The Tower of Ravens (35 page)

Rafferty made a gagging noise and swayed where he stood. Iven strode quickly to stand by him, holding him up with one hand. “Nina!” he called softly. “Nina!”

The door of the red caravan opened and Nina stood upon the step, looking out into the twilight forest where, step by stumbling step, the host of the dead closed in upon them. She stood frozen for a moment, horror on her face. Then she reached back into the caravan and pulled out her guitar. “Close your eyes and your ears, my dears,” she said gently. “And throw your cloaks about your horses’ heads. I am going to sing the songs o‘ sorcery and I do no’ want ye ensorcelled too.”

For a moment no-one moved, their muscles paralysed with dread. Then everyone sprang to obey. They wrapped their heavy, rain-wet cloaks about their horses’ heads and then huddled their own faces under the muffling folds of cloth, pressing their hands over their ears. There they hunched for an excruciatingly long time, hearing nothing but the thunder of their own blood in their ears.

At last Lewen felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He stifled a shriek and sprang away from the touch, fighting his way free of the folds of his cloak. Argent neighed and reared back, spooked by Lewen’s fear. It was only Iven though, his fair hair and beard bedraggled with rain.

“All is well,” he said. “Nina has sung the dead home.”

Lewen looked about him in amazement. Lanterns had been lit at the front and back of both the caravans, casting a warm circle of light over the road. The dead lay in crumpled heaps where they had fallen. Nina sat on the steps of the caravan, her guitar drooping from one hand. She looked ill and haggard, with deep blue rings under her eyes. The sunbird stroked its long, curved beak against her cheek affectionately.

“How?” was all Lewen could say.

Iven shrugged. “Ye think I ken, lad? I had my ears well plugged, I assure ye. I am naught but a jongleur. It is my wife who is the sorceress. All I ken is she has drained her strength. I have to get her to warmth and shelter, and quickly. I do no‘ want her getting sorcery sickness! Help me rouse the others and let us get away from this accursed wood.”

“Aye, away from here,” Nina said in a dull, flat voice. “Away from the stench o‘ death. Oh, Iven! Find us a house, a barn, somewhere with walls and a roof. For there are more out there, I can sense them. I do no’ want to camp in the open tonight, when we are all so weary.”

Iven swallowed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Go and rest, my darling. I will find us somewhere safe, I promise.”

She nodded and stood up, swaying for a moment as giddiness overcame her. Moving like an old, sick woman, she hauled herself up the stairs, the guitar dangling from her hand.

Fetterness Valley

Lewen went to Rhiannon, gently drawing away her cloak. He was surprised to find her sickly white and trembling all over, her pupils so widely dilated her eyes looked black in the flickering lantern light. To his surprise and pleasure, she flung herself into his arms, choking on sobs.

“Why, what’s wrong,
leannan
?” he asked, stroking her back.

She shuddered, unable to speak.

“Dinna be afraid,” he said. “All is well. Look, Nina has sung the dead to sleep, or true death, what, I really do no‘ ken. But they are quiet now and willna bother us again. All is well.”

She pulled herself away from him, her hands clenched into fists. “No‘ afraid,” she said.

Puzzled, he put his hand on her arm, trying to draw her round to face him. “No, o‘ course no’. Naught to be afraid o‘ now. Come, ye’re shivering. Ye’re wet through with rain, and the wind is cold. No wonder ye canna stop shivering!”

He put his arm about her, but she jerked away. “Call this cold?” she jeered. “It’s no‘ even snowing!” She huddled her arms about her body, trying to control the shudders that racked her.

Nina paused on the top step of the caravan. “Let her come into the caravan with me. I canna heat us a hot drink, but I do have dry clothes and warm blankets. We’re all exhausted.”

“No‘ exhausted,” Rhiannon said stubbornly. “I fine.”

“Rhiannon, ye’re trembling,” Lewen said. “Go in with Nina and get dry and warm.”

“Nay. I stay with horse, I ride. Ye go in and get warm, if ye so cold.”

“But Rhiannon…”

“I said I ride!”

“But it’s raining…”

“Ye think I melt in a wee drop o‘ rain?”

“Nay, o‘ course no! I just—”

“Ye no‘ worry about rain, why must I? I just as strong and brave as ye.”

“Of course ye are, I dinna mean to—”

“Then shut up and ride. Horses get cold.”

“What’s all this clishmaclaver?” Frowning, Iven came up to them, the other boys close behind him. “What’s wrong?”

“Naught,” they both said stiffly, moving away to grasp their horses and swing themselves back up into the saddle.

“Rhiannon?” Nina called from inside her caravan. “Will ye no‘ come in and get warm?”

“I plenty warm,” Rhiannon said through her chattering teeth. “I ride.”

“Are ye sure?” Iven said.

“Aye, I sure,” Rhiannon snapped, wheeling Blackthorn round abruptly. “Why ye doubt me?”

“I do no‘ doubt ye,” Iven said, taken aback. “I just—”

“Talk, talk, all any o‘ ye ever do is talk,” Rhiannon said and kicked her mare into a gallop. Mud sprayed up from Blackthorn’s hooves and splattered against Iven’s face, but by the time he had indignantly wiped his face clean and opened his mouth to retort, girl and horse had vanished down the road.

“She’s got a shocking bad temper, that lass,” Iven said, shaking off gobs of mud from his hand. “Well, we’d best get after her. It’s a bad night to be galloping about in.” He cast a shrewd look at Lewen, who was so baffled and angry that he felt unable to speak or look at anyone, then sighed.

“I guess she doesna like admitting she’s afraid,” Iven said to no-one in particular. “Silly lass. Everyone feels fear sometimes. May as well admit it. It’s like love. No point trying to hide what ye feel. It’ll break through in the end, regardless.”

Lewen felt a slow burn of shame and embarrassment spread over his body. He stared through Argent’s ears grimly, saying nothing.

“Come on, let’s get on the road,” Iven said, clambering up into the drivers’ seat and clicking his tongue at the big, grey horse standing so patiently between the shafts. Landon was hoisted back onto the driving seat of the girls’ caravan, and the other boys forced themselves to remount, groaning as their aching muscles complained. Only their fervent desire to get away from this place of death gave them the strength they needed. They rode on into the damp gloom of the wood, staring all around them, flinching at every creak of branch or rustle of wind. Lewen could not help peering anxiously down the shadowy road, looking for Rhiannon, but when she came cantering back up to them, jeering at them for being so slow, he neither spoke nor looked at her, instead concentrating on spying out the road ahead. She fell in behind the caravans on the other side, as far away from Lewen as she could get. Lewen’s chest tightened with misery.

He did not understand what was wrong with her. One minute she had been fighting by his side, kissing him passionately, laughing as they galloped side by side through the rain-swept forest. Then, the very next instant, she was cold and angry, rejecting him fiercely.

Lewen did not know what he had done to offend her. He hoped it was not his kiss that had changed her so profoundly. He had not meant to kiss her. He knew how much she hated to be touched. He had longed to take her in his arms from the very moment he had seen her, but she was like a wild creature caught in a trap, ready to bite any who tried to free her. He knew she needed gentleness and patience before she could be tamed, not the urgency of desire that sometimes threatened to overwhelm him. And she was only a lass, and she had been placed under the protection of his mother’s best friends.

It did not matter that Rhiannon was unlike any young lady he had ever met, half-wild, and innocent of society’s etiquette. He knew that if Nina should find him kissing Rhiannon, she would be troubled and upset. He knew his mother would be horrified.

If he was to do what society expected of him, he would wait till Midsummer and then ask her to jump the fire with him. When they were properly handfasted, he could take her to his bed and keep her there, at least for a year, when he would ask her to jump the fire again. If she said yes, then they would be wed, and he could have her in his bed for ever after. He could not imagine anyone approving. Not his parents, nor his Rìgh, nor the Coven, who liked their apprentices to finish their training before they got distracted with affairs of the heart. Certainly not Dillon of the Joyous Sword, captain of the Blue Guards.

Yeomen of the Guards swore to serve the Rìgh as their first and only master, and those who wished to marry usually left the Rìgh’s service, as Lewen’s father Niall had done when he jumped the fire with Lilanthe. Often they were given a small estate to manage, or given some other role at court, but they forfeited the right to wear the blue cloak and the badge of the charging stag.

He did not need to marry her, of course. The people of Ravenshaw were not like the Tirsoilleirean with their fear and hatred of the natural desires of the body. Indiscretions of the heart were usually smiled at, unless there was a babe, and even then neither party was reviled if they chose not to marry. Witches of the Coven were even more relaxed in their attitudes. If Lewen decided to stay with the Coven, he could do as he pleased, as long as his affairs did not cause too much disruption. The Yeomen did not have the same freedom. Dillon of the Joyous Sword kept very strict discipline and would frown on any amorous indiscretion. Particularly one with a wild half-satyricorn who was suspected of being implicated in the murder of a Yeoman of the Guard. Lewen could not imagine it helping his career prospects.

Lewen would never have kissed Rhiannon if he had not spent the last few hours at the very extremities, fighting for his life and facing death squarely in the face. She had not seemed to mind. She had kissed him as passionately, opening her mouth to his, pulling him closer with an urgent hand, curling her body into his. The memory of it was enough to make hot blood flood Lewen’s groin. He stifled a groan and shifted in the saddle, glancing sideways at her cool patrician profile. She did not glance back.