Raven Flight (20 page)

“You think the Hag’s going to come out for a scrap of bread or a strip of dried meat?” Tali sounded unconvinced. “That’s about all we have to offer.”

“Could we make a fire? Perhaps find some herbs and cook some kind of soup?” A hag, I thought, might have few teeth left; I imagined her dipping the bread in the warm soup to soften it. It would be a comforting meal in the chill of the sea wind.

My warrior companions tackled the task with the same calm efficiency they’d applied to sailing the boat. Tali went off and helped herself to a supply of peat, which she carried back in her cloak. I hoped there might be some way we could repay the islanders; in a place that had so little, everything would be precious. A second trip yielded the withered remains of a bush that had succumbed to the winter weather, and Tali soon had a campfire burning on the landward side of the low wall. Meanwhile, I went out onto the moorland in search of herbs, returning with a better harvest than I had expected, for sage and thyme both grew here, sending their roots deep between the rocks, and by a lochan where long-legged birds waded, I found a supply of early cresses.

By the time I got back, Flint had water boiling in the small cook pot he carried everywhere, and various ingredients ready to add: a handful of oats, the dried meat shaved into slivers, some wizened mushrooms that had seen better days, shreds of vegetable matter that might have been carrot or turnip.

“I thought it best to wait for your approval,” he said, looking up with one of his rare smiles.

“That looks good to me. You carry vegetables in your pack these days?”

“I brought a few things from Pentishead.”

A sharp memory came: Flint feeding me as I lay grievously sick. Flint so patient and kind, at a time when I’d believed him my enemy. How much had changed since then. And how little time we had. Only two days. Let there be time alone. Let there be time for me to talk to him properly, to touch, to tell him … So much to be said, and none of it possible with Tali present, Tali who was always quick to remind me that soft feelings were chinks in a warrior’s armor. I felt, already, that she was watching us.

“At the very least, the three of us will get a good supper,” I said.

Tali came to crouch by the fire and warm her hands. “I hope the plan isn’t to sleep out here on the cliff top if nobody comes.”

I said nothing. If nobody came, there was no plan. We would spend some time on the island, I supposed, and I would try to find some Good Folk here and ask if they knew where the Hag was to be found. I could call them to help me if I must. But I would not call a Guardian. That would truly be overreaching myself.

“Someone will come,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “If it’s not until tomorrow, we can sleep in the shelter of this wall.”

Tali’s expression told me what she thought of that suggestion. The wind was blowing hard now, stirring up the ocean all around the island. Out to the west I could see a small, cliff-bound isle I remembered from the Northies’ map. Today it wore a collar of white. I imagined wild
breakers lashing the rocks. Not even seals would go in there.

“Does that island have a name?” I asked Flint.

“Far Isle. Populated mostly by seals.”

“It looks too steep even for them.”

Flint seemed about to speak, then apparently thought better of it. Instead, he took up a stick and gave the broth a stir. I leaned across and dropped in the herbs I had been shredding. The mixture smelled good.

“I’d have liked some fish,” Tali said. “Tomorrow, maybe.” She glanced at Flint. “Won’t you be needing the boat?”

Flint made no reply. It occurred to me that Tali’s delicate question had nothing to do with his getting back to the mainland. She was talking about his mission in the isles, whatever it was. A mission for the king. He would hardly be going about that with the assistance of the local fishermen. He had friends on Ronan’s Isle, or so it seemed. What if he had been sent here to kill someone?

Flint sat silent, gazing at the glowing peat, the flickering flames, the mixture simmering in the pot. It was plain he had no intention of offering us any information.

Time passed. The broth smelled ready to eat, and I realized I was hungry. The sun was low, setting a gold light on Tali’s strong features. Flint remained wrapped in his thoughts.

Suddenly Tali’s gaze sharpened. She rose slowly to her feet, putting up a hand to shade her eyes. “What in the name of the gods is that?” she said.

It was a cloud—a swift-moving cloud approaching over
the sea, from the lonely cliffs of Far Isle. Birds. A great throng of birds, a flight to dwarf the flock that had heralded our arrival on this shore. And below them in the water, sleek and elegant as a swan, came a boat.

“I thought you said that place was only inhabited by seals,” I murmured as the hairs on the back of my neck prickled with awareness of the uncanny.

But Flint said not a word.

WE STOOD NEAR THE CLIFF TOP WATCHING AS the craft approached. It came in a gliding motion, passing over the turbulent waters as if on a tranquil loch: a long, low vessel with a high prow, its sail of a shimmering pale fabric that surely should have been torn to shreds by the sharp westerly wind. The great cloud of birds cast a shadow on the sea, and yet where the boat cleaved the water, there was no shadow, but pale light.

“A woman,” Tali said, narrowing her eyes against the sun. “Dressed in a hooded cape. A big man with her. Or is it a creature?”

“Is she old? Young?”

“I can’t tell,” said Tali. “Her hair is long. Could be white, could be fair. She’s sitting very straight. Broad shoulders. Looks tall.” After a moment she added, “The boat seems to be sailing itself.”

The air around us throbbed with magic, a dangerous magic the likes of which I had not sensed since the Master of Shadows revealed himself to me in Odd’s Hole.

“It’s the Hag,” I said. “I can feel her power.” I was both elated and sick with terror.

Flint stood close beside me. He still hadn’t spoken. Now, as the uncanny boat came nearer, he put his arm around my shoulders, heedless of what Tali might think. I closed my eyes. My fear eased; my heart quieted. I felt the warmth of his touch in my whole body.
Store this up
, I told myself.
Keep this feeling for when he’s gone
. I rested my head against Flint’s shoulder; he whispered something I did not catch.

“Turn, turn,” muttered Tali urgently. I opened my eyes and realized I had been in a kind of dream. The boat was very close to land now and showed no sign of slowing. “Black Crow’s curse, what is she doing?”

The cloud of birds was almost upon us; the boat went out of sight, somewhere down at the base of the cliffs.

“She’ll be smashed to pieces,” Tali said in flat disbelief. “There can’t be a landing place down there.”

The birds passed over us, not squawking and crying, but silent. They circled, then landed, a sea of white along the cliff top and all around us. On the wall close by I spotted a gull wearing little boots.

“We must do something—fetch help—” Tali moved perilously close to the cliff’s edge, craning her neck.

I looked at the uncanny bird. It turned its head to one side and stared back.

“We should wait,” I said. “That was no ordinary boat and no ordinary sailor.” When I’d seen the Guardians in that vision, in Odd’s Hole, the Hag had said,
Be fluid as water
. “If it’s the Hag, her strength is water magic. Maybe she doesn’t need a landing place.”

“How can we just wait? What if …” Tali fell silent as Flint and I moved back to the fire and sat down, side by side. After a little she came over and stood beside us, arms folded. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “If we could have saved someone and did nothing …”

“If an ordinary fishing boat went in under there, the crew would be dead before you could fetch help,” said Flint. “Or are you suggesting we descend the cliff on a very long rope?”

“That’s just it,” said Tali. “Even if they do land, how will they get up?”

“Smells good,” someone said. All three of us started in surprise; the person had come from nowhere. She was standing behind Tali now, long silver hair flowing down over her shoulders, rivulets of water running from her robe to pool on the rocks around us. We rose to our feet.

The woman was certainly tall. She could look down on both Tali and Flint. Her stance was proud. Hers was a strong face, the nose jutting, the cheekbones prominent, the jaw firm. Her eyes … They were odd indeed, elongated in shape, and of many colors: deep green, seal gray, the blue of a summer sky, and the blue of the sea under winter clouds, all at once. Her mouth was wide and thin-lipped, her expression calm. A hag? I would not have called her that. Perhaps she was old, but she seemed more … ageless. Her skin was not the wrinkled parchment my grandmother’s had been at the end, but pale and unblemished.

“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.”