The Bone Queen

by Alison Croggon

  When Enkir had challenged Milana the night before, claiming that his allegiance to the Light was beyond question, Cadvan had felt no doubt that he was speaking the truth. Enkir’s magery had blazed with a fierce flame in the mindmeld when they had worked together to banish Kansabur, pure as diamond. No shadow could find a home there, surely. Part of Cadvan – an unworthy voice, he acknowledged to himself – wished that Enkir had been tainted. To have the Dark clinging inside his soul would humble him, and if ever a Bard needed humbling, it was Enkir.

  But, for all his faults, Cadvan didn’t doubt Enkir’s honesty: he was severe, pitilessly so, but no one had ever known him to be less than utterly truthful. If he said he sensed no diminution in his Knowing, it must be the case. The man was swift-tempered, and he wielded his power with an inflexible will, but no one could be less apt to the wiles of the Dark. If there was little kindliness in his judgements, they were also untempered by self-interest or malice, and the stern passion of his long devotion to the Light was written on his face. Nelac had once said, after a stinging session with the First Circle of Lirigon during which Enkir had told Cadvan exactly what he thought of him, that if Enkir judged others harshly, he reserved the sternest judgements for himself. Nelac had also said, with an ironic glance, that perhaps they disliked each other because they were too alike.

  Cadvan sighed and dragged himself out of his warm bed, thinking that if Enkir was a vision of his future as an old Bard, he should probably travel back to Jouan and learn mining. He dressed slowly, enjoying the thick carpet beneath his toes, the whisper of silk underclothes against his skin, the warm air of the heated chamber. Milana certainly ensured the comfort of her guests… He was reluctant to leave: while he was alone in his room, he could indulge the fantasy that he was merely visiting, a Bard like any other Bard. But that’s what it was: an indulgence. He squared his shoulders and made his way downstairs.

  He found Dernhil in the dining room, where he was piling a plate with green salad and white cheese and freshly baked rye bread, dark and soft as earth. “You’d better hurry, if you want to eat,” Dernhil said. “I have a rare appetite this morning.”

  “It’s the mountain air,” said Cadvan, taking a plate and doing the same. “That, and days of short vittles and hard ground.”

  “I’ve had more than my share of that these past months,” Dernhil answered. “When all this is over, I’m planning to retire to Gent, where I’ll not stir from my rooms except for meals.”

  “It wouldn’t be unpleasant to stay here,” said Cadvan, through a mouthful of bread. “The ceiling of my bedchamber is some sort of masterpiece.”

  “It is Pellinor,” said Dernhil. “It’s to be expected.”

  They finished their meal, and then, as neither Nelac nor Selmana were to be seen, they decided to go for a stroll. Outside the door, Dernhil stopped and looked across the Inner Circle. A pale winter sunshine lent the paved stone a fugitive gold, and glanced off a fine statue in the middle. It was of Maninaë, when he had returned from his journey beyond the Gates, to the Empyrean: he was on one knee, his face raised to the heavens, his long hair falling down his back in graceful curves of stone. One hand touched the ground, and the other was stretched before him, empty, and on his face was an expression that was at once calm and filled with unassuageable yearning.

  “I’ve always loved that carving,” said Dernhil. “It seems right to me that Ilborc chose to depict Maninaë at that moment: not in his triumph, striking down the Nameless One, but instead with the sorrow of knowledge and acceptance, understanding his mortality at last…”

  Cadvan glanced at him. “Ilborc understood human sadness,” he said. “Few have surpassed him in the art of sculpture.”

  “Aye. His work is one reason why I love coming to this School.” They began to walk across the Circle. “Cadvan, I was thinking about our discussion last night. It troubles me that we reached no firm decision.”

  “It was very inconclusive. But at least Enkir has been brought to Milana’s way of thinking.”

  “Most unwillingly, it must be said. Do you believe we can trust him? You know him better than I do.”

  “I will never enjoy his company,” Cadvan said. “But, yes, I believe we can trust him. And he is a formidable ally in the struggle with the Dark.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” Dernhil walked a few paces, frowning. “But still… Something in my heart misgives me. Why did he so object to being scried?”

  “No Bard is willingly scried,” said Cadvan. “It’s a hard thing.”

  “As we both know.” Dernhil smiled briefly at Cadvan and then shook his head. “Ah, it’s of no matter. I dislike his arrogance. It’s likely nothing more than that.” He walked on restlessly. “I’m wondering if we did right to come to Pellinor.”

  “None of us can return to Lirigon,” said Cadvan. “Where else could we go?”

  “I know. But I feel at a loss again. It was good, in Jouan, knowing what to do and who to fight. Now I just feel like we’re back poking sticks at fog.”

  “Do you not feel the Dark gathering?” said Cadvan. “I do, all the time. It’s like a pressure in my mind. It went away for a couple of days after Jouan, and it was such a relief. But now it’s coming back, like a storm under the horizon. And it’s looking for us. The Dark will want revenge.”

  Dernhil turned his face away and was silent for a time. “I sense it, but vaguely,” he said. “A distant threat. Perhaps it’s simply what I wish were the case. I don’t doubt your Knowing, Cadvan. Not for a moment.”

  They walked on without speaking for a while.

  “Do you think the Dark seeks us here?” asked Dernhil.

  Cadvan shrugged. “It wouldn’t be hard to guess where we were heading, after Jouan. I don’t doubt Likod is looking for us. Word will be out soon that we are in Pellinor, in any case. Milana scorns to hide from Lirigon: she is making her disavowal of the Circle’s judgement very plain. Which is why it’s encouraging that Enkir sides with us, whatever his disapproval.”

  “He did say that he didn’t believe that you were a servant of the Dark,” said Dernhil. “Which, coming from him, is some concession. It will force the Circle to think again.”

  “Aye. I’m worse than that: a failed servant of the Light.” Cadvan laughed, but there was a bitterness in it. “Sadly, he is right in that.”

  “That’s where I differ with Enkir,” said Dernhil. “In fact, I think he is completely wrong. I saw what you did in Jouan.”

  “Yes, I struck down the Bone Queen, and saved us from what might have been a terrible death,” said Cadvan. “But employing the Black Arts is hardly an argument for my being a Bard of the Light.”

  “No,” said Dernhil, and now he was smiling. “I wasn’t thinking of that, although you know very well you made that sorcery for good reason, and you can’t tell me that it didn’t cost you more than you will admit. I was thinking of young Hal, and how you helped the villagers there. Jonalan told us what you did after the explosion in the mine. They love you for good reason, Cadvan. And that can only be the work of the Light.”

  Again a silence fell between them, and they made their way back, both wrapped in thought. On the threshold of the guesthouse, Dernhil looked up at the sky. “I think our little bit of sunshine will soon pass,” he said. “I smell a cold rain on the wind.”

  Cadvan clasped his shoulder. “Thank you, Dernhil,” he said.

  Dernhil’s eyes lit up. “What did I do?”

  “For what you said before. It comforts me.”

  “Good.” Dernhil opened the door, bowing Cadvan before him. “You are very awkward to comfort. I’ve been trying ever since I decided that I liked you after all.”

  Cadvan smiled. “I warned you I was made of spikes.”

  On their return, the housemaster told Cadvan and Dernhil that Milana awaited them in the music room. This was a large, comfortable chamber on the ground floor. On one wall was a mural of a wintry landscape, where a dozen wolves with white pelts played beneath a
copse of bare trees. The wide windows were hung with curtains of blue Thoroldian silk, and looked out over the Inner Circle, where the first drops of rain were beginning to patter down.

  Everywhere was evidence of the room’s use. In one corner there was an elaborately carved wooden harp, of the style that were played in the far north of Annar, and many other instruments, hand drums and zithers, flutes and rebecs, were placed on a shelf on the far wall. Cadvan felt an itch in his fingers and thought of his own lyre. How long since he had taken it from its case? He had packed it, as he always did, even when he went to Jouan, but it was so long since he had played that he wondered if he had forgotten the skill.

  Milana and Nelac were seated on a couch, deep in conversation, and the two turned when Cadvan and Dernhil entered. “Selmana is still abed, I’m told,” said Milana. “I’m loath to disturb her; I know how it feels to return to a warm bed after a hard journey! She is yet young and needs her sleep. But in any case, I wanted to speak privately to you three.”

  “About Selmana?” asked Dernhil, sitting down beside her.

  “Yes,” said Milana. “Nelac knows her best, but you all have spent time in her company. Do you think she has been completely frank with you about this meeting with the Elidhu?”

  Cadvan looked surprised. “I’ve no reason to think that she has hidden anything,” he said. “What should she conceal? She didn’t even know she spoke to an Elidhu.”

  “I’ve no doubt that she did speak to one,” said Milana. “Enkir is right: we know so little of these folk, and although they have sometimes intervened in human affairs, they have not been seen in Annar for a long age. Do you think her bewitched?”

  Nelac shook his head. “Not bewitched,” he said. “But I think something has changed in her since her vision in Jouan. She is like a burning glass: through her, I could see the presence of shadows I couldn’t otherwise perceive. But now, it’s as if that glass is filled with a blinding light.” He paused. “I will say that I sense no trace of the Dark in her.”

  “I see none either, but I confess I am troubled,” said Milana. “In any case, whether it portends harm or no, I think this vision of hers must remain secret, or else other Bards will come to distrust her.”

  “She seems to me like a young girl in love for the first time,” Dernhil said slowly. “Perhaps that is a kind of bewitchment.”

  “In love, you think?” Nelac leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

  “I only said, seems,” said Dernhil. “But that light, I have perceived it too, and it is tremulous and joyous and unafraid. It is a beautiful thing.”

  “If she has indeed fallen in love with an Elidhu, then she is imperilled,” said Nelac.

  “How do you know that it means peril?”

  “Dernhil, don’t be obtuse. She might as well have fallen in love with a wildfire, or a storm. Even if it intends her no harm, it might destroy her. Immortals do not understand death.”

  “Who among us knows what immortals understand?” Dernhil stood up and walked restlessly to the window. The rain had now swept in and was beating on the panes, and the trees of the Inner Circle thrashed in the wind. “Why must we always fear what we don’t know?”

  “It is well to be cautious, rather than to be sorry later,” said Milana. “But you speak as if you understand something of this girl. Tell me what you perceive.”

  “In Selmana?” Dernhil turned around and leaned against the wall. “I see what all of us do, I think. A Bard who has the passion of Making in her. She is young, but she is wise beyond her years, beyond even her own understanding of herself. She is stronger than she knows.”

  Milana met his eyes. “Dorn says much the same thing,” she said. “He thinks she is key to this crisis, although his Knowing will not tell him why. The Pilanel do not distrust the Elidhu as Bards do, although they fear their power.” She hesitated. “It is true, is it not, that Selmana and Ceredin are cousins?” Nelac nodded. “Dorn also told me that the Pilanel say that those with the Sight carry the blood of the Elidhu.”

  Nelac’s eyebrows rose. “That is not something I have heard before,” he said. “But it wouldn’t be unlikely.”

  “Both of them were born with strong Gifts,” said Dernhil. “And both had the Sight.”

  “Neither are from a Barding family,” Nelac said. “A long line of smiths and cheesemakers, if I recall rightly. Few of us know our lineages, and almost no one can trace back through the Great Silence.”

  “It’s said that there are people of Elidhu blood in the north,” said Milana. “The minstrels of Pellinor Fesse have many songs about women and men who disappeared into the mountains, lured by the beauty of an Elidhu, and who returned many years later leading a child by the hand…”

  “No Bard songs?” said Dernhil.

  “Bards wouldn’t sing of such things, even if they were true,” said Milana. “Such stories became too shameful, after the Great Silence. But Dorn has made a study of the Elementals.”

  Dernhil cast a speculative glance at Milana. “Has Dorn any thought on who Selmana’s Elidhu might be? She would give no name.”

  “Names don’t matter to the Elidhu in the same way they matter to us. They simply are, and need not call themselves anything,” said Milana. “My guess is that she is the Moonchild, who is spoken of as one of the Elidhu who came to Afinil. But there are countless Elidhu who had nothing to do with Bards, and are not spoken of in the records. It could be any one of them.”

  “The Moonchild?” said Cadvan. “That one we call Ardina?”

  Milana nodded. Cadvan thought she seemed reluctant to speak further about the Elementals. She turned the question. “I don’t know what the castle was, that Selmana spoke of,” she said. “I know of no such place in any tale. But it seems to me that Selmana saw the Gates of the Empyrean.”

  Again the Bards were silent. “These are deep waters,” said Nelac. “They go beyond the knowledge of Light and Dark.”

  “Aye,” said Milana. “There is much at stake here, and it is vital we move rightly. But I feel clearer now, after speaking to you. Selmana must be part of what we do. Enkir speaks strongly against it, but I think he is mistaken. If she has caught the notice of an Elidhu, then we must include her.”

  “And what are we to do?”

  “I fear an attack, and soon,” said Milana. “My first thought is to defend Pellinor, but we must also seek to destroy or banish the Bone Queen. This is the other thing I wished to discuss with you.” Milana fixed her eyes on Nelac. “I want to be very clear about what it is we face. If Kansabur is divided, each part is weaker, as we all know. And it seems to me that some of these divisions are large, and some are small: they are not equal parts. At least one has been destroyed completely, after the scrying of Cadvan and Nelac. And at least one is powerful enough to appear to you in Jouan. We don’t know if she has gathered all of herself together, or if she remains divided.”

  The others nodded.

  “The longer we wait, the more she can re-collect herself and arm against us. So to strike sooner rather than later is our aim. The Dark must know already that you three are in Pellinor and even now I feel it gathers against us. I have set Bards to watch through the valley, and they will alert us if there is any sign, even the most trivial.”

  “You are ahead of me, then,” said Cadvan. “I was going to urge you to do just that.”

  “I must look to my people. I hope they will take no harm from this, but they must be warned so they may prepare themselves for any conflict.” She paused, and Cadvan fleetingly saw a deep sadness in her face.

  “You must take special care, I think,” said Nelac. “Likod would especially seek to destroy you. And if he could break even Bashar…”

  Milana met his eyes, her mouth set in a stern line. “I have taken thought of that. I may venture myself in this desperate game without conscience, I think. I am not so certain about drawing the malice of the Dark upon others, but I see no choice.” She was silent a moment. “Before even you ca
me here, I sent a rebuke to Coglint of Lirigon, taking issue with the judgements of the First Circle. I have sent bird news this morning of your arrival here, and of my intention to recognize each of you as Bards of the Light, in no way complicit in the murder of Bashar. They will hear of that even as we speak. I am hoping that Pellinor’s defiance means that the enmity of the Dark is turned from Lirigon towards us.”

  Dernhil, watching her from across the room, drew in a sharp breath. “I see your gamble, my lady,” he said. “And I salute you.”

  “It is a gamble,” Milana said. “I hope with all my heart I make the right throw.” She swept her gaze across the three Bards. “Is there anything in what I have said with which you disagree? Or anything you would like to add?”

  “No,” said Cadvan. “I have felt the will of the Dark, as a constant and growing oppression, since we left Jouan. And I wonder, since wards did not serve in Lirigon, how to protect Pellinor against an incursion like that we suffered there. Likod can step past any wards we place, and we can’t trace how he did it.”

  “It seems to me that he stepped between the Circles,” said Nelac. “Perhaps even as Selmana does.”

  “Then we need eyes in the Shadowplains as much as we need them in Pellinor,” said Milana.

  “You are forgetting the Abyss,” said Dernhil.

  “But the Abyss is locked.”

  “I think it may not be.” Dernhil looked down at his hands. “I am no great scholar of the Circles, and I certainly know less than any of you. But why do you say the Abyss is locked? Didn’t Ceredin say that all the Circles were bleeding, each into the others?”