One of the swans trumpeted then, and I knew that one brother had slipped away. However, every swan followed Aiden’s dark body as he pressed silently toward Eyre.
In the next few minutes, the rest of my brothers surrendered their minds. They trumpeted complaints—one even faltered as if to go back—but still they followed Aiden.
The swans followed Aiden until the sun rose noontime-high above us. The sea was choppy and the wind strong. Once, it tumbled poor Owain from her perch, and I tucked her beside me to keep her safe.
The land across the water was plainly visible, though it was still a few leagues away. By then, my brothers’ trumpeted complaints grew louder. Aiden answered them with a trumpet of his own.
A trumpet.
My heart turned. Aiden’s trumpet wasn’t a scolding: he was slipping away.
We were leagues out still, too far for me to swim. And what would happen if the swans dropped into the water? They’d become tangled in the twine, unable to fly away. We’d drown, every one of us.
I longed to call to Aiden, to give his mind something to hold to. Then I looked down at Carrick sleeping against me. Heaven forgive me, I pinched his plump little arm until he wailed angrily.
Aiden’s head reared up, then thrust forward again. He flew toward the shore as silently as before.
I comforted poor, confused Carrick. I’m sorry, Little Man. So sorry.
I watched Aiden throughout that last hour, and every time I saw him falter, I’d jostle Carrick or pull back his blanket until he howled.
I knew of no other way to save us.
Aiden held to his mind long enough to direct his brothers away from the rocks and to a gently sloping bit of shore. Then he let go of his mind. By then, land was so near that the swans didn’t need Aiden’s guidance to push for it. I pressed my hand over the Kingstone hidden beneath my tunic, willing my swan-brothers strength for the last portion of the journey.
As the shore drew near, I checked that Carrick was secure in his sling and then pulled the dagger free. Gavyn had warned me to cut them free once they landed. They might injure themselves if they became tangled.
The moment the swans dipped toward the ground, I leaped from the raft. The cold water reached well above my waist, drenching Carrick’s legs. I looped one arm over the edge and tugged the raft the last distance toward land, the dagger still in my other hand.
I reached the coast when my swan-brothers did. Gavyn hadn’t reckoned how weary they’d be, for they didn’t struggle against the harnesses. Instead, they lay down just beyond the reach of the waves, wings half furled.
One by one, I cut them free, hacking against the braided rope. I reached Aiden last, for he’d flown the farthest inland. He lay on the shore, head and neck extended along the ground. After I eased the harness from him, I stroked his head, smoothing the feathers.
Carrick’s safe, Aiden. We’re both safe. You did it.
But I could not see my brother in the weary red eye. The swan honked softly—the three-note trumpet that sounded like a gentle question.
I sat on the beach that morning, cudgel across my knees, while my brothers slept, heads tucked under their wings. They’d carried Carrick and me to safety.
It was my turn to guard them.
Chapter 36
Sixty-first full moon
I moved quietly through the woods near the lake. I’d collected enough fish for dinner, but I wanted to visit one more weir before nightfall. Carrick, riding in the pack I’d arranged on my back, squealed and tugged my hair. I winced and pulled his hand away. He immediately gathered up another handful.
I’d swear he thought I was his horse.
I stood still a moment, listening to be sure we were alone. This final weir was within half a league of a trail. I wouldn’t set Carrick down if there was a chance the barbarians were near.
Nothing.
I reached behind me and pulled Carrick free.
Oh, he’d grown in the year since we fled here to Eyre! His red-brown hair—an inheritance from Tanwen—was just beginning to curl, but he had Aiden’s brown eyes. And he was truly walking now.
Carrick laughed the moment I set him down, and he reached up for his stick.
For the past week, he’d wanted one to match my cudgel and I’d found him a slender branch of his own. I’d learned the hard way not to let him hold it while he rode in the pack.
I pulled his stick from my belt and handed it to him. Then I took his free hand and followed the trail once more, moving more slowly now that I had to match Carrick’s pace.
A moment later, I heard the shouts.
I dropped to a crouch and pulled Carrick down beside me—tapping his mouth gently three times. I’d rehearsed this with him since he’d taken his first, staggering steps, practicing in our little cave home. Whatever he was doing—even if he was babbling—he would stop and sit when I tapped his mouth three times.
At least, he would most of the time.
His eyes widened when he heard the distant shouts. He stood, smiling, and tapped his fists, one on top of the other—my sign for Aiden.
He thought he heard his father.
I shook my head and tapped his mouth again three times. Sit. Be still.
He sat.
And sprang up again when he heard more shouts. When I reached for him, he scowled.
I scowled back and tugged him down. His face crumpled, and he pulled in a wobbling breath.
He was going to cry.
I reached into my satchel, found some berries, and popped one into his hand. He looked up at me, thoroughly distracted. I nodded, and he lifted his dirty hand to his mouth, grinning.
I fed him, berry by berry, until the shouts faded away and the forest grew silent again.
Then I snatched him up and ran back along the deer trail. I didn’t care about the weir. It wasn’t worth it, even for a week’s worth of fish. I’d been foolish to venture so close to the barbarians’ trail.
What would I tell Aiden if something happened?
Carrick squirmed in my arms, pressing sticky hands to my face. “Wyn . . . Wyn . . . !”
No. No!
His first words, speaking my name, and I wished I could snatch them out of the air, out of his throat, so that the barbarians would never hear us, never find us.
I couldn’t keep Carrick safe if I couldn’t keep him quiet.
I looked down at his berry-smeared face. His smile that was so like Aiden’s. He even thought the jolting ride back down the trail was a game. He laughed up at me—a low, throaty chuckle he’d inherited from his mother.
His mother.
Tanwen would have known what to do. She could have spoken back to him. She would have celebrated his first words, not tried to smother them. I shifted Carrick to my other hip and kept running.
He’s the son of the rightful king, I thought. He should walk proudly through the forest. And I’m teaching him to hide.
* * *
I’d found our home soon after fleeing to Eyre. It was a small cave in the rocks above a lake. It wasn’t a cave, really. More a room-sized hollow in the heart of an ancient landslide. But it meant the entrance was difficult to find—even when you looked straight at it—and it provided shelter against the weather. A crack in the ceiling of the cave acted as a chimney, drawing the fire’s smoke on all but the windiest days.
The cave hid us, and the nettles that crowded the cliff above us protected us from the Hunters—though I’d neither seen nor heard a hint of them since we’d come to Eyre.
I reached the cave as daylight faded, with barely enough time to prepare food for my brothers before they changed. I quickly set the fish on the coals, then picked up Carrick and clambered down to the shore.
I set Carrick by the water just as the black swans neared us. Carrick shouted to see them and waved his ever-present stick, but I held him back.
Finally, the wind came whistling over the rocks. Moments later, I heard my brothers splashing as they strode toward the shore.
“Ryn!” It was Cadan, still calling for me as he had promised so many years ago.
I rapped my cudgel against the stone to signal that all was well. I’d used it ever since Tanwen’s death. There wasn’t anyone to tell my brothers all was well.
“Carrick!” called Aiden.
Carrick squealed, tapping his fists as he signed his father’s name.
After a few moments to dress, Aiden leaped up the rocks toward us. He scooped Carrick up and held him above his head, tossing him up and catching him until Carrick shouted with laughter.
Mael joined them. “Ah! He’s grown so!”
Cadan put an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me close. “Where’s the food, Ryn? What else besides fish?”
That had been the berries I’d fed to Carrick in the forest. I spread my hands and shrugged.
“What?” complained Cadan. “I’ve waited a month for this meal!”
Declan kissed my cheek. “Don’t mind him, Ryn. Is everything well?”
I forced a smile and pointed to Carrick, then signed something coming from my mouth.
“He talked?” said Owain, who towered over me.
I nodded, then reached up to playfully pat his cheek. I pulled my hand back, surprised his cheek wasn’t smooth anymore.
He grinned down at me.
“He talked?” said Aiden, joining us. He lifted Carrick up over his head and settled him on his shoulders. “What did he say?”
I pointed at myself.
“Ryn?” asked Aiden.
I shrugged and grimaced. Almost.
Declan looked up at Carrick, who had buried his hands in Aiden’s dark hair. “Who is that?” he asked, pointing at me.
Every one of my brothers waited for an answer, silent. Carrick stared back at them with round, expectant eyes.
“Is that Ryn?” asked Mael, also pointing at me.
“Can you say Ryn?”
“Ryn?” prompted Declan.
My brothers were a chorus around me, chanting my name while Carrick watched from his perch on Aiden’s shoulders.
Nothing.
“I smell fish cooking,” said Cadan, finally.
I nodded. They’d burn if I didn’t turn them soon.
“Wyn!” shouted Carrick into the silence.
My brothers erupted into cheers. “Wyn!”
Cadan reached up and plucked Carrick from Aiden’s shoulders. “That deserves a meal. Let’s go.”
We followed Cadan up to the cave.
* * *
After the meal, my brothers played with Carrick till he fell asleep, exhausted by the attention and from staying awake so late. He slept sprawled across Aiden’s lap, thumb in his mouth.
It was cool in the cave, despite the fire. I draped Carrick’s blanket over him. Then I pulled my nettle cloak around my shoulders.
Aiden’s gaze lingered on the cloak Tanwen had knit for me years ago, and he silently rubbed a fold of it between his fingers. Then he sat back, resting his hand on Carrick’s back.
“How are you, Ryn?” asked Declan.
For the first time in nearly five years, I was glad I couldn’t answer. Carrick was healthy, yes. But he was so skinny, nothing like the fat little babies I remembered at the castle years ago. And my brothers wanted to celebrate his new voice, but I feared I might not be able to hide him anymore.
“You’re worried about the barbarians,” said Owain.
I looked up at him, shocked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ryn,” said Cadan. “Even I could see that.”
I could feel my eyes filling, and I blinked the tears away. Finally, I pointed to Carrick, who looked so darling asleep, and signed his speech, hands fluttering out to show how loud it had sounded.
Mael nodded. “This is a remote enough place, Ryn.”
“Is it?” murmured Aiden, rubbing Carrick’s back.
“It is,” answered Mael.
“And good thing too,” said Gavyn. “I saw white feathers on the bank as we dressed. We’re molting, aren’t we?”
I nodded. It would be weeks before they regrew their flight feathers. There’d be no leaving the lake if anyone discovered them.
“Speak for yourself,” muttered Cadan around a mouthful of fish. “I do not molt.”
“We’re safe, Ryn,” Declan reassured. “The Queen won’t find us here.”
Gavyn did not look convinced. Instead he asked, “How are the tunics?”
I went over to the satchel I hung from a jagged outcropping near the cave’s ceiling. Wild goats roamed these hills. When I’d first made a home in the cave, I’d returned from a walk to find goats there, nibbling a blanket. So I’d rigged a way to hang the satchel from the ceiling. It spared the precious tunics from the damp of the cave—and from the goats.
I released the satchel from its rope and tossed it to Owain.
Owain peered in, counting. “Five! So close, Ryn.”
Gavyn pulled out the strip of linen I used to count time—a knot for every day that passed, and two knots for each full moon. “We have a little over a year left. Thirteen moons, as best I can tell.”
“And then we return to Lacharra,” said Aiden. “We free Father and reclaim what is ours.”
My brothers nodded, faces grim.
Thirteen moons would pass like mere weeks for them: only thirteen nights until we could travel home and confront the Queen. The thought of so small a wait comforted my brothers, but thirteen moons stretched too far for me. Thirteen moons’ worth of harvesting and retting nettles to finish the last tunic. Thirteen moons of chasing Carrick, of fearing he’d speak and feeling guilty if he didn’t.
He was almost two. He should be able to say so much more than Wyn. But how could he when a mute cared for him?
Mael stood, stretching the stiffness from his limbs. “Come, Ryn. Time to spar. I don’t believe the barbarians will trouble you, but let’s be sure that they’ll regret it if they do.”
He was a taskmaster that night, claiming it would burn the fear out of me. We practiced with the cudgel again and again, then I grappled with Owain until just before dawn.
I was so weary and sore the next day, I could hardly move. It wasn’t till that night that I realized Mael’s sparring had nothing to do with it—for a fever had begun to burn.
I gathered food and water while I still had strength. And when I had to lie down, I piled branches across the cave’s opening so Carrick couldn’t leave. I made sure his stick and the few toys my brothers had carved for him were nearby.
I didn’t let myself sleep till he lay down.
Chapter 37
When I woke, I knew the fever had broken. I tried to make sense of scattered, heat-singed memories: stumbling to the water, then back to my blanket . . . Carrick patting my blankets to make me play with him . . .
How long had I been ill?
It took all my strength to raise myself on my elbow.
Owain-the-hen watched me from her perch, but Carrick wasn’t in the cave. The branches across the cave’s opening had been pulled aside. I sat up, vision swirling from the sudden movement. I touched Carrick’s cool blanket. He’d left his bed a while ago.
I stood, gripping the side of the cave as dizziness swept me. I pulled on leggings and boots, then grabbed my cudgel and stumbled out of the cave and down the boulders. I stopped at the edge of the lake, expecting to see Carrick chasing the black swans he loved so much.
I saw my swan-brothers, but not Carrick.
Surely he hadn’t gone into the lake.
No. The swans wouldn’t have been so calm. During Tanwen’s pregnancy, Aiden had been protective as a man—and intolerable as a swan, acting as if there were eggs somewhere that he needed to protect. His swan self remained just as protective around his human son.
Carrick wasn’t in the lake. So where was he?
Damn the Queen for taking my voice. And damn me for giving it to her! How would I find Carrick if I couldn’t call him? Think . . . think.
The deer trail.
&
nbsp; I walked as quickly as I could, desperate for any sign of him. When I reached the point in the trail where we’d heard the barbarians, I stopped for a moment and listened:
The sound of the lake lapping over stones.
The sound of wind pushing through the trees.
The distant sound of hooves.
Barbarians!
For Carrick—precious, curious Carrick—sounds in the forest meant that Aiden would come striding through the trees, arms open for his son. Carrick didn’t know the forest could bring men besides his father and uncles.
I ran toward the sound of horses.
As I ran, I beat the cudgel against the trees, praying it would call Carrick: thwack, thwack! Each impact shuddered through my fever-sore body, and my small store of strength began to drain from me.
I pressed on, imagining Carrick trampled under the horses or surrounded by barbarians on horseback. Each image flung loop after loop of fear across my chest, tightening my breath.
If you can hear me, Tanwen: help!
I heard men’s voices ahead.
“Hey there, child!”
“Make way!”
“Catch him!”
I ran even faster, beating the cudgel against the trees, trying to call Carrick back. I thought I heard him shout my name, but I wasn’t sure.
I burst onto the trail, cudgel held before me. Eight horses surrounded me, dancing at my appearance. Their riders glared at me, torn between surprise and settling their horses.
“Wyn!”
I whirled toward Carrick’s voice, nearly slamming into a horse that stood behind me.
Carrick stood on the far side of the trail—struggling against the barbarian who held him. I darted through the dancing horses and reached for Carrick, felt his fingers brush my hand . . .
The barbarian holding Carrick twisted away.
I raised the cudgel and charged, landing one good stroke across his shoulders.
He grunted at the impact but didn’t release Carrick.
I struck him again, even though it took all my strength. That time, he hardly flinched, and he shifted Carrick so that he was even farther from me.
The Flight of Swans Page 18