nina replied severely. ‘Dinna ye notice how high it was last night? If ye wish to be witches, ye must learn to look about ye.’
‘I was too tired to notice anything except how much my legs ached,’ Fèlice said. ‘No’ to mention the chafing. I’m rubbed raw!’
Nina pushed the door shut behind her and put down the tray. They all sat up a little, their eyes brightening, and one by one Nina passed them a steaming cup of tea. As they drank gratefully, Nina sat on the edge of their bed and regarded them with frowning black eyes, as dark as polished jet. Her face looked pale and haggard as if she too had been troubled by nightmares.
Refreshed by her tea, Fèlice said with her most winning smile, ‘We really are tired. We’re no’ used to riding so far every day. Please, could we no’ rest today, and wait for the rain to stop? I’m sure Ashelma willna mind.’
‘Ye do look rather white, the lot o’ ye. Especially ye, Rhiannon. Are ye no’ feeling well? I would no’ like any o’ ye to take a chill.’
Edithe immediately coughed, and laid her hand
on her chest. ‘I am feeling rather unwell.’
Nina cast her a stern glance but turned back to Rhiannon, first laying her hand on Rhiannon’s forehead and then lifting her wrist. Rhiannon flinched and Nina looked down, her eyes at once widening in horror. ‘Rhiannon, what have ye done to yourself! Ye’ve cut yourself – ye’re bleeding!’
The makeshift bandage was heavily stained and so was the sheet where Rhiannon had slept. Nina held Rhiannon’s wrist in her cool fingers and stared into her eyes with a look as sharp and penetrating as a sword.
‘What did ye cut yourself on?’
‘My dagger.’
‘How?’
‘I cut.’ She demonstrated with one swift movement.
‘Ye cut yourself on purpose?’
Rhiannon nodded, not dropping her gaze. There was a long silence. Rhiannon was conscious of the other girls shrinking back.
‘Why?’ Nina’s voice was neutral.
‘To make peace with the dark walkers.’
‘Ye cut yourself to make peace with … the dark walkers? What – or who – are they?’
Rhiannon shrugged, unable to hold Nina’s gaze any longer. Not knowing how to describe what she meant, she used the word she had heard so often in the last few days. ‘Ghosts.’
Nina let go of her wrist. It was smarting cruelly, and Rhiannon cradled it in her other hand. Her cheeks felt hot and she knew she was perilously close to tears. She could not look at Nina or any of the other girls.
‘Did ye bleed much?’
Rhiannon nodded.
Nina stood up. ‘Stay in bed, Rhiannon. I will make ye a blood-strengthening tea. We shall no’ ride anywhere today. It really is no’ the weather for riding out. Ye other girls can get up or stay in bed as ye please. I should tell you though that I willna allow Annis to be bringing up trays to ye, so if ye wish to eat, get up, get dressed and come on down. I’ll make an exception for ye, though, Rhiannon. Stay in bed and rest.’
Rhiannon refused to be singled out, however. She got up when the other girls did, though she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, and washed and dressed herself and went downstairs with the others, holding on to the banister tightly. Nina made no comment at the sight of her, though her frown deepened.