The Waking Land

by Callie Bates

But a small voice in the back of my mind tells me that no matter what I do to align the border, my father and Hugh will still be in prison, and Loyce Eyrlai will still reign as the queen of Eren. The Butcher will still be camped in Cerid Aven, with my mother.

  Whatever I do in the stone circle cannot possibly be enough.

  I push myself over the final lip of rock, onto the bare outcropping. I lean over my knees, panting. My body’s tired from all the activity of the past several days, and my mind isn’t much better. Already, I want this to be over.

  When I straighten, I discover the circle isn’t empty. I startle backward, almost slipping on the stones. I have to windmill my arms to stay upright. The nearest level ground is very far below.

  I look again into the circle.

  What a fool I am. She’s a specter. The woman sitting in the circle came out of the stones—that, or she’s such a vivid memory from the land itself I’m seeing her in physical form. From the cold mountains behind the moon, Wildegarde came…A prickle runs up my spine. Maybe this is Wildegarde, her black hair blown by the wind, cocooned in her dark-blue cloak, waiting to give me the answer I seek. Maybe she will dissolve all these problems, rescue my parents and Hugh, and drive the Ereni from Caeris. Maybe then the knot in my stomach will disappear, along with the burden of responsibility.

  I step forward. My foot scatters some loose pebbles, sending them chattering over the bare stones.

  The woman looks around, then rises, pushing back her cloak so I glimpse the bulk of a broadsword under it, and see the daggers holstered on either hip.

  “Caveadear,” she says, inclining her chin a fraction forward.

  I slow. This is no specter. This isn’t Wildegarde, come to me through the mists of time. This is a young woman about my own age, her face seamed and tough as the rock on which we stand. A woman strong enough to wield a broadsword.

  “I hoped you would hear my presence.” She studies me as she says it, her gaze openly critical. Her accent thickens the words so much I can hardly understand her. If mountains talked, they’d sound like her. “I am Rhia Knoll. My father sent me to tell you we will not lend our aid.”

  “Your father,” I say in my Ereni-tinged Caerisian, and her lip curls at the sound of my voice. “He must be one of the mountain lords.”

  “He is Ingram Knoll, the warden of the mountains.”

  “Oh,” I say stupidly. “Oh.”

  The mountain lords won’t lend their help?

  But we have been counting on them. I need their secrets to understand my magic. They are true Caerisians, tough and stubborn, clinging to the old customs. If anyone wants to be free from Eren, it should be them.

  Except, apparently, it’s not.

  “Why?” I ask, unable to think of a more intelligent question.

  She snorts. “Your revolution has already failed. The Ereni occupy Cerid Aven while you and your supporters sleep out on the ground.”

  “We were betrayed,” I snap. “Someone captured my father. Someone gave us away.”

  She shakes her head, tossing back her hair. “This is what comes of not electing the king in the proper way. You want to bring back Euan Dromahair from across the sea and expect the land to welcome his son? The land knows when we do not have a just king.”

  “The land doesn’t know anything.” I’m spluttering worse than I used to when Denis Falconier goaded me. I have to calm down. I force myself to breathe. “Finn has no bond with the land. It’s me and my father who—”

  “You are wrong,” Rhia Knoll says with stunning arrogance. “The land is older and wiser than you or I. Just because you do not know how to speak to her doesn’t mean she doesn’t hear. She knows Fionnlach Dromahair has not been selected by the majority, and she refuses to subject herself to him.”

  Does this woman believe her own words?

  “How do you know?” I demand.

  Rhia Knoll seems almost smug. “I was raised on this land, unlike you. I know her ways.”

  “Really. That’s marvelous.” I can’t quite keep the sarcasm from my tone. “Why don’t you go back to the mountains, then? It’s so thoughtful of you to inform us of the error of our ways.”

  She narrows her eyes. “My father requests your presence at Dalriada. We will go together, now. We must reach the mountains before the Day of the Dying Year.”

  I will go with this stranger to the Tail Ridge, leaving my friends to fight this war on their own, leaving both my parents captive? I’ve already lost my parents and Hugh to that ill-conceived notion to go to Ida. Who else would we lose if I leave now? Finn and Sophy need me.

  “You must be out of your mind,” I say.

  She gives me a tolerant look. “There is no other way. The Caveadear must come to the mountains. You must be there for the Day of the Dying Year. That is how it is done.”

  “Well, it’s not how I do it. I won’t abandon my people for yours.”

  We stare at each other. Rhia Knoll’s squinted eyes are light, sky-colored, her mouth a hard line. A tracery of blue marks covers her cheeks and forehead, paint that didn’t quite wash off—a recollection of spirals and diamonds.

  “El!” Someone below the ridge calls my name. I turn in time to see Alistar Connell leap up onto the outcropping as lightly as the hound he’s named for. He grins at me, but then he sees Rhia Knoll. A scowl transforms his face.

  “I don’t suppose this means a whole army of mountain lords is waiting on the other side of Barrody?” he says, without greeting her.

  Rhia Knoll folds her arms. They obviously know each other. “This war has not begun in the proper way. A call went out to the clans, but when did the clans vote? The laws say such a war may only be declared by a meeting of the steward of the land, the warden of the mountains, and the king. But you have declared Euan Dromahair king without an election, and the Caveadear declared war without consulting my father—”

  Alistar interrupts her. “The laws also state that the Caveadear has the right to decide a war if the warden and the king cannot be present or if agreement cannot be met.”

  “Only in cases of utmost need,” she shoots back. “When all of Caer-Ys is in danger. We are not in danger of anything but your greed, Dog of Urseach, and the greed of your ‘prince’ and followers!”

  Alistar’s nostrils flare, and he points a finger at her. “You, Rhia Knoll, know nothing up in your mountains but—”

  “Stop it. Both of you.” I can’t tolerate any more of their arguments. “My father may be dead. My mother is captured. Hugh is bound to be executed. It doesn’t matter what the laws say, because clearly Loyce Eyrlai has already declared war on us.” I’m startled to realize that I mean the words. We don’t have a choice; we have to fight, or be destroyed by the Ereni.

  Rhia Knoll purses her lips. She does not seem impressed.

  Alistar gives me a gods-help-us look. He says to Rhia, “So what does your father want?”

  The young woman nods at me. “I am to bring the Caveadear north for the Day of the Dying Year, as is the custom.”

  “I already declined this generous offer,” I say.

  “It is not an offer.” Rhia Knoll looks at me as if I’m simple. “It is what must happen. You will never learn how to wake the land otherwise. We’ve guarded Caer-Ys’s secrets since the invasion, while you lowlanders were prostrating yourselves to our conquerors. If you don’t come to the mountains, you’ll never learn the traditions—or the truth.”

  I bite my lip.

  “But the land is already waking, is it not?” Alistar says, challenge sharp in his voice.

  She gives a reluctant nod.

  “Then your father should come here, and complete the Caveadear’s instruction here.”

  “On a hilltop overlooking a house captured by the Ereni?” Rhia says with scorn.

  Alistar groans. “Not here. That’s not what I mean. We need to move camp.” He pauses. “How did you find us, anyway?”

  She looks superior. “The land guided me. She does not speak to the Cavead
ear alone.”

  As much as I want to shake Rhia Knoll, I am beginning to wonder if she understands the magic of the land better than I do. And why do the laws require the warden of the mountains to declare war as well as the king and the steward of the land? The history books at Cerid Aven mentioned the wardens and the mountain lords, but they never said what they do—as if it’s either too well known to mention, or a secret.

  There’s a lot I need to learn from this irascible woman. But I don’t see how I can without abandoning everyone again.

  “Five days,” Rhia Knoll says. “As is the custom. If the Caveadear will not return with me, then I go alone.”

  —

  WE TRAVEL NORTH as soon as we break our modest camp. Rhia Knoll says that only the principal roads are being watched, and if we keep to the back ways, we should be able to avoid the Ereni. We’ll make for Dearbann, which means “white oak,” the home of the Counts of Lanlachlan and the Hounds of Urseach.

  Again, before we set out, Alistar looks to Finn, and Finn looks to me. “Do you approve, Caveadear?” Finn asks.

  I feel everyone’s eyes on me like a physical weight—and none more critical than Rhia Knoll’s. I clear my throat. Why must I be the one to choose? I suppose the land is supposed to be guiding me, but, unlike yesterday when we crossed the border, all I feel is a humming heartbeat, not the tugging in my sternum.

  “Is it safe?” I ask Alistar.

  He gives a fierce grin. “Even the Butcher of Novarre would think twice before attacking my family.”

  The Hounds growl agreement at his boast. I spread my hand. “Then we must go there.”

  Around midday, our small band encounters another, also fleeing Cerid Aven, and we join company. “My family has room for us all,” Alistar says.

  The following day brings us to Dearbann. It’s east of Barrody, a comfortable tower house that we do, indeed, all manage to squeeze into, side by side with Alistar’s siblings and cousins. Due to the cramped quarters, I am given a room to share with Sophy and Rhia Knoll. There is only one bed. Sophy and I stare at each other across the coverlet woven with entwined dogs and flowers. In the backwoods, it’s customary for people to share beds, but this seems a bit excessive.

  Not to mention Rhia Knoll seems more likely to stab one of us than sleep.

  “I’ll take the floor,” she says conveniently.

  Sophy lets out a breath. I wink at her, and we both try not to giggle.

  Sophy’s still in her cream gown, now rent and splattered by the elements, but Alistar’s sisters arrive with fresh clothing for all of us and the offer of a bath. I eagerly accept a deep-green gown, old-fashioned but pretty enough, made of warm wool. It does not require paniers, and I’m able to stride about freely. Sophy picks a scarlet one, the only thing big enough to fit her tall frame.

  “Here,” I say to Rhia Knoll, selecting an ice-blue gown from the pile. “It’s the exact color of your eyes.”

  She turns up her nose. “A mountain woman doesn’t wear such frippery.”

  I see Sophy biting her lip to keep from laughing, and have to force myself not to look at her. “Do you plan to wear the same clothes until you go back to the mountains? I hope you intend to bathe, at least.”

  “El,” Sophy says, “that’s rude.”

  Rhia Knoll stares between us, then seizes the gown from my hands and storms off, presumably in the direction of the bath.

  “It’s very peculiar, wearing trousers all the time,” I say to Sophy.

  Her eyes crinkle. “Is it? You seem to favor them yourself.”

  I decide not to correct this misapprehension. Trousers are quite comfortable and practical for botanical work and walking in the woods, as well as for escaping cities in fear of your life. Indeed, if I had to worry about my safety all the time, perhaps I would dress just like Rhia Knoll.

  When we gather in the great hall later, Rhia is wearing the blue dress—with the daggers still strapped to her hips, naturally. She looks almost dainty, though the gown reveals the lines of hardened muscle in her arms. I didn’t realize how small she was, before.

  Finn and Alistar have also bathed and changed, and news has arrived from Barrody. It seems Hugh is being kept in the garrison prison, under watch. He’s due to be executed when the new Duke of Caeris comes to Barrody in five days’ time.

  “New duke?” I say, my chest tight with the effort of suppressing my futile anger.

  “Yes,” says Alistar’s sister Oonagh, who is brisk and competent, running the Connell household with the efficiency of a drill sergeant. “With the war, the queen’s named someone new to govern the dukedom. It seems the governor they installed to replace Ruadan didn’t work out, since we were revolting against him.”

  “The Butcher, no doubt.” I feel ill. “Is he still at Cerid Aven?”

  “So far as we know. They’ve sent out a search for Demoiselle Dunbarron.”

  Sophy flinches, and Alistar gives her a steadying look.

  “So we have five days,” Finn says, “to get Hugh out of prison. And then we need to find Duke Ruadan.”

  We all look at him.

  His brow is rumpled, his nostrils flared. He stares around at us—our golden prince, clinging tight to his principles. In this moment, I could love him.

  “You’re not thinking we will let Hugh die, surely,” he says. “Or Ruadan.”

  Alistar smacks the table. “Of course not.”

  Oonagh gives him a quelling look. “That’s very well, Your Highness, but Barrody is heavily guarded. To attack it, we’d need the full force of our Caerisian army, including the mountain lords.” She does not look at Rhia. “We can’t possibly assemble them in five days. We can’t negotiate with Eren, either, having nothing to bargain with. And Duke Ruadan has been taken south to Laon, well out of our reach.”

  The skin at the back of my neck tenses.

  “No,” Oonagh continues. “Hugh Rathsay understood the risk when he wrote songs inciting the Old Rebellion—when he took over gathering intelligence for Duke Ruadan, and spreading sedition through pamphlets and stories. And Ruadan Valtai also understood the risk when he crossed the border into Eren. He welcomed it. He would not ask to be rescued.”

  I close my eyes, my hands curling into fists. First they tell me to let Guerin and Hensey and Victoire go. Then my mother. Now my father—because this is his choice, because he, too, knew what might happen to him. And Hugh, too. I can’t stand it. I’m going to crumple, or I’m going to grab a musket myself and lead a band to Barrody.

  “We would do better to start gathering our army,” Oonagh is saying. “The people of Caeris are already rising to your Dragon, Your Highness, and to word of the Caveadear. Even the Ereni are muttering about rebellion—there’s a girl spreading pamphlets through Eren’s towns, telling them how much better life will be under King Euan. We need to bring all our people together.”

  Finn bows his head. “I understand. But a man’s life is at stake. Hugh has done so much for Caeris. It is difficult to sacrifice him, even if he’s willing.”

  Rhia Knoll folds her arms. “If it’s too hard, it’s not too late to go back to Ida. The people of Caeris never elected your father king. You don’t have to claim responsibility for a people you don’t even know.”

  Finn’s eyes widen. Even Oonagh gasps.

  “The prince is here to fight for Caeris,” I say, no longer shocked by anything that comes out of Rhia Knoll’s mouth. “And he’s going to stay because that is what decent people do. Decent people don’t start rebellions and then abandon them. Decent people don’t leave their countrymen to die, even if they don’t know them. Even if they haven’t been elected by them.”

  As soon as I say it, I realize it could as easily apply to me. I almost ran to Ida. I almost abandoned the people who look to me for their future, for their hope. If I go to the mountains with Rhia, I leave Finn alone leading the rebellion; I leave all our followers without the promise of my power as Caveadear. Even if I can’t do all Wildegarde did, I can at
least do something. And if I go with Rhia, I won’t be here when I’m needed. I could return from the mountains to find Finn and Alistar and Sophy in chains as well as my parents and Hugh. I could circle back to the same disaster.

  I understand my responsibility, now. I don’t have a choice.

  Rhia Knoll stares at me. The blue gown does nothing to soften or diminish her. If anything, its color only serves to make her look more uncompromising.

  “Thank you, El,” says Finn, touching my arm. “And you’re right. I will not abandon my people.”

  The words my people ring out. Alistar begins to applaud, and so does Sophy, and soon they all are clapping. I press my hands together. Even Rhia makes a small inclination of her head—more likely in defeat than appreciation.

  “I will do everything in my power to see the people of Caeris achieve their freedom,” Finn says. “With the steward of the land beside me.”

  I look at him. A week ago, I would have blushed and shook my head. Now I find myself beginning to smile. I am the steward of the land. If Finn wants me beside him, that’s as it should be. It is my rightful place.

  They’re clapping for me, smiling, whooping. Finn lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. Then he holds our clasped hands up together, in a fist.

  “The prince and the Caveadear!” Alistar shouts.

  Rhia Knoll watches me. I meet her eyes. Let her look. I was born for this. I’m more than just Ruadan Valtai’s daughter, who grew up as a hostage in Laon—a clever girl with a green thumb. Already this war has claimed my father, my mother, Hugh, and my home at Cerid Aven; it has claimed my comfortable life in Laon, my friends and nursemaid. I won’t let Loyce Eyrlai take anything more from me.

  I find myself smiling at Rhia Knoll. I feel my smile showing the points of my teeth. She raises her eyebrows, but looks away.

  —

  FINN FINDS ME in the evening, drinking a tisane in a cushioned window seat. The deep recess, half hidden from view, is as close to being alone as I’ve been in days. “May I?” He gestures to the cushioned seat beside me. I scoot over, and he sits.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he begins.

  I nod. “About Hugh. And my father.”