The Riddle - Alison Croggon [136]
“Yes. They are supposed to shine when the Gates open slightly, and the border between life and death becomes less certain. For that reason, some people fear to see the lights.”
“I didn’t feel afraid,” said Maerad. “It was like the voices of the stars.” She was silent for a time, absorbed in thought. Perhaps here she had been vouchsafed a glimpse into the pure heart of the Light: beyond the depths of the White Flame, into something stranger, colder, infinitely more mysterious.
“What do you think the sound was?” she asked at last. “Was it the Light singing, do you think?”
“What sound?” asked Dharin. “I heard nothing.”
“There was a music. A strange music . . .”
“There are things you might hear, cousin, that I cannot.”
“Well, whether they are to be feared or not, I am glad I saw them,” said Maerad. “I will never forget them.”
“Because they are beautiful does not mean that they are not perilous,” said Dharin. “But I, too, am glad.”
They waited until the sun rose the following day, and in its dim light drove the sled onto the Tolnek-Ol. The island was rocky and flat, with no trees anywhere, and looked very dreary under the gray flat light. The first sign of human dwellings was what looked like columns of white smoke, which Maerad took for signs of cooking fires. But Dharin told her it was steam from hot springs. They turned toward the steam columns and soon arrived at the island’s main village, Imprutul.
They were greeted first by the barking of dogs. Several children, who were so heavily swaddled in furs they seemed almost circular, spotted them and ran toward the village, shouting. Dharin drove the sled into a clear space surrounded by a scattered collection of low, round houses made of stone and ramped with earth, which backed onto a low rocky cliff. There were a number of deer corralled by the houses, and three or four large dogs came forward, barking and growling aggressively. For a moment Maerad feared there would be a fight, but the local dogs remained at a distance.
Dharin glanced at Maerad and she sensed, with faint surprise, that he was nervous. “I hope the telling of the Pilani is still correct,” he said. “It is long years since any of our people have come this way, and things change. If they are hostile toward us, we will have to leave quickly.”
Maerad nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.
“If things go well, someone will come soon,” Dharin said, climbing out of the sled and sharply telling his team, who were trading insults with the village dogs, to be silent. “We just have to wait. Do not look afraid.”
Soon someone came. Two people emerged from one of the houses and walked slowly toward them. Maerad couldn’t tell what sex they were; she found later they were two elders, a man and a woman.
Dharin put out his hand in greeting, speaking in Lirunik. The elders nodded, and each one in turn grasped his hand, holding it gently for a time and then letting go. Dharin introduced Maerad, and they greeted her in the same way, nodding solemnly. Maerad smiled back, wishing she were not so ignorant of their language. She stood by, waiting, while Dharin and the elders conversed, trying not to look too bored or cold.
Dharin turned to Maerad at last. “I’ve told them who we are and that we have come because you seek their wisdom on an important question. I have also said that I wish to do some trading. The man is called Ibikluskarini and the woman is Gunisinapli. They have told me that what wisdom they have is ours and that they have furs to trade, and they’ve invited us inside.”
So far, so good, thought Maerad, wondering how she was to explain to these people why she had come so far north. Because of a dream, because of a few clues scoured here and there, from a half-mad old Pilanel woman and a wise goatherd in Thorold — what sense could they possibly make of what she told them?
Dharin returned to the sled and took out a package wrapped in oilskin. He told