‘I love you,’ he whispered.
She laughed at him. ‘So I should think so, Merrik Bellringer!’
Merry kissed her, so dizzy with love and joy he was afraid he would lose his balance and keel right over. She was rather weak-kneed too, clinging to him with both hands.
‘We have the sixth feather,’ she said. ‘I wish it was all over, and Rozalina was free, and we could just stay here in the forest. I dread going back to the palace.’
‘It won’t be long,’ Merry said. ‘There must be pelicans in the harbour. Let’s go now, and get ourselves that last feather, and fix the cloak. We could be away from the palace by tonight.’
Liliana sighed. ‘All right.’ Gently she ran one finger over the soft brown nightingale feather and then carefully she tucked it away in her pack. ‘Do you think Zed will marry Rozalina?’
Merry shrugged. ‘I’ve never seen him look like that before. He was completely smitten.’
‘Do you think he’ll be king?’
Merry was silent, thinking of the future with a cold, shaky feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘He is the next male in line for the throne. If he marries Rozalina, his claim will be very strong, stronger than anyone else’s,’ she argued.
Merry gave an involuntary snort of laughter. ‘I need to tell you . . . I hope you don’t mind . . . it’s really rather funny if you think about it . . .’ Haltingly, as they slowly walked back through the forest towards the city, he told her the story of his father’s birth, and how his grandmother had been Princess Druzilla, King Zabrak’s own sister. All the time he kept a tight hold on Liliana’s hand, feeling how it stiffened in his, and how she seemed to draw away from him.
‘So you’re a starkin prince,’ she said slowly. ‘The true crown prince. And your mother wants you to marry Rozalina.’
‘I don’t want to,’ he assured her.
‘But you could be king.’
‘I don’t want to be king!’
‘Your mother is right. You have starkin, hearthkin and wildkin blood in you. You’d bring the three races together, and the land would be at peace.’
‘That is true of Zed too,’ he pointed out.
‘He has no wildkin blood in him.’
‘But if he marries Rozalina, his children will.’
‘But your grandfather was one of the wildkin. I always wondered, I thought you saw too clearly for a hearthkin. The wildkin would find it much easier to accept an Erlking with wildkin blood in him.’
‘An Erlking?’
‘Rozalina is the Erlqueen. Anyone who marries her will be Erlking. The two royal families will be wedded into one. Your mother is right. It is the best way to bring peace.’
‘You sound as if you want me to marry Rozalina!’ he cried.
She drew her cold hand out of his. ‘I wish you’d told me before.’
‘But it makes no difference, not to me anyway. I don’t want to be king . . . Zed was always the one . . . I’m still the same old Merry . . .’ He was finding it hard to speak, fighting against the look on her face.
‘You’d be a much better king than Zed. Clever and kind and wise . . .’
‘I don’t want to be king! I only want you!’
Liliana bit her lip, and began to walk away very fast.
‘Lili, don’t go! Where are you going? Please, don’t be angry with me. I didn’t tell you . . . well, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered.’
She stopped and turned to look at him. ‘Of course it matters! Blood is blood, and duty is duty. I am Liliana Vendavala, daughter of Ladonna, daughter of Avannia, once Erlqueen of the Stormlinn, and I have sworn to find the Spear of Thunder and smite the throne of stars asunder. And you, Merrik, are heir to that throne of stars.’
CHAPTER 24
Pelican Lady
MERRY WATCHED LILIANA’S SLIM, UPRIGHT FIGURE disappear back into the forest, and stood for a long moment, biting his lip, not knowing what to do. Then he drew a deep, uneven breath and went along the road to the city gate, where he had to pay one of his few remaining coins to the gatekeeper to open the gate. His pack and lute bag seemed heavier than ever, dragging on his shoulders.
People in the houses and shops were just beginning to stir, opening the shutters, shaking out quilts, or emptying the chamber-pots into the gutter. The warehouses and wharves were all dark and closed up. The water glimmered, and the sky was pale and translucent. Pelicans floated on the harbour. Merry sat on the end of a wharf and watched them, wondering how on earth he was ever going to get close enough to pluck a feather. Surely if he brought Liliana a pelican feather, she would look at him with joy again?
‘Can’t catch a fish without a line,’ a voice said behind him. Merry jumped as if stuck with a pin. He looked around and saw a boy in patched breeches and a coarse homespun shirt, a shapeless straw hat on his head. He had a fishing line over one shoulder, and a basket in one hand.
‘I don’t want to catch a fish,’ Merry said with an effort. ‘I want to catch a pelican.’
‘Good eating if you can get one,’ the boy said appreciatively. ‘Hard to roast unless you’ve got a big oven. If you’re lucky, it’ll have a belly full of fish too. Keep you in food for a week.’
‘You’ve caught one before?’ Merry began to pay attention.
‘Yep. Better not let the pelican lady catch you, though. She’ll put a spell on you.’
‘Who’s the pelican lady?’
‘You from out of town or what? Everyone knows the pelican lady. Crazy old biddy that lives out in a cave on the headland. She’s trained the pelicans to bring her fish, and in return she looks after them and saves them when they’re tangled in fishing line.’
That must be the Crafty that Briony told us about, the one that sends messages in the pelicans’ pouches, Merry thought. For a moment he stared at the headland looming over the city, but the very idea of searching for her seemed too hard. He felt exhausted. He looked back at the pelican floating only an arm’s length away.
‘How do you catch a pelican?’ Merry asked.
‘It’s not easy,’ the boy said. ‘And I wouldn’t do it where anyone can see you. The fishermen around here like the pelicans, they always know where the fish are biting. And nobody wants to cross the pelican lady!’
‘So what do I do?’
‘Just wait until one of the pelicans swims in close, then jump off the wharf, throw one arm over its back and seize its beak with your hand. You’ve got to grab hold of its beak else it’ll give you a nasty peck.’
Merry got rather unsteadily to his feet, thinking how very tired he was. He took off his hat and laid it on the wharf, then unbuckled his boots and dragged them off, leaning them against his lute bag.
‘You going to give it a go?’ the boy asked, much entertained. ‘Right here?’
‘I haven’t much time,’ Merry said. ‘I need to catch a pelican now!’
The boy gave him an odd look, but sat down, dangling his legs over the edge of the wharf, with the air of someone settling in for a good show.
When Merry was wearing nothing but his long white shirt and his drawers, he stood, shivering in the chill morning air, watching the pelicans glide about on the water. Eventually one came near, and Merry jumped off the wharf, arms outstretched. He hit the water with an almighty splash, and felt the pelican slide from under his hand and launch itself into the air with a startled cry. Merry was left floundering in the icy water, coughing and spluttering, as the whole flock of pelicans took to the air with strong, wide wings.
On the wharf, the boy crowed with laughter. ‘Liah’s eyes, that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen all year!’
Merry dogpaddled to the end of the wharf and hauled himself into a rowing boat moored there, climbing from there to the jetty. Seeing the look on his face, the boy scrambled to his feet and held up both hands placatingly. ‘No need to get your knickers in a knot,’ he said. ‘I told you it wasn’t easy.’
Merry unc
lenched his hands with an effort, and gathered up his clothes, dragging them on over his wet, shivering flesh. With his boots tucked under his arm, and his pack and lute bag once more dragging at his shoulders, he stalked away from the wharf, following the pelicans as they flew to the north. The boy followed him, thinking it was all a very great joke.
Merry tried the same trick again from another jetty further along the harbour, and then again and then again. By this time, the boy following him was no longer laughing.
‘Here,’ he said, thrusting a knob of hard bread and cheese into Merry’s freezing wet hand. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold in there. Are you really that hungry? Have this instead.’
‘I don’t want to eat the pelican.’ Merry’s teeth were chattering so much he could hardly speak. ‘I just want to catch one.’
‘You’re mad,’ the boy said. ‘Stark staring crazy. You and that pelican lady belong together.’
‘Where is the pelican lady?’ Merry cried, grabbing the boy’s shirt.
Looking scared, the boy pointed to the headland. ‘She lives in a cave in the headland somewhere. No-one knows where exactly. We used to go hunting for the cave when we were kids, but never found it. Some people . . .’ He swallowed and said in a low voice, looking about him, ‘Some people say she’s one of the Crafty, and you can only find her if you go looking for her with a true need and a pure heart.’
‘I have a true need,’ Merry said, letting the boy go. He dragged his wet clothes on one more time and set off, stumbling in his weariness, his bags banging on his back. The boy stared after him, pushed his hat to the back of his head, and said, ‘Jumping Jimjinny, what a crazy loon!’
Merry’s legs were trembling by the time he reached the steep jumble of rocks at the base of the headland, a stitch sharp in his side. The sun dazzling on the water made him dizzy, and whenever he glanced up in fear at the headland looming above him, vertigo swam over him and he staggered and almost fell.
The worse pain, though, was the agony in his heart. ‘Lili, Lili,’ he murmured and wondered where she had gone. Would she be pleased when he came back with the pelican feather? Would she forgive him for being what he could not help, one of the Ziv and so her enemy?
Please, he thought, I have true need . . .
A squawk sounded above his head. Groaning, Merry looked up, and saw a big black and white bird perched above him, regarding him with a grave, dark eye. Its beak was as long as a sword. Merry climbed closer tentatively, all too aware of the length and strength of that powerful beak. His heart tolled like a cracked bell in the cage of his chest.
When he was almost close enough to reach out a hand and try to pluck a feather, the pelican suddenly squawked again, spread its wings and flew up to another rock. Wings settling back into its body, it regarded Merry with a direct and challenging stare, as if waiting for him. Merry clambered slowly and painfully after it, grazing his hands and knees on the steep and slippery rock.
On and on he climbed, while the sun rose higher in the sky and the sea below him dwindled till it looked like nothing more than a stretch of wrinkled blue silk, stitched here and there with sequins. His grazed hands were bleeding and his vision swum, but still he clambered on, following the pelican which led him on with short bursts of flights, up ledges and narrow cracks, until at last Merry crawled out onto a broad ledge, almost a thousand feet above the sea. A narrow, dark crack split the rock before him.
He lay winded, his pulse thudding dully in his ears, then managed to crawl forward, through the crack in the rock and into a wide cave. He saw, briefly, an old woman rising swiftly to her feet, surprise on her face, then darkness engulfed him. He fell down a deep, deep hole, the old woman’s face spinning away into a tiny bright circle of light that was abruptly snuffed out.
Liliana walked swiftly through the forest, clambering over mossy logs and slippery boulders, pushing aside dangling vines, smashing away branches with a stick. Her eyes were burning, her fists clenched. She was in a tumult of emotion, rage and misery churning and roiling within her so that she did not know whether to cry or shout or scream. She felt betrayed, bitterly betrayed, and castigated herself for being so stupid as to let herself fall in love.
Your job was to rescue Rozalina, she told herself. Your only job! You should have known better. Love is for songs and stories, not for real life. Love makes you weak and stupid and vulnerable. What were you thinking?
Liliana reached a steep cliff and turned to follow it along, not knowing where she was going, only needing to stride out, putting as much distance between her and the palace as possible. I’ll never go back, she thought to herself. I’ll keep on walking forever!
More than an hour passed, and she was beginning to walk more slowly, bashing aside branches and vines with less vehemence than before. The cliff curved round and the ground began to climb. She followed it up, and found herself on the second, lower headland, with its breakwater stretching across the mouth of the harbour. She walked along the breakwater, occasionally throwing rocks at the waves which roared and crashed on the far side. Their fuming, frothy turbulence enthralled her. At times spray lashed her across the face and she tasted salt on her lips.
Within the harbour, ships rocked at their moorings. Hundreds of pelicans were soaring above the water. They wheeled and glided, jubilating in the rising thermals, their long necks stretched out, their wings beating in perfect unison. More floated together on the water, preening each other and stretching out their wings in a courtly dance. As Liliana watched, a squadron of pelicans took flight, as if racing one another into the sky.
Tears rushed to her eyes. She envied the pelicans their joyous freedom, their sense of belonging. She had always been alone, and it seemed alone was how she would remain.
Liliana watched the pelicans for a long time, hoping one would land and come close enough for her to pluck a feather. It seemed an impossible wish. They were too far away.
She turned and gazed back at the palace. It looked too ethereal to be true, floating in a blue haze above the ocean. She had hated every moment within its high, glass walls.
What must it have been like for Rozalina, a wildkin queen trapped there for sixteen long years, she told herself sternly. Come on, Lili! You came here for a reason. Go find those boys, make them help you pluck the very last feather, and do what you came here to do.
She turned and marched back towards the palace.
Merry came slowly to his senses. Every part of his body hurt. His head and chest ached, his breath rasped, his limbs were heavy.
Someone was kneeling beside him, pumping his chest with hard, regular strokes. He coughed, and tried to sit up. His head swam.
‘Welcome back,’ a cracked voice said. ‘Lie still, don’t try and move yet.’
Merry lay still, feeling very strange, as if he floated above his body like a dandelion seed. The wrinkled face of a very old woman looked down at him, dark intelligent eyes set among countless creases and folds. Her white hair was worn pulled back from her head into a long, tight plait, and she wore a black shawl about her thin, stooped shoulders.
‘Your heart stopped beating for a minute or two there. If you had not fallen at my very feet, I fear you would have died.’
‘The second death,’ Merry murmured.
‘It was your heart giving out. Horace was very concerned.’
‘Horace?’ Merry asked dazedly.
‘My pelican. Come, can you sit? Lean on me, I’ll help you up and then I’ll get you something to drink.’
Merry managed to get to his feet and, leaning heavily on the old woman, stumbled across to a chair made of drift wood and softened with a cushion made of sailcloth stuffed with feathers. He sat down abruptly, his legs giving way beneath him, and looked around.
He was in a broad, high cave. A black and white curtain of feathery pelican skins was tied back above the doorway, and more feathery skins covered the rocky floor. Bowls and cups made of wood and bone were piled on a shelf above a round fireplace, along with
bundles of twigs and dried flowers, pelican feathers and driftwood, and rows of green bottles. The wall behind the fireplace was stained black with smoke. Drawings of surprising delicacy and vigour were sketched all over the walls in charcoal—pelicans and seagulls and albatrosses flying, dancing, fighting, feeding their young.
A stone altar was set under the largest drawing, which depicted a pelican on a nest of untidy twigs, her young gathered about her, beaks gaping wide. The pelican had pierced her own breast with her bill, so that drops of blood flowed down to feed her young. On the stone altar were one black candle and one white candle, in carved wooden candlesticks. Vaguely Merry remembered something the Erlrune had taught him about the spring equinox being the day when light and darkness were in equal balance, joy and sorrow, good and evil, mystery and knowledge, all the great dualities of nature.
The old woman dipped a wooden cup in a barrel of rainwater and brought it to him. When he drank, the water was cold and clear.
‘You’re as white as a sheet. Let me make you a potion.’
Merry sat quietly in the driftwood chair, watching the old woman as she mixed together several liquids from small green bottles. She was gaunt and stooped, with white papery skin and one shoulder hunched higher than the other. Her hands, he noticed, were crooked and knobby, the fingers deeply grooved with scars just above the knuckles.
In a moment, she came back with a wooden cup of some bitter-smelling liquid. ‘Drink this,’ she said with authority, and Merry obeyed, making a face at the taste.
‘All of it,’ she instructed, and he drank it to the dregs.
After a moment his heartbeat steadied and his limbs stopped trembling. She stared at him consideringly, then suddenly laid her gnarled hand on his chest.
‘Has your heart ever failed you before?’
He shook his head slowly, then gave a little shrug.
‘Do you often get this pain in your chest?’
Merry gave a bitter smile. ‘Never as bad as today.’ Because today my heart is broken, he thought.