The Red Raven: Tales of the Seann Àite, #6

By Tristan Gray

For years Fiadh has been waiting for this moment, the chance to finally confront the Red Raven and grasp revenge for the destruction she inflicted on Tur Eumor.

Now, finally, she will meet her in person, with Annis at her side.

But the hidden isle is filled with danger and the blade at her back hungers for more than her vengeance

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tristan Gray
• Release date: May 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224063291

Book preview

THE RED RAVEN

The boat thrummed underneath her fingertips, the woodwork passing through the pressure of the wind on its sails and the waves on its bow, the spray of its break pattered across her face and clothes.

Those clothes, furs layered upon wool, concealed Fiadh’s other arm deep within. Both to cover her increasing frailty but also to protect it from what she might not see was harming it, having lost all feeling in that hand months ago.

Now the single hand on the woodwork guided her, for her eyes could not. Before her, she saw no waves or ships, though she knew the fleet of Ahar now numbered a dozen or more. Instead, only the horizon lay ahead, a long line of darkness delineating the sea from the clouds, a bright golden string flowing from her towards it to indicate where she must go. Her one good eye saw nothing but that light, the only one gifted by her wish to see the way.

Another hand gripped her shoulder gently – the great palm of Annis, her constant companion over the years. Ahar had refused to follow her vision until he felt prepared to seize the entirety of the Raven’s haven by gathering forces from across the isles. It had not mattered how often she had said she did not know what awaited them there; all that had mattered to him was the scent of gold and forbidden treasures. Treasures valuable enough to be sealed behind a spell that could hide an entire isle from those who charted these waters.

They spoke less, these days. Annis was less curious about the world Fiadh lived in and she was less able to answer questions as she felt her energy fade with every sunset. Every time she felt she might not waken alongside the crew with the morning, she felt the spirit of Caerdrich, their blade still bound to her back, seizing her limbs and drawing them up to bring her to the ship’s bow once more where she would stand, watching that light, being the guide for Ahar’s crossing and the host for the will of that great and ancient blade.

The Raven could not stand against the blade. None could. There would finally be vengeance for the fall of Tur Eumor, the destruction of her order, and her own fall from the towering cliffs into a life at the very border of death.

But where once that thought had filled her with fury and determination, she now felt only the weight of the years upon her shoulders, the ache of wounds that could not heal and the memories of those she had not saved.

Her own feet may draw her to the prow, but it was not her will behind them each day. She wished now more than anything else to find her will once more, or to be permitted, finally, to sleep.

Annis’ hand tensed as they heard shouting in Sjøtunge, which he responded to with a single-word grunt. His hand tensed again, this time in a reassuring squeeze, but she winced as the hand grasped little more than the bones of her shoulder through her furs.

How long had she been fading away? It had seemed to sneak up on her, appearing at first as no more than the exhaustion of travel coming more swiftly, then difficulty moving about Ahar’s ship, losing the sure-footedness her travels had left her well-equipped with. She was now barely able to pull her wools over her shoulders without Annis’ aid.

She knew he worried, in his own quiet way. But he didn’t ask questions. Not since their time in the mountains when she had felt him piece together the past of Caerdrich and not since he had known the danger just beneath the surface, held in his presence throughout this whole journey. But he remained by her, his steady hand upon her shoulder bearing the only mote of comfort she still held.

There was a burst of chatter, with every language of Ahar’s crew of peoples drawn from all along the coast breaking out at once. Through the fog of her exhaustion Fiadh was able to pick out the key focus of their excitement: land.

The thump of a familiar cadence of footsteps came from behind her as the captain moved his way up the ship to join her, never being one to hide the heft of his stride.

At last! Ahar crowed, his bellow making Fiadh wince. You have delivered what you had always promised, Crow. What was it? Treasures and lands beyond my wildest imaginings? Well, I’ve been imagining this one for quite some time, and you have brought me here! Beyond the fogs, free of the rocks, a fey compass like no other.

He turned away from her to bark orders at the crew, advancing back down the ship. She heard the grind of the oars sliding into their locks and felt the shove as they dipped into the water and began to drive the ship onwards. The waters must be shallower here, the need for control greater.

The scent of kelp upon the shore began to drift across the water. Rocks must be just barely out of view, still shrouded by the mist before they could be avoided. How many had charted this course not knowing what lay ahead, their ships broken on the isle within the fog, never to emerge again to tell the tale of where the Raven’s home had been hidden by the lord of the seas?

The vision came to her in a flash, of ships cracking open upon the rocks, their oarsmen tossed into the waves, their screams