They reached their destination in the cold hour before dawn. Unlike the others, Hem had not slept, and now he was so tired he felt numb all over, and the weight of Irc on his shoulder seemed like a stone. Once they had left the woods, Saliman had put Hem on Usha, and Hekibel mounted Minna. They went no faster, as Saliman and Grigar walked and led the horses, who themselves were stumbling with tiredness. After midnight a thick mist had begun to rise around them, obscuring the moon and stars. It was so dark that they couldn't see a span in front of their noses, and they were forced to use dim magelights. But although they followed no roads, Grigar seemed to know the countryside like the inside of his own head, and never appeared to be lost. Hem sank into a dull trance of exhaustion.
At last they seemed to arrive somewhere and he started awake, shaking his head to try to clear it. Out of the mist loomed the outlines of what appeared to be a ruined farmhouse, its roof slumped in decay, its stone walls crumbled with age and weather. Grigar led them around the back to a walled cobbled yard, where huge dockweeds nodded in the corners. Hem sighed. At the back of his mind, he had hoped that Grigar might be taking them to a place with beds—proper beds with linen sheets and warm blankets. But of course, he thought, it was too much to ask.
"You should dismount," said Grigar. Hem nodded, slithered off Usha's broad back, and stood shivering next to the others. He was cold to the bone. He stared at the ruined house: it was completely dark, with no sign of habitation. What now?
"Saliman, forgive me, I must ask you all to turn your backs and close your eyes. It is better if you do not see what I am about to do, and it will only take a moment."
Hekibel had said nothing at all on their long journey, and looking at her white face, Hem thought she seemed to be on the brink of collapse.
"I do not want to shut my eyes," she said. "I do not know you."
"But I do know Grigar," said Saliman, and he took her hand. "We should do as he asks." Hem felt a surge of jealousy; he would have liked his hand to be taken as well. He was just as nervous as Hekibel.
"Please, close your eyes," said Grigar again. Saliman turned away from Grigar, his eyes shut, and after a brief moment, Hekibel and Hem followed suit.
They heard Grigar murmur in the Speech, his voice so low that Hem couldn't catch the words. Then there was an indefinable shift. Hem felt it through his whole body, as if the temperature had changed, but he couldn't tell what had happened.
"You may look now," said Grigar.
Hem opened his eyes, and found that in that brief moment the light was completely different: there was now a rose tinge in the sky, a herald of dawn, and it was not as cold. Irc, sitting on his shoulder, gave a low caw, a mixture of surprise and pleasure. Hem blinked. Surely that wall had been crumbled ... He turned around, and saw to his astonishment that where before there had been a ruined house, he now stood in the yard of what seemed to be a prosperous, well-run farm. The door was open, and through it he could see a wide hearth where an orange fire burned low.
"Welcome to the House of Marajan," said Grigar. "There are stables to your left, where you can bed down the horses. And although I couldn't send word of your coming, it will not take long to make us a breakfast worthy of the appetites we have earned."
Saliman whistled. "I am amazed, Grigar," he said. "Where are we?"
"Where we were before, but in another time. So deep goes the Dark in the heart of Desor now, there is no place that is safe in our time. And Marajan, as you will see for yourself, is a Bard of unusual powers ... but quickly, I'll show you the stables, and then I will tell Marajan you are here. Just come through the door when you are ready."
"Are there beds?" asked Hem in a small voice.
Grigar laughed, and clapped Hem on the back so the breath rushed out of him. The Bard was a big man, with big hands. "Aye," he said. "And you will be able to sleep as long as you wish. While we are here, there is no hurry."
"I thought only Elidhu could take you to another time," said Hem dazedly, as they led the footsore horses to the stables. He was remembering how Nyanar had lifted him out of the unbearable present of the camp at Sjug'hakar Im. This place had a similar air of strange enchantment, of being somehow outside the flow of time.
Grigar gave Hem a piercing glance. "I am curious about you, boy," he said. "What do you know of Elidhu?"
"I met an Elidhu," said Hem, and then stopped. He hadn't meant to say anything about himself until he was wholly sure of Grigar, but in his weariness it had slipped out. He bit his lip, looking sideways at Saliman, as Grigar stared at him in astonishment.
"Hem, it's all right," said Saliman. "Grigar has shown us much trust in bringing us here. Do you think that he is not endangered himself? But come, let's talk later, when we are warm and fed and rested. I can scarce stand up."
When he entered the house, Hem felt himself relax for the first time since he could remember. It had the same tranquil air as Saliman's Bardhouse in Turbansk, although it was a very different place. They entered a stone-flagged kitchen, filled with a delicious smell that made water fill Hem's mouth. Grigar sat at a big wooden table with long benches on either side, and over his head dried herbs and onions hung from the dark wooden beams that stretched across the ceiling. A vase of deep blue gentians was set in the window, and there were red cushions on the benches. A large brick oven with an iron door took up all of the far wall, and a kettle was singing on the hob.
By the stove there stood a tall woman with long, black hair, very white skin and very blue eyes. If she hadn't been so tall, Hem might have mistaken her for his sister; she had exactly the same coloring as Maerad. She turned when they entered, and came toward them with open hands.
"Welcome, my friends," she said. Her voice was low and musical, and her smile was warm. "Welcome and thrice welcome. I am Marajan, and this is my house. But please, sit down. I have hot broth here, which will take the chill from your bones, and when you have finished, there is fresh bread in the oven."
Hekibel looked dazed, and stumbled as she walked to the bench. Saliman caught her elbow, and she looked up into his face gratefully, trying to smile. Hem suddenly understood that Hekibel knew very little of magery, and that the shock of Marajan's house was for her perhaps as great as any they had suffered in the past days. When they had been in danger, she had been brave and stern, no matter how frightened she had been; but in this peaceful, beautiful place she had lost her bearings and no longer knew what to do. She looked very fragile, her face smudged with weariness and dirt, her hair tangled, her borrowed clothes filthy; and she was staring at Marajan with awe, as if she wished very much that she were better dressed.
They were given mugs of broth, which warmed them down to their toes. Then Marajan drew the bread from the oven, and laid new butter and good cheese and a pot of dark honey and smoked meats on the table, with bowls of spiced chutneys and jams and other preserves, a jug of ale, and another of fresh springwater. Hem realized that he was ravenous, and ate his fill, passing titbits to Irc; and as soon as he had quelled his hunger, he promptly began to fall asleep at the table.
Marajan asked no questions of her guests, and quietly made sure that they had everything they wanted. Then she led them to bedchambers upstairs, closing the shutters to keep out the morning sun. Hem didn't bother to wash: he climbed between the sheets gingerly, almost with disbelief, as if the clean, soft bed were a dream that he might wake from at any moment. He was asleep before his head touched the pillow.
When Hem woke up, he didn't know where he was. He blinked, looking around disbelievingly at a small but comfortable bedchamber. It had plain whitewashed walls that were now striped with golden bars of light that slanted in through the shutters, and by his bed was a scrubbed wooden chest, on which was placed a vase of lilac, its brown tips just now swelling with blue buds. Then memory filtered back: this was Marajan's house, and for the first time since he could remember, he was not in immediate danger. He jumped out of bed and flung open the shutters, and found himself looking out over a green
field that slanted down to a stream. White cows grazed peacefully in the lush grass, and a sinking sun threw a rich honeyed light over everything.
Hem stared in wonder: the contrast with the Desor he knew was almost too much to take in. And then he realized that, for the first time since Maerad had summoned him, he had no sense of her; the urgency had vanished, along with every trace of her presence. He puzzled over this for a while, disturbed.
Perhaps, he thought, it was because they were in an earlier time. Perhaps neither of them had been born yet...
Irc flapped up to the windowsill, ruffled his feathers with pleasure, and was about to fly off to explore, when Hem stopped him.
It's magery, he said. / don't know how the enchantment works. You might fly off into that and never come back.
It's nicer than where we've been, said Irc, a little sulkily.
I know, said Hem. Ask Marajan first. You're a nuisance, but I'd hate to lose you, all the same.
Irc nipped his ear, but stayed. Hem saw that his clothes, cleaned and mended while he slept, were folded neatly on the end of the bed, and he dressed and found his way downstairs to the kitchen, guided by the sound of voices. Saliman, Grigar, and Hekibel were seated around the table, but Marajan was not there. On the table were bread and wine and ale, and the smell coming from the oven suggested another good meal was on the way. Hem sniffed the air in appreciation, and sat down with his companions.
"This is better, yes?" Grigar smiled across the table, and for the first time Hem smiled openly back. Until now, he hadn't really trusted Grigar—despite Saliman's assurances, he still thought that they might be led into a trap.
"Yes, it's a wonderful place," said Hem. "But who is Marajan? And if we're in the past, when are we? Irc wants to stretch his wings, but I told him to stay close; I don't want him getting lost."
"Irc can explore as much as he likes, as long as he is back when we leave," Grigar said. "This house is not on an enchanted island of time, but in its own time. We're the ones who have stepped back. About a hundred years, in fact. This was once what Desor was like. I still find it hard to believe how it has changed."
Hem told Irc he could explore, with stern instructions that he was to return at once when he was called, and went out into the cobbled yard. Irc leaped up joyously into the luminous twilit sky. He wouldn't be long, Hem reflected, as it was almost time for dinner. He watched him for a time, absorbing the gentle sounds of evening: the faint clink of cowbells, the comfortable squabbles of birds settling down to rest, the faint soughing of the trees. The peacefulness slowly filled him up, and he sighed with a profound, undirected happiness.
He looked across the field and saw Marajan walking toward him, carrying an iron bucket. She was dressed for farm-work: her hair was gathered in an untidy bun on her neck, and her dress was tucked up around her thighs, revealing heavy boots. She smiled when she saw Hem.
"Your crow looks happy," she said when she reached him. "Did you sleep well, Hem? You look rested."
"Yes," said Hem, with feeling. He was slightly tongue-tied around Marajan. Her grave beauty and the frank, generous clarity of her gaze made him feel shy. She seemed almost the most Bardic person he had ever met, and in his short life, he had met some of the greatest Bards in Edil-Amarandh.
"I am glad," said Marajan. "I can see the marks of deep wounds in you, and griefs beyond your years. You have trodden a dark path, and I fear that it will be darker still. If I could, young healer, I would bid you stay with me until all your hurts were healed. But, alas, I cannot ask that. You are of your own time, and cannot step out of the flow of years for very long. Even here, you can stay but a day and a night."
Hem stared at her in wonder. "Who are you?" he blurted out. "Are you a Bard? I mean ..." He spluttered and blushed, feeling that he had been discourteous.
"I am a Bard, yes. But not quite like other Bards, as perhaps you are not." She was silent for a time, staring out over the fields. "I have seen you in dreams, Hem, and also your sister. Perhaps I prepared this space for you, knowing that you would need a haven when the darkness crept over Annar."
Hem looked at her in astonishment. Marajan smiled again, and Hem perceived the sadness graven in her beauty, deepening her luminous glance as the coming night enriched the colors of twilight. "It would not be surprising. I am your mother's mother's sister. The Elemental blood runs strong in Pellinor, and to some of us are given the gift of visions, which can seem as much a curse as a blessing. In your time, I am already beyond the Gates of Death, and it is a true gift to see you, brief though this meeting must be . . . but come, it is almost supper-time, and there is much to speak of, before you must return to your own time. And I should hate to burn the meat."
Hem followed Marajan indoors, his head whirling: Marajan was his grandmother's sister? He felt a pang of loss to think that she was dead in his time. She seemed not at all ghostly, but rather one of the most alive people he had ever met. He wondered if Saliman knew that she was one of the House of Karn, and if he was aware of her Elemental powers; surely it was her Elemental gift that permitted her to make a doorway through time.
After a leisurely and merry dinner, they talked long into the night. Grigar told them that he was part of a group of Bards that worked secretly against the Nameless One in Annar. Their network was extensive, stretching from the Suderain to Lirigon, and it included all the Seven Kingdoms. They were in contact with Hared at Nal-Ak-Burat, although Grigar told them that communication was becoming more difficult by the day.
"Annar becomes more and more like a prison," he said. "You were lucky you struck no trouble, coming up the West Road; frankly, I am surprised. There is civil war almost everywhere. The recreant Enkir has declared war on what he calls the rebel Schools, and even now marches on Eledh. Arnocen and II Arunedh know they are next, and are ready for war. The Black Army lays siege on Til Amon, and if they fall, all Lanorial lies open to Enkir and the Nameless One. Lirion and Culain have mustered their soldiers."
"It is a bleak picture you paint, my friend," said Saliman.
"Aye," said Grigar. "And I fear it will soon be bleaker. Everywhere we are beaten back, by deceit or treachery or arms. The only good news is the victory in Innail: I heard that the School beat back a fierce attack from the mountains, through the coming of a great mage who destroyed the Landrost. They call her the Maid of Innail, a mere girl, or so they say. I find that hard to credit; but from what I hear, the victory is real."
"Maerad!" said Hem excitedly. "It must be Maerad!"
"I did not hear that name," said Grigar. "But who is Maerad?"
"Maerad of Pellinor. My sister."
"It could indeed be true," said Saliman. "Maerad has a Gift like no other I have perceived. Although"—and here he nodded toward Marajan—"I must say, Marajan has something of the same light about her."
Marajan smiled. "You are perceptive, Saliman of Turbansk," she said. "I, too, am of the House of Karn."
Saliman looked amazed, and bowed his head. "I confess, almost nothing about the House of Karn surprises me anymore," he said. "If Hem grew wings and danced about in the sky with Irc, I would merely blink. Well, perhaps Hem and I should explain our quest. We are presently seeking Hem's sister, Maerad, who we believe is the Foretold who is to defeat the Dark in its present rising. We know she isn't far away, somewhere in the Hollow Lands. She summoned Hem some days ago, and we have been following that summoning ever since. That is how we happened across Grigar."
Saliman then briefly related their tale: how Cadvan of Lirigon had stumbled across Maerad when she was a slave on the other side of the Osidh Elanor; how he had brought her to Innail and thence to Norloch; how they found Hem on their journey; how Hem had journeyed with Saliman to Turbansk, while Maerad and Cadvan traveled north to seek the Riddle of the Treesong. Then he told of the fall of Turbansk, and of Hem's journey into the heart of Den Raven, into Dagra itself, and of how he had found there, as if by chance, a tuning fork that the Nameless One himself had worn about his neck.
"There are strange runes graven on this fork," said Saliman. "And I have never seen the like, save on the Dhyllic lyre that Maerad bears, which is an heirloom of her house. We know, because the Elidhu Nyanar told Hem that these runes are deeply bound to the Treesong."
When Saliman finished, there was a long silence as his listeners absorbed what he had said. Hekibel had listened intently, seated very close to Saliman, casting an occasional glance, a mixture of amazement and pity and awe, at Hem. She looked much less strained than the night before, but there was a crease in the middle of her brow. This was the first she had heard of the true purpose of Hem and Saliman's quest; she had followed them on trust, because she had nowhere else to go, and now found herself tangled in events beyond her ken. Hem wondered what she was thinking.
Grigar had followed the conversation closely. "The Foretold? The Treesong?" he said. "My friends, we are in deep waters indeed ... I take it, then, that you cannot bear the news of this army to Innail, as I had hoped. Yet it is urgent that they know of it. I am sure that Innail is to be the first conquest."
"Not at this moment," said Saliman. "Although it hurts my heart to say so."
Grigar bowed his head in thought. "Perhaps I should put away my role as a common man of Desor, and travel there myself. Desor is becoming more perilous for me, in any case; and perhaps after the death of Hrunsar, and my failure to track you, it would be sensible to leave. I have seen people blinded for less. And Innail must be warned."
"You will find a kinder place there than here," said Saliman. "My soul is darkened by what I have seen in Desor, my friend."
Grigar sighed. "Aye," he said. "Yet, even if it is full of serpents, it hurts to leave my home. I am loath to go."
"I think you must leave Desor," said Marajan. "In any case, you must make your choice soon, before the sun rises. Your hours in my house grow short: the door of time, alas, opens only briefly."
Pellinor 04: The Singing Page 32
