Milla did not resist.
Then the Crones turned the ring on her finger so she could not see the Sunstone, and retreated to stand against the walls.
Milla sat silently waiting. It was just her and the three Crones in the huge silent room.
She was too tired to wonder what would happen next. What could happen? She had brought a shadow to the Ruin Ship and she had slain a Shield Mother. They would probably use the Prayer of Asteyr on her and send her out to stand before the Selski Living Sea. Her name would become a curse, a word to be spat, a ballast-stone of loathing the Far-Raiders would have to bear for many circlings.
She had disgraced herself, her clan, and her people. Now even a clean end of her own choice upon the Ice was out of her reach.
Milla closed her eyes and let her chin slip forward a little, a small sign of the despair within her.
Then she heard the curtain open and she looked back up.
Crones were entering the room. Many Crones, more than Milla had ever seen. Scores of Crones, from the bright blue-eyed of the newest to the milky-eyed oldest, all of them clad in black. They spread out along the walls, the only sound the shuffle of their feet and robes.
There were hundreds of them, Milla saw. Crones from every clan and ship. Perhaps even her own Far-Raiders' Crone was there.
Milla hung her head again, ashamed. She did not want to see the Crone who had always had such high hopes for her.
Finally, the Crone Mother of the Ruin Ship entered. While all the other Crones lined the walls, she strode out across the open space, a tall figure, her shadow flickering by her side in the lantern light.
She stopped by the chair, unscrewed a bottle she had under her arm, and laid it down next to Milla. Then she stood behind the chair and raised her arms high.
There was total silence in the hall, and all the Crones were still.
The silence lengthened. No one moved. Milla held her breath.
Finally the Crone Mother spoke, her voice soft, but echoing throughout the vast room.
"Today we decide the Doom of Milla of the Far-Raiders, daughter of Ylse, daughter of Emor, daughter of Rohen, daughter of Clyo, in the line of Danir since the Ruin of the Ship.
"Before that Doom is decided," the Crone Mother continued, "we must hear the words of Milla of the Far-Raiders. For she has brought evil tidings, and the news she bears must be weighed with her fate."
"What… what must I say?" asked Milla.
"Everything," said the Crone Mother. "Begin when you left the Ruin Ship, with the Chosen Tal, in your quest for a Sunstone. Tell us everything."
Mina cleared her throat and slowly began to speak. She told the assembled Crones about the journey into the Castle, the skeleton with the Sun-stone, Great-uncle Ebbitt and the attack by the guards, the Hall of Nightmares, the Mausoleum, the transfer to Aenir, the Storm Shepherds, Tal's use of the Prayer to Asteyr, how Odris was bound to her while she was unconscious, the riddling pool in the desert, the Dawn House, Zicka the Lizard, Asteyr's ship, the Codex, Sushin and the Merwin-horn sword, the Keystones and the threat to the veil… it all came tumbling out of her.
The Crones listened in silence, though occasionally a ripple passed through their ranks, as it did when she spoke of Asteyr's ship.
They listened, their strange blue or silver or cloudy white eyes intent on Milla. And as they listened, they judged.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Tal was afraid the bell would ring anyway as he gripped the branch. But it didn't. He swung a leg over and hauled himself up, grateful that the branch was round, without sharp crystal edges.
"That bell," said Crow, pointing to a branch a stretch or so away.
Tal balanced on the branch he was on and leaned across. He ran his hand along the branch to the bell and grabbed the wire that would make it sound.
"Ready," he said.
Crow nodded and jumped across. His foot fell on a white tile and partially on a red. As he landed, the wire twitched under Tal's hand, but he had it fast, and the bell did not sound.
"That one," Crow said again, pointing.
"This one will sound as soon as I let go," protested
Tal. He could feel the tension in the wire. Looking up, the silver hand at the base of the tree was still plucking mindlessly away.
"You can hold both," Crow assured him, without bothering to look.
Tal sighed and examined the situation. If he did the splits across two branches he might just be able to hold both bells, but there was a good chance he would fall off.
"Can't you go another way?" he asked.
"No," said Crow, who was on tiptoes. "Hurry up!"
Tal grimaced and stretched his leg across. He tested his foothold, then shifted his weight, while keeping hold of the first bell.
He made it, though he was now hanging on to the first bell's wire as much for his own balance as to stop it sounding. It was an awkward position, but he could reach the second bell, though not its wire. Instead he reached inside and grabbed its clapper.
"Go!" he panted.
Crow jumped again. Tal felt the first wire and the second clapper shiver under his hands.
"Now that one!" called out Crow. But Tal couldn't see him. He was facing the wrong way, and precariously balanced.
"I can't see," called out Tal.
"Dark take it!" swore Crow. "Let go the first one and swing around."
"I can't!" said Tal. "I'll fall."
"Trust a Chosen to give up!" Crow spat. "I'm only two tiles away! Swing on the clapper of that bell."
"That's easy for you to say!" shouted Tal angrily. He was holding on to the bell's clapper with only three fingers.
Crow didn't answer.
Tal tried to crane his head to see the Freefolk boy, but he couldn't.
Instead he took a deep breath, let go of the wire, and pushed off from both branches, so that all his weight was on his three fingers and their precarious grip on a single bell clapper.
He swung around, got both legs over a higher branch and stopped, hanging upside down with his hand still on the clapper, the bell turned up as far as it would go.
"How is this better?" he asked sarcastically.
Crow looked up and laughed a genuine, unexpected laugh. He tried to say something but the laughter kept getting in the way of the words. He shook so much that he had trouble staying on his tiptoes.
"It's not funny!" shouted Tal.
Crow stopped laughing and wiped his eyes.
"I know," he said, frowning. "I don't know why I laughed. Can you let go of that bell on the count of three, and grab the one across to your left?"
Tal looked at the bell Crow was pointing at. He would have to stay upside down, swing across, and grab the branch with one hand and the bell with the other, all in the time it took Crow to jump.
"I can try," he said. "How will that help?"
If Crow jumped there he would have to balance on a single red square, on tiptoe, keeping his other foot in the air.
"I can do it," said Crow. "On three, right?" "Ready," confirmed Tal.
"One. Two… Three!"
He jumped. Tal swung across. Crow's foot came down a fraction of a second before Tal's hand grabbed the wire.
The bell rang once.
Both boys froze, waiting for the other bells to start, or something else to occur. Besides the wire thrumming under Tal's hand, the tree was silent.
"One more and I'll be there," said Crow, his arms stretched out as he balanced precariously, one foot held out behind him. "If I can make it that far."
Tal looked at the tiles Crow would have to jump. There were no white tiles next to the plinth at all. He would have to balance once again on a single red tile. Worse still, Tal wasn't sure which bell went with which tile--the bells were so close together above that point.
He would also have to swing up and there was a branch in between.
"I don't think I can get to the right bell," said Tal worriedly.
Crow tried to look up, but ha
d to stop as he almost overbalanced.
"You'll have to," he said. "I can't stay here like this. On three?"
"No!" Tal called out suddenly. "What if you jump on to the pyramid itself and grab the hands? Would you touch the floor?"
Crow looked across at the plinth. The hands were about level with his neck. It was a long jump, particularly off one foot. But if he could grab the hands, he could hang from them with his feet drawn up, at least till Tal got to the right bell and stilled it.
"I can do that," he said confidently. "Stay where you are."
He crouched on his one foot, toes aching as he kept them pointed. Slowly he leaned forward, arms quivering to maintain his balance. All his attention was focused on the plinth and the silver hands. He would jump that far and grab them. He would. He must.
It was only when he was already totally committed to the jump that a terrible thought flashed through his mind.