The Hammer Unfalls

4.78 Glim the Raven Song

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The second the shuttle stopped, Glim slapped the button by the door and rushed into the basement of Wohn-Grab.

Gyda had once asked him: why can’t you ever enter town without making a scene? Glim smiled grimly. If only she knew. This time would outshine all the others combined.

Heat assaulted him immediately. Glim removed his makeshift blanket cloak as he ran up the stairs, tossing it aside and dusting himself free of the wool scraps. He emerged from the depths into the darkness of night. A stroke of luck, for he had no wish to be discovered. Not out of secrecy or spite, but because discovery by others would slow him down.

Glim paused in the shadow of the archway to plan his route. He knew the sightlines of the watch better than most, having spent his life avoiding people as much as possible. But the guards would likely be on high alert if Glim’s recent unexplained absence during his adventure with Ryn was any guide. He wanted to take no chances. He still didn’t know how he’d even tell his story once he got to the tower. Interpretive dance?

A sudden breeze kicked snow into his face. A familiar voice spoke to him in a tone which, if she had any expressions to speak of at all, would sound accusatory. Fearful, even.

Where have you been? the wind shrieked at him, working itself into full wind. It’s as though you derive pleasure from making people fret over your absence.

Having no choice in the matter, Glim remained silent.

You picked the worst possible time. Strange tidings ride the air. She paused, awaiting words that would never come. Something is different about you.

Glim nodded.

Well, out with it! Where have you been?

Glim spread his arms and shook his head.

You deny me? After all I’ve done for you?

He tried to answer her, but only a rasp of air scraped across his teeth.

The wind gasped. Where did you get those apples? And your voice… A small gale swirled around him. Can it be?

The air settled as the wind sped away.

Glim hugged the wall of the dining hall, then walked slowly across the narrowest part of the town square so as not to draw attention. He glanced down the row of merchant homes with a twinge of guilt. Gyda would have to wait.

His breath clouded in the frigid air. As the warm wind drawing the crab attack had proven, summer would soon reach Wohn-Grab, bringing warmer days. But the nights still carried the bracing sting of cold. Afraid that his breath would give him away, Glim paused at his last vestige of cover, scanning the ramparts for guards.

Now or never, he thought.

Glim skittered across the spur of stone and ran into the cold of the night. As he sprinted, he focused on one unpleasant thought: For the first time in his life, he truly needed Master Willow. If anyone would know what to do, that arrogant weasel would.

Glim yanked on the rope of the door chimes, then a few more times for good measure. Minutes passed before the vines writhed upward to form a doorway. The movement reminded him of the vine he’d seen in the basement that led him to the shuttle. Had Master Willow been behind this after all?

His tutor scowled, then stared as he saw who had rung the bell.

“Where in blazes have you been?”

Glim said nothing. Merely heaved as his lungs greedily sucked in air. His tutor frowned.

“Well, out with it! I asked you a question.”

Glim remained silent. Master Willow's irritation turned to urgency when he saw Glim’s staff.

“Where did you get that?” he said with wonder, and resentment, as if Glim had found the staff just to spite him. “Those are extremely rare.”

Glim raised his palms into the air and touched his throat, opening his mouth and miming words.

“Enspelled, eh? That must be quite a tale. Come in, let’s get this sorted out.”

His tutor led him up the stairs, past the training room, and past the library, to a room Glim had rarely seen in all his years: Master Willow’s private apothecary. Stained wooden shelves held glass and brass contraptions, some of which emitted glowing steam. Tables full of potion vials, daggers, and various brass tools glinted beneath white light cast by globes much like the ones in the library.

Master Willow pursed his lips and looked over an array of shelves. His eyes lit up. “Ahh, this will do! Let's give you a voice.”

He took down a massive birdcage. Inside, a raven with three silver dots painted on its forehead ruffled its feathers. It glared at Master Willow with baleful eyes.

Master Willow drew a dagger and brought it up to Glim's face. Glim flinched involuntarily.

“Hold still, you clod! I need some of your hair!”

The Mage-at-Arms cut a lock of Glim’s black hair and fed it to the bird. It pointed its beak at the ceiling a few times to choke the hair down, then fluttered around the cage in a frenzy. An unearthly keen erupted from the raven's gaping beak before it began to croak words.

“A candle raised in frost's breff shall wake the Faa-wthers.” The raven shook its head from side to side. “A candle awakens the unhearing. The unhearing flee. Squawk! The unhearing hear no more.”

Master Willow backed away. He stumbled over a stack of books and scrambled to his feet, holding his hands up in warding.

“What have you seen? You haven't looked upon... no, it cannot be. This cannot be!”

The raven ruffled it's blue-black feathers.

“Squawk! Warped beasts! Wawl of grey.” To Glim’s horror, his own words failed him. Only what he’d read in the shuttle and studied so carefully came easily. As though he needed to relearn language itself. The half-faded words of ancient scrolls would not suffice if he was going to warn the town. Glim held his head in his hands and concentrated.

Master Willow ignored him, stuffing scrolls and trinkets into a leather knapsack as fast as he could before donning a fur cloak and taking up his staff. Glim watched the man move into action, impressed by his speed, and hopeful that the Mage-at-Arms had a plan to get them out of this mess. But when he reached the door and looked back, Glim saw the light in his eyes and knew what it meant, with a sinking feeling in his gut.

Glim tried to reason with his tutor. “Caw! Nae… master.” The word sounded strange in his own ears. Once more, only the words from the scroll seemed clear and understandable. Only those words had been with him since he’d freed himself of apathy. The rest seemed like a half forgotten dream. “Awaken the unhearing. Awaken the unhearing!”

Glim pleaded with Master Willow for the first time in his life. He'd spent years following his tutor’s whims. Now, just this once, he needed guidance from the man. But Master Willow fixed him in a cold glare.

“If you want to stay here and die to protect a pile of rubble, that is your prerogative. I am getting as far from here as I can before Algidon arrives.”

Master Willow slammed the door. Glim tried follow, but found the floor slickened with ice and the stones surrounding the door knit shut.

He looked around the room. Cursing silently, driven by urgency, he took the stairs up into rooms he’d never seen before. Storage spaces, and a second library. The next to last room had a huge bed, racks of silken robes, luxurious couches and, in one corner, a bathtub and mirror like in Gyda’s house.

At last he reached the final stairway, which led to the roof. The sun had just broken into the sky. He looked down to see four horses leaving the southern gate. Master Willow and the three gardeners, riding hard.

Glim had to get out of this tower. He had to warn people. He had no idea how quickly Certe could travel, or even if he headed towards Wohn-Grab. But Glim’s gut told him yes.

Recalling the rope in his pack, Glim looked around for somewhere to anchor it. He saw nothing suitable, so he returned to the tower and looked around. Spying a sheathed sword, he grabbed it and returned to the roof. Glim placed it between two of the square stones that formed the notched roofline of the tower. Merlons, his father called them. The sword had just enough length to span them.

He tied one end of the rope to the middle of the sword, tugging it as tautly as he could to test the knot. He tied the other end to the birdcage. The raven squawked and batted its wings, clearly unhappy with the arrangement.

Glim lowered the cage over the side. He played the rope out until the cage settled onto the ground.

Glim cinched his pack tight, grabbed the incredibly rare staff, and tried to figure out how to get all of the items to the bottom. Finally he shoved the staff into his belt and hoped for the best. He lay on his stomach, scooted backward over the edge, and pulled the sword sheath tight against the merlons.

All things considered, this wouldn’t be the riskiest descent he’d ever attempted. Yet his stomach clenched when he dropped over the edge.

The rope held and he lowered himself to the ground, trembling from nerves. Focused as he was on the descent, Glim ignored the shout from the nearest watchman, who’d spotted Glim in the light of morning. The guard’s call was answered and Glim sensed movement below. Risking a glance he saw Garrick, his father, and a few guards staring at him in confusion, and no small amount of anger.

His return home had not been all he’d hoped it to be. Master Willow had shown his true colors and left them all here to face Certe. But at least he’d given Glim one last gift: a voice.

Time to use it.