It will, Emeline said. Sophia saw it.
It felt strange, putting so much trust in Sophias powers, but the truth was that Cora did trust her, absolutely. She would gladly trust her life to the things that Sophia had seen, and there was no one she would rather share the journey with than Emeline.
They kept going, and as they headed west, they started to see more rivers, in networks that connected like capillaries leading to bigger arteries. Soon, there seemed to be almost as much water as land, so that even the fields in between were semi-flooded things, people farming in mud that threatened to turn into marsh at any moment. Rain seemed to be a constant, and while occasionally Cora and Emeline huddled down out of the worse of it, for the most part they pressed on.
Look, Emeline said, pointing to one of the riverbanks. All Cora could see at first were reeds rising beside it, disturbed here and there by the movement of small animals. Then she saw the coracle upturned on the bank like the shell of some armored creature.
Oh no, Cora said, guessing what Emeline intended.
Emeline reached out to put a hand on her arm. Its all right. Im good with boats. Come on, youll enjoy it.
She led the way to the coracle, and all Cora could do was follow, silently hoping that there would be no oars. There was a paddle, though, and it seemed to be all Emeline needed. Soon, she was in the coracle, and Cora had to jump in beside her or be left walking along the bank.
It was faster than walking, Cora had to admit. They skimmed down the river like a pebble thrown from some giant hand. It was as relaxing as it had been sitting on the cart. More relaxing, since theyd spent half the time on the cart jumping off to help push it up hills and out of mud. Emeline seemed to be enjoying piloting it too, navigating the changes in the river as it went from rough to smooth water and back again.
Cora saw the moment when the water shifted, and she saw Emelines expression shift in the same instant.
Theres something there, Emeline said. Something powerful.
What have we here? a voice asked, sounding in Coras mind. Two fresh young things. Come closer, my darlings. Come closer.
Ahead, Cora saw well, she wasnt quite sure what she saw. At first, it seemed like a woman made from water, but a flicker of light later, it seemed like a horse. The urge to go toward it was overwhelming. It felt as though there was safety ahead.
No, it was more than that; it felt as if it was home waiting for her there. The home that shed always wanted, with warmth, a family, safety
Thats it. Come to me. I can give you everything you want. You will never be alone again.
Cora wanted to urge the coracle forward. She wanted to dive from it, to be with the creature that promised so much. She half stood, ready to do just that.
Wait! Emeline called out. Its a trick, Cora!
Cora felt something settle around her mind, a wall rising up between her and the promises of safety. She could see Emeline straining, and knew that the other girl had to be the one doing it, blocking the power pushing at them with her own talents.
No, come to me, the thing urged, but it was a distant echo of what it had been.
Cora looked at it, really looked at it, now. She saw the swirling water there; saw the currents around it that would drown anyone foolish enough to pass through them. She remembered old stories of river spirits, kelpies, the kind of dangerous magic that had turned the world against all of it.
She saw the water start to shift beneath the coracle, and only realized what was happening as the current started to drag it forward.
Emeline! she yelled. Its pulling us in!
Emeline remained still, shaking with obvious effort as she fought to keep the creature from overwhelming them both. That meant that it was up to Cora. She grabbed for the coracles paddle, aiming for the shore and paddling with all the strength she had.
At first, it seemed that nothing was happening. The current was too strong, the kelpies pull too total. Cora recognized those thoughts for what they were and pushed them aside. She didnt have to paddle against the current, just to its side. She pulled at the water with it, forcing the coracle to move through sheer strength of will.
Slowly, it began to shift off course, moving closer to the bank as Cora paddled.
Hurry, Emeline said beside her. I dont know how much longer I can keep this up.
Cora kept going, and the coracle moved by what felt like inches, but it did move. It grew closer, and closer, until finally Cora thought that the reeds might be in reach. She grabbed for them, managing to get hold of a handful of them and using them to pull their tiny vessel close to the shore. She dragged the coracle to the riverbank, then leapt out, grabbing for Emelines arm.
She pulled her friend up onto the riverbank, seeing the coracle pulled in by the current. Cora saw the kelpie rear up in apparent anger, smashing down on the small vessel and reducing it to splinters.
As soon as they were on dry land, Cora felt the pressure on her mind easing, while Emeline gave a gasp and rose to her feet under her own power. It seemed that, off the water, the kelpie couldnt touch them. It reared up again, then plunged down, disappearing out of sight.
I think were safe, Cora said.
She saw Emeline nod. I think maybe well stay off the water for a while, though.
She sounded exhausted, so Cora helped her away from the riverbank. It took a while to find a path, but once they did so, it seemed natural to follow it.
They kept going along the road, and now there were more people than there had been in the north. Cora saw fisher-folk coming in from the riverbanks, farmers with carts full of goods. She saw more people coming in from all around now, with loads of cloth or herds of animals. One man was even herding a flock of ducks that ran ahead of him as sheep might have for someone else.
There must be a traveling market, Emeline said.
We should go, Cora said. They might put us back on the road for Stonehome.
Or they might kill us as witches the moment that we ask, Emeline pointed out.
Even so, they went, making their way along the paths with the others until they saw the market ahead. It was on a small island amidst the rivers, the route fordable at any one of a dozen points. On that island, Cora saw stalls and auction spaces for everything from goods to livestock. She was just grateful that no one was trying to sell any of the indentured today.
She and Emeline made their way down to the island, wading across one of the fords to reach it. They kept their heads low, blending into the crowds as much as possible, especially when Cora saw the masked figure of a priestess wandering through the crowd, dispensing her goddesss blessings.
Cora found herself drawn to a space where players were performing The Dance of St. Cuthbert, although it wasnt the serious version that had sometimes been put on in the palace. This version featured a lot more bawdy humor and excuses for sword fights, the company obviously knowing its audience. When they were done, they took a bow, and people started to call out the names of plays and skits, hoping to see their favorite performed.
I still dont see how we can find someone who knows the way to Stonehome, Emeline said. At least, not without as good as declaring ourselves to the priests.
Cora had been thinking about that too. She had an idea.
Cora had been thinking about that too. She had an idea.
You will see if people start thinking about it, wont you? she asked.
Maybe, Emeline said.
So we get them thinking about it, Cora said. She turned to the players. What about TheStone Keepers Daughters? she called out, hoping that the crowd would block any sight of her.
To her surprise, it worked. Perhaps it was because it was a daring, even dangerous, play to call for: the story of how a stonemasons daughters proved to be witches and found a home far from those who would hunt them. It was the kind of play that could get someone arrested for performing it in the wrong place.
They performed it here, though, in all its glory, masked figures representing priests chasing after the young men playing the womens parts for fear of bad luck. All the while, Cora looked at Emeline expectantly.
Well, is it getting them thinking about Stonehome? she asked.
Yes, but that doesnt mean wait, Emeline said, turning her head. See that man there, selling wool? Hes thinking about a time he went there to trade. That woman her sister went there.
So you have a direction for it again? Cora asked.
She saw Emeline nod. I think we can find it.
It wasnt much of a hope, but it was something. Stonehome still lay ahead, and with it, the prospect of safety.
CHAPTER FOUR
From above, the invasion looked like the sweep of a wing enfolding the land it touched. The Master of Crows enjoyed that, and he was probably the only one in a position to appreciate it, his crows giving him a perfect view as his ships swept in to shore.
Perhaps there are other watchers, he said to himself. Perhaps the creatures of this island will see what is coming for them.
What is that, sir? a young officer asked. He was bright and blond-haired, his uniform shining with the effort of polishing.
Nothing you need to be concerned with. Prepare to land.
The young man hurried off, with the kind of spring in his movements that seemed to long for action. Perhaps he thought himself invulnerable because he fought for the New Army.
Theyre all food for the crows eventually, the Master of Crows said.
Not today, though, because he had picked his landing sites with care. There were parts of the continent beyond the Knifewater where people shot at crows almost as a matter of course, but here they had yet to learn the habit. His creatures had spread out, showing him the spots where defenders had set cannon and barricades in preparation for an invasion, where they had hidden men and fortified villages. They had created a network of defenses that should have swallowed an invading force whole, but the Master of Crows could see the holes in them.
Begin, he commanded, and bugles blared, the sounds carrying across the waves. Landing boats lowered, and a tide of men swept into shore in them. Mostly, they did it in silence, because a player did not announce the placing of his pieces on a gaming board. They spread out, bringing in cannon and supplies, moving swiftly.
Now the violence began, in exactly the ways that he had planned, men creeping around the ambush sites of his enemies to descend on them from the rear, weapons pounding the hidden knots of foes who wanted to stop him. From this distance, it should have been impossible to hear the screams of the dying, or even the musket fire, but his crows relayed everything.
He saw a dozen fronts at once, the violence blooming into multifaceted chaos as it always did in the moments after a conflict had begun. He saw his men charging up a beach into a knot of peasants, swords swinging. He saw horses disembarking while around them, a company fought to maintain its beachhead against a militia armed with agricultural tools. He saw both points of slaughter and hard-fought bravery, although it was hard to tell the two apart.
Through his crows eyes, he saw a group of cavalry gathering a little way inland, their breastplates shining in the sun. There were enough that they could potentially punch a hole in his carefully coordinated web of landing sites, and although the Master of Crows doubted they knew the correct spot to strike, he could not take that risk.
He extended his concentration, using his crows to find a suitable officer nearby. To his amusement, he found the young man who had been so eager before. He focused, the effort of making one of the beasts carry his words far greater than simply looking through their eyes.
There are cavalry north of you, he said, hearing the croak of the crows voice as it repeated the words. Circle to the ridge to your west and take them as they come for you.
He didnt wait for a response, but instead sent the crow into flight, watching from above as the men obeyed his orders. This was what his talent gave him: the ability to see more, to spread his reach further than any normal man could have. Most commanders found themselves mired in the fog of war, or hamstrung by messengers who couldnt move fast enough. He could coordinate an army with the ease a child might have shown moving tin soldiers around a table.
Below his circling bird, he saw the cavalry come thundering in, looking every inch some elegant army out of legend. He heard the blare of the muskets that started to cut them down, then saw the waiting soldiers charge into them, quickly turning their storybook charge into a thing of blood and death, pain and sudden anguish. The Master of Crows saw man after man fall, including the young officer, caught through the throat by a stray blade.
All food for the crows, he said. It didnt matter; that small battle was won.
He could see a more difficult battle around the dunes that led up toward a small village. One of his commanders hadnt been fast enough to follow his orders, which meant that the defenders had dug in, holding the route to their village even against the larger force. The Master of Crows stretched, then clambered down into a landing boat.
To shore, he said, pointing.
The men with him set to their work with the speed that came from long practice. The Master of Crows watched the progress of the battle as he got closer, hearing the screams of the dying, seeing his forces overwhelm group after group of would-be defenders. It was obvious that the Dowager had ordered the defense of her kingdom, but clearly not well enough.
They reached the shore, and the Master of Crows strode through the battle as if he were taking a stroll. The men around him kept low, muskets raised as they looked for threats, but he walked tall. He knew where his enemies were.
All his enemies. He could already feel the power of this land, and sense the movement in it as some of the more dangerous things there reacted to his arrival. Let them feel him coming. Let them know fear at what was to come.
A small knot of enemy soldiers leapt up from a hiding place behind an upturned boat, and there was no more time to think, only act. He drew a long dueling blade and a pistol in one smooth motion, firing into the face of one of the defenders, then running another through. He swayed aside from an attack, struck back with lethal force, and kept moving.
The dunes were ahead, and the village lay beyond them. Now the Master of Crows could hear the violence without having to resort to his creatures. He could pick out the clash of blade on blade with his own ears, the boom of muskets and pistols echoing as he approached. He could see men struggling with one another, his crows letting him pick out the points where defenders knelt or lay, their weapons trained on anything that approached.