The Raven Collection

Erie

‘Who?’

‘Witch Hunters,’ said Ren’erei. ‘Black Wings.’

The strength went from Erie

She saw it all again. Tasted the atmosphere of the Black Wings’ castle, the stench of fear in her twin boys’ room, the hideous torture of separation from the sons she loved and the sneer of Captain Travers, the leader of the Witch Hunters. Again and again she saw the blood from their slit throats spattered over the bed clothes, their faces and the walls. Her boys. Her beautiful boys. Slaughtered for a risk they didn’t pose, by men who were terrified of magic because they could not understand it. Again, she felt their loss, just like it was yesterday, just like every day.

And the Black Wings hadn’t been destroyed despite everything she and The Raven had done. They hadn’t been destroyed and now they hunted that which was most pure. Lya

‘No, no, no,’ she whispered. ‘Not again.’

‘I am a fool and I’m sorry,’ said Ren’erei, wiping a tear from Erie

‘But they are finished,’ mumbled Erie

Ren’erei shook her head. ‘No. One escaped the castle and others have joined him to raise the ba

‘Selik is dead,’ said Erie

‘Tell that to Tryuun,’ she said solemnly. ‘Selik is disfigured, almost unrecognisable to look at, but his ma

‘So kill him.’ Erie

‘But we have to find him first. Tryuun escaped him ten weeks ago and we haven’t heard of him since. But we will and this time there will be more of us, I promise.’ She crouched in front of Erie

She knew Ren’erei was right but the shock of her words kept Erie

Denser was still in Balaia, heedless of the danger that lurked somewhere in its borders. Dear Ilkar too. Both had borne torture at the hands of Black Wings once. That some had survived and would repeat the horror sickened her. Perhaps Selik’s disappearance meant they had somehow infiltrated the crew on board. Perhaps when they reached Herendeneth, all that would greet them would be death. Black Wings were everywhere in her imagination and each one had a dagger with which to slit a helpless child’s throat . . .

The Ornouth Archipelago appeared out of the haze of the setting sun the next day, a string of islands that looked almost as one so far as the eye could see in either direction. Through a thin bank of cloud, the sun cast red light across the archipelago, bathing land and sea in a warm radiance.

Erie

From tiny rock atolls, jutting from the sea like fists grabbing at the air, to great swathes of white sand, miles long, the Ornouth swept west to east, a tail off the northern coast of Calaius, beautiful but treacherous. Riddled with hidden reefs, beneath even the calmest waters, the power lurked to rip the bottom from any ship and Erie

It was small wonder the archipelago hadn’t been mapped. The journey to the island closest to the southern mainland couldn’t be risked in anything smaller than an ocean-going vessel, and with shallow-draught boats the only way to be confident of charting the myriad central islands, it would truly be a labour of love. Unsurprisingly, much of what lay deep inside Ornouth was uncharted and, to a large extent, untouched.

The Ocean Elm cut confidently across the sea towards the outer islands but as they approached close enough to make out individual trees bordering the beaches, and boulders on the shingle, the tension reached a new level.

From the wheel deck, the first mate rattled out a series of orders that had elves scurrying to the sheets and up into the masts. Much of the sail was furled, leaving only the jib and forward mast topsail to drive the ship. And all those not engaged in rig work leant over the sides or swung plumb lines to measure the fast-varying depth. The skipper steered a course between two islands, keeping very close to the one where a shelf led to deep water just off shore.

With the passengers ignored, the crew waited, tensed, reacting immediately to every quarter turn of the wheel, every order to trim or loose the sails, while a constant stream of calls echoed back from the prow as sailors scoured the water in front of them or measured the depth again and again.

The ship crawled along the cha

It was an hour of careful travel before they rounded the port-side island and hove-to in a wide cha

‘We’re stopped for the night. Only a madman would risk the cha

Erie

‘But surely you’ve sailed this stretch before?’ she asked eventually.

Ren’erei nodded. ‘But sand shifts and reefs grow. Eventually the course of cha