The Caller by Juliet Marillier Page A

. . they’ve been bird-like in form. If I called such a being, it would have to fly here through the storm.’
    There was a silence. The wee folk were all clustered in one of the niches within the cairn, the glow of their lights turned on my face. Their scrutiny was uncomfortable.
    ‘And when that battle comes,’ the Lady said eventually, ‘willna folk need tae hear your ca’, and follow your orders, through a storm o’ swords and clubs and sprayin’ blood, a whirlwind o’ shoutin’, screamin’ fighters? ’Tis the best way for ye to learn, Neryn. Ye’ll be havin’ tae mak’ choices. Which is mair important, winnin’ the battle or keepin’ your folk alive? Ye’ll be havin’ tae let some gae. Ye willna be able tae spend time savin’ ane life or another. Ye dinna win a war wi’oot losin’ good comrades. ’Tis the nature o’ things.’
    I knew this, of course. That didn’t mean I had come to terms with it. ‘Is this a test?’ I asked her. ‘Calling a messenger to me during a storm?’
    ‘’Twould be mair testin’ for the one who’s bein’ called, seems tae me.’
    ‘I mean a . . . a formal test, to show I have learned enough to move on.’
    ‘You wouldna be wantin’ tae move on in a storm. Unless you were half oot o’ your wits.’ When I said nothing, she went on, ‘Could be ye mak’ your ain test, Neryn. Think on that a while. But no’ too lang. The storm’s comin’ soon enow.’

    Maybe she meant a storm with thunder, lightning and rain. Maybe she meant another kind of upheaval. When I crawled out of the cairn, knowing it must be time for Whisper to escort me back to our place of shelter, the light was fading and there was no sign of him. It was the first time he had not come to fetch me before dusk.
    I walked back on my own, hoping nothing was wrong. Just before I reached the spot where I’d be visible to anyone down at the burned-out house, I stopped walking. I lifted the drum, holding the ox-hide surface horizontal and putting my ear close. I used my new learning, tuning myself to every small vibration.
    A voice came. Not Silva’s; not Whisper’s. A man’s voice. My skin prickled; my heart thumped. Go forward or flee? Risk discovery or leave Silva in danger? I knew what Tali would say. I was Alban’s salvation, or would be when I was fully trained. My safety must always come first.
    But Tali was not here, and Silva was my friend. She had offered her support without reservation; she had shared all she had with us, virtual strangers.
    ‘Can’t stay here . . .’ the man was saying. He sounded young. ‘. . . dangerous . . .’
    ‘I can manage.’ Silva’s tone told me this was someone she knew, and knew well. ‘I don’t need help. You shouldn’t have come here, Ean.’
    ‘Why didn’t you let me know where you were? I could have –’
    A flurry of wings, and Whisper was on the path beside me.
    ‘Who is it?’ I hissed.
    ‘Fellow came not lang since. I would hae fetched you, but I wanted tae be sure he was on his ain. Her brother, I’d be guessing. Like twa peas in a pod.’
    The young man spoke again. ‘Listen. Silva. I can get you safely away . . .’ His voice went down to a murmur, and the only word I caught was Glenfalloch.
    ‘How much has she told him?’ I whispered.
    ‘She spoke o’ the deaths o’ her friends.’ A pause, then he added, ‘The door was open. He couldna fail tae see someone else was living here. She told him there were twa survivors: herself and another woman, and that her companion was at the cairns. If no’ for that, I’d hae told you tae keep under cover until he was gone.’
    ‘There’s a storm coming,’ I said. ‘Or so I’ve been told.’
    ‘Aye.’ Whisper gave me a direct sort of look; in the dim light, his big owl-eyes were bright with knowledge. ‘But no’ before morning. You’d best gae in and introduce yourself. I willna let him see me save as a creature, unless there’s trouble the twa o’ you canna handle. The fellow