The Caller

by Juliet Marillier

  The fight ended; the guards stepped away. Ean bent over, hands on knees, getting his breath back. He had a few bruises; so did both the others.

  ‘You sure you’re a goat farmer, lad?’

  ‘My cousin’s a fighter; he taught me.’ Ean gasped in a breath. ‘Can we be going now?’

  ‘As to that . . .’ Without any apparent signal, the two other men reappeared from behind the hut, moving in so that our exit was blocked. One of them had blood on his hands. Silva stood rigid beside me; I sensed she was trying not to be sick. ‘Your kinswomen here can be on their way. You, we’ll be needing to keep a while longer.’

  ‘A while? How long? And why?’ Ean glanced at us, looked quickly away. He must know, as I did, that making a bolt for it would be pointless. Silva put her balled fist up against her mouth.

  ‘Long enough so your womenfolk shouldn’t bother waiting around for you.’

  ‘Why are you treating Gruan like this?’ It wasn’t hard to make my voice sound shaky and frightened. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong. And what about our goat?’

  ‘The goat’s been confiscated. There are hungry men to feed and supplies are short. As for your kinsman here, we’re offering him an opportunity. A rare one. We’re recruiting your Gruan for a brand new venture. King’s special forces. If he does well, he’ll be richly rewarded. If he fails, he goes back to the goat farm. But you won’t fail, young fellow, will you? Not with these two lovely ladies depending on you.’ He ran his eyes over us again, and now there was a different look in them, one I did not like at all. Had that been a threat? ‘Come on, then, lad. There’s a couple of king’s men over at the other checkpoint who’ll be wanting a word with you.’

  I saw Ean consider putting up a fight and deciding it would only make the situation worse. ‘Don’t wait for me,’ he said, squaring his shoulders. ‘Head on home. I’ll come when I can.’

  King’s special forces. What in Black Crow’s name was that? What kind of special forces could be made up of young men gathered at random on the road?

  I picked up Ean’s pack and passed it to him. ‘Safe journey,’ I said, doing my best to sound cheerful and confident. ‘We’ll see you back at the farm. Come on, Lia.’

  ‘You killed my goat,’ Silva whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘You killed Snow.’

  My heart ached for her, and for Ean, and for all those caught up in the wretched place Alban was today. ‘We have to go, Lia. Take my arm, here.’

  ‘Want your basket back?’ enquired one of the men.

  My heart thudded. ‘Yes, please,’ I managed.

  He went back behind the hut and returned with the pannier, bloodstained and gaping open. He tossed it at me, and I managed to catch it. If, by some unlikely chance, Piper was still in there, he must be clinging like a limpet.

  ‘Thank you,’ I forced myself to say. ‘Gruan, good luck.’

  Silva gave Ean one anguished look before two of the men seized his arms and took him off. One of the others made a curt gesture, waving us on along the track.

  ‘Come on.’ I set off briskly, almost dragging her with me. ‘Quick,’ I muttered when we were out of earshot, ‘before they change their minds.’ As we walked I checked the pannier, trying not to be too obvious in case we were still being watched. Snow’s blood was everywhere, and there was a strange hole in the wickerwork, as if it had been burned. Piper was gone.

  ‘Piper,’ Silva gasped. ‘Ean . . .’

  ‘Keep walking. There’s nothing we can do right now.’ I knew just how she felt: as if she were being torn in two. It was so wrong to leave them, so wrong to step back and abandon them to their fate, when we should be . . . what? We could not have rescued Ean. If I had used my canny skill, or if Whisper had intervened of his own accord, the whole mission would have been in jeopardy. As for fighting our way out, Ean had understood straight away, as perhaps Silva had not, that he had no chance of prevailing against such odds. He’d have to go along with whatever they had in store for him and try to escape later.

  ‘Snow,’ Silva spoke on a wrenching sob. ‘They killed Snow.’

  ‘Shh,’ I whispered. ‘If the Lady has a good place for goats, be sure Snow’s there munching on sweet grass. Try to think of that.’ Sudden tears sprang to my eyes, startling me. Snow was a small loss in the pattern of things, an innocent victim of the times. But there were so many losses. We all bore our share of wounds, the ones that marked our bodies and the ones we carried inside where nobody could see. It could be hard, so hard to keep sight of the goal. ‘Ean was very brave,’ I murmured. He had been braver than Silva probably realised, choosing compliance so she and I could make a clean escape. He had shown the strength of a true rebel.

  We reached a fork in the path and took a side track southward. There was a little wood not far off, birches and beeches still naked from the winter; it seemed a good spot to wait for Whisper. As we drew near, he flew over us, winging toward the trees, and relief flooded through me.

  By a trickling stream, under the half-concealment of the bare trees, we told him our story and heard his.

  ‘There are riders everywhere,’ Whisper said. ‘Men in Erevan’s colours. Knocking on doors, stopping folk on the road or in the fields. Gathering men. Fit young men. I’ve seen Enforcers in the next settlement and on the road too. I canna tell you what they’re aboot, only that it looks well planned.’

  ‘One of the men we encountered mentioned the king’s special forces; said he was recruiting Ean for that.’

  ‘Mebbe this is the start o’ something new,’ Whisper said grimly. ‘The fact is, we canna help the lad. We should be on our way before there’s mair o’ them on the roads.’

  ‘But Piper,’ protested Silva. ‘We can’t leave him behind.’

  Piper, last piece of the White Lady. I had promised to get him to safety. If he perished, she was gone, and with her part of Alban’s spirit. And was not that, in truth, what the rebellion was all about?

  ‘We canna gae back,’ said Whisper quietly. ‘But you could ca’ the wee fellow, Neryn. Risky, I ken, wi’ sae many folk close by; but Piper’s sma’. What’s ane wee grasshopper or butterfly crossing a field?’

  Ane bite for a witawoo. I heard the wry voice as if the Lady were right beside me.

  ‘You’d want tae be quick,’ Whisper said. ‘The sooner we’re awa’ frae these parts, the better.’ Then, to Silva, ‘Come on, lassie, let’s we twa move awa’ a bit, give Neryn some room.’

  The drum; I should use the drum, or Piper would not be able to understand the call. But no. The drum only worked if we were both close to the vibrating skin. Piper might be anywhere. He might already have perished, trampled underfoot without a thought, or crushed and broken as the pannier was ripped from the goat’s back. Or, if he still lived, he might even now be crawling through the long grass with damaged wings, or flying blindly about, dazed and distressed.

  Stop it, Neryn. Stop thinking the worst. Though this was bad enough, with Ean taken and Piper lost. Stop it. You are a Caller.

  I knew how to do this. Piper was a being of air, part of the White Lady. The White Lady had taught me the many moods of air; she had taught me to shape the call to the circumstances. There were Enforcers as near as the next checkpoint; there were armed men on the roads. And Piper could not understand my speech anyway. Like the call I had made back at the Beehives, in the storm, this must be silent.

  If I had been a mage, I would have conjured up a breeze to waft the wee one safely to me. But I had no magic of my own. I must find the magic of air; I must use its strength for the call. I shut my eyes and thought of the wondrous moment when the small, bright beings had swarmed around the heads of the wise women, crowning each with light. I made myself an image of Piper and the others in the cairn, seated on my arms and shoulders and in my lap; I remembered the wry, wise voice of the Lady. I breathed, using the slow patterns the Hag had taught me. I set asi
de Ean, the Enforcers, Silva, the long walk still to be completed before we would reach the safety of Callan Stanes.

  I thought of an easterly breeze; felt its cool fingers brushing the skin of my cheek. The breeze brought the distinctive odour of sheep; the fresh scent of grass; the smell of smoke. I imagined Piper’s tiny bright form, his beady eyes, his delicate wings. He was the last one. If we lost him, we lost something irreplaceable.

  I thought of the Guardians, and how they were part of the very fabric of Alban. Take one away, and all would surely fall. The White Lady was wind and storm. She was the hoot of an owl, the howl of a wolf, the scream of a dying man, the hum of a mother singing her babe to sleep. She was breath. She was life.

  I shaped words with my lips, but did not speak them aloud. I pictured Piper winging his way toward me, crossing the fields of grazing sheep, the dry-stone walls, the farmhouses and barns. The armed men on the tracks; the Enforcers in their masks and black cloaks. Evading the keen eye and sudden talons of the hawk. The call went out without a sound. Fly safe. Fly true. Fly home.

  I opened my eyes; trees and rocks swirled around me. My knees gave way and I collapsed onto the ground. I had done my best.

  ‘Neryn!’ Silva’s voice as she ran over to me. ‘Are you all right?’

  Before I could find my voice, a shrill sound split the air, and a moment later Piper flew out of nowhere to crash into my chest, where he clung, quivering. My ears rang with his shrieks. Silva knelt beside me; Whisper hovered close. Still the screams went on, loud enough to alert every farmer for five miles around.

  ‘Hush,’ said Silva. ‘Piper, you’re safe now. Shh!’

  The drum, where was the drum . . . Gods, I was so tired. I cupped my hands around Piper’s shaking form. Was he hurt? There was blood on his little tunic and on his hands. But perhaps it was Snow’s.

  ‘Here,’ Silva said. She held out the drum, level, ready.

  I whispered across its surface, though how Piper would hear me through the piercing sound of his own voice, I did not know. ‘Hush, little one. You’re safe now. You found us. Hush.’ I went on in this mode for a while, holding him close to my body, until his cries died down to shuddering gasps. This, I thought, was not only the shock and terror of the goat’s violent death and of being lost. If Piper was anything, he was resilient. There was something more here. ‘Show us,’ I breathed against the drum skin, heedless now of Silva and Whisper watching me. ‘Show us what is troubling you.’

  He tried, miming the goat standing uncomplaining on her rope, then sweeping his hand, an imaginary knife clutched in it, across his own throat. Then a sequence of movements suggesting being trapped, fighting to find a way out. A gesture I could not interpret, a complex movement of the hands almost like the casting of a spell. Then he clutched his head with both hands and opened his mouth in another scream, this one mercifully silent. He pointed one way, then the opposite way, then toward his head again, using both hands. He finished his performance by crouching down on my palm and wrapping his arms over his head.

  ‘You’re safe,’ I whispered again. He was upset by Snow’s death and he had a monstrous headache, that much I understood. That was not all of it, I was sure, but I would not push him further. And we had to move on.

  ‘Thank you, Silva,’ I said, struggling to my feet. I felt as weary as if I had been running all day. Calling might seem to other folk to be merely a matter of standing still and concentrating, but it drained both body and spirit. ‘I won’t use the drum any more now. We must go. Can you take him in your pocket?’

  Without speaking, Silva reached out for the little being and placed him carefully in the pouch at her belt. She untied her kerchief and tucked it in after him.

  ‘Neryn,’ said Whisper. His tone chilled me; it was full of trouble.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The wee fellow isna alane wi’ his sore heid. There’s a . . . an odd feeling, a kind o’ pull in the air. Setting my ain heid all a-scramble.’

  I felt nothing at all. ‘What do you think it is? Some kind of magic?’

  ‘I dinna ken. When we move on, mebbe it will fade.’

  ‘Without Ean,’ said Silva, ‘we don’t know the way to Callan Stanes.’

  ‘Once we’re over the border Whisper can fly ahead and find it for us.’

  ‘Leaving you wi’ nae guard?’ protested Whisper. ‘That wasna the arrangement we made, back at Shadowfell.’

  ‘Silva and I will manage. We’ll have to.’

  Further south there were just as many folk on the roads, and once we had to dive into the bushes to avoid being seen by a group of Enforcers riding by. My heart did not slow until they were well out of sight. We skirted another village and saw, at a distance, a group of men being addressed by a fellow in Erevan’s colours.

  Later in the day, as we passed by a farm, a woman feeding chickens in the yard offered us freshly baked bread. I accepted, giving her two coppers from my small supply.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, slipping them into her pouch. ‘It’s hard with the lads gone. Every bit helps.’

  ‘The lads – your sons?’

  ‘Aye, three of them, all gone off with the chieftain’s men. An opportunity, the fellow said.’ She pursed her lips. ‘They’d need to come home with a full purse to make it worthwhile. Tending the place on my own isn’t easy.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not for long,’ I said, trying not to sound too inquisitive.

  ‘The fellows that came for them, they weren’t saying much. I’m hoping the boys will be back before summer. Special forces, that was what the fellow called it. Sounded like fighting.’

  ‘Do your sons have fighting skills, then?’ I asked the woman.

  ‘I raised them to be farmers, not fighters. But they’re strong, the three of them. Big sturdy lads. Nobody who knows them would dare speak to their mother the wrong way.’ There was a weary pride in her voice.

  ‘I hope they’ll be back soon, safe and sound. Now we’d best be moving on. Thank you again for the bread, it smells wonderful.’

  ‘I baked more than I can eat on my own.’ She gave a crooked smile. ‘I forget, sometimes, that they’re gone. Big boys, big appetites. Travel safe.’

  We crossed the border onto Glenfalloch land. The terrain became hilly, with more vegetation and therefore better cover. From atop a rise I thought I glimpsed a fortress tower, perhaps the stronghold of the regional chieftain, Gormal, whom we knew to be a supporter of the rebel movement. Ean had said Callan Stanes was not far inland from that place.

  With the goal in sight, we took even greater care, keeping right off any major tracks. Being over the border did not mean everyone we met would be a friend. The king’s men visited every part of Alban; they had eyes and ears everywhere. Besides, Silva and I were two young women travelling ostensibly alone, with no men to guard us. Neither of us was of strapping build. Whisper’s concern was justified. When he was not close by, we were vulnerable.

  We had another problem: Piper. Since the day of Snow’s death and Ean’s departure, the little one had been restless. He was hardly sleeping, and he often clutched his head with both hands as if the pain were a monster threatening to eat its way out. Silva tended to him as best she could, but the need to keep on walking meant Piper was confined to her pouch for long periods of the day. We’d be going along quietly when he would suddenly shriek, making us both jump. Or he would break into plaintive squeaks that sounded like sobbing. This was perilous for all of us, for his voice was penetrating and strange. It could not be explained away as a mouse or a little bird or a strange insect.

  Whenever we stopped to rest I spoke to him, using the drum, explaining how important it was that he keep quiet, asking him to show me again what was wrong. He tried, repeating the same sequence of gestures, but I could not understand. Something was making his head hurt; something that came from two directions at once. Beyond that, I could not make
sense of it. Whisper, too, was disturbed. His head felt odd, he said; aching and confused. But he assured me he was well enough to get us safely to the rebel base.

  We reached a place that offered good cover, on a hill forested with beech trees showing their first spring green. The only path forward was up over the top, where the terrain became open and rocky. Before we went on, Whisper said, he would fly ahead and search out a path all the way to Callan Stanes.

  He left early. Silva and I refilled our water skins from a nearby stream, then rested in the shade of the trees, taking turns to stay alert for trouble. Piper dozed on Silva’s knee. The sun moved higher; the day warmed. I dreamed of the farmhouse Ean had spoken of, and how good it would be to eat a hot meal and sleep under proper shelter, even if it was only for a few nights. Once we’d delivered Silva and Piper safely there, Whisper and I would be moving on south, seeking out the Master of Shadows.

  The Master was full of tricks. I knew that; I’d met him. Perhaps he did have the key to protection against cold iron. But perhaps he wouldn’t want to give it to me. Maybe he’d been lying all along, and there was no such charm.

  Time passed. The sun came close to its midpoint. I’d expected Whisper back long ago. And something else was troubling me.

  ‘He should be here by now.’ Silva was feeding Piper, dipping her finger in honey water and letting him lick it.

  ‘Mm. I’m going to climb the hill and see if I can catch sight of him. You stay here with Piper.’

  ‘Neryn.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can you smell smoke?’

  I had been able to smell it for a while. ‘I’ll go up and have a look,’ I said, keeping my voice calm. My mind was already racing ahead, and I did not like what it was telling me.

  I made my way up the hill. Above the tree cover the air was full of floating ash, and there was a strange haze in the sky. After a challenging climb – Tali would have been proud of me – I reached a level area at the top and looked south.

  There was a broad valley before me, lying east to west across our intended path. Smoke lay over that place; down there, something was burning. Some distance beyond the valley, the fortress tower that was our marker came in and out of sight through the haze, like something from a half-remembered dream. My skin prickled; I felt the familiar touch of magic. There was no fire in the valley, but something else, something moving, something out of place. I could not make sense of it. I only knew it terrified me.