It was eight days since she had summoned Hem. She and Cadvan hadn't spoken of that night. It wasn't that either of them wished to avoid the subject, but more that neither of them had the words, and they both obscurely felt that to speak about it without being able to express precisely what they meant was somehow perilous.
At sunset on the eighth day, Maerad saw two horsemen climbing the long, slow rise to their camp from the west. She had been sitting all day on a low, flat rock, lost in a trance, listening to the quickening of the earth beneath her feet as it wakened to springtime, her eyes fixed on the horizon. She often played her lyre as she watched, and she held it now, her maimed hand straying idly over its strings. She played no particular melody, but the constant gentle fall of the notes soothed her. When she saw the riders, she leaped to her feet with a cry.
Cadvan had been setting snares for rabbits and so was a little distance away, but he ran over to Maerad at once.
"It's Hem!" she said, pointing. She was trembling all over. "At last!"
Cadvan shaded his eyes with his hands and looked. The riders were far away, and he could tell nothing about them; but they carried with them a sense of hidden power that caused him grave misgivings.
"Are you certain it's Hem?" he said at last, turning toward her. "I am not sure that they are not Hulls. I have felt the shadows of the Dark stepping in my mind these past few days, and I fear they draw ever closer."
"I'm sure it's Hem," Maerad said.
"Have you made certain?" asked Cadvan. "Have you spoken to him?"
The light in Maerad's face went out. "No," she whispered, and turned her face away.
"I think," said Cadvan, an edge in his voice, "that it would be as well to make sure, before these people, whoever they are, come close enough to cause us harm."
"But—" Maerad lifted her hands and dropped them helplessly. She didn't know how to tell Cadvan about how she feared the voices seeping into her dreams, how she was afraid that every time she used her power, she opened the breach in her mind that gave them entrance.
"Maerad, if you have the power, use it. Or are we just going to wait for anyone to come here and strike us dead, because you refuse to pick up the sword at your feet? Did you not tell me that you had no fear of Hulls?"
Maerad pressed her lips together and made no answer. Cadvan stared at her, his eyes darkening with anger.
"The last thing I expected was that the price of opening your powers would be that you would lose your courage," he said, after a long silence. "Or perhaps it is simply that the Dark now has a means to enter your mind and so disables you with fear. I do not know, Maerad, and I am too angry to care."
"You don't understand," said Maerad, stung. "You—"
"Of course I don't understand. How could I understand? But it seems to me that I am the biggest fool in Annar, and that my enemies must be laughing up their sleeves."
"What do you mean?" said Maerad. "It's not—it's not the Dark I'm afraid of—"
"Then what do you fear?" said Cadvan, whirling around and taking her chin in his hand, so she was forced to look straight into his eyes. "By the Light, Maerad, what is it that you fear, if not the Dark? Do you know what the Dark is doing in this land at this very moment? Do you not feel it closing in, like a huge jaw, preparing to crush us all?"
Maerad blinked. "You're hurting me," she said.
Cadvan took a deep breath and let go, although he held her gaze. He looked no less angry.
"Tell me, Maerad. Please tell me. What is it?"
"I think . . . it's the dead," Maerad whispered. "I can hear the dead. They're coming into my dreams, more and more, and I hear them all the time. I don't know who they are."
Cadvan's eyes widened in astonishment, and he stepped back, looking over toward the riders, and then back to Maerad. "The dead?" he said. "The dead frighten you? What dead?"
Maerad's jaw wobbled, and she brushed her eyes roughly with the back of her hand. "They don't threaten me. But I can't stop it. Ever since I..." She wiped her eyes again. "And if I use my powers again, I know it's only going to get worse."
Cadvan studied her face intently, and the anger ebbed from his expression. "I will say to you, Maerad, what you said to me eight days ago. It is already too late. Neither of us knew what would happen when you decided to invoke your full Elemental powers. Cowering beneath the forces you have unleashed will not make them go away. It is probably the worst thing you can do."
Maerad nodded miserably. "I just—can't," she said. "I know it's weak, Cadvan. I'm ashamed. I just can't."
Cadvan nodded, his face expressionless, and then he turned westward and gazed at the riders, standing very still. A faint silvery shimmer illuminated his form, and Maerad knew that he was attempting to feel them out. The light faded, and he stood long in thought.
"Whoever is coming our way is shielded," he said at last. "Hull or Bard, I cannot tell. And there is with them something very powerful, Maerad. I don't know what it is, but I feel a great foreboding. Something of great might approaches us, and I cannot tell what it is. Can you feel nothing?"
Maerad met Cadvan's eyes. "It's Hem," she said. "I told you."
"How do you know?"
"I just know. Do you think that I wouldn't know my own brother?"
"But you will not attempt to speak to him? Not even that? I know you have closed yourself to all magery over the past days, Maerad, and I understand—as much as I can—the fear that makes you do so; but I say to you, now is not the time. And I fear that it is your hope and not your Knowing that speaks now."
Maerad had no answer to Cadvan's doubt. It was, she knew, quite reasonable, and his premonition that Hulls were coming their way was probably accurate, although she herself felt no sense of their presence. As Cadvan had said, she had closed her mind to magery, and her powers slumbered behind strong barriers that she would not let down. And in fact, aside from a conviction that grew the longer she watched the approaching figures, she had no reason to think that one of the two riders approaching them was Hem. Even so, at that moment, nothing Cadvan could say and do would have made Maerad open her powers; and he knew it.
Cadvan loosened his sword, and mentally began to check the wards he had placed about their camp to see if they remained strong. Maerad was not wearing her sword, and he told her to arm herself. She almost refused, but caught the look in his eye and decided that it was not worth arguing the point. She left her lyre leaning on the stone as she went back to their camp.
When she came back, Cadvan seemed to have forgotten their argument.
"Maerad, do you hear that sound?" he asked.
"What sound?" asked Maerad. She looked around her, as if it were a visible thing.
"It's like—a low humming. It began a short time ago, and I can't tell where it's coming from. And it has a taste of power about it. I like this not at all."
Her attention caught, Maerad cocked her head and listened. "I hear nothing but the wind blowing and the stones growing beneath our feet and the cry of birds," she said.
"Beneath that," said Cadvan. "Do you not hear it?" He was beginning to sound impatient, and Maerad tried again. Again she heard nothing.
"I think," said Cadvan, "you will need your Bard hearing."
Maerad opened her mouth to object, but then she thought that perhaps her hearing was the least of her Bard senses, and that it mightn't do any harm just to listen a little, very quickly. And then at least she would know what Cadvan was talking about. Very cautiously, she cast her hearing out, not even attempting to reach to any distance.
As soon as she did, she regretted it. What Cadvan heard as a low hum was for Maerad an unendurable droning sound, a long, single note that made every bone in her body resonate in sympathy Even her teeth seemed to rattle in her head. In a panic, she tried to close her Bard ears, but now the vibration was like a wedge keeping her senses open, and she could not, no matter how she tried. She cried out in pain and stumbled forward, and Cadvan caught her before she fell, and lo
wered her to the ground. Then she saw that her lyre was glowing with an inner illumination, a glow that was like the rich, various light of a summer day.
She picked up her lyre and clutched it as if she were drowning. At once the droning was not nearly so unbearable; it became a low hum, which still vibrated through her body as if she were an instrument herself, but it no longer hurt her. Her panic abated, and she realized that the lyre, too, was resonating, and then that the humming came from the lyre itself. And the light was growing stronger as she watched, until the lyre was blazing in her hands.
"What's happening?" asked Cadvan. He had drawn his sword and was himself luminous with shielded magery.
"I don't know," said Maerad, looking up at him. "It's never done anything like this before. Perhaps it's waking up. Look— the runes..."
The Treesong runes were burning, as if the bright wood were inlaid with ruby fire. For a moment they both forgot everything but the lyre and stared, lost in astonishment.
"It's beautiful," Maerad said in wonder. "I've never seen anything so beautiful..."
Cadvan had told her almost as soon as they had met that her lyre was no ordinary instrument. It was Dhyllic ware, fashioned in Afinil and crafted with skills of magery now long forgotten. And Inka-Reb, the wise man of the north, had laughed at her for not knowing that the Treesong she had traveled the length of
Edil-Amarandh to find was written on it. The Winterking had revealed the meanings of the runes, and had told her that the lyre had been made in Afinil by Nelsor himself, one of the greatest Bards of all. Maerad had known all this, but for her it was still the lyre her mother had given her, the humble companion of her lonely childhood. Now, perhaps for the first time, she began to understand what it really was.
"Are you all right now?" said Cadvan, dragging his eyes away from the blazing lyre.
Maerad nodded.
"Because the riders will be here soon. And I still cannot tell, for all my striving, what manner of people they are. It looks to me as if one of the horses has two people on its back. And it occurs to me also that if any Hulls are nearby, they will be pricking up their ears and hurrying this way also."
Maerad nodded again. Now that she had permitted her magery to flow within her again, she was wondering why she had been so frightened for the past week. It was as if she had been crouching in a small hole, her hands over her face, refusing to look at the sunlight that blazed above her.
"I'm sorry about before," she said, and she looked up at Cadvan. "I'll try to speak to Hem now."
She stared at the distant riders. They were closer now, and she saw that Cadvan was right: one horse bore two riders. She bent her head and concentrated.
Hem, she said. Are you there?
Maerad? Hem answered at once, and the naked joy in his voice made tears well in her eyes. We're close, aren't we?
Yes, you're close. We can see you. Overwhelmed by emotion, Maerad couldn't speak for a moment. You're very close. Oh, Hem! I've missed you so much. I thought I might never see you again.
But here we are! She could hear that Hem was laughing with sheer delight. We can't see you yet, but even Saliman can feel you now. We think there are some Hulls nearby. We can't see where, but they'll be riding your way for certain. Saliman? Is Saliman with you?
Yes. And Hekibel and Irc. Friends. We've come so far to find you! But Maerad, something really strange is happening. I have this tuning fork and it's making an incredible humming and I think the Treesong is beginning to do something—I don't know what. I can hardly hear you over the noise.
It's happening here too, said Maerad. My lyre is all lit up.
It must be the Treesong. I've got the other half— Hem's excited voice began to fragment, and Maerad lost the mindtouch. She bit her lip in frustration, and was about to report to Cadvan what Hem had told her, when Hem's voice cut back in. It's glowing as well—the runes are like fire!
I can't hear you, said Maerad.
Hem swore and then she lost him again. The humming was growing, not in loudness but in intensity, so that it filled her whole mind, and it was difficult to be conscious of anything else. Maerad thought it was no longer a single note, but more like a constant, fascinating melody, the logic of which she could not catch. With difficulty, she wrenched her mind away from it, and turned to Cadvan.
He had already guessed that the news was good, and had sheathed his sword.
"It's Hem, and he's got Saliman with him," said Maerad. She was trembling with excitement.
"Saliman?" For a moment Cadvan looked astonished, and then he smiled with unalloyed pleasure.
"And two other people," Hem said. "Irc and Hekibel." The words tumbled out of her; Maerad's breath was short, and she felt so dizzy she could hardly speak. She couldn't take her eyes off the riders: they had quickened their pace and were now moving swiftly toward them and Maerad couldn't wait until they arrived, until she could hold her brother in her arms at last.
Cadvan squinted at the riders. "I can only see three," he said.
"Well, that's what he said."
"There's a big white bird that seems to be with them," said Cadvan. "Maybe he means the bird."
"Maybe," said Maerad. "He didn't say. And they think that there are Hulls nearby as well. And he said that he's got the other half of the Treesong, a tuning fork, and the same thing is happening there." Maerad hugged herself to stop her body shaking: the strange music was growing inside her so that she could almost hear its melody, and she couldn't tell anymore where the sound ended and she began.
"Hem has the lost half of the Treesong?" Cadvan looked stunned. "That is news beyond hope. Well, maybe that explains what is happening here. Perhaps you are right, Maerad. The lyre is awakening. Although what that means is beyond my Knowing."
For a while neither of them said anything further, their eyes fixed on the approaching riders. Maerad thought she would die from impatience. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the humming. The sound would not die down, and it was still growing in complexity and intensity the closer the riders came.
"If there are Hulls," said Cadvan a little later, "we must be ready for them."
Maerad stared at him as if she saw him through a veil. "If there are Hulls, we will kill them," she said thickly. "I will not countenance their presence here."
Cadvan glanced at her in surprise, and then with growing concern. Maerad's body was shaking with tremors so violent that she was forced to hold the lyre in her arms, close against her body, so she would not drop it. Her face was so white she looked translucent, as if she had been drained of every drop of blood, and her eyes blazed with feverish excitement. Her gaze was fixed unblinkingly on the horses that drew ever closer, bearing her brother toward her. Cadvan touched her arm, to ask if she needed help, but she shook his hand off, almost absent-mindedly.
When Hem came close enough to be heard, he waved and shouted, and Maerad stood up and shouted back, although she did not know what she said. The horses were some hundred spans away when Hem slid off Usha, tumbling onto the ground and almost falling over. He regained his footing at once and sprinted with all his might toward Maerad.
She let her lyre fall from her hands and it landed by her feet. She scarcely noticed: letting go of it made no difference now. Its music was embedded so deeply in her bones, in her very marrow, that she thought she would never be free of it. She swayed as if she might faint and opened her arms wide, and Hem ran up and threw his arms around his sister, embracing her so passionately that all the breath was driven out of her. And for an infinite moment they held each other so closely that she felt the wild beating of his heart through her whole body, and she could not tell whether her cheeks were wet with his tears or her own.
XVIII
A BREATH
B
ECAUSE Saliman thought that he was dead, Cadvan was the last person in the world he expected to see and he did not recognize Cadvan at first. Saliman slowed Minna to a walk as they came close, and rode up sedately to Maerad an
d Cadvan's campsite, Hekibel following shyly in his wake. Irc was sitting on Hekibel's shoulder, looking rather huffy: he had been forced to flap into the air when Hem had leaped from the horse, and perhaps he was a little jealous.
Saliman had noted the cloaked figure to Maerad's right, but his attention was wholly caught by Hem's wild dash toward Maerad and the lyre blazing at Maerad's feet. When Hem and Maerad embraced, it was too private a moment for other eyes. Saliman tactfully turned away his gaze, and found himself looking directly into Cadvan's face.
Alison Croggon - [Pellinor 04] Page 35