Raven Flight (18 page)

Immediately below us lay Pentishead settlement, a straggle of cottages and small jetties fringing the bay, with the main track coming in around the shore. It wouldn’t be easy to get down there; we’d be descending what amounted to a cliff path, and the rock looked broken and crumbling. To attempt it under cover of darkness would be inviting a long, damaging fall.

“I’m going along there to get a clearer view,” Tali said, indicating a place where the hilltop rose to a cluster of high rocks. “Stay here and keep still.”

I moved back and sat down in a place I judged to be reasonably well concealed. I made myself recall the Northies’ strange map of the isles and the path they’d
bidden us follow. The wee boat had passed south of that bigger island, the one closest to shore. It had threaded a course between many other isles, until the tiny Twayblade had made landfall on Ronan’s Isle, far to the west. The Northies’ map had shown at least one islet beyond it; I recalled it as high and flat-topped with towering cliffs all around, a place likely inhabited only by gannets.

When Twayblade had enacted the voyage in the safety of Shadowfell’s dining area, it had looked peaceful. The ocean out there, stirred by a bracing westerly, was a different matter. Tali couldn’t really be expecting me to row, could she? I was much stronger than I had been, but that looked … 
Don’t say it. Don’t say it’s impossible
.

The wind gusted; out of nowhere, something flew straight at me. I flinched, throwing my arms up to protect my face.

“Kaaa.” The visitor made a neat landing by my feet. I breathed again. Only a gull. It did not seem alarmed by my presence, but stood with its head cocked to one side, examining me with its curiously ringed eye. “Message for ye,” it said.

Not a gull, then. I looked more closely. If this was one of the Good Folk, its disguise was utterly convincing. The beak, the feathers, the spindly bird legs— Oh. Like the white owl I had encountered in the north, this creature wore little boots on its feet. And now that I looked at its head again, I could see an awareness in its expression that was not at all birdlike.

I scrambled to collect myself. “A message? What message?”

“Tomorrow. Before sunup. North cove, by the auld jetty.”

My skin prickled. “Who gave you this message?”

The bird turned its head the other way. “Kaaa!” it remarked, then lifted its wings and was gone.

I worked on slowing my racing heart. What did this mean, that Tali’s suggestion had proved prophetic, and that the Good Folk would take us over to the isles? Had Sage and Red Cap spread the word about the rebellion so effectively that it had reached the far west before us? Surely that was impossible.

Could this be a trap? To the best of my knowledge, the Good Folk would not turn against a Caller. I suspected they could not. They might doubt me, but I did not think they would lie to me. Perhaps they had been watching us all the way, tracking our progress but keeping their distance.

Tali was back, crouching down beside me. “No sign of them,” she said. “I can’t see a camp, or any horses, or a building large enough to house them.” Her gaze sharpened. “What?”

“I got a message. From the Good Folk.” I told her the details.

“Tomorrow! So soon.” Her dark brows drew into a frown. “It makes more sense to keep our distance from the settlement for a few days, at least, so we can be sure the Enforcers are well away. We could get a nasty surprise the moment we step out of cover.”

“This may be our best, perhaps our only, chance to get across to the isles,” I said. “The Northies showed us the map. They gave us detailed instructions. They seemed to know where the Hag might be found, even though I’d been told that she was in retreat, gone away deep. If we don’t go
down there at the appointed time, it might be viewed as an insult.”

She gazed westward, arms folded, saying nothing.

“The light’s fading. We must make a decision. If we’re to be at this north cove before dawn, shouldn’t we find a place to camp a bit lower down?”

“A pox on it,” she muttered. “I don’t like this. All right, get your things and let’s move down the hill. Not that there’ll be much camping. A swig of water, a bite of dried meat, and a night under a bush will be about the sum of it. I don’t suppose you noticed a north cove on the wee folk’s map, did you?”

“No. But the bay’s small enough. If we make our way to the north end, it should be easy to find.”

In the gray before dawn we crept down to the settlement. The place was sleeping and the only sound was the murmur of the sea. Yesterday’s gusting westerly had died down. A gentle breeze blew in its place. It was a good morning for fishing. Early as it was, folk would soon be about.

Behind one cottage a dog barked, running to and fro at the end of its rope as we passed. I tried to be silent as a ghost, subtle as a shadow. The paths were of crushed shells; we walked on the earth beside them. My heart was beating fast. My staff felt slippery in my hand. When a bird flew over, squawking, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

It was not a big settlement. We reached a track that skirted the waterfront, by the jetties with their moorings for larger boats and the pebbly beach on which the
one- or two-man craft were pulled up. The sea looked calmer today, but not so calm that I could easily ignore my churning stomach. Out by the skerries the water rose in white surges; the wind would get up soon enough. Those boats were so small.

Neither of us spoke a word. As we walked by the last cottage, Tali jerked her head toward the north end of the bay. She moved on along the shore path; I followed her. The sky was growing brighter, but I could not see any sign of a second cove. The beach seemed to stretch all the way to the high northern headland.

Tali kept walking. I hoped she could see something I couldn’t, for it was almost day, and now that we were out in the open, as soon as someone saw us, we’d have to revert to the old plan and ask if we could pay someone to ferry us over to Ronan’s Isle. That would mean explanations, and explanations made things even riskier than they already were.

Before sunup
, the messenger had said. We didn’t have long. From behind us in the settlement came sounds of activity now, someone opening shutters, the trundle of something on wheels, perhaps a handcart, the dog barking again. A rooster crowing a morning greeting. Another responding in enthusiastic competition.

Tali came to a sudden halt. I stopped behind her, waiting as she scanned the terrain ahead.

She turned to me and nodded. Although I did not know what she had seen, my heart lifted. We moved on more quickly, and after a while I saw a jumble of rocks on
the shore where perhaps a stream ran down into the sea, and beyond it a little cove, tucked almost under the looming headland. Still we did not speak, though Tali’s walk became a stride.

Along the path, past the rocks, and now I could see it: on the pebbles of the north cove was a boat, small but sturdy, the kind of craft that could go under oars or sail. And someone beside it, a man who was already pushing the boat down to the water, readying it to put to sea. I had exercised perfect control during the walk; I had maintained my silence, following Tali’s lead. Now I put my hand over my mouth to stop a cry from bursting out. Never mind the masklike cloth that covered most of his face, the clothing that might have belonged to any fisherman, the lack of a warrior’s accoutrements. It was Flint. One look and I knew.

“Shh,” warned Tali under her breath as we made our way down to the boat, though the crunch of our boots on the pebbles made nonsense of this. But, then, she did not mean,
Be silent
. She meant,
Keep control of yourself
. This was a mission; my first for Regan’s Rebels. I must act like a warrior. I must think the way Tali herself thought. So I spoke no greeting; I held back, not rushing to embrace him as I longed to. His gray eyes met mine over the makeshift mask, wide with astonishment—this was as much of a shock to him as it was to us. I held Tali’s staff while she helped him push the boat into the shallows. I waited until he was ready to help me in. I sat quietly in the stern as the two of them loaded the bags, climbed aboard, and took up the oars. The rising joy in my heart, nobody could see.

* * *

With powerful strokes Tali and Flint rowed the little craft out from the shore, only shipping their oars when we were well clear of the breaking waves. Then, with barely a word exchanged, they hoisted the triangular sail, moving with perfect balance to tighten and secure the ropes. Flint came to sit beside me, unfastening a cord that had held the tiller in a fixed position. The wind carried us on a bobbing, scudding course to the southwest.

“All right, Neryn?” Tali was as much at ease here as she was in combat or running up steps; plainly, both she and Flint were experienced sailors.

“Mm.” The waters were heaving, and I was already feeling queasy. But I kept my eyes on Flint. He had stripped off his mask as soon as we were well clear of the shore. Had I forgotten how lined his face was? He looked much older than his two-and-twenty years. Since I last saw him, something had set a new shadow around his eyes. This was not a handsome face like Regan’s; it was not a face that folk would remember as striking or unusual. It was the face of a fighter, the nose crooked, the skin slashed by the lines of old scars. A plain, strong face. But pleasing to me. His eyes were of a lovely gray, clear and honest.

Flint was not a man who smiled often, and he did not smile now, but the way he looked at me said everything I needed to know. It was like an embrace. To gaze into his eyes was to feel my body wake to his. What was between us had not grown colder with time apart.

“How in the name of the gods did that happen?” he asked.

“We might ask you the same,” said Tali over her shoulder. She’d taken up a position in the bow. “We’re headed for Ronan’s Isle, following directions the Good Folk gave us. One of them told Neryn to be down in the cove there before dawn today. We were expecting a boat, maybe even a boatman, but most certainly not you. And it seems you didn’t expect us. Are you traveling alone? A troop passed us on the shores of Silverwater some days ago. Was that …?”

“You were so close? No wonder my dreams were disturbed that night.” Flint frowned. “I came to Pentishead with the troop, but I’m on my own for now. I take it you’re seeking out a Guardian, part of Neryn’s training.”

“The Hag of the Isles, no less.”

“I’d thought Regan would send Andra. Who went with him?”

“He decided Tali would be best able to protect me,” I said hastily, seeing her expression. “Fingal went with him.” We had not spoken of this since we left Shadowfell, but I guessed her mind was often on Regan and whether he would be safe without her.

“And you?” Tali asked Flint. “Are you still on the king’s business? Surely Keldec didn’t sanction another solitary mission after the losses of last autumn. Though he must have accepted your explanation, or you wouldn’t be here at all.”

“He accepted the story.” There was a heaviness in Flint’s voice. “Others were less ready to do so, and have made that known to me indirectly. I’m on thin ice now. As for why
I’m here, Stag Troop has a mission. We split into three; one team went north, another south. The third part of the exercise is me. I meet up with the others when the job is done. I won’t give you further details. But … it seems possible that I have unexpected support; otherwise, I would not be alone here.”

“The Good Folk?” I asked, not sure what he meant.

“No, Neryn. Support from within my troop. I cannot be more specific than that. I could be wrong. I may find myself trapped and betrayed, but it seems one, at least, may have an inkling that I am not what I seem, and may be providing both warnings and assistance.”

I thought immediately of the man he had been with in my dream, a fair-haired warrior with an open face. I remembered how that man had glanced over his shoulder as they conducted their intense conversation on the watch-tower.

“You’d want to be careful,” Tali said, then the boat hit a patch of rough water and the two of them were busy keeping a steady course while I tried hard not to be sick.

When things were back under control, Flint asked me, “Did I hear right earlier? One of the Good Folk told you where and when you’d find me? How could that be?”

“A lot has changed since last autumn,” I said. “They are helping us now, spreading the word about the rebellion to their own kind everywhere. The being that brought me the message looked almost exactly like a gull. Perhaps another creature observed your preparations, especially if you got the boat ready yesterday.”

“How could they know who I was? That troubles me.”

“Sage knows you. Maybe that was enough; I don’t know. They promised secrecy.”

“Even so.”

The nearest island was close now. On the shore, folk were busy, loading nets and supplies, pushing boats into the shallows.

“Flint, how long can you stay with us?” My attempt to sound calm failed miserably. He reached out and put his hand over mine. The warmth of his touch went deep within me, making my breath catch.

“I’ll see you safe to Ronan’s Isle. But I can only be with you a day or two.” He glanced at Tali. “I’ll leave the boat with you. She’s easy enough to sail single-handed in calm weather. I know folk over there; someone will ferry me back.”

As we rounded the southern tip of the island and headed into more open water, the vessel gained speed, scudding over the choppy swell. I clutched the rail, my stomach protesting. Under the deep discomfort of seasickness, a confusion of feelings welled in me. Flint was here, right beside me. His presence was a blessing, a most wondrous surprise. He would soon be gone. But we would have time together on the island. We might steal a precious night together. As for the Hag of the Isles, I could hardly believe I might meet her this very day.

“Look ahead, Neryn,” Tali said. “If you keep your eyes on the horizon, you won’t feel so sick.”

I lifted my head and looked westward. There were so many isles. I had seen them sprinkled on the Northies’ magical map, but I had not thought they were so numerous
or so varied. Tall, cliff-bounded towers; low-lying rocky skerries; here and there more substantial islands, on which the light of the rising sun showed me settlements and walled fields, stock grazing, threads of smoke rising from hearth fires. There were few trees; the westerly had bent those hardy enough to survive into prostrate surrender. On the sea, numerous vessels were heading out to their favored fishing grounds. Many were similar to our craft; we might perhaps complete our voyage without attracting undue attention. It seemed the community of the isles might be far bigger than I had thought.