The Gift

  She stopped, and there was an expectant pause, as if all the Bards expected her to say more. Someone sniggered, but Maerad didn't look up to see who it was.

  "Cadvan says I am a Bard and that I have the Gift, but I don't know if that is true," she said at last. "I just wanted to be free from Gilman. I was going to die there, in that place. But now that I'm here I don't know what I want. To be a Bard, maybe. Like my mother."

  She stopped, twisting her hands, and then sat down abruptly

  "Thank you, Maerad," said Oron. "Now, perhaps some of us here might like to ask you some questions. I understand this might be painful, but I would appreciate it if you could answer them."

  Maerad nodded. She felt foolish and out of place and, glancing over to Helgar, she saw again that hostility in her face. She answered as best she could: how old she was, her age when she was kidnapped, who Gilman was, the circumstances of her slavery, how she escaped. She spoke mechanically, wondering why Cadvan sat so silently beside her. Underneath, however, she had a sense of being shamed, and her pride rebelled. Why should she have to prove who she was? She wasn't pretending to be anybody she was not. At last the long-nosed man sitting next to Helgar said with a sneer, "And how are we to know all this is true? None of this is said to us in the Speech, and we all know that lying is easier that way. An interesting ploy, think you not? Some clever young beggar might seek to enter our ranks in such a way.... And in these days, we must be wary of the spies of the Dark...."

  "I'm not a beggar!" Maerad forgot her self-consciousness, and was for a moment simply furious. "Why should I lie, anyway? I didn't ask to come here."

  "Forgive us our questioning, Maerad," said Oron gently. "It is necessary for us to establish in our own minds who you are. The existence of a survivor of Pellinor is great news among us, and we would not have that news mislead us."

  Maerad nodded again, slightly mollified. Strangely, she didn't feel nervous anymore.

  "The dates fit," said Saliman. "Pellinor was sacked ten years ago, to this month, and Milana did have a daughter."

  "As if the Dark wouldn't make it fit," said the sneering man. "It's a likely story. As if one of the Gift, of the House of Karn itself, could stay hidden for ten years, with no whisper."

  "There were none left alive to witness their kidnapping," Saliman said. "And the School was burned to the ground. Who would know?"

  "And why does Cadvan say nothing?" the sneering man continued. "I'd like to hear his story."

  At last Cadvan stirred. "I said nothing, Usted, because I was not invited to speak," he said. "If my word and my Knowing mean anything at all, I can vouch for this girl. I am certain that she is who she says she is."

  "That's all very fine, Cadvan," said Usted. "But the best of us can be misled by the arts of the Dark."

  Cadvan sighed. "I know it is a time of fear, but equally we should be wary of fearing too much and suspecting where suspicion is pointless. The Dark seeks just such erosions of trust, for they serve its purposes. But I will give you my reasons for not doubting Maerad's story.

  "Firstly, I have questioned her, and there is no part of what she says that doesn't square with what is already known. Secondly, I have seen where she was, and her circumstances at Gilman's Cot, and I have no difficulty believing that no news escaped from such a place. Thirdly, there is no doubt she has the Gift, and it is an unusual Gift. You all know the signs. Fourthly, in my own doubt, I asked permission to scry her. She consented freely, and I found in my scrying no walls, no inhibitions, no scarred memory, no trace of any dealings of the Dark. Only confirmation that what she has said is the truth."

  "But we all saw her play last night," said Usted, a little sulkily. "Where, if she was in such a benighted place, did she learn such playing? For, even if it's allowed that we all know the signs, we also know that playing doesn't come without teaching."

  "There was a Bard at the Cot. He taught her. He didn't, however, teach her anything else. There are serious gaps in her Knowing, which will have to be rectified if things are to proceed. She doesn't even have the Speech."

  "His name was Mirlad," said Maerad suddenly. "He was a good man."

  "Mirlad?" said a woman who hitherto had sat silently, following the debate. "Maybe I knew him. There was Bard called Mirlad at Desor. He was a talented musician, but went to the bad: dabbled a little in the Dark Arts, and was cast out of the School. I never heard anything more of him."

  "He was kind to me," said Maerad sadly. "And anyway, he's dead now."

  "It seems that he was sufficiently punished, and perhaps redeemed himself, if indeed he was the same man," said Silvia, who had sat without speaking through the debate so far, a small crease between her eyebrows. "I think he was right to teach Maerad the way he did. Perhaps she would have been endangered if she had been taught the Arts. Myself, I believe Maerad's story."

  Oron stood again. "Is everyone here satisfied to the truth of Maerad's tale?"

  There was a murmur of assent. Usted and a few others still looked sceptical, but said nothing. Helgar stood up, smiling. There was no sign now of the malevolence that had so disconcerted Maerad on her entrance, unless it was in the honeyed tone of her voice.

  "Oron, by your leave, I am not satisfied," she said.

  The other Bards turned and looked at her gravely. Only Silvia studied the table, as if she did not trust herself to look at Helgar.

  "Yes?" said Oron.

  "I must say that this is an amusing fairy story," said Helgar. "An ignorant girl, a slave, and you wish to make her a Bard! By Cadvan's admission she is completely untaught. She probably can't even read. And we know nothing about her. Nothing!" Helgar looked around the table, and her face hardened. "Are we really about to admit her into the high circles of Barding, simply on Cadvan's say-so? Cadvan of Lirigon? How trustworthy is he, might I ask? Some of us seem to have longer memories than others. . . . I'm tempted to think it's all a bad joke. Or are Bards these days so credulous? Have we really fallen so low?"

  A muttering went around the table, and Maerad felt her temper rising inside her. She quelled the impulse to jump up and shout at Helgar. She looked across at Oron, but her face was unreadable.

  "Is that all?" Oron asked.

  "I think, with the greatest respect, that it is quite enough," said Helgar. "By common consent, we know this is a time for caution. Do we really want a cuckoo in our midst?"

  "I would suggest that an argument based on the traducing of a Bard's character is no argument," said Saliman, with an icy courtesy that was more cutting than any rudeness might have been.

  "Any other objections?" said Oron.

  A few Bards stood and echoed Helgar's sentiments. One, an older Bard dressed in green robes, went on for some length about the declining standards of Barding. Oron listened gravely, her face still expressionless, and at last silence fell. The Bards sat, their heads bowed, seemingly deep in thought. Maerad bit her lip, suddenly afflicted again with nervousness.

  "I have heard all that is said," Oron said at last. "Despite the objections voiced here, I take it on myself to overlook Maerad's lack of Knowing. I believe she is as she says, and I know of no reason to disbelieve Cadvan of Lirigon. I here name her Minor Bard of the School of Pellinor. She is to receive the proper teachings and rectify her ignorance of the Three Arts."

  An audible gasp ran around the table. For a split second Helgar looked amazed and furious, but she concealed it swiftly beneath a false smile. All the Bards stood and bowed to Maerad. Uncertainly, she stood also, and bowed back, wondering why Helgar disliked her so much. They sat down again, but Cadvan remained standing.

  "I have a request," he said. "I ask permission of the Bards to name me as her sole teacher."

  Another frisson went around the table, and a few whispers.

  "Why do you seek that?" asked Oron. "It's most unusual."

  "It's a little archaic, I know," said Cadvan. "But in these circumstances, I think such an arrangement would best serve Maerad. Although she is almost complet
ely ignorant in some areas, she is very far advanced in others. If she stayed at a School, I think it would not serve her Gift."

  "Can you take on such a responsibility?" asked Silvia. "I think your duties are already too onerous, and make you unsuitable. We can find a way of teaching that would suit her."

  "Indeed, Silvia, I don't doubt that," said Cadvan. "But Maerad has a Gift of unusual strength, and to reach her potential she requires tutoring that I am uniquely able to give her."

  "But can you balance that with her needs as a young woman? She needs to be protected so her Gift can come into its full flowering. And, Cadvan, you are not one who lives a protected life."

  "I know that, Silvia. Nevertheless, I have thought long on this. It was not chance, I believe, that I found Maerad when and how I did. I think she is my responsibility."

  "But perhaps you read the chance wrong, and take from happenstance what was never meant to be taken. I think, Oron, that Maerad should stay here and be tutored wisely in the Arts in a place where she can learn properly." She didn't say, instead of gadding about the wilderness with Cadvan, but it was clearly meant. Their argument had the air of repetition, as if they had been through these same points before in earlier conversations.

  "My heart tells me this is the right path," said Cadvan. "The ways of the Light are often beyond simple readings, and we must not dismiss them out of excessive caution. In our fear, we must not forget the strength that lies in trust."

  "But trust is a double-edged blade," argued Silvia. "And can invite unwisdom."

  "There was good reason for stopping the old system," interrupted Usted, who was still looking annoyed. "Bad training, the indulgence of spoiled students, and worse. I think it's a ridiculous idea." He snorted derisively. "Since when has Cadvan of Lirigon been known as a great teacher? Not in my lifetime." A number of other Bards murmured assent.

  "Where could she get better teaching than Innail, anyway?" said the green-robed man, whose name Maerad hadn't caught. "We all know the dangers of badly taught Barding. Young Bards overreaching themselves and causing all sorts of trouble. Cadvan should know better than anyone. No, no, we can't countenance this."

  Saliman had been studying the table. He looked up at this comment. "It does not do to speak ill of one of our greatest Bards," he said quietly. "Either we trust Cadvan of Lirigon, or we do not. I know of no reason why we should not trust one who has spent himself in the service of the Light. I believe we should listen to his promptings."

  Maerad was beginning to feel like a cow for sale in a market. She was grateful when Oron turned to her and said, "Maerad, what do you think?"

  She surprised herself when she said, without hesitation, "I'd like Cadvan to be my teacher."

  "And you say that freely, without coercion?"

  "Yes."

  There was a long silence. Then Oron said slowly, "I think I will grant this. I feel it is correct, however unusual. There is more at play in this than any of us understand, and in such times we ignore the promptings of such as Cadvan, or the freely given decision of Maerad, at our peril. I say this understanding both the risks and rewards of trust. Do you, then, Cadvan, take on the duties of teacher and swear to work always to the good of Maerad's Gift and the Balance, to teach her the Three Arts to the best of your Knowing, and never to betray her trust in you?"

  "I do," said Cadvan.

  "This then is witnessed by the Bards of Annar, and is binding until Maerad is made full Bard. Thank you for your time, Maerad of Pellinor and Cadvan of Lirigon. We will meet later."

  A number of the Bards who had objected to Cadvan were sitting at the table with their mouths open, and Maerad couldn't help admiring Oron's businesslike dispatch. She realized they were dismissed, and she left the Council Hall with Cadvan. As soon as the heavy door closed behind them, Cadvan laughed.

  "Sorry I didn't warn you, Maerad, but I couldn't. It wasn't going to be easy, but we got what we wanted."

  "What we wanted?"

  "Yes. You had to choose me as teacher, out of your heart, and freely. I saw Oron this morning, and those were her terms. I could not take it on without your consent. Silvia will not be pleased with me. She thinks you should stay here."

  Maerad felt a sudden pang of regret. "You mean we can't?"

  "I can't. And you must come with me, if you are my pupil." Cadvan looked at her swiftly. "I think we should talk. I'm hungry after all that business. We should get something to eat."

  Maerad opened her mouth to object that she hadn't agreed to leave Innail, but she realized she was very thirsty and thought she could tax Cadvan on that point later. They went to the buttery in Silvia and Malgorn's house, where Cadvan charmed some wine and bread and cheese from the cooks, and took their food out to the courtyard. It was sunny, and the stone bench was warm. They attacked the bread and cheese with relish.

  "It went well today, but mostly by the grace of Oron," said Cadvan. "I saw her early this morning, and we had a long discussion. The first thing was to get you named as Minor Bard of Pellinor, which should have happened when you were about six or seven, as I said—though some were implacably opposed to that, more than I expected. ... I need to think on what that might mean. Nothing good, I suspect. If they had not agreed, you would have been a Minor Bard of Innail."

  "What would have been wrong with that?" asked Maerad. She liked Innail.

  "Nothing in itself." Cadvan glanced across at her. "But Pellinor is your birthright, and that is your correct assignation.

  And now you are Maerad of Pellinor, as witnessed by the Bards of Annar, and that is an important step. The second thing, to make me your teacher, is even more unusual, and a bit more complicated to explain. Once Bards always sat at the feet of Mentors, but that was hundreds of years ago. Now more usually they enter a School and take on the name of the School that teaches them, unless they are born into one. Only if you become the First of the Circle, like Oron, do you take on the name of the School you work in subsequently."

  Cadvan took a huge bite of bread and chewed hungrily. "By the Light, I was more worried than I realized about that Council. You helped a lot."

  "I did?" said Maerad.

  "You were very indignant; no one could have faked that so well. And you weren't trying to please, as one who had designs might," said Cadvan. "It convinced those who might otherwise have doubted your name, more than anything I could have said."

  "You mean, I was an idiot."

  "No, of course not. I mean that you are who you say you are, and you made that quite obvious. You've made friends, Maerad, without realizing it. Enemies also. I've told you that there are Bards who are not to be trusted. You probably don't realize quite how good a musician you are. Your performance last night impressed many people, and that is no small thing among a hall full of Bards. It went a long way to ensuring your placement. But there are always those who are envious of talent. And worse."

  Maerad thought of Helgar and Usted, and some of the others. No, she didn't trust them, even if they were Bards.

  "So, why did you want to be my teacher?"

  Cadvan was silent for a while. "It's hard to explain, Maerad," he said at last.

  "But I'm just going to hang off your tail, slowing you down and causing you trouble...."

  "Yes, that's true." Cadvan smiled. "You don't know how true that is, Maerad, nor how dangerous the routes I take really are. Silvia is in many ways quite right. You've already had a taste of how I live, and now you've agreed to come with me, instead of sleeping in comfortable beds and learning the Arts with children half your age."

  "Then why?" Maerad felt like poking him. Sometimes getting a straight answer out of Cadvan was like pulling teeth. As if he read her thoughts, Cadvan grinned at her.

  "Maerad, my feeling on this is sure. There is a fatedness about our meeting, and I believe our fates are bound together in ways I cannot see. And I was speaking truth when I talked about your Gift. It is unusual, and I can teach you better than anyone I know how to use it properly."

/>   "What if I don't want to go? Can I change my mind?"

  "Yes, you can. I would not dissuade you, if you think it is wrong. But you should change it now, before it is too late, and only if you are sure in your heart that it is wrong."

  "So, if I'd rather stay here, that's not a good enough excuse?"

  "Not if you feel it is right that I am your teacher."

  "I don't want to leave Silvia."

  Cadvan looked at her sidelong.

  "Silvia is a woman who is easy to love," he said. "And she already loves you well."

  Maerad felt the rush of grief rise up again inside her. She could say nothing for a minute while she fought it down. At Innail, she had discovered a place she had already begun to think of as a home. Cadvan's easy statement that Silvia loved her made her insides flood with a painful happiness. Leave that? It was too hard; she had only just found it.

  "Silvia makes me feel. . . wanted," she said in a muffled voice. "I never felt wanted since, since ..."

  Cadvan said nothing for a long time.

  "Maerad," he said at last. "I will tell you a little of what I think and fear. I'm not leaving tomorrow; at the very least I'll wait until the Meet is finished. The more I know about what is happening in Annar, the better; it seems at this time, when things are changing so swiftly, news becomes old very quickly. In this week, you will have time to consider what to do, and whatever you decide, I will not impede. I will not take a pupil who resents or mistrusts the burden I place on her. For it will be a burden, make no mistake.

  "My feeling is more than that our meeting is fated. I have certain suspicions about who you might be. Perhaps now is not the time to share them, but it's fair to say that I think the Dark, if it knew of your existence, would be very interested in you. It won't be long before some others start putting one and one together and drawing similar conclusions to mine. The merest suspicion would be enough to ensure your death. Your story has already caused a lot of gossip, and these days even the walls have ears. I could have wished more than one Bard absent from that Council. News of your placement will spread fast; there is no stopping that now. I think if you stay here, you will be in more danger than if you come with me, who can protect you better than any other outside Norloch. And I fear that perhaps you could draw danger here, where none might otherwise be."