Earlier they had passed a number of farmers weeding their fields, but now the land was empty. The doors of the nearest farmhouses were all shut and barred. Farther away Clovermead could see groups of farmers filing stealthily past distant fields of corn, toward the foothills of the Reliquaries. Dozens of different groups went this way and that, but they all inched farther and farther from the Abbey.
“Those must be bear-priests around the Abbey,” said Saraband. “When I was young, a band of Low Branding cavalry surprised the nuns’ men who guarded the Abbey and burst in to ravage the Valley. I saw the farmers flee to the hills then, too. Demoiselle, should we turn aside?”
“You can, Cousin,” said Clovermead. She struggled to keep an even temper as she spoke to Saraband. She wanted to snap at her. Any excuse would do. “I don’t mean that to be nasty. It was Mother’s idea that you come along, not mine. If you want to go to the hills with the farmers, I won’t blame you. But it’s my fault Mother got wounded, and I’m not going to give up just yet. I’ll see if I can get through to the Abbey.”
Saraband shook her head. “You are either brave or boneheaded.”
“Both, I think,” said Sorrel. He winked at Clovermead.
“I suppose I have to stay with you,” said Saraband. “You’ll get yourself wounded if you keep going, and I’ll be needed to patch your wounds.” She laughed tremulously. “Please be careful. Remember we’re not all as brave as you, Cousin.”
“Although we are as boneheaded,” Sorrel added cheerfully. “Otherwise we would leave her to her own devices.”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll be cautious as anything.” Clovermead grimaced at Saraband. “You’re on Brown Barley. Run if worse comes to worst.”
“I am not a coward,” said Saraband with dignity. Then she looked toward the Abbey and she shivered again.
They came to a last arbor of apple trees and peered across a lush meadow to Silverfalls Abbey. To one side of it were the waterfall and the pool, which lapped at its walls, flowed underneath the Abbey, and emerged from the other side as a stream that rushed down the Valley toward the Heath. The Abbey itself was a stout rectangle whose walls were gray granite slabs lashed together with strips of black iron, with arrow-slits carved into the walls every dozen feet. The buildings inside the walls were made of red bricks and sported gaily painted tile roofs.
The ring around the Abbey was not bear-priests but a hundred black bears. They padded restlessly outside the Abbey walls and by the shore of the pool. One or two scratched idly at the Abbey gates; others wandered a little ways into the surrounding arbor. They passed each other silently.
They made no sound at all. They didn’t growl and they didn’t roar. Clovermead pricked up her ears, and she realized that they didn’t even breathe. She looked more closely at their fur and she saw that it was roiling shadow. Sometimes it slid aside and she saw white bones underneath. The bears smelled of rotting flesh. Clovermead looked into their eyes and all she saw were empty eye sockets.
“They’re dead,” she said, horror-struck. She was in a cold sweat. What have you done, Mallow? she called out in her head.
The grave is no sanctuary, whispered Mallow. My servants must come when I summon them, no matter how deeply they sleep.
Poor bears, thought Clovermead. Have you no decency at all, Mallow?
Let them suffer as I suffer, said Mallow harshly. I don’t care. Then he laughed mockingly. You are to blame for their predicament, Demoiselle. You made your bargain, you let me into your mind, and I saw why you were heading to Silverfalls. Did you think I would let you cure Melisande? You had to be stopped. I need my living servants for Chandlefort, so I called up dead ones to stop you. Their agony is your fault.
You raised them, not me, said Clovermead. I’m not to blame for everything! But there was only laughter in her mind, and then Mallow was gone.
“Can you persuade them to let us past?” asked Sorrel.
“I don’t want them in my mind,” Clovermead began, then stopped. It’s my fault again, she thought drearily. Every choice I make seems to end up with someone else suffering. She shuddered. “I’ll try.” She sent out her mind to speak to them.
She felt cold like a knife and smelled rotting flesh all around her. There was pain, agonized and exhausted wakefulness, and a terrible hunger. She wanted to be warm, she wanted relief from the terrible dryness, she could not hear or feel or smell the world, only see it through shadows. A terrible compulsion rested on her, and she moved to Mallow’s orders, moved to Ursus’ roar—
Sorrel had seized hold of her, and she struggled in his grip. She was trying to walk out of the arbor to join the bears. “Don’t go, Clovermead,” said Sorrel. “Don’t go. I’m sorry, please stay with us.” She was flailing against him, but he held on to her with a grip of iron. “Are you there, Clovermead?”
Clovermead went limp. “I’m all right. I just—” The pain crowded in on her again, and she forced herself away from it. “There’s just enough of them left inside their bones to know what’s happened to them.” She was crying.
Cautiously Sorrel let her go. “You will not go rushing to join them?”
“No,” said Clovermead. She growled long and low. “I don’t feel sorry for Mallow anymore. He doesn’t deserve my pity. He knows what it’s like to be up and walking with no blood in your veins, no heat to warm you—” She gulped as she felt her own heart pump lazily slow. “It’s unforgivable.”
“They’ve killed a nuns’ man,” said Saraband. She pointed to a body lying in the grass. The dead soldier wore a silver crescent on his uniform. Saraband’s face was green. “I wonder if I knew him?” She looked around the meadow. “I think I see more. Not everyone got behind the walls in time.” She looked up to the parapets. “So near! Isn’t there any way we can get past these bears?”
“They are very thick around the door,” said Sorrel grimly. “I would not risk it, Lady Saraband.”
“I wish there were a way to let them know we’re here,” said Clovermead. “Maybe we could tell the Abbess to ride out of the walls so we could talk to her. But I don’t know how we can keep the bears from noticing.” Then she remembered how silent it had been inside the bears’ minds, and she snapped her fingers. “They can’t hear! We should stay out of sight, but maybe we can yell a message to the Abbey.”
“I believe I could throw my voice to the walls fairly easily,” said Sorrel. “Ventriloquism is an old Tansyard trick.”
“Really?” asked Clovermead.
“No. I am very frightened of these dead bears, so I make bad jokes. Please forgive me.” Sorrel stared dubiously at the meadow. “It is a long way and my voice is not so loud. I do not think they could hear me in the Abbey at this distance.”
“I could roar,” said Clovermead, “but they wouldn’t know what I meant. They’d just think I was another bear.”
“I can sing,” said Saraband.
“You can dance, too,” said Clovermead. “You’re quite entertaining.”
Saraband grimaced. “Thank you, farm-girl. Nuns know how to sing very loudly and very clearly. They use the knowledge to praise Our Lady properly in their hymns, but they can also communicate with each other that way. I learned a fair bit of song-speech before I left the Abbey.” She looked at the distance to the walls, and she turned to Sorrel. “I would have to go into the meadow to be heard properly. Cadet, can we both ride there on Brown Barley? If the bears decide to chase us, then you can have us gallop away before they catch up to us. Clovermead, can you keep an eye on us from the meadow’s edge?”
Now the two of you get to ride together. Clovermead tried to banish that thought. “I’ll come to the meadow with you,” she said. “That way I can try to distract them if they come after you.”
Sorrel and Saraband got onto Brown Barley, and Clovermead walked by their side. Cautiously they emerged from the arbor. The bears looked at them but did not move. They went ten yards, twenty yards, thirty yards, and then Saraband began to sing.
He
r voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it penetrated through the twilit air. The liquid syllables of the Moontongue rose and fell. Saraband sat erect, absolutely still but for the opening and closing of her mouth and the expansion and contraction of her diaphragm. Sound filled the meadow.
Hurts, Clovermead heard in her mind. Pain. A bear stood up and tried to howl. No sound came out. He snuffled in the air but smelled nothing.
“I think they know you’re there,” said Clovermead. “They can’t hear you, but they can feel the music. It scrapes against them somehow, like hot needles. Try to hurry.” Saraband nodded and sang a little louder.
People scurried on the walls of the Abbey. Clovermead saw nuns’ men with pikes dash to the parapets, then nuns. A nun sang a snatch to Saraband, listened, then went running. “She’s going to get the Abbess,” said Saraband. She stopped singing, and the bears sat down again.
Help, Clovermead heard. Please, Lady. Moving bones and no rest. Tears trickled down Clovermead’s cheeks.
A small figure came to the walls. She wore black robes from her neck to her feet, and an elfin head peeped above her jet-black dress. Even at this distance Clovermead could tell that she was a wisp of a woman. She sang and her voice filled the air. The leaves of the arbor behind them rustled. The sound of her voice was beautiful, but it throbbed with old pain. It roused the bears again, to howl silently. Now they looked around them with maddened, empty eyes, searching for the cause of their agony. Saraband sang to answer the distant Abbess, and the bears took a few steps toward the three of them.
Clovermead turned into a golden bear. She walked in front of Sorrel and Saraband and waited for the bears to come. Before her and behind her Saraband and the Abbess sang to each other, and Clovermead was surrounded by a sea of music. It was beautiful and it was torture to the dead bears. More and more of them wandered into the meadow, their jaws snapping and their throats rubbed raw by their noiseless wails. Clovermead stiffened herself against the pain and the stench, then let herself see through the eyes of the nearest bear. She saw a shadowy wasteland. The trees of the orchard were a distant blur, but she could almost see the three of them in the murk. Soon the bears would be able to make them out.
Lady, free us, the bears cried. Let us rest. Please, Lady.
Saraband sang a query, and the Abbess answered. Saraband sang another; the Abbess sang again. The bears howled in torment. Now they saw Clovermead and Brown Barley, Saraband and Sorrel, and they bounded toward them with a clatter of bones.
“Are you finished?” asked Sorrel. He had gathered Brown Barley’s reins in his hand, prepared to ride in an instant.
“One minute more,” said Saraband. She sang with redoubled strength.
Silence! howled the bears. Beauty. Life. Song. Not ours. We hate. They ground their teeth together. Bite down. Kill. Join us in dust.
Stop! cried Clovermead, and she sent her mind once more into their agony. We don’t want to hurt you. Just leave us alone.
Bite down, the bears roared. Kill. Hurt. Free us, Lady.
They were very close—Clovermead could see their open jaws—and Saraband was still singing. I will free you, Clovermead called out in desperation. I promise I will. I don’t know how, but I’ll do it. I won’t let any of you stay subject to Mallow, or Ursus, or anybody. Dead or alive, I’ll free you all.
The bears stopped. The nearest was only ten yards away. He stared at her with empty eyes and scoured the grass with his claws. Swear?
I swear it in Our Lady’s name, said Clovermead. I don’t know a better way to spend my life. I promise you. As she spoke, she felt a blaze of joy that pierced through the chill thickening in her flesh. She clutched it to her. I’m responsible for an awful lot that’s gone wrong, Lady, she prayed. I know I haven’t been worse than foolish, mostly, but let me be responsible for doing something right as well. I want to do something good in this world.
Hurry, said the bear. Hurt. He turned around and roared at his fellows. The shadow fell from his jaws, there was only the pure white bone in the night, and Clovermead actually heard a thin calcified echo of a bear’s roar. Guard Abbey. Our orders. Nothing more. He paused a moment, then rattled out another growl. Leave singer alone. The other bears stopped. They howled more pain that scraped in Clovermead’s mind, then stepped away.
Saraband stopped singing. “Let’s go,” she said, and Sorrel began to ride and Clovermead began to run. The dead howled behind her, and Clovermead nestled her burden and her joy to her heart. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I said I’d free them and I will. She fled from their pain, but she told herself, It won’t be forever. I swear it, Lady.
Saraband whispered instructions to Sorrel and he turned toward a path that led away from the Heath and into the Reliquaries. They rode among deserted farms and into the foothills as the twilight deepened into night. Clovermead loped beside Brown Barley, and the three of them didn’t stop until they had reached a meadow a league into the Reliquaries.
Sorrel helped Saraband off Brown Barley, and she slumped to the earth. Clovermead turned human. “What did she say?” she asked.
“She told me that the bears surrounded them early this morning,” said Saraband. “She had no idea where they came from until I told her of Mallow Kite. Then I told her of Milady’s illness. I couldn’t be very detailed in song, but I believe she got the gist. She said she had no cure for Milady. Her knowledge is of medicine. She doesn’t know the poisons of the dead.”
“Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?” Clovermead felt despair sweep over her. “All those Yellowjackets died and she can’t cure Milady?” I bargained away one third of my heart and I haven’t helped Milady at all?
“No. But she told me how she can be cured.” Clovermead felt a wave of relief flood through her. “The Abbess says there’s a well in the back courtyard of Kite Hall, which Our Lady blessed when she walked through Linstock. It’s supposed to lift enchantments, break curses, cure wounds caused by any sort of uncanny man or beast. She said we should get a cup of water from the well and bring it to Milady. She thought that might cure her, if anything on this earth can.”
“‘Thought’? ‘Might’?” Clovermead shook her head. “Doesn’t she know?”
“There’s been no need for such water the last hundred years and more. The Abbess cannot promise that the well retains its power.”
“Milady didn’t trust the Abbess,” said Clovermead. “Are you sure she isn’t sending us on a wild goose chase? The way Milady talked, I thought I’d have to apologize to the Abbess for an hour straight and wear out my knees before she’d agree to help.”
“Milady is not always a good judge of character.” Saraband shrugged her shoulders wearily. “If she isn’t telling the truth, then Milady is doomed.”
“Then I suppose we have to go traipsing into the mountains,” said Clovermead. “I guess it’s better to clutch at straws than have no hope at all.”
“So much for my instructions!” said Sorrel. “‘Bring the Demoiselle safe to Silverfalls Abbey,’ they said, and I am sure they would have added, ‘If you can’t get her to Silverfalls, at least hog-tie her and keep her safe in some out-of-the-way barn.’ But I have no rope with me.” Sorrel sighed. “Somehow I always seem to have trouble obeying my orders where you are concerned. I suppose I will have to satisfy myself with trying to keep you safe as you bound into the Reliquaries. Lady Saraband, did the Abbess mention any dangers on the road to Kite Hall?”
Saraband shook her head. “Mallow’s returning to Kite Hall,” said Clovermead. “A bear told me so.” Sorrel groaned. “I’m not happy about it either. I suppose he’ll be just delighted to let us skip over to his well, draw up a bucket that will rattle and creak the entire way, and wish us a good journey back to Chandlefort when we’re done. Where is Kite Hall, anyway?”
“A few days’ ride from here,” said Saraband, and Clovermead almost screamed. She glanced helplessly at the waning moon. Her mother had so few days left. “I can lead you there,” Saraband continu
ed. “I was there once, when I was young, and the Abbess also gave me directions.”
“Thank Our Lady for small favors. Did you sing all that time just to say that?”
“The Abbess and I had some words for each other as well,” Saraband said quietly. “We haven’t seen each other for seven years.”
“Couldn’t you wait for a better time? The bears—”
“Seven years!” Saraband’s tears glistened in the moonlight. “Do you grudge me one minute to talk with my mother?”
Clovermead’s mouth was agape and so was Sorrel’s. “You’re her daughter?”
Saraband laughed, tremulous and bitter. “You call me Cousin, but you don’t know how we’re related? My father was Athanor Sconce, only cousin of Milady. The Abbess is his widow, and I am her daughter.”
My cousin Athanor came with me, Lady Cindertallow had said. He loved the hunt as much as I did, though he had excused himself from hunting the winter before, in order to dote on his newborn babe with his wife, Meadowlark.
Their newborn Saraband.
Meadowlark entered the Silverfalls Abbey soon after. She has never forgiven me for their deaths. Do you think she raised her dead brother from the grave?
“Your mother is Mallow’s sister. You’re his niece.” Saraband nodded, and Sorrel whistled long and low. “Seven years. In Our Lady’s name, what’s kept you away from your mother for so long?” She tried to imagine what it would be like if Waxmelt had shut his mouth, shut the door of Ladyrest, and locked them both against Clovermead. Just thinking about the possibility made her want to scream in horror and loneliness.
“That is not your business,” said Saraband. And she shut her mouth and said nothing more.
Chapter Eleven
Embraces in the Reliquaries
Saraband checked Clovermead’s wounds when they woke up the next morning. “You can take off your bandages,” she said. “You’re well again. Your mother wouldn’t have sent me along with you if she’d known how quickly you heal.” She turned abruptly away from Clovermead. Clovermead stretched and didn’t feel the slightest pain. She left the cloth strips on the crumpled grass where she had slept.
In the Shadow of the Bear Page 36