The Caller (21 page)

And I wanted a solution that spared the Caller, who must surely be a person very like me. What if I had been the one found by Keldec? What if I had been prevailed upon to use my gift in his service, or enthralled into loyalty? Would I then deserve death, or only pity?

You’re too soft
, said Tali’s voice in my head.
It’s a war. People die. This Caller is both evil and powerful. Why should he be spared?

I had no argument to offer; only that, deep down, I knew there must be a better, wiser way.

Silva and the other women who shared our chamber were asleep. From beyond the shuttered window came soft night-time sounds, a cow lowing in the field, sleepy chickens jostling for space in their coop – Silva would like them – and the muted voices of some of the men who were on guard outside. This was a good place. A pity I would not be staying long.

I realised that I had forgotten something earlier. I did indeed have a talent that might get me into Winterfort. Before my grandmother had died, she had begun to teach me the skills of a healer and herbalist, and at Shadowfell I had often helped Fingal in the infirmary. With the so-called special forces perhaps being trained at Winterfort, there could well be a need for additional healers.

My heart was thudding now as I lay still on the pallet. We would be a desirable pair: the husband an outstanding fighter desperately keen to join the Enforcers; the wife competent in the healing arts. This was in fact possible. It might really happen. I might be in the same house as Keldec. In the same chamber as Queen Varda. I might be stuck in an infirmary, unable to reach any of the captive Good Folk. I might find myself powerless to do anything but watch, day by day, from now to midsummer, the hideous results of the king’s experiments with this new Caller.

Stop it, Neryn.
There must be no guilt, no panic, no dwelling on the worst that could happen. If I decided to travel to court, I must do so in the confidence that what I could achieve outweighed the terrible risk I was taking. There was another argument in support of my plan. Keldec and his entourage would move to Summerfort in the warmer weather. Most likely my warrior husband, as an Enforcer in training, would travel with them, and so would I. I would be exactly where Tali needed me to be for the Gathering.
Breathe, Neryn. This is within your reach. You can do this.

After a night spent going over and over the possibilities, I fell asleep before dawn and dreamed of Flint. The dream was confused, unclear. He seemed to be looking out of a tower window, gazing southward. But then he was in the dark, his eyes patches of shadow in a face drained of colour, and there were iron bars between him and me. I reached out my hand, and he put his fingers up against the bars on the other side, but however hard I tried, I could not quite touch him. I tried to speak, to tell him it was all right, I was here, right here in front of him, but I had no voice.
Neryn
, he said.
Neryn, where are you? I can’t see you.
And then,
It’s too late.

I woke with my face all tears. Light was creeping in around the shutters; it was morning, and across the chamber Silva and Creia were already up and dressed.

‘Neryn?’ Silva came to sit on the edge of my bed. ‘We’re going up to the stones for the morning ritual. Why don’t you come and help us?’

She’d noticed, no doubt of it. And she was wise. Better by far to be out of doors, walking in the sunlight in company with friends, than lying here while my mind churned with unwelcome thoughts. I got up and reached for my clothes.

‘One day at a time,’ murmured Silva, passing me my tunic. ‘That’s what I keep telling myself. Go on for one more day. Be brave for one more day. That’s easier than thinking about a whole turning of the moon, a whole season, a whole life.’ She reached to help me fasten my skirt. ‘Now I’ve made you cry again.’

‘It’s nothing.’ I dashed the tears from my cheeks. ‘A bad dream, that was all.’ I thrust my feet into my boots; twisted my hair into a makeshift knot. ‘I’m ready.’

The Callan Stanes were well protected against intrusion. Between them and the farm boundary there grew every plant best designed to cut, scratch, stab or otherwise damage anyone who went that way. Brambles. Thornbushes. Nettles. There would be few casual visitors here.

We emerged onto a flat grassy sward. There they were: nine of them in a rough circle, the tallest twice the height of a big man, the smallest only as high as my shoulder. More lay prone, sleeping. In the dawn light their shadows spread long and grey behind them on the grass, like trailing capes. The stones were old. Mosses softened their crevices and lichens splashed their surfaces with purple and gold and brown. Around them was a profound stillness, as if the ground within their protective circle were set apart from the ordinary world.

I walked with the other girls in procession, joining in the responses to Silva’s prayers, but my thoughts were full of Flint’s white face, his hand against the bars, his anguished voice saying,
I can’t see you.
I reminded myself sharply of where I was and what I was doing, and moved through the cycles of meditative breathing the Hag had taught me. I made my mind open, empty, ready for whatever wisdom might come. Silva’s voice, sweet and clear, was echoed by the chirping of meadow birds in the grass around the ancient stones.

We had brought offerings: a bowl of clear water, a sprig of rosemary, a little honey cake. These we placed on a stone slab that lay in the centre of the circle.

‘Accept our gifts, White Lady,’ Silva said quietly. ‘We make this offering in love and in hope. Bless this sacred ground with your presence. May this be a place of calm and learning in our troubled land.’

When the ritual was complete we turned to walk away, and Creia gave a gasp of shock. From high on the tallest stone, a small form came flying to circle around Silva’s head, gossamer wings glinting in the morning light. Piper was here; he was indeed safe. And now it was my turn to catch my breath, for following him down from the rock came two others, one shining silver, the other deep rose-red, crowning Silva with a three-part dance. We left the circle, and as we passed out between the stones the small beings flew back up to their eyrie and out of sight.

I was crying again; what was wrong with me? I scrubbed a hand across my cheeks.

‘Neryn,’ said Silva quietly. ‘It’s all right to cry.’ Her own eyes were wet. ‘We’ve done a good thing.’

She was right; we had done a remarkable thing. We’d taken an immense risk, and because of that, the White Lady was still here among us. Alive; growing stronger already.

‘I know.’ Perhaps this was the time for tears, while I was safe among friends. At Winterfort, I would not be able to cry. I’d have to be strong. Fearless. I’d have to set aside the chill terror that gripped me at the very thought of what lay ahead.

Once Foras’s people accepted that I would not change my mind, the plan took shape with frightening speed. Foras was a leader, like Tali – he understood what needed to be done and how to do it. He knew how to make things happen.

‘This isn’t a simple matter of a couple walking into Winterfort and telling the authorities the fellow wants to join the Enforcers,’ he told me as we sat in council on the third day after my arrival. A small group of other rebels was with us, including the dark-bearded Brenn, who had been chosen to accompany me. ‘If a man has outstanding fighting skills already, the first thing the king’s people will ask is how he came by them; what household he’s been attached to, why he’s leaving, why he hasn’t sought a position among the Enforcers before. The good old
I grew up on a farm and learned from my brothers
isn’t adequate in this situation, not when a man knows how to use weapons no farmer would have lying around. Brenn could claim he’s from beyond the borders of Alban and learned in some other king’s army, but he’d have to be good at an accent, good enough to fool the king’s councillors, I suspect. Be hard to keep that up all the time.’

‘Fortunately,’ put in Brenn, giving me a shrewd look, ‘we have another idea. May I explain?’ He glanced at Foras.

‘Go ahead.’

‘You’ll know that our chieftain, Gormal, is a supporter of the rebellion. He’s treading a perilous path, and the closer we get to midsummer the more dangerous that path becomes. It’ll be the same for any leader who plans to stand alongside us at the Gathering. Gormal’s already had to share his strategy with his master-at-arms; we know that. Most likely also with other members of his household, those who need to know. His men have to be prepared for what’s coming. But Gormal shares a border with Erevan of Scourie, who’s loyal to the king. Gormal can’t risk Erevan’s folk getting word of his treachery, as Erevan would see it. That means he has to let the king’s men ride across his territory in this mad quest to gather a new fighting force for Keldec. He must stay quiet; he can’t afford to attract attention before midsummer. That’s not to say he can’t help us, in a small way.’

‘You can’t tell Gormal about me,’ I protested, horrified. ‘That would be risking the whole rebellion!’

‘All we need tell him is that we want a cover story,’ said Brenn calmly. ‘He can provide that. His master-at-arms, who’s a friend of ours, will back him up if required. We’ll be supplied with items of clothing and weaponry that fit the story, which will be that I’ve been released from Gormal’s service, with his blessing, to follow my dream of becoming an Enforcer. Why now? Because I’m recently wed and keen to be a good provider for my new wife, who just happens to be a skilled healer.’

It was neat. Almost too neat. ‘And how does my background story tie in with yours?’ I asked.

‘Once they get a demonstration of Brenn’s fighting skills, nobody’s going to be interested in you,’ said one of the women, Marnit. ‘Choose an obscure part of Glenfalloch as your home region, say your old grandmother taught you everything you know, and I doubt anyone will ask you further questions. It’s a weakness in their defences. Useful.’

‘How long will it take to speak to these people and obtain the clothing and weapons you mentioned?’ I asked.

‘You don’t want to be crossing paths with this uncanny army on your way north,’ said Foras. ‘I’ve sent folk out to track them; it seems they are headed in the general direction of Winterfort, but we’ll wait for confirmation that the way is clear before you set off. We want Brenn to offer himself as an Enforcer, not be swept up in these so-called special forces. While we wait for further intelligence, we’ll arrange the cover story.’

I nodded agreement, knowing this was the best plan anyone was likely to come up with in the circumstances. ‘If another bird comes when I’m gone,’ I said, ‘a messenger from Tali, I mean, you should send it back with word of what’s happened.’ Tali had said she would send Gort, too, by less magical means. He might already have come down the valley, since the turning of the season should allow that by now. But he had no way to find me. He was hardly going to come looking within the walls of Winterfort.

‘I have a question for you,’ said Marnit. ‘On that first day, when you were telling your story, you said something about Good Folk being drawn to you even when you weren’t calling them. You told us the little creature who came here with you was torn between you and the other Caller, feeling the influence of both. If that’s true, why didn’t those folk you saw marching along the valley know you were up on the hillside watching as they went by? Why didn’t they feel your magic?’

‘It’s not magic. Or, at least, it’s not my magic. The call comes from what already exists: earth, air, fire and water. And from spirit, deep within. Maybe they felt my presence that day, even though I made sure I didn’t call. But the other Caller was far closer to them than I was. And there were Enforcers armed with iron weapons all around them.’ I saw unspoken questions on the faces of my companions.

‘We’re only going to have one opportunity to win this, and that will be at the Gathering. When I get to court I won’t be calling the prisoners to rise up against the Enforcers. I won’t be testing my gift against the other Caller’s – not before midsummer. But I want to let them know they’re not alone; that freedom is coming.’ I thought of Whisper marching at the end of that column, his great eyes blank, his snowy feathers dappled with blood; Ean drawn into those ranks of terrified young men; the Good Folk, big and small, powerful and weak, forced into this cruel and destructive game. ‘I want to bring them hope.’