The Caller (17 page)

The newcomers ripped Snow’s leading rope from Silva’s hand; she could not suppress a sound of protest.

‘Give it up, little lady,’ one man said. ‘We’ve got authority to take what we need. King’s orders.’ With that, they led Snow away. She disappeared, pannier and all, behind the hut. I wrapped my hand around Silva’s; she was shaking.

‘Right, now,’ said the taller of Ean’s inquisitors. ‘Let’s see what you’re made of. Staves first, I think, and you can shape up to my friend here, he’s more of a height with you.’

‘I’ve no wish to fight you,’ Ean said, shifting his grip on his staff. ‘We just want to get home with the goat. Folk are expecting us.’

‘It’s not up to you, laddie.’ Swift as a diving hawk, the shorter man swung his staff around, aiming straight for Ean’s head. Ean’s own staff came up to parry the blow. It seemed there was no choice but to fight.

Silva was holding back sobs; I could only clutch her hand and hope this was no more than a couple of guards amusing themselves before letting us go on our way. Perhaps they’d bring Snow back when they were done. Perhaps they wouldn’t search the pannier. Perhaps, perhaps . . .

‘Piper,’ mouthed Silva, her eyes brimming with tears. A moment later there was a gurgling bleat from behind the hut, abruptly cut off. The blood drained from her face.

I tightened my grip on her hand and gave the smallest shake of my head.
Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything.
If Snow was gone, she was gone. Protests of outrage would not bring her back. Besides, there were four of them. Of us three, only one was a fighter. I could not use my gift, not here with so many eyes on us.
You’re our secret weapon, Neryn
, Tali whispered in my mind.
Put your own safety first.

They fought with staves, then with knives, then with bare fists. Two things became apparent. Firstly, Ean was good at this; Tali would have recruited him on the spot. Secondly, this was no impulsive act by the guards, carried out purely for their own entertainment. They were testing Ean. First one, then the other took him on, stretching him hard but always holding back at a certain point, as if to avoid doing him any real injury. They were adult men, well trained and well disciplined; this was the kind of bout the new recruits at Shadowfell undertook time after time in the practice yard, earning their place among Regan’s rebels. Why would these guards bother to put a passing farmer through his paces?

The fight ended; the guards stepped away. Ean bent over, hands on knees, getting his breath back. He had a few bruises; so did both the others.

‘You sure you’re a goat farmer, lad?’

‘My cousin’s a fighter; he taught me.’ Ean gasped in a breath. ‘Can we be going now?’

‘As to that . . .’ Without any apparent signal, the two other men reappeared from behind the hut, moving in so that our exit was blocked. One of them had blood on his hands. Silva stood rigid beside me; I sensed she was trying not to be sick. ‘Your kinswomen here can be on their way. You, we’ll be needing to keep a while longer.’

‘A while? How long? And why?’ Ean glanced at us, looked quickly away. He must know, as I did, that making a bolt for it would be pointless. Silva put her balled fist up against her mouth.

‘Long enough so your womenfolk shouldn’t bother waiting around for you.’

‘Why are you treating Gruan like this?’ It wasn’t hard to make my voice sound shaky and frightened. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong. And what about our goat?’

‘The goat’s been confiscated. There are hungry men to feed and supplies are short. As for your kinsman here, we’re offering him an opportunity. A rare one. We’re recruiting your Gruan for a brand new venture. King’s special forces. If he does well, he’ll be richly rewarded. If he fails, he goes back to the goat farm. But you won’t fail, young fellow, will you? Not with these two lovely ladies depending on you.’ He ran his eyes over us again, and now there was a different look in them, one I did not like at all. Had that been a threat? ‘Come on, then, lad. There’s a couple of king’s men over at the other checkpoint who’ll be wanting a word with you.’

I saw Ean consider putting up a fight and deciding it would only make the situation worse. ‘Don’t wait for me,’ he said, squaring his shoulders. ‘Head on home. I’ll come when I can.’

King’s special forces. What in Black Crow’s name was that? What kind of special forces could be made up of young men gathered at random on the road?

I picked up Ean’s pack and passed it to him. ‘Safe journey,’ I said, doing my best to sound cheerful and confident. ‘We’ll see you back at the farm. Come on, Lia.’

‘You killed my goat,’ Silva whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘You killed Snow.’

My heart ached for her, and for Ean, and for all those caught up in the wretched place Alban was today. ‘We have to go, Lia. Take my arm, here.’

‘Want your basket back?’ enquired one of the men.

My heart thudded. ‘Yes, please,’ I managed.

He went back behind the hut and returned with the pannier, bloodstained and gaping open. He tossed it at me, and I managed to catch it. If, by some unlikely chance, Piper was still in there, he must be clinging like a limpet.

‘Thank you,’ I forced myself to say. ‘Gruan, good luck.’

Silva gave Ean one anguished look before two of the men seized his arms and took him off. One of the others made a curt gesture, waving us on along the track.

‘Come on.’ I set off briskly, almost dragging her with me. ‘Quick,’ I muttered when we were out of earshot, ‘before they change their minds.’ As we walked I checked the pannier, trying not to be too obvious in case we were still being watched. Snow’s blood was everywhere, and there was a strange hole in the wickerwork, as if it had been burned. Piper was gone.

‘Piper,’ Silva gasped. ‘Ean . . .’

‘Keep walking. There’s nothing we can do right now.’ I knew just how she felt: as if she were being torn in two. It was so wrong to leave them, so wrong to step back and abandon them to their fate, when we should be . . . what? We could not have rescued Ean. If I had used my canny skill, or if Whisper had intervened of his own accord, the whole mission would have been in jeopardy. As for fighting our way out, Ean had understood straight away, as perhaps Silva had not, that he had no chance of prevailing against such odds. He’d have to go along with whatever they had in store for him and try to escape later.

‘Snow,’ Silva spoke on a wrenching sob. ‘They killed Snow.’

‘Shh,’ I whispered. ‘If the Lady has a good place for goats, be sure Snow’s there munching on sweet grass. Try to think of that.’ Sudden tears sprang to my eyes, startling me. Snow was a small loss in the pattern of things, an innocent victim of the times. But there were so many losses. We all bore our share of wounds, the ones that marked our bodies and the ones we carried inside where nobody could see. It could be hard, so hard to keep sight of the goal. ‘Ean was very brave,’ I murmured. He had been braver than Silva probably realised, choosing compliance so she and I could make a clean escape. He had shown the strength of a true rebel.

We reached a fork in the path and took a side track southward. There was a little wood not far off, birches and beeches still naked from the winter; it seemed a good spot to wait for Whisper. As we drew near, he flew over us, winging toward the trees, and relief flooded through me.

By a trickling stream, under the half-concealment of the bare trees, we told him our story and heard his.

‘There are riders everywhere,’ Whisper said. ‘Men in Erevan’s colours. Knocking on doors, stopping folk on the road or in the fields. Gathering men. Fit young men. I’ve seen Enforcers in the next settlement and on the road too. I canna tell you what they’re aboot, only that it looks well planned.’

‘One of the men we encountered mentioned the king’s special forces; said he was recruiting Ean for that.’

‘Mebbe this is the start o’ something new,’ Whisper said grimly. ‘The fact is, we canna help the lad. We should be on our way before there’s mair o’ them on the roads.’

‘But Piper,’ protested Silva. ‘We can’t leave him behind.’

Piper, last piece of the White Lady. I had promised to get him to safety. If he perished, she was gone, and with her part of Alban’s spirit. And was not that, in truth, what the rebellion was all about?

‘We canna gae back,’ said Whisper quietly. ‘But you could ca’ the wee fellow, Neryn. Risky, I ken, wi’ sae many folk close by; but Piper’s sma’. What’s ane wee grasshopper or butterfly crossing a field?’

Ane bite for a witawoo.
I heard the wry voice as if the Lady were right beside me.

‘You’d want tae be quick,’ Whisper said. ‘The sooner we’re awa’ frae these parts, the better.’ Then, to Silva, ‘Come on, lassie, let’s we twa move awa’ a bit, give Neryn some room.’

The drum; I should use the drum, or Piper would not be able to understand the call. But no. The drum only worked if we were both close to the vibrating skin. Piper might be anywhere. He might already have perished, trampled underfoot without a thought, or crushed and broken as the pannier was ripped from the goat’s back. Or, if he still lived, he might even now be crawling through the long grass with damaged wings, or flying blindly about, dazed and distressed.

Stop it, Neryn. Stop thinking the worst.
Though this was bad enough, with Ean taken and Piper lost.
Stop it. You are a Caller.

I knew how to do this. Piper was a being of air, part of the White Lady. The White Lady had taught me the many moods of air; she had taught me to shape the call to the circumstances. There were Enforcers as near as the next checkpoint; there were armed men on the roads. And Piper could not understand my speech anyway. Like the call I had made back at the Beehives, in the storm, this must be silent.

If I had been a mage, I would have conjured up a breeze to waft the wee one safely to me. But I had no magic of my own. I must find the magic of air; I must use its strength for the call. I shut my eyes and thought of the wondrous moment when the small, bright beings had swarmed around the heads of the wise women, crowning each with light. I made myself an image of Piper and the others in the cairn, seated on my arms and shoulders and in my lap; I remembered the wry, wise voice of the Lady. I breathed, using the slow patterns the Hag had taught me. I set aside Ean, the Enforcers, Silva, the long walk still to be completed before we would reach the safety of Callan Stanes.

I thought of an easterly breeze; felt its cool fingers brushing the skin of my cheek. The breeze brought the distinctive odour of sheep; the fresh scent of grass; the smell of smoke. I imagined Piper’s tiny bright form, his beady eyes, his delicate wings. He was the last one. If we lost him, we lost something irreplaceable.

I thought of the Guardians, and how they were part of the very fabric of Alban. Take one away, and all would surely fall. The White Lady was wind and storm. She was the hoot of an owl, the howl of a wolf, the scream of a dying man, the hum of a mother singing her babe to sleep. She was breath. She was life.

I shaped words with my lips, but did not speak them aloud. I pictured Piper winging his way toward me, crossing the fields of grazing sheep, the dry-stone walls, the farmhouses and barns. The armed men on the tracks; the Enforcers in their masks and black cloaks. Evading the keen eye and sudden talons of the hawk. The call went out without a sound.
Fly safe. Fly true. Fly home.

I opened my eyes; trees and rocks swirled around me. My knees gave way and I collapsed onto the ground. I had done my best.

‘Neryn!’ Silva’s voice as she ran over to me. ‘Are you all right?’

Before I could find my voice, a shrill sound split the air, and a moment later Piper flew out of nowhere to crash into my chest, where he clung, quivering. My ears rang with his shrieks. Silva knelt beside me; Whisper hovered close. Still the screams went on, loud enough to alert every farmer for five miles around.

‘Hush,’ said Silva. ‘Piper, you’re safe now. Shh!’

The drum, where was the drum . . . Gods, I was so tired. I cupped my hands around Piper’s shaking form. Was he hurt? There was blood on his little tunic and on his hands. But perhaps it was Snow’s.

‘Here,’ Silva said. She held out the drum, level, ready.

I whispered across its surface, though how Piper would hear me through the piercing sound of his own voice, I did not know. ‘Hush, little one. You’re safe now. You found us. Hush.’ I went on in this mode for a while, holding him close to my body, until his cries died down to shuddering gasps. This, I thought, was not only the shock and terror of the goat’s violent death and of being lost. If Piper was anything, he was resilient. There was something more here. ‘Show us,’ I breathed against the drum skin, heedless now of Silva and Whisper watching me. ‘Show us what is troubling you.’

He tried, miming the goat standing uncomplaining on her rope, then sweeping his hand, an imaginary knife clutched in it, across his own throat. Then a sequence of movements suggesting being trapped, fighting to find a way out. A gesture I could not interpret, a complex movement of the hands almost like the casting of a spell. Then he clutched his head with both hands and opened his mouth in another scream, this one mercifully silent. He pointed one way, then the opposite way, then toward his head again, using both hands. He finished his performance by crouching down on my palm and wrapping his arms over his head.

‘You’re safe,’ I whispered again. He was upset by Snow’s death and he had a monstrous headache, that much I understood. That was not all of it, I was sure, but I would not push him further. And we had to move on.

‘Thank you, Silva,’ I said, struggling to my feet. I felt as weary as if I had been running all day. Calling might seem to other folk to be merely a matter of standing still and concentrating, but it drained both body and spirit. ‘I won’t use the drum any more now. We must go. Can you take him in your pocket?’

Without speaking, Silva reached out for the little being and placed him carefully in the pouch at her belt. She untied her kerchief and tucked it in after him.

‘Neryn,’ said Whisper. His tone chilled me; it was full of trouble.