Raven Flight (10 page)

“Aye, if we’re no’ squashed under the boots o’ king’s men before the summer’s ower,” muttered Vetch.

With impeccable timing, Milla came back at that moment bearing a deep bowl from which fragrant steam arose. My mouth watered. “I couldn’t help overhearing some of what you were saying,” Milla said, setting the bowl down in the circle and fishing a wooden ladle from her apron pocket. She had an eye on Vetch, whose wrinkled face wore an intractable look. “Of course, you’ll have noticed that not all of us go away over the summer. There’s always work here preparing for the next cold season. Drying and salting fish, not to speak of catching them; trips out onto the fells to find and gather herbs; picking and preserving the berries that can be found in the valley. Sewing, mending, cleaning, storing things away. And, of course, there must be someone here to keep the place ready when our people pass through and to relay messages. Usually that’s Eva and me. I imagine it’s the same for you folk; always something to be done back home. So you can’t all go.”

“Oh, aye,” said Vetch. He looked somewhat relieved.

“Now, who will try my hot pot?” Milla asked as Eva brought a stack of little bowls. “There’s plenty for all. I used the plump hens someone very kindly left at the door this morning, and I’ve stuffed them with mutton-fat porridge. It’s a tasty old dish my grandmother taught me to cook. Brasal, will you fetch the mead, please, and pour everyone another cup?”

I think perhaps we wore down their last resistance with our good hospitality. All of us ate, the rebels from larger bowls, and it was indeed a hearty midwinter feast, the sort of meal I remembered from my early childhood. The fire crackled on the hearth. One of the Northies had brought out a miniature set of pipes, whose sound blended surprisingly well with that of the wee harp. Little Don found his fiddle, others added whistle and drum, and Brasal was persuaded to sing. He started with a sad ballad and followed it with the goose ditty, which the Northies greeted with riotous applause.

At a certain point Regan and Bearberry went out into the hallway, where they stood in earnest conversation for some time. A little later, Tali went to join them, and then Woodrush. I stayed where I was, between Sage and Red Cap, enjoying the music and good fellowship. If Regan needed me, he would call me.

Red Cap’s infant had fallen asleep, cradled in its father’s arms.

“Does the child have a name yet?” I asked.

Red Cap shook his head. “That’s given at one year old. If they live so long, they’ve a chance of growing up.”

I was silenced. I had never asked him if the child had a mother or where she was. I had assumed the babe was strong, or Red Cap would not have brought him halfway across the highlands, following me.

“Bairnies are rare among our kind, and so doubly precious. The wee one looks robust, I know, but he’s fragile like all of our infants. He’s done well to thrive so long.”

My mind filled with things I could not say. Folk had to make their own choices. If his words had made me sad, it would be wrong to say so. “You’re a brave spirit, Red Cap,” I told him instead, “and a fine father. The wee one is lucky in you.”

Red Cap gave a nod but said nothing.

“You know, don’t you,” Sage said, “that we won’t be traveling with you in springtime, even if we all head west. That fellow, Bearberry, was right—it’s time for us to go back home and make sure Silver and her cronies haven’t undone the good work we started.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“You won’t be on your own,” Sage said. “That fellow of yours might be back from court by then, and if he isn’t, no doubt Regan will give you one of the others as a guard.” She glanced around the chamber, where human folk and fey folk were engaged in a number of animated discussions. Big Don was trying out the harp, which looked like a toy on his knee. Finet sat cross-legged, drawing with a piece of charcoal on a scrap of bark from the woodbox; the five tiny folk were clustered around her, watching and chattering in their high voices.

“I understand.” The thought of bidding Sage and Red Cap farewell made my chest hurt. They had been staunch friends to me, loyal, brave, and true. But even if we were all heading west, I knew it would not be safe for us to travel together.

“Don’t look so downcast, lassie,” said Sage. “We’ll meet again, I know it. Maybe by then I’ll have persuaded Silver to set her doubts aside.”

“Do that, and you can do anything,” said Red Cap.

The fire died down; the midwinter feast was consumed; the mead cups were filled and drained, filled and drained again. The musicians played fast reels and slow laments and a few tunes that were without question of fey origin. Brasal sang a lullaby; he and Bearberry together rendered an old song of farewell. Last, we sang the ancient anthem forbidden by Keldec: the song of truth. Not all of us had singing voices as pleasing to the ear as Brasal’s or Regan’s, and many of us were weary, but when our voices rose as one, fey and human together, I felt the stones of Shadowfell come alive with the power of it. My skin prickled. Tears started in my eyes. The last line seemed to echo on in the chamber long after we fell silent.
My spirit is forever free
.

Then, without another word, the Folk Below collected their belongings and formed a procession as before, Hawkbit leading with the lantern, the others following in turn. Pearl-Wort carried the basket that was our gift to them. Milla had packed up some leftover cakes and other morsels, and these were borne away in the small baskets and bags the Good Folk had brought with them.

Woodrush lingered beside Sage. “Blessings o’ the season on ye, wise woman,” she said, and took Sage’s hands in hers.

“May the White Lady light your footsteps, wise woman,” said Sage, and for an uncanny moment, as they looked into each other’s eyes, they seemed as alike as twins. The moment passed; Woodrush turned toward me.

“Travel safe, Caller,” she said. “There’s a long road ahead o’ ye.”

I bowed my head respectfully. “I hope you too will be safe. Your presence here tonight honors us.”

“Ye comin’?” Vetch looked back over his shoulder at Woodrush. The others had all filed out of the chamber, on their way to the stair.

“Aye, I’m comin’, foolish wee man.” Her tone was affectionate as she moved away.

I got up and followed her out. Regan was standing at the top of the stair. As the Northies passed down, he bade each a grave farewell. For Bearberry he had more words, and the young Northie lingered to talk to him. I thought each had recognized in the other something of himself. Fingal stood by Regan, watching. When our guests were halfway down the stair, they began to sing. This time there were words in it, but they were in a tongue I could not understand. I guessed the song was of renewal, a ritual chant to honor the night of turning, when the wise crone sinks into her long sleep and the bright warrior awakens. Tonight the year began its slow ascent to light. The human folk of Alban had allowed such lore and wisdom to fade
away. Yet here, in this unlikely place, the hand of friendship had been extended between folk long distrustful of each other. We had not only reached a truce, but also found a shared pathway forward.

The last of our visitors vanished below; the light from their lanterns faded and was gone. We stood there in silence for a few moments. Then Fingal, who had hardly said a word all evening, spoke in a tone of awe. “They told me they have healers. Imagine what we could learn from them, given time.”

“Such cooperation did not take place even in the years before Keldec,” Regan mused. “This evening’s work has been truly astonishing. The enchanted map … This is beyond anything I hoped for, Neryn. Bearberry confirmed that some of his kind have the power of flight, and that some can communicate with creatures, including birds. I hardly need tell you what an immense difference that could make to us.”

“Anything they share with us we must use with caution,” I said. “The power of such gifts is balanced by peril.”

“Of course,” Regan said, but there was a light in his eyes that told me his thoughts were far ahead, seeing the day when Alban would be free again.

Tali came strolling through from the dining area, a half smile on her lips. “So,” she said, coming to lean on the wall beside me. “You did it.”

“
I
did it? Hardly.”

“You think they’d have come up here for the first time ever, and eaten our food, and offered us all kinds of help
if we hadn’t had a Caller among us? Come on, Neryn, you’re no fool. It’s your presence that draws them out. It’s your canny ability that’s finally turned them to our way of thinking.”

This thought made me deeply uncomfortable. “All of us did this together—Milla with the food, Eva with the gift, Regan with his stirring speeches, you and your warriors with your readiness to clear the place of iron and do without your weapons for a day. Besides, they spoke of changing times and the Master of Shadows—only a small part of this is my doing.”

All three of my companions were smiling as if I were saying something mildly amusing.

“A Caller,” said Fingal. “Maybe we’re starting to realize what that is. And maybe it’s more than any of us expected.”

IT WAS HARD TO LEAVE SHADOWFELL. FOR SO long I had been without a proper home, without the certainty of enough food and a roof over my head at night. For years my only purpose had been keeping my father out of trouble and surviving one more day. Now I had a purpose so grand it hardly bore thinking about, and it was time to move on with the journey.

The plan was to seek out the Hag of the Isles, then head northward to find the Lord of the North in time to get home to Shadowfell before autumn storms made the mountain tracks impassable. An ambitious plan, with little allowance for the vagaries of the weather or the possibility either Guardian might choose not to cooperate. But it was the only one we had.

Sage and Red Cap, with the child, were already gone, heading west toward their home forests and their own people. They would carry the message out among the Good Folk in their Watch. As for the Folk Below, once they had
made up their minds to help us, they had startled us with the efficiency of their preparations. They had organized their clan into groups that would set out soon to spread the word across the Watch of the North. Bearberry had been up the stairs many times, often with Hawkbit or Woodrush, to discuss strategy with Regan. The rebels had various missions to undertake before midsummer, when folk would return to Shadowfell to report their progress. Regan and Fingal were heading south to meet with a rebel group in Corriedale.

Regan and Fingal. That had been a shock to everyone, and most of all to Tali. She always traveled with Regan as his personal guard, standing at his right hand, keeping him safe. Always. Her presence by his side meant Shadowfell’s leader survived to inspire and invigorate us. There was no doubt his stirring speeches, his bright-eyed enthusiasm, his unswerving dedication to the goal were what kept us all strong.

But when the time had come for Regan to allocate tasks to his team, he had announced that in view of the vital nature of my mission, Tali would be going with me as my guard and protector. Tali hadn’t said a word. It was not her way to lose control in public. But I’d seen her face turn sheet-white. I’d seen her clench her jaw and curl her hands into tight fists. I doubted she’d heard what Regan said next, about how my safety was his first priority, so he was giving me Shadowfell’s most able and versatile warrior as my companion on the road. Had there been any chance Flint would reach Shadowfell in time, he would have been the one to travel
with me; but he had not come yet, and we all knew it was unlikely he would be here at all. Regan did not include him in the plans.

There followed some challenging days. Regan and Tali argued behind closed doors. Tali stalked about with a face so shuttered and grim that nobody but Fingal dared speak to her, and when he did, she snarled at him. Our bedchamber was a place of tight silences and averted eyes. Tali was like a storm confined in a small space, near bursting with wounded fury, but too proud to talk about it save in her private protests to Regan. It was not that she objected to the job of guarding me, Fingal told me, but that she believed Regan would not be safe without her. Since Fingal himself was to be Regan’s guard now, that suggested Tali had a lack of faith in her brother, and I could see that Fingal was somewhat put out by this.

“At least, if Regan is hurt, he’ll have you there to patch him up,” I told him, attempting a joke. Shadowfell was too small to hold Tali’s rage, and everyone was edgy. The only good thing that could come of this was that Shadowfell’s warriors would head out on their expeditions in top fighting condition, thanks to the extreme rigors of their current training. An angry Tali made a fearsome taskmaster.

At a certain point she accepted the inevitable and the arguments ceased. She gave me curt instructions about what to pack and told me, without consultation, which path we’d be taking. She avoided talking to Regan.

He seemed much as usual. He sat down with Bearberry, Hawkbit, and me, and we went over what the Folk Below
had shown us at midwinter. Tali and I both knew the way to Darkwater, a settlement on a western sea loch. But we would not pass through the place where my father had died. Instead, we would make for Pentishead, some miles to the south, and embark on the voyage Twayblade had demonstrated in the nest-boat: out between the inner islands, then to Ronan’s Isle, steering clear of the skerries.