The Waking Land

by Callie Bates

  But when we approach the house, long after nightfall, Alistar calls a halt. Our exhausted horses pull toward their stables, and we have to hold them back. Lights burn in the sashed windows that face toward the garden. I don’t see the problem until Alistar points at the drive. The wink of bayonets shines, strapped on shoulders; a swinging lantern glows.

  “They could be ours,” Finn begins.

  But we all hear it. My brain, dumb with lack of sleep, registers the words slowly. The guards on duty are singing—an Ereni song.

  No. Ereni guardsmen can’t be here. Loyce can’t have sent them already.

  My mother. Sophy. Hugh. They’re all here.

  “Someone knew we were leaving,” Alistar says, his voice soft and tight. “Someone planned all this.”

  He looks at me, and my irrational heartbeat spikes into my ears. He can’t think it was me—can he? Does he think, because I betrayed them as a child and lived as a hostage in Laon, I’d actually give them up when my own life is at stake?

  But he says, “Your ambassador.”

  “Jahan wouldn’t,” says Finn, but the protest sounds weak even to me.

  I say nothing. Alistar is watching me, not Finn, as if despite my fears I am the one he trusts, the one he believes. But all I know is that we can’t afford to trust Jahan. Until he’s proven innocent, we have to treat him as the enemy. It makes my stomach curdle, even as I suspect Alistar is right.

  I wish my father were here. He would know what to do. I don’t want the responsibility for this, for people’s lives.

  Alistar seems to be waiting for me to speak. In fact, they all are. I look around at their faces, smeared with gunpowder and mud, squinting from exhaustion, but still ready to take action at the first order. My order, not Finn’s. Perhaps it’s because my father was their real leader. Or perhaps it’s because Finn himself seems to be waiting for me to make the decision.

  Or perhaps it’s because I called up the fog to protect us. I led us safely into Caeris. I used the magic of the land to save us.

  I swallow. But I was born for this, wasn’t I?

  “Let’s see what we can find out,” I say at last. “Alistar, you and I will do reconnaissance. Finn, take the others to make camp.”

  They all move to obey my orders, and I breathe out in relief that I seem to have said the right thing.

  Alistar and I go alone across the lawn, running from oak tree to pine. I wish for some of Jahan’s concealing magic, and then I wonder if Jahan has even lied about that. What if he’s a witch hunter only pretending to be a sorcerer? It makes no sense, and yet I can’t shake the thought. My stomach twists, sick and angry. I seize a broken oak branch from the ground and let it grow in my hands, sprouting leaves and shoots, the way I used to in the greenhouse, but openly now. It makes me feel better, more solid. More real.

  We creep up to the low windows fronting the salon. It doesn’t seem that the Ereni stationed guards on this side of the house. Evidently they expected our approach to come from the obvious route: the front drive. Or maybe they didn’t expect us at all. By now, they must know we planned to be gone several days.

  Shielding my face with the leafy bough, I peer into the salon. The darkness helps to hide me. Hopefully anyone glancing out the window will think I’m just a bush, blown by the wind into view.

  Strangers occupy the familiar room along with my mother. She sits upright at the clavichord, her back to us. My heart leaps at the sight of her.

  Standing to her right, I see Sophy, clearly preparing to sing, and equally clearly unhappy about it. Her face is set and stern; her hands press hard together. Her eyes flicker toward the window. Does she see me here? I sink lower to the ground.

  Just in time—the gentleman beside her turns to look as well.

  The Butcher. I might have known. I utter a curse worthy of Alistar.

  “What’s that?” he whispers.

  “The Butcher of Novarre. Whoever betrayed us told him, and he’s in there with my mother and Sophy—”

  Alistar grasps my arm while I bite down on my lip to keep from shouting my rage. Then he takes the branch and peers into the salon himself. He’s back down in a moment. “I don’t see Hugh.”

  “He’s a wanted man. There’s a price on his head from the first revolution. He took the blame when my father…” Tears choke my nose and eyes; I’m so frustrated I strike the wall with my open hand.

  “They’ll have him in custody, then.” Alistar’s tone is pragmatic.

  “Probably.” First Guerin, then Hensey and Victoire, and now my father and Hugh. I can’t bear this. I fight to keep my breath under control. “Unless he escaped.”

  “He might have, but only if he knew they were coming.”

  “How did they even get in? I thought we’d put up defenses, I thought people were mobilizing—” My voice is rising again. I pull the words back.

  Alistar shakes his head. “There’s no fortress guarding Cerid Aven. The queen’s men can walk in if they want to. The question,” he says without humor, “is whether we’ll let them back out again.”

  I strike the wall again as Alistar crawls away into the darkness. I’m about to follow when a shadow splits the light at the window. Someone’s looking out. I flatten my back against the wall, my heartbeat jerking an unsteady rhythm. They’ll see Alistar. They’ll see me. At least Alistar’s got the branch. I’ve got nothing. I could call fog again, but they might still glimpse my silhouette when I stand.

  I roll my eyes as far to the left as I can. Still all I can make out is the imprint of a shadow blocking the light.

  Across the lawn, Alistar glances back at me. I see the pale shape of his face, and know whoever’s standing in the window must see it, too, if they’re looking closely.

  Pray all the gods it’s not the Butcher.

  It must not be. Alistar stands up, waving at the window. I crane my neck and glimpse Sophy, her hand raised to the glass, just before she ducks out of sight.

  I breathe out in relief. At least it’s not Sophy who betrayed us and invited the Ereni in.

  I jump to my feet and run.

  Alistar’s waiting for me beneath the nearest oak. I collapse against the trunk, panting. My father, my mother, Sophy, Hugh, Guerin, Hensey, Victoire—who will they take next? How can we possibly stop them? I dig my fingers into the oak’s bark. It’s the only thing that seems to control the terrible feeling of impotence mixed with rage.

  Alistar watches the house, chewing on his lip. “I hope she saw me. She’s probably praying for her life right now. If they know who she is, there’s no chance for her. Gods!”

  I blink at him, startled out of my anger. “What are you talking about?”

  “If they know who her father is, she’d disappear faster than you can say royal bastard.”

  I draw in my breath. “Sophy’s father is the Old Pretender?” It shocks me, but it shouldn’t—because it all makes sense. Her odd attitude toward Finn, why my father would take on a ward in the first place, her pride despite her non-noble name. “Does Finn know?”

  “It doesn’t seem like it. I’m glad you didn’t know. If you didn’t, maybe the Butcher doesn’t.”

  My skin goes cold. “We have to get her out of there.”

  We have to get her out before the Butcher realizes he’s got a prize on his hands: Euan Dromahair’s bastard daughter and her royal Caerisian blood.

  —

  AROUND MIDNIGHT, THE lights finally go out. The cold is gathering beneath the oaks; I can’t stop shivering. Finn and the Hounds have made camp up the hill, as close to the old stone circle as they could manage. Alistar went to look in on them and returned; I refused to leave sight of the house. If Hugh is indeed gone, we can’t lose Sophy and my mother as well. Alistar was away so long I began to worry that the Ereni guards had captured him. He returned at last, out of breath and with a sack of food and water. “Finn made a good decision, camping near the stones,” he said. “They will protect us if we need protecting.”

  I loo
ked at him.

  “The land conceals those in danger, if you call upon her,” he said. “It’s more reliable near the old stones. And with you being the Caveadear, the power combined should make us as safe as we can hope for.”

  I haven’t asked him what, exactly, he expects me to do. Tiredness has stolen my voice. Tiredness, and fear.

  They’ve taken my father. They’ve taken our house.

  Can we still raise a revolution, without my father or Hugh?

  Alistar stands up, shaking me out of my reverie. I sit upright, my blood pounding me alert.

  “Wait,” he says.

  We watch the lights gleam briefly in the upper windows: my mother’s room, the stateroom where Finn slept until two nights ago, and two more along the hallway. Soldiers call out in the front drive, their Ereni voices clipped and brisk compared with the Caerisian accents I’ve already become accustomed to.

  “Changing of the guard,” Alistar notes. “We’ll have to go in through the kitchen.”

  My stomach is churning. “Or the conservatory.”

  “Yes. No one would expect that, would they?”

  I climb to my feet, trying to shake my tired, cold limbs awake. It doesn’t do much good. A significant, and foolish, part of me wants to go in and sleep in my own bed, forgetting this revolution and my fear.

  “Where do you think they’re holding Hugh?” I ask to distract myself.

  “Could be anywhere. We’ll find Soph first. She’ll know.”

  Soph? How well do Alistar Connell and Sophy Dunbarron know each other?

  The light in my mother’s window goes out.

  Another remains lit, in the staterooms where Finn slept. It must be the Butcher. He seems like the sort of person who doesn’t need to sleep, not being quite like normal humans in habits or humanity.

  Alistar starts forward, stops. I follow so closely I nearly run into him. He holds up his arm to keep me back.

  A shape moves in the darkened conservatory windows. I hold my breath. As we watch, a door silently opens, and a figure in a dark cloak steps out onto the portico. I glimpse the long white line of her neck, the pale peek of lace on her sleeves.

  Sophy gathers her skirts and runs across the lawn.

  I stare up at the lighted window, willing the Butcher not to part the curtains and look out.

  Unable to hold himself back any longer, Alistar lurches into a run, meeting Sophy halfway across the lawn. She gasps, then grabs his arm, and he pulls her to the safety of our trees. In another moment they’re here. Safe. I throw my arms around Sophy’s neck. She hugs me back, panting.

  “It was so easy,” she’s saying. She sounds as though she’s trying to hold in hysterical laughter. “They don’t have guards posted in the house. It’s as if they think we’re welcome guests at someone’s country estate! Or as if we women aren’t bright enough to think of simply walking out the door.”

  She’s still wearing the gown I glimpsed her in earlier, the cream confection she had on the other night. It is probably the least practical thing I can think of for escaping through the rugged land of Caeris, but I won’t say anything. What I took for a cloak is, in fact, a thick brocade curtain stripped from a window.

  “I said I was going to bed and then hid in the linen closet. And when everyone else had gone, I walked out! It was so easy.”

  Alistar meets my eyes, as much as he can, in the darkness.

  “Sophy,” I say, “we’ll get you to camp. But what about my mother? What about Hugh?”

  Her breath catches just long enough for me to hear it. Then she says, “Don’t worry about Lady Teofila. She’s being treated like the guest of honor at a rural hunting party. Lord Gilbert loves music.”

  Alistar is quiet. I cannot speak. Is Sophy suggesting we leave my mother at Cerid Aven?

  “And Hugh?” Alistar says at length.

  “They took him straight to Barrody.” Sophy goes silent, then, and I feel a tremor run up her arm.

  I’m going to be sick. So they’ll lock Hugh up at Barrody and pretend to administer “justice.” But it will not be justice. Justice would mean a trial, a hearing, an uncertain outcome. We all know Loyce will have him executed. I run a hand through my hair, trying to calm myself enough to think rationally, but I can’t stop trembling.

  “Well,” Alistar says on a long sigh. “It is a risk to go in for Lady Teofila.”

  “She’s next door to the Butcher. You wouldn’t stand a chance. I don’t think the man sleeps.”

  Silence. My breath rattles, too loud, through my open mouth.

  “Let’s go, then,” Alistar says quietly.

  “We can’t!” I burst out. “I won’t leave my mother at the mercy of the Butcher of Novarre. I won’t! What’s the use of my magic if we can’t get her out?”

  I turn away, but Sophy grabs my arm, pulling me back between her and Alistar. “El, your mother’s all right. Believe me.”

  “I just don’t understand—”

  “Listen.” Sophy holds me by the shoulders. Her voice is low and firm. “I’ve known your mother for fourteen years. Fourteen years you haven’t known her. I know her better than you. And I’m saying, she will be fine.”

  “But when they find you’re gone, he’ll hold her for ransom. He’ll threaten her, to get us to come for her, and then he’ll kill her if it doesn’t work. I know the Butcher. You know my mother, but I know him.”

  “He won’t harm her,” Sophy insists. “Teofila swears he won’t. She…She trusts him, for some reason. And he likes music. He wants her to play études for him.”

  This is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. The Butcher is not going to hold back from using my mother as a pawn because he likes listening to her play études.

  “She’s delusional!” I hiss.

  “She’s not. Your mother is the most rational person I know.”

  Before I can point out that this seems quite unlikely, given the circumstances, Alistar says quietly, “Look.”

  We both turn. The light has vanished from the stateroom, but appeared in the conservatory. Sophy gasps. It floats closer to the door, the figure of a man just visible holding it. The door opens. He steps outside.

  I hear a low buzzing, cold and prickling in my ears.

  He’s got the witch stone.

  “Hello?” he calls out into the night, in an urbane voice, as if it’s quite ordinary to invite your enemies to come out of the woods and have tea with you. “Is anyone there?”

  I drop to the ground, scrabbling in the dirt. I don’t know what I’m looking for, I just know that I have to make contact with the soil of Caeris, or the witch stone’s ringing in my ears will drive me to distraction.

  Above me, Sophy slowly draws her curtain-cloak over her face. I see Alistar reach for her hand, and how she returns a warm squeeze.

  The land pulses, steadying me, driving out the buzzing in my ears. I let myself sigh a little in relief. We are wind, I think. We are still as the trees themselves. And it seems as though my bones and skin stiffen like bark, as if my feet turn a little woody and my veins start to flow with water instead of blood.

  The Butcher turns and goes back into the house. The buzzing stops.

  “Come on.” Sophy and Alistar begin to run. I let myself stare at the house for half a breath, but it’s no use. The Butcher knows we’re here. We have to go. I scramble to my feet and hurry after them, leaving my mother behind.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I come awake too fast, not knowing what startled me from sleep. The forest is quiet around us; I hear only the even breathing of the others, rolled up in cloaks and coats, the snort and stamp of the horses. Alistar mumbles in his sleep. Off to my left someone hums softly to himself—the Hound who’s on guard. A single star winks above me between the boughs of the firs, almost faded to invisibility in the lightening sky.

  Beneath me, the land shifts and thrums. It almost seems as if it, too, is dreaming. As I relax, images float to me, a hundred men and women climbing the Sentry Rock in
procession. Their faces blur from time, but I feel the pressure of their feet. Then they slide back into forgetfulness and I remember instead the stones being tugged uphill, partly by strength and partly by magic. But I cannot see who built the circle. Memory of them is lost to time.

  I sit up, and the present rights itself. The Hound on watch glances over at me. I manage a smile, pushing myself to my feet. The crowd of sleepers burrowed together in the forest appears vulnerable, almost eerie. We all slept here last night, so fragile.

  I look down at their sleeping faces and remember how they all looked to me last night for direction, even though Alistar and Finn are more accustomed to being leaders. But I am the steward of the land. These people belong to the land, and, therefore, they’re my responsibility.

  It’s a strange feeling.

  I step over Sophy’s legs and onto the path to the hilltop. The forest lies so still about me. I seem to feel the delicate weight of each fallen leaf, the twist of tree roots into the soil, the rustle of owls’ wings. I am aware of it all when I look sideways in my mind, beyond and behind my thoughts. Then the awareness vanishes when I start to think about Jahan and my parents and the disaster that may be our revolution.

  I lost my chance to escape, if I ever really had it. Who knows, Jahan might have simply handed me over to the Butcher—or maybe he’s being watched so closely we would never have had a chance.

  In any case, I’m here now. I can’t leave. There’s nowhere left to run to, and no choice that wouldn’t mean deserting this land and my people.

  My people. Another strange thought. I’m still more Ereni than I am Caerisian, at least in my mind, but maybe the truth is that I’ve always belonged to Caeris, too.

  Does that mean this revolution is my responsibility, too?

  I don’t know how to answer that question, so I keep walking. The hill grows steeper. My calves and thighs strain. I’m not sure what to do when I reach the top of the hill, but maybe the land itself will tell me. Maybe it will remind me, through its own memories, how to wake it, how to align the border for its protection.