The Naming (22 page)

"Dernhil?" said Maerad. Cadvan's face drained of blood.

"And after the questioning, what then?" he asked.

"We know not, Lord Cadvan. He was found in his room first light this morning, and none will know what passed there, unless they journey through the Gates to the Hidden Land."

Cadvan bowed his head.

Afraid, Maerad said, "Do you mean he's dead?"

"Alas, yes, Lady Maerad," said the raven, and nodded its head. Maerad went cold with shock.

"You bear black news," said Cadvan heavily. "Is the Lady Silvia sure they were Hulls?"

"The signs are certain," said the Raven, turning its head to fix him with one of its eyes. "None others of the Dark have the powers to pass hidden through the Gates of Innail. But I also saw them, although they saw not me."

Cadvan was silent for some time.

"Lord Kargan," he said. "You have already done much, but I seek your help still. We need to pass through the Innail Let, and I know not if the Dark has gathered its spies there. It may be that it is yet unwatched, because they think that we are still at Innail. I would be grateful if you could fly there and tell me what you see."

The bird fixed Cadvan again with its unblinking stare.

"I will be happy to do this thing," it said, and flew away.

Cadvan and Maerad continued along the road. Cadvan was ashen, and his hands shook slightly on the reins.

Maerad could not believe the news; it couldn't be true. Dernhil killed! And then, behind the numbness of shock, rose an inchoate fear:
They're looking for me. They're close behind. They've already murdered Dernhil. . . . And in Innail, which had seemed so safe, so impregnable.

"This is hard news!" Cadvan said at last. "Alas, he was my friend, and I loved him, and this is a grievous loss."

"I didn't know him for very long," said Maerad awkwardly. She felt too stunned for tears. "But... he was my friend also." She stopped, feeling helpless at how inadequate words were to express what she felt. They walked on, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

"I heard Dernhil last night," said Maerad, suddenly remembering the terrible cry that had woken her from her sleep the night before.

"You heard him?"

"I woke up, because I heard someone call me. I heard him call my name. I thought it must have been a dream. A bad dream." Her voice caught, but she continued. "But I know now it was Dernhil."

Cadvan was silent again for some time.

"I spoke of you with Dernhil, Maerad," he said. "I know he loved you. He was one of those who can see clearly into another's soul, and his feelings were true. Such things have little to do with brevity of meeting. And in that lies our hope: for the Dark understands nothing of love. And if, as seems almost certain, the Hulls sought news of you, maybe his love protected you as nothing else could."

Maerad thought of her last meeting with Dernhil, and of the enryu he had sent her. "Perhaps we will meet again," he had said to her, and now there would be no more meetings, no more poems, no more conversations by the fire. She wished, with a sudden fierce regret, that she had not been so afraid when he had kissed her, that there had been more time for them. How carelessly she had assumed there would be a future in which hurts could be mended! And now there was none.... "It's my fault," she said in a muffled voice. "If he hadn't been teaching me ..."

Cadvan glanced at her. "You did not kill him," he said, with a harsh edge to his voice. "It's not your fault there is evil in this world." He stopped abruptly, as if he feared what he might say, and sighed heavily. "I am thinking that there is a knowledge known only to Bards, which is how to kill themselves without weapons. They might sometimes use it, if nothing else prevails against a forcing of their minds." For a while they both said nothing. Maerad wondered what he meant by "forcing of their minds."

"It is unutterably terrible," said Cadvan at last, "to hope that Dernhil killed himself rather than be murdered by those evil things; yet that is what I hope."

They walked on, saying nothing more. Soon they saw Kargan again, flapping toward them. He landed as before on Cadvan's arm.

"The road is safe, Lord Cadvan," he said. "I have asked the creatures, and they have told me. Two Dark ones passed this way three nights ago, they said, and the forest stirred; but now only the men of Innail disturb the way."

"Thank you, Lord Kargan," said Cadvan gravely. "I shall ever be in your debt. Take news of us to the Lady Silvia, and our thanks and love, and tell her we will be soon out of Innail Fesse."

The raven took off, heading toward Innail, and Cadvan lifted his arm in farewell. Then he turned to Maerad.

"The Dark is at our very heels," he said. "We must fly now like the wind. Imi,
esterine nil"

The mare snorted and stamped her feet, and then they were off at a full gallop. The mountains swept in close to them, and the road was before them, straight as an arrow, and then they were through and out of Innail. The wide land of Annar lay before them, and the bright river through it, like a silver snake.

When they were well past the Let, Cadvan slowed down. Imi, for all her pluckiness, was lathered with sweat and beginning to stumble. They paused briefly, going down to the river to water the horses and stretch their legs and hastily eat the lunch that Marta had packed for them that morning. Was
it really this morning?
thought Maerad to herself, for it seemed an age ago. The landscape stretched before them on a slight decline, and the mountains rose behind, swaddled in cloud. Otherwise the sky was clear and the sun warmed their backs and steamed the sweat off the horses. The Imlan River ran to their left, broad and rapid, sometimes diving into cuttings, sometimes lazily meandering between shallow banks, and to their right was a tall forest of oak and ash. The road ran by the river but more straightly leaving the river to its wider turns and curls, and here was made of level stone, with low stone markers at the side.

"The Annarens laid this road when the Schools were first built, nine centuries ago," explained Cadvan as they rode along. "Such roads link all the Schools, although some have fallen into disuse and disrepair. The West Road runs all the way to Norloch, and there is the North Road and the South Road and others to all the Seven Kingdoms."

They continued along the road for another few miles, and then Cadvan, looking up and down to make sure nobody saw them, led them swiftly off onto a small track that vanished quickly into the forest. A coolness fell over them; the sunlight fell in dapples, and Maerad saw squirrels vanishing up the trunks of the trees as they passed, and a rabbit propped in a glade, its white tail bobbing into the trees as they drew closer. Many of the trees had massive trunks, and the high crowns of the biggest covered an area the size of a large house.

"This is the Weywood," Cadvan said. "It's one of the oldest in Annar, a remnant of the ancient forests that once stretched from sea to mountain. It is a wild place, and so deserves caution. Human beings have little place here."

Riding through the trees, Maerad had a powerful sense that the forest shut her out. It seemed to watch with a wariness that was not quite unfriendly. The feeling increased as they moved deeper into the forest and the trees thickened and less light fell through the tangled canopy, but she felt no fear. She thought that if she were not with Cadvan she might feel differently; although he said it was not an evil place, she sensed a power that could be hostile if anything threatened it.

The shadows began to lengthen, and immediately a chill fell around them. Cadvan was looking around as he rode, hunting for something, and at last he nodded and led them slightly away from the track to a small dingle like the Irihel where she and Cadvan had stayed the first night after her escape from Gilman. This one was of rowan trees closely growing in a half circle so their branches met and intertwined above; the smooth grass within shelved down to a spring that bubbled out of a ledge of rock, on top of which grew briars and woodbines. Half hidden by this growth was a smooth cave with a sandy floor, where people had clearly made camp many times before. It even had a rough hearth made of loose stones.

"This is a Derenhel, or Woodhome," said Cadvan, showing her the cave. "It is a Bardhome. There are many such throughout Annar." He spoke to the horses, unsaddled them, and loosed them in the dingle to graze. In all their travels Maerad never saw Cadvan tether his horse, nor had need to tether her own; he asked that they stay close, and they never wandered. Then Cadvan and Maerad took their packs and entered the cave, and there, after they had gathered some dead branches, Cadvan lit a fire, and the gloom that had enveloped both of them since Lord Kargan's news lifted a little. They did not at first speak of Dernhil's death, as the subject was too raw for mere words, but the knowledge lay beneath all their speaking, a shadow of grief and fear.

Maerad felt very stiff and sore after the past two days' ride.

She stretched, grimacing. "Ow! I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow," she said. "Let alone ride. I feel like I've been beaten all over with sticks."

"A couple more days and you'll be used to it," said Cadvan. "But I can do some Bardic tricks to get rid of the worst of the stiffness." He told Maerad to stand before him, and then passed his hands around her body without touching her. Where his hands passed Maerad felt a tingling warmth, and the aches lessened. She could then sit down without discomfort, although she still felt exhausted and a little sore.

"Magic!" she said, stretching her legs out in front of her.

"So some call it," said Cadvan. "Bards call it the Knowing. Of which there are certain gaps in your knowledge, young Minor Bard." He grinned through his tiredness. "We'll eat, and then I should start your lessons."

"There are so many things I would like to know," said Maerad. "Oh, lots of things. Why could I understand the raven, if I don't have the Speech? And what is the Speech, anyway? How can I know it without knowing it?"

"The Speech is a lifetime's explanation," Cadvan answered, taking food out of his pack. "As for Lord Kargan, you understood him because he spoke your language. They are the only beast that can speak thus to humans, and so are revered. The ravens of Innail are of ancient lineage, and wise as Bards. But first," he said, tossing her a meat pie, "eat!"

They munched in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire and the sounds of the horses grazing and whickering to each other as the night darkened. Then Cadvan leaned back against the wall of the cave, his eyes following the shadows as they danced on the stone. He looked tired and strained, but his voice betrayed no inner turmoil.

"First, Maerad, is the Knowing. At the center of the Knowing is the Speech, which all Bards carry within them as their birthright. They say that some Bards are born speaking it, and learn human speech only later, in the normal way; but usually a Bard comes into the Speech as a young child. It is not always so, and you are one of the exceptions. Each Bard comes to the Speech in her own way, and in her own time. It cannot be taught."

"Oh," said Maerad, feeling slightly disappointed. She had thought vaguely that Cadvan might make some incantation, or that she would have to undergo some kind of ritual, and then, all of a sudden, she would be gifted with the Speech. "Then I just have to wait? What if it doesn't happen?"

"It will, in its own good time. In the meantime, the Speech is hidden within you."

"What happened when you found the Speech? How old were you?"

For a second Cadvan's face brightened, and Maerad had a brief vision of how he must have looked as a child. "I remember it well," he said. "I was a very little boy then, about five years old. I was swimming in the river with my brothers and sisters on a hot summer day, and suddenly a fish spoke to me. I was so surprised I jumped out of the water and ran screaming to my mother."

"What did the fish say?" asked Maerad curiously.

"It said, 'You swim like a frog on a stick. Get some fins, leggy one!'"

"And then your mother knew you were a Bard?" said Maerad, laughing. "Was she a Bard?"

"Yes, to your first question. And no, she wasn't." Cadvan's face closed, as if the subject pained him, and Maerad asked no further questions. "So," he continued, "at the center of the Knowing is the Speech. I can teach you some of the Knowing, but it will not make proper sense until you have the Speech. However, you are at an advantage because you do have music, and it is said that at the center of the Speech is the Silence of Light, and that music is the only possible expression of that mystery. Which is why music is so revered among Bards."

Cadvan threw another branch on the fire and poked it, so a trail of sparks flew up to the roof of the cavern. A moth flew in, drawn by the light, and circled clumsily around the cave, throwing huge winged shadows over the stone as Cadvan spoke.

"The Knowing is divided into the Three Arts, all of which are of course interconnected and are, in reality, the one stream. They all serve the Balance, the equipoise of the world, which was determined when time itself was an egg: but these are mysteries that we can talk about later, and are not fully understood even by the wisest. We call the Three Arts the Reading, the Making, and the Tending. The Reading is the knowledge of the High Arts, the histories, the languages, the song, the lore, the tracing of the high forces that shape and bend this land. It's what is most commonly thought of as magic, but it is also as simple as reading and writing. The Making is exactly what it says: it means the making of music, painting, building, jewelery smithing, writing, dancing. The Tending is the knowledge of growing, husbandry, forestry, childcraft, wilding, herbs, healing, bird lore, and so on." He paused and stared at the ceiling. "There are sometimes debates on where a particular branch of Knowing belongs in the Three Arts. For example, a Bard who makes a thing of power draws on two of them: the Making and the Reading, and if it is a healing thing, a stone, for example, it might draw on all three. But myself, I am not interested in such debates."

Maerad listened, staring into the fire, fascinated. "And what are you?"