The Caller by Juliet Marillier

and where I fit into it.’ Despite the storm, despite our isolation, I lowered my voice to a murmur. ‘You understand how dangerous it is to speak about these things. If I haven’t told you everything earlier, it’s been because the more you know, the more it endangers you.’ Silva nodded, saying nothing. ‘The plan comes to fruition next summer. My part in it is critical. To be ready in time, Whisper and I must travel south before then.’
    ‘South? You mean to Glenfalloch?’
    ‘Possibly.’ The Master of Shadows could be anywhere. Whisper and I had not discussed how we would set about finding him. But Tali had wanted us to make contact with the rebels in the south, and that would be a good first step. ‘Certainly, we must be away from here as early as we can.’
    There was a silence, then Silva said, ‘You need not worry about me. I’ll be fine on my own.’
    ‘I’m not sure you will be. We’re eating our way through your supplies, using up what could have kept you going for a long time. However hard you work, you can’t set away enough to feed yourself and the animals forever. What about grain for the hens? Where does that come from?’
    ‘I’m not a child.’ Her chin went up. ‘We bartered for it at the village market. Sometimes with eggs; but mostly we offered cures and remedies. Folk were happy enough to trade with us and not ask questions.’ A pause. ‘That was before.’
    ‘And now? Would you go openly to the market in spring, after what happened here?’ She’d be betrayed and handed over to the authorities before she bought her first sack of grain. Besides, how would she find time to make remedies to sell?
    ‘Lassie.’ Whisper spoke at last, keeping his voice soft. Above us on the shelf, the hens ruffled their feathers and shifted their feet. ‘We ken you hae work here, work that’s important tae you. But you need tae see things clear. Faith only takes a body so far, when there’s king’s men bearing down on her wi’ big swords in their hands.’
    ‘If you must go, you must,’ Silva said. ‘And I must stay here; there’s no other way.’

    Spending all day inside the cramped confines of the beehive hut was taking a toll on me, body and mind. But my learning progressed. Now I could hear the subtlest of differences in the vibrations of the drum, and in the movement of the small folk inside the hut and outside, in the broader area of the Beehives. I could detect the movement of one bird in the elder trees, out there beyond my vision. I could identify one insect crawling out from cover at a distance of twenty paces. Without needing to be out in the open, looking, I knew when Whisper came early to collect me; I heard the rustle of his wings up the hill, even when the howl of the wind must surely drown it.
    ‘This new awareness will help ye,’ the Lady said. ‘If ye can hear the voice o’ a wee crawlin’ creature even when a storm’s ragin’, mebbe ye can gather your wits in the clamour o’ battle and send a message tae the ears that must hear it. Do ye no’ think?’
    I imagined the battle: my friends and allies falling, dying before my eyes; the noise of clashing metal, the crunch of bones breaking, the screams. I had only witnessed one such conflict. This one would be ten times bigger, twenty times. ‘I can only pray I have learned enough to do it.’
    ‘Aye, weel, ’tis no’ a thing ye can practise. Ye wouldna be lookin’ for the king’s men and givin’ it a wee try. But there’s ane mair thing I can teach ye. A storm, that’s a bit like a battle, all bluster and turnin’ things upside doon. The next time we hae a real gale, wi’ thunder and sleety rain, ye can practise callin’, and no’ simply callin’ your friend the witawoo, neither. Ye should try callin’ a fighter or twa. Or better still, call someone who can help ye. A messenger, mebbe. Didna ye mention ye wanted tae send word south?’
    ‘Yes, but . . . the uncanny messengers we’ve used in the past .