Shadowfell (27 page)

I nodded. ‘Then you know how lonely it feels.’

He glanced at me, eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve been on my own a long time. It suits me. What I do . . . it’s no work for a man with . . . ties.’

He had begun this speech in the tone of someone talking about putting wood on the fire or folding a blanket. Only the catch in his voice told me perhaps he did understand what it meant to be a son, a brother, a friend.

‘You’re still young,’ I said.

Flint looked at me. ‘You reproach me?’

‘Reproach – no, of course not. Who am I to pass judgement? I know nothing about you.’

‘You know me better than most do, Neryn. I’ve spoken more than I should have done while we have been together. There’s a certain quality you have, a warmth about you, despite all you have experienced . . . It undermines my best intentions. Become my friend and you embrace a nightmare. I don’t wish that on anyone.’

I had no answer to this. My mind could not encompass the loneliness of it. I had been alone; after Father’s death I had thought, for a little, that I had no friend in the whole of Alban. But I had the Good Folk. I was never truly alone. And now I had Flint.

‘You have no friends, even among those men you work with every day?’

A look came onto his face that frightened me. Flint was good at masks; he was expert at making himself impassive. But he had dispensed with the mask now, and the pain on his features brought tears to my eyes, though I did not fully understand the cause.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, laying a hand on his. ‘I shouldn’t have asked that.’

Flint’s fingers curled around mine, and I thought how that did not sit quite right with what he had just said.

‘You implied that something about me made you speak unwisely, tell too much,’ I said. ‘But you’ve told me almost nothing. I still don’t fully understand what you’re doing, only that you must walk a line between life and death, trust and betrayal, every moment of every day. I still don’t know how you put these two parts of your life together and make them work. I know you can’t tell me that. But . . . despite everything, I did think we were already friends, or something close to it. Was I wrong?’

There was a long silence. He kept hold of my hand but would not look me in the eye. Eventually he said, ‘Neryn, what happened to your grandmother?’

I had never told this story. I had not told it to anyone. With Father, I had not needed to put it in words. ‘I – I don’t –’ I drew in a ragged breath. Flint was my friend. We were alone, safe for now. He had helped me, guided me, been as open with me as he dared. Telling this tale would hurt, but perhaps the time for it was now.

‘She was taken by the Enforcers, at Corbie’s Wood.’ My voice came out tight and hard. ‘They drugged her to sleep, and an Enthraller put his hands on her and worked his foul charm. When she woke . . .’ My voice cracked.

‘Go on.’ Flint’s tone was soft as a breath.

‘She was . . . not herself any more. She stumbled out of the bed, and she cried – Grandmother never cried – and she called for me, but I couldn’t come out because that man was still there, and there were Enforcers outside the cottage, I had to stay where I was until everyone had gone . . .’ I was back there, huddled in the secret place behind the wall, my eye glued to the tiny crack, hardly daring to breathe lest they found me and did it to me too.
You must stay still as a stone, Neryn
, she had warned me.
No matter how long it takes. No matter what happens to me. No matter what they do.
‘After they changed her, she didn’t understand what had happened. She no longer had the wit to comprehend even the simplest things. She . . . she couldn’t do anything for herself any more. She’d been so strong before, so wise . . .’

Flint put his arm around my shoulders. ‘You
saw
this?’ he asked quietly. ‘When they came, when this man did his work, you were there?’

I nodded. Now that I had finally begun this story, now that I had managed to frame its first words, the truth spilled out of me like water from a broken dam. ‘I was hiding. They came quickly; there was no time for Grandmother and me to get away. Father was off working in another settlement, and Farral . . . The boys had taken their makeshift weapons and run out to mount a defence. Grandmother knew they wanted her. She made me hide, bade me be silent no matter what happened. She knew they would not fire the cottage; they would have other plans for her. It was . . .’ I drew a shuddering breath. ‘Watching the mind-scraping . . . it made me feel dirty. Sullied. It filled me up with fury. I stood there a long time, all the hours of night, watching her and hearing the noises from outside, in the settlement. The sound of my world breaking in pieces. In the morning, when the men accepted that the charm had failed and went away, I felt as if I were a hundred years old.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I crept out of my hiding place. I cleaned Grandmother up, fed her, sat by her until she fell asleep. I went to the door and looked out, and all around there was burning, and the dead lying in their blood, hacked and broken. I went out to find Farral. He was still alive, pinned by a spear. I hadn’t the strength to free him. I stayed by him while he died. There were a few women and girls left in the settlement, and one or two very old men. When Father got back, we buried the dead. Nobody stayed at Corbie’s Wood. Father and I gathered a few possessions and moved up the hill to an old deserted croft. Father took what work he could find; I looked after Grandmother. Two seasons, she lived. Once she was gone, there was no reason for us to stay. Besides, we had a . . . a warning, and Father decided it wasn’t safe for us to be in one place for too long. We buried Grandmother up on the hill, and we left.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Flint said.

Suddenly I was furious with him. How dare he? I pulled away from him, letting loose a tirade of angry words. ‘Sorry? What use is being sorry? I know that in your heart you are not the king’s man, but when you’re at court, or riding out with your troop, you do his bidding. How are you any better than those wretches who put a spear through Farral’s chest and destroyed all I held dear?’

After a moment Flint said, ‘I am no better, Neryn. That is why we cannot be friends. Believe me, if you knew all there is to know of me, you would shun me as you would a plague.’

I fought for self-control. Putting that night into words at last had left me wretched and shattered. If I had not been so close to tears, I would not have shouted at him the way I had. Now I was ashamed. ‘That isn’t true,’ I whispered, wiping my eyes. ‘I’m sorry I spoke as I did. I hate the things you have to do. But I know that deep down you are a good man. I see it in your eyes. If you were bad, you would not have been so kind to me.’

A wintry smile curved Flint’s lips. ‘Kind? That’s not a word folk use when speaking of me.’

‘Have you forgotten how long you looked after me? You did everything for me. If you were frustrated or angry that I was so slow to recover, I never saw the least sign of it. What was that but kindness?’ Seeing the look on his face, bitter, self-mocking, I added, ‘Is it so hard to believe I see some good in you?’

‘I could lie to you,’ Flint said, ‘but I think you would know if I did. Where you are concerned, I seem to have lost the skill of telling convincing untruths. If Alban were a different place, Neryn, you and I would be friends. Perhaps more than friends. But this is the realm we live in, the time we are born to. There is no place here for softness. Let folk in too close and you offer them up as weapons for your own destruction.’

After a little, I said, ‘We
are
close, Flint. If we weren’t, I would never have come with you after you found me that last time. If we weren’t, you would never had found the patience to stay with me while I was sick.’

‘You misinterpret my motives. I wanted to assist you in your journey because I believed you had something of value to offer. You needed to be strong enough to get there. I helped you. That was all.’ He moved to set another log on the fire, though it was already well supplied. Now I could no longer see his face.

‘I don’t believe you,’ I said. ‘I think we are friends, not in some impossible Alban of the future, but now, in this sad, scarred realm we were both born to. You said I’d loathe you if I knew the truth. Why not tell me this unpalatable truth and let me make my own decision?’

‘It makes no difference what you think. When we reach Shadowfell, you will stay and I will leave.’

‘You’re going back to Summerfort?’

‘Back to the king. That is what I do, Neryn. I do things that would make you weep. I do things that would make you sick. I do things that would make you as angry as you were that day at Corbie’s Wood when you found your brother dying. I am not a fit friend for anyone.’

After that there was nothing more to say, and the two of us settled to sleep on opposite sides of the fire. I was a long time awake, listening to the night sounds and trying to untangle our conversation. I was glad I had told Grandmother’s story at last, though the memory of that night still made my stomach churn and my heart pound with rage. I murmured a silent prayer for her, and another for Mara and her man-child Garret. I vowed that if I did reach Shadowfell, I would do all in my power to make sure nobody ever performed mind-scraping again. It was an evil practice, corrupt, wrong. Someone, somewhere, must surely have the power to stop it. If not, Alban was doomed.

Restless, I rolled over to catch the firelight glinting in Flint’s open eyes as he lay quite still, watching me.

‘Cold?’ he murmured.

It was always cold these days, with the wind coming straight down from the mountain snow. The nights held a chill to freeze us to the bone.

‘I’m warm enough.’ I already had my cloak and both blankets; I did not want him to give me his cloak as well. To build the fire higher would be too risky. ‘I can’t sleep. My mind is turning in circles.’

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the dark sky. The firelight played on the tall stones that surrounded our resting place, making shapes I imagined as creatures of ancient story. ‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ Flint said. ‘We should reach our destination in two or three days. And when I need to leave you, I will find somewhere safe for you to shelter. I told you.’

‘You keep telling me I will be safe.’ My voice sounded small in the dark. ‘But what about you?’

A silence. ‘You fear I will be killed by my own kind and not come back for you?’ he asked.

‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

In the quiet that followed, a bird called out somewhere above us, its harsh cry cutting through the cold air of the autumn night. Perhaps there were stealthy footsteps somewhere beyond the rocks that sheltered us; perhaps my imagination conjured them. Flint put a finger to his lips and we waited. After some time, a time when every breath I took seemed one risk too many, he nodded to me, indicating all was safe, and I breathed more easily.

‘Only a creature passing,’ Flint whispered. ‘Men will not come here by night. Close your eyes, Neryn. You need rest.’

I swallowed. ‘For a long time after that night at Corbie’s Wood I was afraid to sleep,’ I told him. ‘Afraid of what my dreams might bring, and how they might change me. Even now, sometimes I lie awake remembering, and feeling the terror she felt to wake up and be a husk of herself.’

‘Close your eyes,’ Flint said again. ‘Think of good things. Playing with your brother. Skipping pebbles. Chanting
Stanie Mon
. Think of the time when the ones you loved were still alive and well, and how much they taught you. Think about how much of them you carry with you, inside.’

Tears welled behind my eyes. Too often, when I thought of them, I saw only that they had left me, each in turn: Mother, Farral, Grandmother, Father. Left me to walk on alone.

‘You’re strong, Neryn. You’re as strong as the rocks and the mountains. As strong as the oaks with their roots deep in the ground. You look as fragile as a mountain flower, but looks can be deceptive. If I haven’t been prepared to leave you on your own, it’s not because I think you weak and incapable. It’s . . .’

‘What?’ His words had caught me off guard; they set a confusion in me. I wondered what kind of man he really was, deep down.

His voice came to me as the merest whisper. ‘Because, if I see you defeated, then I think I will see Alban defeated, and if that happens none of us can go on. To guard you is to guard the heart of this land of ours. Sleep now, Neryn. Tonight, at least, your dreams will be good ones.’

With that speech he succeeded in silencing me completely. I hardly understood what he meant. And yet his words felt like a warm light on a grey and joyless pathway; they were balm to my heart. ‘Goodnight, Flint,’ I murmured, and settled to sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
HE GOING WAS
steep next day, the paths treacherous as we made our way over bare fells high above the valley. Flint had said he wanted to be off on his solitary mission by midday, but when the sun was at its peak and he started looking for a sheltered place to leave me, there was neither cave nor crevice to be found, only barren open country. We walked on for a while longer, with Flint growing more and more edgy. At last we saw a stand of pines, the only green in the bleak grey of the fells. But when we reached the trees, which stood by a gushing beck, Flint was dissatisfied with the cover they offered. We stopped nonetheless to eat and to fill our water skins. As we sat on the rocks by the stream, a flock of crows flew overhead, cawing. I watched them pass and settle on a lone pine a hundred paces or so to our north along the ridge. Something flickered beneath the tree. A creature? A man? I froze, a warning on my lips.

Now all was still beneath the pine. I narrowed my eyes, wondering what it was that had caught my gaze. Not a man. Not a wandering sheep or errant goat. No, what I had seen was a discolouration of the land, a slice of darkness that lay behind the solitary tree, barely discernable to the eye. Here, then gone. Here again. A shadow. A mark. An opening.

‘Flint,’ I said, ‘I think there may be some kind of cave down there, near the pine. It’s hard to see. There are rocks partly concealed, and within them a narrow opening.’