The Caller (51 page)
Authors: Juliet Marillier
We were in the little cottage where we had stayed once before, on Far Isle. In a secret cave on this island, last spring, the Hag had taught me the magic of water. In this modest but cosy dwelling, Tali and I had stayed while I underwent that rigorous training. In this chamber, Flint and I had once spent a night in each other’s arms, with no certainty that we would ever do so again. We had exercised great restraint that night; to conceive a child would have been to give the king a powerful weapon against us. Now here we were once more. The cottage was ours for as long as we wanted it. The local folk knew about us and would provide supplies. If we needed to see the Hag, all I had to do was go along the cliff path to the designated spot and call Himself.
I had thought myself too tired to be surprised by anything. But what the Hag had said as we stepped onto the jetty on Far Isle had startled me.
‘You’ll be wanting a hand-fasting, aye? Be at the usual spot tomorrow early, and we’ll be ready.’
Now, as Flint made a fire on the hearth and I found cups and herbs for a brew, those words were in the silence between us. It was only when we were seated before the fire and the kettle was starting to steam that Flint said, ‘You remember the day we said farewell at Shadowfell, when I went back down the mountain? You told me I was a good man despite everything, and I found myself believing you. I had hope for the future that day. I saw it bright and clear: the two of us together, in a place something like this, with our children around us and good work for our hands. Husband and wife together in an Alban reborn. But . . . I wonder, now, if I can ever be that man. I think I am too broken. I think I am too stained by the evil I have done; unfit to be husband or father.’
I was fighting back tears. I moved to lift the kettle from the fire, to fill the cups, to put one in his hands. ‘Hush,’ I said. ‘Sit quiet and drink your tea. Listen to the stillness.’
And not long after that, I took the cup from him again, for he was shaking with sobs. He bowed his head, hands over his face. I sat by him, my hand lightly against his back, careful of his wounds. My own tears fell in silence while he released his grief. At length the weeping died down, and he wiped a hand across his face.
‘What has it all been for,’ I said, ‘if not for this? There was the grand purpose, yes. To dethrone the tyrant; to restore Alban. But also to let people like us live our lives in peace. To let us raise children without fearing for them every moment of every day. To let us work and love and do the ordinary things. To set us free.’
He said nothing.
‘It will get better,’ I said. ‘I promise you. We’ll work on it together. We’ll help each other to mend.’
‘I’ve done such terrible things. Worse than you can imagine. Far worse. How could I ever explain that to a child? But I would owe my son or daughter the truth.’
‘There’s a right time for every story to be told. When that time came you would tell them how it was. And they would understand, because by then they would know what a good, kind, courageous man their father always was, even when he needed to pretend to be a different sort of man.’ When he looked unconvinced, I added, ‘Besides, you have started to undo those acts you talked about. What about those four men whose enthralments you reversed? You could do the same for others, couldn’t you? And think what good you could do as a mind-mender, if you chose to return to that.’
‘I look at myself, and what I see is not a mind-mender. It is not the good, kind, courageous man you speak of. What I see is a killer. A breaker. A liar.’
‘You were a spy. You acted your part well. Now that is over, and you can be yourself again. If it takes time for you to do that, perhaps a long time, you might look on that as the penance you must pay for those misdeeds. But, Flint . . .’
‘Don’t cry, Neryn. Please.’
‘Don’t punish me for what you see as your own failings. I want to be with you more than anything in the world. I’ve dreamed of this since that day you spoke of, the day you called me
my heart
and surprised me with a kiss. Never mind the hand-fasting, if you don’t want that. But please don’t push me away. I know you love me. I love you with all my heart. Please give this time.’
He put his arms around me, holding me close. He murmured something against my hair, perhaps, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘We should sleep,’ I said. ‘Everything may seem clearer with the dawn.’
So we slept, wrapped in each other’s arms just like last time, but even more chastely, for both of us were so tired we fell asleep almost as soon as we lay down. We woke before dawn, and as rosy light crept in through the windows of the little house, we touched and kissed and came together with gentleness and restraint, with tenderness and passion, and at the end with a sweet inevitability that seemed to wipe away his doubts, at least for now. When it was over we lay quiet, hands clasped, as the day brightened and birds began a cheerful chorus beyond the windows. And when we judged it to be time, we rose and dressed, and went out to the place where the selkie used to meet me every day to take me to the secret cave for training.
There he was, a great bulky creature with the form of a man and the face of a seal, his clothing an intricate drapery of weed, his mouth stretched in a welcoming smile. We followed him down the cliff path to the cave, and there was the Hag with a fronded circlet of seaweed on her silver hair, and there was an old man with twinkling blue eyes in the wisest, calmest face I had ever seen.
‘Ossan,’ breathed Flint. The old man held out his arms, and Flint walked into them. Ossan, his mentor, the master mind-mender whom he had once been ordered to assassinate in the king’s name; Ossan whom he had saved, at great cost to himself. This would be a powerful tool for healing.
With Ossan and Himself as witnesses, the Hag performed the ritual of hand-fasting, binding us together by earth and fire, by water and air, until death and beyond. She wished us the blessing of each other’s love; the joy of children; the satisfaction of work for our hands; and the bright light of inspiration. When it was done, we made our farewells – Ossan would come to the cottage later to share a meal – and walked back along the cliff path. The sun was climbing; the sea glittered with light. Out there, creatures dived and leaped in a mysterious dance. Above us, gulls passed and passed, calling their harsh messages. Closer at hand, folk were hanging out washing, herding geese, gathering herbs in walled gardens. In time, all Alban might return to this. There was a great work of mending ahead, not only for the leaders but for ordinary people too. It would not be easy and it would not be quick. That we would play a part in it, I had no doubt at all. But not yet. Not just yet.
We stood on the doorstep.
‘I have something for you,’ I said, and took from my pouch the dream vial on its ribbon. ‘Will you wear it?’
He bent so I could slip the ribbon over his head. ‘I must earn it all over again,’ he said.
‘You will,’ I told him, touching my lips to his cheek and feeling my body stir to his. After this morning, everything felt different. ‘Have faith.’ We were husband and wife, and the sun was shining, and despite everything I found myself full of hope.
Flint scraped his boots against the step; I slipped off my shawl. He opened the door and the two of us went in. For now, we were home.
About Juliet Marillier
Juliet Marillier was born in Dunedin, New Zealand. She has worked as a music teacher, an opera singer and tax assessor, but is now a full-time writer. Her historical fantasy novels for adult readers are published internationally and have won a number of awards.
The Caller
is Juliet’s fifth novel for young adult readers. Her first,
Wildwood Dancing
, won the 2006 Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Novel, and her second,
Cybele’s Secret
, won the 2008 Sir Julius Vogel Award, given to the best young adult novel.
Juliet lives in a hundred-year-old cottage by the Swan River in Perth with a small pack of rescue dogs. She loves history, folklore and travel.
Also by Juliet Marillier
THE SEVENWATERS NOVELS
Daughter of the Forest
Son of the Shadows
Child of the Prophecy
Heir to Sevenwaters
Seer of Sevenwaters
Flame of Sevenwaters
Wolfskin
Foxmask
THE BRIDEI CHRONICLES
The Dark Mirror
Blade of Fortriu
The Well of Shades
Heart’s Blood
Prickle Moon
For young adults:
Wildwood Dancing
Cybele’s Secret
Shadowfell
Raven Flight
MORE BESTSELLING FICTION BY JULIET MARILLIER
Shadowfell
The people of Alban are afraid.
The tyrannical king and his masked Enforcers are scouring the land, burning villages and enslaving the canny.
Fifteen-year-old Neryn has fled her home in the wake of its destruction, and is alone and penniless, hiding her extraordinary magical power. She can rely on no one – not even the elusive Good Folk who challenge and bewilder her with their words.
When an enigmatic stranger saves her life, Neryn and the young man called Flint begin an uneasy journey together. She wants to trust Flint but how can she tell who is true in this land of evil?
For Neryn has heard whisper of a mysterious place far away: a place where rebels are amassing to free the land and end the King’s reign.
A place called Shadowfell.
A story of courage, hope, danger and love from one of the most compelling fantasy storytellers.
Raven Flight
Neryn thought she had lost everything and could trust no one, not even her mysterious companion, Flint.
But when she finds refuge at the rebel base of Shadowfell and discovers her canny gift as a Caller, she feels the first stirrings of hope.
Now she faces a perilous journey with the rebel Tali and the Good Folk, who shadow her steps. She must find the three Guardians who can teach her how to use her unwieldy gift – one that is rumoured could amass a powerful army.
Can Neryn master her magical power to save Alban from King Keldec’s stranglehold?
Or will she be too late?
The mesmerising sequel to SHADOWFELL.
First published 2014 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited
1 Market Street, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, 2000.
Copyright © Juliet Marillier 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available
from the National Library of Australia
EPUB format: 9781743289976
Map by Gaye Godfrey-Nicholls of Inklings Calligraphy Studio
Typeset by Post Pre-press Group
Cover design by Mel Fedderson
Cover images: © Nik Keevil / Arcangel Images, © Ilona Wellmann / Trevillion Images
The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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