The Riddle - Alison Croggon [184]
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