The Riddle (56 page)

That was the blessing of our Dhillarearën,
said Ka.

I thank you from my heart,
said Maerad, wondering if that was the correct thing to say to wolves. Ka seemed satisfied with her reply, and the atmosphere in the cave relaxed perceptibly; a couple of the wolves started scratching, and one pair began to lick each other fondly. The formalities, it seemed, were over.

You have hunger?
asked Ka.
You may eat. You may drink. We cannot leave until the storm has spent itself. That will take a light and a dark. We have all we need here. Then we will guide you to the mountains as swiftly as we may. Six lights and we will complete our journey.

Maerad salivated again at the thought of food. She paced over to the deer haunch, which was already half eaten. Another two lay behind it. She began to tear at it with her teeth, pulling off chunks of flesh and barely chewing them before she swallowed. When her hunger was sated, she came back to a place by the cave wall where there was a slight dip in the rock and curled up around her bulging belly, nose to tail, utterly content. It was not until then that she remembered that under normal circumstances such a meal would have made her retch with disgust.

Ardina nudged her with her nose, and Maerad sat up, blinking.

I will leave you now,
she said.
I must go back to my own.

I thank you, Ardina,
Maerad said, and instinctively she leaned forward and nuzzled Ardina underneath her chin. Ardina stretched out her neck with pleasure and Maerad reflected with wonder that she would never normally dare make such a gesture with the Elidhu. There was no impertinence in it now, and there seemed no need for other words.

Then Ardina leaned down and licked Maerad’s left paw. She flinched; it hurt very badly now. Instead of her mutilated hand she had now a maimed paw, with two toes missing, and the scarcely healed skin had torn on their long run through the mountains. As Ardina licked the wound, the pain ceased. For a wild moment Maerad thought her paw was whole again, but she looked down and saw that her toes were still missing. But where they should have been the skin was black and smooth.

Remember your wolf heart,
said Ardina.
The Winterking has no power over that. And where he has no power, he cannot see.

But he can see me as a Bard?
asked Maerad in a small voice. Must she remain a wolf forever?

He knows your Bard Name,
said Ardina.
That is the choice of your heart. And remember, daughter, it is for no one else to say the wrongness or rightness of what you do. I would not have helped you to escape from his stronghold if you had not wished it, even though your presence there was not something I would want. Not even I can see all ends, but I have been in this world long enough to know that a choice forced is no choice and breeds slow ills, even were it done for the highest reasons.

Maerad listened in silence, a heaviness on her heart lifting at Ardina’s words.

Farewell,
she said, and the two wolves touched noses. Then Ardina turned and loped out swiftly, and as she left, the light in the cavern dimmed and went out.

Maerad slept the sleep of utter exhaustion, barely stirring for a long time. She was woken by Ka.

You must eat,
he said.
Now we run.

With the rest of the pack, Maerad ate what was left of the carcasses in the cave, even crunching up and swallowing the bones. Then Ka led the pack out of the cavern along a narrow cave that ran south. Maerad knew the direction by some new sense, as if her brain now contained a compass. They filed through the cave, walking at their leisure, some of the wolves playing together as they went, nipping each other or rolling over in mock fights. There were other animals in these caves, no doubt having fled there from the storm, but the wolves took no notice of them, even of the hares, which cowered by the cave walls as they passed; their bellies were full and they had no need to hunt. Every now and then, they would pass under sleeping colonies of bats, which hung overhead in bunches like strange leathery grapes. The smell of their dung made Maerad’s lips curl over her teeth in distaste.

They emerged at the bottom of a rock face that stood out of the trees. Judging by the angle of the sun, it was about noon.

They were still in the forest, Maerad saw, but it bore the marks of terrible devastation. It seemed that almost every tree trunk was snapped, and everywhere was a jumble of torn branches and leaves and, sometimes, the corpse of some luckless animal. There had also been fire: Maerad saw trees that must have burned like huge torches, now sad blackened skeletons, although the fires had not spread far because of the cold. It looked like the aftermath of a war, and was tense with an eerie silence. She stood behind the rest of the pack, her ears pricked, trying to sense the presence of the Winterking; she could feel him faintly, very far off, brooding, preoccupied.

The wolves picked their way through the ruined forest, always heading south. They went in no particular order; it seemed that Ka was the wolf with the most authority, but he was not an absolute leader. They were mostly led by a she-wolf called Neka, who was, it seemed, most skilled at finding a way through this tumbled and chaotic terrain. Despite the debris, they moved swiftly.

Toward evening, they reached the outer edges of the forest and entered a landscape like the Arkiadera Plains — flat, treeless tundra. Now the wolves stretched out their lean, muscled bodies and began to run over the snow. The pack settled into a graceful, loping rhythm, which it could maintain for hours. They ran far into the night, as the half-moon rose into a clear sky and spilled its silver light on the snow.

As Ka had predicted, it was six days’ journey to the Osidh Elanor. Maerad was staggered by the wolves’ endurance, their relentless pace. Bad weather made no difference; if it snowed, the pack ran closer together, so they would not lose each other, but were no less swift. The wolves were in a hurry, and only hunted twice, on the third day and the sixth, although at various times during their run they chased down a hare or a mouse that had been unlucky or unwary enough to cross their path.

Despite their pace, being with the wolf pack was, Maerad found, unexpectedly fun. The wolves seemed addicted to play. There was one young she-wolf called Skira who especially liked bouncing upon the others when the pack halted; she would stalk up behind an unwary wolf and suddenly spring onto his rump, giving it a sharp nip before she tore off. Sometimes this would result in a wild chase, with the offended wolf finally catching her, the two rolling over and over in a rambunctious bundle of teeth and claws and fur while the rest of the pack barked at their antics, a noise Maerad soon recognized as wolf laughter. One evening the whole pack, even Ka, became involved in a crazy game of tag, skidding over the snow like nothing so much as a bunch of romping children. Maerad didn’t know where they got the energy; at the end of the day she was usually too tired to do more than give a yelp of protest if someone jumped on her.

Maerad was treated as an honored guest, but despite their friendliness she felt a little outside the close-knit relationships of the pack. She understood after a couple of days that they had left the younger and older wolves with Inka-Reb; Ka had only taken the strongest from his pack. One night, the wolves sang for those they missed, standing in a circle and singing long ululations of a strange beauty that made Maerad shiver.

Unlike with Dharin’s dogs, there were very few scraps; occasionally Skira might go far enough to offend Ka’s dignity, and would warrant a snarl and a nip. Maerad began to understand that for all their wildness, the wolves were gentle beasts. At night, they slept close together for warmth, and often she would wake with a wolf’s forepaw slung over her back in casual affection.

Ka and Neka were mates and the pack leaders, either one taking charge according to need. Neka was usually the leader as they traveled, being the more skilled at finding routes and having the most sensitive nose; she could smell a deer from more than a league off. Ka was the better hunter, although both were very skilled, as Maerad discovered when they made their first big kill.

The pack was subdued on the third day, with no teasing or games, as hunger began to gnaw at them. Maerad was starving; the huge meal she had devoured before they left had been digested, and all she could think about was her need for food. The pack strung out as they ran, questing for a recent scent. Toward midday, Neka found a fresh trail, a small herd of deer, and the pack turned east to follow it, traveling against the wind. When they drew near to the herd, they stopped.

Only three wolves hunted: Ka, Neka, and another younger male, Oraka, who was almost the image of Ka. The rest of the pack simply lay down and waited, happy to rest, flicking their ears and licking themselves. Maerad was curious to see the hunt, but clearly the other wolves had to stay out of the way: this kill was too important to be disrupted by inexperienced hunters. She pricked up her ears; she could smell the wolves, but she could not hear a sound as they stalked the oblivious deer. A little later there was an explosion of activity: she heard the sudden rush as the three wolves leaped at the deer, the herd’s stampede of surprise and fear, its cries of alarm, the terrified grunting of a dying animal. She was so hungry that she felt no pity; instead she began to drool, and waited impatiently for the signal to come and eat.

Before long, Ka trotted back and the pack leaped up eagerly and followed him. The hunters had killed two deer, thin scrawny beasts barely scraping through a hard winter, but still good to eat. They began to tear at the warm carcasses, eating ravenously. As they ate, two big ravens flapped down at a respectful distance and waited for their chance at the carcasses.

The wolves rested after their meal, dozing or playing idle games, until Ka shook himself and stood up. Then they were off again.

Maerad smelled the mountains before she saw them: it was the scent of pine, pungent on the cold air, drifting from the forests at their feet. They entered the forest on the fifth day, following a trail made by humans, although they did not use the track and instead ran beside it. They reached the mountains the next day, just after they had killed again.

The pass began, as the Gwalhain Pass had, with two standing stones. From there Maerad could see the road winding around the base of the first mountain. Warily the wolves crept up to the pass, alert for any human scent, but they could smell nothing. No human had passed this way for weeks.

Peering past Ka toward the standing stones, Maerad wrenched her mind back to her human memory, which in her wolf life had sunk to the back of her mind. This was, she knew, the Loden Pass, which led into the northeast corner of Annar. She tried to remember what Gahal had said of it in Ossin, but nothing came to her mind. Where was she to go now? Her only thought was that she had to find Hem.

We have come at last to the parting,
said Ka.
May you travel well, and blessing travel with you.

Maerad stared at him, momentarily bewildered. She realized she no longer needed the pack to guide her and that it would be dangerous for the wolves to travel into Annar, but she felt a sharp pang at the thought of leaving them, a wolfish dislike of being alone. She gathered herself and replied, with the dignity she had learned was befitting of a wolf.

I sorrow to leave you,
she said.
Henceforth my heart will be dark. I thank you for your guidance and protection.

We have done what was asked,
Ka replied.
Now we return home.

May you travel safely,
said Maerad. Then she was surrounded by noses and tails, as the pack crowded around her to say goodbye. She touched each wolf on the nose, farewelling Ka and Neka last of all. Then, without looking back, the pack turned and trotted away.

Forlornly, Maerad watched them until they vanished among the trees. She sat on her haunches for a few moments after they had gone, lifting her snout to catch their dwindling scents, and then she turned and loped toward the pass.

THE Loden Pass was neither as high nor as long as the Gwalhain. It took Maerad two days to reach the other side. She went as swiftly as she could, a lone wolf moving faster than a pack. She feared that she would be hungry before she reached Annar; she knew already that she had few skills as a hunter, and she did not fancy hunting in the mountains. She avoided the road, using it only when she had no other choice, preferring to run alongside it on the snowy slopes of the mountains.

It was a melancholy journey. She missed the company of the pack, especially at night, when the cold pierced her for the first time since she had been a wolf, and she felt vulnerable without them. She saw no humans and very few animals apart from the birds, although she could smell the presence of other beasts. No doubt they were keeping out of her way.

The sun was already high as she passed through the standing stones on the Annar side of the pass. The highlands of North Annar, covered in a thin snow, stretched below her in gentle undulations, with bare winter trees black against the white, and she felt a momentary leap of delight. This was not the place of wide skies and endless flat plains that she had left, but a landscape familiar and dear to her. But she did not pause to savor the moment; she felt little triumph in coming so far, against such odds. Instead she pressed on southward, wondering what she should do next.