The Gift (40 page)

THEY followed a path that led west, walking at their ease through flowering meadows that slumbered beneath broad stands of trees. The sun shone warmly, and Maerad thought it would not be long now before summer. Now the perils of their journey, which in the serenity of Rachida had receded, began again to press on Maerad’s mind, and for the first time for many days she had dreams of being hunted by Hulls.

They were not far, Imunt told Cadvan, from the borders of their land. He was taking them to the river they called the Cir, which Cadvan was certain was the course he knew as the Cirion. The river split to the north into two streams, the Cir and the Ciri, and met again farther south. The two streams enclosed between them a large leaf-shaped island, of which Rachida was the center, and roughly marked the borders of the realm, although Rachidan outriders also went south as far as the Usk. Once they reached the Cir, their guides would leave them; if they followed it south it flowed into the Usk, which, thus augmented, continued through the forest and then out into the plains of western Annar. From there, it was a journey of some eighty leagues south to Norloch.

Later that day they met the river, which ran swiftly between steep banks, with many falls into wide pools. Their guides gave them final advice and warnings on what they might expect to find on the other side: bird spiders as large as two fists, giant leeches, wild cats, and other perils. But they knew of no wers or goromants at this end of the forest.

“There is an old path that runs alongside the Cir. It meets the Ciri within a day’s walk and joins to the Usk after about three days,” said Penar. “Mind you stay on this bank on the Cir, for it becomes deep and is uncrossable farther down. The path should avoid such perils as we know of, but after you meet the Usk, you move beyond our knowledge. We do not venture past the Cir now. It may be that wers now live there. You will need vigilance.”

Their guides bid them farewell, holding their hands high in salute before they turned and vanished with a startling swiftness among the trees. Maerad and Cadvan stood for a time looking after them, and then with a sigh turned their faces west. For the first time in days they mounted Darsor and Imi and quietly forded the river. The light, although it was no less bright, seemed less rich on the other side of the river, and this, more than anything else, told them they had now left the protection of Ardina’s haven and were again alone in the world.

A few hours later they reached the meeting of the two waters, Cir and Ciri, and after that the river began to dig itself between steep banks and their way became less easy to follow. In places there was scarcely a trace of a path at all and they simply followed the river, hoping to find a clearer track farther on; eventually a shadow of a path would appear between the trees, only to peter out again. Despite this they were moving swiftly; both Maerad and Cadvan felt strongly the need for haste, and they urged on their horses.

Three uneventful days of riding and they came again to the Usk, which met and mingled with the Cirion and thereafter leaped down strongly between rocky banks, breaking into frequent rapids that roared unseen beside them. The path still continued vertiginously between the trees, but the going was a little slower. If it had not been for Maerad’s abiding anxiety, the ride would have been peaceful, so removed did they feel from human affairs of any kind. They saw no sign of bird spiders or wild cats or goromants, and they heard nothing at night save frogs and crickets and the rustles of small animals. The forest seemed deserted and shabby, even a little forlorn; the trees were thickly overgrown with moss and creepers that dangled shaggily from the branches, further obscuring the light. Even sound was muffled: their hoofbeats fell dully on a bed of dead leaves, and their voices seemed to die on the damp air. They moved through the trees like ghosts.

Maerad looked somberly at the river running beside them. “When do you think we’ll get out of these woods?” she asked.

“I think maybe a couple of days,” said Cadvan. “It seems to me the forest is thinning a little.”

Maerad brightened at the news; the endless trees were beginning to oppress her. And as Cadvan had guessed, late on the fifth day after they had parted from Imunt and Penar, having encountered nothing more sinister than wood spiders, they emerged from the western edge of the Cilicader.

The forest ended messily, gradually thinning out until the trees vanished altogether. Maerad and Cadvan looked over wide plains that fell away from them to the horizon, pocked by frequent dips and hollows and by outcrops of rocks that now and again gathered into huge tors that cast long shadows toward them. The sky seemed huge. Drifts of rose-and-purple clouds hung lazily over the horizon and veiled the westering sun, which sent down great shafts of light that spilled red on the travelers’ faces. The Usk still ran to their left, tumbling between broken piles of granite, which looked as if they had been tossed there long ago by giants, blotched with livid lichens and cushions of moss. They saw no sign of habitation. It was, in its own way, a country as lonely and empty as that they had left, and Maerad felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed by the light and space.

“Every time I’m in a forest,” she said to Cadvan, drawing to a halt beside him, “I can’t wait to get out. And then once I’m out, all I want to do is get back in! I feel like everything is watching me.” She squinted at the sky. “Even the clouds.”

“We’ve reached the Valverras Waste,” Cadvan said. “It does feel like that here. They tell strange tales of this place.”

Maerad stared at the desolate landscape and shuddered. “Don’t tell them to me,” she said. “I’m sure they’re horrible.”

The Valverras, Cadvan said, was a desert place that stretched between the forest and the coast, falling to a maze of fens and marshes nearer the sea. It divided that part of north Annar. If they now went farther north about a hundred leagues, they would strike the Lir River, about which clustered the hamlets and towns of Lirhan. Closer south ran the Aldern River, which was also thickly inhabited. Norloch was almost due south, about eighty leagues distant as the crow flew. The Kingdom of Ileadh, Dernhil’s birthplace, was almost directly ahead of them, a broad peninsula to the west; slightly to the north of that was Culain.

“If we were not so urgently bound, it would be pleasant to visit the Schools there,” said Cadvan, as they sat astride their horses looking over the waste. “Culor in Culain and Gent in Ileadh are beautiful in the way Innail is, and noble centers of the Light, but different each from the other, as all Schools are; I think you’d like them. Then we could take a little boat from Gent and journey to the Isle of Thorold; there we could visit the silk markets of Busk, and walk through the pine forests on the mountains — which are like no other place — and taste their freedom and silence. And after that, perhaps, we could beg a ride on one of the noble ships of Annar and sail to Mithrad Bay, arriving at dawn so you could see from the harbor the rising sun strike the white towers of Norloch. It is one of the greatest sights of Annar, and no matter how many times I see it, I always catch my breath. Norloch leaps up from the sheer cliffs, wall upon narrowing wall, until at last the high tower of Machelinor rises tallest of all, the Tower of the Living Flame. Its tip is as graceful as the summit of a fair tree and is roofed with gold and crystal, so the sun catches there like a pure fire.”

He sat silent for a time, and Maerad looked across at him. Cadvan’s eyes were distant, as if he saw far visions.

“And what then?” she asked.

“What then?” He turned to her and smiled, and he was suddenly present again. “First we must do what we must do in Norloch. That is our quest. If the doom of Annar and the Seven Kingdoms hangs in the balance, the fulcrum, I believe, is you; but until you are instated as a full Bard, we cannot know for sure. And how to instate you? That is the first step, the first puzzle. Who knows what will happen then?”

Who indeed?
Maerad thought to herself. And what if she wasn’t who Cadvan believed her to be? Was that the end of her tutelage? What would she do then? But Cadvan continued to speak.

“Perhaps, if fate was kind to us, we could afterward travel to Lanorial by pleasant and leisurely roads, and I could show you the gardens of Il Arunedh, which are planted on terraces so they cascade down the mountainside in great swaths of color. They are one of the marvels of the world. In spring the perfume is as heady as wine.” He sighed. “I have many friends in these places whom I have too long neglected. Always I have been driven hither and thither and must go forth along dark roads, instead of lingering in the fair places of the world.”

There was a yearning in his voice that Maerad hadn’t heard before, and she made no answer; she wondered, with an unexpected pang of jealousy, who it was he so missed. They stood silent for a while, letting the horses crop grass, and Cadvan sighed again. “But I think we will not travel there, unless all foresight fails me,” he said, a little harshly. “Our paths are more perilous. Perhaps in some far morning yet unseen beyond the shadows of the world, we will ride there and wander the perfumed gardens of Manuneril and Har. Well,” he said, gathering up his reins, “we should find a place to spend the night. Tomorrow we’ll ponder the riddle of crossing the Usk. There is a Bard Road forty or so leagues hence, where there is a ford; it skirts the marsh and then forks to Lirigon on the one side and Culor the other, and southward goes straight to Norloch. But it would irk me to go so far out of our way, and I would rather avoid roads, if we can.”

The following day they followed the Usk westward, searching for a place where they might cross. It ran too fast and deep to risk swimming the horses; in some places the banks were too steep to even consider going down to the water. Maerad found the Valverras hard going: dreary, empty, and dispiriting. She couldn’t shake off the sense of watchfulness, although neither she nor Cadvan saw any sign of living things, save the kestrels that soared high above them and the rabbits that startled and thumped into the distance.

Halfway through the morning, Imi picked up a stone in her hoof and started limping. Maerad swore and dismounted, picking up the mare’s foot to inspect it. She picked out the stone with her little dagger, but Imi’s foot was bruised; she continued to limp, and Maerad was loath to push her in case it became worse. When they came to a place where the banks shelved more gently, they stopped for lunch. Cadvan tended Imi’s hoof, easing the pain, and afterward Maerad bathed the mare’s legs in the running water. Even so, she still walked with a limp, and Maerad began to worry she had hurt herself badly. A lame horse would slow them down seriously, and they had already lost more than three weeks in the Great Forest. Maerad’s sense of urgency was, if anything, greater than Cadvan’s; she chafed at any delay, fuming with impatience, while Cadvan accepted the trials of their road with imperturbable calm. Cadvan’s serenity only increased Maerad’s impatience. Then, late in the afternoon, it began to drizzle, and they traveled only a little farther before the light became too bad to see. They made camp in the shelter of a granite tumulus, still on the wrong side of the Usk, and by then Maerad was smoldering with suppressed bad temper.

“How long are we going to be scrabbling around like dogs in the wild?” she grumbled, dishing out a barley stew. “I’ve had enough of it. And Imi’s had enough of it. She needs a rest.”

“Until we reach the end of it,” said Cadvan. “Which shouldn’t be that long, all being well.” He stretched out his long legs, regarding Maerad with tolerant amusement. “We’ve done very well to cross the Great Forest with no injury. Nevertheless, the wilds pall, I agree.”

“Pall is not the word,” answered Maerad. “I wish I’d stayed in Rachida. It’s not as if there’s any home for me to go to, anyway. I might as well have stayed there.”

“No, we can only go forward now.” Cadvan leaned forward and looked at Maerad intently. “You know we must go to Norloch.”

“I don’t want to,” said Maerad sulkily. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“You’ve had choices,” Cadvan answered mildly. “If you had wished to stay in Innail, or in Rachida, I would not have stopped you. I couldn’t have stopped you. You listened to your inner voice as much as I did. You knew that your fate, the fate of many others, was at stake. Think of your dream. Or have you forgotten all that?”