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Authors: Juliet Marillier
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somewhere behind the clouds, the sun edged over the horizon. I was alone on the bank of Hiddenwater, shivering in my wet clothing.
I drew a deep, unsteady breath and made myself walk on. The grey water beside me rippled and stirred uneasily. My heart was thumping and my palms were clammy. In my mind the warrior voices sang on, lifted in a chorus of hope and faith, grand, powerful, indomitable. Yet here was I, an ordinary girl whose life was all fear, flight and concealment. What had possessed me to stand up and accept a challenge I surely could not meet? The battle I had agreed to fight was for Alban’s freedom. That meant a new king and a new rule. The thought made me tremble. It was huge, monstrous, terrifying. The strongest fighter, the most powerful mage, could not stand up against Keldec. His might was absolute. The Cull accounted not only for the canny but also for anyone heard to question the king’s rule. Those chieftains not cowed into obedience could expect the sort of treatment Dunchan of Silverwater had suffered. The populace was beaten down into submission. The iron fist of the Enforcers was everywhere. And if their unthinking brutality proved insufficient punishment, Keldec had one more weapon in his armoury: magic. For though it was forbidden for ordinary folk to use canny skills, those skills were a tool in the king’s hand, and he used them cruelly indeed.
This was the man I had just sworn to fight, a man whose power was a hundred times greater than mine. I was fifteen and all alone in the world. I was tired, hungry and cold, and there was a long way to go. If Shadowfell was where Farral had thought it was. If it was what he had believed it was: a place where folk dared to speak the truth, a place where they could plan a future free from tyranny. I prayed that Shadowfell was more than a wild dream born out of a desperate hope that someone, some day, would be strong enough to stand up for what was right.
I had to keep my promise. I had to fight, and the first step in the battle was finding Shadowfell. Those ghostly warriors had believed in me. They had shown their faith in me. I must have faith in myself and keep going. Sing the song. Keep weapons sharp, back straight, heart high. One person might not stand against Keldec and his Enforcers. But if enough of us did so, there would be an army.
CHAPTER FOUR
N IGHTFALL FOUND me close to Deepwater, longest in the chain of lochs. The oak forest that cloaked the banks would offer shelter and concealment for the next few days’ walking at least. At the far end of Deepwater lay the king’s summer fortress. I must pass close by that place to reach the track to the north. Dwell too much on that and I might lose my hard-won courage.
I risked a fire, for my clothing was wet and I could not stop the trembling that ran through my body. There were places in these woods where rock or tree canopy had kept fallen timber reasonably dry, though striking a spark was a challenge. My hands were shaking from cold. I took off Flint’s cloak – gods, how would I have managed without it? – and hung it over a rock near the fire, where it steamed alongside my tunic and shirt. I put on the garment Flint had left. It had been rolled up in my bag and was a little less damp than my own things.
I had tried to forage along the way, but my efforts had supplied no more than a handful of wizened berries and a scant bunch of herbs. I boiled up the leaves to make a rudimentary soup, which I drank slowly, savouring the warmth of each mouthful. When I was done, I set the little pot down with some of the mixture still in it, and beside it I arranged the last three berries on a fallen leaf. I did not think I had imagined the stealthy tread of small feet behind me today, especially once I had entered the forest.
I wrapped the damp cloak around me and settled to rest. Already the oaks were shedding their summer mantles, and I slept half-buried in a rustling blanket of leaves. Soon the
I drew a deep, unsteady breath and made myself walk on. The grey water beside me rippled and stirred uneasily. My heart was thumping and my palms were clammy. In my mind the warrior voices sang on, lifted in a chorus of hope and faith, grand, powerful, indomitable. Yet here was I, an ordinary girl whose life was all fear, flight and concealment. What had possessed me to stand up and accept a challenge I surely could not meet? The battle I had agreed to fight was for Alban’s freedom. That meant a new king and a new rule. The thought made me tremble. It was huge, monstrous, terrifying. The strongest fighter, the most powerful mage, could not stand up against Keldec. His might was absolute. The Cull accounted not only for the canny but also for anyone heard to question the king’s rule. Those chieftains not cowed into obedience could expect the sort of treatment Dunchan of Silverwater had suffered. The populace was beaten down into submission. The iron fist of the Enforcers was everywhere. And if their unthinking brutality proved insufficient punishment, Keldec had one more weapon in his armoury: magic. For though it was forbidden for ordinary folk to use canny skills, those skills were a tool in the king’s hand, and he used them cruelly indeed.
This was the man I had just sworn to fight, a man whose power was a hundred times greater than mine. I was fifteen and all alone in the world. I was tired, hungry and cold, and there was a long way to go. If Shadowfell was where Farral had thought it was. If it was what he had believed it was: a place where folk dared to speak the truth, a place where they could plan a future free from tyranny. I prayed that Shadowfell was more than a wild dream born out of a desperate hope that someone, some day, would be strong enough to stand up for what was right.
I had to keep my promise. I had to fight, and the first step in the battle was finding Shadowfell. Those ghostly warriors had believed in me. They had shown their faith in me. I must have faith in myself and keep going. Sing the song. Keep weapons sharp, back straight, heart high. One person might not stand against Keldec and his Enforcers. But if enough of us did so, there would be an army.
CHAPTER FOUR
N IGHTFALL FOUND me close to Deepwater, longest in the chain of lochs. The oak forest that cloaked the banks would offer shelter and concealment for the next few days’ walking at least. At the far end of Deepwater lay the king’s summer fortress. I must pass close by that place to reach the track to the north. Dwell too much on that and I might lose my hard-won courage.
I risked a fire, for my clothing was wet and I could not stop the trembling that ran through my body. There were places in these woods where rock or tree canopy had kept fallen timber reasonably dry, though striking a spark was a challenge. My hands were shaking from cold. I took off Flint’s cloak – gods, how would I have managed without it? – and hung it over a rock near the fire, where it steamed alongside my tunic and shirt. I put on the garment Flint had left. It had been rolled up in my bag and was a little less damp than my own things.
I had tried to forage along the way, but my efforts had supplied no more than a handful of wizened berries and a scant bunch of herbs. I boiled up the leaves to make a rudimentary soup, which I drank slowly, savouring the warmth of each mouthful. When I was done, I set the little pot down with some of the mixture still in it, and beside it I arranged the last three berries on a fallen leaf. I did not think I had imagined the stealthy tread of small feet behind me today, especially once I had entered the forest.
I wrapped the damp cloak around me and settled to rest. Already the oaks were shedding their summer mantles, and I slept half-buried in a rustling blanket of leaves. Soon the
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