The Singing by Alison Croggon

  Maerad's chest tightened with love, making her suddenly breathless: these people had risked everything to help her, they had suffered and struggled and wept with her, and they might have died. She knew that she would love them all her life, that even if they didn't see each other for years, she would run to greet them, and that it would always be as if they had only parted the day before. They were her dearest friends.

  And Cadvan was dearest of all. The memory of how he had caught her up from the ground at Afinil and showered her face with kisses, all his reserve vanishing in his relief that she was alive, still made her body hum with happiness, as if she were a hive full of bees. She had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him back without shame, and nothing had needed to be said, although they had said much as they rode together on Darsor back to Innail. She studied him possessively from the doorway. Hekibel was right: he was very handsome.

  Then Cadvan, feeling her gaze, glanced up toward her. For a moment, he looked stunned. It was a long time since he had seen her in a beautiful dress, her hair washed and shining, her skin glowing from a long bath; and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time. Their eyes held for a long moment, and then he smiled slowly and lifted his glass, and she came into the lamplight to join them.

  They were just sitting down to eat with Silvia and Malgorn when two more Bards arrived. First came Indik, his scarred, grim face lighting up when he saw Maerad, whom he picked up and swung around in a circle, kissing her almost as often as Silvia had. He didn't even try to hide how delighted he was to see her again.

  "I always said you were my best pupil," he said, when he finally agreed to put her down.

  "Oh!" said Maerad breathlessly. "You did not! You said I was the worst swordswoman you had ever had the misfortune to trip over, and that it would be a miracle if I didn't chop my own head off!"

  Indik grinned unrepentantly. "I may have said something like that at some point," he said. "But I knew you'd do me proud. And you have, girl. You have."

  The next guest, who followed hard on Indik's heels, made Cadvan and Saliman drop their mouths open in astonishment, and then scramble out of their chairs and rush to embrace him. It was their old mentor, Nelac.

  "Nelac!" said Cadvan, releasing him from a bear hug that had nearly swept him off his feet. "My friend, of all people, you were the last I expected to see! Now my cup is full!"

  "Not nearly as full as mine," said Nelac, smiling. "Mine runs over." He glanced over to Maerad, and a thrill ran down her spine: he looked at her as he might at an equal. "Greetings, Maerad and Hem of Pellinor. I am right glad to see you both here, whole and well. We felt the darkness pass from this world a fortnight since, and we knew you had completed your task. But none of us expected to see you again, and so we are the more glad."

  Hem blushed deep red, and muttered some thanks to the table, but Maerad met Nelac's gaze, and her chin was lifted proudly.

  "I am glad to be here, Nelac of Lirigon," she said. "And I'm very pleased we're not all dead, too. That makes it best of all."

  "Indeed it does," said Nelac, looking around the room and nodding to the others there as Silvia introduced Irc and Hekibel. "I am looking forward to hearing your tales. But first things first: Silvia and Malgorn have made us a fine feast, and I think courtesy demands that we pay it some attention!"

  He sat down at the head of table, next to Malgorn, and Maerad saw that he had aged since she last had seen him; the lines on his face had deepened, and there were marks of weari­ness and struggle and sadness on his face. He seemed much older, although she sensed no diminution of his strength. It seemed rather as if he had become more essential, as if the longer he lived, the more the magery within him became visible to the naked eye. And indeed, there was a faint shimmer of starlight about the old mage. Perhaps, she thought, when an old mage like Nelac dies, he simply becomes a beam of starlight— but she didn't like to think of Nelac's death, and turned her thoughts to the meal.

  It was indeed a sumptuous feast—roast kid with fresh spring peas and carrots and roasted turnips, dressed with a sauce of gooseberries. And it was followed by a classic Innail apple pie, the melting flesh of the apple crisscrossed with a lat­tice of golden pastry. Malgorn kept his eye on the glasses and made sure they were always filled with a wine as pale as straw and fragrant as spring itself.

  Maerad sat between Silvia and Cadvan, and breathed in

  Silvia's beauty. She had dressed formally, in a long moss-green dress that Maerad remembered from her first visit to Innail, and her auburn hair shone in the candlelight like spun copper. Silvia told her that the death of the Nameless One had been sensed by all the Bards in Innail, and no doubt across all Annar.

  "The change happened, oh, two weeks ago, at the full moon. Grigar of Desor arrived here a week before then, to warn us of our peril, and he gave us news of you, Hem. We were much afraid, and we sent forces to the Innail Let to defend it as best we could, although we didn't know how we could hold out against such an army. And then a few days later we had news that the Black Army was marching on Lirigon, and I did not know whether to be relieved or to weep. But it seemed to me that the tides would overwhelm us, no matter what we did, and I despaired. Those days seemed the blackest of all..."

  She sighed, remembering. "And then, one night, it came over me that I must walk out into the garden to look at the moon. It was as if something called me. And I thought I heard a beautiful music, although I didn't know where it was coming from, and then an immense sadness and joy mingled within me, and I knew it was done, whatever it was. I felt that a great weight, a great burden, had lifted from my heart." She leaned forward and cupped Maerad's face with her hand. "But I was also sure, Maerad, that you must be dead. I was never so glad as when I saw you this noontide."

  Maerad lifted her glass. "I'm a little battered, maybe, but it's nothing that a week won't cure. But," she added, a catch in her voice, "I think I am not a Bard anymore. I think I lost it all in the Singing. I don't mind; I am happy just to be alive."

  Silvia studied her gravely. "No, Maerad, you still have the Gift, as we all do," she said at last. "It is very clear in you, although it is also clear that you have spent yourself beyond your strength, and that you are deeply tired. And you're far too thin. That tiredness can happen to anyone. Cadvan would have told you, if you had asked him. Yes, you have lost something of your Gift. I think, my dearest one, that you will no longer be able to speak with the Elementals in their own tongue, or work the terrible powers that once you did. And to be perfectly hon­est, I think that is no bad thing."

  Maerad stared at Silvia, and relief rose inside her like a warm tide. Since the Singing, she had been sure that she would never be a Bard again. And for all the happiness she felt in her love for Cadvan, the loss of her powers was a hard thing to bear, and she had tried not to think about it on the long ride back to Innail.

  As they ate, they told all their stories, piecing together everything that had happened since Cadvan had found Maerad in a cow byre, on the Springturn almost exactly one year ago. It was a long and disorderly telling.

  Nelac had been imprisoned as a rebel by Enkir not long after Maerad and Cadvan had left Thorold for the north. "He did not dare to kill me," said Nelac. "Although I think it was a close thing. But as Enkir revealed his hand, so was he the less able to convince the honest Bards that his allegiance was to the Light. There was much disquiet when he started his campaign against Ileadh and Lanorial, and he lost much support then; and his only answer was to imprison any Bard who dared to question him. By then, I think Enkir was going mad. I think he is quite mad now."

  Nelac wiped his brow with a napkin. "I am not ashamed to admit that there were times when I despaired, locked up in Enkir's dungeon, though the sparrows and mice kept me good company. It was hard to see any glimmer of hope in the clouds that darkened Norloch. And then Enkir did set out my death warrant, and someone—I still don't know who it was, because

  I suspect it was someone close to him—rebelled
. And I was smuggled out of Norloch and given a horse. I couldn't go to Lanorial or Ileadh, because they were besieged by Enkir's forces, so I made my journey through byways and across wastes all the way to Innail, which was the only School that I could trust. And I arrived a month or so ago, only to find that I had just missed the battle here, and that Cadvan and Maerad were lately gone. Mine is the dullest story of all, really, and I would far rather hear yours."

  Irc, whose belly was bulging as he perched on the back of Hem's chair, gave a sharp caw, so that everyone turned to look at him. He wanted to tell his story too. Cadvan laughed, and Hem rolled his eyes. "I told you he'd be impossible," he said.

  Cadvan lifted his glass to Irc. "To me, Irc is a hero," he said. "He saved Lirigon from certain doom, and he can boast as much as he likes."

  Irc danced up and down. I am a hero, he said. The Savior of Lirigon. Cadvan said so, so it must be true. And I am the King's mes­senger, and I am a very clever crow. I flew so far and so fast that my wings hurt and I told the Bard about the army, and he said that I was a brave and intelligent bird, and that they would make a song about me and I should have a necklace of gold. But then I had to fly all the way back to find my friend because I missed him so much and my wings hurt even more. He cocked his head and looked at Nelac, his eyes a little blurry, and Hem realized that Irc was actually a bit drunk: he must have been sipping from Hem's glass when he wasn't looking.

  It seems to me, said Nelac gravely, that you deserve at least one necklace. Maybe two.

  At this, Irc bobbed up and down even more energetically and then, very slowly, overcome by the wine and the excitement, began to topple off the back of the chair. Hem caught him before he fell, put him in his lap, and tickled his tummy, and Irc lay on his back, his wings flopped open, his eyes closed blissfully

  "I think he's overdone it," said Hem fondly. "And he does deserve praise. He has been brave." He remembered how glad he had been when Irc had flown back to him, a few days after the Singing. Irc hadn't called him: he had simply dropped onto his shoulder out of the sky, startling Hem so much he almost fell off Keru. Irc was so tired he could barely talk, and he was so glad to see Hem that he didn't make a single rude remark. It had taken a few days before he was his brash and boastful self again.

  Irc's warning had bought the city a few precious days. The Black Army had marched up expecting a city open to attack, and instead found itself trapped on the other side of the Lir River. The Bards and townspeople had broken the bridge, but on the other side were fierce and well-prepared defenders. Undaunted, the Hull captains had begun to build rafts, felling the trees on their side and lashing them together, and harried the townsfolk, preparing for a siege. They had no doubt that, with their overwhelming forces, they would win in the end.

  But when the Nameless One was destroyed, so were all his Hulls, who drew on his power for their own deathlessness. The deaths of their captains threw the Black Army into panic and chaos. The bulk of the infantry were slaves from Den Raven, and they rebelled and threw down their weapons and refused to fight. The remaining forces—the dogsoldiers and bloodguard— had retreated hastily, and were probably marching back south. Hem wondered what had happened to the snouts.

  "The war is over," said Nelac. "But there is still much to do. Enkir's campaigns against Ileadh and Lanorial have been beaten back, although there has been much loss of life. And I've heard, from bird messengers, that Amdridh still holds out strongly against the Black Army, and that Til Amon is still besieged, but under no threat of starvation. But that will be old news now, I expect. The tide now runs with the Light."

  "And it runs quickly," said Cadvan. "There is much to do, yes. But I think that it is not too soon to toast victory."

  "Aye," said Nelac, his voice low. "And then we must turn our attention to the healing. There is much to heal. I am glad that the Nameless One is no more, and I am very glad, Maerad and Hem, that you did not have to pay for it with your lives. There is great joy in that. But I am an old man, and very tired, and my heart is full of sorrow for all those who have died, and for the great cities that have been destroyed. We have lost much in this war, and much is past repairing. And it will be you young people who must heal these wounds."

  Hem thought of the snouts. How would they be healed, after what had happened to them? And a sudden fire lit in his breast: perhaps he could help those damaged children; perhaps that could be his next task.

  As if he caught Hem's thought, Nelac looked sharply at Hem. "If you wish to pursue your studies, my dear one, you are very welcome to learn from me for a time. It takes no gift of prophecy to predict that you will be a great healer."

  Hem blushed with pleasure, and his eyes were shining. "Yes," he said. "I want to be a healer, more than anything in the world."

  "I think you already are. But there is always more to learn." Nelac rose, and bowed. "I think that I will heed Silvia's gentle tyranny and take myself to my bedchamber. I will sleep better this night than I have for many years." He bade them all good night, and as he left the room, he kissed Maerad's brow. "Well done," he whispered. "You were always full of surprises, Maerad, but somehow I am not surprised."

  As if Nelac's leaving were a signal, the others took them­selves to bed shortly afterward, yawning and stretching, all of them looking forward to waking late in a warm, comfortable bed. Hem realized that if he did not move now he probably never would; he had drunk far too much of Malgorn's decep­tively light wine. He heaved himself out of his chair, holding Irc in his arms like a baby, and made a round of the room, kissing everyone good night with unusual enthusiasm. He kissed Silvia twice. Maerad watched him with amused surprise; she had never seen Hem tipsy before. Then he waved brightly and dis­appeared out of the door, to stumble up the stairs.

  "He is a beautiful boy, your brother," said Saliman, stand­ing up. "I love him well. I knew he was special the moment I set eyes on him. I don't think I realized quite how special."

  "Yes," said Maerad with feeling. "He is."

  "And I think I will follow his example. My Lady Hekibel, will you do me the honor of leaving with me?" He held out his hand to Hekibel, and she took it, smiling, and made her fare­wells to the five remaining Bards. The two departed together, Hekibel's golden head resting on Saliman's shoulder.

  "He is a lucky man," said Indik, following Hekibel with his eyes. "She is a very beautiful woman."

  "She's more than beautiful," Maerad said. "She's generous and true and kind and strong and wise. And she's very funny."

  "She'll need all that, if she is to be with a Bard," said Silvia. "It's not easy, even for another Bard." She glanced sharply between Cadvan and Maerad, who were seated close together, their hands clasped, and then looked over to Malgorn. "It's late, my dear. And tomorrow will be as busy as usual."

  And that was the end of the celebration. Maerad remem­bered it afterward as one of the best evenings of her life, rich and vivid and luminous with joy snatched back from the dark.

  Maerad was still wakeful, perhaps because of the wine, so she and Cadvan went out into the streets of Innail for a walk.

  It was a clear, frosty night, at the dark of the moon, and the stars blazed brightly, throwing shadows beneath them on the ground. The streets were empty, save for the occasional walker or curious cat, and they wandered arm in arm through the streets and crooked little squares toward the Inner Circle, because Maerad wanted to see the statue of Lanorgrim and the Singing Hall before they went to bed.

  "Who would have thought, when you found me milking a cow, that we would have ended up doing all the things we did?" said Maerad.

  "I think that I had an inkling," said Cadvan, smiling. "But all the same, Nelac is right. You surprised me almost every step of the way. Sometimes, truth be told, you terrified me more than surprised me."

  "I surprised myself." Maerad frowned. "I do feel strange, Cadvan. I will have to get used to myself. And I was never used to myself in the beginning, anyway . . . But I'm glad that I'm still a Bard, you know. I me
an, it would have been fine if I were not. But I was a little sad, when I thought I had lost all my magery."

  "You should have asked me, as Silvia said. I didn't know you were even thinking that. It was obvious that your Elemental powers had gone ..."

  "I didn't want to talk about it." She leaned her head on Cadvan's shoulder. "I think I didn't want any more sadness. And anyway, I had too much to be happy about."

  Maerad had told no one of the sorrow she had felt at the loss of her powers. Hem was simply relieved that everything was over, but for Maerad it was different. It could have been worse, much worse; but even through the relief that she hadn't lost everything and was still a Bard, she still mourned her Elemental self. She knew now what Cadvan had meant when he had told her: I think that even if we should claim victory in the

  midst of all this uncertainty, we could still find ourselves with our hands empty. Whatever happens, our world will not be the same after this.

  No, her world would not be the same. And there would always be loss. She thought of the dream that both she and Hem had shared, of a beautiful house with an orchard where they both lived. She realized now that it was not a glimpse of the future, but a longing for the childhood that they'd never had.