The Tower of Ravens

by Kate Forsyth

  The long room was raucous with the games and fights of ten small children, most of them no more than six years old. Roden was in the midst of it, shrieking with laughter, while Lulu was leaping about like a mad thing, having stolen the only girl’s rag doll. The little girl was sobbing despairingly and trying to snatch it back, her younger brother enthusiastically helping. The three dogs were barking, and a white and black cat was hissing and spitting from the mantelpiece. Strixa the owl huddled on one of the rafters, occasionally spitting out a hard pellet at one of the children. Her aim was excellent.

  Annis had a bowl of porridge in one hand and a dripping ladle in the other, and was trying to make herself heard above the racket, while Lulu and the little boy dodged round her. The arak was gibbering in rage, the rag doll cradled close to her breast. When the other boys joined in the chase, she suddenly jumped up onto the table, sending a jug of milk flying, and leapt up to catch hold of the iron-wrought chandelier, swinging from side to side till she was high enough to leap up into the rafters. There she crouched, rocking the doll and humming a tuneless lullaby.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Nina said. ‘I’m so sorry. Lulu! Naughty girl! Give back the dolly right now.’

  The arak shook her head, mumbling something in her own guttural language.

  ‘Lulu, I am ashamed o’ ye. We are guests in this house. Come down now and give back the doll to the wee lassie.’

  Lulu gave a sorrowful moan and very slowly and sadly swung down, hanging from her tail before dropping lithely onto all fours. She raised the doll and kissed its painted face and then offered it back to the little girl. The girl snatched it and cuddled it close, glaring at the hairy little creature, who was looking very shamefaced.

  ‘Good girl,’ Nina said. ‘Never mind. I’ll make ye a dolly o’ your own if ye’d like one.’

  Lulu immediately danced in joy, shrieking in approval.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Nina said. ‘Lulu forgets her manners sometimes.’

  ‘No’ to worry,’ Annis said, looking rather harassed as three of the boys raced past her, almost knocking her over. ‘Would ye prefer to have your breakfast in the kitchen? Mealtimes are rather wild here, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I think we would indeed,’ Nina answered. ‘That is, if ye young ladies do no’ think it beneath ye?’

  ‘No’ at all,’ Edithe said sweetly. ‘Please, lead the way.’

  ‘Thank ye, then, Annis, that would be grand,’ Nina said. ‘Roden! Settle down! Poor Annis should no’ have to be worrying about ye as well as all the others. Sit down and eat your breakfast quietly, there’s a good lad.’

  Roden reluctantly gave up the chase and came to sit at the table, dragging Lulu with him, and Nina and the older girls thankfully made their escape.

  The kitchen was a haven of peace and warmth. A skinny old man with doleful dark eyes and a very long straggly grey beard meandered back and forth, getting them bowls, stirring various pots on the squat little stove and occasionally shovelling in another spade of coal. A grey cat was sleeping on one of the kitchen chairs, and in a box by the fire were seven adorable yellow ducklings, all squawking and trying to climb out over each other’s backs.

  Breakfast was a simple affair – porridge ladled out into bowls, tubs of honey and jugs of goat’s milk, and a big brown pot of tea. Rhiannon felt much better after she had eaten her second bowl of honey-drenched porridge, and Nina stopped regarding her with a crease between her brows. Rhiannon was just finishing her third cup of tea when the door opened and Annis came in, plumper and rosier than ever.

  ‘Morning, everyone,’ she sang out. ‘I hope ye’ve all had a more peaceful breakfast than I did!’

  ‘I’m sure we did. I hope ye do no’ mind us abandoning ye,’ Nina said.

  ‘No, no, o’ course no’. I kent Morogh would look after ye. It’s bad enough that I have to suffer the bairns’ commotion without inflicting it upon ye as well. I warn ye, though, it’s only going to get worse. They’re planning a re-enactment o’ the Battle o’ Bonnyblair, and are about to descend on the kitchen in search o’ pots and pans to make armour. Ashelma is in the tower, if ye would like to go through and visit her there? She is no’ teaching today so she’s free, for the morning at least.’

  ‘Thanks, we would like that,’ Nina said, standing up.

  They followed Annis down a corridor to a large, arched doorway that led through into the tower. Built of stone, the tower was three storeys high, with a staircase that wound up around the inner wall. On the ground floor was the witch’s study and reception room, with another iron-bound door out into the garden and four tall arched windows that could be opened to let in fresh air and sunshine. There was a large desk littered with scrolls and calendars and writing implements, a few straight-backed chairs and, by the fire, two soft-cushioned, deep-seated chairs drawn close together, each with a little wooden table just large enough for a cup or goblet.

  Bookshelves had been made to fit the curved walls of the room, and these were filled with spell-books and scrolls and maps, jars of dried herbs and powders and polished stones, bottles of precious oils and distillations, skulls and bones and sticks and lumps of crystals, and candles of all sizes and colours. The room smelt faintly of incense and dried herbs.

  Ashelma was sitting at her desk, writing, but she rose with a smile as Nina and the four girls came in. She let them browse among the shelves for a while, exclaiming and asking questions. Edithe and Maisie were particularly fascinated, the first becoming absorbed in a leather-bound book of spells, the second busying herself looking through the jars of herbs and medicines.

  After a while, Ashelma took them upstairs to show them the other two floors. The middle storey was a workroom and storeroom, with all the equipment necessary to grind powders, distill potions and prepare spells. The girls browsed around for a while, then followed Ashelma as she led them up the staircase to the upper level.

  They all exclaimed in surprise. The walls and domed roof of the tower were made entirely of clear glass, supported by slender spans of steel, so that they could see for miles in every direction, including up into the black, roiling clouds of the storm. On the floor a mosaic of coloured tiles and thin strips of silver metal traced out the shape of a five-sided star set within a circle. The four directions were each marked upon the perimeter of the circle with arcane symbols in yellow, red, blue and green, and set at each of these symbols was a twisted wooden wand made of willow, a ceremonial dagger made of iron and moonstones, a silver chalice, and a beautifully made clay bowl inscribed with a six-sided star and filled with charred ashes.

  ‘This is extraordinary!’ Nina cried. ‘It really is a miniature o’ one o’ the great towers. How on earth could Ardarchy afford such a well-set-up witch’s tower?’

  Ashelma smiled. ‘I won a grant from the Coven,’ she answered. ‘I studied at the Tower o’ Two Moons, ye ken, and heard about the grants while I was there. It’s a new initiative o’ the Keybearer, to encourage witches to go out into the countryside and help remote towns and villages and teach them the ways o’ the Coven. Ardarchy has no’ had its own witch since before the Day o’ Betrayal so I’ve had a great deal to do since I came here. Certainly the townsfolk are proud o’ their tower and they profited from the building o’ it, because a condition o’ the grant is that it must be used on local craftsmen and products. Only the glass had to be shipped in, o’ course, which was enormously difficult and expensive, but worth it, I think.’

  ‘Oh, do ye think I could apply for a grant like that?’ Maisie said with shining eyes and clasped hands. ‘My village is very poor and we have no-one to teach the children or do the rituals, or even help the women in their labour. My mother used to do what she could, but she got sick with the fever and my grandfather kens naught about healing, only about weather magic and blessing the crops, and so she died … oh, if I got a grant, I could go back and build a tower like this for us. It would mean so much to all the villages in the valley.’

  ‘O’ course ye could, that’s wh
at the grants are for,’ Ashelma said. ‘Most o’ the common folk canna be travelling to the High Towers for help in times o’ trouble, and so the Keybearer hopes that one day every town or region will have its own tower, and everyone will be taught to read and write, and have access to healers, and celebrate the Sabbats as they should be celebrated. It has made all the difference to Ardarchy. I’ve started a village school, and I sit on the town council, and I bless the crops, and organise the parades and festivals, and often I mediate between the villagers so that the reeve does not have to be called in.’

  ‘And ye’ve started an orphanage and a hospital for injured animals,’ Nina said with a smile.

  Ashelma smiled back ruefully. ‘A witch for all seasons, that’s what I am!’

  The storm raged so violently the next day that even Nina had to admit it would be dangerous to ride out. Hail rattled against the windows, and the trees swayed and bent like sword-fighters in a duel.

  Iven and the boys braved the storm to come and join them, and arrived windblown, mud-splattered, and eager to get out of the pelting rain. Ashelma welcomed them warmly, helping them find dry clothes to put on, and advising them strongly against riding on.

  ‘Once a storm like this sets in, it’ll take a day or two for it to blow itself out,’ she said. ‘Stay and rest up, and set out again once it’s blown over.’

  Nina looked at the streaming windows and thanked her with a sigh.

  They were all glad to have a respite from riding, even Lewen, who was used to spending hours of every day in the saddle. They sat in front of the fire, playing cards or dice games, cleaning their boots or, in Landon’s case, writing in his dog-eared, ink-splattered notebook. ‘Growing among trees o’ blossom white, her tower shines out with blessed light …’ he murmured to himself.

  The girls all had a long soak in a hot bath, and helped wash and comb each other’s hair. Their clothes were badly travel-stained, and so they took the opportunity to do their laundry, though Maisie had to show them how to use the boiler and wringer. Nina gave them all some more salve for their chafed thighs and bound up Rhiannon’s wrist for her with fresh bandages.

  The storm was fiercer than ever by nightfall, and so Ashelma made up pallets for the boys before the fire. They had a riotous meal with the orphans, who were bursting with energy after a day spent indoors, and went early to bed, hoping for a clear dawn.

  Rhiannon had determined to undo her bandage and open her vein again that night, once all the others were asleep, but in the end this was not necessary, for Nina brought her a half-dead mouse one of the cats had caught. She gave the mouse to Rhiannon with a very grave face but said not a word, and Rhiannon was able to slit the mouse’s throat and spill its blood without causing any commotion.

  The next day was even wetter and wilder, and once again they delayed their riding out. Like the apprentices, Iven would have been quite content to lie around and read, or play with the orphans, or strum his guitar, eating and drinking to his heart’s content, while the rain streamed down against the windows. Nina, however, was clearly anxious. She went out several times to check the height of the river, coming back drenched to the skin, shivering with cold and frowning.

  The sorceress decided to put their enforced rest to good use, and so the apprentices had to spend the morning in the study and practice of witchcraft. Rhiannon found these lessons fascinating, though it made all the hair on her arms rise to watch the apprentices lift a wooden ball and set it spinning in midair without touching it.

  Annis was set to listen to the students stumbling through the seven languages of birds and beasts, a skill Nina apparently thought they were all very weak in, then she and Lewen spent an hour brushing up their knowledge in mathematics and alchemy, subjects they obviously detested.

  Discovering Rhiannon could not read or write, Ashelma undertook to teach her, and soon Rhiannon’s eyes and head and wrist were aching, the witch being a hard taskmistress. If it had not been for Edithe’s raised eyebrow, and Cameron’s snigger, half-hidden behind his hand, she would have rebelled but, having set her will to prove them wrong, Rhiannon learnt surprisingly fast. By the end of the day she could recognise her own name and Lewen’s, as well as a few key words like bread, horse, witch and school. This gave her immense satisfaction, only equalled by her triumph over Cameron in the wrestling ring after lunch.

  A morning spent in study had made all the apprentices very cross and quarrelsome, and so Iven had decided they needed some exercise. He pushed the table in the dining room to one side and asked the apprentices to demonstrate ahdayeh to Rhiannon. Although primarily used by the Coven as a form of meditation through movement, ahdayeh was also a system of hand-to-hand combat, and Iven set the students to pitting their skills against each other. After watching a few rounds, Rhiannon was eager indeed to test her own fighting skills. It took her only a few seconds to throw Cameron flat on his back.

  He was furious and sprang up at once, challenging her again. Three times she threw him down, until he was white-faced and dangerous with rage. Iven separated them then, and challenged her himself, and Rhiannon took great enjoyment in laying him flat on the carpet as well. After that the competition began in earnest. Rhiannon found the only one she could not throw down with ease was Lewen, something which gave her a degree of secret pleasure. They struggled together for close on half an hour, hot and panting, half-angry, half-laughing, before Iven at last stopped them and declared his intention to teach them all how to dance instead.

  It took Rhiannon only a minute to decide dancing was not for her, primarily because she was taller than most of the other boys and had absolutely no sense of rhythm, having never heard music before she met the jongleurs. She had no desire to sit and watch Fèlice flirting and laughing with Lewen as he spun her round the room, and so as soon as the music stopped and everyone changed partners, she stepped forward and laid her hand on his sleeve, asking him in a low voice if he minded if she had a look at his longbow.

  Rhiannon had been fascinated by Lewen’s bow from the moment she had seen him strapping it to his pommel. It was the tallest bow she had ever seen, almost a foot longer than hers. The arrows he whittled for himself were also longer than usual, and she had longed for a chance to try her hand at them. Her determination was only piqued by Lewen’s surprised laugh and shake of his head.

  ‘Ye willna be able to draw my bow,’ Lewen said. ‘Few can, ye ken. Ye need to be very strong.’

  ‘Me strong,’ Rhiannon said indignantly.

  ‘No’ that strong,’ he answered.

  ‘Lewen’s a famous longbowman, like his father,’ Iven said, lifting his fingers from the strings of his guitar so he could join the conversation. ‘It wouldna be a fair contest, Rhiannon.’

  ‘Iven!’ Edithe protested, as she and Cameron came to a halt nearby. ‘Play on! We want to dance.’

  Rhiannon lifted her chin. ‘Me shoot ogres afore, bet Lewen hasna!’

  ‘Well, no, I haven’t,’ Lewen admitted, ‘but it still wouldna be a fair contest.’

  ‘Oh, ungallant,’ Rafferty jeered, taking his hand from Fèlice’s waist so he could join the conversation. ‘I’d put my money on Rhiannon any day.’

  ‘Rafferty!’ Fèlice cried. ‘Do ye no’ want to dance with me? Iven, please, will ye no’ play on?’

  Iven did not hear her, turning to Rafferty and demanding whether he had ever seen Lewen shoot. ‘For I swear his arrows can fly round corners. Ye’d lose your money.’

  ‘I’m a fair shot too,’ Cameron said belligerently, eager to overcome his humiliation in the wrestling ring. ‘I bet I can outshoot any lass, no matter how much o’ a tomboy she is.’

  ‘Let’s set up a target,’ Rafferty said eagerly. ‘I wouldna mind trying my hand at Lewen’s bow too. It’s mighty tall.’

  ‘Iven!’ Fèlice wailed.

  ‘I’ll play for you, lassies,’ Nina said, looking over from the couch by the fire, where she was busy writing in a leather-bound book. ‘Ye’ll never drag Iven away from a s
hooting contest.’

  ‘But we need the boys to dance with,’ Edithe said waspishly, glaring at Rhiannon.

  ‘If ye can persuade them to keep on dancing with ye, I’ll be happy to play for ye,’ Nina said. ‘But, indeed, Edithe, I doubt they’ll pay ye any heed.’

  Nina proved to have the truth of it. The boys hardly heard the girls’ entreaties, being busy looking for something to make a target out of, and entreating Lewen to go and get his bow so they could all try their strength and skill. Lewen agreed with good humour, and he and Rhiannon went to get their bows and arrows out of the stables, where they were stored with the rest of their luggage. Iven, Cameron and Rafferty busied themselves rigging up a board at the far end of the room, drawing rough concentric circles on it with chalk. Edithe went to sit down next to Nina with a sour expression on her face, but Fèlice joined the others, asking questions with great animation and much laughter. Even shy Maisie grew interested, and found the courage to ask Lewen, when he returned with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, why his arrows were so much longer than usual and why he fletched them with green.

  ‘My arrows are longer because my bow is longer,’ he explained with a smile, ‘and I fletch them with feathers plucked from my mother’s rooster’s tail. They are very even and strong, see?’

  To Rhiannon’s chagrin, she did indeed find it impossible to bend Lewen’s bow. Her only consolation was that none of the other apprentices could either, not even Cameron, who almost burst a vein trying. Lewen grinned and obligingly gave them a demonstration of his bow’s range and power. He was a superlative archer. No matter where he stood in the long hall, he was able to send arrow after arrow right into the heart of the target. He even, at Iven’s laughing prompt, shot an arrow from outside the room, its flight path curving round the door-frame and flying straight to the target, splitting one of Rhiannon’s arrows right down the middle.