Raven Flight Read online

  “You don’t look it. Make sure you call if you need me. I’ll be right outside the door.”

  “What about …?”

  “Scar and the others can manage without me.”

  “You need not—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I took to sleeping as Constant and Trusty did, in short snatches when I could no longer keep my eyes open. There was a shelf bed by the wall, probably intended for the Lady’s maidservant, and that was where I lay, under the fur cloak I had been given when I first came here. The Twa were too tall to use this bed, but took turns to stretch out on the floor.

  I lost track of the passing days and nights. From that first delving, when I sought a pathway into the Lord’s enchanted sleep as a tree would search for a crevice through which to slip its root, I moved deeper and deeper, searching for traces of the Lady. For all my weariness, I found it easier each day to sink into the state of trance; I felt the weight of earth in my body, its slow rhythms in the beating of my heart, and in my bones the endurance and strength of stone. I was no longer hungry, though the Twa made me eat. I became patient. Day by day, as Tali took me to use the privy, to wash, to change my clothing, I saw that the lines on her face were deeper and her eyes more troubled, but I did not think of the passage of time or of what it might mean for us. I was not aware of thinking much at all.

  Step by slow step I moved down the pathways of the Lord’s mind. Day by day, night by night, I walked there, and saw revealed, as bright spots in the darkness, the things he had loved, the things he had lost, the good things he had chosen to set aside. Gem was everywhere: a tiny babe, her cheek peach-soft under her father’s astonished touch; a dark-haired child, tossed high in the air, laughing in delight; a quicksilver girl, full of curiosity; a frowning student, bending over a great scroll with questions in her eyes. Gem running. Gem climbing. Gem playing a little harp. Gem casting a spell and turning a cat to stone. Gem shouting at her father. Always that: the furious words, the swirl of her long hair as she stormed out of their workroom. She left me. My Gem left me. The last thing I ever said to my daughter was, Disobedient wretch! If you cannot master yourself, how will you ever master your craft?

  The Lady was more elusive. From the Twa, I learned that her name was Siona, and that she came from the far north, land of eternal ice. But I did not see her anywhere in the Lord’s thoughts; it was as if the loss of Gem had erased his wife from his memory.

  “Did they have a falling-out?” I asked the Twa on a day when frustration had made me give up my quest early enough to take supper by the fire with them, all of us weary and despondent. “A quarrel? Did they part on bad terms?” It was hard for me to accept, still, that the Lady had chosen to walk away when her man was sunk in his grief.

  “He loved her weel,” Trusty said. “And she was right fond o’ him. But after Gem died, they had words. Words that would hae been best left unsaid.”

  “Tell me, if you will.”

  “He blamed himself. If he’d heeded Gem, if he hadna shouted at her, if he’d done this or that different … He couldna see past that. A’ tangled up in it, he was.”

  “The Lady reminded him she was grievin’ too,” Constant said. “But he was deaf tae her; he was fu’ up wi’ his ain hurt. She waited awhile, and he didna seem tae change. So she told him that while she was by him, she couldna heal.”

  “He didna listen. The next day he woke up and couldna find her. Asked us where she was; didna believe us when we told him. Nine-and-ninety days he waited for her to come tappin’ on the door, fu’ o’ contrition. But she didna. So he lay doon, and ye know the rest.”

  “Why is it ye need the story?” The Twa had been keenly interested in what I was doing, and so were the folk beyond the closed door. I’d been giving Tali brief reports on my progress, which she shared with the rest of them; apparently they hung avidly on every word.

  “His mind is full of Gem; in particular, his argument with her before she ran out and fell to her death. Sometimes I see his life before, but nearly always with her. Lady Siona simply isn’t there. This will be the first time I’ve tried to call someone when I have no idea where she is. And the first time I’ve done it when the person is probably far away. Without an image of her in my mind, I don’t know how I will go about it.” They had described her to me, of course. Like moonlight, Constant had said. Like a willow, Trusty had added. That was not much help.

  “Ye might speak tae Flow,” Constant said now.

  Tali, true to her word, had been keeping guard outside the door. She came with me to find Flow in her small, warm chamber, and I explained my difficulty.

  “He doesna think o’ her at a’?” The little woman was working on a pair of shoes, tiny needle flashing as she embroidered a delicate pattern of leaves and tendrils. “Aye, weel, mebbe that isna sae surprisin’. He’s set her awa’ deep as deep, hopin’ he willna need tae look at what he’s done. If he hadna been sae wrapped up in his ain grief, he’d hae seen the twa o’ them needed each other. He didna understand until it was too late. And then he couldna face the truth: that he had driven her awa’.”

  “You think that’s what holds him so long in this spell? But what if I summon her and she doesn’t want to be here? Surely, if she really wanted to come back, she’d have done so long ago. And what if she comes and he still doesn’t wake up?”

  Flow lifted her gaze from her handiwork. “I canna answer that, lassie. Ane thing, I can help ye wi’.” There was a big basket in the corner; she moved to sort through the contents, then returned to the fireside with a folded cloth in her hands. “Ye wanted the image o’ Lady Siona. I crafted this soon after she came here as his bride; it hung on the wa’ by their bed, but when he fell intae his lang sleep, I set it awa’ for safekeepin’. A guid likeness.”

  Unfolded, the cloth revealed an embroidered picture of a slender fey woman in a white gown, standing by a window through which pale light streamed. The stitches were small and fine. Lady Siona might have been standing there in miniature, so real did she seem. Her hair was wheaten fair and rippled over her shoulders in waves; her eyes were palest green, her face heart-shaped, with a sweet mouth and a small, straight nose. She was somewhat like Gem, but at the same time very much herself.

  “O’ course, she’ll be aulder now,” Flow said, running a hand over the embroidery. “Oor folk are lang-lived; but time and sorrow will hae made their mark.”

  Tali gasped. I felt my eyes widen. The image had changed under Flow’s fingers, the Lady’s hair now touched with silver, her face still beautiful but older, wiser, her eyes shadowed with sadness. I was reminded sharply that this place was not Shadowfell, and its folk were not of humankind. I gazed at Siona’s embroidered features, trying to fix them in my mind.

  “Ye can tak’ this wi’ ye, Neryn. Get the Twa tae put it back on the wa’. Then she’s wi’ him, even if he thinks he doesna want her.” After a moment Flow added, “Ye might try a different approach. Feel the way, no’ wi’ your mind, but wi’ your heart. Havena ye ever had a fallin’ oot wi’ someone ye loved weel? A quarrel that made a gulf between the twa o’ ye, and caused ye tae wish ye could wipe your mind clean o’ him, and yet deep down, despite all, he was still as dear tae ye as ever?”

  She and Tali were both looking at me. I felt my cheeks flush.

  “Aye, ye ken weel what I mean,” Flow said, saving me from the need to answer. “Could be true love is the key ye need tae unlock the Lord’s last secret. Tae find your pathway in. I’ll be biddin’ ye guid night now.”

  It was late; on the threshold of the Lord’s chamber Tali stopped me, putting a hand on my arm. “You look terrible, Neryn. Pasty, thin, worried, a shadow of yourself. Don’t tell me you’re going to try this tonight, without resting first.”

  It was a fair comment. I was so tired I could hardly think straight. “Tali, how long have I been doing this? How many days have passed?”

  Her hesitation was an answer in itself. “Quite a few,” she said eventually. Unspoken was the fact
that while the Lord slept, I could not learn from him; that we needed to get home to Shadowfell before the season made it impossible.

  “You’ve finished your work here already, haven’t you? Teaching those warriors how to use their long winters profitably. Learning all about their weaponry.”

  “Don’t add me to your concerns.” She attempted a reassuring smile. “I thought it might do you good to go outside for a bit, that was all. Fresh air and exercise. Sitting in that chamber all day and all night isn’t doing your fitness any favors.”

  I managed a smile of my own. “There’s no choice,” I said. “When we get home to Shadowfell, I’ll practice hard to make up for it.”

  “Here’s a suggestion. For this one night at least, have a proper sleep and tell those two fellows to do the same. I can stand guard in their place, if they want that. I’ll have an army of volunteers to keep me company. Tomorrow, come out for a walk with me before breakfast. It need not be long. I want you to see the sunlight, even if it’s only for a short time.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do. I don’t want to have to spend another winter running up and down the Ladder with you. Besides, Flint told me in no uncertain terms to look after you. He’d hardly be impressed if he could see you now.” A speaking pause. “True love, hmm?”

  “She wasn’t talking about me.”

  “Ah, well,” said Tali lightly, “what would I know?”

  Next morning she led me out of the Lord’s subterranean hall, with Scar as a guard, and up a winding pathway between the rocks to a level vantage point. We watched the sun rise over the mountains, brightening the wide bowl of the sky and touching the clouds with rose and gold. For a while we sat in silence; Scar leaned on his spear at a little distance. Although I had done as Tali suggested and lain on my bed all night, my sleep had been fitful, full of tangled thoughts of failure and disappointment. And I had dreamed of Flint, a disturbing dream in which he stood before the king and underwent an interrogation that turned his face white and made him bunch his hands into fists.

  “About Flint,” Tali said now, as if she had read my thoughts.

  “What about him?”

  “Did he explain his mission in the isles to you?” That she trusted Scar was obvious; she made no attempt to lower her voice.

  I thought of that brief, precious time on Far Isle, when I had spent a night in Flint’s arms. “No,” I said. “Did he tell you?” When had that been possible?

  “He was under orders to kill a man. He told me while you were sleeping. He didn’t do it. Instead, he made the fellow disappear. Arranged for the local folk to spirit him away. The target was his old mentor.”

  “The mind-mender? I thought he was dead.”

  “Old and frail, but still living. And still a powerful influence on the folk of the isles, who, as you noticed, are of a different breed from the folk of the mainland.”

  I could hardly think what to say.

  “The king couldn’t have known before the Gathering,” Tali went on, “or Flint would have faced a much harsher penalty than having to perform a public enthrallment, even of a difficult individual like me. But there are folk at court who don’t trust him, and who’ve made that fairly clear to him. A perilous path.”

  “He shouldn’t have rushed back to see if I was safe. That must have aroused suspicion, however plausible an excuse he thought of.”

  “If he’s not more careful, one day he’ll take a step too far,” Tali said. “He could be his own destruction, and maybe yours as well. In my mind, true love is overrated as a solution to practical problems.”

  We sat on awhile, not talking, then made our way back down to the Lord’s hall. The position of the sun made it sharply clear that autumn was advancing—I had been many long days closeted with the Twa, sending my creeping tendrils through the hard stone of the Lord’s mind. Today, I prayed. Let it be today that I find the key.

  In the Lord’s chamber the fire was burning on the hearth, the floor was swept clean, and the embroidered image of Siona looked down at us from the wall. The Twa were waiting for me.

  “Today, ye think?” asked Constant.

  “Dinna push the lassie; she canna tell ye if it’s today or tomorrow or some other day,” said Trusty.

  “Just sayin’.”

  “If I find her today, I call her,” I told them. “Whether she will come, and whether he will wake, there’s no telling.”

  To begin with, it was like so many other days. The long preparation, the breathing, the sinking deep. The slow reaching out, searching within the forbidding stone of the Lord’s mind for the wee pathways in, the cracks and chinks still open to the passage of thoughts and feelings, memories and dreams. The images I had seen so often before, his daughter in all her moods, his beloved Gem; the day he lost her, and the guilt that would not go away.

  Love, I thought. Love heals all. And I made an image of Flint, whom I loved above all others: Flint tending to me in a little hut halfway up the Rush valley, Flint keeping one eye on me as he stirred a pot of porridge, Flint risking everything to shield me from harm. Flint on the jetty when the Hag brought me back from the skerry, with his heart in his eyes. Flint’s body against mine. Flint calling me my heart.

  I searched again for Siona, a trace of shining hair, a soft pale gleam, a pair of green eyes, a wistful smile on lips surely made for laughing. And there she was, playing a game with her little daughter: Siona hiding behind a tree trunk, her white gown clearly visible while Gem hunted here and there, calling. Siona jumping out to catch up her daughter and whirl her around. The image faded, and here was another: Siona by her window, as in the embroidery; Siona turning to greet her husband, rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, her hands light on his shoulders. Siona smiling, with an invitation in her green eyes. I need you. The thought was so powerful I staggered, almost letting go of the Lord’s hand. I need you! Come back to me!

  It was time. His longing flowed through me, as strong as living stone, as urgent as true love itself. I opened myself wholly to it, let it take me, sent it out to the woman who walked through my mind and his, wherever she might be. Come home, Lady Siona! Your Lord needs you! Come now!

  The Twa told me later that my call was silent; at the time I did not know if I was shouting or singing or only calling to her in my mind. Afterward I fainted. I came to on my little bed to find Constant wiping my face with a damp cloth while Trusty hovered behind him with a mead cup in his hand. The chamber was as before, the fire burning on the hearth, the picture of Siona looking down on her sleeping husband. I sat up gingerly; my head was throbbing and my limbs felt as if they belonged to someone else, perhaps a rag doll.

  “Dinna try tae talk,” Constant said. “Ye’re lookin’ peaky.”

  “Ye did it, aye?” asked Trusty.

  I took the proffered mead, drank, felt somewhat restored. “I tried, at least.” But had it worked? Might we wait days and days, as the Lord had, only to discover that she was not coming back?

  Trusty moved to set the mead flask down, and halted in his tracks. “His e’en,” he whispered. “His e’en—they’re shut.”

  It was true; the Lord’s eyes no longer stared blankly upward, but were shielded by their heavy lids.

  “Breathin’ still,” Trusty said, laying his hand on the Lord’s chest, “but sleepin’ noo. Guid sleep, ye ken?” A tear ran down his broad cheek. “Aye, sleepin’ like a babe.” He knelt down by the bed, laying his big hand over the Lord’s cold fingers.

  “She’s comin’,” Constant said in a tone of awe. “Ye’ve done it.”

  I opened my mouth to tell them they should not get their hopes up, that this might be only coincidence, but before I could speak, someone knocked on the door. We had laid down the rules so clearly—no interruptions at all while I was working—that all three of us turned our heads at once, and now even I was tight with anticipation.

  “Open it, Constant.”

  He slid the bolt back and swung the heavy door open, and there she was
, with what looked like the entire household behind her: a tall, slender fey woman in a white gown, her hair a blend of gold and silver, her face as sweet as in Flow’s embroidery, but shadowed with the passing of time and the bearing of a great sorrow. Around her brow was a circlet of pale flowers. Siona did not ask to be let in; she did not say a word. Constant gave a little bow, scrubbed his hand over his cheeks, and stepped back so she could walk past. Trusty rose to his feet and came to stand beside me; I had tried to rise, but my legs would not hold me.

  Siona ignored us all. She stepped over to her husband’s bed, sat down on the edge of it, and reached out a graceful hand to touch his forehead, his cheeks, his strong mouth, as if relearning him. There was tenderness in her fingers as she brushed them across his closed eyes, then stroked his dark hair where it fell back from the strong forehead. There was love in her eyes, a love that acknowledged the errors of the past and forgave them. I held my breath as she bent forward and kissed him on the lips.

  He stirred; he opened his eyes, and they were no longer blank, but full of all he had held trapped inside, full of all that had not been said, all that had played on him during the long years of silence. He opened his mouth to speak, and Siona laid her fingers across his lips.

  “We’ll be awa’, my lady,” Constant said quietly. “Come on, Trusty. Neryn, can ye walk?”

  When it was obvious I could not, he picked me up bodily—not difficult for such a giant—and bore me out of the chamber, with Trusty coming behind. It was the first time the Twa had been away from their Lord, both at once, since the day I had met them. As Constant carried me toward my bedchamber, as careful as if I were a basket of eggs, I fell asleep in his arms.

  I woke to find myself tucked up in bed. For a while, I lay there watching the oil lamp throw patterns on the stone walls, not ready to get up and face the immensity of what it seemed I had managed to do. Lady Siona had come home; the Lord of the North had woken from his long sleep. If I felt anything, it was an awareness of my own temerity for daring to meddle in the lives of such powerful and ancient beings. All very well for the Hag to say I need not worry about overreaching myself. When I’d called Himself, I had already got to know both him and her; I had been fairly sure neither would take offense. This was quite different.