The Forgotten Beasts of Eld

by Patricia A. Mckillip

  Coren nodded. He glanced around at the silent ring of faces. “I should not trust any of you. But I do. I must. Wait until you see her, Eorth, Herne—you will understand how I could promise such a thing.”

  “I never will,” Eorth said simply. “But if you say she will not help us, then she will not. I can understand that much.”

  “The wonder of it is that she agreed to marry you at all,” Ceneth said, “since she feels that way about Tamlorn and Drede. She must have great courage—or great love—to come into this lions’ den with no one but you to protect her.”

  Coren smiled wryly. “She is very capable of taking care of herself. You have seen Ter Falcon.”

  “If she can call a Falcon who killed seven men,” Eorth said, “surely she can call Drede. Then we could—”

  “Eorth,” Bor grunted. “Be quiet.”

  Sybel turned away softly. She went back to Lynette’s room, where she found Lynette, her clothes, a tray of food, and five children to watch her eat.

  Rok married them that evening in the hall lit with candles held by the children of the sons of Sirle. In the semidarkness the fire billowed and crackled, the only sound in the great room besides Rok’s deep, polished voice. Sybel, dressed in flame-red, her hair coiled and braided into a crown of silver by Lynette, stood beside Coren, watching the firelight catch in the strands of gold in Rok’s hair, twine through the gold chain on his breast. Rok’s voice mingled like a deep forest wind with the breath of the fire; and as he spoke, Sybel’s thoughts melted backward to Maelga’s house where she had stood in front of Maelga’s fire two nights before, her hand in Coren’s, in the great heart of the mountain’s silence, listening to an ancient binding Maelga spoke, her ringed hands on their hands:

  “This bond I draw between you: that though you are parted in mind or in body, there will be a call in the core of you, one to the other, that nothing, no one else will answer to. By the secrets of earth and water, this bond is woven, unbreakable, irrevocable; by the law that created fire and wind this call is set in you, in life and beyond life...”

  And later that night, before they had left for Sirle, she had lain beside Coren watching the scattering of stars burn beyond the domed roof, listening to Coren’s breathing. And curved against him, she had felt the day’s darkness drain out of her, felt the weariness deep in her bones flow away. Finally she had slept, deeply, dreamlessly.

  “Now,” Rok said. “Give your names to each other.” “Coren.”

  She looked up at him and saw in the red-gold wash that lit his face a deep flame of laughter that had not been there before in his eyes. She smiled slowly, though she were accepting the challenge of it.

  “Sybel.”

  EIGHT

  * * *

  When the snow had melted from the warming earth, Rok spoke of building a garden at Sirle for Sybel’s animals. She drew plans for him one morning, pictures of Gyld’s cave, of the Black Swan’s lake, of the white marble hall itself with its great dome, and Ceneth’s son, Rok’s daughters crowded around her, listening to the tales of them.

  “Gyld requires darkness and silence; the Swan of course must have water. Gules Lyon and Moriah must have a walled place, warm in winter, where they will not frighten people and animals. I do not know how they will like being around people—they have all been hunted by men, especially Cyrin. In the Mountain they were secluded. But I cannot leave them alone there, prey to men and to their own impulses. You know how Coren was hurt by Gyld. That may happen easily again to someone less forgiving, and that would be dangerous, both for men and animals. Men may try to trap them, or kill them. I do not want them troubled.”

  “You care much for them,” Rok murmured and she nodded.

  “So you would, if you could speak with them. They are all powerful, lordly, experienced. I am very grateful for your help, Rok, and for letting them come here. I hoped for it, but I did not expect it.”

  “It is a collection worthy of a king’s dream,” he said, his gold-brown eyes regarding her equivocally. “I am not so loath to make Drede a little afraid.”

  Her eyes dropped. “I did not think so,” she said softly, and he shifted.

  “But we will not speak of such matters. There is a large, walled garden between the inner and outer walls that has run wild since the death of our mother. It was built as a place of quiet for her, away from her noisy sons. It has an inner gate, and an outer one beside the keep, opening to the fields. The children rarely play there; our wives have smaller private gardens. It will hold a small lake, many trees, a cave and a fountain for the dragon, but I do not know how to build a crystal dome for you.”

  She laughed. “If you can do all that for me, I will not ask for a crystal dome. I only need a place for my books, and those I can store in a room. They are very valuable. I should go back to Eld Mountain soon to get them, but I am so comfortable here it is hard to think of a journey.”

  “I am glad you are happy here.” He was silent a moment, while Lara climbed on the back of his chair. “Truthfully, I never expected to see you here. I knew how you felt about Tamlorn, and how Coren felt about Drede; I did not think you could reconcile your loves and hates.”

  She glanced at him, sketching idly in the margin of her paper. “I have no great love for Drede. Only he is more use to Tam alive than dead. And Coren—I know he has reconciled himself to Norrel’s death. But I know, too, he is a man of Sirle, and if you began another war he would fight, not against Drede, but for his brothers, as he fought for Norrel.”

  “But though we plot and scheme, I see no prospect of war. No doubt you and Coren will lead peaceful lives in Sirle, at least while Drede is alive.”

  Her pen stilled. “And then what?”

  Rok rose, moving to the fire, with Lara clinging to one powerful leg. “If he dies while Tam is young there will be enough scavengers lying in wait for that young boy’s kingdom,” he said bluntly. “This is not a quiet world you came down to; Tam must be learning that now, too. If he is shrewd, he may be able to learn to juggle power, giving and taking it. Drede will teach him, so he will not be helpless when Sirle begins to nibble at his kingdom one day.”

  Her black eyes were lowered, hidden from him. “You are indeed a house of restless lions...”

  “Yes, but we cannot spring; we have no support, we exhausted arms and men at Terbrec, and we are crippled by the memory.” He smiled, disengaging Lara and lifting her to his shoulder, where she sat clinging to his hair. “But this is not something I should be talking about with you. I am sorry.”

  “There is no need to be sorry. I am interested.”

  The door to Rok’s chamber opened, and Coren looked in. His eyes flicked between their faces.

  “What are you doing with my brother?” he asked Sybel wistfully. “You are tired of me. You hate my red hair. You want someone old, gnarled, lined—”

  “Coren, Rok is going to build me a garden. Look, we have been drawing plans. This is Gyld’s cave, this is the swan lake—”

  “And this is the Liralen,” he said, touching the graceful lines of her sketch. “Where will you keep that?”

  “What is a Liralen?” Rok asked.

  “A beautiful white bird, whose wings trail behind it like a wake in the sky. Very few people have ever caught it. Prince Neth did, just before he died. What is it?” he said to Sybel, whose brows had drawn in a vague frown.

  “Something Mithran said about the Liralen. He said—he said once he had wept, like I wept that day, because he knew that he could never have power over it, even though he might have power over anything else... I wonder how be knew; I wonder why he could not take it.”

  “Perhaps the Liralen was more powerful than he was.”

  “But how? It is an animal, like Gules, like Cyrin—”

  “Perhaps it is more like Rommalb.”

  “Even Rommalb can be called.”

  Coren shook his head, running his fingers down her long hair. “I think Rommalb goes where it wills, when it wills. It chose t
o come to you, to be bound to you, because it looked into the bottom of the black wells of your eyes and saw nothing there of fear.”

  “What is Rommalb?” Rok asked. “We have made no plans for it.”

  Coren smiled. He sat down on the table, pulled the plans toward him. Rommalb is a Thing I met on Sybel’s hearth one day. I do not think you would care for it at Sirle. It goes its own way, mostly at night.”

  Rok’s brows lifted. “I am beginning to think some of the tales you have been telling us for nearly thirty years may be true.”

  “I have always told you the truth,” Coren said simply. He laughed at Rok’s expression. “There are more dangerous things in Eldwold than troublesome kings.”

  “Are there? I am too old to meet anything more troublesome than Drede.”

  “Coren,” Sybel said, “I should go to Eld Mountain for my books.”

  “I know. I have been thinking about that, too. We can leave tomorrow if you want, make a slow journey in this beautiful season.”

  Rok’s voice rumbled in his throat. “It may be dangerous. If Drede does not trust Sybel, he may be lying in wait for her at Eld, expecting her to return for her animals.”

  “I do not have to go for them,” Sybel said. “They can come themselves, when there is a place for them here. But I must have the books.”

  “I could send Eorth and Herne for them.”

  She shook her head, smiling. “No, Rok, I want to see my house again, my animals. I will call Ter, and he can spy for us. If there is any danger, he will warn us.”

  They left for Eld Mountain at midmorning the next day. The winds came cold from the icy peak of Eld, raced across the unbroken plain of the bright sky. The trees in the inner yard were beaded with the hard, dark buds of new leaves. Rok and Eorth went out to watch them leave, their great cloaks billowing like sails in the wind. Eorth said in his slow, deep voice, holding Sybel’s stirrup as she mounted,

  “Ceneth and I could go with you, Coren. It may be wise.”

  “I,” Coren said, “would like a few days of peace and privacy with a white-haired wizard woman. Do not worry about us. Sybel will transfix with one eye anyone who dares accost us.” He turned his horse, one hand raised in farewell, and like a bolt out of the blue sky Ter landed on his arm. Rok laughed.

  “There is your guard.”

  Coren grimaced at the taut, heavy grip. “Go sit on Sybel; I will guard myself.” He glanced at Sybel and fell still, seeing the look pass from woman to bird like a bond. Sybel gave a murmur of surprise.

  “What is it?”

  “Tam. He left Mondor this morning for Eld Mountain. I wonder that Drede let him go. Unless—”

  “Unless,” Rok said, “Drede knows nothing of his leaving. Extend an invitation of our hospitality to Tam, if you see him.”

  “We had him once,” Coren said briefly. “And we lost him. Let it be.”

  Rok smiled. “I am sure Drede has trained him well. Besides, when you reach the Mountain, he will no doubt be on his way home again. Go. Enjoy your journey. Send Ter to us if you need help.”

  They rode slowly across Sirle, through the forest land, spending the night in a tiny farmhouse on the very edge of the Plain of Terbrec. They reached Eld Mountain in the early afternoon of the next day. The winding road was damp with melted snow; the Mountain blazed against the blue sky; winds, tangy with the scents of snow and pine, tasted like some rare wine. Sybel drew back her hood, let her hair stream like white fire in the wind; the brush of its chill drew blood beneath her clear skin. Coren caught her hair, wound it through his fingers, drew her head back and kissed her, and sunlight splashed hot on her closed eyes. They rode to the white hall and found the gate unlocked.

  Tam came out to meet them.

  He walked slowly, Gules Lyon at his side, his eyes wide, uncertain on Sybel’s face. She slipped from her horse with a startled exclamation.

  “Tam!” She went to him, took his face between her hands. “My Tam, you are troubled. What is it? Has Drede—has he done something?”

  He shook his head. Her hands dropped tight to his shoulders. “Then what?” His face was winter-pale, smudged; his eyes rimmed with sleeplessness. He put his hands on her arms, then looked past her to Coren, who had dismounted to take Sybel’s horse.

  “Is he angry with Drede?”

  Her fingers tightened. She said quickly, startled. “He knows nothing. But you, Tam, what have you learned? How?”

  He shook his pale head wearily. “I do not understand anything. Drede said you were going to marry him, and I was happy, and then he—suddenly something frightened him, and he would not speak of you; and when I told him you had married Coren, his face went so white I thought he would faint. But I touched him, and he spoke, and—he is so frightened it hurts me to see him. So I came to you to see if—what he was frightened of. I knew you would come, if Ter told you I was here.”

  “Tam, does he know you are here?”

  “No. No one does.” He looked over her shoulder as Coren came to them and said stiffly, “I see one of the seven of Sirle. I am taught to fear you.”

  Coren said gently, “Ter sits on my shoulder and takes meat from my fingers, leaving the fingers behind. To him I am only Coren who loves Sybel.”

  Tam’s hands dropped from Sybel’s arms. He sighed, his face loosening. “I hoped she would marry Drede,” he murmured. “Are you alone?”

  “Ter is with us,” Sybel said. “It is fortunate for you Coren’s brothers did not come. Tam, half of Eldwold must be looking for you for one purpose or another. You should not run around Eldwold as freely as though you were still herding sheep barefoot with Nyl.”

  “I know. But Drede would not have let me come, and I wanted to see you, to know—to know that you—that you still—”

  She smiled. “That I still love you, my Tam?” she whispered. He nodded, his mouth crooking a little ruefully.

  “I still have to know, Sybel.” He rubbed his face wearily. “Sometimes I am still a child. Shall I take your horses?” He took the reins, murmured soothingly to the horses as he led them to the shed. Sybel dropped her face into her hands.

  “I am sorry I ever brought him and Drede face to face,” she said tautly.

  Coren drew her hair back from her bowed face. “You could not have kept him safe forever,” he said soothingly. “He was not destined by birth or the circumstances we created at Terbrec, for a quiet life.”

  “I would bring him back with me to Sirle except he would not want to come. He needs Drede. And I will not use Tam to punish Drede.” She checked suddenly, hearing her words, and lifted her head to see the bewilderment in Coren’s eyes.

  “Punish Drede for what?”

  She drew a breath and smiled. “Oh, I am beginning to sound like Rok or Eorth, talking about Terbrec.”

  “Have they been troubling you?”

  “No. They have been very kind. But I do have ears, and I have heard the language of their hate.” She bent to Gules Lyon, standing patiently before her, and looked deep into his golden eyes.

  Is it well with you?

  Well, White One, but I have heard a disturbing tale about that King. Tell me what must be done and I will do it.

  Nothing. Yet. I am taking all of you to Sirle.

  We expected it.

  She rose, a little taut smile on her lips. Coren said softly,

  “You seem so far from me sometimes. Your face changes—it is like a clear, still frame, powerful, untouchable.”

  “I am no farther than the sound of my name.” She took his hand and they walked to the house. “Gules said they expected to be moved. I am glad Rok wants them.”

  “Rok, my sweet one, is shrewd.” Cyrin Boar greeted the opening door and he stopped, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Cyrin. You see how I have overcome a mountain of—glass.”

  The silver-bristled Boar said in his sweet voice, “Have you? Or did the witch remove it herself for her own purposes?”

  “No doubt I did,” Sybel said quietly. “For a
purpose I could not resist any longer. Cyrin, we are going to Sirle.”

  The Boar said privately, Does he know to ask why?

  No. I will not have him troubled. Put a guard on your wise tongue.

  Who will guard the tongue of the Wise One of Sirle when his blind eyes open?

  She was silent a moment, her fingers tight on Coren’s hand. I ask only for your silence. If you cannot give it, and you wish to be free, I will free you.

  Caught between the riddle and its answer there is no freedom.

  “Sybel,” said Coren, and she came back to him. “The Lord of Wisdom is at times disturbing,” she said softly. “But you know that.”

  “Yes, I know. But not to the undisturbed mind.”

  She looked at him. “I am not always honest, Coren.”

  “I love you precisely because you are. Tell me what he said that troubled you.”

  “It is myself troubling myself over events that have passed. Nothing more. Like Tam, sometimes I am still a child.”

  Tam came in then with Ter on his shoulder. He bent to stroke Moriah at Sybel’s feet. “Have you come back here to live?” he asked hopefully.

  “No, Tam. I am moving my books and animals to Sirle.”

  His hand checked, hovering between Moriah’s ears. He said softly, not looking up, “Sybel, it will be hard for me to come and see you there. But perhaps you could come sometimes to Mondor.”

  “Perhaps,” she said gently.

  “Also—” He looked up, shaking his pale hair back from his eyes. “May I please talk to you awhile?”

  She glanced at Coren who said courteously, “I will sit here by the fire and talk to Cyrin.”

  “Thank you,” Tam said and followed Sybel, his shoulders bowed, into the domed room. Gules Lyon padded behind them. Sybel sat down on the thick fur and drew Tam down beside her.

  “You are growing. You are nearly as tall as I am.”

  He nodded, twisting the soft fur around his fingers. His pale brows drew together. “Sybel, I miss you very much, and it hurts me that—that you chose to marry Coren, not because of him, but because to other people now we are not Sybel and Tam but Sirle and Drede, who have always been enemies. Things used to be very simple, and now they are so complicated I do not know how they will end.”