Raven Flight Read online

  I knew Flint was an Enthraller. I understood that he must sometimes—perhaps often—practice his craft under the king’s orders, using it to turn rebellious subjects loyal or to ensure that the canny skills of people like me were used only for Keldec’s purposes. It was said many of the Enforcers were enthralled men, rendered by the process into the most reliable fighting force a leader could have. Knowing Flint only complied with the king’s orders to keep his true purpose secret did not stop me from being repelled by it to the point of physical sickness.

  Milla came by as I was retching into the privy hole and insisted on wiping my face and sitting me down in the dining area to be fed sips of broth. At supper, Fingal inquired after my health and suggested a peppermint tea with honey, which would be efficacious even though there were no fresh leaves, only dried. He would, he said, have suggested I sleep in the infirmary for the night, only Cian was still there recovering from his long journey. Andra, usually more interested in what was going on in the training yard than domestic matters, offered me one of her blankets for the night, since the cold might keep me awake. Big Don made me sit in his usual spot at table, close to the fire. I thanked everyone. I could not explain that my sickness was of the spirit, not the body. As Regan’s spy at court, Flint had to act as if he were a loyal subject of the king, even if that meant using his gift to ill purpose. The cause must come before matters of conscience for all of us. Already people had died because of me. If I could not come to terms with this, I would weaken the rebels. I would become a liability.

  There were eight women at Shadowfell, including me. We were outnumbered four to one by the men. The women’s sleeping quarters accommodated six of us; Milla and Eva shared a tiny chamber off the kitchen. At first I had found it difficult to be so close to the others, though having shelter and a proper bed was a rare luxury for me. As it turned out, the fighters were usually so tired after the long day’s work that they fell asleep almost as soon as their heads touched the pillow.

  That night I lay on my bed with my blankets up to my chin, forming in my mind a letter I would never write. I told Flint how much I missed him, how I worried about his safety, how I hoped he might return in springtime. How, even though I had a mission to accomplish, my pathway felt lonely without him. How I forgave him the things he must do, and hoped the day would soon come when he need no longer bend to Keldec’s will.

  Across the chamber Tali was awake too, and restless. She turned from one side to the other, kicked off her blanket then hauled it up again, punched her pillow. I knew better than to ask her what was the matter.

  Eventually she said, “Neryn?”

  “Mm?”

  “Bad dream this afternoon, hmm?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  There was a brief silence. Then, “You dream about him, don’t you? Flint?”

  She was too sharp.

  “Mm.”

  “You miss him.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Tali.” Not to anyone, and especially not to her.

  “Regan said he thought your dreams might be useful, especially if they give you a true picture of what Flint is doing. Since the two of you are close, and Flint is a mind-mender with control over other folk’s dreams, we wondered if that might be so. You should tell us about them.”

  I got up on one elbow to look across at her. She was lying flat now, her hair a splash of darkness on the pillow, the rings and twists of her tattoos wreathing her lean body in mystery. I wished I could ask her about those markings, which were extensive, skillfully done, and almost an exact match for her brother’s. Those tattoos told a story, and I’d have liked to know what it was. But folk here seldom spoke of the past. There was little talk of families, of home settlements, of loved ones left behind. At Shadowfell it was all the cause and the future.

  “It wouldn’t be useful,” I said. “I only see him in snatches, not long enough to know what is really happening.”

  “More than a snatch today, surely, if it made you bolt for the privy to be sick.”

  I said nothing.

  “Seems to me the dreams might be more curse than blessing, if they bother you so much.”

  I hesitated. In the quiet of the chamber, with the other women sleeping around us, it was easier to speak the truth. “Sometimes, yes. But I’d never wish them away. Even if Flint is in trouble or doing something I hate, I’d rather see that than not see him at all. It’s a long time until spring. And chances are he won’t come even then.”

  The silence drew out.

  “I haven’t forgotten what you said about not getting close,” I felt obliged to add. “We are friends, he and I. We journeyed a long way together. Dreaming of him gives me hope.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” Tali said. “What do you hope for, true love and happy endings? What if your dreams show you Flint being tortured, Flint spilling out secrets to the king, Flint and his Enforcer comrades sweeping down on another village, hacking and burning as the Cull gets under way?”

  “Last night, in my dream, I saw him performing an enthrallment, with folk looking on,” I said quietly, though her words had brought angry tears to my eyes. “My grandmother suffered an enthrallment that went wrong. She lost her wits. The dream sickened me. But I still have hope, Tali. I need to believe a happy future is possible for me and Flint; for all of us. If people can’t dream of better times, if they can’t imagine a future in which they might marry and raise their children, dig their vegetable plot, ply their trade without fear, then the goal of freedom becomes meaningless. Don’t you think?”

  Tali sat up. “Of course folk want that changed world,” she said, turning her dark eyes on me with some intensity. “Of course they want to live without the constant need to be looking over their shoulder or waiting for a knife in the ribs. But it’s going to be a long, hard fight, and people are going to die. You should know that, Neryn. You saw what happened to Garven. You saw six of our fighters die in that battle. You heard how Gova and Arden perished bringing news from the north. What’s needed here isn’t soft dreams of true love. It’s anger—the anger that drives a person forward. The fury that keeps them fighting right up to the moment the knife goes in. In our world there’s no place for love.”

  “Be quiet!” came a mumbled complaint from Sula, who had the pallet next to Tali’s. “Some of us want to sleep.”

  “Good night, Tali,” I made myself say, though her last words had chilled me.

  “ ’Night.” A pause. “You put your case well.”

  This grudging praise was far more than I expected. “Thanks,” I said.

  “Be quiet,” growled Sula again, putting her pillow over her head.

  “Sorry.” I closed my eyes.

  MIDWINTER MORNING, AND NOBODY ON THE LADDER. The cavern was shadowy; outside, the sun would be struggling up behind heavy clouds. It was hard to believe that only a year ago my father had still been alive and we had spent the cold season on the road. Midwinter had passed us by as we sheltered in some derelict outhouse or under some shallow overhang in the woods. As I began my climb, trying to keep the pace as brisk as Tali would expect, I told myself I would never forget how fortunate I was to have reached Shadowfell.

  I came to the top of the steps, breathing hard. Tali liked us to head straight down again if we could, but today I went out onto the ledge. It was barely light. Rain descended in shifting sheets, moved hither and thither by the wind. I was not first here. By the rock wall stood Regan, gazing northward through the watery veils, his hands outstretched in private prayer.

  I would have retreated quietly, not wanting to interrupt him. But Regan said, “It’s a momentous day. Midwinter, and our first meeting with the Folk Below. A milestone on our journey. Will you join me?” So I stood beside him, thinking how remarkable it was that out of the darkness of winter there always came the light of springtime.

  “Rise up, brother sun!” Regan’s voice was strong and sure. There was no trace of uncertainty in it. “Bear forth your flaming
torch! Banish the shadows. March forward in vigor, young and free, and lead us into a new day. Farewell to the dark. Hail to the light!”

  “Hail to the light!” I echoed. The stirring words were most apt, not only to the festival day, but to our whole enterprise. Glancing at my companion, I saw that his face was bright with hope. It was a perfect reflection of the light he had invoked. No wonder he inspired such loyalty.

  We stood there awhile longer, until the rain became intolerable and we retreated to the steps.

  “You must have come up here in the dark,” I said.

  “I brought a candle. The rain extinguished it for me; as a symbol of new light it was short-lived.”

  “The prayer was good. I had planned to say one of my own, but I’ve forgotten the proper words.” We began the descent, Regan going first, I following. We went slowly; in my mind I could hear Tali saying, Pick up the pace! What are you, a pair of old women in your dotage?

  “I doubt if the gods trouble themselves much about the words,” Regan said. “What matters is the intention. Only a few of us at Shadowfell observe the old rituals; most have become rather disillusioned over the years.”

  “But you believe it’s worth going on in some small way?”

  He did not answer immediately, and when he spoke, he sounded unusually hesitant. “Sometimes I wonder whether all a ritual provides is a comforting familiarity. Such observances lose their significance if few believe in them. For me, it still seems important to acknowledge the turning of the year. To celebrate the times of joyful plenty and to recognize the times of sorrow and hardship. A ritual makes it easier to understand our place in the grand plan of things.”

  I would have liked to ask about his past, before he became a rebel leader, before Shadowfell began. But that was not the way we did things here. Regan knew far more of my story than I did of his, for before Flint had left for the east, he’d told Regan about our journey along the lakes and up the Rush valley, and how we had been friends, then enemies, then friends again.

  “I’m not sure if I believe in gods,” I said as my knees started to protest at the long downward climb. “I know the Guardians are thought to be wielders of old magic and immensely powerful. If the gods exist, they must be greater still. And more distant. I think of them when I see a lovely sunrise, or a flock of birds passing over, or the first flowers of spring. When I hear a fine tune played well, or see someone act with generosity or courage.” An image of Flint came sharply to my mind, Flint after the battle, kneeling to close the eyes of a dead Enforcer. I would never forget his expression.

  My foot slipped on an uneven step and I struggled for balance. Below me, Regan halted; I steadied myself against his shoulder. “Sorry,” I gasped. “Tali’s told me often enough not to lose concentration.”

  “You’re doing well,” Regan said as we continued the downward climb. “When you first got here, you were skin and bone. You wouldn’t have managed ten of these steps. Now you’re up and down with the best of them.”

  “Tali’s work.”

  “A person doesn’t achieve such a result without determination and hard effort, no matter how well drilled she is.”

  We reached the bottom of the steps.

  “It troubles you, doesn’t it?” Regan asked, out of the blue. “The risks. The losses.”

  I nodded.

  “What you have to offer us is priceless,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said your gift was the difference between our winning and losing this struggle. Even with Lannan’s support, we can’t move a fighting force into Summerfort that will equal the king’s. This won’t be a conventional battle; much will depend on the element of surprise. And Keldec won’t surrender his power easily, even when he sees we’re backed by some of his chieftains. We can expect more losses; it will be a bloody confrontation. More than that; I believe the king will make full use of whatever magic he has at his disposal, whether it’s the talents of the canny men and women of his court, or something more powerful.”

  His words turned me cold. “Something more powerful? You mean uncanny folk? How could the king use them? They despise him. They hate the way he’s changed Alban. They’d never agree to help him.”

  Regan hesitated. “If he could find a way to coerce them, he would not hesitate to do so. I know the king’s men were interested in you, Neryn; tracking you, hunting you ever since word got out that you might have an unusual talent. That was what Flint told me. Now that you are beyond Keldec’s reach, I imagine his agents are looking elsewhere for a Caller. What if there were another to be found?”

  Now I felt sick. “Perhaps it’s a good thing that we only have a year and a half to do this,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “It is just a thought,” Regan said, and laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Put it aside for now, and let us think of a new day, and the light of the rising sun. Of hope and faith. We meet the Good Folk at dusk, and perhaps set foot on the last and most remarkable part of our journey.”

  I looked up into his eyes, and saw there the faith he spoke of, bright and true, and behind it the shadow of the deaths, the injuries, the opportunities set aside in the name of the cause. To till the fields or sail the fishing boat in peace; to lie down at night by a loving wife, to father children, to grow older surrounded by a strong community. I wondered, yet again, what dark thing lay in Regan’s past, what had driven him to this.

  He smiled, and I thought, Even so, he is a father to his comrades; he is a friend; he is the center of a community. Here at Shadowfell he is all those things. He is a leader.

  By dusk we were ready, or as ready as we could make ourselves. Of all the human inhabitants of Shadowfell, I was the only one who had much experience of the Good Folk, and that had been quite limited, for they were a cautious and reclusive people, not given to mixing even among their own clans. The council would be a challenge—both Northies and human folk would be wary. The Northies might choose not to come up at all. The lure of sleep might be too strong.

  All day we had made preparations. The feast had been cooked in clay pots, with the assistance of Sula’s canny gift for transferring heat into water. Wooden spoons, copper basins, tin cups, and earthenware platters had been put to use. In a chamber at the very back of Shadowfell, every piece of iron we possessed, to the last belt buckle, was wrapped up and set away behind a fast-closed door.

  Eva and I had put the finishing touches on the gift we’d made, and had hung garlands of dried herbs about the dining chamber, which was the only place in Shadowfell big enough for a council—we hoped the community of Northies was not too numerous. The rebel community had practiced songs and had listened as I explained that Regan would do most of the talking until we discovered how amenable the Good Folk were to the proposal we would be putting to them. I warned them that there might be some odd-looking beings, and that they must be courteous even if the visitors spoke somewhat bluntly.

  Just before dusk, Sage and Red Cap came to the door and were admitted. Red Cap had his infant in a sling on his back; it was hunkered down against the chill with only the tips of its ears showing. We stood at the top of the spiral stair with Regan and Tali. The rest of the community was waiting in the dining area, where the benches and tables had been stacked at one end, and blankets spread out on the earthen floor in their place.

  We heard them before we saw them, and I was filled with both relief and wonder. The sound that drifted up the stair was hard to describe. It was not a chant, nor yet a song; it was something like the sound of breaking waves, and something like crackling flames, and a little like the rustling of leaves in the wind. It made the hairs on my neck prickle.

  “Black Crow’s curse,” breathed Tali.

  “Hush,” murmured Regan. “Only listen.”

  The murmuring, rippling sound increased, reaching our ears in a pattern of rise and fall. Light flickered on the stone walls of the spiral stair.

  “A procession,” I whispered. “A midwinter ritual.”


  “I’m glad to see the Northies have not forgotten the old ways.” Sage made no attempt to lower her voice. She glanced up at Regan. “You can leave this part to me.” Her tone was full of authority, and he gave a solemn nod.

  The lights became brighter; shapes flickered and danced across the ancient stone as the Northies climbed toward us. Beside me, Regan sucked in his breath.

  They were cloaked in uniform gray, but it could be seen that they were of many kinds. Their leader—not the being we had encountered before—carried a glowing lantern fashioned in the shape of a bee. Behind him came many others, some bearing lights, others carrying little baskets or bags. Among them were five tiny beings, each about a handspan tall. They were holding a very small wreath of greenery between them; it was taking some maneuvering to get it, and themselves, from step to step, and the folk behind them in line were showing signs of impatience. I suppressed the urge to offer help, since quite plainly this was something the wee folk either wanted or needed to do by themselves.

  There were beings here that seemed hewn from rock, their features, under the gray hoods, made up of cracks, crevices, and holes. They were like smaller versions of a stanie mon, and the sight of them sent me back to that day on the battlefield, the day so many men had perished because of me. One creature was all smoke and flame, and walked without a cloak. Tali muttered another oath and Sage gave her a repressive look. Red Cap had lifted the young one out of its sling and put it on his shoulders, the better to see; it squeaked in excitement, waving its paws.

  The Northies’ leader was at the top of the stairs. He came toward us, with three others in a row behind him, and pushed back his hood to reveal a face not unlike Sage’s—pointed ears, beady eyes, shrewd expression—though in place of her green-gray curls he had filmy hair that resembled cobweb. The others did the same. One was a little woman with dark, penetrating eyes, one a gold-furred, catlike creature, and the third, somewhat taller, a being that fell somewhere between young man and badger, bearing a staff. They halted.