The Naming

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Authors: Alison Croggon
Tags: General, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, New Experience, Legends; Myths; Fables
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ancient walls, leaping up into the abyss above them. Maerad could see no sky through the roof, only an impenetrable darkness. Cadvan stretched, and then reached for his pack. "But for now, I am ravenous!" he said. He tossed Maerad a biscuit and some nuts and fruit, and they ate, their backs to the walls, their feet stretched out to the fire, their faces glowing in the heat. Maerad could hear the silence of the empty land around them, stretching for miles beyond the friendly popping of the firewood. It bore down on her, like a weight. And then, the sound she feared: a long, drawn-out howl. She almost dropped her biscuit with fright, but Cadvan appeared unmoved.
    "The sun has set," he said.
    "Wolfwers?" she whispered.
    "Yes, for the meantime. The hunt is starting. They will take a little time to work out what to do about the barrier. It's white fire. The Dark cannot pass it without breaking its power, and that will not be easy. You should get some sleep."
    The howl came again, and then was answered.
    "Sleep? Now?"
    "Why not? I will watch." Cadvan turned and grinned at her. "Be assured I won't let you miss any fireworks. Remember: fear is their worst weapon."
    Maerad obediently lay down and closed her eyes. She tried to act as if she were not afraid; she tried to relax, but it was difficult, out in the wild, on a broken stone floor, with wers sent by some black magician howling for her blood.. . . She ached allover with weariness after the hard walk that day, and the fire was so warm. But her body sang with tension, and would not let her sleep. After a while she stopped trying and sat up, drawing closer to Cadvan, who nodded but said nothing.
    The Bard sat very still beside her, carefully feeding the fire. His face relaxed; he might have been asleep, apart from the watchfulness of his eyes. His sword lay drawn by his feet.
    The wers were circling the hill. Maerad and Cadvan could hear their feet padding around and around, trying to find a way past the barrier. Maerad listened hard and counted maybe twenty. Every now and then one would stop and howl, a long ululation that froze the blood, a sound of utter desolation born out of long years of horror and emptiness. The cries hit Maerad in the pit of her stomach. They seemed to her the very sound of unlife, of creatures neither dead nor alive, but caught in a tormenting void between, condemned to envy and hatred of everything that took joy in existence. She shuddered with nausea. Cadvan continued to feed the fire, apparently unmoved. Then they heard the wers bunch together, and Cadvan reached for his sword. "They're going to rush the barrier," he whispered.
    Maerad's pulse was hammering in her ears; she clutched her dagger until her knuckles were white. She listened to the heavy thunder of the wers' paws, and their breath, and the collisions as they hurled themselves forward; but the barrier held, and they were repulsed, howling. Cadvan relaxed and sat back.
    "First game to us," he said to Maerad. She saw the flash of his grin through the leaping shadows.
    The wers' assault on the barrier lasted for more than an hour; they threw themselves again and again at the enchantment, or tried to break it with their claws and teeth. Cadvan and Maerad sat in silence the entire time. Cadvan's barrier held well; they were not strong enough to break it, and he wanted them to tire themselves in useless assault. He hopedthat they would hurl themselves against it all night. Then they stopped their rushing, and he heard one wer, the leader, he guessed, begin to howl; but it was a different howl this time, a thin, almost human wail, with words in it. It started low and quiet, but as time went by, it grew louder and more insistent.
    "The wer leader is making a counterspell," Cadvan said. "We're unlucky. It's rare for a wer to know sorceries."
    Maerad met his eyes, fear clutching her afresh. "What does that mean?"
    "Either my spell is good, or it is not. There is nothing we can do except wait to see if

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