The Bone Queen (33 page)

The other three Bards were experienced at this kind of travel, and she was surprised by their toughness: she found it hard to keep up even with Nelac, who was clearly ill. She was shocked by how freely they used magery: all of them used charms, to light fires, or to bind branches into shelters against the rain, or to heal the strains of their exhausted horses. She had been taught never to use magery lightly. Only Cadvan observed the conventional restraints, calling on his powers only to ease his horse or to help Dernhil; he never cast a charm to ease his own aches. Dernhil teased him about it.

“Time is against us,” said Nelac, catching her disapproving glance one evening. “And we must use the powers we have to move as swiftly as we may. That’s what they’re for.”

“I suppose so…” she said doubtfully. “It’s just that I’ve always been told never to do that.”

Dernhil grinned. “One of the best things about being a full Bard is that you learn that you can break the rules,” he said. “And what are a few words of fire when the Balance itself is in peril?”

Put like that, it was hard to argue, and Selmana found that she was soon using magery as much as the others. It did make a great deal of difference. Without magery, their journey would have been an intolerable trial of endurance; with it, it was simply damp, cold and exhausting.

C
ADVAN
wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or sad to leave Lirigon. Returning had only reinforced his exile: it had reminded him of everything he had pushed out of his mind since arriving in Jouan. He embraced the physical hardship of their journey: this gruelling ride through wild country was the truth about his life, the reality he must now accept, without the deception of hope.

On this second departure he found his thoughts dwelling, for the first time in months, on his family. His main concern when he was in Lirigon was not to be recognized by anyone who knew him, but he could have visited his home, if he had wanted, if there had been time. His banishment meant that he was forbidden from the Schools only: a harsh punishment for a Bard, but merciful in that otherwise he was free to go where he willed. But he couldn’t face seeing his kin. When he had left the first time, he had thought it was for ever, but somehow this second leaving felt more final. Now there might never be another chance. Now he could no longer show his face even in the Fesse.

Despite everything, somewhere in the back of his mind had glowed an unacknowledged hope that he would speak again to his brothers and sisters, that he would at last find a way to reconcile his differences with his father. Perhaps, after a few years, there might have been a way. He realized that now that hope was all but gone. Unless he could clear his name of the attempt to murder Bashar, he would never be able to return to Lirigon. His father and siblings would die, forgetting him, perhaps hating him, and he would live on, hating himself for what he had done to them.

Some of his most painful memories played over and over again in his mind. One of the worst had happened not long after the terrible events in the Inkadh Grove, when he had lain feverish and near death in the healing house. Cadvan had only fragmented memories of that time, when dreams and waking had merged in a confusion of pain and terror, but he thought his family had cared for him. He wasn’t certain, as he had never asked them; he still wondered if some of those faces he had seen – his father, Nartan, holding a cup to his lips; his sister Juna clutching his hand as he cried out in anguish – were phantoms of his illness.

One memory, however, was clear and unambiguous. He had woken, quite suddenly, in his right mind. He lay on his back staring at the white ceiling of the healing house. His body was light and empty, as if all his muscles had dissolved into air, and he felt too weak to speak or move. After a while he became aware of voices, familiar voices, and slowly realized his two brothers, Ardur and Ilios, were seated by the window on the far side of his chamber. They were talking together, unaware that he was conscious. At first he wanted to call out to them, but then he heard what they were saying.

“It goes hard with his pride,” Ardur said. “I think the old man has fought with everyone in the village.”

“Pride was always his problem.” Ilios, his youngest brother, was the most like Cadvan, restless and mercurial. “I never felt it from him, it must be said. It’s hard for me to love him. But he had such pride in the Bard…”

“Aye. Aye.” Ardur glanced over to the bed. “If Cadvan knew how he boasted about him. Or how he was used as a club to beat about our heads.
You’ll never be the half of Cadvan…
”

Ilios grunted. “Sometimes I hated him for that,” he said. Cadvan, listening, wondered if he meant him, or their father. Perhaps Ilios meant both.

“Still, it’s low to scrawl filth on the front door,” said Ardur. “I’d give a mort of coin to know who did that.”

“It could be anyone. A black mark has fallen on all of us now.”

“I think the old man will die of humiliation,” said Ardur.

“Perhaps it would be better if our brother died. More just, anyhow.” Cadvan flinched at the bitterness in Ilios’s voice.

“Nay,” said Ardur softly. “We can’t think that. For all that he’s done wrong, he’s still our kin.” He stood up and walked over to the bed, and Cadvan felt Ardur’s gaze upon his face. He laid still, his eyes shut, pretending he was asleep.

“Well, brother, I guess I might as well speak as not, though I doubt you’ll hear me,” said Ardur. “I wish you good health and a good life, though it looks like you’ll have neither now. We’ve come to say goodbye. We’re going south to find our fortunes, and I don’t think we’ll be back.” He stood for a while unspeaking, and then Cadvan heard steps as Ilios joined him.

“He’s dead to me now.”

“Nay,” said Ardur, his voice rough. “You don’t mean that, not in your heart. Remember him as he was, brother.”

“Do we even know what he was?”

Ardur didn’t answer, and there was a long silence. Cadvan felt the touch of fingers on his face, brushing back his hair, and then the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

Cadvan couldn’t remember what had happened after his brothers had left; that was the first time the blackness had rolled in. Afterwards he had been delirious for days. Later, from his sister Juna, he discovered that his brothers had decided to leave Lirhan after Ilios’s betrothal to a local girl was forbidden by her family, who were shocked by the scandal. Ardur was already planning to move to Desor, where he had once journeyed with their father to trade at the famous market there, but Ilios had never wanted to leave Lirhan. The departure of his brothers was the moment when Cadvan began to realize what he had done to his family.

Juna, a capable, gentle woman, never spoke of how Cadvan’s crime had affected her. Tera, like Ilios, had hero-worshipped her oldest brother. As far as he knew, she never came to his sickbed. Tera and Ilios were the youngest siblings, and Cadvan had helped to raise them from babyhood. Perhaps he had injured those two most. Once his recovery was certain, only Juna visited him in the healing house.

The last time he had seen Nartan was just before he left for Jouan, when he had ridden over to say farewell. It was the beginning of winter, and a bright sun with no warmth cast a merciless light that carved sharp shadows of the leafless trees. Cadvan had stood outside the house where he was born for a long time, gathering the courage to knock on the door.

Juna answered and led him to the kitchen, where Tera and Nartan waited. His sisters stood together awkwardly by the table, their hands clasped, their faces pale. Cadvan saw, with a constriction in his throat, that sweetmeats were set out, as if for a celebration. That would be Juna…

Nartan sat apart by the big hearth, and his eyes were fixed on his son’s face. He seemed much older. He had always been a big man, strong-shouldered and well-muscled, but now Cadvan could see how age crept into his body, hollowing out his face, greying his hair, withering his arms. For the first time, he seemed frail.

For a few moments everyone was frozen, not knowing what to do or to say. Then Juna stepped forward and embraced Cadvan. He held her fiercely, feeling her heart beating against his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“So am I,” she said. She stood back and tried to smile, wiping her cheeks. “Oh, Cadvan…”

Tera hadn’t moved, and her face was stony. Cadvan tried to meet her eyes, but she turned away and mumbled something he couldn’t hear.

“Let’s have a wine,” said Juna. “And drink the cup of farewell.”

She had set out the best glasses, and poured the wine in silence, handing one to each of them.

“Sit down, Tera,” she said. Tera sat at the far end of the table from Cadvan, her mouth set. Nartan took the glass automatically, as if he didn’t know what it was.

Cadvan sipped the wine, and cleared his throat. “Nartan, I thank you for having me in your house,” he said. His words fell heavily into the silence, clumsy and awry. He glanced at his father, and looked away, clearing his throat again. “I know that you cannot forgive what I’ve done. I know I’ve hurt you deeply.”

He paused, but no one said anything. Now his father had turned to look into the fire, his wine untasted in his hand.

“I’m leaving Lirigon,” Cadvan said. “I can no longer stay here.”

“You and your brothers,” said Tera viciously. “None of you have any
guts
. You should stay like us and face the shame.”

“Tera, I … I’m not permitted… I’ll probably be exiled.”

“I knew no good would come of this Barding,” said Nartan. “I knew right at the beginning, when you first had the words. It’s not for the likes of us.”

“I can’t help what I am,” said Cadvan.

“It’s from your mother’s side, for sure.”

This was an old argument, and Cadvan felt the old anger stir inside him. “If you’d sent me to the School when I was first asked, none of this might have happened,” he said, before he could stop himself.

“So it’s my fault now, is it?” Nartan cast him a look of contempt.

“Let’s not argue,” said Juna quickly. “There’s no point.”

“No, it’s too late for arguing,” said Nartan. “And no point in having him here, like I told you.”

Cadvan felt himself trembling. “I shouldn’t have come,” he said. “I promise you won’t see me again. I just wanted to say … before I left, I wanted to say how sorry I am. I know it’s not enough, but I wanted to say it. I’m sorry for the shame I’ve brought upon you.”

“It’s not the shame,” said Tera. “It’s not that…” And suddenly her face crumpled and she put her head in her arms and began to cry. Cadvan looked on helplessly, longing to comfort her but not daring to, as Juna leaned forward and stroked her hair.

“I don’t want us to be sorry for what is not said, or what is said too late,” said Juna, when Tera’s sobs had subsided. “That’s why we’re here. I love you, Cadvan, and I always will, no matter what bad things you did. You must remember that.”

“I don’t deserve that,” said Cadvan.

“Love isn’t about deserving. It just is.”

Another unbearable silence stretched out between them. Cadvan glanced quickly at his father, drained his wine glass and stood up.

“Juna, you are wiser than many Bards,” he said. “I wish I were as wise as you. Tera, Nartan, I don’t want you to regret anything you said or didn’t say to me. I must atone for what I’ve done, but you need feel no shame. You have done nothing wrong. Nothing. The shame is all mine.”

He paused, and then spoke in a rush. “I came for one other reason. Maybe the only good one. Nelac has promised me that he will see to all of you when I am gone. If you are troubled, or if things get too bad, go straight to him.”

Nartan shrugged. “What could a Bard do?” he said.

“You must promise,” said Cadvan fiercely. “Promise that you will ask him in need, whatever that need is. I can’t do anything to help you, but Nelac can. If he had known in time, he would have stopped the pettiness that led to Ardur and Ilios leaving Lirhan. You know his voice is heard. Juna, will you?”

Juna nodded.

“I’ll leave then,” said Cadvan. “Remember what I said.”

He took Juna in his arms and kissed her hair, smelling that familiar Juna smell that was so much part of his childhood and would now be lost to him for ever. Then he reached out his hand to Nartan. His father looked at him briefly, hard and cold, and turned away without taking his hand.

Cadvan turned on his heel and walked blindly out of the kitchen. His only thought now was to leave this torment. It was so much worse than he had imagined. Even his father’s rage would have been better than his bitter, uncomprehending pain.

Cadvan was at the front door when Tera rushed down the narrow hallway and flung her arms around him, sobbing passionately.

“Don’t go,” she said. “Cadvan, don’t go. I do love you, I do. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want you to go.”

“Tera.” For the first time, Cadvan felt tears burning his eyes. “Little sister. I have to go. I don’t have any choice.”

He hugged her close, and then held her at arm’s length, holding her gaze. “Tera, I love you too. Never forget that. Look after our father. And Juna. I know it’s been hard on you all, but don’t forget that Juna needs to be cared for too…”

She looked up at him, her face red with weeping, and nodded, swallowing. Cadvan kissed her forehead, and let her go. He opened the door and let himself out of the house. His whole being felt completely numb. He wondered if he would feel anything again.