by Tad Williams
He took out the Book of the Aedon his mother had given him, and by the light of the fire read one of the Hymns of the Precentor out loud. The creature curled sleeping on his cloak did not seem much moved by the Book, but the familiar words reminded Morgan of sitting in the chapel between his mother and his father, listening to Father Nulles, and that was a memory worth falling asleep to.
* * *
Qina thought Little Snenneq was the finest young man she had ever met, far better than anyone else on Mintahoq or any of the other mountains of Yiqanuc. He knew so much more than any of the other Qanuc men her age, but could—with coaxing—admit he did not know everything. Most endearing of all, he admired her parents as much as she did. She had never imagined she would find someone who fit her needs so perfectly.
But with all that said, sometimes she still felt a powerful urge to hit her nukapik with a large, heavy stick. “But surely I should be the one to cast the bones,” he was saying for perhaps the third time. “It would be excellent practice for me.”
“You will make my father angry,” she warned him.
As usual, once Snenneq had a grip on something, he was not inclined to let go easily. “But I have a special duty to Prince Morgan . . .”
“You have a special duty to listen and learn.” It was a relief to her to speak her own tongue. Qina had grown tired of being the one who could barely express herself to the lowlanders. “And as far as I have seen, this ‘special duty’ is all on your side. Morgan the prince did not agree. And now you have a duty to do what my father, the Singing Man, says . . .”
“Nobody honors your father more highly than me—” he began again.
“Qina, Snenneq,” Binabik called from the far side of their forest campsite. “I have thrown the bones. Come and join me for talk.”
Her mother Sisqi was off bathing herself in the creek, but Qina and Snenneq settled themselves beside the circle Binabik had drawn in the dirt. Her father stared down at the jumbled knucklebones with a look Qina knew well, frustration in the furrow of his brow and the squint of his eyes. He held up his hand for quiet—a gesture clearly meant for Snenneq, who was almost quivering with the need to talk. The wolf Vaqana padded over and, after making a few small circles, lay down next to her master and put her huge white head on his lap. Binabik stroked her, but kept staring at the tangle of his third and final casting.
“The first declaration the bones made was Unnatural Birth,” Binabik said. “Yes, Snenneq, I remember that is what you also threw for the prince. Give me another few moments to think, please.” He tilted from side to side, studying the yellowed shapes from different angles. “Since we seek Morgan, that gives a certain sense. Whatever cloud you sensed in his sky, Snenneq, still remains on his horizon. But I do not sense that is the whole story.”
“It could be, though,” said Snenneq, unable to hold himself back any longer. “It could be that the prince is coming close to the time when something will change and he will lose what was expected.”
Binabik’s smile was measured. “Yes. That could be.” He turned back to the bones. “But the second pattern was Unexpected Visitor. That is strange to me because that same uncommon result came up when I threw the bones for Morgan’s grandfather, King Simon, in the days we first knew each other. That was long ago, at the beginning of the Storm King’s War.”
“What does it mean, Father?” asked Qina, as much to keep Snenneq from talking again as anything else. Her betrothed badly needed to learn that just because her father seemed equitable on the outside did not mean he was in a good mood.
“I don’t know,” Binabik admitted. “But it is such an odd result that after the king’s declaration, I went back to the scrolls of Ookekuq, that I carry with me, to see if I had forgotten anything important. It only said what I remembered, that it is related to the casting No Shadow, and suggests there is or will be involvement from an unforeseen quarter. Still, it is important because, as the second declaration, it suggests how perhaps we can better our chances.” He smiled. “The fate the bones see is not unstoppable, my daughter, but like a great stone rolling downhill, it has much force. To alter its course takes luck and good timing.”
“I agree, Master,” said Snenneq, Qina’s betrothed.
Binabik’s smile shrank a little. “I am pleased to hear that, Snenneq.”
Qina did not enjoy it much when her father and betrothed were at cross-purposes with each other. She got up and began to examine the edges of the clearing, avoiding the places where she knew Vaqana had been sniffing and trampling and urinating. “I am listening,” she assured them. “Continue, please.”
“Here is that thing which puzzles me the most,” said Binabik. “Look—the final declaration of the bones is Unwrapped Dart, and I can make no sense of that at all. Tell me what you know of it, Snenneq.”
She could hear her beloved take a deep breath, finally given a chance to expound on things he had learned, and was grateful Binabik had taken pity on him. In fact, she could learn something from her father’s patience, she thought: The chances were good that she would be spending a significant portion of her life annoyed at her husband. Snenneq was kind and clever, but he was also a bit full of himself. Her father sometimes even called her betrothed a “braided ram,” but not when he thought she was listening.
“‘Unwrapped Dart’ can mean many things—” Snenneq began.
“Yes,” said Binabik. “You are right. Tell me just those you think might have meaning for us here and now.”
“It can mean that your enemy is closer to hand than you believe, which might be meaningful here, especially if someone beside ourselves is searching for the prince.”
“Good. Go on.”
“It can also mean that preparations need to be made, that those seeking to protect themselves have been slack in constructing their defense.”
Binabik frowned, but it was a frown of contemplation. “That is a useful meaning, Snenneq, and you are right, but I do not believe that is the case here. It is too mild to represent what we should fear, in a time of so much danger from so many directions.”
If Snenneq felt hurt to be contradicted, he did not sound it; instead, his reply was thoughtful. “You show me something I had not thought of, Master.”
As she bent to examine some broken branches in the undergrowth, Qina sent her betrothed a silent thought of love and pride. Well done, Snenne-sa. You are learning, you truly are.
“But I do not have any greater insight myself to bring at this time,” Binabik said. “It is a strange cast for a final declaration. The prince seems to have as many possibilities hanging above him as a man walking bareheaded into the Icicle Gallery back on Mintahoq.” He gathered up the bones and returned them to their pouch. “We will continue to think. Snenneq. If an idea comes to you, do not hesitate to share it.” His tone was light again. “Unless I am sleeping, of course.”
Now that they had finished, Qina called, “Come here, please, all of you. I think you should look at this.”
She had wandered a few steps beyond the edge of the clearing. At her urging, Binabik kept Vaqana back. The wolf complied, but with a look clearly meant to shame everyone involved.
“What have you seen, daughter?”
“This.” She pointed down, and her father squatted at the edge of the faint animal track. “Now, look up here where the branches are broken. Something large has passed—not a deer, and certainly nothing smaller.”
“It could be a bear,” said Snenneq quickly. “This part of the Aldheorte is home to many bears, and they are large enough to break branches so.”
“Interesting,” she said. “Come a few steps farther and tell me, my betrothed, do the bears in this part of Aldheorte also wear boots?” She pointed at an undeniable crescent dent in the mud. “Before you tell me it is the slot of a deer or even a cow, please notice the marks left by the stitching of the sole just beside it.”
&nb
sp; “I see them, Qina,” said Snenneq in a grumpy voice.
“Do not be cross, daughter.” Binabik smiled. “You have made a wonderful find. Somebody wearing boots has indeed passed this way. You have found our next track to follow.”
“You always had the sharpest eye,” Snenneq told her, with only the barest hint of envy.
“Thank you.”
* * *
• • •
After Qina’s mother returned, her dark hair still wet and her eyes bright with pleasure at her bath, they followed Prince Morgan’s spoor, losing it at intervals, especially when he traveled over hard or open ground, but with the help of Vaqana’s nose and Qina’s eyes, they found their way forward each time.
It was late, late afternoon, the sun hovering above the horizon and the forest filling with shadows, when Vaqana stopped, growling softly, hackles uplifted. Binabik calmed the wolf, signaled for Qina and the others to wait with Vaqana and keep her quiet, and then dropped to hands and knees to crawl up the slope. He moved slowly to keep the breeze in his face and to avoid anything that might make noise. Within moments he had disappeared from sight, but before Qina had time to worry more than a little, he clambered back down into view, signaled them all to follow silently. When Vaqana reached him, Binabik took the scruff of the wolf’s neck-fur in his hand to keep her close.
Just below the top of the rise he gestured for them to stop. The light was all but gone now, the sky beginning to darken. On the far side of the hilltop a bear and two cubs were ambling along, working their way down the edge of a large berry bramble. The wind shifted, and a few moments later the larger bear rose on her hind legs to look around. She sank down and turned until she was facing the spot where the Qanuc were hiding. Qina felt a stab of fear: the she-creature was big, almost as large as some of the ice bears back home. She also had cubs to protect, which made her very dangerous.
Beside her, Snenneq was pulling one of his many pouches from his bag.
“I have just the thing,” he whispered. “A dart, tipped with the Strong Sleep.”
Binabik’s words were swift and harsh. “Put it away.”
Snenneq stared in surprise, still fumbling at the wool that would be pinched around the butt of the bone dart to make it fit the blowpipe, as if his hands had not yet heard from his ears. “But I will be careful. I will stay upwind . . .”
“No.” Binabik scowled and waved his hand urgently. “Put it away. We will speak of this afterward.”
Snenneq was doing his best not to look hurt again. “Wait until he unfolds his thoughts,” Qina whispered to him. “He does not say such things carelessly.”
They watched as the bear, evidently sensing no immediate danger, tipped forward onto to her forelegs once more and continued on her rambling way, stopping between mouthfuls of berries to gently cuff one of her cubs out of the thicket and back into her line of sight. They were a long time finishing, but when they finally wandered off down the hillside in a direction perpendicular to the track the trolls had been following, Binabik let out a sigh of relief.
“Now, I can talk,” he said. “Please, tell me your thought, Snenneq. You were going to use a dart.”
“To protect us—to protect Qina too!”
“‘The Strong Sleep,’ you said.”
“Surely. Anything weaker might only have made the bear angry.”
“But now the bear is gone. And not angry.”
“Do not set puzzles for him, husband,” said Qina’s mother. “It is unkind.”
Snenneq pursed his lips in frustration. “Things could have happened differently!”
“And if they had, we would perhaps not be having this discussion.”
Her father brandished his own walking stick, which Qina saw he had disassembled so that he could use it as a blowpipe. “I had a dart of my own, Little Snenneq, but I did not want to use it. Can you tell me why?”
Snenneq shook his head wearily. “No, Master. Not without guessing, and you do not like guessing.”
Binabik smiled and most of the irritation slipped from his features. “I do not mind guessing, but it must be based on knowledge. Here is knowledge. If you had darted the bear, she would have slept, yes? Well past the setting of sun and into the dark hours.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
He nodded. “And her cubs? What would they have done? Stayed beside her in the cold, unprotected. They could not find their den without her.”
“But she would have woken up after a while.”
“And what if a male bear came while she slept, Snenneq? Some of them eat cubs that are not their own.” Binabik’s smile now had a mischievous edge. “It is of course impossible to understand wanting to do such a thing, but there it is—it happens. That is one reason the mother watches them with so much care, and that they are so far away from the best feeding grounds.”
“They are only bears,” said Snenneq, unable to keep a little sullenness from his voice.
Binabik appeared to take pity on him. “You are a very clever young man, and I have no doubt you will someday be a fine, fine Singing Man, Snenneq, but there is still much you do not know. You are not just in any place here, and you are certainly not at home on familiar Mintahoq.”
“Again, good husband,” said Sisqi, “I ask you not to set puzzles for Snenneq. Help him see what you mean.”
“I am trying to do just that, my beloved,” he told her. “This is the Aldheorte, Snenneq—and you too should understand this, Qina—and nobody can lightly take a life here. This part of the forest is wound through with the songs of the Sithi, songs to confuse outsiders and to hide them from those who would seek them. That is hard enough to guard against, even with all the teaching I received from Ookekuq and even the Sithi themselves.
“But—” he raised a finger, “—there are older powers in Aldheorte, older . . . presences.”
“Like what?” said Snenneq, and his hurt was lost in his newfound interest.
“I do not know. And I do not talk of them when I am among them, in any case. This is not our home. This is not our place. We are guests.”
Qina’s betrothed no longer looked upset, just uncertain. “Are you saying that if we hurt the bears, something bad would happen to us? What if we take a rabbit for dinner, or a quail?”
“I’m saying that taking a life to eat is one thing. Harming an animal from impatience or laziness . . . well, I suspect that would be viewed differently.”
“You keep saying things like that, Master, but I fear I don’t understand. Viewed by whom?”
“If I knew, it would be different. As it is I only have feelings and old tales to go on. And those tales—and my feelings—suggest that except for small animals and birds for eating, we should harm nothing that does not threaten us.” He considered. “Perhaps it would even be safest if we harmed nothing at all, not even to fill our stomachs. We have some small store of food with us.”
“But that is only bread and dried fish!” Snenneq, who liked nothing better than a stewed rabbit, could not suppress a look of horror.
“Bread should be fine. And I do not think the forest watchers care about the fate of a fish that has been dead since last summer,” said Binabik cheerfully. “I think you may also have as much of that as you want.”
* * *
Morgan had a strange dream in which he was a dragon in a garden where all the plants and trees hung with jewels that glittered in the sun, gems red as blood, green as grass, oranges and yellows as bright as gold coins. In the dream he knew the garden was his and his alone, but as he lay coiled in the center of his treasures he heard leaves rustling and the sounds of small things moving. Someone had come to steal from him, and he woke with his heart beating fast and a fierce desire to protect his property.
In the first groggy moments after waking, his eyes still blurry with sleep, he heard small noises just as in his dream. His first thought
was that little ReeRee had wandered away, but she was curled up against his belly as she had been when he fell asleep, the fingers of one small paw curled tightly around the edge of his jacket. He leaned forward to look out of the crevice and see what might have made the noises; she murmured a sleepy chik in protest. At that, whatever was making the other sounds retreated in a sudden patter of movement, followed by silence.
He leaned farther out of the crack in the outcrop, holding ReeRee close to keep her quiet, but saw no sign of anything unusual. He set her down on his cloak and crawled out into the weak dawn sunlight to discover a small pile of nuts and fruit that had been carefully assembled on the slope a few paces away.
Morgan kneeled beside the pile for a moment, staring without understanding. The pile was no bigger than what he could hold in both hands, but the clusters of berries and rough-shelled nuts had been set on leaves, as though tiny servants had prepared a breakfast and put it out for him as he slept. Only after a moment did he think to look up, and caught a brief glimpse of dark eyes watching him from the trees, the same sort of creatures as ReeRee, then the watchers disappeared into the higher branches.
He gathered up the offering, for it seemed as if it could be nothing else, and climbed back into the crevice. His assumption seemed to prove true when ReeRee took everything he offered her, not merely without suspicion but with positive excitement. Despite all the foraging they had done together Morgan was hungry again, painfully so, and although he let her have her choice, he took the lion’s share for himself. For a while they ate together, silent except for ReeRee’s contented noises and the crunch of nutshells, as the world warmed around them and the day-sounds of the forest swelled; first birds, then the hum and click of insects.