The Forgotten Beasts of Eld

FIVE

She went to see Maelga that afternoon. The white doves roosted on Maelga’s rafters, and the raven came in and out through an open corner of window. The little house was thick with strange scents; Maelga bent murmuring over her cauldron, the steam of it loosening her white curls, plastering them glistening against her cheekbones. She did not look up as Sybel came in, so Sybel did not speak. She moved restlessly, opening and closing Maelga’s books, peering at her jars of nameless things, pacing back and forth in the middle of the room, frowning, until Maelga’s murmurings stopped abruptly, and she turned her head.

“My child,” she said in wonderment. “I am losing count of Things.”

“I am sorry,” Sybel said. Something she held, worrying with her fingers, snapped; she stared down at it, unseeing. Maelga dropped her spoon in the cauldron.

“My bone—”

“What bone?”

“The forefinger of a wizard’s right hand. It took me so many years to find one.”

Sybel blinked at the broken pieces in her hand. Then she said, “I will bring you bones, if you wish. I will bring you a grinning skull, if I can find the brain beheath it.”

Maelga’s eyes focused, sharp beneath her untidy curls. “What is it?”

She put the bone down, and her fingers closed tight on her arms. “I am being called. I do not know who is calling me, but I cannot close my mind to him. I am being searched and called surely and skillfully as I would call an animal. I am angry, but so is a fish angry, caught on a line, and so helpless.”

Maelga’s hands clasped, her rings sparkling. She sat down slowly in her rocking chair. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew you would get into trouble stealing those books.”

Sybel stopped midpace. “Do you think it is only that?” she said hopefully. Then she shook her head. “No. There is a more powerful mind than mine at work. That frightens me. If he knows I have his books, he does not have to trouble me so for them. Maelga, I do not know what to do. There is no place to hide. If anyone came to do me harm, my animals would fight for me, but there is no one to fight this.”

“Oh, dear,” Maelga said. “Oh, my dear.” She rocked a little, one hand straying through her curls. Then she stopped. “I can do one thing for you. I will send a raven with his black, searching eyes to peer into wizards’ windows.”

Sybel nodded. “I have sent Ter looking, too.” Then she sighed, covering her eyes with her open hands. “I am a fool. If he can call me, he can call Ter, too—”

“If he knows to call him.”

“Yes. He may not know Ter. But who? Who is it! I have seen little wizards in their cold towers with straw pallets and dusty books; I have seen greater ones in lords’ courts growing fat and pompous with riches. But I have seen no one that I ever thought to fear. I do not know why I am being called.” She stared helplessly at Maelga. “What possible reason could there be? I can do nothing for anyone that strong.”

“Is he so strong? Perhaps if you do not answer he will yield.”

“Perhaps… But Maelga, he has broken into my silence, and I cannot follow his call. I cannot find him anywhere, to put a name to him.” She resumed her restless pacing, arms folded, her hair drifting behind her like a white cloak. “I am so angry… but anger is of no use, and neither is fear. I do not know what to do—I can only hope he is not so strong he can take my name from me.”

“Is there a place you can go away to for a while?”

“Where? I could go beyond the borders of Eldwold, and he could still seek me out, bring me to him.” She sat down finally, despairingly, beside the fire. “Oh, Maelga,” she whispered, “I do not know what to do. If I only had the Liralen… I could fly away to the end of the world… to the edge of the stars…”

“Do not cry,” Maelga said anxiously. “You frighten me when you cry.”

“I am not crying. Tears are of no use. There is nothing for me but waiting.” She turned her head. “Maelga, if—if one day you cannot find me, and no one knows where I am, will you watch over my animals?”

Maelga rose, her hands splayed in her hair. “Oh, Sybel, it cannot come to that. My raven will find him. Ter will find him, and then I will make him such a thing that will dissolve the bones within his skin.”

“No, you must keep his finger bone…” She rested her cheek against the stones of the fireplace and stared into the flames, seeing nothing as they danced beneath the black cauldron. She sighed. “I will go and let you work. There is nothing you can do for me, and little I can do for myself. Perhaps Ter will find him before he finds me, and perhaps then I can do something.” She rose. Maelga watched her, the lines of her face puckering into worry.

“My white one, be careful,” she whispered.

“I will. I hope the one who is calling me has such a friend to give him that warning.”

She woke that night to the nudge in her mind, gentle as a fingertip stirring water. She sat straight in her bed, her eyes wide to the darkness, while above her the stars flung their icy patterns across the crystal dome. The nudge came again, an unbidden, formless thought, and she heard like a whisper in a motionless night, the faint, breathed call of her name.

Sybel.

A small cry broke from her in the darkness. She heard a movement by her bed; Gules’ golden eyes sparkled like cut stones.

What is it you fear, Ogam’s child?

I had a dream…

And the voice came again, a toneless murmur: Sybel.

She spent a day and a night in the domed room, neither eating nor sleeping, searching ancient books for the name of such a powerful wizard, but she found no hint of it. At dawn, she let the book fall limp in her hands and stared out at the clearing sky. A line of rose traced the rim of the world; white clouds, silver-rimmed, blazing, caught the sun’s rays, broke and scattered them over Fallow Field, over the Plain of Terbrec, across the walled city of Mondor, where they warmed the chill, dark walls and towers. She thought hopelessly of the Liralen with its bright, white wings, and called it a little, sending the call toward the white dawn world. The animals began to stir in the house. Then she heard Maelga’s voice, calling at her door.

“Sybel! Sybel, wake up—”

She rose slowly, stiff, and went through the chill house. The sun streaked the snow with fire; it leaped at her eyes as she opened the door, hurting them. She blinked.

“Maelga. Come in.”

“Oh, Sybel—you have let your fire die.” She stepped in, and Sybel stared at the dark thing in her hands.

“That is not the only dead thing in this room, I think.” She touched the black, stiff body of Maelga’s raven. A lightning stroke of fear she had never known before shot through her. Maelga said wearily, “Sybel, I sent him out, and this morning he flew into my house and dropped dead at my feet. I think he was dead as he flew.”

Sybel shuddered. “It is cold,” she murmured. “I am sorry.” She stared down at the motionless bird until Maelga touched her gently, and she started.

“Sybel, you are tired. Have you eaten lately?”

“I do not think so. I have been reading.” Her shoulders, strained taut, fell suddenly; she covered her face with her hands. Maelga’s arms closed about her.

“My white child,” she mourned, “what can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” Sybel whispered. “Nothing.” She dropped her hands, sighing. “I hope Ter is safe. I will call him, send him back to Tam.”

“I will cook you something. You are so thin since Tam left.”

She went into the kitchen, still carrying the dead raven. Sybel caught the Falcon’s mind, felt the sudden sweep of earth beneath its flying.

Ter. Go back to Tam. There is danger.

There was silence a moment, before the drive of Ter’s heartbeat and the run of fire in his veins. Then he said,

No.

Ter. Go back to Tam.

Ogam’s child, ask of me anything else. But I have a pair of eyes to pick and a dark mind to still.

Ter—

She lost him suddenly, groped for him, amazed, and lost him again; and a whisper broke into her mind, strong, implacable.

Sybel.

“No,” she said, and the word fell lifeless against white stones. “No!”

She sat under the domed roof at midnight, and the full moon watched her like an eye. The world lay silent beyond the dome, hushed and hidden; the mountain itself was still, the stars frozen like ice crystals. The night was voiceless as her own mind, resting in its heart of silence that no wind, no whisper of leaves disturbed. Her eyes were dark in the darkness, motionless as she waited, listening to the quiet of her mind, waiting for the moment, the calls that rippled to the core of its silence. Gules lay beside her, his head raised, golden eyes unblinking, motionless as though he did not breathe. She felt movement near her after a while and found Cyrin, the gleam of his tusks white as starlight.

Answer me a riddle, Lord of Wisdom, she said to him, and in his mind heard the swift passage of all the riddles of the world. And his red eyes vanished as his great, glowing head sank before her.

That one I cannot answer.

Her head dropped onto her knees. “I am weary,” she whispered, wide-eyed, to the darkness. “I do not know what to do.” She sat there awhile, still, feeling now and then the faint tug of herself away from herself, like the soft withdrawal of a moon-drawn wave. The moonlight etched her shadow on the white marble floor, and the dark massive shadows of Boar and Lyon. She closed her eyes finally, sent forth a call. And as she called she heard a faint, familiar shouting at her gates.

“Sybel,” Coren said, as she ran through the night snow to him. “Sybel.” His hands were closed tight on the bars as though he had tried to pull them apart. “I am sorry—I am so sorry—I was away from Sirle—”

“I just called you,” she said breathlessly, pulling at the frozen bolts. “Just a moment ag—-Coren, did you fly here?”

“I tried to.” He led his horse in, stopped in front of her, trying to see her face in the dark. “What is it?” he said anxiously. “Sybel, I wanted to come three days ago, but Rok had sent me to Hilt to talk to Lord Horst about some hopeless plan—I knew you were troubled; I knew it even while I slept, but I could not leave until yesterday. What is it? Is it Tam?”

She stared up at his shadowed face, wordless. She shook her head. “No. How—how did you know I wanted you before I knew that?”

“I knew. Sybel, what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Just—a little thing.”

“Anything.”

“Just—hold me.”

He dropped the reins in the snow. He opened his cloak, drew her into it until it closed on her white hair, and the crown of her head gleamed faintly below his face. She dropped her head against him, smelled the dark, damp fur around her, felt the draw of Coren’s breath and the beat of his blood. His breath caught, and she opened her eyes.

“Sybel—you are afraid.”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Hold me closer,” she said, and his arms shifted around her, drew her nearer. She heard his heart beneath her ear, felt one gloved hand cupping her head. She drew a long, slow breath and loosed it. “I would have called you all the way from Sirle to ask you to hold me like this. Just for this.”

“I would have come. I would have come only to do this and to go back. But Sybel, there must be more I can do for you.”

“No. Your voice is like the sunlight; it belongs to the world of men, not the dark world of wizards.”

His voice tangled in her hair. “What is it? What is troubling you?”

She was silent. Then she lifted her head, sighing, drew away from him and the circle of his arms broke. “I did not want to tell you. But now perhaps I should, because if anything happens to me, you—you may be troubled until you know.”

His hands rose, creased with snow, to circle her face, and his voice rose. “Sybel—what?”

“Come in to the fire. I will tell you.”

She told him after he had stabled his horse in her shed and fed it. He hung up his cloak by the fire and sat beside her. She gave him a cup of heated wine and said simply,

“I am being called.”

He stared at her, over the rim of his cup. Then he put it down sharply, and the wine splashed over his forgers. “Who?”

“If I could put a name to him, I could fight him, perhaps. I have looked everywhere for a name to put to him; I have surprised wizards beyond Eldwold with the whisper of my voice in their minds, and their own fear and wonder have told me they do not know me. So now—I do not know what to do. He has taken Ter Falcon; I sent Ter to look for him, and he stole Ter’s name from me, and I could not hold Ter against his power. He is very strong. I think he is stronger than anyone I have ever heard of. So, I think, I will have to yield to him.”

He was silent, his brows twisted. “I do not think,” he said finally, “that I will yield you to him.”

She shifted uneasily. “Coren, that is not what I called you for. You cannot help me.”

“I could try. I could not—I could not help Norrel, but I will help you. I will stay here with you, and when he comes for you, or when you go to him, I will be there beside you, and he will answer to me.”

“Coren, what good would that do? I would only have to watch you die, or watch your mind being twisted against itself so that you could never speak my name again. Rommalb was terrible, but not evil. Rommalb was fear, and you survived that, but this wizard, for you, would be death.”

“Then what shall I do?” he demanded helplessly. “Do you think I could sit here, or in Sirle, meek as a child while you are taken by some danger without a name?”

“Well, I will not watch you die in front of me.” “Well, I would rather do that than lie awake at night with your troubled mind tugging at me, and not know where you are, why you are troubled.”

“I never asked you to come uncalled when I was troubled. I never asked you to listen for my voice.”

“I know: You never asked me to love you. Well, I do love you, and I am troubled, and I will stay with you no matter how much you argue. It is easy to call a man into your house, but not so easy to have him leave.”

“You are a true child of Sirle, to think every danger can be frightened away by an unsheathed sword. I thought you were wise, but you are stupid. Did you go to battle at Terbrec against Drede with a spell book in your hands? Well, then what good will it do you to meet a wizard in battle with a sword than can be turned against you with one word? When that wizard melts your sword into a pool at your feet, what will you do next?”

He was wordless, his mouth tight. Then suddenly, he shrugged. “I am stupid to argue with you. Unless you can pick me up and throw me out, Sybel, here I stay. You may ignore me and walk over my feet, and refuse to feed me, but when you go I will follow you, and I will do my best to kill anything that harms you.”

She rose. She looked down at him, her black eyes distant, quiet, and as he met her eyes, he heard the faint stirrings about him of waking beasts. “There is a way,” she said, “to send you back to Sirle reluctant, but alive.”

Gules Lyon, yawning, its eyes of luminous gold, moved soundless as a shadow from the domed room, milled a circle around Coren, brushing restlessly against him. In the kitchen, Moriah, wakened, murmured a deep-throated song that had no words, melted leisurely toward them. Coren, his eyes on the still black eyes, saw them go momentarily lightless, and heard, in the soundless night, the slow pulse of great winds sucking against the air. He straightened, reached out to Sybel, his hand warm on her wrist, and her thoughts came back to him. He met her gaze, held it while the soft snort of Boar and suck of Dragon wing wove a frail web of sound burst by the Cat’s sudden, full-throated scream of warning. Then he tugged at her a little, as though shaking her out of a dream.

“Sybel. Are you trying to make me afraid? Why do you not just go into my mind, as you went into Drede’s mind, and send me quietly without my knowledge, back to Sirle? I could not argue with that.”

She stared at him a moment without answering. Then her face twisted, and she broke away from him. He rose quickly, caught her, and she dropped her face into her hands. “I cannot,” she whispered. “I want to, but I cannot.”

“Then what? If you set these animals at me, I will fight them, and they will be hurt, and so will I. And then we will both be angry with each other for letting such a thing happen. Sybel, it would be better for both of us, you and I, if you simply let me care about you. Let me keep my foolish watch here—care enough for me to let me do that. It is the only thing I can do. Please. You owe me some kindness.”

She dropped her hands. The long fall of her hair hid her face; he could not see it in her silence. Then she shook it back, looked up at him, her eyes quiet, weary with waiting.

“I want you to go. For your sake I would tie you to Gyld and send you to Sirle, to Rok’s doorstep. But for my sake, there is no place I want you but here. Will you go?”

“Of course not.” He drew her close to him until her head dropped forward onto his breast, and he smiled vaguely at Gules Lyon, his lips brushing the top of her hair. She whispered against him,

“I am selfish. But Coren, this one thing I know, and I will tell you now: where I am going, in the end, I will go alone.”

She lay awake that night with Gules Lyon at the foot of her bed, and Moriah at her doorway, and the great, cold worlds of fire splayed silent above her head. She felt the steady pulse of the call in her mind, rippling through the silence, through the opened doors and corridors of it, moving downward, steadily, strongly, to the deep places where she kept the clear, cold knowledge of herself in her ground mind. The call moved inevitably toward that place, while her own powers ebbed away, her thoughts lay useless, unformed in her mind. Finally, there was nothing in her but that call, numbing her will, turning the white still house unfamiliar to her until it seemed the shadow of a dream. The deep, secret places of her mind lay open, unprotected; her power was measured, her name taken, all that her name meant: all experience, all instinct, all thought and power was measured and learned.

She rose at a command that was scarcely more than a word, and dressed so softly that cloth barely whispered against cloth. A great, gold Lyon lay sleeping in the moonlight; a black Cat, nameless, stretched like a shadow across the threshold. She looked at them, found no names in her mind to wake them, for their names lay like jewels in a deep mountain, hidden from her mind’s eye. She stepped over the sleeping Cat so gently its eyes did not flicker. In the room beyond, a red-haired man sat before a green flame, his eyes closed, his hands open, limp. She moved past him silent as a breath in the still room, past the silver-bristled Boar asleep at his feet.

The door clicked softly, closing, and Coren started awake. He looked around, blinking. A twig snapped in the fire and he leaned back again, watching the dark room where Sybel slept guarded by Gules and Moriah. And as he watched, Sybel led his horse silently through the snow, out of her gates. She mounted and rode it bareback down the long, fire-white mountain path, past Maelga’s sleeping house, down toward the dark, towered city of Mondor.