Raven Flight by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online

have grave need of you, and it is time!”
    Silence, save for the fading echoes.
    I stepped back and found I was dizzy; Sage caught my arm, stopping me from falling. “Now what?” I whispered, knowing I hadn’t the strength to do it again. The call had only taken a few moments, but I felt as if I had climbed a mountain without stopping for breath.
    “We wait. These are not hasty folk.” After a momentshe added, “If that doesn’t do the trick, lassie, I don’t know what will.”
    I sank down onto the bottom step. We waited. It was freezing at the foot of the stair, a stark reminder of how much Regan’s Rebels owed to the Northies, for it was not possible for a whole winter’s supply of fuel to be brought up the mountain and stored in the caverns every autumn. When stores ran low, the wood baskets were replenished by unseen hands. And even when the fire burned down to coals, the chambers upstairs stayed warm. I clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering; I pulled my shawl more tightly around my shoulders. I wondered if the Master of Shadows had been entirely wrong. Perhaps I did not have what it took to be a Caller after all.
    A tiny sound. My skin prickled. A crack was opening in the wall, perhaps a handspan broad and as high as my shoulder. There was lantern light on the other side, illuminating a personage in a gray cloak. The eyes that peered at us through the gap were inimical. The skin of the creature’s narrow face and long fingers was as gray as its garment, and around that face hung long, tangled locks of the same stony hue.
    “What ye want?” Even its voice sounded gray. Something about it made my flesh crawl; it set a dread in me that went far beyond the cavern and the shadows and the cold. I felt as if we had woken something that was best left sleeping.
    I stood silent, unable to find the right words. The thing standing here was not human. It was not even one of the Good Folk; or if it was, it was a kind far different fromSage and Red Cap and the folk of the forest. As I stared into its hostile eyes, the crack between us began to close.
    “No!” I exclaimed, taking a step forward. “Wait! I must speak with you!”
    “ ‘Must,’ ” echoed the creature. “We dinna much care for must .”
    The crack had narrowed no farther. I gathered my wits, wondering why Sage had not stepped in to help me. “Please,” I said belatedly, “may we speak with you? I am Neryn, a human woman and a Caller, and this is Sage.” I tried to arrange my face into a pleasant expression, though the thing’s stony glare unnerved me.
    “A Westie.” The tone was all scorn.
    “Aye,” said Sage equably, “a Westie, and not ashamed to say so. I’ve traveled a long way to be here, across the margin between Watches. Even a Northie can grasp the significance of that. This is not a couple of folk making a nuisance of themselves at your doorway. It’s a matter of vital importance. Will you come out and talk with us?”
    “I willna. That place up there reeks o’ cold iron.”
    “Then may we come in?” I asked. “I’m bearing no iron, and nor is Sage.” It occurred to me that whoever brought up supplies and left them in the kitchen had to come close to Milla’s pots, pans, and ladles, so there must be at least one Northie among this clan who could tolerate iron. Now did not seem the time to mention that.
    “Come in?” It seemed this was an unthinkable notion. “As if it werena enow that your shoutin’ woke every last one o’ us frae the lang winter sleep!”
    I looked at Sage; she looked back at me, her gooseberry eyes full of disbelief.
    “I’m sorry I woke you,” I said. “I bring an invitation to your clan. And I need your wise advice on a matter of great importance. But I suppose if Northies go to sleep for the winter, like bears or squirrels, you won’t be interested in a midwinter feast, with music and gifts, to thank you for your kindness. And you won’t care whether you’re part of a council to