Hello, kids, I have returned, and with the latest chapter! Yes, I know I am being awfully slow, but if you know me, you would also know this by now…so thanks for sticking around!
This chapter is much sadder and darker…I wrote it all in one go, and now I am KNACKERED. Hope you enjoy it, and please, please REVIEW!
A Look Back (II - Faces from the Past)
Mari only dropped the bombshell when they were halfway through breakfast the next day. The kitchen was filled with the sleepy gold light of early morning, and all had been peace and quiet until she had spoken - Maerad and Cadvan had been too busy enjoying her homemade porridge to make anything but incoherent noises of pleasure.
"I have told a few people about your return, Cadvan. We agreed to meet at the Three Grapes."
"The Three Grapes?" Maerad faltered, but Cadvan was frowning at Mari and didn't respond to her question.
"Just how many is a few, Mari?"
Mari smiled wickedly, the wrinkles on her face deepening at her action, so that for a moment, her cheeks were a pattern of shadow and early morning light.
"A hundred or so?" she said innocently.
Cadvan groaned, and put his head in his hands.
"You do this every time, Mari…"
"Well I can't help it if everyone wants to see the oh so great Bard himself…and you know what gossips people in Lirigon are, tell one, tell 'em all." She stood up, collecting the empty bowls, and motioned at Maerad with them. "Plus, knowing she's here didn't help, either. They've been clamouring to meet her ever since they heard 'bout the visit."
Maerad threw Cadvan a look of pure terror, who rose his eyebrows at her apologetically.
"Looks like you'll be meeting the family all in one big go," he muttered to her, then went to help Mari with the washing up.
Pitchforks featured prominently in Maerad's imagination; she gulped and glared down at her hands until they stopped shaking. Give her wers anytime, she thought. Give her darkness, give her death, anything - anything but a social situation. And with Cadvan's relatives as well…
She glanced out through the open kitchen door to the peacefully gurgling river outside, watched the early sunlight flicker along its clear surface, and sighed inwardly.
Today would not be a good day.
***
The Three Grapes turned out to be an inn directly in the centre of Lirigon's town, almost the biggest Maerad had seen, and she had been to Thorold, who were well renowned for having huge inns, some complete with a full set of gardens, several floors and a huge patio at the front. This inn had all of these and more, and yet it was still packed to the rafters with people, all of whom started shouting and waving when they saw the three walk into the neat, sandstone town centre. Before either Maerad or Cadvan could run away, the flood of people had broken the barriers of the inn doors and were pouring into the street; Cadvan was immediately gripped into a huge bear hug by a man twice his height and weight, and hoisted into the air.
"'Van!" the man roared, gripping Cadvan so tightly that he was half laughing, half choking. "It's been far too long!"
Cadvan laughed, slapping the man on the back.
"Let go of me, Tallal, you wretch, or next time it'll be eternity!"
Roaring with laughter, the man released Cadvan and punched him heavily on the shoulder.
"The whole damn town's talking 'bout you and what you did, honestly, ye dinnae when ta stop, d'ya?"
Cadvan winked. "Always got to be centre of attention, you know me, Tal!"
"Aye, what else is new?" Tallal grinned, then transferred his attentions to Maerad, who was simultaneously sticking close to Cadvan and surveying the town centre in a panic, just in case she could find an escape. "You must be the great Maerad of Pellinor," he said, and stepped forward. Maerad flinched, in case he was going to squash all her organs out of their places, like he had done with Cadvan, and was pleasantly surprised when instead he dropped to one knee and kissed her hand gently.
"The whole town knows what you have done for us and the whole of Edil-Amarandh," he said gravely, and looked up at her. Maerad was trapped by a pair of honey-coloured eyes, set inside an honest face. "Please accept our gracious thanks," he said.
Maerad felt the blood rush to her face, and was momentarily dumbstruck. Over Tallal's head, Cadvan winked at her, his face glowing in the yellow sunlight and his mouth stretched in one of his most illuminating smiles. Maerad could not help but smile back, and nodded to Tallal.
"Thank you," she said. "But it seems strange to have someone thank me for something I had no choice in doing."
Tallal rose, his honey eyes still serious. "Aye, miss, there is always a choice, as Cadvan here always tells us. You could have run fer the hills. Instead you faced your task with a bravery that not even I could have mustered - an' I'm a brave one, lass." He grinned self-mockingly at her, suddenly full of jest once more, and Maerad smiled back.
"I'm sure you are," she said politely, and then suddenly there were people everywhere, offering her their hands and their thanks, a rush of faces, and she momentarily lost Cadvan, overwhelmed by the many smiling greetings.
Somehow, she found herself near the edge of the crowds, and had an unimpaired view of the town square for once. Most of the people in the square were watching the crowds and whispering to each other behind their hands. There was one person who was not.
He was a man, tall, with dark features, possibly only a little older than Maerad herself, and he stood just to the edge of the gossipers, and stared at her with what Maerad could only define as absolute hostility.
She paused, momentarily discomforted by this change in attitude from the rest of the crowds, but found she could not take her eyes from his. There was something in his eyes, an emotion, that she felt she deserved. She did not deserve this rush of thanks, but she did deserve that anger, that hostility.
Tallal took her arm, shaking her out of her stupor. "All right, miss?" he asked, in the gentle tone that he used when speaking with her.
Maerad nodded half-heartedly, hesitated, then decided to go with it, and gestured slightly to the dark faced man. "Who is he?"
"Oh." The expression on Tallal's exuberant face darkened slightly, into something cold and hard, like steel. "That's Haartel." He glanced at Maerad's discomforted expression, and added, reluctantly, as if he did not wish to say it, "He is Ilar's son."
Maerad stared at him in open-mouthed shock, then quickly turned back to where the man had been standing…but he had gone.
The crowd moved on into the inn, carrying Maerad with it, and she had no chance to think on this development before drinks were being pressed into her hands and voices were seizing her attention. She smiled and chatted as best she could, but the face of the dark-haired stranger refused to leave her mind.
The day wore on, full of different faces and voices, all ringing with the same thanks. By late afternoon, Maerad had been so bombarded by people and had been bought so many glasses of wine that she was beginning to feel sick. She excused herself from the latest group of well-wishers with a smile and staggered outside into the back gardens of the inn. It was cooler outside, and less crowded because of the extra space, and Maerad leaned against the wall of the inn, in the afternoon shadows, with a relieved sigh, glad to be alone at last.
After a moment, she slid down the wall to the ground and sat there for a moment, picking at the grass and trying to clear her head.
She had always assumed, because Cadvan had said that his direct family were dead, that he was as lonely as her, that he was as lost in the world as she and Hem. That assumption, she now realised, had been wrong. Sure, there was only Mari and a few other actual members of his family around, but then there were others - friends of the family who had grown up knowing Cadvan - and through several generations because of his Bardic lifespan - and then there were other Bards, and friends, and even fans…yes, there were many here who loved him. No wonder he missed Lirigon when he was away, no wonder he had been so loathe to leave it in the first place and wander in the darkness of the world, no wonder he always spoke of it with fondness. There was enough love here for twenty people.
And yet - though everyone had been more than friendly to her, and more than gracious and welcoming - Maerad had never felt more alone. She felt as though she had somehow lost Cadvan by seeing this, she felt as though she were less special to him, because there were plenty that loved him (as they should, she added loyally to herself) and that if she ever stopped loving him, he would perhaps not even notice. Whereas if he did the same to her, his absence would be felt forever.
She hugged herself gently. This thinking was illogical, she knew, and yet she felt it anyway. Maybe Cadvan only loved her because she had been the only one around at the time. Maybe what they had was not that special - after all, everyone here seemed to feel the same love for him as she did…maybe this odd rosy happiness she had been feeling lately wasn't going to last after all.
She wished she could talk to Hem. He - at least - was all hers. Then she felt guilty for thinking this. She should be wishing Hem all the love in the world, not jealously keeping him all for herself. She should be doing the same with Cadvan. And yet…she still felt it, felt it all…
She heard a footstep close to her, and glanced up. The dark-faced stranger - what had Tallal called him? Haartel, that was it - was standing not more than a hundred yards away, glaring at her with the same hostility. Maerad scrambled untidily to her feet, feeling self-conscious and wishing Cadvan was with her. The last she had seen on him, he was being cornered by a bunch of apparently crazy young girls, begging him for autographs (NB: sound like anyone you know, Pellinorites? :p ).
"Um," she said, when Haartel said nothing, and then, when this still provoked no response, added, "I…know who you are."
Haartel finally spoke, in cold, clear tones, as icy as a river. "I know," he said.
Maerad hesitated, momentarily floundering.
"I…wouldn't be surprised if you hated me forever," she said quietly, and a little stiffly.
Haartel took a step forward, with a bitter laugh. "Oh, what difference would it make to you if I do or not? There's ten thousand of people who love you for every one that doesn't. You saved the world."
Maerad swallowed, wishing she could say what she meant - that their thanks felt like nothing to her, that his hatred was the only thing that made sense to her.
"Yes, I saved the world," she said quietly. "But I killed your mother."
A momentary flash of memory came back to her, a white face falling away, with a neat hole in its forehead, that agony of anger, that insanity…
"Yes," Haartel said. "You did."
Maerad met his eyes. "I will never forgive myself," she said. "And I don't care if you believe me or not."
Haartel half-shrugged, his tall, lean form rigid with suppressed anger.
"One death that -whether indirectly or not, whether intended or not - saved many lives. If one thinks about it hard enough, it almost looks like Ilar was a martyr."
Her name had not been spoken before, and now it hung in the air, like a ghost, one of the dead watching Maerad, like they did in her dreams, always watching her, always there, in the shadows…
"No one should have died," she said hollowly. "Not for the Light. And yet plenty do."
Haartel nodded, a flash of acknowledgement in his dark eyes. "Such is the way of the world," he said.
"It is not fair," Maerad whispered, and decided that was a stupid thing to say. She more than anybody knew how unfair life was.
The shadows felt colder.
Maerad hesitated, then reached to her shoulder, where a new Pellinor brooch was pinned, made in Innail for her by Silvia and Malgorn while she had been recuperating. Slowly, she unpinned the brooch and looked at it, at her pale reflection inside it.
"When I fought Sharma," she whispered, "In the last battle, where I fought Sharma…I…I saw the dead. I opened myself to the darkness beyond and I saw the dead, and the, the, the dead saw me. I saw Ilar, and she saw me, and, and…and she forgave me." She looked up at the tall form of Haartel, but he had not moved. "I know what I saw," she added defiantly. "And I know she forgave me. But I want you to have this." She reached forward, the brooch out in her hand. "So that you will always remember to hate me."
Haartel looked down at the brooch, but made no move to take it at first. Then, very slowly, he reached down and plucked it from her fingers, surveying its design.
"My aunt is a Bard," he said after a while. "She said she felt it, like all Bards did, when you defeated Sharma. She said she felt the peace. She said it was the peace of the dead, and that you had put them to rest. But I wonder - are the dead ever really at rest? Or do we dig them up time and time again, in our minds, in our memories?" He looked down at the brooch, moving it from side to side so that the shadows moved and twisted in the metal. Then he looked at Maerad.
"Why do you want me to hate you?" he asked.
Maerad hesitated, unsure herself, then ploughed forward.
"A Balance," she said. "I am a Bard, there must always be a Balance. I need people who hate me as well as love me. Otherwise…I suppose I will become corrupted. Just like Enkir was corrupted by pure Light, so will I become." She motioned to the brooch. "Take it," she said.
Haartel glanced at it again, then nodded. "I will take it," he said. "And I will accept that my mother forgave you. But it is more than I could ever do."
Maerad smiled sadly. "I know," she said. "Thank you."
And then she blinked, and he was gone, and there was nothing but shadows left behind.
She sighed, and looked back at the inn, where loud music was now playing. Her head felt better, but she in no way felt ready to face those grateful, happy faces again. It was not her world. It was Cadvan's world, and it was the world of those who loved and lived in the Light. But Maerad would always be between the Light and the Dark, on the knife edge between the two. She did not belong there; she belonged alone, like she always had.
Silently, she turned back to the gardens and left through the back gate, completely unnoticed for once.
***
Maerad arrived back at Mari's house in early evening, having spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the town and School of Lirigon. The place was beautiful, as beautiful as any other town she had been to, and it proved a balm to her rattled nature. But now she wanted to talk to Cadvan, she needed to, to calm her restless fears.
But only Mari was in the kitchen, stirring the pan of something that smelled delicious. She rose an eyebrow when Maerad entered the room.
"You vanished," she observed coldly.
Maerad shrugged, a little awkwardly. "I…needed to get away." She glanced around the room - Cadvan's cloak was not on the hook by the door. "Is Cadvan here?" she asked.
"No," said Mari simply, and went back to her stew, apparently not noticing Maerad's agitation, her repeated clenching and unclenching of hands.
"I…I wanted to talk with him," she whispered.
"Mmm." Mari seemed unconcerned. "Well, he's not here, and I doubt he'll get back until tomorrow morning." She picked up the ladle out of the stew and tasted it thoughtfully. "Needs more basil," she announced to the room at large, and added some.
"Where is he?" Maerad almost snapped, then regretted it when Mari threw her a cold look.
"The graveyard," said Mari.
Maerad blinked, then opened her mouth to ask why, and then realised…
"Ceredin," she said. She sat down in a chair and stared at the tabletop.
Mari turned away from her stew properly.
"So you know of her then."
Maerad nodded, fighting tears. Her need to see Cadvan, to be reassured that he was hers, that he did love her, had been more urgent than she had realised. But instead he was away, spending time with the past…
"He loves her still," she said, without realising she had said it aloud.
There was a pause, then suddenly a cup of something hot and sweet smelling was plonked down in front of her. Maerad glanced blearily up at Mari.
"Lirigon's famous sweet tea," she said, nodding at it. "Good for calming the nerves. I reckon yer need it, girlie."
Maerad laughed, because the alternative was sobbing, and took a sip. It warmed her to her toes and the flavours danced on her tongue.
Mari sat down opposite her.
"I reckon the inn scared you too," she said. "And I reckon you didn't know Cadvan was loved by so many, and now it scares you."
Maerad didn't bother nodding. She stared into the tea.
"I thought…maybe I was…" she started, then trailed off. She didn't know how to phrase it. She took another heavy sip. "But obviously not," she finished, weakly.
Mari stood up.
"Stay there," she ordered, and left the room. Maerad obeyed, staring into her drink miserably, and when Mari returned, she was carrying a small suitcase, which she placed in front of Maerad.
"He left it in his room when he went the first time," she said. "But I think it's the most precious thing to him."
Maerad opened the suitcase. It was full of envelopes and sheets of paper. She glanced at Mari, who shrugged.
"Correspondence between him and Ceredin, throughout the years. They used to write to each other every week, even when they lived together. Crazy. Anyway, you should read them."
Maerad stared sourly at the letters. "Why?"
"Because I'll bet that what you'll find written there is almost exactly the things he says - and feels - about you. Yes, girlie, he is well loved, but he also loves well. And I have never seen him so filled with joy as when he looks on you. You do not need to worry that he will ever forget you. He might as well try to deny his very heart."
Mari turned back to the bubbling stew. "And after that you can go to the damn graveyard and bring him back," she said, business-like again. "If someone doesn't go and get him, he does insist on being there all night, and then I have to look after him when he gets ill."
Maerad half smiled and looked down at the letters. She was not sure if she should do it, if she should invade Cadvan's privacy like this…but then, Mari probably knew him better than she did, and she obviously thought it was worth Maerad's while to read them. And it would help…
She picked up the first one, and began reading.
***
It transpired that Ceredin had been buried in the School of Lirigon's graveyard, rather than the town graveyard, and by the time Maerad had found her way there, the sun had almost sunk under the horizon. The sky was darkening into a deeper blue, and some of the more eager stars were already out.
Ceredin's grave was under a willow tree - apparently her favourite type - and it was there that Maerad saw Cadvan, sitting against the trunk and staring at the understated headstone, his fingers laced together, his brow furrowed.
Nervously, she approached.
He looked up when she got close enough, and seemed surprised, but not annoyed.
"Mari told you I was here?"
Maerad nodded, and transferred her gaze to the headstone. It was plain, stating Ceredin's name, her birth date, her death date, and saying simply 'Much loved.' The two words seemed to be so inferior compared to the letters she had read. Maybe the letters had said so much that, in the end, only two words were needed to sum them up.
She gestured with the red rose she held in her hand.
"Fresh from Mari's garden."
Cadvan saw the rose and his expression changed.
"You've read the letters."
Maerad scanned his face nervously, then nodded when she could read nothing in it.
"Mari…she…I'm sorry."
She reached down and gave Cadvan the rose, who smelled it, then stroked the petals thoughtfully.
"Then you know I used to send her a rose - her favourite flower - with every letter."
Maerad's mouth quirked up in a slight smile. "Mari said you only did that if you had done something wrong."
Cadvan grinned, suddenly that young man of so long ago again. "True," he said. "All right, true."
He stared down at the rose, and once more became the dark, withdrawn Cadvan she had first met, and known. Then, very gently, he placed it under the headstone, stared at it for a bit longer, then stood up and transferred his gaze wholly to Maerad.
"It has been an odd day," he said.
Maerad nodded. "A day full of the past."
Cadvan smiled, a little sadly, and glanced back at the grave. "Yes," he said.
Maerad hesitated, then said, "They were beautiful." The look Cadvan gave her was blank, so she elaborated timidly. "The…the letters. Beautiful."
Cadvan smiled again. "I do not often read them when I come home."
"You should."
"They…remind me of brighter days. They sadden me."
Maerad almost laughed. "They made me happy."
"Yes?"
"Yes." She smiled properly at him. "They were full of love, of light. They were happy. You…really love her."
Cadvan hesitated. "I really love you," he said sombrely.
Maerad could not meet his eyes. Cadvan stepped through the gloom and gently slid his fingers under her chin, tilting her head up so that she looked at him.
"Maerad," he said, quietly.
Maerad swallowed. "I wasn't sure," she whispered. "There are so many here that love you. I wasn't sure if you…if I…if we…" It sounded so ridiculous. "I thought you might forget me," she mumbled.
She expected Cadvan to laugh at her, or at least grin. He did neither, but instead stared intently into her eyes. "Maerad, if you think I could ever, ever forget you…after all we have done together, and been through, and seen…"
Maerad nodded. "I know, I know. I…read the letters. And it made me realise…you love me as you loved her. And I know you will never forget her."
"Neither of you," he said firmly. "Maerad, even if you were a million miles away…forgetting you would be impossible. No matter how much I am loved, by how many and by whom. You will always come first."
Maerad hesitated. "Did you mean what you said?"
"About?"
"About…loving me."
They both felt it and both knew they felt it…but neither of them had actually said it.
Cadvan grinned in the gloom. "Maybe," he said teasingly.
Maerad smiled too. "I suppose that is good enough. For now."
Cadvan's fingers stroked gently along her chin, cupping her cheek.
"It has been a hard day," he said. "I am sorry I haven't been there."
Maerad looked along at the grave, and smiled again, calmly. "I think I can lose you to the past a few times. As long as you always come back."
"I promise," he said, and kissed her. It was as sweet as the Lirigon tea, as deep as the oncoming night, and Maerad gratefully sank into it, feeling her worries of the day float back into the back of her mind, where the dead lurked.
After a while, Cadvan moved away.
"I suppose Mari is worrying about me."
"You suppose right."
"Then we should go." He glanced back at the grave, then nodded. "Yes. We should go."
Maerad nodded. "Just give me a moment."
She waited until Cadvan was far enough away not to overhear her, then she sank to her knees and ran her hand along the top of the gravestone.
"I'll look after him," she promised. "And I won't let him forget."
And then she stood up, gave the grave and the rose one parting nod, and turned away to join Cadvan.
They linked arms and walked back through the graveyard as night descended upon them, and neither looked back. Because for now, there would be light, and love, and the past would be nothing but shadows. For now.
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