The Riddle (55 page)

We do not have to be seen to be crushed, thought Maerad, as they threaded their way through the pale trunks, which glimmered through the forest shadow. Huge hailstones began to clatter through the leaves. One hit Maerad’s flank, and she jumped sideways with a yelp; it was like being struck by a hammer. Now she was sure she could hear the baying of stormdogs, tearing screams that rose above the howl of the gale and turned her blood to ice. There was more than one, she was sure. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a lone deer bolting blindly in panic, crashing into trees and falling and scrambling up to run on again, beyond anything but its own fear.

Ardina suddenly turned and disappeared, so quickly that Maerad almost fell over her paws trying to follow her. She scrambled down into a narrow gully. At the bottom was a trickle of frozen water running through a thin layer of old gray snow, banked on either side by a tangle of thorns and dead grasses. On the floor of the gully there was just enough space for a single wolf to push through. Instantly they were sheltered from the worst of the storm, although hailstones as big as pebbles still showered into the gully. One hit Maerad above the eye, and she began to bleed.

For a moment, both wolves stood erect, listening; there was a huge crack not far away, as if a tree had split in half, and Maerad saw uneasily that the forest above them was beginning to glow with a weird greenish light. She remembered that light from her encounter with the stormdog in the Straits of Thorold. She didn’t know how many raged above the trees here, but she could hear baying from at least three directions. She cowered on the ground, pressing her belly close to the snow as if to meld herself with the earth.

Ardina began to wind her way through the gully, her nose to the ground, and Maerad followed her as near as she could. Even though the wolf was just in front of her, she could barely see her pale form in the gloom. Every moment it was getting darker, as if the very light was being devoured. Soon the only light anywhere was the strange greenish glow, which illuminated nothing, and Maerad was navigating by smell alone. It is as black as the Winterking’s palace, she thought; I have not escaped him yet. She shuddered and pressed closer to Ardina’s tail.

At that moment, the storm hit its height. The baying of the stormdogs reached a crescendo that made Maerad stop to try and cover her ears with her paws. It felt like an explosion inside her head, making her skull ring with unbearable pain. Something huge was stamping through the trees nearby; she could hear the earth shuddering beneath its heavy tread, and the smash and crack of branches breaking. Shaking with fear, Maerad sprang forward, bumping into Ardina. More than anything in the world, she wanted to hide from this black fury of destruction, this terrible chaos. If she could have dug herself into the earth, she would have.

And then, above all the fury, as clearly as if they spoke together in a quiet room, she heard the voice of the Winterking.

His voice was gentle and sad.
Elednor,
he said.
Elednor, why have you betrayed me? Come back to me. Come back to where you belong. I alone need you. . . .

Maerad cringed into the ground, writhing in terror and desire and shame. Her mouth was full of dead bracken and frozen soil. In her mind she saw, with an awful clarity, the Winterking’s face, his pale beauty, his dark rage; she remembered how his touch scorched her with longing. Beside those memories, everything else — even her own life — seemed suddenly trivial and empty.

I didn’t want to,
she cried out into the earless ground.
I didn’t want to leave.

Don’t answer him.
Ardina nipped her shoulder, and Maerad looked up into her eyes, dazed. Ardina’s eyes were burning with red fire.
Don’t answer him,
she said again, her teeth bared in a snarl.
He will know where you are.

Maerad scrambled to her feet and stood miserably before Ardina, her head bowed in shame.
I think I did,
she said.

Ardina nipped her again, chivvying her along the gully.
Pray then that your voice did not reach him. Did you say his name?

No,
said Maerad.

Well, perhaps then he did not hear you. We have not far to go. Hurry, hurry . . .

Maerad stumbled behind her through the chaos of the storm, blind with misery. Whatever I do is wrong, she thought. The Winterking is right; I am a traitor. Not to him; to myself. But how can I be true to myself when all my selves have different truths?

She could not understand now how they could possibly escape. It sounded as if the forest were being torn to pieces around them; had they not found this gully, they would have been flayed by the wind, crushed by the Winterking’s monsters, blown off the face of the earth. It was only a matter of time before their frail hiding place was exposed and she would be dragged, trembling, before the Winterking’s wrath. Her joy in her wolfishness was utterly extinguished; she stumbled with exhaustion, and her front paw burned as if it were on fire.

Hurry.

Ardina bit her, and Maerad forced herself on, feeling her legs shuddering beneath her. She could not go much farther, even though her life depended on it. She heard a crash close behind them, as a giant tree, violently uprooted, fell across the narrow gully. Somehow she found another reservoir of energy. She limped after Ardina, freezing and shaking, conscious of nothing but the iron will she needed to put one paw in front of the other.

Suddenly Ardina disappeared. Maerad blinked stupidly and looked around, but she could see or smell no sign of her. She sat back on her haunches, too tired to think what to do next, too tired to move, too tired even to feel despair. Ardina had abandoned her. Now she could do nothing except wait.

But then Ardina reappeared, snarling, her eyes blazing.
What are you doing?
she snapped.
Get in here.

Maerad looked up and saw that Ardina had climbed into a hole above them in the side of the gully. Feeling as if it were the last thing she would ever do, Maerad somehow scrambled up into the entrance of the hole and followed Ardina inside. It smelled of earth and rotting leaves, and from it breathed a sharp animal stink. Ardina was already a long way in front of her.

Maerad crawled on and on, deeper and deeper into the earth, her ears flat against her head, thinking the tunnel would never end. It felt like a tomb: cold as death, utterly black. Eventually she would not be able to crawl any farther, and she would just die there, her bones crumbling to dust for eons as the seasons flickered and changed far above in the world of daylight. But, unexpectedly, the walls disappeared and, unable to stop herself, Maerad fell forward into nothingness. Automatically she put her legs out to break her fall, and landed with a heavy bump on stone.

She lay where she fell, her eyes closed, her flanks heaving.

Ardina’s voice came through the darkness as if from a great distance.
We outran the storm,
she said.
The Winterking will not find us now.

Slowly Maerad’s breathing returned to normal, and she opened her eyes. She could see nothing in the absolute darkness, but she didn’t need to. She could hear the sound of beasts all around her; she could smell wolves. She stood up stiffly, sniffing the air. She was in a large space, a cavern she supposed, and wisps of air traveling through it told her it had three exits. She picked out six individual wolf scents besides that of Ardina, and the smell of meat, both fresh and old. There was a carcass nearby; she could smell its bloody hide, the marrow of cracked bones, the urinous odor of the creature’s fear as it had been killed. Her mouth filled with water, and she realized she was starving. But with that realization came a more urgent one: she was thirsty. She lifted her head, swallowing: there was water not far away; she could taste it on the air. An underground river, she thought. She could hear its gentle murmur through the rocks.

Drink if you wish,
said Ardina.

Maerad walked jerkily in the direction of the water, aware of the other wolves, whose attention was focused on her. There was a small brook close by, cold as ice; it numbed her mouth to drink, but she lapped thirstily until she had taken her fill. Then she returned to her place and sat by Ardina’s side, wondering what would happen next.

There was a thick silence; it seemed the wolves waited too. Not one moved a whisker, and only the low whisper of their breathing sounded through the cavern.

Very slowly, slowly enough to let their eyes adjust as it rose, a light began to glimmer in the cave. Soon it was almost as bright as soft daylight, and Maerad looked around. Six wolves sat on their haunches in a semicircle, staring at Maerad and Ardina.

Look well, friends,
she said to the wolves.
This is the prize the Ice Witch desired so and whom you traveled so far to find.

The wolves looked intently at Maerad, although they looked away when she met their eyes. She tried not to shift uncomfortably under their gaze.

Will you guide her?
said Ardina.

The biggest wolf, a huge male with a white ruff, walked delicately up to Maerad, sniffed her all over, and then returned to his spot.

She can share our kill and drink our water,
he said.
We will give her the protection of the pack.

Maerad stared at the male, her mind whirling. If he was not the wolf who had greeted her at the entrance to Inka-Reb’s cave, then he was his twin brother. But what would Inka-Reb’s wolves be doing so far from home? She hadn’t any time to think further, as all the other wolves came up to her and started licking her face and mouth, and nudging their heads under her chin. A couple of the younger wolves crouched down and looked up at her winsomely, their eyes warm and adoring. Their sudden affection nearly knocked her over a couple of times, but she felt strangely elated and stood as straight as she could, her eyes shining. The male wolf stood apart impassively, watching the greetings.

When the pack had finished, they returned to their places and looked expectantly at the male. It seemed the formalities were not yet finished. The wolf yawned extravagantly, showing his long fangs. Then he fixed Maerad with his eyes.

I am Ka,
he said.
I call no one master, but I serve the great Dhillarearën.

Inka-Reb?
said Maerad. A look of affront crossed the wolf’s face, and she almost bit her tongue in annoyance with herself; clearly Ka was not a wolf who suffered interruption. But he continued to speak graciously.

I know not what men call him,
he said.
He is the wolf spirit who lives between the stars and the ice, the living and the dead. As the moon swelled to its last fullness, he walked among the stars and saw what no other sees. He often walks thus. When he returned, he asked us to make a big kill. We brought back a bull deer and he read its entrails. He said to me that he wanted a great favor. He said that the Dhillarearën who had come to his cave to ask him a great question would need guidance. He asked us to seek you and follow you, and he gave us his blessing on our brows.

Ka paused, this time elaborately scratching himself, and Maerad nodded, hoping it was the polite thing to do. She did not want to interrupt him again.

We set off at the next light to follow your trail. On the day of the full moon, we found your mate dead, and a great dog, one almost as great as a free wolf.
Maerad flinched and looked at the ground to hide her anguish at the thought of Dharin’s corpse, abandoned like so much rubbish, with Claw at his side. It seemed so wrong.
We treated his body with honor,
Ka said, and his eyes softened.
We understand that sorrow that burns forever, when the mate of your life is dead. Such is the world. There was another there, but we did not honor him.

Good, thought Maerad, the desire for revenge hot inside her. But then she was horrified at herself; perhaps even that Jussack did not deserve to be dishonored in death. She suspected that he had been eaten. Later she wondered if the wolves meant that they had honored Dharin by eating him, and dishonored the Jussack by perhaps urinating on the body, but she never dared to ask.

We followed their tame dogs,
Ka went on.
The moon shrank and vanished and came back, and we went far out of our lands, farther than our kin had ever been. But the blessing of the Dhillarearën is on our brows, and no other wolf dared to challenge our passing, even though we crossed their high roads and hunting fields. We came at last to the highlands and followed the man road, although it stank, to the arch that burned the air. We knew you had been taken through it, and we could not follow you. Instead we followed the men who had taken you, and we took our Dhillarearën’s revenge upon them.

Maerad could not remain silent.
All of them?

This time Ka did not look so insulted.
There was a man of power among them,
he said,
but he could do nothing against the blessing of our Dhillarearën, and we tore out his throat. There were three other men who tried to run, and we hunted them down.

There was a young man,
said Maerad.
Not much more than a boy —

There was one more.
Ka clearly was not going to be hurried in his story.
He smelled of you most strongly, but your smell on him was not the fear smell. Our Dhillarearën warned us not to kill without need, to be just in our revenge, lest the blessing fade. We let him go free.

Maerad breathed out with sudden relief. At least she did not have Nim’s death on her conscience. She thought of Amusk with his throat torn out and felt no pity at all.

It was after that we saw the Daughter of the Moon, as we had been told we would.
Here Ka courteously bent his head to Ardina, who had sat silently throughout his narration, and she gravely bent her head in acknowledgment.
She brought us here and told us to wait for you. And so we have, and now we have come to the present time.

I saw you,
said Maerad.
I saw you from the sled. But no one else saw you.