She raised an eyebrow. “As the dreams roll on, I keep hearing a word at the back of my mind, and I think . . . if I could hear and remember it . . . and then speak it to them, it would send them back.”
It was too near my dream of the Queen to comfort me. I’d lost everything when I challenged the Queen, thinking that a word—my words—could somehow defeat her.
Tanwen put a hand on my arm. “You’ll remember that, won’t you, Ryn? The Hunters and the Queen have all the power that belongs to any Otherworlder. But their standing here is precarious. The Queen isn’t as powerful as she’d like us to believe. When the time is right, she will fall.”
Carrick began to cry, and I wanted to. This conversation sounded too close to a farewell. Let Carrick cry on and distract her!
Tanwen bounced him on her hip. “We can finish the tunics with what we harvest this year, don’t you think?”
The nettles that surrounded us were waist high—and just beginning to seed. Truly time to harvest.
Yet Tanwen had been so frightened in her dreams. When a farmer harvests his fields, he gathers his treasure to him. But when Tanwen and I harvested nettles, it was like lowering a castle’s walls.
This was the first year that it felt truly dangerous.
“If we harvest them now, we’d have new growth before the frosts,” said Tanwen.
I hesitated as dread grew inside me. We shouldn’t do this. Not this year.
“Don’t try to talk me out of this, Ryn,” said Tanwen.
I stood, ignoring the stiffness from sitting so long, and jabbed a finger at little Carrick. Think of him.
She tilted her chin. “I am. I’m thinking of all of us.”
I held up one finger. Enough for one tunic.
Tanwen cocked her head as if considering an offer.
I shook my head. It wasn’t a suggestion, and I wouldn’t negotiate.
I’d grown stronger in mind and body since fleeing the castle four years ago, but I had not grown less afraid, and that was a good thing.
Tanwen and I both knew what hunted us.
Chapter 33
Two afternoons later, we began our harvest. I’d already walked the edges of the nettle fields, determined to harvest those areas that had the most nettles. I wouldn’t let careless harvesting create a chink in our nettle armor.
In the past, Tanwen sang as we worked, both to cheer us and to let me know where she was. In the morning, she’d sing ballads of valor. As the day wore on, she’d sing the bawdy songs that Cadan loved. I grinned every time I heard her sweet voice carry such uproarious songs.
This year, we harvested in silence, Tanwen working as quietly as me.
We laid two mats of woven nettles on the ground beside us, then cut the stalks at ground level. I quickly stripped the leaves and let them fall on the first mat. The stalk was thrown on the second mat. We dragged both mats with us as we harvested.
It was grueling: the ache spread from my arms to my shoulders, then to the small of my back. But every time I wanted to complain, I’d think of my brothers.
Sometimes, I’d even think of my old dream that had started this in the first place, remembering how the Queen’s face had crumpled in defeat. That defeat wouldn’t come by me challenging her, but through the nettle tunics. Still, I imagined the look on her face would be the same as when my brothers confronted her.
* * *
By noon the second day of the harvest, I was frightened for Tanwen. Her dreams had intensified, and the shadow of them stretched into the day.
She was convinced that the dreams were a gift and that she’d be able to make out the word soon. I was not so certain.
I used the day’s chill as an excuse for Tanwen to wear the nettle cloak. And since she wore Carrick before her in a sling she’d made from her old dress, the nettle cloak covered them both.
“It’s good to harvest the nettles, Ryn,” she said during our midday meal of roasted eggs. We sat in the middle of the portion we’d cleared. “I spent so long with the Queen, and then with—” She shrugged her time with the Hunters away. “But now I feel like I’m striking at her with every stalk I harvest. I don’t care that my arms ache.”
I smiled and took Carrick from her so she could stretch.
“How he’s grown!” Tanwen arched her back, easing the soreness from it. “I should have known better than to choose a name for him that means ‘stone.’ ”
She traced a finger over Carrick’s round cheek.
A bug whirred close to my face, and I batted at it.
It wasn’t a bug—an arrow struck the ground nearby.
Then I heard the whistle that had haunted my dreams since the encounter at Lake Cairwyn years ago.
Hunters!
And Tanwen and I sat in the middle of a patch we’d cleared.
I tried to hand her Carrick, but she pushed him back to me. “Keep him! They’re bound by the Queen’s oath not to harm you.”
Another arrow flew past, near Tanwen’s shoulder, not mine. She grabbed my arm and pushed me ahead of her, placing herself between me and the Hunters. “Run!”
We dashed down the path until we reached the uncut patch of nettles. I pulled the sling up over Carrick’s face to protect him and dashed into the thick of them, hardly noticing the stings.
Still the arrows followed us.
Tanwen pulled me to a stop and swung the nettle cloak over my shoulders. “I think I know the word that can stop them. I can give us a few days. You run with Carrick—I’ll meet you at the ruins.”
The fear in her eyes disappeared when she looked at Carrick. She brushed his fuzzy hair back and pressed a fervent kiss to his forehead.
“Protect him!” she whispered.
I took her by the sleeve to make her look at me, then signed, Come back!
I held her gaze and prayed she understood: Do what you must, but don’t you dare leave us!
She nodded, then turned back to the Hunters. And as I ran toward the ruins, I heard her sing one of the songs she loved when we harvested nettles: a warrior’s song.
Tanwen was hunting the Hunters, gathering them to her, as her voice rose in a ferocious melody.
Then the melody was cut short.
I stopped, gasping, waiting to hear her song once more. No. Please, no. She’s not hurt, she’s—
Tanwen’s voice rose once more, a savage shout: one word I couldn’t understand that was lost in the howls of the Hunters. I saw a glimpse of a snow-white hound with crimson ears, staggering through the clearing. After one last yammering howl, it vanished.
Then utter, complete silence.
I pressed Carrick to me and wept.
I wouldn’t hear Tanwen’s voice again.
Chapter 34
Fifty-first full moon
I knew Tanwen was dead the moment I found her. For more than two years, she’d been fire and voice filling my days.
Now she was so quiet. Not a sigh. Not a sound.
I stepped farther into the clearing, my stomach twisting at the odd angle of her limbs, the arrows in her chest.
I checked that Carrick’s sling was still pulled over his face. Young as he was, I didn’t want him to see Tanwen this way.
I crept closer, aching to say her name! Tanwen. Come back. We need you. Aiden needs you. Carrick . . .
I knelt beside her, hoping like a fool—like a child—that she’d stir. She didn’t move when I touched her shoulder. She didn’t blink her wide-open eyes when I pushed her hair back from her face.
I gently closed her eyes and straightened her limbs.
Then I looked up at the sky. It was already afternoon.
Aiden would be here in hours.
Tanwen had sent the Hunters to the Otherworld one last time, but I didn’t know how long it would be before the Queen summoned them back—or sent others to find us here.
We—I—didn’t have much time. Tanwen must be buried, and Carrick and I must run again.
By the time the sun set, I’d brought Tanwen’s body to
the camp. I removed the arrows and threw them into the fire, then wrapped Aiden’s cloak around her.
Good, I could almost hear her say. I’m proud of you. Don’t give in to fear now.
I hadn’t. Fear and hurt disappeared when I was preparing her. There wasn’t room for it.
She looked pale, but I’d washed her tear-streaked face. I didn’t want Aiden to see that. More than that, I knew Tanwen wouldn’t have wanted him to.
And then it was dark. I heard the beating of wings and finally the low voices of my brothers.
“Ryn?” whispered Mael. “Why is there no fire? What happened?”
But Aiden knew, I think. He knew the moment he changed. “Tanwen? Tanwen!”
I just stood there, with Carrick still in his sling against me and everything edged in cold, blue moonlight.
Aiden rushed up to me with only his trousers on. I’d long wished I could erase the image of my brothers’ first transformation, but Aiden’s face when he saw Tanwen was even more horrifying.
He scooped her into his lap and buried his face in her hair, rocking her back and forth. His shoulders shook, but I couldn’t hear anything.
Not a thing.
The rest of my brothers rushed up. Mael stood beside Aiden, a hand on his shoulder, his cheeks shining with tears in the moonlight. Gavyn sat with his head in his hands.
Cadan bellowed words I couldn’t hear, his fist raised toward the trees, until Declan ran to him and wrestled him into stillness.
It wasn’t till Owain put his arm around me that I seemed part of the world again. I could hear Cadan’s gruff sobs and the murmur of Aiden whispering something into Tanwen’s hair.
“Was it the Hunters, Rynni?” Owain asked.
I nodded.
“You did all this? Brought her here?”
I nodded again.
He led me to a stone near where I normally lit the bonfire. I rested my head against his shoulder and wondered if I would ever feel my heart again.
After a while, Mael’s face swam in front of me. “What happened, Ryn?”
Numbly, I drew and acted out all that had happened.
Mael sat back on his heels. “How is Carrick?”
I opened Carrick’s sling and he peered up at his uncle with curious eyes. Mael’s gaze softened as he cupped his hand around Carrick’s head. “Ah, Little Man! How brave you are tonight.”
Then he went to Aiden and whispered something to him. Aiden nodded but kept holding Tanwen.
Then Mael walked over to my other brothers.
“It’s time,” he told them. “Cadan and I will dig the grave. The rest will gather the stones.”
Stones to keep the wild animals from reaching Tanwen.
Cadan brushed his sleeve across his eyes. Then my brothers began their awful tasks.
I kissed Tanwen’s cold cheek before we laid her in the ground. And I cut a lock of her hair.
“What are you doing?” grunted Cadan.
I held the lock close to the sling to show that it was for Carrick. When I had my voice, I would tell him how she saved him. I would show him the color of her hair and I would tell him how her laugh was as warm as fire on a cold night.
We laid the last stone in place only hours before dawn.
Aiden looked as if his spirit had been poured from him—but I needed my brother back for what I was about to ask of him.
So I loosened the sling and gave Carrick to his father. Aiden looked at his son blankly for a moment, then gathered him up so quickly I was afraid he’d crush the child. When he looked up, something fierce burned at the back of his eyes.
Good.
I knelt to smooth the dirt at my feet and motioned that he should watch.
I drew our shoreline, and Eyre across the channel, then pointed to Eyre and made the sign for safe.
Aiden nodded. “But how—?”
I drew a raft with a girl and a baby in it. Then I drew six lengths of rope from the raft, up into the air. Finally, at the end of each rope, I drew a swan.
Aiden stared at what I’d drawn: six swans, towing a raft across the water.
Then he called, “Mael! Cadan, Gavyn, Declan, and Owain! Come here!”
They all came running.
“The Hunters will come back for Ryn and Carrick. We have to take them to Eyre.”
“You want to send them to live among those barbarians?” asked Declan.
“We can hardly see Eyre from here!” argued Gavyn. “And only when the weather’s good!”
“I need you to make a raft, Mael.” Aiden’s voice was granite.
Gavyn shook his head. “It’s at least twelve leagues to Eyre! We don’t know the currents. They could be swept beyond Eyre and out to sea!”
Aiden looked at me, asking if I was certain that I wanted them to attempt to tow us so far.
Yes. I’d never been more sure.
Aiden turned back to Mael. “Can you make a raft? That’s what I need to know.”
“We’d need rope.”
I darted away and returned with length after length of nettle yarn. We could braid it into a rope. There would be enough to tow the raft.
Mael took it from me, then nodded. “I can fashion a simple raft. It wouldn’t last long, though.”
Aiden pointed to my drawing. “We don’t need it to last long. We’ll tow them across the sea. Six swans harnessed to the raft, flying for the far shore. It’s the only way we can guarantee their safety.” He pulled in a shallow breath, mouth pinched against the pain. “We won’t leave Ryn and Carrick to the Hunters. We can’t.”
“This is your idea, Ryn?” asked Mael, incredulous.
Yes.
“Even if we could make harnesses, no swan would suffer itself to be harnessed!”
“The swans would follow if one led the way,” said Aiden.
“You?” asked Cadan.
Aiden nodded. “I won’t let myself go.”
“You’ll hold on to your mind for that long?” asked Declan. “It can’t be done, Aiden. Think of something else.”
I took his arm and shook my head. There is nothing else.
Finally, Mael nodded. “I say we do it.”
Cadan grunted approval. “Better they die with us in the sea than fall into the hands of the Hunters.”
“There will be no dying,” said Aiden. “I can do this. I know it.”
I nodded, then gathered Carrick from Aiden so his hands would be free. There was so much to do before sunrise.
Cadan stood. “Gavyn should rig the harnesses and think of a way to get them on us. The rest of us should see to the raft. It’ll need to be provisioned too.”
Chapter 35
Fifty-first full moon
We could not work fast enough as we tried to outrun the dawn.
Mael oversaw the raft while Gavyn played with the nettle rope to create some sort of harness. I sat with him to show how big they were in swan form. Gavyn hated planning for a body he had never seen, even if he spent most of his days in it. Yet every time his frustration rose, he’d glance at Aiden, who silently gathered branches for the raft. Then he’d return to work.
“It isn’t even the harness,” Gavyn murmured. “It’s getting it on us. It must be big enough that a man can position it, but not so large that a swan could slip out.”
In the end, Gavyn created moss-padded harnesses that tightened when pulled against. “We just have to pull in the right direction.”
As soon as he knew how to make it, Cadan helped him fashion the other five, all the while checking the eastern horizon for the first hint of the coming day.
Declan collected enough food and water from our stores to last a few days on Eyre until I could gather provisions there. Mael, Aiden, and Owain built the raft, using vines and the nettle rope to hold the branches together, and piled our belongings on it, including the weirs. Gavyn and Cadan attached the harnesses to lengths of rope, then tied them to the raft.
Minutes before dawn, they pushed the raft into the shallows, with Carrick, m
e, and Owain-the-hen aboard. Each brother hugged me. Finally, Aiden bent over his son and whispered something to him.
I hugged Aiden as tightly as I dared with Carrick already in his sling. Then I pointed to the shadow of Eyre on the horizon. I’ll see you there.
He nodded and kissed my cheek. “I’ll take us across, Ryn. I promise you.”
“Turn away, Andaryn,” called Gavyn. “We’ll have to get out of our clothes before the change.”
A moment later, shirts, pants, and boots were tossed onto the raft, and I quickly stuffed them into my bag.
Splashing, my brothers waded out into the water.
“Put the harness here. Like this . . . ,” said Gavyn. He called instructions while Cadan cursed the cold water. Aiden never spoke. I didn’t have to see him to know what he was doing: he was looking across the water, bracing his mind for the day ahead.
And then I heard the wind.
“Move forward now!” called Gavyn. “We need the harnesses to tighten properly!”
The raft lurched farther into the water, sending a spray up my back. A moment later, the splash of my brothers wading disappeared into the sound of wings beating, feathers brushing the wave tops.
They’d changed.
Please! I sent the prayer winging out into the salt spray. Let this work!
I turned around to see them, clutching both Carrick and the side of the raft. The swans were free of the water now. The harnesses had worked, tightening across their breasts and keeping the rope free of their wings. The lengths of rope rose from the water as my brothers flew out across the sea . . .
And then the ropes snapped taut.
I gritted my teeth, imagining how much it must hurt.
No natural bird would suffer such a jolt and keep flying. But none of them faltered. None of them turned back.
Not one of my brothers had let go of his mind yet. I could tell by the way they pulled. I heard it in their silence. That was always the sign. A man had no desire to trumpet like a swan. I think it reminded them of how they’d lost their voices.
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