Shadowfell (42 page)

‘The Master of Shadows,’ I echoed, wondering if I should tell her now, straight away, or leave it until the two of us were alone.

‘Aye, a Big One in person. Folk have seen him here and there. Or so they say. He’s a tricky creature at the best of times. A shifter and changer, a player of games.’ Sage’s eyes were shrewd as she examined my face. ‘You don’t look surprised, Neryn.’

‘I have a tale to tell,’ I said. ‘Most of it can wait for later, but . . . I met someone unusual, and I was told, more or less, that I’d shown all the virtues. There was a rhyme; six of them in the first part, only one in the second. Exactly how I demonstrated the first six I’m not sure. The seventh was plain enough.’ After a moment I added, ‘You don’t look surprised.’

Sage grinned. ‘I heard the tale of yesterday’s battle and how you turned the tide. I wish Silver could have seen that; it would have silenced her doubting tongue. By the time we met you by Hiddenwater, you were well on your way to passing the tests. She and her band were slow to believe it, thinking as they did that there was only one way to meet each requirement. Fools. What was it you showed, the night your grandmother was taken, but Strength of Stillness? As if that wasn’t enough, you did it again with the urisk. As for Flame of Courage, without that you’d never have endured those three years of hunger and flight, though Silver would probably say you didn’t prove yourself brave enough to be a Caller until you got over Brollachan Bridge. Canny Eyes? We all know you’ve had those since you were a wee bairnie.’

‘Open Heart?’ I queried, fascinated.

‘You need to ask me that? It goes along with the Giving Hand, Neryn. You’ve been taught to share what you have. Not just your meagre supplies, but your love and compassion. You made time for that poor fellow in the cottage, the one who’s not right in the head – oh, yes, we know about that, we’re everywhere – and you stopped to listen to the sad ghosts of Hiddenwater when nobody else in a hundred years had spared them a word, let alone sung them the song they wanted. Who knows what that fine act may lead to one day? As for Steadfast Purpose, that was what I saw at Brollachan Bridge, for I guessed how badly you wanted to run back and help us; I knew what it must cost you to go on. But you never lost sight of your mission, lassie. You put Alban first, as it seems this fellow of yours does, and all of them up there.’ Sage nodded in Tali’s direction.

I was humbled by her words. It seemed to me that she and her small companions exemplified the fine qualities of the rhyme far better than I ever could. ‘The second verse ends with
Live for Alban’s liberty
,’ I said. ‘That’s what we must do.’

‘We’ll talk more later,’ Sage said. ‘You don’t have long, your fellow here tells me. Say your farewells, or whatever you’ve come to say. I’ll wait over yonder, as far from that guard of yours as I can safely take myself. She’s got the smell of death about her.’

So small, so brave, so wise. ‘It’s good to see you,’ I said with a lump in my throat. ‘Where is Red Cap? Did he come with you?’

‘Never did manage to shake the wee fellow off. Aye, he’s close by, and his bairnie with him. It’s good to see you, too, lassie.’ She made to move away, then halted, fixing me with her shrewd gaze. ‘One thing. You said you demonstrated the seventh virtue. Could be there’s one step further to go with that one.’

She moved a short distance away and settled herself under a wind-blighted tree. Up the hill, Tali had not moved.

We stood gazing at each other, Flint and I. Now that I had found him, now that we were together again, all my words fled.
Grant forgiveness
, a voice whispered in my mind.
Set them free
.

‘A message came,’ he said shakily. ‘There was no time. You needed your sleep.’ He lifted his fingers to touch my cheek, sending a shiver through me. ‘I’m sorry I must leave so soon,’ he said. ‘More sorry than I can say.’

‘But you were never going to stay.’ The words that came out were the wrong ones; all I could think about was that this was the last touch, the last look, the last memory. It was a long time until spring.

‘That was before we came up the mountain. Before you said you would listen to my story. When you heard it and did not shrink from me, I thought . . . I wanted to stay longer, Neryn. It isn’t to be. It seems someone has raised doubts about my loyalty, back at Summerfort. When I heard Boar Troop was coming along the valley I tried to halt them, to tell them any rumours they’d heard of rebel activity in these parts were untrue. I told them I’d checked already, thoroughly, and that the stories had no foundation. I’m not only a troop leader, I’m the king’s confidant; in the past they would have accepted my word. At the very least, their leader should have delayed the advance. But he did not. That told me I was being watched. It told me they were under orders from someone higher up, someone who suspected me. I tried a second time, when they had travelled further, and again my counsel was ignored. So I was forced to send a message to Regan, setting up the ambush. And to leave you on your own. Safe in the cave until it was all over. At least, that was the plan.’

‘You went with them yourself,’ I breathed. ‘You chose to . . .’

‘To lead them to their slaughter?’ His tone was bitter. ‘The situation was dire. They were dangerously close to Shadowfell. Since they would not go back, it was necessary to make sure they went on, and that they ended up exactly where Regan wanted them. And then to ensure nobody returned to Summerfort to tell the tale.’

‘I had thought, earlier, that they were following me. That was what the Good Folk believed.’

‘They knew of your existence, certainly. They played their part in pursuing you earlier. They believed I was still looking for you. But Boar Troop was not despatched up the valley to find you, Neryn. They were sent to hunt out rebels, and to check on me. The document Regan’s men found yesterday confirmed that.’

‘Then . . . when you go back . . . how can you possibly explain . . .’

‘I’ll find the right words. I have done so before and I can do so again.’

‘But this . . . the loss of all those men . . . You’ll be in terrible danger.’

‘I can look after myself. Don’t let it trouble you.’

My tears welled anew. I blinked them back. This was not a time to break down and weep; it was a time to be strong. I did not want to be a chink in Flint’s armour. I did not want to be the person who weakened him and made him vulnerable. And yet, the language of his touch was not the language of comrade to comrade, friend to friend. It went far deeper than that.

‘When I saw the battle, when I saw what you had to do . . .’ I was finding it hard to catch my breath. ‘I wondered how you could make yourself act like that, over and over, season by season, year by year. I wondered how you could bear it. And then . . . when I called the stanie mon, when I made him kill, I began to understand. What I did sickened me. It filled me with guilt and shame. But if I hadn’t done it, you and I and Regan’s fighters might all be dead now, and there would be nobody to stand up against Keldec’s might. The life you lead . . . it horrifies me. It’s like the worst nightmare I could imagine. You must feel as if you’re constantly struggling to tell right from wrong. You must dream of your deeds and your decisions every night, and rise every morning wondering where you can find the strength to go on. And, somehow, finding it.’

He bowed his head. ‘I am not worthy to be your friend,’ he said. ‘Nor the friend of any right-thinking man or woman. What I do . . . it sets me apart. It sets a stain on me that there’s no removing.’

‘Look at me, Flint,’ I said. He raised his eyes; I tried to see beyond the pain to the true heart within. ‘You are a good man,’ I told him. ‘I saw that in you from the start, but trust was a hard lesson for me to learn. You are brave beyond imagining. Alban is fortunate indeed to have such a man fighting for her freedom. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re treading a hard path . . . I wanted to tell you . . . I wanted to say . . .’ Now, even the right words were not enough. Instead, I put my arms around him and laid my head against his shoulder.

Without a word he gathered me close. I felt his heart beating, quick and strong. A warrior’s heart.

‘Our time will come,’ I murmured. ‘When all this is over. When peace comes again. When Alban is restored to herself. Tali is right: saying any more only makes things harder for both of us. But . . .’ I drew back so I could see his face. His lovely eyes. His strong, sweet mouth. His plain, scarred features. He had shaved his head since I last saw him; he was the hooded man of Darkwater again, the stranger who had won me in a game of chance and fled with me into the forest. ‘I will dream of you every night,’ I said. ‘I will count every day until spring. Be safe, Flint.’

‘Every night, you will walk through my dreams,’ he said. ‘That will be nothing new; you have done so since I first met you.’ He stepped back, releasing me. I felt as if my heart would crack in two. ‘Neryn,’ he said. ‘What you said . . . the words you just gave me . . . that was a gift beyond price. A flame to light me through the harsh winter and bring me home again.’ He glanced up toward Tali, then across at the small figure of Sage, who was sitting quietly under her tree, gazing at nothing in particular. ‘I’m glad you will be among friends,’ he said. ‘I must go, Neryn.’

I nodded. With misery welling up in me, I tried to smile. There were words I wanted to speak, but Tali’s warning was in my mind, stark in its premonition of danger.
You won’t be a friend to the cause if you weaken the best man we have.
So I said nothing. Instead, I put the tips of my fingers to my mouth, then reached to lay them against his lips.

Braver than I, Flint bent to touch his lips to mine. His kiss was quick and light, yet full of promise. ‘Be safe, my heart,’ he whispered.

Then he moved away. He spoke to Sage, thanking her for her willingness to speak to him and for coming to find me. He went up to collect his weapons; he exchanged a word or two with Tali. I stood very still as he came back down. I did my best not to let any tears fall.

For a moment he stood before me again, holding his weapons wrapped in the cloak; I saw that he would not take them out while Sage was close by. I gazed at him, storing his image away for the long cold season to come. I managed the smile. ‘Until spring,’ I said.

He smiled. It was a smile such as I had never seen before, full of joy and sadness and love and farewell. He gave a little nod, then turned and strode off down the mountain on his long journey back to court.

‘That’s him away.’ Sage was beside me, though I had not seen her move. ‘And your last virtue proven. You’ve some work ahead. That’s if you’re ready to test this gift of yours.’ The bright eyes subjected me to a searching look.

I thought of blood and death. I thought of courage and honour, pain and sacrifice. I had seen all of them on my journey. I had seen comradeship, vision, selflessness, patriotism. I had experienced friendship; goodness; love. Despite everything, they still existed in the dark realm that was Keldec’s Alban. ‘I’m ready,’ I said. ‘Ready to be strong. Ready to take risks. Ready to learn.’

‘Aye, well, we’ll do that together, my kind and your kind,’ Sage said, gathering her meagre belongings. ‘That’s if you and I can convince them. I’ll slip off now and seek out Red Cap. I sent him to find a corner to shelter in, away from your warrior friends. When you’re ready, call me and I’ll come.’ Before I could say a word more, she had vanished into a fold of the land, leaving nothing behind but a set of small footprints going nowhere.

Gods, it was freezing. I pulled my borrowed cloak around me as I made my way up to the waiting Tali.

‘Home,’ she said. ‘Regan won’t thank me for taking out a living, breathing girl and bringing back an icicle. Was that really one of the . . .’

‘The Good Folk,’ I said as we made our way back around the rocks and up toward Shadowfell. ‘Yes, an old friend of mine. Her kind are all around us here. But they don’t come out unless it suits them. I’ve always been able to see and hear them.’

Her dark eyes were full of wonder. For the first time, I thought, she recognised in me a strength equal to her own, despite our great differences. ‘Would they show themselves to me?’ she asked. ‘Could I learn to talk to them?’

‘Yes, if they wanted it, and if you were prepared to lay your weapons aside for long enough. Sage didn’t hide herself from you just now. And Flint saw her earlier, even though I was not here. Saw her and spoke to her.’ I hesitated.

‘What?’

‘That’s what we need to work on. Understanding. Cooperation. It won’t be easy. The Good Folk prefer not to mingle, even amongst themselves. In times of trouble, their answer is to hide away until the storm passes. But . . . if we’re to win, we’ll need to change that. I don’t know if it’s possible, Tali. But I believe we must try.’

‘So you’ll do it? You’ll help us?’

‘I don’t think I have any choice.’ How could I expect of Flint what I would not dare myself?

We walked on steadily. The silence between us was different now: the tension was gone from it. The mountain was quiet. Under the falling snow its rocks and crags and fissures lay in folds of grey and violet, mysterious and remote.
Her ancient bones brought me to birth . . .

‘We can do it,’ I said. ‘We must believe that, or we can’t go on. We can win this, all of us together. All of Alban’s children.’

Juliet Marillier was born in Dunedin, New Zealand. She has worked as a music teacher, opera singer and tax assessor, but is now a full-time writer. Her historical fantasy novels for adult readers are published internationally and have won a number of awards.
Shadowfell
is Juliet’s third novel for young adult readers. Her first,
Wildwood Dancing
, won the 2006 Aurealis Award for Best Fantasy Novel, and her second,
Cybele’s Secret
, won the 2008 Sir Julius Vogel Award, given to the best young adult novel.

Juliet lives in a hundred-year-old cottage by the Swan River in Perth with three dogs. She loves history, folklore and travel.

www.julietmarillier.com