The Riddle by Alison Croggon

Cadvan. “But we are all creatures of choice. We can turn to embrace it — as Enkir has, as the Nameless One himself did all those centuries ago — or we can resist, even if that resistance seems futile. Neri, you resisted with all your strength; no one can do more.”
    Nerili’s face relaxed, as if she were absolved, and then hardened. “I shall be more wary from now on,” she said. “It is true that here in Thorold, we are a wild and free people and we perhaps let the darkness in us play more than other Bards. But —”
    “I do not think that a weakness,” said Cadvan, interrupting her. “Rather a strength.”
    “Indeed,” said Nerili. “Nevertheless, today has shown me that it takes but a small doorway to let corruption in.”
    “Do not shut it, nevertheless.” Cadvan spoke urgently. “That is the greatest mistake. It is the mistake Enkir made, I believe: to wall himself up, until he saw in himself everything that was right and he thought all else was wrong. It was but a small step from there to believing that power alone is truth and rightness, and a small step from that to what he now is. And, after all, joy bubbles on a fountain of doubt.”
    Nerili sighed, and then laughed. “Oh, this is stuff for minor Bards,” she exclaimed. She glanced at Maerad and sat a little straighter, as if she had suddenly remembered that she and Cadvan were not alone. “It is the way of the Balance. After all.”
    “Aye,” Cadvan answered. “It is all in the Balance. Perhaps we should all do beginner’s lessons again with Maerad.”
    Maerad had been toying with her glass, wishing fiercely she were elsewhere. She was plagued by the same irritating jealousy as before, only worse now, full of conflicting emotions. She looked up when Cadvan mentioned her name.
    “Perhaps,” said Nerili. “It does no harm to go back to beginnings now and again. But yes, I understand better, after tonight. And I think now that it is not such a good idea that you and Maerad remain in Busk.”
    “Where will we go?” Maerad felt suddenly very tired. Not traveling again? She had hoped they might have more time here.
    “We cannot stay,” said Cadvan. “But I have still found nothing about the Treesong in the Library of Busk. I have been searching as hard as I can, and I have found nothing. And how are Maerad and I to find the Treesong, as we must, if we have no idea what it is?”
    “And I haven’t finished my lessons,” said Maerad quickly.
    Nerili looked between them. “These are not minor matters,” she said. “Nevertheless, I feel a quickening sense of danger in your being here. Do you think that the hundreds of people in the square tonight will not wonder who made the Tree, and will not ask, and will not be told? I cannot see how your presence here can be concealed anymore: word will spread. I think perhaps you might stay in Thorold for a while, but not in the School.”
    Cadvan bowed his head, accepting her argument. “I think Maerad is reluctant as I am to leave here, but of course we cannot stay if it endangers both you and us. Am I right in thinking you know of a place where we could go?”
    “Yes, I do know a place, in the mountains.” Nerili placed her empty glass on the table. “I will send a messenger tomorrow. It will be impossible for anyone to find you there.” She smiled at Maerad. “It is not as comfortable as Busk, perhaps, but it is as beautiful, in its own way. I will continue to search the library, Cadvan. I will make it my first priority. I cannot believe there is nothing there that tells of the Treesong. And Cadvan is quite capable of continuing your lessons, Maerad.” She stood up. “I will advise you when I hear if it is possible; it will take a few days. In the meantime, I think it is time to eat. And Midsummer is supposed to be a time of celebration, after all.”
    She smiled, dismissing them, standing straight and dignified: every inch a First Bard, Maerad thought, as they bowed and took their