The Crow Page 28

  "Well, this wasn't really anything to do with the training. And, you know, I'm not quite sure what happened. Maybe I had some kind of – I don't know, some kind of fit..." Hem hesitated, and then started to tell what had happened in the cavern. When he mentioned the tree man, Saliman sat up and began to pay real attention.

  "... and then he leaned over to me, and he breathed. Into my ear. And there was this music..." Hem stumbled to a halt, and Saliman waited patiently for him to find the words. "I don't know how to describe it – it was like I was in the music, and I was the music at the same time. It was so beautiful I couldn't bear it, but I never wanted it to stop. It was like... everything. Like the whole sky, all the stars, the whole earth, rock and tree and river, were all music. And something happened to me, Saliman, I don't know, it's like the music changed me. It went into me and now I'm different, it's part of me somehow. The music is always there now, not just when I dream it. Like that poison in Nimikera's blood, only it's not harmful."

  Silence fell between them, and Saliman thoughtfully fin­ished his tea.

  "I am quite sure it was not a fit," he said slowly. "I don't understand what happened, Hem. I can't pretend I do. But I think you are right that it was an Elidhu who spoke with you. Once the Elementals were very present in the Suderain. I won­der which Elidhu it was."

  He pondered deeply for a time, and Hem watched his face. Saliman, he thought suddenly, is a very beautiful man. Why have I never thought this before? He carries a light inside him, even when he is somber and sad; it is like a joyous melody that is always there, that shines all the more brightly and poignantly for the darker chords that play around it. Sometimes it is laugh­ter, because he loves making people laugh, but that is only its outer garment. People begin to glow when he is around. I glow.

  He shook himself. He wasn't used to thoughts like that.

  "And the tree man said, a sister and brother?" said Saliman at last. "Well, Hem, my Knowing told me that there is a part you must play in this story. A Bard's Knowing is a difficult thing; it will not always present itself in words, and sometimes it seems to run against the grain of common sense. But it seems that the Dark was not so misled as we thought, in kidnapping you. Yes, they were arrogant and ignorant in their dismissal of Maerad; but it seems that this riddle has two halves."

  He gave Hem a penetrating glance, and then studied his hands. "I cannot be sure, but I think this Elemental is a being who was called Nyanar. He is mentioned in the chronicles, and he is linked with this area; but like most Elidhu, he withdrew during the Great Silence, and there has been no report of his kind for hundreds of years. And now there is so much that is lost and impossible to understand."

  "So he was on our side?" said Hem.

  "The Elidhu are not on any side, Hem. Our affairs are meaningless to them, and theirs to us: except, perhaps, in this one question of the Treesong – I wish I knew what it meant. But you must remember that the Elementals are beyond our Knowing and our bidding, and are perilous, as fire is perilous. But, somehow, they need you; and that is interest­ing. There is some old grudge against the Nameless One. The Elidhu are held by many Bards to be in league with Sharma, and so are feared and distrusted. And it is certainly true some came under his dominance: the Landrost, whom Maerad spoke of, is one. But I for one have never believed they were all his slaves."

  Hem nodded slowly. What Saliman was saying made him feel edgy.

  "If the Treesong is to be played, it needs music, no?" added Saliman, looking up and smiling. "Don't look so glum, Hem. You and Maerad, you must travel dark paths, but few can avoid such paths now. And it seems that we are not alone in our struggle against the Dark. There is a great hope in that."

  "Yes, but hope for what?" said Hem.

  "For an end to this present darkness," Saliman answered. "That something of the Light will survive our time, even if it is but the tiniest seed lodged in the deepest crevice. Sometimes, Hem, hope is a very small thing."

  The two fell into silence again. Then Saliman laughed. "Remember this?" he said, and, to Hem's surprise, began to chant in a singsong voice:

  "One is the singer, hidden from sunlight

  Two is the seeker, fleeing from shadows

  Three is the journey, taken in danger

  Four are the riddles, answered in Treesong..."

  Despite himself, Hem smiled: he hadn't heard that chant since he was about six years old. "It's only an old rhyme," he said. "We used it in games."

  "Many forgotten wisdoms are preserved in those old rhymes. Which are you, I wonder? Singer or seeker? Seeker, perhaps?"

  "But I'm not looking for anything," said Hem. "Maerad is, though; she's looking for the Treesong."

  "True, though one can seek without knowing it. Well, I'm glad you told me of this, Hem. It does give me hope. But you're right: I'm not quite sure what the hope is for."

  Hem remembered the Elidhu's wildness, its inhuman slitted eyes. It was difficult to believe that such a creature could want the same things he did. But any hope was better than none.

  "Hem, before I forget," said Saliman suddenly, reaching inside his robes. "There's something I have to give you." He brought out a sealed letter.

  "A letter?" Hem stared at Saliman in disbelief. "For me?"

  "A Pilanel messenger brought it this morning," said Saliman. "It comes from the north, from the Pilanel. They have a very efficient network that stretches to the Suderain, and the resistance keeps in touch with them as much as possible; they are staunch allies."

  Hem was still staring at the letter, his mouth open.

  "Go on," said Saliman. "Open it. It has the highest mark of urgency on it." He pointed to a strange rune, inked in red, by the seal.

  His hands trembling, Hem broke the seal and unfolded it. "It's from Maerad," he said.

  "Can you read it, Hem?" asked Saliman. "Or do you want me to read it to you?"

  "No, I can read it." He looked at the letters, which made some sense to him now, and began, slowly, to read it out loud, stumbling over some of the more difficult words:

  My dear brother,

  I am writing this letter in Murask, a Pilanel settlement in Zmarkan. I hope this finds you well, and that Saliman (greetings, Saliman!) has taught you enough script for you to be able to read this on your own. I am full of sad news: Cadvan, our dear friend, perished in the Gwalhain Pass on our journey here, with Darsor and Imi.

  Saliman gasped, and covered his face with his hands.

  "I'm – I'm sorry..." Hem stammered, looking up.

  Saliman said nothing for a long time, and Hem watched him awkwardly, wanting to comfort him, and not knowing how.

  "Ah, Hem." Saliman looked up at last, his eyes shining with tears. "Loss after loss after loss. Is there no end to sorrow? Cadvan! My friend! First Dernhil, and then Cadvan. Am I the only one left? We will be mourning forever."

  He breathed in sharply, like one in deep pain, and then said more steadily, "Indeed, there will be time for such a grief. But that time, Hem, is not now. Tell me, what else does Maerad say?"

  Taken aback, Hem looked down at the letter, which had been lying forgotten in his hand. It took a little time for the words to swim into focus, but he read on slowly.

  There are no words to express my sorrow. I reached Murask on my own and am now about to travel farther north with a Pilanel guide to find a people called the Wise Kindred, who may be able to tell me something about the Treesong. I hope I am right, and that this is not a mistake. I may not return, and there are some things that I want you to know, in case I am not able to tell you of them myself. I have found our father's family here.

  Hem stopped and looked up. Saliman was regarding him steadily. "I can't read the next bit," he said, offering the letter to Saliman. "There are some words I don't understand."

  Saliman took the letter, and read that Maerad had met their Pilanel cousin, and the twin sister of their father, who was also a Bard.

  If the School of Turbansk does not suit you, perhaps you might find a
place among them. Whether you find yourself being a Turbansk Bard or no, I believe that you must one day journey to Murask and speak to your kin here.

  I write this with terrible sadness. I miss you more than I can say and every day I wish that we were together, and not separated by so many leagues. I have heard of war marching on Turbansk, and I fear for you. We are born into such dark times. But I also write this with hope and love, until one day I embrace you again, my dear brother.

  Your sister,

  Maerad

  "Thank you, Saliman," said Hem. His voice was muffled.

  Hem couldn't say anything else for a while; his head was whirling with conflicting emotions. He was stunned by the news of Cadvan's death; it didn't seem possible. And yet he was so happy to have some word of his sister, and the news that he had kin in the north filled him with a surprised delight. But Maerad's letter sharpened his fears for her to a new and bitter edge. Was Maerad dead too? For a moment he was certain that she must be, by now – she was on a desperate quest, and Cadvan was no longer there to guide her.

  "How are we to find Maerad now?" asked Hem despair­ingly.

  "The simple answer is that I do not know," answered Saliman. "We don't know when she wrote this letter; it could be weeks old now, and she could have already returned from the north. The Pilanel can travel swiftly if need presses them. We don't even know when she and Cadvan left Busk." His voice cracked as he said his friend's name.

  Hem sighed. "Perhaps she is in Annar." He didn't say the rest of his sentence, though they both thought it: if she is alive.

  "We go north and seek her, I guess," said Saliman, after a pause. "We might be able to trace news of her. We will think about that when the time comes. First, there are tasks for both of us." He sounded very tired.

  "I'm so sorry, about Cadvan," said Hem, and shyly he reached out for Saliman's hand. Saliman clenched it hard, and Hem could feel the profound emotion shaking within him.

  "Hem, if you will excuse me, I wish to be alone for a time," he said at last. "There's something I must do."

  Saliman stood up and walked out of the chamber. Hem watched him leave, wanting to follow him, but knowing he could not. He guessed that he went to make a lament for Cadvan, in the way of Bards. Hem knew that such sorrow could only be endured alone.

  XVI

  THE PLAINS OF NAZAR

  It was unbearably bright. Although it was dusk and Hem and Zelika stood in the filtered light of trees, Hem's vision blurred and swam. He was so overwhelmed he almost retreated into the cave.

  He felt as if he were drinking sweet, delicious water after a time of great thirst. During his long sojourn in the shadows, he had forgotten the opulence of color. It hit him in a great wave of sensation: he had never realized there were so many shades of green, from delicate, luminous lime to the dark, almost black needles of conifers. Waxy crimson flowers, fading to a faint rose in the center, dotted the forest floor like little red suns, where a few caught the dying light; and elsewhere late orchids speared through the undergrowth, the deep blue of an evening sky in summer; and jasmine vines, their blossoms long withered, wound over rotting logs, themselves adorned with emerald mosses. Nearby a tree burdened with long, dry seed cases rattled in the faint breeze. Through the tracery of leaves Hem could see the faint gray of cloud, but even this seemed rich and strange, and all the green breathed dampness, as if it had recently rained and would soon rain again.

  After the colors, what struck him were the smells: the rich scents of loam and rotting vegetation; fresh droppings left by some animal; the perfumes of the flowers. At first they made him feel dizzy, as if he had drunk a goblet of wine. Ire gave an ecstatic caw and flapped up into the branches that hung low above them, and began to pull seedpods off the branches and throw them down onto the children.

  Ire looked a little strange: he was now in disguise, as his white plumage was far too noticeable. The Bards had given him, over his loud protests, a bath in tannin made from oak galls. It hadn't given him the glossy blue-black of a crow; rather, his feathers had taken the dye in a kind of mottle, so he was now a dusty gray-black. For the same reasons, Hem and Zelika were wearing the mail coat and gauntlets that went beneath their Turbansk armor, but had left the blue ceramic armor behind; instead they wore tunics of tough leather and dark-dyed cloth and, over all, dark cloaks of greasy wool. It was nearing winter, and the Suderain nights were cold.

  Hem glanced over at Zelika's enraptured face, and knew she felt the same delight at being out of the caves at last. It was like being born again, he thought: everything seemed fresh and newly alive, as if it had just been created, for their eyes alone, a moment before. Saliman, standing behind Zelika with Soron, gave Hem one of his sunny smiles, as if he knew what Hem was feeling. As always, Saliman's smile made Hem's heart lift; it gave him the feeling that all was right with the world, and they were doing nothing more alarming than sauntering to meet friends for a feast, to a warm house where the air would be thick with merry talk and laughter.

  Hared, who had crept noiselessly through the vegetation ahead of them to scout out the area, suddenly reappeared, jerk­ing his head for the others to follow. Cautiously the small party crept through the undergrowth, placing their feet exactly where Hared put his. Once Hem trod on a stick, and its snap as it broke seemed as loud as a whiplash. Hared glanced back, frowning, and Hem blushed. He put aside his joy at being in the free air and began to concentrate. They were now in the terri­tory of the Black Army, and any mistake could mean death.

  * * * *

  They had left only that morning, winding again through end­less tunnels, Hem with a glum and silent Ire clutching his shoulder. Ire had mostly overcome his detestation of being underground, but he still hated caves. The northern entrance to Nal-Ak-Burat was protected by one enchanted barrier, similar to the Gate of Dreams they had passed through on their way there, but otherwise its main defense was the labyrinth of caves, which were much more bewildering than those they had been through earlier.

  "One wrong turn, and you would be lost forever," Hared had said, as he stooped, scowling, to read a cluster of runes at a place where five caves forked from one.

  "How do you remember where to go, then?" asked Hem nervously. He had lost all sense of direction hours before.

  "It's like learning a long piece of music," said Hared. "Difficult music, with only a few notes. Left, right, straight ahead... But there is a pattern to it. It changes every now and then. Whenever you see these runes, they act as reminders that it changes, but you have to know then what the next pattern is. There's a pattern to the patterns, also."

  Zelika looked confused.

  "Like a change in tone?" Hem asked.

  "Kind of like that." Hared had been almost chatty; he seemed to become less grim the farther they were from Nal-Ak-Burat. "Only much more complicated. I have been walking these paths nigh on one hundred years, but I would never ven­ture into them carelessly."

  Zelika gasped. "One hundred years?" she said.

  Hared gave her an amused glance. "Aye, my little fox," he said. "I have wandered these caves since your grandfather was a child. And yet it is a short time in the annals of the world."

  Zelika had not liked the feeling that Hared was mocking her. "You Bards are always boasting," she said, flashing him a dark look. "So what, if you live for ages? Does it make you any better than other people?"

  Hared's smile widened. "Did I say it did?" he asked. "Nay, Zelika, I do not boast; I simply say what is the case. I think it is you who thinks that Bards are better than other people, but you can't admit it."

  "Bards just think they're special, because of all that magic," said Zelika, scowling. "But they're not; they're just the same. They're just people, like everyone else."

  She glanced at Hem, who was discomfited by the conver­sation, and her eyes were black and hostile. He opened his mouth to say something, and then thought better of it.

  "You're right, Zelika," said Soron lightly. "Bards are no better or worse
than any other people. Perhaps we can be forgiven for that, all the same."

  Zelika bit her lip, but said nothing in reply.

  "You are walking through fabled caves," said Saliman, breaking the silence that followed. "Even those who find them will seldom survive to tell the tale, unless they have a guide like Hared to tell the tune of the labyrinth."

  "I hear that it's common in these parts to say of a tricky fellow that he has more twists than the Caves of Burat," added Soron. "But most people are quite unaware that it refers to a place they might walk over every day. Like many old sayings, it holds a kernel of knowledge, but the meaning is worn away."

  After that, Hem had tried to discern the pattern Hared had spoken of in their endless turnings, but it was difficult; every time he thought he had caught a repetition, it varied slightly. Whoever devised this system, he thought, had a mind of unfathomable deviousness. He could no more discern the strange rhythm that Hared spoke of than he could fly.

  The cave entrance was hidden by magery; as soon as they had stumbled out into the dusk, it seemed to vanish into the rock wall. At last, Hem thought; at last we can begin.

  They walked along the gorge for a time, a light, cool rain patter­ing through the leaves, until they found a place where the walls sloped rather than falling sheer. Here they paused and ate their evening meal, whispering when they had to speak, and Hem watched the sky clearing slowly above them. It was a moonless night, and the stars were cold and distant, caught in a faint haze. Hared frowned; he disliked even this much light. A chill settled over them. Hem shivered inside his cloak, and Ire fluffed out his feathers and crept close, snuggling into Hem's legs.

  Then, tacitly agreeing it was time to move on, they gathered up their packs and slowly and laboriously climbed the steep slope out of the gorge. It was hot work, and after the hours spent in the Caves of Burat they were all very tired; but they had a long way to go before they could rest, so Hem gritted his teeth and ignored his complaining muscles. Hared led them, and when they reached the top of the cliff he cautiously exam­ined the landscape before he heaved himself over the edge, signaling the others to follow.