The Riddle - Alison Croggon [119]
“Sirkana, do your people have a tale of the Split Song?” she asked.
Sirkana looked up in surprise. “The Split Song? Nay, I do not recall. . . .”
“Or the Treesong?”
Sirkana shook her head. “Not that I know,” she said. “And I am deeply learned in Pilani lore.”
“It’s something to do with the Elidhu,” said Maerad.
“The Elidhu no longer speak to mortals,” said Sirkana. “They departed from the human world when the great darkness fell.”
“Some do,” said Maerad, beginning to feel a little impatient. “I have spoken to Elidhu. But what I have to do is to find the Treesong, which has something to do with the Elidhu, and which has also — well, Cadvan and I thought — to do with this tradition of the Split Song.”
“It is all riddles,” said Sirkana, smiling. “We say the One is a riddle, perhaps the greatest riddle of them all. But of course I will help you.”
Maerad frowned again. “Mirka said that the Wise Kindred answered all riddles, and knew what was half and what was whole, and that seemed like a clue. My heart tells me that I must find the Wise Kindred. You seem to know who they are and where they dwell. Tell me.”
“They live far, far away,” said Sirkana. “In the land of ice and fire, the Labarok Islands. They live where the snow never melts, and where winter is one long night and summer one long day.”
“How far away is it?”
“No Pilani has been to the Labarok Isles in living memory,” said Sirkana. “But it is said that they are thrice as far as Murask is from the Idrom Uakin.” Maerad was baffled for a moment, until she remembered that was the Pilanel name for the Osidh Elanor. “It is a perilous journey, especially in winter.”
“Can it be done, though?” asked Maerad urgently. It came over her that she could be caught in Murask all through the northern winter, and then, even if her quest succeeded, it could be too late.
“Aye, it could be done, if you took one with you with weatherlore and a finding sense, and if you were lucky. We have the telling of how to get there, if the Wise Kindred still dwell there. It is not just the ice and the storms and the cruel terrain to fear. There are also the Jussacks, who prey on travelers. You will need to be well armed.”
“I have some swordcraft,” said Maerad. “And Barding skills as well.”
“You can ride?” asked Sirkana.
Maerad nodded.
“It is yet two moons before the winter solstice; it is early for snow, and this storm should pass,” said Sirkana. “It would be best to go on horseback to Tlon, where the northern clans gather. From there you will have to travel by dog. There is no other way over the snow.”
“Dog?” said Maerad, with some trepidation. She harbored a deep fear of dogs. Sirkana picked up on her tone and gave her a slightly mocking glance.
“Dharin à Lobvar, my sister’s son, is an expert dog handler, and he owns a very fine team. He goes on the trading routes to the northern clans each winter. Perhaps you can speak to him; he is young and he itches for adventure.”
“Is he the Dharin I spoke to last night?” asked Maerad.
“He was seated with us, yes. His mother is not here; she is south with the clans in Annar.”
“But that would make him my cousin.” Maerad spoke softly. This was a long way from having no family at all.
“Yes, he is. But I will not tell him of that kinship, for fear that in his gladness he might tell others. Whether you tell him after you leave Murask is up to you.”
There was a short silence. Maerad studied the strange murals in Sirkana’s room, pondering how she could have such close kin in Murask and yet still feel so alien. When she looked up, Sirkana’s eyes were unfocused,