Raven's Ladder by Jeffrey Overstreet
Leaning over the sides, the ten companions Tabor Jan had selected to accompany him to the rock seemed entranced by the water around them and Bel Amica’s glittering mountain above.
Tabor Jan hated the water’s unsteadiness almost as much as he hated heights. He wanted level ground, a clear direction. His discomfort took the shape of aggression. And since the rower of this boat was the man he’d most like to throttle, he had to fight to remain seated.
Ryllion was younger than he’d expected but enormous, with features that seemed oddly distorted. And those hands. Was he wearing gloves that exaggerated their size?
“I’d recommend that you quiet down.” Ryllion steered them alongside the base of Bel Amica’s rock, past one docking cave after another. “Or you’ll be the first I throw overboard if it comes for us.”
“If what comes for us?”
Ryllion glanced at the others. “Your leader here, he’s nervous. Is this what Abascar folk are made of?”
“He’s the only one on this boat I’ll be calling captain,” snapped Jes-hawk. “He’s the king’s protector.”
At that, Ryllion laughed, and a glimpse of his teeth—fangs, to be sure—shocked Tabor Jan. “The king’s protector? Where were you when your king disappeared?”
“Do you see our people bickering or fighting?” Tabor Jan asked quietly. “No. We are waiting. Waiting in good faith for Cal-raven to return from his mission.”
“If he ever commands you again, I’ll eat my boot.” Ryllion looked past Tabor Jan. “What about you—the swordswoman with the lovely blue eyes? Are you as confident of Cal-raven’s wisdom?”
Tabor Jan glanced back in alarm. Brevolo did not lift her gaze, but her clenched jaw made it clear that she was wrestling with possible answers.
“I smell disappointment.” Ryllion smiled as if he had just discovered a valuable secret. “We’ll have words later, swordswoman, when you can confess without offending your kinsmen. I may have some use for you.”
With a swift stroke of the oars and a frightful force, Ryllion turned the boat so suddenly that the passengers were thrown against the side. “I’m amused by your fighting spirit,” he said as the darkness of the harbor cave engulfed them. “But you’d better watch your words around my master.”
“Your master?”
A bright green glowstone on the end of a staff illuminated the giant waiting for them on a ledge inside the cave. The ghastly, skull-like face staring out from beneath the fanlike headdress grinned fiercely down at Tabor Jan. It was Pretor Xa, the Seer who had led the beastman siege on Barnashum. Tabor Jan looked down, hoping his own appearance had changed enough that the Seer would not recognize him from their recent encounter.
“Welcome, proud House Abasssscar,” seethed the Seer. “Welcome. I hope you’ve enjoyed your boat ride. Consider that a little introduction to House Bel Amica’s new kingdom—the sea.”
Tabor Jan and his companions came awkwardly to their feet. Ryllion sheathed the trailknife and sprang like a viscorcat from the boat to the platform. The boat rocked wildly behind him, throwing them back to their seats.
“I won’t waste your time,” said the Seer, pointing to a stairway that led up into the rock. “Your new principal is waiting.”
“New principal?” Ryllion turned to the Seer. “But wait. I’m the new principal.”
“The queen’s made up her mind.” The Seer’s smile never faded, but it was clear that something had not gone the way he had planned. When he spoke again, Pretor Xa’s words were sharp-edged. “Queen Thesera has chosen Sisterly Emeriene to govern the Abascar people.”
Something like a yelp burst through Ryllion’s teeth. “But you promised—”
“The Abascars will show her nothing but respect,” said the Seer. That white head swiveled, and those wild eyes caught Tabor Jan in an accusatory glare. “Isn’t that right, Tabor Jan?”
Tabor Jan refused to acknowledge the question. Instead, he watched Ryllion’s massive jaw chew on the Seer’s bitter news.
“Emeriene will attend to your people, but listen to me, Captain.” The Seer’s arm shot out, and he grabbed Tabor Jan by the beard. “Should anyone fall ill…” The Seer tightened his grip, twisting the beard until Tabor Jan winced. “Should anyone be injured… Should anyone need counsel…” That grip tightened further until Tabor Jan’s head tilted and he gasped. “You would be wise to consult me before anyone else. Without my attention things can go from bad to worse.”
He could feel Jes-hawk and Brevolo tensing to defend him, but he waved them back. “A gracious offer,” he wheezed. “But you have already taken those who needed attention. And the silence about their condition has not given me reason to believe—”
Pretor Xa released him and clapped his hands, and a door opened somewhere up the stairway. Another soldier in a uniform like Ryllion’s appeared, leading a figure in a white gown.
“Tabor Jan?” came the voice, shaky with disbelief.
“Say-ressa?” Tabor Jan felt as if his feet were nailed to the dock boards. Brevolo ran up the stairs and caught Say-ressa in an embrace. The willowy healer, who had seemed so pale, so fragile when strangers had carried her away a day earlier, was strong and full of color, laughing with the radiant joy that inspired healing in so many others.
Tabor Jan held back, his gaze shifting from the bright circle of Say-ressa’s face on Brevolo’s shoulder to the Seer, whose satisfied attention was still set on him like an opponent who has gained an advantage.
“Thank you,” said Brevolo to the Seer. “Thank you. May we take her back to our people? There are many who need her attention.”
“Of course. But she will tell you about what we, too, can offer the sick.” Pretor Xa loomed over Tabor Jan so closely that the captain could see the dark space behind those eyeballs as they bobbed loosely in their sockets. “You can depend on me,” he said. “Don’t forget that.” It sounded like a threat.
Tabor Jan would have replied with something regrettable, but the Seer gestured to the stairs. “Your new tasker waits. I advised the queen that your people deserved to be overseen by Bel Amica’s best.” He clucked his tongue behind that ferocious grin. “But Thesera’s choice shows that she views this assignment as more custodial in nature. Like sweeping. Or throwing out the scraps.”
Stone eagles with gemstone eyes and severe, regal expressions perched on pairs of pedestals along the narrow stairway that Tabor Jan ascended with his companions. Some were depicted in flight, tilting with outspread wings, great fish caught in their talons. The captain recognized these as the emblem of the house. In recent hunts with Cal-raven, they had come across outposts in which eagles had been joined or replaced by a howling wolf with crescent-moon eyes. This passage was older and one favored by royalty.
At the top of the stairs, they strode up a corridor and stepped through heavy curtains into a long and stately hall. Open to a view of the starry evening sky, the hall revealed they were on a low outcropping of Bel Amica’s stone, with the rest of that tremendous house looming—a dark mountain—above them. Green and needled trees stood like watchmen on the heights, bent from years of storms. Gulls canvassed the rock, crying and wheeling. Even as Tabor Jan felt a thrill of delight at the view, he suspected that it was intended to make the observer feel vulnerable and small.
He brought his attention back to the hall. Dark wood panels lined the walls, housing a portrait gallery. Lavish purple curtains hung on either side of each, as if the pictures were windows into the past. In those frames, Bel Amica’s rulers stared out with fierce authority—the line from Queen Thesera all the way back sixty generations to someone’s perception of Tammos Raak himself, a muscular figure with skin dark as marrowwood and eyes like beacons.
On one side of the room, a fireplace was alive with quiet light from a pile of driftwood. On the other, a long table was laid with plates of small saltcrust rolls, open shells with gleaming meatpods, cheese, and bundles of bright purple surfberries.
“Please, help yourself,” came
Brevolo came up beside him and whispered, “Have they appointed a child as our overseer?”
“Hush,” he whispered. “Let’s wait and see.”
A small figure strode unevenly across a carpet of fangbear furs that had been stitched together so that the predators’ faces snarled ferociously in all directions. She wore a dark blue gown and head scarf, and she walked with a limp. Her dark eyes were stern, and she folded her hands before her as she bowed.
As she drew near, he dropped to one knee.
“Oh, that isn’t necessary. Thank you, but I’m not royalty. I’m here to serve you. Please, eat.” She did not speak with a high, formal manner. Tabor Jan thought she sounded practical and even a little eager to please. Like a common hostess.
When the company did not make a move toward the table, the woman walked to stand at the corner. “I assure you, there’s nothing to fear. This is a safe place, and we chose it to honor you. Not even the Bel Amican council assembles here. It’s one of our oldest chambers, a place where kings and queens have welcomed special guests for generations. Alas, the queen is busy, but her daughter will join us soon.”
Brevolo walked to the table, and she gasped when she saw savorsweet syrup for the bread. “Thank you,” she said. Then she said it again several times as her gaze swept across plates of sliced meat, small cups of fish eggs, and bunches of seagrapes.
“My name is Emeriene.”
“I am Tabor Jan ker Tanner. And this is Brevolo kai Galarand.”
“In House Abascar I suppose I would have been Emeriene kai Myrton. My father is Myrton, the royal chemist.” The woman seemed genuinely pleased to greet them. “I’ve always appreciated that tradition of yours in Abascar, giving honor to a father or mother in your name. Bel Amica has no such tradition. Once people reach a certain age, they can change their name if they wish. Tabor Jan—what does it mean?”
“I was born Jan—named by my mother for a man from old stories. An invisible watcher. Apparently I was nearly silent as an infant. Then my father began to notice that everything I did, I did as if to a drumbeat. He was a firm believer in order. So he named me for a drum. They argued, but both names stuck.”
“You are King Cal-raven’s man-at-arms. And captain of the Abascar defenders.”
“I am.”
“Your people have survived some horrible ordeals.”
“We still suffer,” said Brevolo, and Tabor Jan restrained himself from silencing her. He did not want to hurry into complaints.
Emeriene shook her head. “I’m sorry. Some of us have wished to offer you more help. Others have made it…difficult.”
She turned then and addressed the whole company. “I speak for Queen Thesera, her son, Partayn, and her daughter, Cyndere, when I say this: You are welcome to House Bel Amica. Forgive us for our slowness in giving you the attention you deserve. We mean to help you forget your troubles, find rest and healing, and begin again.”
Brevolo looked up sharply, and Tabor Jan could sense her objection to the idea of forgetting what she had lost. But he touched her arm and then touched his lips to suggest patience.
“Enjoy the food. Enjoy the fire. Each of you will have an opportunity to express concerns, and we will respond as best we can.”
“We?” asked Jes-hawk.
“One of your own will be a representative who will report to me and advise me. Now, I would speak with Tabor Jan awhile. So, please, be at peace.”
She led Tabor Jan to the far end of the hall where a three-paneled tapestry depicted a king—most likely Helpryn—standing on the arc of a bridge and blessing a boat that passed beneath. The tapestry was upright, its panels folded to enclose a smaller portion of the hall with three cushioned chairs behind it.
Tabor Jan hesitated, then followed Emeriene out of sight of the company.
She sat in a high-backed chair that had bold wooden feet carved like eagle talons. She gestured for Tabor Jan to take the identical chair opposite her. Another fangbear fur lay between them—and this one had a head with jaws open, facing him. The floor beneath was made of flagstones smoothed as if by centuries of water and flecked with winding lines of bright crystals.
“I hope your people will enjoy relief from scrabbling for food and shelter in the wild,” she said. “We’ll give you work that’s more agreeable than the stuff of mere survival. At least for a while. That is the queen’s firm decision. The question of your future is still in play, of course.”
Turning, he found that he could see through the tapestry that separated him from his company. He could watch them whisper to each other as they devoured the delicacies at the table.
“You may be pleased to know that we found a boy belonging to Abascar. Wynn, he calls himself. We’ve put him to work on the docks under strict supervision.”
Tabor Jan shook his head. “Not really one of ours, but we took him in, and his sister, Cortie, after beastmen killed their parents. He must have run off on his own.”
She laughed. “You took him in even though you were struggling to survive? Is Abascar really that generous?”
“We have a gracious king,” Tabor Jan said. “Cal-raven is the best man I know.” He took a deep breath, then posed his first test to his questioner. “He’ll be coming for us soon.”
“Yes,” said Emeriene. “So I understand. Cal-raven. Explain that name to me, will you?”
The sisterly was certainly taking her time. He eased further into the chair to appear comfortable. “Cal-raven took his first steps toward an open window, and his mother found a raven feather there. It’s another tradition—take a name from the place where a child first walks. And then, the royal family can bestow a forename from among the first children of Tammos Raak. Ark, Har, Say, Cal—there are many children mentioned in the old stories. Royalty can give these names to anyone as an honor, as a badge of privilege, in gratitude. Only family may address them without their forename.”
“I met Say-ressa,” said Emeriene. “So she was Ressa before she impressed the king.”
Tabor Jan would have told the story, but he was interrupted when a great rattling noise, like a parade of wagons down a rocky path, broke the silence, and he joined his companions in looking up.
A vast ceiling emerged from a sheath in the face of the rugged stone. The sound, he later learned, came from dozens of wheels hidden along its edges, which ran along tooth-lined tracks atop the chamber walls. The view of the rock above, its platforms and windows, its torches and flags, was replaced by an intricate network of glass panels that glimmered darkly with filtered light.
Emeriene shrugged. “Sometimes we must assemble here in the rain. And at night we must protect this chamber from the bats.” Lowering her voice, she said, “It will be better for us if it’s closed. Less chance of anyone else listening in.”
“We’re being watched?”
“Perhaps.”
The ceiling came to a jolting stop, and the Abascar representatives stood with chins raised, mouths open, gawking. It seemed so simple, so practical—and yet Abascar had never seen such a thing.
The panels were richly hued. Describing them later to the other House-folk, they would fumble for words, speaking more of emotions than metaphors. For what was it like, looking into that abstract collage of fragments and colors? Nothing like a night sky. Nothing like reflections on water. A field carpeted in bright autumn leaves? Perhaps, but these colors were so much brighter.
Tabor Jan returned his gaze to Emeriene and found her examining his company carefully.
“Jan, the invisible watchman,” she murmured.
“My lady, I am duty bound to command our people so they’re ready when the king returns.”
“You’re so sure that he’ll return. Is it not true that Cal-raven was born of a queen who abandoned her people?”
“Cal-raven has applied himself to the survival and restoration of House Abascar from the moment he became king. He is fixed upon one thing—raising that house again.”<
Emeriene regarded him quietly for a long time. “Did you know that Cyndere extended an invitation to your king many moons ago? Before spring was fully awake? It’s true. She offered him refuge, resources, anything he might like. He never responded. In fact, he drove off her messenger. With a sword.”
Now it was Tabor Jan’s turn to press his lips shut. Cal-raven had shared Cyndere’s invitation with him. It had included the warning Trust no one in Bel Amica but Cyndere. But the king still had not divulged how he had received this message.
Emeriene continued. “There are those here who would exploit Abascar’s need and make slaves of you. Your king has enemies, it seems. More than you might realize.”
“I’m acquainted with some of those…enemies.”
“The same villains who would ruin Cal-raven have arrows ready for Cyndere and Partayn as well. This effectively unites us. If your king does come to Bel Amica, he will need to be carefully guarded by those loyal to him, just as Cyndere and Partayn now have guards everywhere they go. I would assign you to patrol atop the walls that line and divide Bel Amica’s avenues and yards. What better way for you to freely move about the city and oversee your people?”
“Very well. But, Sisterly Emeriene, when Cal-raven arrives, it will be to gather us and go.”
“I think that the heir and his sister will support Cal-raven’s plan. But we will have to work quietly together. Or the Seers, who have ways of making things difficult, will interfere.”
Tabor Jan began to relax.
“I would ask a favor of you in return. Bel Amica is changing. You would think that devotion to the moon-spirits would unite its believers. But followers listen to their own desires, believing them sacred. They justify whatever they do, saying their behavior was commanded by a guiding spirit. This sets neighbor against neighbor, sister against brother, husband against wife. We flourish, for those believers strive mightily, and some fulfill desires for grand and honorable things. But the fact remains—they compete against one another. We are free here in House Bel Amica to pursue what is best. But in the name of that freedom, there are those who embrace and justify what is worst, undermining what remains of the queen’s hold on order. This evil spreads quickly and quietly, for no one has the right to call it what it is. Greed.”