The Tower of Ravens (28 page)

“Lovely,” Ashelma said. She helped a drowsy Maisie down from the pony-trap and up the stairs. Edithe and Felice followed her eagerly, Nina bringing up the rear more slowly, carrying the heavy weight of her sleeping child.

“I will stable my horse myself,” Rhiannon said.

“Of course,” the girl answered. “What a bonny beast she is! So tall and finely made, and with such magnificent long horns. I have never seen a horse like her.”

“No‘ many like her,” Rhiannon said.

“No,” the girl agreed. “A rare beast indeed. Ye and her are akin, I can see that.”

They had walked round the side of the house and in through a stable door as they spoke, and so when Rhiannon looked up in sudden keen interest, she was able to see the other girl clearly in the light of the lanterns hanging on either wall.

Rhiannon’s first thought was one of surprise. She had thought the other girl young and beautiful but now she realized she was at least six years older than Rhiannon, and quite short and plump, a big-boned young woman with mousy-brown hair, a round face and fresh, rosy skin. She looked with great frankness and openness at Rhiannon, however, and as soon as she spoke again, the illusion of beauty returned, for her voice was so warm and merry, and her smile so wide and friendly. “My name is Annis. I am Ashelma’s apprentice.”

“My name is Rhiannon,” she answered, hearing the ring of pride in her own voice.

“And ye have tamed a winged horse,” Annis said admiringly. “Och, the town was full o‘ it. I am so glad ye came to stay the night here for I would have been sad indeed to miss my chance to see your bonny horse and meet with ye. I could no’ come to hear Nina the Nightingale sing, for I couldna leave the children, so I was hoping ye would all come home with Ashelma.”

“Children?” Rhiannon asked.

Annis had been swiftly unharnessing the pony from the trap, rubbing it down with a cloth and filling its bucket with grain. All her movements were quick and neat, and she was surprisingly light on her feet for such a big-boned girl. Rhiannon noticed she wore the white luminous stone on the middle finger of her right hand that they all seemed to wear, as well as one made of some dark green stone.

She nodded. “Aye, we run an orphanage here, ye see. We have two bairns from Ardarchy, but the others are all from across the river. No‘ all are orphans. Some were brought here by their parents for safekeeping. Mainly boys. For some reason it is boys that are in the most danger over there, we do no’ ken why.”

Annis pumped some fresh water into a bucket for Blackthorn, who had settled comfortably into a straw-filled stall, her head drooping drowsily, and then quickly checked the water buckets of the other animals. Apart from the shaggy pony Drud, there were a tall chestnut mare, three goats, a tabby cat, and a large number of fat hens with glossy feathers.

“It snows heavily here in winter,” Annis explained, “and so it is easier to keep them all under the one roof and close to the house. The hens have had to learn not to lay their eggs under the horses’ hooves but otherwise they are all friends and get on well.”

She led the way through an internal doorway into a long fire-lit room. Overhead were carved wooden beams holding up an arched ceiling, and tall gothic windows looked out on to the garden all along one side. An immense scarred table ran down the centre of the room, decorated with fat, sweet-scented candles and vases of spring flowers. Around the fire at the far end were drawn some deep, shabby, cushioned chairs where Nina and the witch Ashelma were sitting, drinking tea and talking like old friends. Another cat lay sleeping on Ashelma’s lap and by her feet was a large hairy mass which, on closer inspection, proved to be three dogs, one of them a huge deerhound and another a tiny white terrier, smaller than the cat. The other was some kind of mongrel, spotted and brindled and patched with black, and missing one leg. An owl sat hunched on one of the rafters, while a bandaged hare lay sleeping in a box by the wall.

Maisie, Edithe and Felice were all sitting curled together on a couch, covered by a soft blanket. Only Edithe was still awake, and she had her head pillowed on her hand and her cup resting in her lap, looking as if she would slip off into sleep at any moment.

Annis led Rhiannon to the only remaining chair, made her sit and poured her a cup of some kind of pale, flower-scented hot tea. She sipped at it suspiciously.

“Chamomile,” Annis said, smiling. “It will help you sleep. Go on, drink it up. Ye all look worn out.” She sat down on the ground at Rhiannon’s feet, fondling the spotted ear of the three-legged mongrel, and nodded at her encouragingly. Rhiannon drank obediently.

Ashelma turned to her and smiled. “I was just telling the others about all the animals. They think I keep some kind o‘ menagerie but indeed it is no’ my fault. Annis collects wounded animals but somehow, once they are healed, they do no‘ wish to leave. The only creature that is mine is Strixa the owl, and believe me, it is only because o’ the deep love she bears me that she tolerates all the other animals. Particularly Serena the hare, our newest guest. We have to keep a close eye on Strixa in case she forgets herself and swoops on her for her supper.”

The owl hooted contemptuously and spat a hard pellet towards the sleeping hare, who at once sat up, her long ears twitching nervously.

“The orphanage is Annis’s idea also,” Ashelma went on. “I do no‘ ken quite how it happened, but we now have nine boys and one girl staying here with us. Most are from across the river. Nina, I do no’ wish to alarm ye but ye must ken that it is dangerous for little boys over there. All o‘ the murdered bairns were boys, most around five or six years auld. Quite a few o’ our lads were brought here by their parents for safekeeping. I wish ye would reconsider crossing the Stormness. I ken ye wish to reach the capital in time for the royal wedding, but surely your wee laddie’s safety is more important?”

Nina was white. “That’s no‘ fair, Ashelma,” she said angrily. “Ye must ken Roden is the most important thing in the world to me. O’ course I feel anxious with all these tales o‘ lads going missing and being found murdered. But we are only passing through. In two days we’ll be gone. I think Iven and I can keep Roden safe till then. We shallna let him out o’ our sight.”

“I’m sorry, I dinna mean to offend ye,” Ashelma said.

Nina took a deep breath. “That’s all right,” she said after a moment. “The fact is, Ashelma, we did no‘ choose to come this way lightly. If our only concern was getting back to Lucescere in time for the wedding, we would’ve gone the usual way. We have plenty o‘ time, the wedding is no’ until midsummer.”

Ashelma nodded, looking an enquiry.

“Nay, the truth is we were forced to change our plans. As we came through Barbreck-by-the-Bridge, we found the body o‘ a murdered Yeoman, one o’ His Highness’s most trusted and beloved men. He had been beaten and tortured cruelly afore he died. Both Iven and I kent him well. There will have to be an enquiry into his death. His Highness will be most anxious for us to make our report, and Connor’s sister… she will want to ken all we can tell her.”

“How terrible!” Ashelma exclaimed. “I’m sorry, I dinna realise.”

“How could ye?” Nina asked. “Ye must see now that we shall save more than a week in the travelling coming this way. And I must admit it was in my mind to try to find the Scrying Pool at the Tower o‘ Ravens and use it to speak to His Highness.”

“Och, nay, ye must no‘ do that,” Ashelma said. “The tower is haunted, do ye no’ ken? Few who go into the ruin come out again, and those that do are stark raving mad, they say. The ghosts there are malevolent and cruel, and hate the living.”

Nina frowned. “I have heard that,” she admitted. “I was hoping it was all an exaggeration, however.”

“Och, nay,” Ashelma said. “It is all true. And only getting worse, it seems. The land that lies beneath the Tower o‘ Ravens has been an unhappy place since the Day o’ Betrayal but recently it seems the whole valley is cursed. No-one is safe, no‘ man, woman or child. Particularly not young boys. Nina, in the twenty-five years since Lachlan the Winged won the throne thirty or more lads have gone missing.”

“Thirty or more boys? Vanished?”

“Murdered. Their bodies were found, but there’s no sign o‘ what killed them and no witch or skeelie nearby to examine the bodies more closely. Do ye wonder that the mothers o’ boys dare no‘ stay in Fetterness anymore? Those that canna leave bring their babes across the river to me, but I have no room for any more and besides, they shouldna be with me, they should be safe with their families. Indeed, I do no’ ken what can be done.”

Nina shook her head, looking appalled.

“And that’s not the worst o‘ it. Nina, the dead canna rest there. Graves both auld and new are found open and the corpses walk around in broad daylight, dragging their rotting flesh behind them, seeking to come home again.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms about her body in a vain attempt to warm herself. Rhiannon shuddered too.

“And we fear the evil shall find a way to cross the river and shadow all o‘ us here. Already we’ve found two graves robbed, or broken out o’, though we have no‘ seen the dead they once contained walking about, thank Eà! And our town watchman has disappeared. We have his children here, Casey and Letty. He went out one night to investigate a noise and did no’ come back. We never found his body. Since then the town reeve has put a gate across the bridge and locked it, and only those that come across in daylight and can satisfy him they have true business here are allowed through. Most are wanting work this side o‘ the river but we canna take any more, and so now they head south towards the ports. No-one has come knocking on the gate for close on two weeks now, and we’ve had no news since then.”

Nina looked shaken. “I had no idea it was so bad!” she exclaimed. “We heard rumours, o‘ course, but… surely the MacBrann should ken o’ this?”

“We sent a message to Ravenscraig last market-day, but have heard naught from the laird. Who kens if he even heard it? When the carrier returned from Ravenscraig it was with the news o‘ Malcolm MacBrann’s death and all the court was in mourning. Our messenger had no chance o’ seeing the new laird. He passed the news on to a guard at the gate and came away. What more could he do? And I canna scry to the court sorceress, even though we are so close, for we are bounded by two rivers here and both are deep and fast. Just as it is too dangerous to try to cross in a boat, so it is too noisy for my thoughts to cross.” She sighed. “So we do what we can to help the people o‘ Fettemess, those who have no’ fled, and shelter their children and guard our own doors and hope the MacBrann will send his guards to investigate when he can. Happen ye will tell the Coven yourself, if… I mean, when…” Her voice trailed away unhappily.

“I will,” Nina said firmly. “Now we must to bed, for my lasses are asleep in their chairs and I myself am sick with weariness. I am sorry for your trouble. I will certainly tell the Key-bearer and when she can, she will no doubt come herself to listen in the ruins and see what the ghosts have to say. For now, do no‘ fear for us. I ken the songs o’ sorcery. We shall be safe.”

Ashelma nodded, looking tired and troubled. She stood up, gently tipping the cat in her lap to the floor, and helped Annis rouse Edithe, Maisie and Felice. Nina lifted Roden to her shoulder, his curly head nestling into her neck, and followed the witch and her apprentice up a broad flight of steps to a bedroom on the upper floor.

Rhiannon followed quietly behind, her head ringing with the witch’s words. Satyricorns were afraid of nothing living, but had a profound horror of anything supernatural. They spilt a little blood every day in supplication of the dark fiends they believed dwelt in every shadow and cleft, and if they had failed in the hunt that day, they would open their own vein to make sure the sacrifice was made. Rhiannon had not spilt blood once since leaving her herd, having been determined to leave all of that part of her behind like a snake’s cast-off skin. Her whole body was shuddering now, though, down to the very marrow of her bones. She swore she would slice open her vein this very night and make an offering to the dark walkers of the night.

There was only one bed in the room but it was enormous, standing on its own platform with a velvet canopy hanging overhead. Annis helped the other girls sleepily strip down to their shifts and climb up into the bed, which had been warmed by long-handled brass-lidded trays filled with hot coals. They were to sleep two at either end, with a trundle bed made up before the fire for Nina and Roden. Rhiannon allowed herself to be tucked up under the white counterpane, pretending to be almost asleep so Nina or Annis would not try to speak with her. The sheets were stiff and smelt of herbs, and the pillow was very soft. She was so very tired it took a strong effort of will not to succumb to the insistent weight of sleep on her limbs.

She lay quietly, watching from under her eyelashes as Nina tucked up her son, washed her face and hands, and shed her own clothes.

The jongleur did not climb into bed at once, though. She picked up the small bag she always wore tied to her belt and rummaged inside it, taking out a small stick and a few little cloth bags tied up with string. She opened one and threw what looked like dead leaves on the fire. Little green-hearted flames sprung up and curled away, scenting the smoke sweetly as they died.

She then drew her dagger from its sheath, a gesture that made Rhiannon’s eyes open wider and her muscles tense. Nina hesitated and turned to look towards the bed, as if she had heard the subtle change in the rhythm of Rhiannon’s breath. Rhiannon breathed slowly, pretending to sleep.

After a moment Nina knelt before the fire and gathered together a little handful of ashes from the hearth, spreading these around her in a circle. She shook salt from one of the bags and sprinkled it on top of the ashes, then sprinkled water about her as well. Then, with her back straight, she swept the stick in her hand all round her, tracing the shape of the circle, then repeated the gesture with the dagger, muttering words under her breath. She knelt naked in the centre of the circle in silence for quite some time, unmindful of the cold, her unruly red-brown curls her only covering. At last she opened her eyes and rose up onto her knees, her wand in one hand, the knife in the other. Facing the fire, she chanted in a low, sweet voice: