"Yes, it is time you two left this isle." Nerili paused, and cleared her throat. "First, I have arranged passage for you from Thorold to Gent, with Owan d'Aroki." Maerad's face brightened at the mention of Owan, and then clouded as she remembered her seasickness. "He is willing to take you, and you know he is brave and trustworthy. He will pick you up from Nisa harbor four days hence."
"That is excellent, Neri," said Cadvan. "I thank you for your help. But I assume you have other news. The emissaries to the Seven Kingdoms have returned?"
"They have. And it is much as we guessed: all the Schools of the Seven Kingdoms have been given the same edict from Norloch. And none of them is happy about it. Like us, they have decided to bypass the challenge and wait for Norloch to break the covenant, if that is indeed what Enkir plans to do. But I am sure now that they will be allies, should the worst happen. I have not dared to send similar emissaries to Annar."
"Innail would be of like mind," said Cadvan. "And I think more than a few others—Til Amon, Eleve, Il Arunedh, Arnocen..."
"Yes," said Elenxi. "But we cannot be so sure of Annar. The ties between Annaren Schools and Norloch are much closer than with those in the Seven Kingdoms; Enkir is still, after all, First Bard of Annar. And as times darken, with ill news from both north and south, I do not feel we can depend on their seeing rightly that Norloch betrays the covenant of Barding. Circumspection is the wisest path, I judge."
"If word of these talks got out, we would be considered open rebels," added Nerili. "Which, unless it is forced to the point, I would rather avoid. We are certain now that there are spies in Thorold; we know of at least one within the School. We have been openly warned by Norloch that they have information that we have assisted you, and that this will be considered a provocation to war. Unless we hand you over, of course. We have naturally denied all knowledge of you. But the noose draws close."
Cadvan drew his lips tightly together. "I see. I suppose it is not surprising that word should have gotten out."
"There has been a very certain sighting of both of you in Amdridh," said Elenxi dryly. "And I believe there are rumors that you have been seen in the Suderain as well. They have no proof of your whereabouts. And they will get none." He grinned wolfishly, baring his teeth, and Maerad felt a chill.
"Why not?" she asked with a sudden anxiety.
Elenxi turned to her, and for the first time Maerad perceived in him the implacable ruthlessness of a warrior. Involuntarily, she shivered. "I dealt with the spy," he said.
"How did you know that he was a spy?" she said.
"Come, Maerad, you are not so simple," he answered. "There are ways to see into a man's mind. He shall not betray us again."
"Did you kill him?" Maerad felt distressed; she didn't want anyone killed on her account. Elenxi met her eyes, and his stern face suddenly gentled.
"Maerad, I would have thought you would be less queasy, knowing what it is that we face. But no, I did not kill him. He has been punished, nevertheless. And it will be a time before he is forgiven. You, above anyone, should not waste pity on him."
Maerad didn't feel like pursuing the question any further and did not ask who the spy was. She didn't want to know. It disturbed her; she understood Elenxi's harsh logic, but at the same time part of her resisted the absolute judgment she saw in his face. It was too easy, after all, to make mistakes, even for the best of reasons. Who was to know what was right?
"Pity is never wasted," said Cadvan softly. "Even the worst deserve pity. Even the Nameless One himself is a pitiable being." Elenxi gave him a piercing glance.
"Perhaps," he said gruffly. "I will not argue with the wisdom of the Balance. For all that, this man was betraying you, and us, for gold. There is not much to pity in that."
"Whatever the argument, it is true there are spies, and that Norloch strongly suspects you are here," said Nerili. "So you must leave as soon as you can. Elenxi will guide you to Nisa, and then you must head for Gent. Gahal is expecting you and will advise you on how to proceed north. Myself, I advise that you go by sea, along the coast, despite the perils. 1 think crossing Annar is more dangerous still."
There was a reflective silence.
"Have you been looking in the Library?" asked Cadvan, changing the subject.
"I have," said Nerili. "I have ransacked it from top to bottom and consulted all the most learned librarians. There is nothing I could find that could help you."
"Nothing will be written down," said Ankil, who hitherto had sat in silence, following the conversation alertly.
"Probably not," said Nerili, giving him a curious look. "I would be surprised, Cadvan, if you found anything in any of the other Libraries."
"Nelac had read something of the Treesong," said Maerad. "So there must be something written somewhere."
"The reference he found was very vague," Cadvan answered. "But I think Ankil is correct." He told Nerili and Elenxi of the Split Song, and they listened with deep interest. "That is the nearest we have come to any clue," he finished.
"Do not look for nuts in a mulberry tree," said Ankil. "I think you must move wholly from the realm of the written to the realm of the remembered."
Maerad felt her heart quicken within her. She was sure, in a deep part of herself, that there was a profound truth in what Ankil said. Maerad too had come to writing late; until that spring she had known nothing of written language, and like Ankil she felt closer to oral lore than most Bards.
"Perhaps the Knowing is kept in the north," she said. "And that's why we have to go there. To talk to someone."
"Yes," said Cadvan. "But who?"
No one had any answer to this, so Nerili changed the subject. "The emissaries did not bring only bad news," she said. "One carried something for you two." She reached into her bosom and pulled out a sealed letter. "This comes from Saliman of Turbansk."
Maerad cried out gladly and reached out for the letter, forestalling Cadvan, who had also put out his hand. He checked himself and sat back, although he was clearly as impatient as Maerad to see what the letter said. Maerad looked curiously at the seal, which bore the emblem of the School of Turbansk—a sun surrounded by flames—and then broke it with her fingernail, unfolding the parchment. The letter was written in Saliman's clear, sure hand.
"Read it out to us, Maerad," said Cadvan.
Maerad hesitated, and then slowly began to read, Saliman's mobile, laughing face rising vividly in her mind as she spoke.
"It says, 'Maerad, Cadvan—greetings, my friends! I write in haste, as the emissary from Thorold seeks to leave this hour. But I was never so glad as to hear that you are safe in Thorold. My thoughts have turned your way each day since last we saw each other, and to hear no news is hard: it breeds phantoms.' Oh, Cadvan," she said, turning to him impulsively. "They never got our news!"
"Birdnews oft goes astray," said Cadvan. "Sometimes they are apt to forget their messages. What else does it say?"
"I hope that you received our note, and are not so anxious as we have been,'" Maerad continued. "Well, we didn't. Aren't there better ways than birdnews? Anyway. 'Hem and I arrived safely within three weeks of fleeing Norloch, and Hem has been accepted into the School here. He is, I fear, having trouble settling in; he is the only Annaren student in his level, and I fear he is not making friends. Despite this, he is well, and still eating pro—' Hold on, I can't quite read this. Oh, it's 'prodigiously, and I think he has grown two hand spans since our arrival. He has good teachers, and despite the initial difficulties, which are only to be expected, I am optimistic about his progress.
"'Cadvan, I have heard of Nelac's imprisonment, which grieves me deeply, and of the ultimatum from Norloch. Indeed, we have had a similar demand here. It did not take our Circle quite by surprise, since I had already told them of Enkir and we had already formulated our response. I also hear that you and Maerad are declared outlaw. I cannot tell you how this saddens me. I wish I could say I was shocked, but I was less sanguine about Norloch than perhaps you were. I have lo
ng been troubled by the dimming of the Light there. But we have spoken of this.
" 'I am kept very busy here, since there is talk (and more than talk) of an invasion imminent from the east. Our scouts tell us of armies of dogsoldiers massing along the borders of Den Raven, and worse rumors I won't burden you with. The days are darkening, my friends. But no one—neither Norloch nor the Iron Tower—will take Turbansk with ease. Amdridh, too, stands firm. But I fear we are alone here in the coming storm, and we know we can expect swords rather than help from the north, and perhaps will be squeezed between the jaws of a vise. We are in the midst of some vast plan, and soon all the pieces will be moving across the game board. We will fight, as we have always done, to protect our own, and to safeguard the Light, but I fear it will be a bitter fight, and I do not know that we shall prevail.'" Maerad faltered, and she stopped for a little while. Her audience waited patiently until she started again, her voice rough with emotion.
" 'But these are gloomy words, and while such great hearts as beat around me do not quail, I shall refuse to despair. Our plight is desperate, I believe, and will become more desperate still, yet there is still much beauty in this world, and much love. And so it is my thoughts turn to both of you, houseless in this torn world, and wish for you all blessings and all help along your dark road, and I pledge we will meet and drink the friendship cup again together in this world. To that day, and from my heart, Saliman. Before I finish, Hem begs me to say, Maerad, that the fruits here in Turbansk are as marvelous as the birds told him, and that he is getting fat. And he too sends his love, and wishes you were here. S.'"
Maerad folded up the letter and sat silently, with her face downcast. She missed Hem so fiercely it felt like a physical ache. No one said anything for a while, and then Ankil stood up. "I have to attend to the goats," he said. "Pray, make yourselves at home, Bards. Do you seek to stay the night? Or will you be departing today?"
"We should leave today, before the light begins to fail," said Elenxi. "We can get down to Velissos by dusk and start for Nisa tomorrow."
"Yes, we can no longer tarry." Cadvan stood up, his tall figure suddenly impatient, as if he intended to leave that moment. "My heart tells me that time grows short."
Maerad shook herself, pushing back her tears, and stood up as well. There was work to be done.
Soon they were packed and ready to leave Ankil's house. Ankil embraced them both fondly as they stood on his porch, looking for the last time over the magnificent vista from his home.
"I shall miss you both," he said. "It has been good, having your company. May you fare well."
"And you also," said Cadvan, smiling. "Your hospitality has been of the very best."
"You are welcome anytime," said Ankil. "I like your touch with the goats. And you too, Maerad. Though next time, do not summon any lions!"
Maerad laughed and kissed Ankil's cheeks, sniffing his fresh, almost astringent smell, clean and neutral as mountain grass. She looked around the flower-starred meadow, mentally farewelling each goat by name, and then she sighed and picked up her pack and stepped down to join Elenxi and Nerili, who awaited them at the foot of the steps.
The previous weeks had been a holiday, a blessed restoration, a chance to rectify some of Maerad's worst areas of ignorance. She was no longer the naive girl who had left Gilman's Cot only that spring: she knew enough now to be much more than a passive passenger of fate. She and Cadvan were outcasts, fleeing both Light and Dark, seeking a mysterious goal of which they knew almost nothing. But now, instead of quailing before her future, a part of Maerad leaped to meet it with exhilaration and a bittersweet gladness that they were beginning at last.
Annar
I have seen the darkness frail with unending stars
Through the twining beeches of Calicider
When daybirds settled to their roosts and the red deer slept in the bracken
And I have smelt the cedars of Malinan at moonset
I have heard the chorus of frogs in the Caln Marish
Lighting blue candles among the bog mahoganies
And the sphagnums whose pale flowers shimmer in the green night
I have heard the plovers piping among the mangroves of the Aleph
And it made me glad
I have walked the fields of Carmallachen when the kine are sleeping
And also in the wide meads of Lauchomon and Lukernil
And I laughed when I caught the moon bathing in the Lake of Til Amon
As if no one saw her silver tresses spreading in the waters
0 Annar that I love, once darkness was your comely other face
0 Annar that I love, now night's refuge is broken
And all creatures hide from your terror
From Songs of Annar, Dormisian of Til Amon
Chapter VII
THE IDOIRAVIS
THEY spent that night at Velissos, planning to set off for the coast early the following day. Elenxi was to guide them to Nisa, a tiny harbor in the north of Thorold, where they would meet up with Owan and thence sail to the peninsula of Gent. Their way led them through the Thorold mountains, but to Maerad's relief, Elenxi said they did not need to cross over them: a deep winding valley, known as the Snake's Belly or the Idoiravis, would take them to the northern plateau without any rock climbing. From there it was a relatively simple ride to Nisa, which would take them three or four days at most. Snuggling into her bed, Maerad pondered the difference she saw in Nerili. The subterranean shifts of feeling between the older Bards that Maerad had found so disturbing seemed to have vanished altogether. They now spoke together as old friends will, easily and fondly.
Perhaps as a result, Cadvan seemed less constrained with Nerili. Maybe Nerili understands something she didn't before now, Maerad thought. About what the Dark is, inside as well as outside. Maybe she's forgiven Cadvan something.... But it felt impertinent to speculate any further, and that was her last conscious thought before she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
They rose before the sun, when fog wreathed itself between the pines and larches that straggled up the hills, and they saddled and loaded up the horses they had left at Velissos nearly a month before. After they packed, they had a quick breakfast. Nerili farewelled Maerad and Cadvan in the tavern's front room, booted and cloaked for her own journey to Busk, her long dark hair streaming down her shoulders.
"I will not keep you," she said somberly, kissing Cadvan and Maerad formally on their foreheads. "I send you with all our blessings and all our hopes. Only you, I feel it in my heart, have any hope of unriddling this strange quest. You will find help on your road, perhaps when you least expect it, as much as you find danger. May the Light protect you!"
"And you, also," said Cadvan. He smiled his rare brilliant smile and kissed Nerili's hands. "All is not dark, Neri, not yet. And though we walk through perils unnumbered, we will carry with us the blessings of those who have given us their friendship and love. And that is a shield from the worst despair, in all places—even in the dungeons of the Nameless One himself."
Maerad thought she saw a faint flush rise in Nerili's cheeks, though she held herself as proudly as before. "That seems a little grandiose for my humble blessings," she said. "But if you say it is so, then it is so, since you have been in such dungeons and I have not."
Nerili turned then to Maerad. "I give you no gifts but the blessings of Thorold," she said. "I do not wish to burden you. Go well!"
"The gifts you have already given are more than enough," Maerad answered. "May the Light shine on your path." A catch in her throat took her by surprise, and she turned hastily and walked swiftly to the door, where Elenxi was standing impatiently, tapping his foot. They swung onto their waiting horses, and soon the village of Velissos was hidden behind them in the folds of the hills.
They rode steadily all day, following the westward track out of the village. The shadows grew shorter and shorter before them until they shrank to black pools beneath the bellies of their horses, and then slowly stretched beh
ind them as they blinked in the long, level shafts of the sinking sun. Their way led them steadily higher and higher into countryside that was almost completely uninhabited. They passed only a few solitary huts. Their path was a vertiginous track through a scrubby landscape littered with huge lichened boulders and tumbles of smaller rocks. It was unusually desolate for that fertile island.
"We call this place the Bones, I Lanik in the tongue of the Isle," said Elenxi as he lit a fire for their camp that night. "Have you seen a stream today?"
Maerad thought, and realized she hadn't.
"By some trick of the hills, all streams fall on the other face of the ridges. And there are no springs. The only water that comes here falls out of the sky. It is said that long ago the spirit of the place offended the Lamedon and was punished by the banishment of the waters."
Despite this, Maerad thought the next day, this hungry land had a curious beauty; the naked rocks were rich in colors— mauves and pinks and deep purples and white—and they caught the light in curious and interesting ways. Toward afternoon they entered a broad valley, the snowbound peaks of the central range of Thorold rising sheer on either side of them. Now, for the first time in more than a day, she could hear running water; streamlets dashed down the sides of the valley, meeting farther on to make a wide, shallow river that ran over a bed of smooth pebbles toward the northern coast of Thorold. Their path met the river and ran alongside it.
"Soon we enter the belly of the snake," said Elenxi, looking over his shoulder. "The Idoiravis."
Maerad felt an obscure shiver run through her at his words. "Are there bandits here?" she asked. It reminded her a little of the Broken Lands near Milhol, a notorious haunt for such thieves.
"There are no bandits in Thorold, my friend," said Elenxi, grinning over his shoulder. Nevertheless, they instinctively drew closer together as they passed under the ominous shadows cast by the towering cliffs on either side.