The Raven Lady

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  “I do, lady,” he replied.

  As we approached, I realized we would either have to board Black Swan or nose her out of the way, as there was not enough room for both ships beneath the Gap gate.

  Something very like dark laughter rippled across my thoughts, and I heard the hum of Corvus’s propeller.

  “Hold on, Will,” I warned as we picked up speed.

  We approached the gate from a lower position than the Swan, as our vessel was much larger, yet we were still on a collision course.

  I braced for the impact just as—bang!—the top of Corvus’s figurehead clipped the bottom of the Swan’s stern, and the smaller vessel lurched forward. As the Swan drifted, the portion of the ladder that stretched up to the cavern—repositioned since my escape—tore free. Instead of plummeting, it began drifting away.

  “Have a care,” warned Will, nodding at the ladder. “The physical laws inside the Gap are not what you’re used to. Once we leave the deck, never lose contact with the ship until we reach the tunnel.”

  “And how will we do that?” I asked. He frowned, and I clarified, “Reach the tunnel.”

  Our eyes moved over the rigging—Corvus had no central mast. The square sales were floating alongside the ship, anchored by what looked like a kind of horizontal mast. The thick mast at midship served as a support for the balloon.

  “We’ll have to climb those,” said Will, and I followed his pointing finger. Three side-by-side rope ladders had been affixed below the ship’s rail and ran up into the rigging, along the side of the balloon, and presumably all the way to the top.

  I had never much cared for boats, and I was beginning to hate ladders.

  Best to get it over with.

  Sighing, I started up, and Will left an empty ladder between us and took the third. I had to reassure myself that the ladder would not in fact flip over, much as it felt like it might. I kept my attention, on my hands and feet, on rails and rungs, and never looked down at the deck.

  The climb took several minutes, and my heart was pounding by the time we reached the top. My feet still firmly on one ladder rung, I placed my sweat-slippery hands on the lowest of the stone steps and then carefully levered myself up, slowly transferring my weight away from the ship. Then I took a deep breath, climbed a few steps, and waited for Will to follow.

  He joined me, mopping sweat from his brow, and we watched as Corvus began to coast away from the Gap gate. Per our agreement, she would return to Dublin Castle for Finvara and the others. At least I prayed that she would. She had yet to exact her vengeance, so I believed that she would follow the plan.

  “No turning back now,” said Will with a nervous laugh.

  I glanced at him, and in that moment he seemed more boy than man. “I’ve not known many men as brave as you.”

  He laughed. “As brave or as foolish?”

  I shrugged. “I think only those who measure us by our success distinguish between the two.”

  He gave a short nod. “Right you are. Tell me what to do.”

  I looked to the top of the stairs, at the watery opening there. “Follow me in. Let the water take you. Try not to be frightened.”

  He gave another nod, and we climbed up. At the top, I instructed him to wait a few minutes after I had entered the gate, afraid of what might happen if we went through together. Then, without giving myself time for further misgivings, I plunged a hand into the water.

  I emerged on the other end of the gate coughing up water, and I clawed my way out of the shallow pool. I had forgotten how cold and wet it would be on the other side. I stood up and looked down over my body. I slid my hands over my face and head. I tensed my back muscles, raising my wings.

  I breathed a shuddering sigh of relief—I seemed to be unchanged.

  you are still a winged creature?

  The sudden peal of the goddess’s voice knocked me to my knees.

  She appeared able to examine my thoughts at any time she wished—why had she needed to ask? She hadn’t. She had uttered it out of frustration. Out of desperation. I was beginning to glean more from her than the words she spoke to me, and the real reason for her question now came to me.

  She had sent me back through the Gap gate because she wanted to know whether a second time would reverse the change. I was an experiment. Which meant she was no better than Doro.

  Could something that size even pass through the gate? I recalled the Fomorian flagship had passed through a Gap gate at Ben Bulben, so it was at least possible. If I had returned to my original form, would she have followed me through and then abandoned us?

  A splash followed by explosive coughing redirected my attention, and I waded back into the pool to help Will.

  A quick and anxious survey revealed him to be unchanged, and relief swelled. I gripped his arm, steadying him as he staggered to a pile of loose soil, where he sank down, breathing raggedly.

  “Are you well?” I asked, pushing wet hair from his face.

  “Aye,” he croaked, and then began coughing again.

  I pressed his back with my hand. Thank Freyja.

  When his coughing quieted, he lifted his head and looked around the cavern.

  “This was a tomb,” I explained, brushing sand and small pebbles from his cheek. “Doro reanimated the king that was buried here, and Finvara and I fought and killed him.” He had heard this story already, at Dublin Castle. I was talking nervously, trying to use my voice to anchor him.

  Still Will’s eyes moved around the cavern like he was searching for something.

  “What is it?” I asked him.

  “That noise,” he replied, “where is it coming from?”

  I stilled, listening. But there was only an occasional drip of water, and the sound of a breeze blowing over the mouth of the tomb. “What noise?”

  His hands came up to cover his ears and he said, “That infernal ticking!”

  Finvara

  “I knew I’d find you up here.”

  Shifting my eyes from the horizon, I turned to Izzy. Her face was composed. The front of her hair was pulled back loosely, and a breeze teased the ends of her dark curls.

  Wrapping my fingers around the compass in my pocket, I looked back to the edge of the sky.

  “She’s not to blame,” I said. “I should have been more insistent about the Morrigan. You and I know how dangerous she is. Koli . . . she couldn’t really understand.”

  “From what you’ve told me,” replied the queen, “she understood perfectly. Back at Knock Ma, she took a calculated risk. Now she’s done it again. You, my dear cousin, have never been risk averse.”

  I frowned. “I risk myself, aye. My ship and sometimes even my crew, if my hunch feels sure. But . . .”

  “But now you are in love.”

  I gripped the battlement before me to ease the sudden sensation of falling.

  The queen moved to stand beside me. “And that is the greatest risk of all.”

  TOO LATE

  Koli

  Unease twisted my stomach. “Ticking?” I asked, watching the young man closely—studying him for signs of a transformation that I might have missed.

  “Like a great clock,” he said, wincing and shaking his head. “You must hear it.”

  “Will,” I said softly. Raising his eyebrows, he looked at me. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  His eyes went wider. “It—it’s everywhere.”

  I began to be alarmed but strove not to let him see it. “I think it must have to do with the Gap gate.”

  Seeming to recall it for the first time, he performed the same inspection I’d performed on myself after passing through.

  “Nothing outward has changed,” I assured him. “Though I wonder . . .” I hesitated, still worried I’d frighten him. But he deserved to understand what was happening.

  His eyes riveted to mine. �
��Tell me.”

  “I wonder whether anything inward has.”

  I could see the fear rising in his eyes.

  “Will,” I said firmly, “you are sound. Your mind is sound. You know who I am. You know where you are. Whatever it is that has changed, it has left you very much alive and intact. I will do everything I can to help you.”

  I watched him wrest control of his mind from the fear. Nodding, he said, “Thank you, my lady.”

  “I think the best thing will be for us to continue as planned.” I glanced up at the opening of the tomb, which served as a frame for the diamond-bright stars and a bone-colored waning moon. “We’ll have the light of the moon to make our way, and also the cover of shadows. Let us proceed slowly and see what happens.”

  I had no real confidence after the Morrigan’s deception, but I did not want to share my misgivings with him now. There was really nothing for us to do except carry on. If Corvus did not return with Finvara, he would find his way here eventually—if not for me, at least for his throne. And if the forest turned out to be a fool’s errand, I would try to see Ulf and persuade him to help us. It was Finvara who had put it into my head that my bodyguard might feel more allegiance to me than was apparent. Still, I considered this a last resort.

  “Do you agree?” I asked Will.

  “I agree,” he said, his teeth beginning to chatter.

  “Come, then,” I said. “We’ll be warmer if we keep moving.”

  We crept carefully out of the hole, watching for movement before crossing the saddle to the hillside stairway, the one Finvara and I had repaired with our magic. We only needed to make our way into the trees without getting caught—I wasn’t ready to let myself think beyond that point.

  When we had climbed to the viewpoint, I led Will to the north side of the hilltop and into the trees. Despite the bright moon, walking in the forest without the benefit of a path proved difficult. We stopped a little way in—no one would see us in the shadows, and we would see anyone who came up the trail from the grounds below.

  “I know it’s cold,” I said to Will. “When we have finished our business here, we can gather some wood and return to the tomb. I think we can risk a small fire.”

  “What is our business, exactly, lady?” he asked.

  I had told him all the Morrigan had told me. If there was any possibility of this working, it was up to him. But I knew he was cold and frightened and needed encouragement.

  “Can you think of no reason why the Morrigan might believe you could talk to the trees here?” I asked gently.

  He frowned. “None whatsoever.”

  I took a deep breath, studying the dark woods around us. Without their leaves, the trees were wraithlike—looming like the blackened skeletons of enemies my father had strung up along the path to Skaddafjall’s gate. I could feel that they were ancient. Some of them so enormous I thought they must be older than time itself. We had nothing like them in Iceland, and I knew that my unease was at least partly due to a fear of their otherness.

  “They are beautiful,” said Will. His voice was calmer now, though he still pressed a hand over one ear. “I know of no other oaks in Ireland this old, and there has been no forest here in my lifetime. These trees have come from Faery.” He scanned the branches overhead. “They must have great wisdom in them.”

  “You do have a kinship with them, it would seem,” I said, growing hopeful. “I confess they frighten me.”

  He smiled. “You are descended from shield-maidens, lady. I would have guessed that nothing frightens you.”

  I shook my head. “Fearlessness is arrogance, and arrogance can kill you. I have been an enemy of Ireland, and if these trees truly are protectors, my fear of them is only prudent.” I shrugged. “Yet they neither move nor speak, at least in no way that we can understand, so it feels like the fear of a child.”

  “Oh, they move,” countered Will. “In the wind, and in the stretching of their roots and branches over time.” He turned to me. “As to their speech, I confess myself to be at a loss, my lady. I have never tried to talk to a tree.”

  I studied the trunk closest to me, with its knots and rough ridges. About halfway up, there was a bark pattern that looked like a face. I shivered.

  “If it were me,” I said, “I’d try a spell.”

  Will sighed and leaned his head against a trunk. “I have no magic. Lady Meath tried to teach me a wisp’s light. It was humiliating.”

  I laughed. Then, thinking about what he’d said, I replied, “You have a different kind of magic.”

  He gave me a blank look.

  “Have you written any poems about trees?”

  He considered this a moment. “I have begun one. Though it’s only about trees on its surface. Similar to all poems, I suppose.”

  “Why not see if they like it?”

  He let his eyes move over the forest. Staring again into the lacework of branches overhead, he began to recite.

  “Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,

  The holy tree is growing there;

  From joy the holy branches start,

  And all the trembling flowers they bear.

  The changing colors of its fruit

  Have dowered the stars with merry light;

  The surety of its hidden root

  Has planted quiet in the night;

  The shaking of its leafy head

  Has given the waves their melody,

  And made my lips and music wed,

  Murmuring a wizard song for thee.”

  When he finished, the air felt heavy with a silence that I had not noticed before. There was no wind to stir the branches, and no rodent rustled among the cast-off leaves. The peeping creatures that dwelled in the hidden springs and rivulets among these hills had also gone silent.

  “I wish that I better understood your language,” I said, “but I enjoyed the melody of your words.”

  He appeared not to hear me—in fact he appeared to be listening to something else. I wondered if the ticking was worsening. I watched him and waited, feeling a splinter of despair working into my heart. What was I doing here? I should be by my husband’s side. Either by his side, or my father’s, not wandering alone in the darkness with no purpose. I felt uprooted and isolated. Too far from my own ground.

  “They have accepted my gift!” said Will suddenly, his eyes wide with wonder.

  “What?” I asked. “How do you know?”

  He gave a joyful laugh. “They told me so. They want to know what I’d ask in return.”

  My heart lifted. It seemed that at least some of what the Morrigan had told me had been true. “Tell them!” I urged.

  He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration. Some minutes passed, and the silence held.

  Finally he looked at me and said, “They tell me I have come too late. Or at least I think so. They don’t speak plainly, like you and I. It’s more like chanting, and it is indeed a kind of poetry.”

  “You mean too late to save Knock Ma? Are they sure?”

  An uneasy smile rested on his lips. “I think I might be going mad.”

  No, no, no. Stay with me, Will.

  “Is it the ticking?” I asked.

  “In part. But there’s something else. When they speak, they say many things at once. Some of it is . . .” He shook his head. “It’s too difficult explain.”

  “Try, Will.” Impatience crept into my voice.

  He stared into the distance, blinking a couple of times. “They make one feel insignificant.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him he was thinking too much, and we needed to focus on the task at hand. Then I recalled the doubts that had reached into my own thoughts in the silence. Had they come from the trees?

  “Have you any idea what they mean by ‘too late’?” I persisted
, trying to shake him from his melancholy.

  His eyes met mine. “It makes no sense, my lady.”

  “Tell me anyway,” I commanded.

  He swallowed and stood a little straighter. “They mean that if we wanted their help, we should have asked centuries ago.”

  “Centuries!”

  “Their lives are written in their bodies. In their pith, in their rings. In the water they absorb through their roots. It is not possible for them to act as quickly as we need them to.”

  I couldn’t help wondering if this was the Morrigan’s idea of a joke. She must have known. Or was it possible there was some way to give them what they needed? Blood magic could be used to see the future. Could it also be used to alter the past? And if so, would the price be worth it?

  Will groaned, and I noticed his eyes had closed. I touched his wrist.

  “Will, you’re very warm. Are you well?”

  His head fell back against the tree trunk. He didn’t answer.

  “Will!” I snapped, gripping his hand. “They told you what they need from us. Is there any way we can give it to them? Impossible as it sounds, think. Is there any way?”

  He laughed feebly. “There is! We can travel back in time.”

  His laughter continued, a truly mad sounding chortle, and then his features began to blur. Suddenly feeling dizzy, I looked away—only to discover everything before my eyes was moving. I doubled over and was sick on the ground.

  When my stomach was empty, I pressed my head against a cool stone, grimacing at the bitter taste on my tongue. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I sat up.

  I cried out in surprise—it was daylight, and the forest was much altered. Gone were the monstrous trees—most of the ones I could see were saplings. The light was strange and, looking up, I saw that the sky was as much green as blue. I could not see the sun.

  “Will!” I shouted, looking around frantically.

  I jumped at a rustling sound nearby. Something burst from an elderflower bush—a deer—and leapt clean over me before bounding away.