Introduction

It was here, in part, that my nickname, the White Raven, originated: here also the messenger bird which fetches my emails from this site. She started life as a white crow called the talecrow.

This extract concerns Glanris, a cloth trader from a nomadic race called the Peniodd, his young son Perrin and Rhaeva, a young woman who is in need of safe passage to the land of her ancestors, Cyrinthia. The Paskerae, a vicious tribal race, are their enemy, and Dorthan is Glanris' elder son. Father and son have been estranged for some time. At this point in the story, Rhaeva is disguised, at least from a distance, as a boy.

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The Talecrow's Tale
© 1984 Linda Moore

"Possibly somewhere in Phileia where we usually pass the summer, although I left them in Tali when I set out to Ril," came the reply. "In the winter we head off Southwards; the weather is better and it is easier for us to survive."

"Do you ever go anywhere else?"

"Indeed we do; we go where it suits us and if it's North then it's North and if East seems the place to be we go there; we are a free folk and proud of it."

"So there is no way that you can tell where your kinsfolk are?" Rhaeva persisted.

"Well there is, in actual fact," replied Glanris. "Wait here and you shall see, since today you are so full of questions."

Glanris rose and disappeared into the top part of the caravan where Rhaeva thought only cloth was kept. A moment later he returned, carrying a large bell-shaped cage in which two white birds sat placidly.

He placed the cage beside Rhaeva and she peered inside. The birds were large, ungainly-seeming crows; they had the very distinctive feature of being pure white.

"Talecrows," said Glanris. Rhaeva had never seen birds of this ilk before and eyed them with a certain amount of mistrust. The trader fished about inside the loose shirt he was wearing and produced an assortment of items. These he spread out on the grass in front of them. There was a wooden cylinder, small with a hinged lid, to which were attached straps of leather. Then, a small piece of very thin parchment, a stylus and a tiny pot of ink. Finally, a strange whistle which consisted of two wooden pipes in the form of a "V".

Rhaeva picked the whistle up and blew into it. Holes were cut into the pipes to make different notes and she could play a harmony is so she wished.

At the sound of a somewhat shaky set of notes, the crows stood stock still and inclined their heads with almost quizzical expressions. In the meantime, Glanris was scratching a message onto the parchment.

At the end, he folded the fragment up, placed it into the cylinder and cautiously put his hand into the cage. One of the white birds hopped nonchalantly onto his hand; it then fluttered to the ground and allowed the cyclinder to be strapped to its back.

Glanris took the whistle from Rhaeva and blew a simple tune into it. As the final note rang out, the bird let out a caw and was gone, a smudge of pure white visible for quite some way amongst the trees.

"He will fly now until he is found by one of our kind," explained Glanris. "Each clan uses a different sort of messenger bird. If somebody of our clan sees him, he'll be called and messages exchanged. With these little pipes of ours we can tell our crows to seek a specific person or to seek any of the clan; we can point them in the right direction if they find others than those they seek. Our birds are very intelligent, and only the Peniodd have the skill to train them. We'll not see him for many days, I think, but we'll find out sooner or later where my folk are and how it goes with them."

The crow came back without warning one evening, a white ghost which glided into the encampment, uttered a hoarse croak and settled down beside Glanris whose face betrayed great surprise.

"You've only been gone three days," he told the bird. The only reply he got was a tilting of its head, almost as if it understood, as he unfastened the message tube and inspected its contents.

Abruptly, Glanris turned white. Perrin, who had abandoned his games as soon as the bird arrived, approached in a hurry, a question on his lips.

Glanris read. "The Paskerae seek your caravan. They hunt the road on which you drive. Turn back at once until you hear further news."

As dread took her over, Rhaeva cursed the hope which, in vain, had led her to believe that she was safe.

"We'll turn back," said Glanris, "and we'll go to Miscar. Perrin, write that on a note and send the other crow to find Dorthan. Make haste!"

Perrin vanished into the top of the cravan and Glanris fastened up the horses who looked nervous; no doubt they sensed his unease. Rhaeva rushed to help, her mind whirling. Dorthan! Why, of all folk, was he there, near them?

Then they were on their way; the white crow went in the opposite direction in search of Dorthan.