The Singing

by Alison Croggon

  The next day they picked their way slowly east, staying as close to the edge of the floodwaters as was practical. The water had begun to subside as rapidly as it had risen, leaving behind pools of brown water and a detritus of rubbish: broken branches, the bloated corpses of drowned animals, and everywhere a layer of silt. The horses stepped daintily over the soggy turf, and Darsor refused to walk into the mud. Keru, though less vocal than Darsor, was as stubborn, although Maerad was incandescent with impatience and would have pushed them on back to the West Road, if she had been able to.

  It smells like death, said Darsor, when she argued with him. I will not steep my hooves in death.

  "The horses are right," said Cadvan. "It's dangerous, at least until we're sure it won't rain again; it wouldn't take much for the floods to come back. And it won't be long before this smell gets worse."

  Maerad scowled, and scanned the gray skies, but she made no further protest. There was a definite smell of rot and mold that the floodwaters left behind them, and she had as little desire as the horses to be caught in the floods again. As the day wore on, it seemed the worst of the rains had passed; the clouds brought only a few light showers that passed swiftly. The sun cast a dim, watery light, conspiring with the empty, lonely landscape to fill Maerad's heart with gloom. She had not told Cadvan about her dream, or her anxieties about Hem, feeling almost superstitiously that to talk about it might make it true, but her fears of the night before lay heavy upon her. By evening her impatience had subsided into depression. They made their camp in the shelter of an overhanging rock, not far from one of the stone circles that dotted the Hollow Lands. The red glow of a westering sun sinking through ashy clouds cast an unreal, gloomy light, throwing dark shadows behind the lichened standing stones that loomed nearby, inscrutable but heavy with a long-forgotten significance.

  "We're not going to find Hem in time," Maerad said, as she and Cadvan finished their evening meal.

  Cadvan sighed. "Maerad, what do you mean by in time?" he asked. "I know that our task is urgent. Yet we have all Annar and the Suderain in which to seek him, and no guarantee that he is still alive."

  "He's alive," said Maerad stubbornly.

  Cadvan was silent for a while, staring into the fire. "I came with you from Innail perfectly aware that we didn't know how to find Hem, and hoping that your Knowing would guide us," he said. "But I tell you frankly that, even if he is still alive, I rate our chances of finding Hem very low."

  In her current state of doubt, these were not words that Maerad wanted to hear. She turned her face away from Cadvan, remembering that he was a Truthteller, that he would know if she lied to him.

  "I was thinking about what happened last night," she said at last, to change the subject. "And I thought of one person who might be able to help me."

  Cadvan looked his question.

  "Ardina. She gave me those pipes, remember? And she told me that if I ever needed to speak to her, I should use them. I played them once before, and she came to me. Perhaps she could help me now. Perhaps she could teach me how to use my powers."

  Cadvan looked puzzled. "Ardina gave you those pipes?" he said. "I thought it was the Elidhu in the Weywood."

  Maerad remembered that she had never told Cadvan that the wood Elidhu and the Queen Ardina of Rachida were one and the same.

  "The Elemental in the Weywood was Ardina," she said, her eyes averted from Cadvan's. "They are the same. She told me to keep it secret; she said that you wouldn't understand."

  Cadvan was silent for a time as he absorbed what Maerad had said. "I think I know why she wanted it kept secret," he said at last. "Ardina understands enough of Bards to be aware of how deeply they mistrust the Elidhu. And the Elidhu in the Weywood had nothing human about her; she was deeply fey. I would not trust her, as perhaps I might trust Ardina in her human guise. Maerad, these are deep waters, and perilous; I would be wary of calling on the help of the Elidhu. I am not so sure that what they might bring you would be help, or something else."

  "Like what, for instance?" said Maerad, her voice cold. "I trust Ardina."

  "I think it foolhardy to trust her," said Cadvan. "She is Elidhu; she is immortal. She is moved by things that we do not, that we cannot, understand, and in this matter she follows her own ends, which may have very little to do with yours and mine. You've seen the floods, what they have destroyed: that is the power of the Elementals, Maerad. It has no mercy, and no thought; the Dark and the Light mean nothing to it. It simply is."

  "I think the Bards made a big mistake when they stopped talking to the Elementals," said Maerad.

  "I am sure you are right. And alas, now our paths are sundered, and in this time of great need we have less chance of understanding each other. Yes, Maerad, the Treesong is a matter that concerns the Elidhu, and I understand that; but I would give a great deal to know how it concerns them, what their interest is in this matter."

  "The Treesong was theirs, and Nelsor stole it," said Maerad sharply. She was beginning to feel annoyed. "It seems quite straightforward to me."

  "And if we give it back to them—supposing we find out how that is possible—what then of the Speech? Will Bards also have to give back their magery?"

  "No, of course not!"

  "How do you know, Maerad? I, for one, am not so sure. It seems to me that there is a good chance that should we succeed in finding the Treesong, should we release it back to the Elidhu and somehow also destroy the Nameless One, we could lose everything that makes us Bards."

  Maerad was silent with shock. The thought had never occurred to her. "Surely that's not possible?" she said uncertainly. "Bards in Afinil had the Speech before Nelsor wrote down the Treesong..."

  "Aye, they did," said Cadvan, his voice harsh. "But that doesn't mean that the Speech will live in us once we give the Treesong back. Undoing the magery that captured the Treesong is not simply a matter of reversing it. You should know that. And I fear what else might unravel after: it might go back to the very roots of our Knowing and silence our tongues. The truth is that we cannot know what will happen. If you haven't thought of this before, it's time you did. I am prepared to countenance that possibility if it is a choice between that and another Great Silence under the Nameless One; but I do not love the thought. We stand before an abyss. I think that even if we should claim victory in the midst of all this uncertainty, we could still find ourselves with our hands empty. Whatever happens, our world will not be the same after this. This is not a game, Maerad. We risk everything. And we could win, and still lose."

  Maerad stared at the ground, biting her lip. At the back of her mind there had always been the hope that, if everything turned out well, if the Nameless One was defeated, she would simply become a normal Bard, studying the lore of Annar and the Seven Kingdoms somewhere like Innail or perhaps Gent, which had been Dernhil's School. The thought that even their victory could mean the end of Barding, the end of Schools, shook her deeply. Cadvan watched her closely, his face still hard.

  "Given what we risk," he said, "I should hope that we are at least honest with each other. My hope Maerad, and it is a very small hope to place against the darkness that is now engulfing Annar, lies in your love for Hem, and, perhaps, in your love for me, and for others whose kindness you have been grateful for. So if you are leading me on a wild-goose chase, I think you should have the courtesy to tell me."

  Maerad said nothing for a time, pondering Cadvan's words and wondering how to answer. Did he doubt her love for him? Of course she loved him, of course she was grateful for his kindness. She looked past his shoulder and said evasively, "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that if you think, in your Knowing, that Hem is dead, you should tell me."

  Maerad blushed. She should have known that she could not keep her fear secret from Cadvan. "I—I don't think he's dead .. ." she said. "I j-just.. ." She stuttered into silence. "I'm not so sure," she said at last. "I've lost that—contact—before sometimes, but it hasn't meant that h
e was dead. This might be the same."

  "But you had a nightmare about Hem," said Cadvan flatly.

  "Yes," she whispered. "He might be dead. But I am not sure, and I still think we should look for him."

  A long silence stretched out between them. Maerad stole a wary glance at Cadvan; he was staring into the fire, his face closed.

  "Do you not trust me?" she said at last. "Is that it?" "Why should I trust you?" he said, turning to face her.

  Maerad felt her temper rising inside her, but tried to keep it leashed; at the same time as she smarted at the injustice of what Cadvan had said to her, and the deeper hurt of his mistrust, she remembered the terrible fight they had had before the disaster in the Gwalhain Pass, when she was sure that he had been killed. She didn't wish for another such breach to open between them.

  "I don't have to tell you every thought that passes through my head," she said, her voice even. "What gives you the right to demand that?"

  "The right I have is the faith I have placed in you, risking my very life to follow your Knowing," Cadvan said. "Would you not agree?"

  There was another long, uncomfortable silence. It was true that Cadvan had risked his life, and more. Yet Maerad felt more and more irritated; this side of Cadvan, his ability to turn, without notice, into an implacable, unforgiving judge, annoyed her beyond measure, and it was deeply wounding. What made it worse was that there was a grain of truth in what he said. But it was partial only, she thought, it was not the whole truth.

  "I think you are wrong about Ardina," she said at last. She stared at Cadvan defiantly, and he met her gaze. "I have seen more of her than you have. Yes, she is an Elidhu; but just because the Elidhu are dangerous, or have their own concerns apart from ours, doesn't mean that they are evil. I need help, and I think Ardina can help me. It's not as if you can." Her last sentence sounded more spiteful than she meant, and she bit her lip.

  "Perhaps you are right in this," Cadvan said, his face expressionless. "I have no way of judging one way or another." He paused, and then added, "I'm sorry for what I said before. Words said in haste or anger can be harsher than their true intent."

  Maerad nodded, accepting the apology. Then she took up her pack and, her fingers trembling, she searched through it for the reed pipes Ardina had given her. She inspected them closely; it occurred to her that she did not know how to play them with her damaged hand. She thought of summoning her magery, to create fingers of light, but for reasons she could not explain, discarded the idea: they were humble pipes, and she should play them humbly. Cadvan watched her curiously, but said nothing.

  "I might as well try now," she said. "Though I'm not sure what tunes I can play anymore ..."

  She stood, feeling that it would be somehow disrespectful to summon Ardina while she was sitting down, and gave the pipes an experimental blow. The high, fleeting notes evoked a vivid image of a beautiful, deserted landscape: long banks of reeds perhaps, by a wide lake, where curlews called in the evening. It had been a long time since she had played any pipes, and she frowned as she missed a note. She glanced swiftly at Cadvan, as if reassuring herself that he was there; although she wouldn't have admitted it, she felt nervous about this summoning, especially after the near disaster of the previous night. She took a deep breath, and began to play a simple melody, a child's tuning, improvising around her missing fingers.

  For what seemed like a long time, nothing happened. The reedy notes floated out into the darkening evening, plaintive and lonely. Maerad began to lose herself in the fascination of making music; even with her maimed hand, she could find a range of expressiveness that pleased her, and she began to experiment. Then she felt the back of her neck prickle, as if someone were watching her, and she whirled around, letting the pipes drop from her lips.

  Greetings, Elednor Edil-Amarandh na, said Ardina.

  Maerad forgot, every time, the stunning impact of Ardina's beauty. The Elidhu stood on the grass a short distance away, in

  her guise as the grave Queen of Rachida. She wore a simple white dress that fell shimmering about her body as if it were woven of moonlight. A moonstone suspended from a silver fillet hung on her forehead, and about her waist was a silver chain, and her long unbound hair fell like a silver waterfall down her slender back. She turned her yellow eyes, with their inhuman slotted pupils, upon Maerad, and the glance went deep. Maerad bowed breathlessly, unable to speak. Darsor and Keru, grazing nearby, whinnied in welcome; Maerad thought it sounded oddly as if they were welcoming a dear friend. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Cadvan scramble to his feet and bow; Ardina turned and acknowledged his homage with a nod. And to you, Cadvan of Lirigon, greetings.

  Greetings, Ardina, said Maerad, stammering. The awe she felt in the face of Ardina's presence in this guise made her tongue-tied; it had been much easier to speak when they had both escaped from Arkan's palace in the guise of wolves.

  You asked me to come, and so I have come, said Ardina. Maerad noticed that she did not use the Elemental tongue, but the Speech. Maerad thought that perhaps Ardina was not unaware of Cadvan's mistrust of her.

  I—I wanted to know if you could help me, said Maerad.

  I will help, if I am able, said Ardina. Speak your desire.

  What Maerad said next surprised her. I want to know if Hem—my brother—is alive.

  I may not be able to tell you that, said Ardina. I do not have a closeness to him, as I do to you. He may be alive in my time and not in your time. And in many times he is not present. But I will try. The Elidhu's eyes closed, and the faint light that inhabited her grew briefly stronger. Maerad waited, holding her breath.

  I do not know how or where your brother is, said Ardina, opening her eyes and looking straight at Maerad, who fought not to avert her gaze. He has about him a smell of death, yet I do not think he is dead. He walks many possible futures and many possible pasts, and his paths are knived with pain. Your brother is almost as unlucky as you are. Ardina smiled, but her smile held a deep sadness.

  Does—does that mean I should keep looking for him? asked Maerad, a catch in her voice.

  I do not advise. In this, as in all other matters, you must follow your heart. But I think that if you seek, you will find. What you might find I cannot say.

  Maerad looked at the ground, crestfallen. I don't understand how to look, she said. I sometimes can feel where he might be, but it's all very vague. I thought that perhaps I could feel where he is. I know I have powers that are not the powers of a Bard, but I don't see how to use them. I hoped that perhaps you might tell me how.

  Ardina laughed, and her laughter was like a cool rain, sending a pleasant shiver down Maerad's back. Ah, Elednor Edil-Amarandh na! I am no teacher. But even if I were, I could not teach you how to use your magery. It is neither Elidhu nor Bard, although it partakes of both of them.

  Like the Nameless One, said Maerad softly.

  Aye, like Sharma. Know this, my dear one: the Light and the Dark are not so different, and neither can attain its full power until it acknowledges all its nature, both the fire and the ice, the sun and the shadow. But you are also not like Sharma. I tell you, whereas you are a Lily of Eire, that grows ever toward the Light, he is the poisonous fume that eats up the air, so that nothing else might live.

  How might Maerad know her full nature? Maerad started in surprise; it was Cadvan speaking. In the bewitchment of Ardina's presence she had altogether forgotten that he was there.

  Through pain and sorrow and darkness, Cadvan of Lirigon. Through hatred and despair, perhaps. Through need and desire, surely.

  Did I not once tell you so, Elednor, before you were awake? Did I not say you were unlucky?

  Ardina's form began to dim, and by the time she finished speaking she had vanished altogether, as if she had never been there. Her final words hung on the air with the soft, aching resonance of a bell, and faded away. Maerad blinked, bereft, and turned to Cadvan, and saw the same loss reflected in his face. She realized with a
slight shock that it was now full night: the clouds had cleared, and the cold stars glittered brightly over the desolate wolds in a moonless sky. Never had the Hollow Lands seemed so aptly named.

  Chapter XIII

  THE SUMMONING

  MAERAD and Cadvan didn't speak for some time after Ardina's appearance, although their silence was companionable. Instead, they busied them-

  selves with small tasks, such as finding more brushwood for the fire, or cleaning their supper dishes. Maerad didn't know whether she was comforted by Ardina's words or not: remembering her farewell, she thought that she wasn't comforted at all. On the other hand, Ardina seemed to think that Hem was still alive. Perhaps he was deathly ill or mortally wounded or in some other danger? The thought made her ache with worry and helplessness. It was a physical pain in her chest—she couldn't bear the thought that Hem might be suffering, perhaps alone, and that she was unable to help. At least Maerad felt clear on one thing. Her heart commanded her to seek Hem, and Ardina had told her to follow her heart.

  Idly watching Cadvan as he polished his boots, another meaning occurred to her. Through need and desire, surely... What did that mean? She thought of how she had felt when the Winterking had touched her, how it had shaken her to the core of her being. 1/1 am to follow my heart, thought Maerad, I must first understand it.

  When there was nothing further to do, the two Bards settled by the fire, and began to talk, haltingly at first, because it was hard to shake off the powerful enchantment of Ardina's presence. Cadvan said no more about distrusting Ardina, but he was puzzled and disturbed by what she had told Maerad.