The Caller (22 page)

Our supplies were prepared: clothing and weaponry, food for the road, a bigger and better stocked healer’s bag than the one we had brought from the Beehives. Steps were taken to alter my appearance, though there was a limit to what was possible. Creia cut my hair off level with my shoulders and dyed it a dull red-brown with a walnut shell and beet juice concoction. Once at Winterfort, I would need to repeat this process when the natural colour began to show. The clothing provided for me was of richer fabric and more elegant cut than anything I had worn before. This was consistent with Brenn’s status in Gormal’s household. The women of Callan Stanes made me practice walking like a lady and showed me how to put my shorter hair up in a smooth roll with not a single stray strand. I perfected a graceful curtsy. I reminded myself that at Shadowfell we did not use the word
impossible
.

Word came in from Foras’s people that the way was clear; the makeshift army had tramped its way north to Winterfort and entered the fortress gates, fey warriors, farm boys and all. Brenn guessed the Enforcers would be given the job of transforming that throng into some kind of fighting force. Very likely they’d have limited time for training new recruits, but they’d be wanting men like Brenn, who had a high degree of discipline already, to take on the more straightforward responsibilities – guard duty for instance.

My travelling companion’s matter-of-fact manner should have reassured me. Instead, it made me wonder if he knew what we were heading into.

‘Have you ever been to the Gathering?’ I asked him the night before we were due to leave the farm.

‘Managed to avoid it thus far, Neryn. But I’ve heard enough.’

‘I thought I had, too. My father used to talk about it. But nothing could have prepared me. And . . .’

‘And what?’

‘Even before midsummer, you could be asked to perform acts that go against everything you believe in. Terrible acts of violence and cruelty. For this to work, you’ll have to obey orders without question.’

‘I know that.’ His tone was kindly, as if he were speaking to a child. ‘I’ve been part of Foras’s group for years.’

I thought of how the years of living a double life had scarred Flint; the heavy burden he carried day by day, the bleak look that was often in his eyes. My last troubling dream of him was never far from my thoughts. ‘You haven’t done
this
before,’ I said. ‘It’ll take a toll. On both of us.’

Brenn was regarding me soberly now, his dark eyes narrowed in his strong, bearded face. ‘I have an idea what might lie ahead.’

At that moment Foras came in with something in his hand. ‘You’ll need to carry these,’ he said, passing a small packet to each of us. ‘You know the rule, Neryn, I imagine?’

‘I have my own supply,’ I said. Hemlock, a fail-safe means of escape from torture. The rebel code meant a person would kill herself rather than be forced into betraying secrets.

‘Take it only in the last extreme. Now that Keldec’s using the Good Folk, your role is even more vital to our success. I have to say, despite going over and over the arguments, I’m barely convinced that you’re making the right choice. Even with Brenn, you’ll be vulnerable at court. I’ll be holding my breath until the Gathering, wondering if my poor strategy has ruined any chance we had of winning this.’

I forced a smile. ‘Not your poor strategy, Foras. Mine.’

‘Well. Are you ready?’ His cheerful tone was unconvincing.

One day at a time
, I thought, remembering Silva’s words.
Be brave for one day. Go on for one day.
‘As ready as we can be,’ I said.

The next morning I went to the stones with Silva, only the two of us, and I took the drum. Silva spoke a prayer, and we laid fresh-picked flowers at the foot of the tallest stone. Then Silva moved back a short distance, and I sat cross-legged on the ground with the drum in my hands.

The day was cold, the sun hiding behind clouds. If the little birds were out and about searching for choice morsels in the long grass, they were doing it in silence.

I sat quiet. I did not call. At Winterfort I would have to shut my gift down. When in company with my own kind, I would have to appear as ordinary as possible. I would be a young woman delighted and a little awed to find herself within the royal household. Awed but not scared, because that, too, might attract unwelcome attention. And yet, what young woman in that situation would not be in terror of setting a foot wrong? I had seen how the king and queen treated folk who made mistakes, even trivial ones.

After some time I whispered against the drum skin, ‘Are you there? I’ve come to say goodbye.’ There wasn’t much time. Now that the way was clear, Foras wanted us over the border as quickly as we could manage it. We wouldn’t be walking, we’d be riding, or at least Brenn would be, with me up behind him. In a matter of two days, if all went to plan, we would be at Winterfort.

I saw Silva look up suddenly, and a moment later three – no, four – small beings were flying down to land, two on my shoulders, two in my hair. I had not held great hopes that the Lady would speak to me here at Callan Stanes, with so few of the wee folk left and no enclosed place to bring her voice forth. But as I watched, breathless with wonder that another of them had appeared, the little ones crept down my arms and placed themselves two on each wrist, right by the drum. Piper mimed for me, lying down on my palm, laying his head against the goat skin, then sitting up with a grin of surprise and delight. I found myself smiling in response.

I lifted the drum and put my ear close, careful not to dislodge the little beings. I breathed slowly and waited.

The voice came, cracked and faint, but undeniably hers.

’Tis a dark path lies before ye, lassie.

‘I know,’ I whispered. ‘But the only one.’

There’s a choice ahead fit tae break your hairt. At the end, your faith will be stretched thin as a thread o’ silk. Dinna lose your belief in yoursel’, Neryn, or ye canna dae this.

I could not speak.

Ye did guid, lassie. Ye did fine. Dinna forget tae see wi’ the clarity o’ air. Even when all around ye is smoke and fire, blood and death. Even when your heart’s hurtin’ and your e’en are blinded wi’ tears. See through the terror. See through the sorrow tae what’s true and guid and worth fightin’ for.

The wise voice faded away. Piper and his companions flew a few exuberant circles around me, moved across to salute Silva in the same way, then were off up to their eyrie atop the tallest stone.

I was torn between joy and tears. She had spoken to me; the White Lady was here and growing stronger. Here in this sacred place, here among devoted friends, her light still shone in benighted Alban. And now I must leave this haven and head north again, north into the gathering dark.

Chapter Eight

F
lint was up on the walkway when Brydian’s expedition arrived back at Winterfort. Word had come in that they were bringing a contingent of captive Good Folk, but nobody had known quite what to expect. His vantage point let him see the grim procession climbing the hill, the prisoners herded along by Enforcers with iron weapons, a group of young men marching behind them, and Brydian riding triumphant at the rear with the Caller beside him. There was a disquieting rumour afoot about the presence of those young men. Someone had hinted that Keldec considered them more or less disposable; that they would be used in place of Enforcers while the uncanny army was trained.

The young men didn’t even reach the fortress. A mile or so down the road, a team from the escort, Bull Troop men, split the party up, dividing humankind from Good Folk, then led the young men off along the track that branched up to Seven Oaks Farm, where most of his own men were currently deployed training would-be Enforcers under Rohan’s capable leadership. So those lads, at least, would be safe for a while longer. Seven Oaks was often used when Winterfort was full to capacity; it had spacious, if basic, accommodation and plenty of room for training.

The throng of Good Folk was driven ahead and through the great gates into the courtyard below him. He could not see the king or queen, but he guessed they would be on the steps down there to welcome their Caller home and remark on his feat. One or two of the Good Folk tried to bolt for freedom and were prodded back at spear point. The heavy gates were swung shut, trapping all of them within.

Flint gazed down to the courtyard, silent, as a kind of madness descended on those who found themselves thus enclosed. The Good Folk were suddenly deaf to the shouted orders of the Enforcers. They screamed, shrieked, wept, collapsed. Three strapping beings were held back from attacking their guards only by a forest of spears pointed in their direction. Others struck out at random, screaming and clawing at their own kind and their captors alike. Around the edges of the yard, wooden items began to smoke and smoulder and catch alight. The men of Hound and Bull troops struggled to keep themselves and their horses safe.

In the chaos, he’d lost sight of the Caller. But now, with four of the Hound Troop men around him, Esten stepped out. And there was Brydian, not far away, with his own guards. He shouted something at the Caller over the noise, and Esten raised his hands in response, palms up. As far as Flint could tell, he did not cry out or chant or do anything that might be interpreted as a call. He simply stood there looking out on the scene of disorder. But a silent shock seemed to pass through every uncanny being. While the Enforcers on guard stood their ground, the Good Folk collapsed like felled trees or shrank down with their arms curled over their heads. Those whose natural form was fiery wavered and dimmed. Smoke arose to shroud the courtyard and its occupants. When it cleared, the men of Hound and Bull troops remained standing, weapons in their hands, but the Good Folk were cowering down, hunched, defeated, terrified. The place had fallen silent save for a thready whimpering. Esten sagged at the knees; one of his guards caught him before he hit the ground. Whatever spell he had cast, it had robbed him of all his strength.

Flint did not wait to see more, but headed down the steps. When he reached the great hall, senior members of the household were gathering around Brydian. The king had ordered that two full troops of Enforcers were to be stationed in a ring around the captives at all times, with their iron blades unsheathed. This was a temporary measure. A council would be held tomorrow, which every troop leader and deputy was required to attend. The king wanted a plan for security and a plan for training. They were all to bring solutions.

Flint sent a messenger to summon Rohan back from Seven Oaks. He did not go out into the courtyard to observe the captives, but spoke to some of the men from Bull and Hound troops who had brought them from the south. When the guard changed that first evening, he heard that several of the smaller beings had collapsed and died within the circle of swords and spears, though none of the Enforcers had touched them. Others were reported to be shivering continuously, as if in great pain.

He tried to think strategically.
The king wanted solutions. Could any solution be found here that would not only satisfy Keldec – or, more importantly, the queen – but also do the right thing by the Good Folk?

He made himself treat it like any other tactical problem. Even with the constant guard, the uncanny folk presented a danger to the king’s household. They needed to be moved. And the king wanted them trained. The first step was to get them away, somewhere they could be held securely without the ring of iron and the high enclosing walls. The next step . . . the next step was beyond him. Could Esten persuade these Good Folk to cooperate? Could they learn to fight alongside human warriors? If that happened, if he was complicit in it, he would be sharpening a tool to use against his own allies. He would be undermining the rebellion.

Thirteen Enforcers attended the council: each troop leader and deputy with the exception of Wolf Troop’s second-in-command, Finan, who was at Summerfort overseeing the small contingent that wintered there. Owen Swift-Sword and Rohan Death-Blade came into the chamber with the others to find both king and queen already present, along with Brydian and his fellow councillor, Gethan, a man with a powerful canny gift involving fire. Esten was seated between the queen and Brydian. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days.