The Gift

by Alison Croggon

  Maerad had no time to feel amazed by what she had done. The wight still stood unmoved, a huge malevolent shadow, and in that instant it perceived her; and she felt the might of its evil will, even as it had bent Cadvan against his own iron resolution. For a second she thought she was lost, and her head was forced down beneath the deadly strength beating against her; but as her eyes lowered, she saw Cadvan lying pale and limp on the ground, and her anger again overcame her. Quicker than thought, she struck out wildly, with all the power within her; and she saw for a second the wight blasted as with lightning, and it let out a terrible high wail, writhing in the flames before vanishing before her appalled eyes. And suddenly everything was silent, apart from the faint crackle of twigs burning high above her, and the harsh sobs of her own breathing.

  She fell to her knees, and for a while everything went black. Then she remembered her friends and crawled toward Cadvan lying on the road; her legs were shaking too much for her to stand up. Darsor still stood next to him, lathered in sweat and trembling violently; but he would not leave his friend, and nosed him gently.

  "An de anilidar, Darsor?" she asked. The Speech came as naturally as breathing, as if she had always spoken it.

  The horse turned his great head toward her and blew out of his nostrils against her hand. He spoke, it seemed, into her mind, and she understood.

  I am well, he said. My friend is not. I think he lives, but he breathes only faintly.

  Maerad stroked Cadvan's brow. It was clammy with sweat and blood. One of his eyes was bruised and swollen shut and there were savage welts on his left cheek, where the thongs had bitten deeply into the flesh. She didn't know what to do. She desperately wished she had Cadvan's skills of healing. For a brief second she wondered if she could use her new powers to ease him, but nothing within her stirred in response; she felt utterly emptied. She felt gently over his face and body, but nothing seemed to be broken. Please, she pleaded in her mind, please wake up. She sat there for a long time, stroking Cadvan's face, but he didn't stir, and in the dim light she thought his face looked ghastly. She was glad for Darsor's presence; she had never felt more lonely. She wasn't afraid. But she was still out in the wilds, and Cadvan was insensible, and she did not know where Imi was, and Darsor could not carry all three of them alone.

  Like a thunderbolt she remembered Hem. In her anxiety for Cadvan, she had forgotten all about him. She stood and looked back down the road and saw his small shape on the ground, his limbs splayed out with the force of his fall. She stood and walked to him shakily, wondering if he were dead. She turned him over and his head fell back, hanging limply, and she was briefly certain that he was; but she pressed her ear to his chest and heard his heart still beating faintly. She shook him gently, as if he slept, and to her relief the boy opened his eyes. He looked up into her face, his eyes widening with dread, and then cringed away from her.

  "No, Hem, it's all right," she said. "The Hulls are all dead. Everything's gone." Despite herself, tears brimmed over her eyes.

  "Gone where?" said the boy faintly. Then he sat up. "You lie," he said. "You can't kill Black Bards."

  "Yes, you can," said Maerad. "I just did."

  Hem stared at her in disbelief and then looked down the road. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but there were faint shapes on the road, past Darsor—the corpses of the Hulls and their mounts. He turned back to Maerad and gaped at her with wonder.

  "What happened to Cadvan?" he asked.

  "He's hurt," said Maerad. "The Hulls hurt him." Again she found herself weeping, but dashed away the tears impatiently. "We have to get out of here. And I don't know where Imi is. She ran away. Can you walk?"

  Hem stood up slowly. "Yes," he said.

  "You have to help me," said Maerad. "I can't lift Cadvan on my own."

  Together they walked back to Cadvan and Darsor. The horse looked at them inquiringly. "We're going to lift Cadvan onto you," said Maerad in the Speech. "Can you help us?"

  I will kneel, said the horse. And you will need to hold him, so he does not fall.

  Cadvan was heavy and a dead weight, and even with Darsor kneeling it took a long time to hoist him onto Darsor's back. Maerad bit her lip, fearing all the time that they might hurt him more. They laid him across the saddle like a corpse, his head down one side and his feet the other; and then Darsor heaved to his feet. Maerad picked up Arnost, uncertain what to do with it; in the end she found Cadvan's scabbard and put the sword back. Then, with Maerad on one side and Hem the other, they moved off slowly down the road. They passed the Hulls, and Maerad averted her face so she could not see them; she knew without looking that they were all dead, and she had no desire to know any more. But Hem stared at the shapeless cloaks and the scattered bones, and kept turning his head when they were past, as if he did not believe such a thing was possible. They saw no sign of any wers.

  In less than half an hour Maerad saw the gray night sky in front of them, at the other end of the cleft. Then at last they were out of it and in the open downs, and a clean wind blew in her face. The moon was sinking beneath bars of cloud, and she thought it would not be long now until dawn. She was very tired, but she felt a new sternness in her bones and thought that she could walk all night and all the next day if need be, no matter what her exhaustion. When they had gone about a mile down the road she called a halt, and gently she and Hem lifted Cadvan down from Darsor and laid him on the grass. They took his pack down too, and Maerad found a jerkin that she used as a pillow. As she laid his head on it, she saw with a clutch of fear that his face seemed to be growing more pale, and she thought he was dying; but then she realized it was the beginning of dawn, which was just now sending its first outriders into the fields of night, lightening the downs to a pale gray.

  "Darsor," she said. "Imi ran away."

  No one can be blamed for being mastered by fear before such foes, said Darsor.

  "I don't blame her," said Maerad. "But I wonder how she can be found. Could you find her?"

  Darsor stood very straight and looked back over the downs, sniffing the air.

  She ran far in her fear, he said. She will be ashamed. I will call her back, if you will care for my friend.

  "I will," said Maerad. "He is my friend also."

  Darsor pawed the ground, and then nudged Cadvan gently with his nose, as if whispering something private to him. Then he was off, and Maerad saw at last how swiftly he could run; he sped like a black bolt down the road, and the fall of his hooves sounded like thunder.

  Maerad and Hem sat by the side of the road and watched the sun rise over the downs. Gradually the world filled with color, and a chorus of birdsong rose around them, and the horror ebbed away. Still Cadvan did not move. Maerad took out some food, and she and Hem ate, and then Maerad took the water bottle and soaked the edge of her cloak so she could wash Cadvan's wounds. They looked nastier now; his face was badly bruised and cut. One of the lashes had just missed his eye, and the skin around it was torn; but at least his wounds no longer bled. She was frightened by his continuing unconsciousness; she thought it must be four hours at least since he had fallen, and he had not stirred nor made a sound. She scrabbled through his pack and found the unguent he had used on her own cut and smeared his wounds with it.

  "Why don't you give him some medhyl?" said Hem.

  She took the bottle, and propping Cadvan's head in her lap, she tipped the bottle between his teeth and wet his mouth with it. Most of it dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. As she leaned, the jewel around her neck swung forward and touched his face. She shook her head impatiently to get it out of the way, but Hem said, "Look, it's glowing."

  She looked down and saw that the jewel was bright with a white fire that seemed to burn in its depths. She thought of Silvia, the gentle healer who had given it to her. She wished with all her heart that she was there.

  "Try rubbing it against him, or something," said Hem. "It might be a healstone."

  Maerad laid the stone against Cadvan's forehead, a
nd then gently rubbed it over his face. Please, she said again in her mind, please wake up. She wasn't sure if it was a trick of the increasing light, but it seemed there was a faint flush in Cadvan's face. Encouraged, she tried again. After a while she was sure it wasn't a trick of the light; and then, to her joy, Cadvan's eyelids fluttered open and he looked up into her face.

  "Maerad," he said. Then his eyes fell shut.

  "Cadvan?" she said, her voice wavering.

  He opened his eyes. "By the Light, my head hurts," he said. "I suppose that means I'm not dead." He shut his eyes again. "Where are we?"

  "Somewhere on the downs," said Maerad. "On the other side of the Broken Teeth. Darsor's gone to look for Imi." She felt like weeping with relief, but thought she had already wept too much that morning, and therefore bit back her tears. Cadvan was silent, lying with his eyes shut. Then, groaning, he sat up and put his head in his hands.

  "Do you want some medhyl?" asked Maerad, offering him the bottle. He took a large sip, and this seemed to ease him; then he turned to his pack, took out a small bottle, and took a sip of that. "Woundwort, and other herbs, to staunch pain," he said, looking across at Hem and Maerad. Then he felt over his face.

  "I see you've already salved me," he said.

  "I remembered that you used the salve on me," said Maerad. "But I didn't know how to wake you up." Her voice wobbled again. "But then Hem said this might be a healing stone, so I tried to rub it on you, and then you woke. . . ." She trailed off, willing back her desire to break into tears.

  Cadvan looked at her and tried to smile, and then winced. "Well, I am awake now. As awake as I can be. The last thing I remember is being whipped by a Hull, and behind the Hull a wight of the Abyss, and behind the wight a phalanx of wers and more Hulls; and the wight had stilled me, and I could do nothing. It looked very bad. And then I remember a lot of evil dreams." He shuddered and fell silent. Hem and Maerad exchanged glances and waited.

  "I suppose you saved my life again?" Cadvan said at last. "That's three times now. I'm beginning to wonder how I survived without you."

  "How did you?" said Maerad, beginning to laugh.

  "Luck, I suppose," he said. "Though it could be that life is more dangerous around you. So tell me, Maerad, what did you do?"

  Maerad then told them what had happened and Cadvan sat up, his eyes brightening. Hem listened in silence, his face in shadow. When she had finished, Cadvan clasped her hands.

  "So you've come into the Speech at last!" he said. "And in the nick of time, I may say. Maerad, I never heard of a Bard blasting a wight to pieces. Not a wight of the Abyss. You have some power I know nothing of; think of the Kulag in the woods near Ettinor. And it seems the Dark doesn't know of it, either." He sat then awhile, lost in thought.

  Maerad and Hem gave him some food and water and he chewed cautiously, trying not to move the skin on his face, and took some sips from the water bottle. "Thinking back, we were ambushed," he said as he ate. "The Broken Teeth are considered evil, but the place is just a rallying place for wers and they're easily dealt with. Well, fairly easily. Even Hulls we could have faced. I did not expect to find a wight there, and we all know what happened when I did." He smiled ruefully. "We didn't pass through Edinur as unseen as I hoped," he said. "The Dark has many servants. Unless, of course, there was one who laid a trail for the Dark to follow." He looked at Hem, and suddenly his face was stern and cold. "Do not think you can lie to me. You cannot. I think, Hem, it is time you told me who you are."

  Chapter XIX

  HEM

  HEM'S head was bent, and Maerad saw his cheeks burned with shame or humiliation. "I don't think Hem would have—" she began, but Cadvan cut her off.

  "Neither you nor I know anything about Hem," he said. "Now I would like to know. And I would like to know the truth."

  Hem sat silently, his head still bowed. Maerad looked at him with pity and then turned away.

  "Speak!" said Cadvan harshly.

  "I ran away from the Black Bards," said Hem, so quietly Maerad could hardly hear him.

  "I know that," said Cadvan impatiently. "What I want to know is what you were doing with them. And why they were hunting you. I want to know who you are."

  Hem's story emerged haltingly, bit by bit. He was, as he had said, an orphan, and until two months before had lived in an orphanage in Imrath, the major town in Edinur. He said little about his life there, but Cadvan's face grew even more grim. He knew these places; there children whom no one cared for were taken, and kept in filthy conditions. If they were crippled or simple or weak, they were not given enough food, and usually died of some illness brought on by their starveling condition. When they were old enough to work, they were farmed out as laborers for a fee paid to the orphanage, or sold as slaves. Once children with no family to care for them had been looked after by Bards, but in places where Barding had retreated these small stinking prisons had sprung up to deal with orphans; and now, because of the White Sickness, there were many such children.

  As Hem spoke on, Cadvan's questioning gradually became less stern. Hem told them that when he was two years old, he had been brought there on horseback by a man dressed in a black cloak. That was the only thing he knew about himself. He knew nothing of his life before the orphanage; but he had comforted himself with the thought that perhaps he was the son of a prince or a great lord, and one day the cloaked man would return and claim him. He was a proud child and would not admit to his sufferings, but as he spoke, Maerad saw opening before her a vista of bitter, loveless days and lonely nights full of fear, and her heart was wrung with pity.

  The Speech had come to him when he was ten years old. A cat had hissed at him when he tried to steal its food. "What did it say?" asked Maerad curiously, and Hem replied: "She said I was a pile of mouse dung, and that she would scratch my eyes out when I was asleep." He ran away and hid, frightened, but afterward he became used to it and started to speak to the birds, who were the most friendly to him. They told him of lands far away in the south where the sun shone warmly all day and the trees were heavy with marvelous sweet fruits. Hem dreamed of going to these magical places, and he thought that when he was old enough to be hired out to a farm, he would run away. He no longer dreamed of the horseman returning for him; he dismissed that as a childish fancy of his infancy. Others noticed him talking to the birds and began to call him a witch; and there was talk of drowning him, of binding him with heavy rocks and throwing him in the river, as happened to others who had the Speech. So he was forced to hide, and he spoke to the birds less often, because it was hard to find privacy in the orphanage, and he became more lonely.

  Then one day he had been called to Malik, the cold-eyed woman who ran the orphanage, and standing next to her was a man hooded and cloaked in black. It was Hem's old daydream, but he was frightened and drew back against the wall, because the man's hands were white and bony and he could not see his face. But Malik was not afraid, and treated the man like a lord. She smiled at Hem for the first time he could remember.

  "Hem," she'd said. "This is your uncle. He has returned at last from the far lands, and he claims you for his own. You're a lucky boy."

  Hem looked up, but he could not see past the hood.

  "Get your things, boy," said Malik. "You're going home now."

  Hem had nothing to get, so he had stood silently before the two adults, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Then he was taken on a horse to the house of Laraman, the mayor of Imrath. It was a grand house, the grandest in Imrath, and for a while Hem was happy, because he thought his daydreams were coming true. For the first time in his life he had enough to eat and a comfortable bed to sleep in and he wasn't beaten.

  Laraman treated him coldly, but tolerated him in the house, as long as he didn't have to speak to him. He was the most important man in Edinur and treated the region as his private fiefdom, exerting heavy taxes and harsh laws. It seemed the five black-cloaked men were his servants, although Hem thought Laraman feared them and that it was mor
e likely that they told him what to do.

  "They told me they were Black Bards, and that I could be a Black Bard too," said Hem. "They said they were the most powerful of all the Bards, and that if I were one of them I would never die, and I would be a great lord. One day one of them stabbed the other right through with his sword, and the one who was stabbed stood up as if nothing had happened. They asked me if I had the witchspeak, but I said I didn't, and I never told them. They seemed happy enough with that, but then..."

  Hem had been talking freely; it was as if, once he started, it was a relief to unburden himself. But now he stopped, and his face crumpled, and he looked very young and vulnerable.

  "Then?" said Cadvan sternly.

  "They wanted me to begin my lessons."

  There was a long pause while Hem stared at the ground. Then he began to speak in a monotone.

  "They woke me in the middle of the night. It was a dark night, the last dark moon, two weeks ago. They took me downstairs to the courtyard outside. There was a fire there, but it was a funny color; it had green flames, and the flames burned straight up and they didn't flicker. And one of the Bards had a, had a ..."

  He stopped again, and Cadvan said, more gently: "Call them not Bards, Hem. They are not Bards. They are merely Hulls."

  "He had a little boy. I knew him; it was Mark, from the orphanage. He was younger than me, but sometimes we played together." He sniffed. "I liked him." He paused again. "He was crying and twisting in the man's arms, and he had no clothes on. And they gave me a black knife, and told me to kill him."

  There was a short, shocked silence. At last Maerad asked, almost in a whisper: "And did you?"