Raven Flight (38 page)

Early on I had asked the Twa for their names, so I could address them individually. They did leave the Lord’s side occasionally, but not for long, and never at the same time.

“Names?” one of them echoed. “We’re the Twa. The ane, and the other.”

“But didn’t your mother and father name you when you were babies? They cannot have given you only one name between you.” Then again, perhaps that was quite common among Good Folk.

The other guard took off his shining helm and scratched his head. Both of them had long, thick fair hair, worn neatly plaited. “Lang time ago,” he commented. “Mebbe. But I canna recall any names.” He looked at his brother. “The ane, and the other. That’s us.”

I asked Flow about it later, and she said nobody could remember. “The ane, and the other,” she said. “All this time, only those.”

I had sown a seed in the minds of the Twa with my question. One morning, as I approached the dais where the Lord lay, ready for another long day’s vigil, they were not standing silent as usual, but were engaged in a lively conversation.

“… but dinna ye think, if we had our ain names, we wouldna be the Twa anymore? That would be awfu’ hard.”

The other guard shook his head. “The Twa are strong as granite, laddie. A wee thing like a name canna split us apart. Tae my thinkin’ there’s pride in a name. A man can be part o’ the Twa, and be hisself at one and the same time. Dinna ye think so?”

“Isna it a bittie late for namin’, wi’ the Lord gone awa’ inside himsel’, and nae work for the Twa but keepin’ watch ower his sleep?”

I came up the steps to stand beside them. “It’s never too late for naming,” I said. “But only if you both wanted it, of course.”

The Twa exchanged a look, then spoke at the same time.

“What ye sayin’?”

“Ye got names for us?”

Already, in my mind, I thought of them by the names I had given them. Not mountain names like those of the fighters; perhaps not names for Good Folk at all. “I have suggestions.”

“Let’s hear them, then.”

I looked first at the brother who was just a trace taller, his eyes perhaps a little lighter, his hair slightly paler. “For
you, Constant.” I turned toward the other. “And for you, Trusty.”

Neither said a word.

“Chosen in recognition of your long and faithful service to a lord who cannot honor you himself,” I said. “But if you don’t like those, we could think of some others. And, of course, you will always be the Twa.”

It was only after I had settled myself on my stool at the Lord’s bedside, and one of Flow’s helpers had come in with breakfast for the three of us, and gone out again, a small figure hurrying away across the huge, empty chamber, that the Twa made comment.

“Constant,” said the one. “There’s a guid ring tae that. I like it weel enow.”

“Aye, and Trusty, that’s a name like a strong helm or a thick winter cloak,” said the other. “A fellow can wear it wi’ pride. Ye give us a guid gift, Neryn.”

“Then I’m happy.”

“No ye’re no’,” Trusty said, setting down his spear and lowering himself to sit on the step beside me. Constant sat down on my other side. I passed them their bowls of porridge from the breakfast tray.

“No’ happy at a’,” said Constant. “No’ in yersel’, I mean.”

“I don’t know how to reach him,” I said. “Compelling him to come out of the enchantment is wrong, I feel it in my bones. I need to … coax him out. He needs a reason for coming back.”

“Ye give us a gift,” Trusty said. “Canna ye offer him the same?”

I recalled that campfire on the cliffs of Ronan’s Isle, and sharing our soup with the Hag and Himself. It seemed a long time ago. “How can I? Where he’s gone, I can’t reach him. And I don’t know what he would want.”

This was greeted with a weighty silence, during which I realized that of course I knew; there was only one thing the Lord wanted, and nobody could give it to him. “I can’t bring Gem back from the dead,” I said. My mind was still on the Hag, and the teaching she had given me, teaching that had allowed me to single out one mind from many and direct my call there. The test she had set me, in which I had chosen not to call away the gull, which would have snatched up the wee fish, but to summon a far more powerful being: Himself. My mind raced ahead into the realm of the impossible. The near impossible.

“I have a question for you.”

“Aye?”

“The Lady, Gem’s mother … Flow said she faded and went away. Where did she go?”

Their spoons stilled in their hands.

“Awa’,” said Constant.

“Whaur, we canna tell ye,” said Trusty.

“If I could bring her back, would he wake?”

“If that didna wake him,” said Constant, “naethin’ would.”

“Can ye dae it?” asked Trusty, his voice vibrant with sudden hope.

“When I was in the isles, I did call a being of some power. He was dear to the Hag, like a husband. But when
I did it, he was quite close by, under the sea. In my mind, I could feel my way through the water and find him.”

“Neryn,” said Constant, “I dinna want tae tell ye this, but the Lord, he’s the only one will know whaur the Lady went. And he canna tell ye until he wakes. The truth, it’s hidden inside him; tucked awa’ deep like a shining jewel in the heart o’ stane.”

The image was powerful. As I considered it, an answer came with such force that I sprang to my feet, almost upsetting my porridge bowl. “The magic of stone! That’s what he’s done, anchored himself in stone, made himself part of it, and hidden the sorrow away inside.…”
Stane moves awfu’ slow
, Whisper had said. Never mind that; I must work as I had never worked before. “I’m going to need your help,” I told them.

PERHAPS I SHOWED A CONFIDENCE I DID NOT truly feel, for once I had explained what I intended, it was not only the Twa who helped me but the entire household. I had them move the Lord out of the vast hall and into the chamber he had shared with his Lady, a spacious room but far smaller than the other, with hangings to soften the walls. At my request a fire was kindled on the hearth and oil lamps were brought in to banish the shadows. The Lord of the North lay on his bed, as still and remote as ever.

I asked that we be left alone—the Lord, the Twa, and me. There were to be no interruptions. We entered the chamber and shut the heavy door behind us.

Constant and Trusty took up their usual positions, spears in hand. I stood by the Lord’s bed, took his cold hand in mine, and shut my eyes. Somewhere within the stony chill of the sleeping man, there was life. Somewhere within the fearsome spell that locked him away, there was a person who had loved, and loved well. A fine person, one
who had earned the devotion of his household, a devotion that had endured through three hundred years of waiting. I would not call him; every instinct told me that was wrong. But if I could find his Lady in his thoughts, if I could find something that convinced me her return would wake him, I could call her.

I went through the long preparation the Hag had taught me: breathing, concentration, awareness. But I changed the manner of it. I did not seek the fluid, ever-shifting movement of water now, but the heavy, monumental existence of stone. Not dancing, spraying, flowing, crashing, but waiting, holding, staying, being. I stood immobile, my breathing slow and slower, searching. Within the stillness that wrapped the Lord of the North, I sought the little signs of movement and change. For the wisdom of the north was not only that of stone, but also of earth, and from earth springs life. If he was a rock, monumental and still, I would be a growing tree, and as a tree sends its roots deep into the earth, I would find a way to the secrets at his heart. When I was ready, I made my mind a seed, lying in the winter ground as snowstorm and windstorm harried the mountains above. I felt the little death that was the cold season. I felt the spring thaw; I felt the ground soften and warm around me, and I stretched out tiny roots into the soil and pushed a single green shoot into the air.
I am alive. I rise from earth. I am the awakening of Alban’s deep heart
.

Rain fell on me; breezes stirred me; wandering goats nibbled at my leaves. Seasons passed and passed, and I thrust my roots deep into the ground, finding ways
between the stones, gripping tight, winding and binding and fastening myself there. In my crown, generation on generation of birds nested. Martens climbed my trunk and raised their young in my hollows. Autumn by autumn, my leaves changed color and dried up and fell to form heavy drifts around my feet. My seeds were carried by wind and bird and insect; my children flew far and wide, settling in their own soil. Spring after spring saw my new leaves sprout, the fresh green of hope. Kings and chieftains rode by me on their proud horses; sheep grazed around me; farmers and herdsmen rested in my shade. Fey folk too visited me, joining hands to dance around my trunk, making crowns from my leaves, living in my canopy. Good Folk, respectful of my gifts, wise in ancient ways.

I grew old, old beyond human measure. My strength waned; insects ate at my core, and my branches grew brittle, snapping in autumn gales. A storm toppled me; I fell to lean against a younger tree, grown from my seed. Mosses crept over me. Small creatures found a refuge in my decaying wood. Beetles dwelt in the shadowy recesses beneath my great body. In death, I was wrapped in life. And underground, in the caverns of Alban’s heart, my roots still held fast.

“Dinna ye think,” whispered someone, “that there’s a bittie mair warmth in his cheeks?”

“Aye,” murmured someone else, “and a touch o’ light in his e’en, would ye no’ say?”

I sucked in a breath, opened my eyes, felt my knees give way. Before I could fall, Constant was on one side and
Trusty on the other, holding me up. They helped me to a bench by the fire. The chamber was moving around me, even when I was sitting still. It might have been morning or night; I might have been standing there for days.

“Not finished,” I managed. “Can’t … rest …”

“Ye’d best tak’ a bite tae eat and a wee sip o’ mead,” Constant said. “Ye been standin’ there lang. For a human lassie, verra lang.”

The household knew I wanted no distractions. Trusty went off to fetch food and drink. When he came back in, Tali was waiting at the door to escort me to the privy.

“All right?” She frowned as she scrutinized my face.

“Mm.” I was too tired to think, let alone have a conversation. Besides, if I started to talk about this, I might lose any belief that what I was attempting would actually work.

“You don’t look it. Make sure you call if you need me. I’ll be right outside the door.”

“What about …?”

“Scar and the others can manage without me.”

“You need not—”

“Yes, I do.”

I took to sleeping as Constant and Trusty did, in short snatches when I could no longer keep my eyes open. There was a shelf bed by the wall, probably intended for the Lady’s maidservant, and that was where I lay, under the fur cloak I had been given when I first came here. The Twa were too tall to use this bed, but took turns to stretch out on the floor.

I lost track of the passing days and nights. From that first delving, when I sought a pathway into the Lord’s enchanted sleep as a tree would search for a crevice through which to slip its root, I moved deeper and deeper, searching for traces of the Lady. For all my weariness, I found it easier each day to sink into the state of trance; I felt the weight of earth in my body, its slow rhythms in the beating of my heart, and in my bones the endurance and strength of stone. I was no longer hungry, though the Twa made me eat. I became patient. Day by day, as Tali took me to use the privy, to wash, to change my clothing, I saw that the lines on her face were deeper and her eyes more troubled, but I did not think of the passage of time or of what it might mean for us. I was not aware of thinking much at all.

Step by slow step I moved down the pathways of the Lord’s mind. Day by day, night by night, I walked there, and saw revealed, as bright spots in the darkness, the things he had loved, the things he had lost, the good things he had chosen to set aside. Gem was everywhere: a tiny babe, her cheek peach-soft under her father’s astonished touch; a dark-haired child, tossed high in the air, laughing in delight; a quicksilver girl, full of curiosity; a frowning student, bending over a great scroll with questions in her eyes. Gem running. Gem climbing. Gem playing a little harp. Gem casting a spell and turning a cat to stone. Gem shouting at her father. Always that: the furious words, the swirl of her long hair as she stormed out of their workroom.
She left me. My Gem left me. The last thing I ever said to my daughter was, Disobedient wretch! If you cannot master yourself, how will you ever master your craft?

The Lady was more elusive. From the Twa, I learned that her name was Siona, and that she came from the far north, land of eternal ice. But I did not see her anywhere in the Lord’s thoughts; it was as if the loss of Gem had erased his wife from his memory.

“Did they have a falling-out?” I asked the Twa on a day when frustration had made me give up my quest early enough to take supper by the fire with them, all of us weary and despondent. “A quarrel? Did they part on bad terms?” It was hard for me to accept, still, that the Lady had chosen to walk away when her man was sunk in his grief.