Raven Flight by Juliet Marillier
“Welcome to our fire,” I said when I had found my voice. “Will you share our supper?”
Tali made a little sound, and I saw someone else come up behind the woman. If she was human in shape, save for those eyes, her companion most certainly was not. He stood as tall as she, but his form was rounded, massive, sleek under a cloak of shining weed. His face was something between a man’s and a seal’s, and though his bulk was formidable, he wore an expression that could only be described as kindly. My grandmother had told me stories of selkie folk, beings that were part seal, part man or woman, creatures that changed their shape between land and sea. But here we were on dry land, and the being was neither man nor seal, but … himself.
“You are both welcome,” I said shakily, regretting that we had not taken the time to catch some fish while we could. “Please, sit with us awhile.”
The Hag, for I was sure this was she, sat down gracefully by the fire, her hair a pale shawl over her shoulders and down her back. Her robe was of shifting green and had many layers. Its fabric seemed rough, the edges tattered and torn, but the effect was pleasing. It was as if the garment had not been made, but had grown around her as naturally as foliage on a plant. Her companion lowered himself to the ground beside her. I tried not to stare. The creature had limbs like a man’s, he sat like a man, but no man ever had such a strange, compelling face. After a moment, Flint seated himself beside me. Tali remained standing, her staff in hand.
“There is no need to stand guard,” the Hag said. “Unless, of course, you have a particular fear of birds. Sit where I can see you.”
Tali opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. She took a place on my other side. There was nothing relaxed about her pose as she met the Hag’s penetrating gaze.
With Flint’s assistance I ladled the brew into bowls. We only had three among us. Seeing this, the Hag turned her head to meet the strange eyes of her companion, and from somewhere within his swathing weedlike draperies he produced a pair of half shells.
Nobody said another word until we had finished our meal, Flint and I sipping the brew from the shells, the others using bowls.
“So,” the Hag said, setting down her empty bowl. “A long journey for you, and barely begun. Word came to us that you’d had a bit of help along the way.” When I looked at her blankly, she added, “One of the river creatures.”
“Oh. Yes, I … We were attacked, and I had no other choice. If the river being had not come to our aid, we would have been killed.” I hesitated, not sure how much to reveal so early. “I try not to use my gift unless I must. I know how perilous power can be when not properly controlled.”
“Aye? Then you know something, at least.” She examined me, her changeable eyes drawing me in. “Neryn, is that your name?”
“Yes. My guard here is Tali, and … this is my friend.” Flint used various names, and he might not wish to be introduced to a stranger by any of them.
“Oh, aye, we ken who the laddie is.”
That was the second time I’d heard my formidable man called a laddie. So she knew him; or knew of him, at least. Perhaps she knew every creature that walked these isles, animal and human, canny and uncanny. I cleared my throat, not sure whether to get straight to the point or spend more time in preliminary niceties.
“You’ll be wanting to come over to the island, then.”
Clearly the Hag preferred a direct approach. “I was hoping you might be prepared to teach me. To begin my training in the wise use of my gift. I see you have been told some of my story already. Did the … messenger … explain why it is I need to learn this?” Come over to the island. So the Hag did live on that lonely, cliff-bounded rock out there, the gannets’ roost. A formidable place. Isolated. Uncanny. Safe. A place where Flint and I might be left alone for a day, a night, another day, to walk together, talk together, perhaps to sleep side by side as we had done before, but not quite the same, because each of us knew now how precious those times were.…
“Aye,” said the Hag, startling me out of my daydream. “When one of your kind steps up like this, there’s only one reason for it, and that’s a change in the pattern of things. As for teaching you, I’ll be wanting to find out how much you know and how much you need to know. That will take time.”
“How much time?” Tali asked the question I had decided to hold back.
The curious eyes turned to meet the dark ones of my guard. “Long enough,” said the Hag mildly. “Longer if we sit about here exchanging the time of day. We should be on our way.”
“So we do have to sail over to that little island?”
“Afraid of the sea, are you?” The Hag’s eyes were the gray of ocean under storm as she gazed at me.
This question was a test. If I pretended to a courage I did not possess, she would see through it instantly. I thought quickly and gave her an honest answer. “I would be foolish not to be afraid, since the sea is many times more powerful than any human woman.”
“Neryn can’t swim,” put in Tali. “It’s not unreasonable for her to be scared of boats.”
“Gather your possessions,” said the Hag, getting gracefully to her feet. Her strange companion also rose. “My vessel stands ready.”
A crazy thought came to me, that she might bid us jump from the cliff top. The Master of Shadows had once commanded me to leap into deep water after all. And how else were we to make our way to whatever anchorage lay at the cliff’s foot? How had she and her companion reached us so quickly, save by magic? No path could safely traverse such a sheer drop.
She turned to walk away along the cliff top. After a few strides she halted, and the rest of us halted behind her. The Hag turned.
“One companion only,” she said, looking at me. Her glance moved to Tali, then to Flint.
“No,” I breathed, and my heart clenched into something tight and painful. “No, that’s not—”
“You may bring only one. Choose quickly.”
Flint had become suddenly still. I looked up at him. His face was a stony mask. “There’s no choice about it,” he said. “Tali is your guard and companion. She must stay with you.”
Hot tears flooded my eyes. To wait so long, and then not even have time to talk to him properly, not even to have a moment alone, not … I wanted to say it wasn’t fair, but that would be a child’s complaint, and this was not a child’s business. I forced myself to turn toward the Hag and give her a respectful nod. “I understand.” Try as I might, I could not keep my voice steady. “Please, may we have a few moments to say goodbye?”
The Hag folded her arms. I could almost feel her counting.
Tali reached out to take my staff from me. She jerked her head toward the stone wall, indicating that we should go a little distance away. This unexpected kindness made the tears spill from my eyes. We moved away from the others, Flint and I, until we were standing up by the wall. Tali turned her back and stared out to sea. The Hag and her companion simply stood there waiting. Whatever I might want to say to Flint must be said within their hearing. Don’t show her your anger, I told myself, or she might refuse to teach you, and then where would you be? Don’t let your feelings get in the way of the cause. That had never been so hard as it was now.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, taking Flint’s hands in mine and wishing he would let that mask slip, just for a little. “I wanted this more than anything … time together, even a day, after so long.… I had hoped you might be there in spring. At Shadowfell.” Old habits were hard to break; I found myself glancing over my shoulder before I spoke this name. “Thank you for bringing us safely across.” I couldn’t say anything of what I felt, I couldn’t speak a tender word, I couldn’t tell him how I missed him and feared for him every day, how I longed for him to be close, how my dreams of him confused and troubled me even as I clung to the glimpses they brought me. “This is hopeless,” I murmured, freeing a hand to scrub my cheeks.
“Be safe,” Flint said. “Tali will guard you well. This is a rare opportunity, Ne
Silence for a few heartbeats, no longer. We stood with hands clasped, looking into each other’s eyes. Then the Hag said, “Time to go.”
“I wish—” That was all my tears allowed me to say.
“I too, dear heart,” said Flint, and now I heard in his voice what his exemplary self-control had kept from his face. He felt as I did, as if his heart were being wrenched out of his chest. “Perhaps this is best. We are each other’s weakness.”
“We are each other’s hope,” I said, and although every instinct urged me to throw my arms around him, to press my body against his, to hold him close, I withdrew my hands from his and took a step back. To be a warrior of Shadowfell was to put the cause before all else. “Be safe. Dream of good things.”
He said nothing, but I felt the weight of his gaze as I turned and walked away, down to where the Hag stood tall and quiet, waiting for me. Tali had been transferring items from Flint’s bag to her own, fastening the straps. Now she put my staff in my hand.
“I’m ready,” I said. I did not turn back; if I looked at Flint now, I would fall to pieces.
“Farewell, comrade!” Tali called to him. “Safe journey.”
“Farewell,” he said quietly, and it was the saddest thing I ever heard.
“Come,” said the Hag. “Follow me.” She spread out her arms, raising them high, and there was a whirling sensation, as if sky and sea, cliff top and flock of birds, were turned and tumbled in a great wind, and we were turning and tumbling too, helpless before its power. I clutched the staff, wondering if we might be blown all the way across to Far Isle. But no; the wind stopped and the whirling motion ceased, and here we were in the boat, putting out from the foot of the cliff with the gulls wheeling and dipping around us, their shrill voices raised now in an echoing chorus. The waves crashed against the rocks behind us; wherever the boat had been moored, it surely could not have been there. But there was nowhere else. Tali was pale with shock; I imagined I looked even worse, red-eyed, sniffing, startled, and sad, not to speak of the way my stomach was protesting about the movement of the boat. The Hag sat serenely beside me, amidships; her selkie companion was in the stern, half-reclining on a padded bench. Gulls perched all along the rails, their heads turned uniformly westward.
When we were some distance out from shore, I looked back, craning my neck to find the spot where we’d been on the cliff top. Was it there, near that deep fissure that sliced the rock face like a mortal wound? Or there, where I thought I could make out a short length of drystone wall? I could not see him. Not anywhere.
“Look forward, not back,” the Hag said. “All is change. Do not regret. Instead, learn.”
What was I supposed to learn from this? That losing someone you love hurts? I had learned that lesson long before I met Flint, learned it over and over. As for All is change, that part I understood. Water was the Hag’s element. Water was all change, from the icicles that frosted the eaves to the boiling pot on the fire, from the bog that sucked down the unwary traveler to the tear on a baby’s cheek. From this heaving ocean swell to the mysterious, still pond above Maiden’s Tears, where pale fish glided by moonlight, rising to their sacrifice on the fisherman’s hook.
But some things did not change, I thought, watching Tali as she sat in the bow with the wind blowing her dark hair around her stern features. Courage, for instance. Dedication to a cause. Comradeship. When they were strong and pure, when they came from deep in the bone, those qualities could hold fast against all odds. Surely they could. If that was not true, then how could Regan’s Rebels succeed in their mission? And what about love? If love changed as easily as the turning of the tide, did that mean Flint and I might become enemies again, and lose the precious thing that had grown between us?
I was still turning this over in my mind when we reached Far Isle and sailed straight on past it. The look on the Hag’s face forbade questions such as Where are we going? I saw, as we passed, that Far Isle was not the uninhabited rock we had assumed it to be, but had on its western side a settlement above a sheltered anchorage where a number of fishing boats were drawn up. Higher up was a swath of grazing land dotted with long-haired island sheep like those we had seen on Ronan’s Isle. I saw walled gardens, washing on a line, and, farther around the bay, seals basking on the flat rocks above the water. There were women on the rocks too, gathering something—seaweed, shellfish—but not one of them looked up as we passed. Either they knew the Hag and her unusual companion already, or they could not see us. The vessel headed on into the west; this island too fell away behind us.
“How much farther?” Tali asked the question for me.
“Humankind lacks patience.”
“By your standards, perhaps,” Tali countered. “Under the circumstances, it seems a reasonable enough question. It will be night soon, and I see no land ahead.”
“You are the guard. It is not for you to ask.”
Tali’s dark eyes narrowed. “My job is to keep Neryn safe,” she said, and there was a note in her voice I had heard before, one that tended to make folk obey her without further argument. “She hates boats. She feels sick. You made her leave her friend behind. We expected to land on Far Isle; didn’t you say that was where we were going? My job is to protect a person from danger. Danger comes in many different forms. It doesn’t always consist of a big man with a weapon.”
The selkie’s mouth stretched into a smile.
“You think the Hag of the Isles dwells among human folk?” The Hag did not sound annoyed by Tali’s challenge, merely surprised. “That would be reckless indeed. We have long shunned their company, though the folk of Far Isle know us. They are true islanders: a different breed from the rest of you.” Her changeable gaze went from one of us to the other. “The Caller has much to learn. But the learning itself—that is quite simple. Your own job, simpler still. Guard the Caller with your life.”
I saw Tali bite back an angry response. I hated the thought of anyone dying for me, even though I knew any of the rebels was prepared to do just that—Regan’s orders put my safety ahead of anyone else’s. I was Shadowfell’s secret weapon.
The boat sailed on westward. Seeing that neat settlement with the smoke rising from its hearth fires and the setting sun shining on its grassy field, I had allowed myself to think about a comfortable bed, a good meal, and a little time on my own to grieve the loss of Flint before I must begin my training. This was plainly not to be. The vessel continued on its path, and the cloud of gulls kept pace. Now they were joined by sea creatures, seals and other, stranger beings, diving and swimming and dancing around the vessel.
There was, eventually, another island. Hardly an island; more of a rock. As we approached it, our vessel maintaining its stately passage through increasingly choppy waters, my heart sank still lower. This was where the Hag lived? This was where Tali and I must stay while she taught me? There was nothing here but sharp edges, tangled weed, and a few clinging shellfish. I looked at Tali. She looked at me. The boat came up close to the skerry, and Tali gathered her possessions, including the well-wrapped iron weaponry. I saw in her eyes the decision to be fluid; to let what would happen, happen. With a warrior’s control she relaxed her body and made her face calm.
The boat edged in beside a rock shelf, needing no rope or oars to hold it in place.
“Get out,” said the Hag. “You are her guard and companion; keep her safe.”
Tali got out onto the rocks, then reached to help me step over from the boat. The selkie moved along the craft, and somehow my bundle and my staff were there on the rocks beside me, and now the boat was moving away with both the Hag and the selkie still aboard.
“Wait!” I called in panic. “You’re leaving us here? Why? I’m here to learn, I mean no harm.…”
“I should have known,” muttered Tali as the boat set sail once more, apparently straight back to Far Isle. “Of cour
A sharp gust caught us, driving salt spray into our faces. I teetered a moment. The rocks were slick under our feet. It would be so easy to fall. I imagined thrashing about in that churning water, and how impossible it would be to climb back up, even supposing I could swim to the rocks. This skerry was about twice the size of the dining area at Shadowfell. In a storm, the waves might wash right over it.
“Right,” said Tali. “Shelter. Food. Fresh water. Who knows how long we’ve been dumped out here for? Follow me, and watch your footing. I’d rather not have to dive in and fish you out.”
The situation was dire. There was no shelter beyond a shallow cave a little higher up, and even that was wet. I wondered when it would be high tide and how far up the rocks the sea would come. Tali examined every corner of the islet, her mouth tight. There was no fresh water. We got out our cooking pot and wedged it in a crevice. Rain might fill it; a wave might as easily wash over and ruin any drinking water we gathered. Beyond a few shellfish clinging to the rocks there was no food to be had.
“We’ll ration our supplies, including our water,” Tali said with commendable steadiness. “And we can throw in a fishing line. We’ll be eating our fish raw. There’s no making fire without fuel. As for those barnacles, a person could ruin a good knife getting them off the rocks, and there’d be barely a mouthful in each, but we will need a few for bait.” She gave me a penetrating look. “Not much of a welcome, is it? Are we certain she actually wants to help?”
“She did come to meet us.” I gathered my cloak more tightly around me; all my clothing was damp. “This must be some part of the learning.”
“Black Crow’s curse! Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s over quickly. I would say this isn’t the worst place I’ve ever spent the night in, hoping to take that stricken look off your face, but I’d be lying.”