They reached Nisa without further incident three days later. Once they came out of the Idoiravis, the countryside before them was flat for many leagues, stretching over the high northern plateau of Thorold before it plunged steeply down toward the coast. This was rich farming country, with many thick forests of larch, beech, and pine interspersed with a patchwork of fields sown with wheat or rye, the heads beginning to turn golden in the sun, or meadows where grazed herds of sheep or goats, or the dark greens of vineyards and olive groves.
Impelled by an increasing sense of urgency, they pushed their horses hard, reaching the edge of the plateau by the end of the second day. Here the land tipped precipitously down toward the sea. From then on, the going was slower; they had to pick their way carefully along steep, narrow tracks winding through the tangles of myrtles and acacias that grew luxuriantly around tumuli of pink granite boulders and mazes of small, noisy streams.
Nisa was a fishing village that hugged a tiny harbor carved into the rose-colored cliffs. To reach it, they had to leave their horses at a nearby village and descend on foot by a path cut into the rock. From there they looked down on the red-tiled roofs of about three dozen houses clustered in a single row against the cliff walls. Maerad, contemplating the blue expanse of the sea, reflected that she was getting better at dealing with heights; she didn't feel nearly so dizzy.
"You wouldn't want to climb up here after a few glasses of wine," she said as they negotiated one particularly sharp bend.
"I believe many do exactly that," said Elenxi. "And some have even lived to tell the tale."
"You'd fall right on someone's house!" Maerad risked another glance downward. No, it was not so bad, though it was better if she didn't look at all.
Compared to the hive of activity in Busk, Nisa appeared deserted. They arrived when all the boats were out on the sea and everyone else was having their midafternoon break. Apart from rows of seagulls perched on the rooftops, the only visible living thing was a gray tabby cat curled up in a coil of rope. Maerad looked along the stone quay and spotted the familiar red sail of the White Owl bobbing in the water. But there was no sign of Owan, either above or below decks.
"I suppose Owan would be at the tavern," said Maerad, stooping to scratch the cat's head as they walked back toward the main road.
"That would be right," said Elenxi. "I was just thinking it was time for some wine myself."
They found Owan stretching out his long legs under a wooden table in the back garden of the tavern; he had a palpable air of well-being. When the travelers entered, he gave a cry of welcome and came forward to embrace them. They called for wine and food and joined him at his table.
Owan had been sailing around the island on the same errand as Elenxi, bringing the news of Norloch's ultimatum to the coastal villages and warning them to ready their defenses in case of war. "They watch for the signal, and are vigilant," he said. "And each has messenger birds to send to Busk if they are attacked. All is well."
"But you don't have an army." Maerad suddenly realized this fact, and involuntarily said it out loud.
"No, not as such," said Elenxi. "We don't need one. All our people know how to fight, and it is hard to defeat an entire population. In this land there is no place for open battle, and Thoroldians fight by other means. When the Nameless One attacked Thorold before the Silence, a great fog came down from the mountains. The entire army was lost."
"What happened to them?" asked Maerad, fascinated.
"No one knows. Our people hid in the places they know, and when the fog lifted, there was no sign of the army. Some said they had wandered, lost and misled by phantoms, until they fell off a cliff into the sea, others that they were led into a great ravine in the mountains, which closed over them. But it is certainly true that they vanished without trace."
Maerad shuddered as an image passed over her inner vision of terrified soldiers running raggedly through a merciless, impenetrable whiteness. "Was it the Lamedon?" she asked. "Or was it the Bards?"
"It was not the Bards," said Elenxi. "But it is said that Limod, the leader of Thorold at that time, went and begged the Lamedon himself for help when he heard that a great army was on its way. The Lamedon might not be interested in human wars, but perhaps the thought of invasion offended him. In some tales, although not all, it is said that the Lamedon was Limod's father."
Maerad fell silent as the talk moved on to other topics. Elenxi's story disturbed her, although she could not say why. The question of her Elidhu heritage always filled her with discomfort. Ankil had balked at the suggestion that she speak to the Lamedon, despite his unquestioning acceptance that she had Elemental blood, and she thought again of the curious look he had given her when the plan was suggested, and wondered what he had seen that made him doubt her. Was it weakness? Or something else, which was beyond her knowledge? A vague foreboding weighed upon her spirits; there was so much about herself that she didn't understand. She was glad of the distraction when Owan said they would leave on that evening's tide.
Chapter VIII
THE STORMDOG
IT was a beautiful summer evening, the final light lingering in faint streaks of pink and purple on the rippling surface of the dark sea, as they slipped out of Nisa harbor. Elenxi stood on the quay, his hand raised in farewell and blessing, and Maerad, who had little to do with the sailing of the boat, stood in the stern facing him as Owan's craft surged on the outgoing tide. Elenxi glimmered faintly in the shadows, a blur of light that steadily grew smaller and smaller. Above him stretched the dark cliffs that surrounded Nisa, and above them the white stars opened in a clear sky.
It wasn't long before they reached the head of the harbor. Maerad looked uneasily at the cliffs, which loomed uncomfortably close as Cadvan and Owan negotiated the reef that lurked under the water, ready to scrape or hole any unwary boat. Soon, as if the White Owl leaped gladly out of harbor, they passed into the open sea.
Instantly a strong wind bellied out the sail, and they began to scud across the waves as a full moon climbed above the dark line of the land. Maerad breathed in the cold salt air with delight, seeking out Ilion, the star of dawn and eventide, which burned low and very bright over the western horizon. Hello, my friend, she said in her mind, and then laughed at herself; who did she think she was, talking to a star?
Now the waves were bigger: they weren't the waves of the deep ocean, as they were still sheltered by the island, but they were large enough to make the boat climb and fall as it rode forward. It wasn't long before Maerad felt the first stirrings of seasickness, and her spirits instantly dampened. Although Elenxi had given her a remedy he said was guaranteed to work even in the worst of storms, she felt nausea roiling through her guts. But it seemed the remedy did work; once she had adjusted to the new movements of the ship, the sickness vanished. Her relief was beyond words.
Cadvan stepped over to the bow and sat next to her. "No need of mage winds tonight," he said. "The Isle of Thorold sends its last blessing."
"I am glad of it," said Maerad. She turned to him, her face outlined by moonlight, and, for a brief moment, she saw an expression on his face that she hadn't seen before, and something in him seemed to flinch. Maerad looked up at him questioningly; they knew each other well enough by now not to need to speak. Cadvan looked out over the sea for a moment and then back toward her.
"You looked exactly like the Queen Ardina," he said. "It took me by surprise."
The unexpectedness of his comment made Maerad laugh. "But she has silver hair," she said.
"Your hair looked silver in the moonlight," said Cadvan, smiling in return. "So it is not as ridiculous as it might sound."
"And she is beautiful," said Maerad, more softly.
"Yes," said Cadvan. "She is."
There was a short pause; Maerad felt strangely abashed. "Well, then, I suppose I ought to thank you."
A silence fell between them that was not quite comfortable. Maerad didn't know how to respond to Cadvan's mood. He seemed somber and w
eighed down by some preoccupation, and it caught an underlying mood within her, bringing shadows into the present. But it was more than that;
Cadvan had often given her compliments, but they had always been in play. This time there had been an emotion in his voice that Maerad didn't understand, a complex adult emotion, and it quickened some deep sense of alarm. She did not think he meant that she reminded him of Ardina—someone else, perhaps. The thought gave her a small, cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Cadvan broke the silence, asking after Elenxi's seasickness remedy. Maerad replied lightly, and the strange moment passed. Maerad fell gratefully into the easy, casual trust between them, a trust that had already been tempered by several conflicts, but the cold feeling persisted for a while longer. Maerad had a deep distrust of men, which stemmed from her brutal childhood and, in that unguarded moment, Cadvan had unintentionally woken her old fears.
The next day, the fair sailing continued. The sea was blue and calm, and a sou'westerly carried them steadily toward Gent on the southern coast of the peninsula of Ileadh. Now that Maerad was not crippled by seasickness, she realized sailing was exhilarating: the fresh, biting wind blew all the darkness out of her heart.
Cadvan and Owan began to teach her the basics of handling a craft. It was, she discovered to her chagrin, something she did not have a natural talent for; she couldn't feel instinctively how a boat might respond to the currents of wind and wave, or predict how it would move. At one point, while Owan was attempting to teach her the art of tacking, she accidentally sent the White Owl into a violent spin, almost knocking Owan into the sea. Although the other two thought it was funny (after the vessel had been righted), Maerad felt it as a humiliation and worked all the harder to gain some basic skill.
"You'll make a decent sailor one day," Owan said comfortingly that evening. He had lashed the tiller, letting the White Owl follow her own course as they had dinner. "If you work at it."
"If I don't sink myself first," answered Maerad ruefully. "But thank you."
"It's perfect teaching weather, anyway. There was no real danger." Owan settled himself on the bench that ran along each side of the deck and began to eat with relish. He had set out fishing lines that day, and dinner was grilled bream, flavored with his carefully hoarded dried herbs. Eating in the open air, as the sun spilled a path of flames along the darkening sea, gave the meal an extra piquancy. At last they sighed and pushed away their plates, watching the sun send out its last pale gleams into the sky. The moon had not yet risen, and the stars were especially brilliant, letting fall a light strong enough to throw shadows. No one moved to light a lamp.
"I can't see Thorold anymore," said Maerad, gazing southward over the heaving waves.
"It must be concealed in a haze," Owan answered. "Sometimes you can see the Lamedon from two days out."
"It's a beautiful place," said Maerad dreamily. "I'm sad to leave it."
"Aye, it is that," answered Owan. "Have I told you of the Lamedon and the Sea?"
"No," said Maerad, sitting up straighter. "Is it a story?"
"Ah, yes, it is an old story," said Cadvan, smiling. "I'd like to hear it again, Owan, if you're in the mood."
Owan lit a pipe, and gazed over the water in silence for a few moments. "Well then," he said. "It goes like this." His voice modulated into a new register, as if he were almost singing, and Maerad had a sudden image of herself as a small child sitting at Owan's feet, wound into the spell of the story. Owan had clearly told it many times.
"The sea around Thorold has many moods," he began. "Sometimes it is blue, sometimes green, sometimes yellow, sometimes gray, sometimes a blinding silver dazzle, but it is always beautiful, and always dangerous. One day it will tickle the toes of small children playing on the beaches, and the next it'll erupt in a tempest of water and spume, dragging down trees and houses and goats from the lowlands.
"You see," Owan continued, "the sea once loved the mountains. And she confessed her love to the mountain king, showing him her corals and her pearls and her beautiful foaming hair. The king laughed and said to her, Why should I come down to your dark, wet, weedy bed, when I love the sky, and the wind, and the cold nests of eagles? And the sea was humiliated and furious, and she returned to her palace beneath the waves.
"And ever since, she has hated Thorold. She eats up the cliffs until they collapse, and she calls up her tides until the feet of the king are flooded with fish and weed, and she summons wild storms to pull the drowned sailors down to her dark bed. But still, underneath her hatred, remains her love, and when she remembers that, she forgives the king his insult and is calm. And then there are the still days, when fishermen set their nets far out and take of her bounty of fish, and the landsfolk look out on her beauty and marvel."
Owan knocked his pipe out against the railing, and all was silent for a moment, apart from the clink and creak of the sails against the wind. "Today," he said, "she remembered her love."
"I guess the moral is, never refuse the love of a powerful woman," said Cadvan. "Eh, Maerad?" He stretched lazily and grinned at Maerad through the shadows. She thought involuntarily of Nerili, and flinched at his sally. She did not want to think about those inscrutable emotions.
"Maybe the moral is that it's best not to love at all," she answered stiffly, without looking at him. "It just causes trouble."
Cadvan raised his eyebrows at Owan, but said nothing. Shortly afterward, Maerad retired to her hammock, and Owan unlashed the tiller, whistling. The wind was beginning to shift to the east. Cadvan, who was sleeping in the tiny cabin on deck, retired not much later; the two men were sharing the labor of sailing and Owan was taking the first shift. The little boat rode on through the night, a frail shell bearing its human cargo between the twin darknesses of the sea and the sky.
The following day, the wind continued to shift and strengthen, and a bank of dark clouds began to build on the northern horizon. The sea was now a dull, yellowish gray with choppy waves, and the wind had a bitter edge. Maerad's sailing lessons were postponed; she sat, cold and bored, in the prow, as out of the way as she could get without going below decks, with her cloak wrapped tightly around her. They were still making decent time north toward Gent, Owan said, but he feared being driven off course and asked Cadvan for assistance. Maerad watched as Cadvan raised a wind into the red sail, pushing the White Owl face on into the rising squalls.
Now Maerad was very glad of Elenxi's seasickness remedy because the boat had a most uncomfortable action, rising to the top of each foam-tipped wave and dropping with a thump into the trough. She felt nothing worse than a slight queasiness, whereas without it she knew she would have reached an abyss of misery. But even so, sailing today did not seem quite as much fun as it had the day before.
The weather steadily worsened all day until they were pushing through a driving rain and the wind was almost gale force. Toward evening, Maerad retreated to the tiny galley in the cabin and prepared a meal that was within her limited cooking skills: a thick soup made from dried peas. It made her feel less useless, since she was no help with the sailing. She couldn't work out how to fix the utensils so they didn't slide on the stove or the table, so she cheated a little and used a charm, and after that most things behaved. The stove, however, was moody, and she was a little vague on which herbs to use. In the end, she tried a pinch of each of them, and the result was rather strange, but, she reflected, if the soup was no masterpiece, it was at least hot and thick.
There was no leisurely meal on deck that night; Cadvan and Maerad ate in the cabin at the little table, their knees touching, as Owan managed the boat. The lamp that hung from the ceiling swung to and fro as they ate, throwing strange shadows across their faces. Cadvan went out to relieve Owan at the helm, and Owan came in with a blast of spray, his hair dripping. Maerad ladled out his meal. He tasted it and paused, looked up at her expressionlessly and then steadily finished the meal without comment.
"Was it that bad?" Maerad asked mournfully, when he handed
her the bowl.
"It was hot," he said kindly. "And that was right welcome. And, no, it was not that bad—I've tasted far worse. But next time, I'd leave out the allheal, because it's really for poultices and it has a bitter taste."
Maerad's mouth twitched. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm about as good at cooking as I am at sailing."
"Ah, young Bard, you can't be good at everything," he said. "And it is folly to think you should be. But practice is a good aid." He yawned. "And it's made me tired; it's heavy work out there."
"Is it going to be like this all night?"
"My nose tells me it's going to get worse; I think we're in for a storm."
Maerad almost said, You mean, this isn't a storm? but stopped herself in time.
"It's not the season for it," said Owan. "But these are strange times. Do not fear, Maerad; the Owl has seen me through a lot of bad weather. She's a beautiful vessel, and what's more, she's knit together with the strongest charms Bards can make. We should be entering Gent by dawn of the day after tomorrow, even with this heavy weather."
Maerad felt slightly reassured. The White Owl was creaking and groaning in the swell, and the noise had begun to make her nervous.
"You should sleep, too," said Owan, gently reminding her that the cabin was his bedroom. "I'll clean up, you go below."
Maerad opened the cabin door. It slammed back on its hinges, and a blast of spray-laden wind sent the lamp swinging in circles before she was able to wrestle the door shut. She stood, breathing hard, on the deck; the wind was howling and the sail was rattling against the wind. Cadvan stood a mere three paces away, in a pool of magelight, but he was clearly busy and she didn't hail him as she stumbled unsteadily to the gangway. It was shut, and she had another battle to open the trapdoor, climb down the ladder, and close it above her. When she pulled the trapdoor to, the roaring of the wind and waves suddenly dimmed, and she became aware of water sliding coldly down the back of her neck, but the creaking of the ship below decks was much louder than in the cabin.
The Riddle Page 13
