The Gift (39 page)

“Then you would die,” said Ardina. Her eyes were stern and cold.

“Even so, we should have to make the attempt,” Cadvan replied. “Such is the urgency of our quest, that we have no choice. Would you have it said that the Lady Ardina aided the Dark?”

The Queen gave Cadvan a proud glance. “You ask a great deal of me,” she said. “So great, that it is a discourtesy to ask. In granting this, I risk destroying all that I love. Rachida is precious to me, and my people I value above all others. Why, then, should I grant this to you? What is this doom you speak of?”

Cadvan paused, as if gathering up his resolution. Maerad felt the force of the Queen’s will strongly; she was almost ready to abandon their journey merely at Ardina’s request.

“Lady Ardina, I trust you remember the Nameless One, who destroyed all Imbral and Lirion,” said Cadvan.

The Queen stirred, and seemed to look deep into her memories. “I remember Sharma well, before he came into his power,” she said. “A secretive, unpleasant man, I thought him, unworthy of the favor of the great Bards of Afinil, for all his talent. I told them so. And so it proved. Why think you I withdrew into the heart of the Cilicader? Why think you I made such a ban as I have made?”

“I do not know if you have heard the foretelling, that his last victory was not the worst,” said Cadvan. “It has been long said among the Bards of Annar that the Nameless will return, and his next coming will be his darkest, destroying all that is beautiful and free, withering all forests, drowning in shadow all the havens of the Light that yet remain. For think you not that he has learned from his defeat? And do you think, Lady, that even you, in your great power, could preserve here such Light as you have done, if all Annar was laid desolate and the Bards were utterly defeated?

“His last victory was not complete. The Light held havens not only here, but hidden in the Seven Kingdoms; and so at last his reign was destroyed, and his power overthrown. But it is said that if he next prevails, his malice and might will be absolute until a time beyond the ability of mortals to perceive. And I say to you, Lady Ardina, the Dhyllin were ever those he hated the most and most sought to destroy. I think if he achieved such power, this time he would not overlook Rachida.”

Such was the power and urgency of his plea that Ardina looked down at her lap, and her face was shadowed with doubt.

“Say on,” she said. She glanced at him keenly. “This foretelling may be true. But what do you know of this uprising of the Nameless? You speak as if he rises now.”

“I believe he rises now,” said Cadvan heavily. “I have been shown so.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “Before this winter, I was sent by the Bards of Norloch on a mission far to the north, and on my return I was captured by one of thy kin, one who inhabits a mountain some know as the Landrost. He was long ago snared and corrupted by the Nameless. He is a sorcerer of great malevolence and strength, and even so he is but a slave of that Dark power.”

“I know of whom you speak,” said Ardina. “I do not say his name.”

“He cast me into his dungeons.” Cadvan was silent awhile. “I will not speak of what I underwent there. But in his pride he boasted to me of the coming of the Dark. In his throne room he hath a pool, like to yours, Lady, but an evil reflection of it. No Light lives there, but an unspeakable Shadow. And in that mirror may be seen things that are. He thought to make me die in despair; and he showed me the building of forces in Dén Raven and the gathering of corruption in the places of the Light and an evil creeping over Annar like a poisonous smoke, and lastly he revealed to me that the Nameless returned again.”

“The tools of the Dark have ever lied,” said Ardina swiftly.

“Aye, Lady,” said Cadvan. “But I am said among Bards to be a Truthteller, and have the gift of knowing what is a lie and what is not; and I am long used to the deceptions of the Dark. What he showed me was not a lie. He could not have hoped to have tormented me with a falsehood or a meretricious shadow; and he well knew that.”

For a long time there was silence, while Ardina sat pensive. Maerad looked at Cadvan with a new wonder; he had not spoken of the Landrost, except briefly in their first journey together to Innail. Now Maerad saw more clearly what Cadvan had meant by the strange chance of their meeting. She wondered how he had survived, and how he had escaped; but the Lady did not ask.

“You have not told me of the burden you bear,” said Ardina at last.

Cadvan, who had been sitting staring at his hands, looked up. His face was overcast with painful memory.

“There is another prophecy, a memory preserved in song by the Bards, although it has fallen into forgetting and now is little known,” he said. “It speaks of one who will appear when the Nameless increases in his power for his darkest rising. This one is the Foretold, the One. And it is said the Foretold will defeat the Nameless, and will cast him down from his strongest assault on the Light.”

“Is it said how this will happen?” asked Ardina.

“No,” said Cadvan.

“And who is this Foretold?”

“I believe that Maerad of Pellinor is the Foretold. And therefore together we journey to Norloch by untrodden and hidden ways, so we might not be perceived by the Dark, which pursued us almost to the borders of your realm. For in Norloch there is wisdom and lore that might better understand this riddle.”

Ardina looked searchingly into Cadvan’s face. This time he held her gaze. At last she looked away and sighed.

“Almost you remind me of the King Ardhor,” she said sadly, “for such is your courage and verity. I would it were not so: for you place me on the edge of a razor, and no matter whither I step, there lies danger.”

Then she turned to face Maerad, and looking up into her inhuman eyes, Maerad saw with astonishment a fathomless compassion and sadness. Suddenly Queen Ardina seemed not a distant figure stepped out of legend, but mortal and frail, like herself.

“I see a Fate on thee, sister,” said Ardina softly. With a thrill, Maerad realized that Ardina was speaking to her in the tongue of the Elidhu, not in the language of Annar. “I sensed it when first I saw thy face. I know not what to say to thee, for thou art yet asleep, like the lily that sleepeth under the ground in winter; and yet within thee there dwells a fire of unsurpassed brightness, which will blossom in its own time. I know not what it means and what it tells; and I fear in my heart that it spells an end for my people, no matter how I construe it.”

“Say not an end,” said Maerad in the same language, surprising herself, for she felt as if another voice spoke within her. “Say rather another beginning.”

“Perhaps,” said Ardina. “But an ending, nevertheless. And it may be that the doom we all fear will overtake us, no matter how we struggle against it. But better to fight than to be overwhelmed without resistance.” As Ardina spoke, it seemed to Maerad that her vision wavered, and she saw again the shimmering Elidhu in the forest laid over the image of the mighty Queen. She realized with sudden wonder that Ardina and the Elidhu in the woods were one and the same. She gasped, and looked up into Ardina’s yellow eyes.

“Aye, sister,” said Ardina, who was studying her closely. “You see aright. I am both Queen and Elidhu, here and there, wildfire and hearthfire, forgetting and remembrance. But do not yet speak of this, for men are impatient with such things and do not brook contradiction.”

Cadvan was looking between the two women with incomprehension, and the Queen glanced toward him and rose.

“Cadvan of Lirigon,” she said, in the tongue of Annar. “I know you speak truly to me. How you have increased my sorrow! Do not believe that my isolation means I know little of the fortunes of Annar; I have my own mirror on the world, as you guessed. I hoped yet to remain unseen. Like all false hopes, it was comforting. But it has never been said that the Lady Ardina was faint of heart, or took refuge in the excuses of cowards.”

She paused, as if considering again her thoughts. “I will now say my resolution to you. You alone of all who have wandered here may journey from my realm without hindrance. I grant you this because I know you speak truth, and because you travel here with my kin, and because we must make ourselves strong against our common enemy, and not be divided. I ask only that you speak to no one of your sojourn here. And further, I will give you what help I can and will offer you guidance to the borders of the Cilicader, for there are many dark places in this forest it would be well to shun.”

Cadvan rose and bowed his head. “I thank you, Lady Ardina,” he said. “I know what it costs you to grant us this. Truly you are a mighty Queen, and your law is just.” He looked as if he wished to say more but could not.

“Farewell, then,” said Ardina. “Maerad of Pellinor, my good wishes travel with you. May your Doom be not as hard as mine! And as a sign of our kinship, I bid you take this.” She took from her finger a thin band of gold fashioned into the semblance of lilies, each flower twisted into the next in miraculously fine workmanship. Maerad received it awkwardly, taken aback by surprise.

“Wear this in memory of Ardina,” said the Lady. “It was given me long ago by one I loved. Your future is uncertain, and I can tell you nothing that can help you. You are singular and dangerous, and so it is that you are sought by both the Dark and the Light. Perhaps you will find that your Fate has nothing to do with either of them. It may be that you will find that your greatest peril exists already within you. Only this is clear: you have a great heart, but will only find it to be so through great pain. This is the wisdom of love, and its doubtful gift. Yet I have endured much suffering and still remain unbitter and unclosed.”

Maerad looked again in the Queen’s eyes, and it seemed to her that Ardina’s glance pierced her where she was most tender, hurting her; and yet she welcomed the wound. She couldn’t hold the Queen’s gaze for long and bowed her head, puzzling over Ardina’s words, which she did not understand.

“To you, traveler and Truthteller,” Ardina said, turning at last to Cadvan, “I give nothing but my blessing. Your road will be dark, but I doubt that is unknown to you. And Light blooms the brighter in the darkest places.”

“The blessing of Ardina is no small thing,” said Cadvan. “I thank you again, Lady. Well your people praise you as the Sap of the Tree of Life!”

Ardina raised her hand in farewell, and then the golden light gathered around her, and they blinked, and when they looked again she was gone.

“Such was the glory of the days of the Dhyllin,” said Cadvan, sighing after a long silence. “I will be grateful all my life to have been vouchsafed this glimpse. And yet its gladness is mixed with great sorrow.”

When they returned to their house, Maerad realized that her period had started again. She cursed the inconvenience and took herself to her room to deal with it. While she was digging through her pack for cloths, it suddenly struck her that she had no cramps. She sat back on her heels, thinking,
Had Ardina eased them?
She thought of her profound glance, which had seemed at once a wound and its mending, as merciless and compassionate as the knife of a healer. Certainly the pains had gone, and they never troubled her again.

She pondered what Ardina had said to her. Despite its ominous portents it was strangely comforting. It seemed to her that Ardina had understood, as no one else could, her own doubts and fears, and her loneliness. That single moment of perception illuminated her confusions and somehow made her feel less isolated. She would always wear the ring, as she wore the jewel that Silvia had given her, as a token of love.

The following day they made ready to leave Rachida, not without mixed feelings. Ardina’s decision had clearly been made known; it seemed the whole town knew they were leaving, and early in the morning they found a pile of fresh supplies waiting on the porch. Many gifts were pressed on them, but Cadvan refused them smilingly, saying they could take only the barest minimum for fear of overloading the horses.

That evening, despite many invitations, they stayed at their own house and ate alone. They felt an unspoken need to prepare themselves for the journey ahead. Idris arrived with the food and made his farewells, looking very downcast. Seeing this, Cadvan gave him his silver brooch, the star sign of Lirigon. Idris embraced them both and left in tears.

“I don’t want to leave,” said Maerad gloomily, as they sat down to their meal, “although I know we must.”

“I’ve never been welcomed with such warmth among strangers,” said Cadvan, pouring them both a cup of wine. “I have been in many places with more majesty than this, but none so enchanting. It’s one more thing imperiled. Think of what Ardina has already done to protect her people! But I doubt they can preserve their isolation for much longer, even if they capture every wayfarer who strays into these forests.” He picked at his food moodily. “There is already too much to fear for.”

The next morning they woke early and dressed in their traveling clothes, and shortly afterward met their guides, who were their early captors Imunt and Penar. “Since we brought you here, we have the task of releasing you,” said Penar, grinning as he embraced them.

They led the horses through the town, a heavy reluctance weighing down their steps. Maerad looked hungrily around her, wishing to imprint its beauty on her memory. Rachida lay unstained before them, damp still with the morning dew, and as the horses clopped through the streets, windows opened and people waved and fair-haired children ran out to give the horses some last dainties and to run alongside them laughing and shouting. They felt as if they were the occasion for a festival.

They climbed the western side of the valley, leaving the houses behind them. At its rim Maerad turned around for one last look before Rachida vanished forever behind her. The rising sun struck the roofs so they shone like burnished silver, and the light fell gently in a honeyed mist onto the streets and gardens, picking out the fresh colors of tree and flower and home so they seemed newly minted. Yet already it seemed to her that a shimmering veil lay between her and Rachida, as if, even at this distance, it lay only within her memory, a golden dream of untouchable beauty.