The Riddle - Alison Croggon [104]
“I think I shall start, while it’s still early,” said Maerad. “How do I find my way?”
Mirka fixed her rod in the ground and slowly stood up. She pointed to a winding path that led through the forest from her clearing.
“Follow that,” she said. “Soon you will find the road. Then turn away from the mountains and go north. You will find Murask.”
Maerad nodded, and said awkwardly, “Well, goodbye then.”
“Just wait a little. I have something for you.”
Mirka hobbled back to her hut. She was not gone long, and returned holding a small object in her hands.
“Take this,” she said. “It is a token of trust. If you show it, you will be admitted into Murask, even though you are a stranger.”
She gave Maerad a small disc carved out of yellowing bone. In the center was a beautiful relief of a running horse, perfect in every detail, except that a small crack ran through it.
Maerad was so taken aback that for a moment she was speechless. “I can’t take this,” she said.
“You can take it, my chicken,” said Mirka, patting her cheek. “And you will. Tell them Mirka à Hadaruk sends greetings and blessings.”
Maerad nodded, and then kissed the old woman on both cheeks. “May the Light shine on you!” she said.
“It will, my chick, or it will not, whether you will or no,” said Mirka. She smiled and stroked Maerad’s hair. “But now I have work to do. Off you go. And go well.”
She turned back to her fishing. Maerad watched her for a short time and then sighed and swung on her pack. She headed for the path and followed it through the trees. It wasn’t long before all trace of Mirka’s clearing had vanished from sight.
As Mirka had promised, the little path ran into a wide road of beaten earth that led straight downhill through the spruce and birches. Setting the mountains to her back, Maerad walked on. Lilac bushes, currant vines, wild strawberries, and low hazels grew in tangled clumps under the trees, their leaves already yellow and brown. The sky was a very pale blue with little warmth in it, good weather for walking, and she strode out, pulling the cold air into her lungs, listening to the birds squabbling unseen in the branches around her and the soft crunch of her footfalls on the ground. There was little other sound: for the first time in her life Maerad was completely alone, with no other human being in call. It was a strange feeling, but liberating; for some curious reason it made her feel less lonely.
The walking emptied Maerad’s mind of everything that troubled her. She entered the rhythms of her body, letting her arms swing and her legs push her forward, enjoying the feeling of health that coursed through her after the long, dark days in Mirka’s hut. She didn’t think about Cadvan or Darsor or Imi, though they lingered in the shadows at the back of her mind, regrets and griefs she would never lose.
When the sun was at its height, she stopped for a quick meal and then pressed on. Around midafternoon she emerged from the forest and saw before her the great plains of Zmarkan, which the Pilanel people called the Arkiadera, or the Mother Plains. They stretched past the horizon, a flat sea of red sedges and yellowing grasses and heathers. The road ran straight on through the plains, turning neither right nor left, underneath the huge, empty sky. The only trees Maerad could see were some low, dark withies and hazels. They followed a twining course that meandered alongside the road like a drunk; Maerad guessed with relief that they marked the course of a river.
In the distance, she could see animals moving across the plains, but she couldn’t tell what they were. She didn’t know if they were wild or if they signaled the presence of people. She felt exposed as soon as she left the shelter of the trees, and although there was no one in sight, and no chance of anyone creeping up unseen on that level ground, she put on a glimmerspell to make herself unseen. It made her feel a little safer.