The White Rose

Thirty-Five The Barrowland, from bad to worse

Returning Raven’s letter to the oilskin, I lay back on my bough bed, let my mind go blank. So dramatic, the way Raven told it. I wondered about his sources, though. The wife? Someone had to note the tale’s ending and had to hide what was found later. What had become of the wife, anyway? She has no place in legend. Neither does the son, for that matter. The popular stories mention only Bomanz himself.

Something there, though. Something I missed? Ah. Yes. A congruence with personal experience. The name Bomanz had relied upon. The one that, evidently, proved insufficiently powerful.

I’d heard it before. In equally furious circumstances.

In Juniper, as the contest between the Lady and the Dominator neared its climax, with her ensconced in a castle on one side of the city and the Dominator trying to escape through another on the far side, we discovered the Taken meant to do the Company evil once the crisis subsided. Under orders from the Captain we deserted. We seized a ship. As we sailed away, with husband and wife contesting above the burning city, the struggle peaked. The Lady proved the stronger.

The voice of the Dominator shook the world as he vented a last spate of frustration. He had called her by the name Bomanz had thought puissant. Apparently, even the Dominator could be mistaken.

One sister killed another and, maybe or maybe not, took her place. Soulcatcher, our one-time mentor and plotter to usurp the Lady, it proved during the great struggle at Charm, was another sister. Three sisters, then. At least. One named Ardath, but evidently not the one who became the Lady.

Maybe the beginnings of something here. All those lists, back in the Hole. And the genealogies. Find a woman named Ardath. Then discover who her sisters were.

“It’s a beginning,” I murmured. “Feeble, but a beginning.”

“What?”

I had forgotten Case. He had not taken advantage. I suppose he was too frightened.

“Nothing.” It had grown dark outside. The drizzle persisted. Out on the Barrowland ghostly lights drifted about. I shuddered. That did not seem right. I wondered how Goblin and One-Eye were getting on. I did not dare go ask. Over in a corner Tracker snored softly. Toadkiller Dog lay against his belly, making sleeping dog noises, but I caught a glint of eye which said he was not unalert.

I invested a little more attention in Case. He was shaking, and not just with the chill. He was sure we would kill him. I reached over, rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, son. You won’t be harmed. We owe you for looking out for Raven.”

“He’s really Raven? The Raven that was the White Rose’s father?”

The lad knew the legends. “Yeah. Foster-father, though.”

“Then he didn’t lie about everything. He was in the Forsberg campaigns.”

That struck me as humorous. I chuckled, then said, “Knowing Raven, he didn’t lie about much. Just edited the truth.”

“You’ll really let me go?”

“When we’re safe.”

“Oh.” He did not sound reassured.

“Let’s say when we get to the edge of the Plain of Fear. You’ll find plenty of friends out there.”

He wanted to get into a quasi-political discussion about why we insisted on resisting the Lady. I refused. I am no evangelist. I can’t make converts. I have too much trouble understanding myself and unravelling my own motives. Maybe Raven could explain after Goblin and One-Eye brought him out.

The night seemed endless, but after three eternities which took me up to midnight I heard unsteady footsteps. “Croaker?”

“In,” I said. It was Goblin. Without a light I could not read him well, but got the impression that his news was not good. “Trouble?”

“Yes. We can’t get him out.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean?”

“I mean we don’t have the skills. We don’t have the talent. This’s going to take someone bigger than we are. We aren’t much, Croaker. Showmen. With a few handy spells. Maybe Silent could do something. His is a different sort of magic.”

“Maybe you’d better back up. Where’s One-Eye?”

“Resting. It was rough on him. Really rocked him, what he saw in there.”

“What was that?”

“I don’t know. I was just his lifeline. And I had to pull him out before he got trapped, too. All I know is, we can’t get Raven without help.”

“Shit,” I said. “Double damned floating sheep shit. Goblin, we can’t win this one unless we have Raven to help. I don’t have what it takes either. I’ll never translate half those papers.”

“Not even with Tracker’s help?”

“He reads TelleKurre. That’s it. I can do that, only I take longer. Raven must know the dialects. Some of the stuff he was translating was in them. Also, there’s the question of what he was doing here. Why he faked his death again and took off. On Darling.”

Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. I do that. Or maybe I was indulging in the human penchant for oversimplification, figuring that if we just had Raven back our troubles were solved. “What are we going to do?” I wondered aloud.

Goblin rose. “I don’t know, Croaker. Let’s let One-Eye get his feet under him again and find out what we’re up against. We can go from there.” “Right.”

He slipped out. I lay down and tried to sleep. Whenever I dropped off I had nightmares about the thing lying in the mud and slime the Barrowland had become.