The Forgotten Beasts of Eld (21 page)

“You locked yourself in. But anyone who really wanted to could get in. Sybel, I think we should go to Maelga’s house and let her fix us some supper.”

A smile touched her face, smoothing the sharp lines of it. “I think you are wise, my Tam. I have lost everything, and you are a young King in a perilous position, whose valuable advisers and counselors are running in circles after wondrous animals in dark forests, and I do not know what tomorrow will bring either one of us, but today I am hungry and I think we must be fed.”

They went, the silvery-haired wizard woman and the boy king, through the tall whispering trees and above them as they walked, the mists rolled again over the white face of Eld Mountain, hiding its bare, terrible peak. Maelga welcomed them, laughing and crying over them, and twisting her curls into wild tufts on her head, and they stayed late with her until the dusk drifted like smoke between the trees and the moon moved through the stars above Eldwold like a silver ship without a mast.

Tam went home finally with his weary guards, and Sybel sat quietly at Maelga’s hearth, a cup of hot wine in her hand, her eyes still, looking inward. Maelga rocked in her chair, the rings on her hands catching light from seven candles as they moved back and forth on the arms of the chair. She said finally,

“Such a still land it is without its warlords... so confused and childlike. And the Sirle ladies sleep alone tonight, and the children sleep fatherless. Will they come back?”

“I do not know,” Sybel murmured. “I do not know anymore the minds of those great beasts. I cannot care. It seems I have heard a dream, except that—no dream could hurt so deeply or be so endless. Maelga, I am like weary earth after the killing, hardening winter... I do not know if anything green and living will grow from me again...”

“Be gentle with yourself, my white one. Come with me tomorrow through the forest; we will gather black mushrooms and herbs that, crushed against the fingers, give a magic smell. You will feel the sun on your hair and the rich earth beneath your feet, and the fresh winds scented with the spice of snow from the hidden places on Eld Mountain. Be patient, as you must always be patient with new pale seeds buried in the dark ground. When you are stronger, you can begin to think again. But now is the time to feel.”

Day and night slid together in a timeless quiet she did not measure until one day she woke to the motionless splash of light on her floor, the voiceless stones rising about her, and a little seed of restlessness woke with her. She wandered through the still house, the empty gardens, stopping at the edge of the swan lake to watch the wild birds feed in it. She circled the lake and went to Gyld’s cave where in her mind’s eye she saw him lying curled once more in the darkness, his mind-voice whispering into hers. The wet stones surrounded an emptiness that had no voice; she turned away from the silence, went back into the vagrant autumn winds that made their own bright paths across the mountain, leaving her behind.

She went back to the house, sat in the domed room. She began to search again, calling through Eldwold and beyond Eldwold for the Liralen. The hours passed; night winked above her dome, and she sat lost in her calling, feeling the power stir and strengthen in her mind. Near dawn, when the moon had set and the stars had begun to fray in the sky, she woke out of her calling, rose stiffly. She opened the door, stood at the threshold smelling the wet earth and the quiet trees scented and damp in the early morning. Then she saw beyond her open gates Coren dismount, lead his horse into her yard.

She straightened, her throat suddenly dry. He stopped when he saw her, his eyes still, waiting. She drew a breath and found her voice.

“Coren. I was calling the Liralen.”

“You called me.” He paused, still waiting, and she said,

“Please—come in.”

He put his horse in the side room, and came to join her beside her cold hearth. She lit candles in the dimness; the light between them traced the bones and hollows of his face. Memories began to stir in her; she looked away from him quickly.

“Are you hungry? You must have been riding all night. Or did you stay last night at Mondor?”

“No. I left Sirle yesterday afternoon.” His gaze, insistent on her face, forced her eyes upward finally, to meet his. His voice lost a little of its aloofness. “You are so thin. What have you been doing?”

“I do not know. Little things, I think—sewing, gardening, looking for herbs with Maelga... Then, yesterday, for the first time I began to hear how silent my house is, how empty. And so I began to call again. I did—I did not mean to disturb you.”

“I did not mean to be disturbed. When I woke that morning and found you gone, I did not think I would ever hear your voice tugging at me again. My brothers were angry with me for quarreling with you; they said that was why you left: because I was being unreasonable.”

“That was not why I ran.”

“I know.”

Her hands closed on the arms of her chair. She whispered, her eyes wide on his face, “What do you know?”

He looked away from her then, to the empty hearth. “I guessed,” he said wearily. “Not that morning, but later, in the slow, quiet days while I waited for my brothers to return. I heard reports of Drede’s strange, sudden death, of the warlords of Eldwold vanishing on their way to war. The land was buzzing of impossible things: of bright animals, ancient names, half-forgotten tales. The war had been taken away from us as easily as you take a game from a child. I remembered then the riddle Cyrin gave you the day he came to Sirle. It was the same riddle he gave to me before I saw Rommalb. I should have warned you, but I did not think then that there was any need for you to be afraid. And, remembering that, I knew what must have happened to you. You would not have given up that war for me, or for Tamlorn, or for anyone you loved. You would have had what you wanted, except you made one mistake: holding Rommalb, you neglected to give it what it required of you.”

She was silent a long moment. Then she whispered, her face lowered, half-hidden from him, “You are wise, Coren. I gave up everything in return for my life, and then I ran. I ran in my mind past the borders of it, because I had nowhere else to go. Tam came to find me. He woke me. If he had not came—I do not know what would have happened to me.” She lifted her head, looked at him as he stared, his face closed from her, into the hearth. She said wistfully, “If you are still angry with me, why did you come? You did not have to answer my lonely voice. I did not expect to see you again.”

He stirred. “I did not expect to come. But how could I know you were here in this empty house without Tam, or your animals, or even me, and not come? You did not need me before, and I do not know if you want me now, but I heard you and I had to come.”

Her brows drew together. She said softly, a little puzzledly, “If you heard the voice in me that calls you without my knowing, then you must know I need you.”

“You have told me you needed me before; it is easy to say. But that night, when Rommalb came to you in the darkness—you did not even need me then to hold you, as you held me once on this hearth, before you even loved me.”

She gazed at him, her lips parted. She smiled suddenly, and realized then how long it had been since she had laughed. She hid the smile like a precious secret, her head bent, and said gravely, “I wanted to wake you, but you seemed so far from me—”

“That is easy to say, too. You did not need me when Mithran called you, or when you plotted your revenge with Rok, or even when Rommalb threatened your life. You go your own way always, and I never know what you are thinking, what you are going to do. And now you are laughing at me. I did not come all this way from Sirle to have you laugh at me.”

She shook her hair back, the blood bright in her face. She slipped her hand over his and felt his fingers turn to close automatically around it. “I am sorry. But Coren, that is what I need you for now. I have fought for myself—and fought myself. But there is no joy in that. It is only when I am with you that I know, deep in me, how to laugh, and there is no one, no one who can teach me that but you.”

He gazed at her, his mouth crooked in the beginnings of a reluctant smile. “Is that all you need me for?”

She shook her head, the laughter fading. “No,” she whispered. “I need you to forgive me. And then perhaps I can begin to forgive myself. There is no one but you who can do that either.”

She heard the draw of his breath. “Sybel, I almost could not do that. I carried anger and pain like a stone in me: anger with you and Rok and even Drede, even after he died, because you had thought more about him those days than me. Then one night I saw my face in a dream: a dark, sour face with no love, no laughter in it, and I woke in the dark with my heart pounding against my ribs, because it was not my face but Drede’s.”

“No—you will never look like Drede.”

“Drede was young once, and he loved a woman. She hurt him and he never forgave her, so he died frightened and alone. It frightened me that I could so easily make that same mistake with you. Sybel, will you forgive me?”

She smiled, his face blurred under her eyes. “For what? There is nothing.”

“For being afraid to tell you that I love you. For being afraid to ask you to come back to Sirle with me.”

Her head bowed, her fingers so tight in his hand that she felt the lock of their bones. “I am afraid, too, of myself. But Coren, I do not want to stay here and watch you go away from me. I need you. I need to love you. Please ask me to come with you. Please.”

“Will you come?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Thank you.”

He reached out with his free hand, turned her face upward. “Sybel, do not cry. Please.”

“I cannot help it.”

“You are making me cry.”

“I cannot help that either. Coren, I have not laughed or cried for so long, and today, before the sun has even risen, with you I have done both.”

He pulled her toward him. They slid to the floor, and the candle, knocked over, extinguished itself against the stone in the first ray of sunlight. She hid her face against him, feeling, as she wept, his hands smoothing her hair, cupping her face as he whispered broken, soothing words. Then for a long time they were wordless, until the light, tracing a fine web through Coren’s hair, fell on Sybel’s eyes and she opened them, blinking. She stirred, stiff, and Coren loosed her reluctantly. She smiled, looking into his tired, bloodless face, her own eyes lined with weariness.

“Are you hungry?”

He nodded, smiling. “I will cook something for us. Sybel, it is so strange to come here and not see Cyrin looking at me out of his red eyes, or Gules Lyon melting around a corner.”

“Tam said he heard a song about you and Cyrin, and your brothers.”

He laughed, a touch of color in his face. “I heard it, too. Oh, Sybel, think of six grown men, twice as many seasoned warlords and an odd number of messengers and armor-bearers gathered in the dawn to overthrow a King and suddenly, without a second thought, riding after a great Boar with marble tusks gleaming like quarter-moons, and bristles like silver sparks, who beckoned with his eyes full of some secret knowledge so that we followed like a group of beardless boys following the beckoning of a street-woman’s eyes. Harpists will sing of us for centuries, and we will lie burning in our graves. I woke to myself in Mirkon Forest and saw a chain of riders disappearing into the trees after a moon-colored Boar, and I realized suddenly who that Boar was. So I went home and five women met me at the door weeping, and not one of them for me. They said the Sirle army was bewildered, leaderless, and messengers had been pounding at their doors all morning, demanding to know what to do. Then we began to hear tales of Cat and Swan and Dragon from all over Eldwold. My brothers began to straggle home after seven days and for once in his life Eorth had no words in him. And Rok—the Lion of Sirle aged ten years on that ride. He still has not been able to speak of it. It was like a dream; the endless ride, the great, elusive Boar always just ahead, just ahead... Sybel, I woke to myself and I was bone-hungry and whipped by branches and so weary I wanted to, cry, and my horse had not even raised a sweat...” He shook his head. “You can weave your life so long—only so long, and then a thing in the world out of your control will tug at one vital thread and leave you patternless and subdued.”

“I know. When I let those great animals go I did not dream they would do that one last thing for me. I miss them.

“Perhaps they will return to you someday, missing the sound of your voice speaking their names. By then we will have a houseful of wizardlings to care for them like Tam did.” He got up stiffly from the cold stones, helped her rise. She stood close to him, looking around at her empty house.