There were some exceptions. A group of young men, joking and laughing, stopped to greet us at a fork in the track, asking if we wanted company on our way. It seemed they had been drinking ale, and perhaps that explained their boldness. Tali managed a laugh in response and said no thank you, her husband would not be happy with the idea. To my great relief the lads did not press the point, but went on their way. We waited until they were out of sight, then took the other fork.
Our story had changed to suit the circumstances. Calla and Luda were from a tiny settlement north of Darkwater, and had been allowed time off from their farmwork to attend the Gathering. It was the most plausible reason for heading east: a reason nobody could question, since half of Alban seemed to be doing the same thing. Once close to Summerfort, we would seize the first opportunity to head up into the woods again and bypass the Gathering altogether. What better time to get up the Rush valley unnoticed than when the eyes of Keldec’s court were on the midsummer spectacle? The Enforcers would all be there; the settlements of Alban would be spared their ominous presence, at least for a while.
Eventually Silverwater came into view, a long, shining expanse of freshwater amid tracts of pine and oak forest. The trees were in full summer garb, lush and green; it should be easy to find concealed paths through that woodland, which was the place where I had first met Sage and Red Cap last autumn. Would they be anywhere near? With so many men and women on the road, it seemed unlikely the Good Folk would come out. Most people carried knives for their own protection, and few, if any, would trouble to shield them with charms, even if they knew how. To uncanny folk, the very air must reek of iron.
We sat awhile on a flat rock, high on a hillside, looking out over loch and forest. The day was fair, the sky a sweet blue with scudding clouds like tufts of swansdown.
“Neryn.”
“Mm?”
“I’ve been thinking. From this point on we might be safer on the main road, in the crowd. On these side tracks we’ll be noticed every time we encounter other travelers. If we walk with a bigger group, or at least near one, we’ve a better chance of blending in.”
“There will be king’s men down there, keeping an eye out for anything unusual.”
“We’re not unusual. We’re just two more women on the road. Keep to the story, say no more than we absolutely must, and we can get through safely. We should be on the shore of Silverwater by tonight. Easier to join the crowd now than suddenly appear just before Hiddenwater, where we’ve no choice but to use the only track.”
“All right. If that’s what you think is best.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
I did not tell her the thought of sharing the road with Enforcers made me feel sick. It was all very well for her; she had not seen her brother impaled on an enemy spear and choking on his lifeblood. She had not seen her grandmother turned into a witless shell at the hands of an Enthraller. She had not been captured and believed herself about to undergo the same fate. But no, that was unfair. I did not know Tali’s story. Alban being the place it was, very likely her past had its own share of horrors. “I know we have to do it sometime soon,” I said. “But I’m afraid. I can’t help it. If something goes wrong, I won’t be able to call, not down there.”
“Indeed, so make sure you’re not tempted. Whatever happens. I mean that, Neryn. Whatever happens. Do you understand? The king’s men mustn’t get the slightest sniff of the fact that you’re a Caller. Not the least hint.”
The look on her face terrified me. “I know that,” I muttered.
“I can keep you safe in most situations, though if I’m supposed to be a farmworker, it’s clearly best if I don’t have to fight.”
Her weapons traveled rolled up in the bedding, apart from one knife concealed on her person. She had her staff, of course, which I had cause to know she could employ with great skill in both attack and defense. In a fight against a single Enforcer she might well win, even so lightly armed. To do so would be almost as perilous as my using my gift, for such acts never went unpunished, and the king’s punishments were delivered with both speed and savage efficiency.
We camped in the woods one more night. The next morning we joined the crowd on the road. Here the foot traffic was supplemented by ox-drawn carts, by small groups of highborn folk on horseback, and by the occasional flock of sheep or herd of goats that still had to be moved along, Gathering or no Gathering. Even here the mood was subdued, for wariness and distrust had worked their way deep into the fabric of Alban’s people during the years of Keldec’s reign. In the main, folk gave us sideways looks, then ignored us. The most we got from anyone was a nod, a word or two on the weather or the crowded road. We returned these cursory greetings in kind. Making friends was not part of the plan.
Tali’s theory proved to be correct: despite the press of folk, progress was quicker on this more direct path. I hated it. I could see from the tight set of Tali’s body that she was uncomfortable too. Every word and every gesture had to be guarded. We walked all day, and when the fading light made going on impossible, we did what everyone else did: found a suitable spot by the road to make a rudimentary camp. The distrust between folk was not so great as to prevent each encampment from sharing a fire: everyone helped gather wood, and everyone enjoyed the warmth. Our supplies being scant, we went down to the loch and fished, competing with many others. We were lucky; or maybe we were more practiced. We shared our catch with a family that had been keeping pace with us on the road, a farmer and his wife with two shy daughters. The girls were close to the age I had been when the Enforcers came to Corbie’s Wood and tore my world apart. I wondered why their parents would choose to take them to the Gathering.
In time we came to Hiddenwater, where the warrior-ghosts had recognized in Tali the proof that their chieftain’s noble line lived on. She walked by that lonely loch with her raven markings hidden, and folk stretched out before and behind, eyes uneasy, tongues silent. Everyone knew the place was haunted. Perhaps only Tali and I were aware of how close those presences were, though we saw nothing of them, only heard, in the chill wind that whistled through the bowl-shaped valley, the echo of pipe and drum.
“We greet you,” I whispered into a fold of my shawl. “We honor you. Today we must pass on by.” Beside me, Tali strode forward, her eyes shining with the memory, her jaw set like a fighter’s. I jabbed her in the ribs, scowling. “You’re walking too fast for me, Luda.”
She rounded her shoulders, slowed her pace, became more of a girl and less of a warrior before my eyes.
“I hate this,” she whispered. “Every wretched step of it.”
“Me too. I hope it’s not too much farther.”
She blinked at me, then fell silent. Calla and Luda, after all, were going to the Gathering for the very first time. The closer we got to Summerfort, the more important it became to play our parts every moment of every day.
By Deepwater we encountered the group of noisy young men again. They camped near us and kept everyone awake with their oaths and ribald stories. The couple with the two daughters settled as far from the youths as they could, and Tali and I spread out our bedding alongside them, well away from the fire. We ate cold fish left over from the previous night, then settled to sleep. But the voices went on, loud, combative, slurred by too much ale.
“A pox on you, good-for-nothing maggot, I can beat you anytime!”
“Just try it, you sick whelp! You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
“Call me names, would you? I’m more man than you are!”
“Get up and show us, then! Let’s see the size of you!”
“Calla.” The sharp whisper was Tali’s. A fight had broken out among the youths and was drawing in other men from the encampment. Someone ran across the area and fell over one of the two young girls, who screamed in fright; her father rose to his feet, fists bunched. “Get up, back away quietly.” Into the shadows, she meant, out of sight and out of trouble. I scrambled to my feet.
The farmer
had stepped in front of his daughters and was confronting the fellow who had woken them. “Keep your distance, lout. And hush your noise; there’s folk here need their sleep.”
“Calla, move.”
I backed away, beyond the circle of firelight.
“Who are you calling a lout, old man? Hit me, go on, hit me!”
“Calm down,” the farmer said, not giving an inch. Behind him his wife had put an arm around either daughter, like a hen spreading her wings to protect her chickens. “You’ve had too much ale, lad, that’s about the size of it. Take a breath, back off, leave the rest of us alone. There are children here.” It was an impressive display of self-control.
“You mean those girls hiding behind you? Children? Those are fine big lassies, ripe for the taking. One for me, one for my friend here—”
The farmer’s blow landed on his jaw and he went down like a felled tree. That should have been the end of it, but with roars of outrage the other youths surged forward, and suddenly what had been a foolish scrap became something far more dangerous. The farmer was strong and sober, but angry; the youths were slowed by drunkenness, but there were six or seven of them to the one of him. The other travelers retreated into the shadows, as we had, not wanting to get involved. The woman and her two girls stood paralyzed with fear as the farmer took one blow after another. Now he was reeling, staggering, his punches wide of the target, his face red with effort. Two men held him back. Two more moved in on the mother and daughters.
I couldn’t use my gift, not here among so many folk. But how could I stand by while an innocent man was hurt and two little girls were assaulted? A man was grappling with the farmer’s wife, trying to prize one of the girls from her arms. One of the youths seized the other girl and threw her, shrieking, over his shoulder.
“This one’s mine!” he shouted.
The farmer was down, with two men kicking his prone form. I quivered with anger and frustration, desperate to run out there and do something.
“Leave that man alone!” Tali strode forward, staff in hand. “Step back and be quick about it.” Her voice cut through the din with calm authority. With the firelight making a flickering pattern of gold and gray on her strong features, she might have been a vengeful goddess from ancient times. Almost before I could draw a shocked breath, she executed a precise sequence of movements with booted feet and staff, and the two attackers were lying on the ground beside the farmer. “You! Put that girl down right now or you’ll be joining them. Back off, the lot of you. Your behavior is a disgrace.”
The youth set the girl on her feet and she ran to her mother, who was on her knees beside her husband now, checking his injuries. The other girl, showing considerable presence of mind, was fetching a waterskin and a cloth from their belongings.
“What sort of woman are you?” The young man’s voice was shaking with bewildered fury. He advanced on Tali. Behind him, one or two of the others—perhaps less drunk or with better judgment—hovered as if uncertain whether to support him. “I’d say there’s something wrong with you, that’s what I’d say.” He cast a glance around the firelit encampment, as if to draw in the silent onlookers. “Something not right. No woman fights like that. No ordinary woman. Give her a knife, someone. Let’s see how she does in a real fight.”
Tali had not moved. She stood relaxed—I knew from experience how deceptive this pose was—with her staff upright by her side, held loosely with one hand. One of the youths passed the combative one a knife; another held out a similar weapon to Tali.
“I have my own knife,” she said levelly. “But I shouldn’t think I’d be needing it.” She laid the staff down carefully, then walked forward. “Are you quite sure you want to do this?” she asked politely. “Might it not be wiser to pack up and leave this place, so the rest of us can get some sleep before tomorrow’s walk?”
The young man surged toward her, shouting abuse and slashing with his knife. Tali scarcely seemed to move, but a moment later the weapon was flying through the air and the assailant was sprawled on the ground at her feet, wheezing. The knife landed among his companions; they shrank back to avoid injury. Tali made play of dusting off her hands.
“Pack your things and go,” she said quietly. “I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. These good people don’t want your company. You sully the ground you walk on. You pollute the air you breathe. Is this the best you can do, drinking and quarreling and taking your anger out on ordinary folk who’ve done you no harm? You should be ashamed of yourselves. Go. Now. And think on my words. You’re young, you’re strong, you’re healthy. Make something better of your lives.”
In the hush that followed, I heard the older girl sobbing quietly and the groans of the farmer as he came back to consciousness. And I heard, as the young men gathered their things and walked out of the encampment, someone muttering, “What ordinary woman fights like that? Something wrong there.”
Later, while the encampment slept, Tali and I lay close together and conducted a conversation in whispers. I did not chide her for breaking our self-imposed rules. She did not apologize for drawing attention.
“Maybe we should head up into the hills.”
“Now, in the dark?”
“Tomorrow, early. Those men might talk.”
“There are people everywhere, Neryn. You saw them. Running off now is more likely to create suspicion. It would look like an admission of guilt. We should stick to the plan, stay with other people, blend into the crowd.”
To this, I had nothing to say. If that was her idea of blending, we were in serious trouble. But I understood entirely why she had done it.
“Another few days and we’ll be close by Summerfort. That’s the time to break away, when people’s attention is on something else.”
“If we went now … they could hide us, maybe. Sage’s clan. I could ask them.”
“No!” The protest was sharp, and there was a sleepy mumble from someone nearby, reminding us of the peril of unguarded words. “You can’t bring them out, Neryn, not with so many people around. It’s too risky. Now we’d better be quiet. Try to get some rest.”
We headed on eastward. Today the farmer and his family were giving us a wider berth. They did not speak to us, nor did they offer to share their food, but turned their faces away rather than meet our eyes. Even among themselves they weren’t talking much. The others who had camped alongside us had dispersed into the greater crowd, and on the next night we slept beside strangers, apart from the farmer’s family, who established themselves on the opposite side of the encampment. No doubt they knew Tali had taken a risk to defend them, though just how much of a risk only the two of us understood. No doubt they were grateful. But folk feared trouble, and with Summerfort so close and Enforcers out on the road in increasing numbers, they dared not be seen speaking to us in case the young men had been right, and Tali’s outstanding combat skill was a canny gift. If we had not been so on edge, we might almost have laughed at that.
On the second morning after the attack on the farmer, the throng on the road was so big that it became hard to make any progress at all. A cart got its wheels stuck in the ditch ahead of us and overturned, spilling a cargo of flour sacks, some of which burst as they landed. We were trapped in a crush of people behind this obstacle, waiting for a group of frazzled men to clear the way. I had never felt so tempted to bolt up into the woods and hide. I longed to be by a campfire with my fey friends, listening to Sage’s wise advice and watching as Red Cap tended to his precious infant. The wee one must be almost a year old by now; I hoped it was thriving back in its home forest, if indeed they were here and not out spreading the word across the west. I missed them. I missed the Hag and Himself. I wondered where Flint was now. It was a long time since I had dreamed of him.
“Hold still there!” A man’s shout, deep and commanding, snapped me out of my reverie. The crowd fell silent. A rider threaded his way through, coming from behind us: a masked rider on a tall black horse, the harness jingling with fine
silver. Behind him came two more. Suddenly, everyone was standing very still indeed. And although, before, there had hardly been room to move, somehow room was made for the Enforcers.
They rode up to the fallen cart and halted. Two got down and began issuing crisp orders; the third stayed on his horse, his gaze moving over the crowd. After a moment he bent down to speak to someone standing beside him.
“Calla.” Tali’s voice was an urgent undertone.
“What?”
“Take this. Take my knife. Vanish into the crowd. Now.”
No time for questions. I managed to snatch the bag as she slung it off her shoulder. I grabbed the knife and stuck it in my belt. As I shrank back into the press of bodies, thankful that folk’s attention was all on the king’s men, I heard the sound of hoofbeats behind me, and the Enforcer’s voice, closer now.
“Is that the woman you saw?”
“That’s her.”
I knew that second voice; it was one of the boorish youths from our encampment. Nausea rose in my throat. I clenched my teeth on a cry of protest.
“You! Halt!”
Not me; Tali. This was what she’d anticipated. She’d spotted the young man close to the Enforcers and known what was coming. And since there’d be no getting herself out of this particular tight corner, she’d stepped away from me so that I would not be taken too. For Tali was not Regan’s secret weapon: I was.
I could not move farther away without pushing people aside and drawing attention to myself. I must hope nobody chose to identify me as her traveling companion. I watched, my belly churning, as the Enforcer swung down from his horse and seized her by the arm. This time she chose not to fight. She stood silent, passive, as the king’s man delivered a brutal blow to her jaw, sending her reeling; as he pinned her arms behind her back and bound her wrists together; as he flung her up over his horse, on her belly, and remounted behind her. She hung there limp and silent. I cursed the promise that would not let me use my gift to save her.