Raven Flight

  “Your job isn’t to make me feel better.”

  “No?” There was a trace of a smile on her face as she eyed me. “Come on, let’s do what we can to make this shelter habitable. And pray for calm weather.”

  The shallow cave was a meager refuge. Neither of us slept more than a snatch at a time. The wind screamed in our ears. The harsh voice of the waves was all around us. Under a clear sky, it was bitter cold. Tali made me lie against the rock wall with her in front of me, which meant she bore the brunt of the gale. We’d put on every garment we had and spread the two blankets over us, but the cold was unrelenting. I felt it in my chest, in my temples, in my ears. I wrapped my shawl around my head and considered why the Hag would have done this. Hadn’t I already shown, over and over, that I could endure hardship? Hadn’t the Master of Shadows acknowledged that I had the Caller’s gift? She’d come to fetch us. Shared our meal. Ferried us in her boat. She seemed to know quite a bit of my story. And now this. It made no sense at all.

  Huddling against Tali’s back as my hands and feet grew numb, I wondered if the two of us would die of cold before morning. What had I done wrong? What had I said to bring this down upon us?

  “Get up,” Tali said suddenly, stumbling to her feet, awkward in the cold and dark. The moment she moved, I felt the true force of the wind.

  “What—”

  “Get up.” Now she was hauling me to my feet. “Stamp your feet, clap your hands. Not over there—” She grabbed my arm, steadying me as I wobbled on uneven rocks. “Stay on this flat part or you might fall. Keep moving about. We can sleep by daylight, when it’s warmer.”

  “You’re crazy,” I muttered, making a clumsy effort to obey. My limbs had lost their feeling and lack of sleep had made my head muzzy. “If we had the Ladder here, no doubt you’d be making me run up and down it in the dark.”

  “If that was the only way to keep you alive, yes.” She was swinging her arms, stamping, stretching. The moon showed me her white face, her dark eyes, the cloud of her breath in the freezing night air. “Pick up the pace, Neryn. This is the kind of thing I trained you for. Don’t let me down now I ask you to put it into practice, or my initial assessment of you will be proved right.”

  A small flame of anger awoke somewhere inside me. “Oh, and what assessment was that?” I bent and stretched, stamped and clapped, hating her as we’d all done from time to time when pushed too hard.

  “That you were a wee girl wandering where she didn’t belong, trying to do a job that was far too big for her. A girl who hadn’t the first idea what kind of life she’d need to live if she became one of Regan’s Rebels. Like a snowdrop poking its hopeful head up in a field of thistles.”

  “Not very flattering,” I muttered between squats. “But, then, my assessment of you was harsh in its turn.”

  For a while she did not rise to the bait. She held her silence as she got down on the rocks to stretch out in the exercise known among the recruits of Shadowfell as the Plank. If she was still limber enough to do that, she had far better resistance to the cold than I did.

  “Well, then?” she asked eventually, still balanced on toes and fingertips, her body stretched in a strong, straight line.

  “Well, what?”

  “I’m sure you want to tell me what you thought of me, that first day.”

  “When you apprehended me and marched me to Regan for questioning?” We both fell silent then, for that had been a day of blood and death. The rebels had won their battle; it had been a victory. But their losses lay heavily on the folk of Shadowfell.

  “I was surprised. Impressed that a woman not much older than me could be a leader of warriors. I thought you were formidable. Angry. Rude. I decided we were destined to dislike each other. It was plain you thought me nothing but a nuisance.” I paused, finding it too hard to talk and perform Tali’s exercises at the same time. There was no doubt I felt somewhat warmer, but the moment I stopped moving, the bitter cold would envelop me once more. “Tali, we don’t have to do this all night, do we?”

  “Depends on whether you want to wake up in the morning.” A pause. “Are there Good Folk out here? Couldn’t you ask them for help?”

  “There’s something here, or nearby.… But that could be part of the test. Not calling if we can survive without it.”

  “Mm-hm. I’d say this situation is pretty close to desperate. It certainly will be within a few days.”

  “If it comes to that point, I will call them, I promise.”

  A silence. Then she said, “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who matters. Make sure you don’t let this go on so long that you risk your health. After all, I’m only the guard.”

  Clearly, the Hag’s remarks had disturbed her. “We’re comrades, Tali,” I said quietly. “Partners. We look after each other. That’s what happened at the river, the last time I used my gift.”

  She said nothing for a while. The two of us began the sequence of exercises again, side by side.

  “I’m sorry.” I heard that the apology cost her something to make.

  “For what?”

  “I misjudged you at the start. And for a long time afterward.”

  “You did, yes. And I misjudged you.”

  “Which bit, angry, rude, or formidable?”

  I felt myself smiling. “You know you can be all three. But there’s more to you than that. Kindness. Courage. Sound judgment. It took me a while to see those things.”

  “Your mind was on Flint, no doubt.”

  That was enough to make me halt the sequence of bend, stretch, run on the spot to the count of ten. “Tali.”

  “Mm? Keep moving, Neryn.”

  “Why do you think Flint’s here? In the islands?”

  “When a whole troop rides somewhere outside culling time, it’s usually to visit a chieftain’s stronghold. There can be all sorts of reasons for that, from investigating rumors of disloyalty to drumming up support for some venture to come. But there’s no chieftain in the isles now. If the troop split up, perhaps they’ve been ordered to account for a number of individual targets—local leaders who’ve dared speak out against the king, folk who’ve been reported as exhibiting canny skills. Keldec’s still looking for a Caller—you know that, don’t you?”

  “I know.” The thought chilled my heart.

  “Since Flint’s come over here on his own, his most likely purpose is assassination. Who the target might be, I can’t imagine. The king’s left the western isles out of the Cull for the last two autumns.”

  My attempt at running on the spot had become a sad shuffle. My legs were refusing to accept that it was not bedtime. I did not want to think about the implications of her words.

  “Take a rest, Neryn. We’d best not exhaust ourselves, since we have limited food and water. But don’t stand completely still or you’ll get cold again. Walk on the spot and rub your arms. Sure you don’t want my cloak?”

  I shook my head. “You need it. I’ll be all right.” I did as she suggested, for the chill was quick to return as soon as I stood still. “All I wanted was one day.” This came out of me without warning, as if what was pent up inside had only been waiting for a moment of kindness to be set free. “Just one. One day, one night. After so long. She didn’t have to do that, there was plenty of room in the boat.…” I made myself stop. I’d never have shown my weakness in front of Tali if I hadn’t been so desperate for sleep.

  “I hate to be blunt, Neryn, but for you and Flint it’s probably better this way. He has a job to do. A job that’s going to be hard for him, either way. Put him out of your mind and concentrate on surviving.”

  With the coming of dawn the air slowly warmed, but the wind was a constant presence, whipping at our clothing, clawing at our skin. I offered to fish; Tali pointed out that she’d have to watch me anyway, in case I fell in, so she might as well be the one to throw in a line. In the event, I sat beside her, helping bait the hooks with morsels of shellfish. I gazed over toward Far Isle, wondering what the Hag was exp
ecting me to do.

  “I’ve been in tighter corners,” Tali said.

  “Really?”

  “Not much tighter, to tell you the truth. I wonder if the plan is that I teach you to swim and then the two of us splash back over there.”

  “I hope you’re joking.”

  She managed a lopsided grin. “I wouldn’t attempt such a feat even on my own, and I’m a strong swimmer. Have you considered that she might be testing your common sense? If there are Good Folk somewhere close, what harm in calling them now?”

  “Not yet. We can last one more day, at least.” It surely couldn’t be as simple as that.

  “Once our waterskins are empty, we’ll be in trouble without steady rain. And we can’t store much. As for the lack of shelter, that’s going to take a toll over the next few days. We’ll be cold and tired, and we’re likely to get impatient with each other. And we’ll become careless. I don’t need to spell out what that could lead to.”

  There was a tug on her line, and all her concentration was on pulling in the catch. I watched as she landed a sizable codfish, which she killed with one quick blow.

  “Good,” she said. “We eat today, at least, and save our rations for tomorrow. How are you at gutting and scaling?”

  In response I put out my hand for the fish. “Why don’t you sleep while I do this? This may be as warm as the day’s going to get.” She made to protest, but I forestalled her. “I’ll sit up next to the shelter and I won’t go anywhere near the water. Promise.”

  “Don’t leave fish guts all over the place. We’re going to get filthy enough as it is.”

  A sequence of difficult days passed; we kept count with scratches on the rock. Just before our water supply ran out, we had a night of thunderous rain. If we’d had the means to collect it, we could have filled fifty waterskins. As it was, we gathered enough in the cooking pot to replenish the ones we had. The next morning we found a rock with a natural hollow at the top, brim-full of rainwater.

  “Funny we didn’t notice that before,” Tali remarked, running her hands through her salt-stiffened hair.

  “We’re tired. Missing something isn’t surprising. It’s when we start seeing things that aren’t there that you need to start worrying.” I was trying to force a comb through my own hair, which was all knots. Much more of this and I’d be hacking it off as short as Tali’s. “Sometimes I look back eastward and think I can see Ronan’s Isle, and a moment later it’s nothing but mist and shadows. And to the south, once or twice I’ve caught a glimpse of a bigger island.”

  “The Cradle, it’s called.”

  It surprised me that she knew this. “Is that where Regan once lived?”

  Tali hesitated. Clearly this came into the category of information I did not need. On the other hand, the long days of isolation, cold, and damp made the two of us desperate for any distraction. “Mm-hm. One of the largest islands. Several settlements. Or there were, back then. Regan’s father was chieftain.”

  “And Flint?”

  “Wherever it was he trained, it was kept secret. Close enough for him to visit the Cradle by boat. He always came on his own. A capable sailor from early days.”

  I hesitated, wanting to ask her how she and Fingal had first met the others, but knowing such questions went against the accepted codes of Shadowfell. “So Regan was a chieftain’s son,” I mused. “That doesn’t surprise me. Then he could have been ruler of the isles. Or were there brothers?”

  “It’s his story, not mine. Yes, there were brothers. And sisters. And now there’s nobody. He had a choice: claim the chieftaincy and be cut down, or flee and live to fight a bigger battle. And that’s all I’m telling you.” Her features were tight, remembering. “In that time there were two island leaders, one in the north, one in the south. Keldec got rid of both, and now I imagine he thinks the isles a safe place, sparsely inhabited, with any figures of power snuffed out. Though Flint’s current mission suggests that might have changed.”

  “There’s the Hag. She’s most certainly a figure of power.”

  Tali grimaced. “If the king knew she and the other Guardians were still about, there’s no telling what he might do. It would certainly be a lot more than sending one Enforcer to deal with the problem. Keldec greatly fears what he sees as the uncontrolled use of magic, whether by Good Folk or humankind.”

  “Uncontrolled. Meaning, not controlled by him, yes? That explains a lot. I’d thought it strange that he has Enthrallers at his court, and other canny folk too, people like you and me, when he’s so afraid of magic.”

  Tali shrugged. “If folk are loyal to him, he can be confident they’ll use their talents for his purposes, I suppose. Possibly Flint and the other Enthrallers have turned the minds of every canny person at court, so all of them slavishly obey the king’s will. I’ve never asked Flint about it and I don’t imagine you have either.”

  I made to answer, but a fit of coughing overtook me. It left me with an all-too-familiar feeling: that there was an iron band around my chest. I felt the scrutiny of Tali’s dark eyes.

  “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Why don’t you lie down and try to sleep awhile? No need to fish today, there’s enough left over.” After days on the islet, we no longer thought in terms of food being cold or raw or less than fresh. What we caught, we ate.

  The cough was persistent. I did my best to muffle it as I sat hunched in my cloak, obeying Tali’s rule about not straying on my own. Not that there was far to go anyway. Beyond the small, flattish area by the shallow cave, the rocks were pitted with cracks and holes, a nightmare of sharp edges and sudden drops. The sea washed constantly against the islet as if keen to swallow it whole. Sometimes it tossed up seaweed, little fronded pieces and long, tough ribbons of kelp. We’d tried eating the smaller bits, but they had made us sick.

  Today the sky was filled with long clouds like banners. I gazed toward Far Isle and allowed myself to picture the Hag’s boat sailing over to fetch us back. She hadn’t sent so much as a single bird to check if we were alive or dead. Not a gull. Not a crab. Not a tiny worm. Behind me in the shelter Tali lay still, a blanket over her, her dark lashes tranquil on her pale cheeks. Against the odds, fast asleep. I wished her good dreams.

  I was in a half dream myself, born of weariness and hunger, when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. What was that down at the water’s edge, tumbling and turning in the wash of the waves?

  “Tali!” I said sharply. “Wood! Quick!”

  She had been sleeping heavily and was slow to rouse. Too slow—the precious timbers would float away before we could secure them. I scrambled down the rocks, slipping and sliding, until I thought maybe I could reach them without falling in. Wavelets slapped up over my feet, drenching already wet shoes. I set one hand on the rocks for balance, used the other to tuck the hem of my skirt into my belt, then stretched down.

  “Neryn, wait!”

  Her voice startled me. I teetered, then righted myself, heart pounding. In that turmoil of dark, shifting water, I would not last to a count of five. I’d go under before I could snatch a breath, and Tali would likely be drowned trying to save me. I waited, and the wood began to drift away.

  “Here.” She was beside me, passing me her staff. “I’ll hold on to you; you lean out and hook it in closer. Ready?” She braced her legs and held me around the waist. I leaned out over the churning waves.

  “Good,” Tali said as the staff caught the floating wood and drew it in toward the rocks. “Steady; just hold it and let the water do the rest. That’s it.…”

  We managed to get six pieces of wood in; the rest drifted beyond our reach. Six solid lengths of timber, dark and heavy with seawater. They had perhaps been part of a ship, some vessel that had foundered on a skerry like this one. We dragged our bounty up to the shelter.

  “Too wet to burn,” Tali said, hands on hips as she examined the wood. Each piece was a handspan broad and about one good stride in length. “And it won’t dry out in this place. Besides, there??
?s nothing to get a fire started with, unless you feel like chopping off your hair.”

  “My hair’s as wet as everything else,” I pointed out.

  “So, no fire. But we can make these into a barrier to keep the worst of the wind out of our shelter. Two sets of three, tied in place—I have rope in my pack. We can anchor it around the rocks.”

  “With maybe seaweed for caulking,” I suggested. “We could hammer it into a pulp and squash it into the gaps.”

  “Mm-hm.” She was already getting out the coil of rope. “I’m not keen to cut this; we may need the full length some other time.”

  “For cliff-scaling.”

  “That’s a joke, I take it.”

  “The best I can manage under the circumstances.”

  After a moment she said, “You’re doing well, Neryn.”

  “Thank you.” Her praise was rarely given, and all the more precious for that. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “We haven’t done it yet,” she said, hands busy with rope and boards. “Whatever it is. But yes, it’s easier when you’re not on your own.”

  By the time the barrier was finished, I was yawning, worn out from the usual sleepless night. Tali went off to fish and I lay down in the shelter to rest. As I drifted off to sleep, it came to me that the Good Folk might not have abandoned us after all. The rock with a water-storing hollow had appeared after we made the best of the islet’s meager offerings. Those floating timbers might have been guided in our direction when we had shown we were prepared to hunker down and get on with surviving. Maybe the next thing would be a boat, and rescue. I fell asleep heartened, despite the cold.

  I could not have been more wrong, for when I woke before dusk, it was to find myself alone. Our bags, our staves, our waterskins lay on the rocks beside me. But Tali was gone.

  MORNING. THE WASH OF THE SEA, THE SCREAM of gulls. Three days now, and each waking the same. The quick glance around, expecting to see her long, lean form; the tattoos dark against her pale skin; her shrewd, mocking eyes. The return of memory like a leaden weight. The sick, hollow recognition that I was all alone.