by Kate Forsyth
Merry was fascinated by this, and would normally have pushed and prodded the eagle’s head several times to watch the water gush and flow, but he was too conscious of Zed and Liliana out in the darkness together. He washed all over quickly, leapt up, dried himself on a length of old linen laid ready for him, and dressed in a clean shirt and drawers, before pulling on his breeches again. He pressed the eagle’s head until the water had all drained silently away, and then, barefoot, he let the other two in.
‘At last!’ Zed said. ‘I thought you were going to take all night. I’m starving. Let’s eat.’
Another simple meal waited for them on the table—bean and vegetable soup, rough brown bread, and a salad of wild greens and flowers. They ate hungrily, speaking only when asking for the salt or more bread.
‘You two can sleep over there,’ Liliana said when she had finished, waving a hand at two pallets on the floor, made up with patchwork counterpanes. ‘I warn you, I sleep lightly, and Stiga watches over me.’
She drew her dagger out of her belt and jumped quickly into bed, sliding the knife under her pillow as she drew the coverlet up around her neck.
‘No need for that,’ Zed said, affronted. ‘We’re gentlemen of honour.’
‘You think I fear you two boys?’ Liliana snorted. ‘I could whip you two with one hand tied behind my back. No, the dagger’s not for you.’
Merry did not like to ask who—or what—she feared. He stuffed his belongings back into his satchel, then sat down on one of the pallets, looking away from her towards the fire, dreamily playing a few notes on his lute. The Erlrune’s words still haunted him. The Gift of wishing and cursing, of prayer and prophecy, of storytelling and true-telling . . . He thought he would like to twist the words into a song.
‘Sound travels at night,’ Liliana said.
Merry sighed and packed his lute away again carefully. Sitting on the pallet, he drew off his woollen breeches, tossed them on the floor, and lay down, pulling the coverlet over him.
Zed made sure all his belongings were neatly packed away, slid his dagger under his pillow, then lay down. He was so tall his bare feet stuck out over the end of the pallet, exposed to the chilly air. He sighed and pulled the counterpane down again, tucking it securely around his feet. This bared most of the upper part of his torso. He sighed again, and curled into a ball, his knees hanging over the edge of the pallet.
‘This bed is made for midgets,’ he said. ‘Comfortable, squirt?’
‘Very,’ Merry replied, stretching wide his arms and legs.
Liliana hissed in exasperation, and blew out the candle.
CHAPTER 8
A Terrible Dream
MERRY WAS RUNNING. TORCHES FLARED RED AND SMOKY through the castle, wavering over the sweaty, contorted faces of men striking, stabbing, slashing. Women and children cowered away, and screams shrilled through the smoke. Merry saw a woman try to shield a little girl with her arms. Both were cut down with a single blow. In the wild play of flame and shadow, their blood sprayed black.
Merry’s breath sobbed in his throat. He ran on, leaping over fallen bodies. Vast monstrous shadows pursued him, swords and daggers like teeth and talons. Up the stairs he leapt, and raced down a shadowy corridor, hearing the pound of footsteps coming ever close behind him. His boot slipped in something slick, and he sprawled heavily on the ground. Panting, he rolled but could not get up, for something heavy crouched on his chest . . .
An owl screeched nearby.
Merry’s eyes sprang open. He sat up, still feeling the choke and weight of something crouching on his chest. His hair was damp and ruffled and stank sourly of sweat. Merry pressed his hands against his heart, trying to drag in a mouthful of air. Such a terrible dream.
The owl screeched again, an eerie and unnerving sound. It was as loud as if the bird hovered right over his head. Merry glanced towards the window. His mother had always told him that the cry of an owl was a sign that death was near. Old-fashioned superstition, Zed would have mocked, but Merry believed in signs and portents, dreams and omens. Had not his own father been a famous prophet, someone who heard the future in puzzling riddles?
A scrape came from the window, sounding like claws on stone. Merry’s heartbeat accelerated sharply. Seizing his dagger from under his pillow, he looked towards the heavily shrouded windows. Slowly one curtain was being dragged back and he saw a hunched black shape with glowing red eyes creep through the gap.
‘Tom-Tit-Tot?’ he whispered, limp with relief.
‘Hush, hush, soldiers creep, up the stairs while you sleep,’ the omen-imp whispered, flying over to where Merry sat. He plucked anxiously at Merry’s arm. ‘Come, come, you must hurry, find a hole in which to scurry.’
‘Soldiers?’
‘Slinking and sniffling, sliding and snuffling . . .’
‘Soldiers are here?’
‘Peeking and prying, seeking and spying . . .’
Merry threw back his bedclothes and searched for his breeches and boots, all the while calling quietly to the snoring lump in the pallet nearby. ‘Zed! Wake up!’
‘Hush, hush,’ Tom-Tit-Tot wailed. ‘They’ll hear, they’ll hearken . . .’
Zed rolled over and muttered loudly. Hopping as he tried to pull on his other boot, Merry went to his side and shook him vigorously. ‘Zed!’
He heard a rustle as Liliana sat up. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Soldiers, coming up the stairs.’
She was up instantly, pulling on her own boots. He heard the rattle of arrows as she seized her quiver from the chair and hooked it to her belt, and the thump and swish as she grabbed her pack and cloak. Zed had rolled over and was snoring again. Merry shook him angrily, as light quickly blossomed from the candle. Seeing a pitcher of water nearby, he dashed some of it in his sleeping friend’s face.
‘Whaaa. . .at?’ Zed sat up, yawning.
‘Move,’ Merry said tersely. ‘Soldiers!’
He did not wait to see Zed’s reaction, but turned to grab his own pack and cloak, which was lying in a tangle on the floor. He lost precious moments untangling it, and wished then that he was as methodical with his bedtime routine as Zed. At last he got the cloak untangled, flung it around his shoulders and caught up his lute, stuffing it into its leather bag.
Turning, he saw, to his surprise, Stiga standing by the fireplace, the lit candle in her hand. A dark hole was yawning in the wooden panels beside her. She beckoned them urgently, her black eyes wide with anxiety.
‘Come on, hurry!’ Liliana raced towards the secret passageway, her long curls wild and ruffled. Merry ran to join her, Tom-Tit-Tot crouched on his shoulder. Zed staggered after them, yawning, his satchel slung over his shoulder. As he passed the table, he caught up an apple and jammed it in his mouth, and seized the basket of leftover bread. ‘Mmpfmmpf,’ he explained.
Merry waited till Zed had squeezed his broad shoulders through the narrow aperture, then darted through himself. There was the sound of an explosion and the door was blown inwards. Merry just had time to see the flare of blue fire before the secret door swung silently shut.
Merry crouched in the darkness, hearing thumps and thuds through the wall, his companions pressed close about. Stiga was small and soft, like a bundle of cloth, Liliana all hard planes and angles, Zed as solid as a wall. Liliana pressed her eyes to a small spy-hole. Blue fire flared against her eyeball. Merry watched her pupil contract. She turned away without a word and disappeared into darkness.
Feeling his way forward with his hands and feet, Merry realised he was standing on a stairway. He fumbled down one step, and then another. Down he went, his hand on the hilt of his dagger, the steps curving round and round in a spiral, like a long curl of apple peel. Occasionally he collided with Zed, making his way down before him, and once Tom-Tit-Tot spooked him by swooping close to his head. No-one made a sound, however. Those soldiers had fired fusilliers into the bedchamber. If Merry and his friends had still been there, they would have been incinerated. Everything else in t
hat room surely had been. Golden velvet curtains, hand-woven tapestries, soft patchwork counterpanes, the stone bath with its golden tap in the shape of an eagle. All gone. All ash.
Suddenly Merry reached the ground, jerked from head to foot by the unexpected lack of a step. He banged into Zed, and in stepping sideways to avoid him bumped into Liliana. She shoved him away, hissing at him to be quiet. She had her ear pressed against a wall, or perhaps an eye to a spy-hole, he could not be sure which in the darkness. Then Zed banged into him, treading on his foot, and jostling him with the basket of bread.
Merry gave him a hard punch in return, all in silence.
There was a low grating sound, and the wall swung open. A rush of sweet, fresh air flowed over them. Something white and ghostly and soundless soared past them, and Zed cried out in alarm.
‘Shut up, you fool!’ Liliana hissed.
They stood, pressed together. Merry’s heart was beating so hard he thought it must be bruising the bones of his thin chest. His legs trembled, and he locked his knees so no-one could tell. Tom-Tit-Tot crouched on his shoulder, his sharp claws digging into Merry’s skin. This was a sign the omen-imp was afraid, for normally his claws were sheathed.
All was quiet. Soft came the hoot of an owl.
‘Come on. Quietly now,’ Liliana whispered. Once again she led the way, and the boys jostled for a moment to be the next to follow her. She glanced back, and even in the darkness Merry could see the scowl on her face, her knotted brows black against her pale skin.
Merry fell back and went last, looking around him with a fast-beating heart. He recognised the shape of the high, arched ceiling of the grand hall. He could see stars through the gaps in the broken wall. Everything else was a mosaic of black shapes against black. His chest was hurting him. It felt like he had caught pneumonia again, or that something dark and cruel and heavy was crouched upon his ribs. He looked back, suddenly wondering where Stiga was, but he could not see far in the darkness. Liliana pulled the secret doorway shut behind them, and motioned them forward with her hand.
A flicker of blue light caught Merry’s attention. He looked up. Far above, flames ducked and danced through the window of a room high in the tower.
‘I will never be able to return,’ Liliana said somberly.
‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ Zed stammered.
‘I told you they’d be watching,’ Liliana answered, cold as ice.
‘It wouldn’t be because of that tiny little light,’ Zed said angrily. ‘It must’ve been all that water gurgling down the pipes.’
‘Or the sight of an enormous footstep in the dust,’ Liliana retorted.
‘Or the sound of a shrew nagging all the time,’ Zed said at once.
‘Or the whining of an ill-mannered oaf who cannot bear not to have the last word,’ Merry said.
‘Who’s talking, squirt?’ Zed snapped back.
‘Use your loaf, oaf!’ Tom-Tit-Tot jeered, dancing up and down on Merry’s shoulder.
‘Stop it! Just stop it!’ Lili’s voice broke in half. She raised one thin hand and dashed it across her eyes. ‘Come on, let’s just get out of here. Our only hope is to outrun them. Let’s hope the soldiers haven’t heard all your noise.’
‘Boys enjoy noise,’ Tom-Tit-Tot muttered, but Merry shushed him.
Suddenly a great white owl swooped down from the sky, screeching so loudly Merry felt every nerve in his body startle. At once Liliana stopped, drawing back into the shadows.
‘What is it?’ Merry began to whisper, but she made an urgent shushing motion with her hand.
‘Soldier in the yard, keeping close guard,’ Tom-Tit-Tot murmured in Merry’s ear.
Merry stared and stared. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the shape of a soldier crouched in the shadow of an archway. Had it not been for the faint gleam of starlight on his silver armour, Merry would never have seen him. The guard was looking about, the long snout of his fusillier lifted and ready. It was clear he had heard something and was on the alert.
Merry glanced up, looking for the owl. It soared away soundlessly, then shrieked again, sounding far away. It was a strange, eerie cry, and made Merry shudder and draw in his breath. The soldier listened, tense and straight, then as the small crickets in the grass resumed their chirping, relaxed, stepping back into the shadows, his fusillier resting in the crook of his arm.
The owl circled and came down again, its wings as silent as if it was invisible, and brushed so close to Liliana it could have touched her face with its wingtip. Once again Merry wondered what had happened to Stiga. He did not dare ask Liliana, with the sentry so close they could have spat on him. He huddled his arms about himself and tried to stop his breath from rasping so loudly in his throat, his heart from beating so thunderously in his chest.
Liliana jerked her head to one side and began to withdraw. Moving slowly, smoothly, silently, the boys followed her. They came to the wall, overhanging with ivy, and slipped beneath it. Merry could still see the soldier, hiding in the shadows across the courtyard. It seemed impossible the soldier did not see him.
Sliding one foot forward, and then the other, Merry crept along the wall. Tom-Tit-Tot was a weight on his shoulder, and his hands were slippery with sweat where he gripped his dagger. Then Liliana came to a narrow doorway. Slowly she eased it open, but its ancient hinges creaked hideously in the silence. It sounded like a soul in torment. At once there was a cry, and then a blast of blue fire that illuminated the whole courtyard. The ivy caught fire, blazed up in azure iridescence, and turned to smoke and ashes. The three companions tumbled through the door together, all shoving arms and knees and tangled satchels, and slammed the old wooden door behind them.
In seconds it was on fire, sharply blue, and then dissolved to cinders.
Helter-skelter, they raced down the steps. Behind them came the sound of running boots and a voice crying the alarm. Blue flame chased them. Tom-Tit-Tot dug his claws into Merry’s neck. ‘Race, boy, pick up the pace, else we’ll lose this blasted chase!’
Merry ran as he had never run before. Liliana ran beside him, her steps as sure as his, her breath considerably steadier. Zed was in front, his long legs pounding. Tom-Tit-Tot suddenly rose with a whoosh of wings and spun round, flying back towards the soldier who was firing as he ran. Suddenly there was a shriek, and a thump, and the blue flare of flame shot straight up into the air and was extinguished. Merry grinned grimly.
‘Good old Tommy-boy!’ Liliana panted. ‘Come on! This way!’
She bounded down the steps and swung into a narrow, grassy walkway between a high wall and an arcade of arches. Once this must have been a lovely place to walk in the afternoon, but now it was as ruined as the rest.
Blue fire spat at them from the stairwell behind them. Merry swerved, his heart pounding erratically. A white statue nearby exploded and crumbled into dust. He heard the high-pitched hiss as the soldier loaded his fusillier again and fired. Liliana spun on her heel and faced the long blaze of blue flame, licked with gold along its edges, as it raced to engulf them all.
‘Lili!’ Merry screamed and grasped her arm, trying to pull her to safety. She jerked her arm free and whistled a rising sequence of notes. An astonishing eddy of air gathered around her, and she spun it with her hand and threw it towards the soldier. Merry felt it race past his face, dragging his ponytail sideways.
The ball of blue flame recoiled, eating its own incandescent tail as it was blown back towards the solider. Merry could clearly see his flabbergasted face, his mouth widening in a scream of horror, before he was engulfed in his own fire. In seconds he was incinerated. All that remained was a whirling vortex of ash.
The two boys glanced at each other, amazed and afraid. Liliana met their eyes defiantly as she strode back towards them. ‘What?’ she demanded. ‘He would have burnt us to ashes in a second. As will his comrades if they catch us. Starkin scum!’ She spat towards the eddying ashes, slowly settling into a small pile that smoked gently, and strode past them, her he
ad high.
Zed and Merry followed her silently, over one last, low, broken wall and into the shadow-haunted fastness of the forest. The owl flew ahead on wraithlike white wings, leading them safely through the tangle of twigs and thistles and thorns. At times, to Merry’s swimming vision, the great bird seemed to shine with starlight, a ghostly beacon in the blackness of the night forest.
Tom-Tit-Tot stayed close, coming often to crouch on Merry’s shoulders, claws digging deep. Merry would shrug him away, unable to bear the weight on his weary body, and the omen-imp would cry piteously and fly close to Merry’s head before coming down again to cling to his back or arm.
Occasionally Merry looked back to see an eerie blue glow on the horizon as Stormlinn Castle was lit from within by fusillier fire. If Liliana looked back at her burning home, Merry did not see her.
At last, the eastern sky began to brighten. The forest was transformed into a latticework of black cross-stitch against pale green silk. The owl came to rest on a low branch. It hooted softly, and Liliana hooted back. She reached up and the bird rubbed its white, heart-shaped face against her hand.
‘Thank you, Stiga,’ Liliana said, and gently plucked one long feather from her wing.
CHAPTER 9
The Perilous Forest
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS LIFE, ZED’S BODY DID NOT SEEM to work properly. He knew he was tired, but he had tramped many more miles than this before in high good humour and not felt this spreading coldness and numbness, as if all his limbs were improperly connected to his joints.
It’s the shock, he told himself. Anyone would be shaken up by seeing a man killed before their very eyes.
It was a cool, grey day, and Stormlinn Castle had been left many miles behind them. No-one had spoken much, too intent on finding a path through the tangle of bramble and bush and hanging vines that seemed to creep about Zed’s neck as if trying to strangle him. Liliana showed no sign of any distress or horror, though she was very pale and quiet. Zed looked at her often, amazed that she could be so calm and wondering how many times she had killed before. The only words she had spoken were terse instructions to leave no trail behind them, and Zed did his very best to obey her.