Raven Flight by Juliet Marillier

turned from one side to the other, kicked off her blanket then hauled it up again, punched her pillow. I knew better than to ask her what was the matter.
    Eventually she said, “Neryn?”
    “Mm?”
    “Bad dream this afternoon, hmm?”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    There was a brief silence. Then, “You dream about him, don’t you? Flint?”
    She was too sharp.
    “Mm.”
    “You miss him.”
    “I don’t want to talk about it, Tali.” Not to anyone, and especially not to her.
    “Regan said he thought your dreams might be useful,especially if they give you a true picture of what Flint is doing. Since the two of you are close, and Flint is a mind-mender with control over other folk’s dreams, we wondered if that might be so. You should tell us about them.”
    I got up on one elbow to look across at her. She was lying flat now, her hair a splash of darkness on the pillow, the rings and twists of her tattoos wreathing her lean body in mystery. I wished I could ask her about those markings, which were extensive, skillfully done, and almost an exact match for her brother’s. Those tattoos told a story, and I’d have liked to know what it was. But folk here seldom spoke of the past. There was little talk of families, of home settlements, of loved ones left behind. At Shadowfell it was all the cause and the future.
    “It wouldn’t be useful,” I said. “I only see him in snatches, not long enough to know what is really happening.”
    “More than a snatch today, surely, if it made you bolt for the privy to be sick.”
    I said nothing.
    “Seems to me the dreams might be more curse than blessing, if they bother you so much.”
    I hesitated. In the quiet of the chamber, with the other women sleeping around us, it was easier to speak the truth. “Sometimes, yes. But I’d never wish them away. Even if Flint is in trouble or doing something I hate, I’d rather see that than not see him at all. It’s a long time until spring. And chances are he won’t come even then.”
    The silence drew out.
    “I haven’t forgotten what you said about not gettingclose,” I felt obliged to add. “We are friends, he and I. We journeyed a long way together. Dreaming of him gives me hope.”
    “Then you’re a fool,” Tali said. “What do you hope for, true love and happy endings? What if your dreams show you Flint being tortured, Flint spilling out secrets to the king, Flint and his Enforcer comrades sweeping down on another village, hacking and burning as the Cull gets under way?”
    “Last night, in my dream, I saw him performing an enthrallment, with folk looking on,” I said quietly, though her words had brought angry tears to my eyes. “My grandmother suffered an enthrallment that went wrong. She lost her wits. The dream sickened me. But I still have hope, Tali. I need to believe a happy future is possible for me and Flint; for all of us. If people can’t dream of better times, if they can’t imagine a future in which they might marry and raise their children, dig their vegetable plot, ply their trade without fear, then the goal of freedom becomes meaningless. Don’t you think?”
    Tali sat up. “Of course folk want that changed world,” she said, turning her dark eyes on me with some intensity. “Of course they want to live without the constant need to be looking over their shoulder or waiting for a knife in the ribs. But it’s going to be a long, hard fight, and people are going to die. You should know that, Neryn. You saw what happened to Garven. You saw six of our fighters die in that battle. You heard how Gova and Arden perished bringing news from the north. What’s needed here isn’t soft dreamsof true love. It’s anger—the anger that drives a person forward. The fury that keeps them fighting right up to the moment the knife goes in. In our world there’s no place for love.”
    “Be quiet!” came a mumbled complaint from Sula, who had the pallet next to Tali’s. “Some of us want to