The Riddle - Alison Croggon [41]
“I used to make pipes like that when I was a child,” Cadvan commented.
“As did I,” said Ankil. “Out of the river reeds. They’re the kind only children make. It’s like those rhymes that children sing. They are never taught them by adults, but they sing the same nonsense from Zmarkan to Turbansk.”
Ardina’s face sprang vividly to Maerad’s mind: her wild, fey face, with its yellow eyes, cleft by an iris like a cat’s. Maerad had seen her both as the grave Queen of Rachida and as the wild Elidhu. There was, she reflected now, something childlike in her different guises; perhaps it was why the Elementals were so distrusted by Bards.
“The Elementals do not read books, as I do not,” said Ankil. “They have their own Knowings, and their memories are deep. I have spoken myself with the Elidhu Lamedon.”
“Indeed?” said Cadvan, his interest quickening. “I did not know he still spoke with humans.”
Ankil laughed. “He does not. But I, it seems, am half goat and half eagle, and so he deigns to speak to me. It is like talking to a storm! But he has told me many interesting things, and sometimes, when I am troubled, I will visit him.”
“How does he appear to you?” Maerad asked eagerly.
“Sometimes he won’t appear at all. I climb all the way up there, and come all the way back. But when he wills, he appears to me as a form of mist, or sometimes he will speak as an eagle, but bigger by far than even the Thoroldian mountain eagles.”
“I am quite certain that Bards have not taken enough account of the Elementals over the centuries,” said Cadvan. “To all our peril.”
“I too think that,” said Ankil. “But not many Bards agree. Here in Thorold it’s a little different, perhaps: I believe Elidhu blood runs in the veins of many Thoroldians. There are many tales here of love between water sprites and men, or of women who have gone into the mountains and come back ten years later leading a little child with strange eyes.”
“I wonder if the Lamedon would know anything about the Treesong,” Maerad said.
“Well, there is nothing in the library in Busk.” Cadvan made a gesture of disgust. “I have been inhaling ancient dust for weeks, to no avail.”
“The Treesong?” said Ankil.
“We’re supposed to find it,” said Maerad.
She felt no doubts about trusting Ankil, and she plunged without hesitation into the tale of their quest. Ankil listened with close attention, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. Cadvan sat in silence, his face clouded with thought.
“Hmmm,” Ankil said when she had finished talking. “Well, I do not know if the Lamedon can help us. He is not overfond of Bards, as he has told me on many occasions, and he has no interest at all in the struggles of the Light and the Dark, and never has had. He is not like the Elidhu of Annar, who remember the Dhyllin and the days of Afinil, when Bard and Elidhu sang together.”
“Do you think he might talk to me?” asked Maerad doubtfully. “I can speak their language.”
Ankil gave her a look of such candor that she almost blushed. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I think it more likely that he would not. And could you climb to the peaks of the Lamedon?”
Maerad thought of how the heights even here made her dizzy, and shuddered.
“No,” she said.
“I don’t think so either,” said Ankil frankly. “It is a challenge even for a skilled climber, and even in summer. And you are so slight — the wind would pick you up and throw you into a crevasse or send you sailing toward Busk.”
“A shame,” Cadvan said restlessly. “Though it might be as fruitless as my search through the documents of Old Thorold. How do you find something if you do not know what it is?”
“I don’t know,” said Ankil. He was frowning in thought. “But I am thinking that it reminds me of something. Do they tell in Annar of the Split Song?”
“No,” said Cadvan. “The Split Song?”
“It is a very old story, and not a well-known one.” Ankil picked up a boot he had been mending and spat on the leather. “I will tell you if you like. It was told me by an old man when I was a little boy, and I thought it