The Caller (9 page)

Winter advanced. Sombre clouds filled the sky. The wind beat on our modest refuge. The rain hurled itself against the walls as if to topple them, or came straight down in drenching sheets, turning the farmyard to a quagmire and forcing us to bring Snow and the chickens inside with us. The ducks were untroubled, finding shelter among the reeds that fringed the now-swollen stream.

There was a brief dry spell, and Silva dashed out to pull the last of the root vegetables and dig her broken beanstalks into the soil. The respite was soon over. On a day of howling gales and heavy rain, a day when it would have been foolish to attempt a walk to the cairns, the three of us huddled in the biggest of the outhouses with the animals, waiting for the worst to pass. I had insisted Whisper join us; surely no-one would be abroad in such a storm. We had a little fire burning in a brazier, but the wind poked icy fingers between the shutters and under the door. The chickens perched in a row up on a shelf, muttering to each other and casting nervous glances at Whisper. Snow was bedded down on straw in a corner, content to be out of the weather.

It was time to be more open with Silva. Whisper and I had agreed, earlier, that she should not be left on her own, and we had kept to that. But we could not stay here forever; when my training was complete, we would have to move on, and she would indeed be alone. Her hard work and generosity were allowing us to survive here; I owed her as much of the truth as I could risk telling.

‘Silva.’

‘Mm?’ It was unusual to see her idle; even in moments of relative repose, her hands were usually busy with something: plaiting onions for drying, shredding herbs, mending a torn garment. Today she was sitting quietly by the goat, her shawl hugged around her shoulders, and I was reminded of how alone she really was.

‘I need to explain more of my story to you. Mine and Whisper’s.’

She turned her gaze on me; it was very direct. ‘I’ve guessed some of it. I think I know where you come from. People whisper about that place. I won’t say the name.’

That surprised me. ‘Maybe it’s the same place. I told you before that there’s hope there, a plan to change the future. Winter’s passing, and you need to know more about that plan and where I fit into it.’ Despite the storm, despite our isolation, I lowered my voice to a murmur. ‘You understand how dangerous it is to speak about these things. If I haven’t told you everything earlier, it’s been because the more you know, the more it endangers you.’ Silva nodded, saying nothing. ‘The plan comes to fruition next summer. My part in it is critical. To be ready in time, Whisper and I must travel south before then.’

‘South? You mean to Glenfalloch?’

‘Possibly.’ The Master of Shadows could be anywhere. Whisper and I had not discussed how we would set about finding him. But Tali had wanted us to make contact with the rebels in the south, and that would be a good first step. ‘Certainly, we must be away from here as early as we can.’

There was a silence, then Silva said, ‘You need not worry about me. I’ll be fine on my own.’

‘I’m not sure you will be. We’re eating our way through your supplies, using up what could have kept you going for a long time. However hard you work, you can’t set away enough to feed yourself and the animals forever. What about grain for the hens? Where does that come from?’

‘I’m not a child.’ Her chin went up. ‘We bartered for it at the village market. Sometimes with eggs; but mostly we offered cures and remedies. Folk were happy enough to trade with us and not ask questions.’ A pause. ‘That was before.’

‘And now? Would you go openly to the market in spring, after what happened here?’ She’d be betrayed and handed over to the authorities before she bought her first sack of grain. Besides, how would she find time to make remedies to sell?

‘Lassie.’ Whisper spoke at last, keeping his voice soft. Above us on the shelf, the hens ruffled their feathers and shifted their feet. ‘We ken you hae work here, work that’s important tae you. But you need tae see things clear. Faith only takes a body so far, when there’s king’s men bearing down on her wi’ big swords in their hands.’

‘If you must go, you must,’ Silva said. ‘And I must stay here; there’s no other way.’

Spending all day inside the cramped confines of the beehive hut was taking a toll on me, body and mind. But my learning progressed. Now I could hear the subtlest of differences in the vibrations of the drum, and in the movement of the small folk inside the hut and outside, in the broader area of the Beehives. I could detect the movement of one bird in the elder trees, out there beyond my vision. I could identify one insect crawling out from cover at a distance of twenty paces. Without needing to be out in the open, looking, I knew when Whisper came early to collect me; I heard the rustle of his wings up the hill, even when the howl of the wind must surely drown it.

‘This new awareness will help ye,’ the Lady said. ‘If ye can hear the voice o’ a wee crawlin’ creature even when a storm’s ragin’, mebbe ye can gather your wits in the clamour o’ battle and send a message tae the ears that must hear it. Do ye no’ think?’

I imagined the battle: my friends and allies falling, dying before my eyes; the noise of clashing metal, the crunch of bones breaking, the screams. I had only witnessed one such conflict. This one would be ten times bigger, twenty times. ‘I can only pray I have learned enough to do it.’

‘Aye, weel, ’tis no’ a thing ye can practise. Ye wouldna be lookin’ for the king’s men and givin’ it a wee try. But there’s ane mair thing I can teach ye. A storm, that’s a bit like a battle, all bluster and turnin’ things upside doon. The next time we hae a real gale, wi’ thunder and sleety rain, ye can practise callin’, and no’ simply callin’ your friend the witawoo, neither. Ye should try callin’ a fighter or twa. Or better still, call someone who can help ye. A messenger, mebbe. Didna ye mention ye wanted tae send word south?’

‘Yes, but . . . the uncanny messengers we’ve used in the past . . . they’ve been bird-like in form. If I called such a being, it would have to fly here through the storm.’

There was a silence. The wee folk were all clustered in one of the niches within the cairn, the glow of their lights turned on my face. Their scrutiny was uncomfortable.

‘And when that battle comes,’ the Lady said eventually, ‘willna folk need tae hear your ca’, and follow your orders, through a storm o’ swords and clubs and sprayin’ blood, a whirlwind o’ shoutin’, screamin’ fighters? ’Tis the best way for ye to learn, Neryn. Ye’ll be havin’ tae mak’ choices. Which is mair important, winnin’ the battle or keepin’ your folk alive? Ye’ll be havin’ tae let some gae. Ye willna be able tae spend time savin’ ane life or another. Ye dinna win a war wi’oot losin’ good comrades. ’Tis the nature o’ things.’

I knew this, of course. That didn’t mean I had come to terms with it. ‘Is this a test?’ I asked her. ‘Calling a messenger to me during a storm?’

‘’Twould be mair testin’ for the one who’s bein’ called, seems tae me.’

‘I mean a . . . a formal test, to show I have learned enough to move on.’

‘You wouldna be wantin’ tae move on in a storm. Unless you were half oot o’ your wits.’ When I said nothing, she went on, ‘Could be ye mak’ your ain test, Neryn. Think on that a while. But no’ too lang. The storm’s comin’ soon enow.’

Maybe she meant a storm with thunder, lightning and rain. Maybe she meant another kind of upheaval. When I crawled out of the cairn, knowing it must be time for Whisper to escort me back to our place of shelter, the light was fading and there was no sign of him. It was the first time he had not come to fetch me before dusk.

I walked back on my own, hoping nothing was wrong. Just before I reached the spot where I’d be visible to anyone down at the burned-out house, I stopped walking. I lifted the drum, holding the ox-hide surface horizontal and putting my ear close. I used my new learning, tuning myself to every small vibration.

A voice came. Not Silva’s; not Whisper’s. A man’s voice. My skin prickled; my heart thumped. Go forward or flee? Risk discovery or leave Silva in danger? I knew what Tali would say. I was Alban’s salvation, or would be when I was fully trained. My safety must always come first.

But Tali was not here, and Silva was my friend. She had offered her support without reservation; she had shared all she had with us, virtual strangers.

‘Can’t stay here . . .’ the man was saying. He sounded young. ‘. . . dangerous . . .’

‘I can manage.’ Silva’s tone told me this was someone she knew, and knew well. ‘I don’t need help. You shouldn’t have come here, Ean.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know where you were? I could have –’

A flurry of wings, and Whisper was on the path beside me.

‘Who is it?’ I hissed.

‘Fellow came not lang since. I would hae fetched you, but I wanted tae be sure he was on his ain. Her brother, I’d be guessing. Like twa peas in a pod.’

The young man spoke again. ‘Listen. Silva. I can get you safely away . . .’ His voice went down to a murmur, and the only word I caught was Glenfalloch.

‘How much has she told him?’ I whispered.

‘She spoke o’ the deaths o’ her friends.’ A pause, then he added, ‘The door was open. He couldna fail tae see someone else was living here. She told him there were twa survivors: herself and another woman, and that her companion was at the cairns. If no’ for that, I’d hae told you tae keep under cover until he was gone.’

‘There’s a storm coming,’ I said. ‘Or so I’ve been told.’

‘Aye.’ Whisper gave me a direct sort of look; in the dim light, his big owl-eyes were bright with knowledge. ‘But no’ before morning. You’d best gae in and introduce yourself. I willna let him see me save as a creature, unless there’s trouble the twa o’ you canna handle. The fellow willna gae anywhere tonight; it’s near dark.’ He paused for thought, then said, ‘He’d be doing us a favour if he took the lass awa’ tae a place o’ safety, as he’s offering.’

A shiver ran through me, as deep and cold as a river in winter. ‘If Silva goes, the Lady is no more.’ Could even the downfall of Keldec justify such a loss?

‘A knotty puzzle,’ observed Whisper. ‘Could be there’s mair than a single way tae untangle it.’

The rain had ceased for now, and Silva had built her cooking fire in a sheltered area between the stillroom and the outhouse that we’d made into winter quarters for Snow and the chickens. She and her visitor were standing in the fire’s glow, arguing. The young man was dressed for travelling and had his back to me; Silva saw me coming before he did. Whisper had flown up to the tree close by. Perching there, he looked exactly like an ordinary owl.

‘Neryn, you’re back!’ Silva said as I approached – a warning that she had given the fellow my real name.

The man turned. He was younger than I expected; only a few years Silva’s senior, and so like her that he had to be a kinsman. The dark wavy hair, the big eyes, the slender build, the heart-shaped face – he was surely her brother. He gave me a very direct look, sizing me up.

‘This is my brother,’ Silva said. ‘Ean. I’ve offered him shelter for the night. Your prayers kept you at the cairns late.’

I came up to the fire, trying to look natural. ‘Greetings, Ean,’ I said. ‘My name is Neryn.’
I can get you safely away
, he’d said. And I was almost sure I’d heard him say Glenfalloch. That didn’t make him a rebel, or even a friend. It could be sheer coincidence. ‘Need help with the supper?’ I asked Silva.