The Naming

by Alison Croggon

  There was little other vegetation in the streets of Norloch: the citadel was austere, eschewing mere prettiness. There was something that bothered Maerad, but at first she couldn't put her finger on it; it took her a while to work out what it was. She couldn't hear the voices of children anywhere. No child laughed in the hidden courtyards or played in the lanes; the people who walked the streets were adult and grave, and she saw very few women. Like Nelac's house, Maerad thought Norloch was grand and beautiful; but it also seemed cold, more conscious of its majesty than of the living beat of human life.

  Cadvan, however, who was used to the glory of Norloch, was deep in thought. "I'm glad that Nelac and Saliman agree with what I think about you," he said as they walked. "It eases me. I am all but convinced, but to some it might be such a mad idea that it could take more than all the signs we have. It gives me hope that the First Circle will instate you."

  "What if they do, and I'm not the One?" Maerad said hopefully. The thought lifted a weight off her heart.

  "Then I am wrong, that is all," said Cadvan, smiling. "I could take you to a good School, maybe to Gent, since that is not far from here, and you could complete your learning."

  Maerad thought for a while, remembering what Dernhil had said to her about continuing her studies. She would like to see his School. "Would you stay there?" she asked, knowing the answer already.

  He glanced at her quickly, his face unreadable. "For a time, until you were settled in," he said.

  "I'd like that best of all," Maerad said meditatively. "Not to be the One, and to learn reading and writing properly. Maybe Hem could come too. All that other stuff still seems ridiculous to me." She remembered the rhyme Saliman had sung: "Edil-Amarandh to save." What could I do?"

  "None of us know what we can do," said Cadvan. "Perhaps you are not the One, though even Nelac now is certain that you are. Perhaps it is ridiculous. We will know for sure soon, one way or the other." They walked on in silence.

  When Maerad returned from her walk, Hem asked if she would come to his scrying. She was curious to see what scrying looked like from the outside, and she eagerly assented.

  "It's not usual for anyone to be there," said Nelac dubiously. "Scrying is a very private thing. But neither is it usual to scry a child." They were again in Nelac's sitting room, the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Hem was standing with his back turned to Nelac, looking out into the garden.

  "I'd like it better if Maerad was there," he said. Despite his cocksure veneer, Hem was unable to conceal the nervousness in his voice, and Maerad's heart lurched with pity. What if the scrying revealed that Hem was not her brother, after all? She'd still feel the same about him, she thought. Somehow they belonged to each other.

  "Of course I'll be there, if you want," she said warmly, glancing sideways at Nelac. He nodded.

  "That's fair," he said gently. "And now is as good a time as any. Waiting is usually the worst part of any ordeal. Yes, Hem?"

  Hem nodded dolefully, looking as if he were being led to his execution. Nelac took them to a room Maerad hadn't seen before, which she thought must be Nelac's study. It was much bigger than Dernhil's, lined from floor to ceiling with books and laid with a richly dyed blue carpet, and it looked out on the same garden as the sitting room. In the corner was a huge gilt harp, carved in the semblance of a dragon, and next to that a big oak desk. As in every other room in Nelac's quarters, parchments and scrolls and papers were piled everywhere, and among them were more curious objects: figurines of alabaster and jasper, and models of ships and musical instruments carved intricately out of polished wood and stone. But then her attention turned to Hem and Nelac.

  As Cadvan had done in the Irihel with Maerad, Nelac asked Hem to stand in front of him, and they placed their hands on each other's shoulders. With a slight shock, Maerad saw that Hem was almost as tall as Nelac. Hem glanced nervously over to Maerad, and she winked at him encouragingly. He gulped, and then looked into Nelac's eyes.

  "Now, Hem," said Nelac in the Speech, "relax." He muttered a few words that Maerad could not catch, and began to glimmer with the same silver light as when he had healed Cadvan. This time it was not so intense; it was a gentler radiance, as mild as starlight. It seemed to Maerad that light gathered around Hem as well, only the luminosity around him was slightly different: more golden. A beam of light seemed to link their eyes, though when she blinked she wasn't sure if she really saw it at all, or just imagined it from the intensity of their gaze.

  Hem seemed to fall into a trance; his eyes went completely blank, as if he saw nothing around him. Then his hands clutched Nelac's shoulders, and for a second he seemed to struggle, and then his face went completely white. She couldn't see Nelac's expression, as he was facing away from her. Maerad bit her lip with anxiety; was Hem all right? Then, much more quickly than she expected, Nelac leaned forward and kissed Hem's brow, and he let go of his shoulders. Hem's hands dropped away from Nelac, as if he were exhausted, and the light in both of them died away

  "Well done, Hem," said Nelac softly. "It is a hard thing."

  Hem sat down abruptly on the floor. His face was still pale, but his expression was more open than Maerad had ever seen it. He looked up at her and then, to her surprise, blushed.

  "I saw you," he said. "I mean, I remembered you. I didn't before. You were a little girl, but you looked big to me. You looked just the same." He halted, an intolerable grief gathering in his eyes. "Father was holding me." His face crumpled, and he covered it with his hands, and Maerad saw that his shoulders were shaking. She felt suddenly the truth of Nelac's admonition about the privacy of scrying; this was a sorrow more intimate than even a sister could share.

  She turned away from Hem to Nelac, feeling a glow of relief spreading through her body. Now all doubt was gone; Hem was her brother, beyond question. She hadn't realized how anxious she had been.

  Nelac looked weary, as if he had labored long in thought. "Yes, it's true. Hem is your brother," he said, catching her eye. "I am very glad that Hem agreed to this. It makes me much surer in my mind. The more we are sure of in these doubtful times, the better." He fumbled around for a chair, and sat down, passing his hand over his eyes. "I'm not as young as I was," he said. "It's a tiring business, looking into another's soul. I can quite see why Cadvan didn't wish to scry Hem. There is much anguish there." He sighed heavily.

  Maerad stood awkwardly before both of them, feeling like an intruder. "Can I get you something?" she asked at last. "A drink, maybe?"

  Nelac smiled wanly. "A glass of laradhel would be most welcome, thank you, Maerad."

  Maerad left the room with a feeling of release. She brought back two glasses of the laradhel, leaving one by Hem on the floor, and then left them alone. It didn't feel right to be there.

  At dinner that night, Hem was absent: he had gone to his chamber after the scrying and had not reappeared. Saliman arched an eyebrow. "He must be tired, to miss a meal," he said. "Cadvan tells me the scrying went well?"

  "Yes, it confirmed everything we discussed earlier today," said Nelac briefly. "There's no doubt now." Maerad thought he still looked weary.

  Nelac said then that he had arranged a Council for the following afternoon. "Enkir was curious to know what you had to say that was important enough for a full Council," he said, glancing at Cadvan. "I told him you had news from the north."

  "That's true enough," said Cadvan. "Important news, as it happens."

  "And I also said that Saliman bore messages from the Circle of Turbansk, which require the deliberation of all the Bards. It was a little trickier to get permission for Maerad to attend. If I had said we wanted to bring a girl, he would have refused outright. In the end, I told him that Cadvan wished to bring his student. Even he wouldn't dare to throw her out, in front of the whole Circle."

  "Do I have to go?" asked Maerad, her heart sinking. She had hoped that she would be excused.

  "It's crucial that you are there," Nelac answered. "They need to sense your Gift fo
r themselves. So, yes, I'm afraid you have to go."

  Maerad made a face. She didn't like the sound of Norloch's First Circle at all.

  "I strongly suggest that we omit any mention of the Elementals, and of Maerad's lyre," Nelac continued. "I think that, for now, we should speak just of our surmise that Maerad is the One, and say why."

  "I agree," said Saliman, wiping his plate with some bread and chewing it with relish. "Any suggestion of a connection with the Elidhu, and the more doubtful Bards would instantly balk. I see no reason, either, to mention Hem. Only we three know who he is, and only those of this house even know he is here. I think it would complicate our case."

  "There are no spies in this house, if that is what you are suggesting," Nelac said. "But I take your point."

  "The Hulls' interest in Hem strengthens our argument," objected Cadvan.

  "Yes, but do you think they're going to believe that you've found two Bards of Pellinor?" said Saliman. "The Kulag, the wight, and that little episode with the Landrost should be enough to give pause. Some of the Circle would think we were gilding the lily already; presenting them with too many marvels at once would be a mistake. One thing at a time."

  "And no mention of the Treesong?" said Cadvan doubtfully.

  "No, I think not," said Nelac. "Definitely not. That can come later, when we can prove Maerad is the One. For the moment, we must just argue for her instatement under these special circumstances. That will be difficult enough. She is a woman, for a start, and she has none of the correct training."

  "It's about factions," Saliman explained to Maerad. "We have to be careful. If it's Nelac, Cadvan, and me presenting an argument, it will be seen as a bid for power by Nelac."

  "Why?" asked Maerad, bewildered.

  "Because Nelac was mentor to both of us, when we were young Bards," said Saliman. "So we're seen to be on his side. There's the question of the One being a woman, to begin with. Enkir will see that as a direct attack on him. And for some, that will be enough to discount our arguments altogether."

  "But isn't it more important than that?" asked Maerad.

  Cadvan sighed impatiently. "How I hate these politics!" he said.

  "You, my friend," said Saliman, pointing his bread at him, "have never been politic. That's your main problem. I, however, come from the south, where politics is an art. It would be better, Nelac, if another Bard were to present our plea."

  "I've thought of that," said Nelac. "But I daren't mention Maerad's claim to anyone else in the Circle. Caragal, perhaps, but I can't guess what he would say I cannot be sure enough of their discretion. It is likely that it would instantly be known to everybody, and would be dismissed before we could even get to the Council. We must present it fully and fairly, before all the Circle, untainted by gossip. That is our only chance."

  For some time they all sat in contemplative silence.

  Cadvan nodded. "All right then, I agree," he said. "The most important thing now is Maerad's instatement. Tomorrow, then!" He lifted his glass, and the rest followed.

  Maerad raised her glass more slowly than the others. She felt sick with apprehension at the thought of the Council. Tomorrow her fate would be decided, and she didn't feel ready at all.

  XXII

  THE FIRST CIRCLE OF NORLOCH

  HEM was busy all the next morning; after breakfast Maerad didn't see him at all. Saliman was taking him in hand. "A bath, a haircut, and some proper clothes, and you won't recognize him," Saliman murmured as they ate breakfast.

  "You're taking his welfare deeply to heart," Maerad said, smiling.

  "Yes, I am," said Saliman, suddenly quite serious. "I like your Hem, monkey though he is. He'll make a good Bard one day, if he learns the right things. He might as well start now."

  As the day wore on toward the Council, which was to be convened at the midafternoon bell, Maerad became more and more agitated. She had nothing to do: Hem, Saliman, Cadvan, and Nelac were all out. She walked around the First Circle, but found she could take nothing in; she wandered to the Library, but felt too daunted by the stern looks of the librarians to look around properly, and, in any case, it conjured memories of Dernhil, which confused her already disordered feelings. Brin, Nelac's housemaster, brought lunch to her room, as everyone was still out. Afterward she tried to read some of the books in her room, but she couldn't concentrate at all. Half an hour before the Council, she was in such a state she could hardly speak.

  Cadvan had advised her to dress formally and to wear her sword and brooch. Alone in her chamber, she put on the long crimson dress and tied her hair back in a braid, her fingers trembling. She could scarcely pin on the brooch, and when she tried to strap on her blade, Irigan, she dropped it, the clatter of the scabbard making her jump. When Cadvan knocked on her door, arrayed in black and silver with his sword at his side, he took one look at her white face and clasped her hand.

  "Maerad, even if we get nowhere with this Council, it will be no failing of yours," he said. "Remember that! Not everything hangs on the First Circle!"

  Maerad smiled weakly in reply. Cadvan looked at her a little more closely.

  "They're only Bards," he said gently. "Why so afraid? You've dealt with Bards before, and much worse. Come, this isn't the Maerad I know!"

  Maerad nodded and tried to look braver. She looked at Cadvan's marred face: he had faced death without quailing. A lot of old Bards weren't nearly as frightening. She felt slightly reassured, but she still couldn't control the deeper apprehension in her breast, or the trembling in her knees. She hoped that her shaking legs were completely hidden by her robe. Wordlessly, with a feeling of doom, she followed Cadvan down the corridor. When they passed Nelac's students on the stairs, she turned her face away so she didn't have to greet them. She didn't feel able to speak.

  They met Saliman downstairs, and together they bent their steps to the Tower of Machelinor, the highest and fairest in that city of high and fair towers. At its base was a single domed building, the Crystal Hall of Machelinor, and this they entered through wide, gold-embossed doors, just as the hour bell tolled in the tower high above them.

  Maerad gasped when she walked in; her first impression was of a blinding blaze of light, a surge of mighty power. This was the center of the Light in Norloch, in all of Annar, and its force pounded in her ears, making her dizzy. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and looked around.

  It was the most beautiful hall she had ever seen. The floor was of polished stone, pearl white and rose and black, with gold runes inset all around the perimeter. The zenith of the ceiling was crystal, and light also streamed in through windows set high in the plainly adorned white walls, filling the airy space with radiance. Around the walls were black plinths on which were set curious statues, some clearly of Bards, some of figures of an unearthly beauty that seemed barely human. They were made of bronze or marble or carved of a solid rock of crystal, and all were leaved with bright gilt that threw back the light in flickering beams. At the far end of the room were more golden doors wrought in intricate designs of birds dancing amid trees of flame. These were shut; beyond them lay the winding stairs to the Tower of Machelinor, which rose in a single leap so that one who climbed to its loftiest height stood a thousand feet over the Meads of the Carmallachen. The Bardsighted could gaze eastward over the entire realm of Annar to the Osidh Annova, or turn westward and look over the measureless expanse of the ocean; and thus the First Bards of Annar saw much of what passed in the realms of Annar and the Seven Kingdoms. For this reason the tower was also known as Dancsel, or Farsight, although in the northern speech that phrase could also mean the Cold Heart.

  But Maerad's gaze was pulled to the center of the hall, where the floor was raised in a circular dais on which was placed a huge round table carved of black stone. The table and the stone chairs around it were completely plain, without decoration of any kind. On it were placed goblets of gold and a golden ewer, and in its center was a huge natural crystal of adamant that, alone of all things there, was unshap
ed by human hands; the light in the hall passed through it and broke around the walls in flickering rainbows, and in its center dwelled a white fire.

  Maerad's feelings of dismay deepened as the three of them walked slowly toward the table. It seemed a very long way, and her feet were heavy with reluctance.

  She saw that nine figures were seated there. They would have seemed dwarfed in that huge space but for the sense of power that emanated from them, which grew stronger the closer she approached. There were far fewer people sitting than there were chairs, so each Bard sat alone, with empty chairs on either side. Maerad gulped and glanced at Cadvan; his face was unreadable. Her mouth had gone completely dry. She fought a sudden strong impulse to run out of the Hall, out of the First Circle, out of Norloch altogether. Steadily she paced on.

  At last, Maerad reached the High Table of the First Circle of Norloch. She and Cadvan and Saliman stood by the table while the Nine Bards of the First Circle regarded them in silence. Maerad was sure, in the absolute silence that filled the Hall after their footsteps had ceased, that her thumping heart must be audible to everyone there. She looked down at her feet, desperately trying to gather together her scattered wits. It was as if the force beating through the Crystal Hall wouldn't let her think or see; all her awareness was dissolved in the pulsing heart of the Light.

  She heard someone stand up and speak. It must be Enkir, the First Bard, she thought. His voice was icy and clear.

  "Welcome to the Council of the First Circle of Norloch, Saliman of Turbansk and Cadvan of Lirigon," the voice said. And then it was edged with a barely concealed spite or anger. "And who is this other you dare to bring here, into the very inner sanctum of the Light?"