Juliet Marillier - Cybele's Secret

“Love,” I said straightaway, hoping the other riddles were as easy.

The creature motioned toward the dangling root rope with a hand whose human fingers were clad in soft fur. “One may pass,” it said solemnly.

We waited, and after a moment the catlike being gestured again. “One must go now,” it said.

Stoyan looked over his shoulder and made a little sound under his breath. Following his gaze, I saw two figures emerging from the shadows of the tunnel from which we had come. A turbaned man in green and a stylish figure in a tunic and trousers, with her black hair piled atop her head. Only the two of them. All they had to do was listen to my answers and they’d be over the chasm in a flash.

“Too easy,” Irene said as if reading my thoughts. She walked forward, and Murat came a step behind, a tall shadow.

“Wait!” The cat creature’s voice was commanding, and the two of them halted. Irene lifted her brows. “Each in his turn,” the creature said, and now its tone was closer to a growl.

“That’s all very well.” Irene sounded cool and controlled. “But—” She fell suddenly silent, looking at the rift in the ground and the rope. “Astonishing,” she breathed. “Just the same as those miniatures in the library, the ones our little scholar here mysteriously found for us…What are you up to, Paula? What is this?”

Nobody answered. The cat creature looked at Duarte. “Go now,” it repeated.

Duarte unhooked the vinelike tree root, testing it for strength. His glance moved from time to time toward our unusual puzzle master but did not settle for long. I reminded myself that, of the three of us, only I was familiar with the Other Kingdom. I was frightened and nervous, but the creature itself did not trouble me. I had seen far odder in my time.

“You go first,” Duarte said to Stoyan. “I’ll bring Paula.”

“I will bring her.” Stoyan wore his most dogged look even as he, like Duarte, cast furtive glances at the robed figure. “She cannot do this alone. It requires too much strength in the arms and shoulders. I can support her and swing us both over.”

“Go now or lose your chance,” said the catlike creature. “One at a time. That is the rule.”

“I’m a sailor,” Duarte said, setting the dangling root firmly in Stoyan’s hand. “I know ropes. Besides, what about your shoulder? And I need you to catch her on the other side. Now go.”

“Shoulder?” I asked in alarm. “Are you hurt, Stoyan?” His clothing was so bloodstained, as was Duarte’s, that it was impossible to tell whether either had been wounded in the fight. Because both were able to talk, to run, to make decisions, I had assumed most of the blood was that of their enemies.

“Only a scratch,” Stoyan muttered. “It’s nothing.” Tight-jawed, he gripped the root, took a few steps back to gain momentum, then ran to the edge and swung. My heart did not beat again until he was safely over and had sent the rope back into Duarte’s hand.

“Gift of a raven

Sharp as a blade

Black is its burden

Wisdom its trade.”

The catlike being regarded me with its luminous, odd eyes, and I stared back, thinking hard. Raven, crow, what sort of gift might they offer…a feather…black is its burden…a black feather…no, something carried by the feather, something used to create wisdom…

“A pen,” I said. Crow feathers were the most commonly used for quills, being strong and relatively easy to obtain. Black ink, words of wisdom…The riddle was a good choice for a scholar. Perhaps these folk wanted me to get them right.

“Good,” said the questioner, and fixed its eyes on Duarte. “Go now. Do not delay. Time passes.”

“Paula, you must go next,” Duarte said, doing something to the rope. “We’re not leaving you to come last.” He glanced toward Irene and Murat.

“You will go now.” The creature sounded displeased. Its voice no longer held the melting softness of its first greeting but was all sharp edges. “She answers the riddles,” it hissed. “You chose her. She swings last. Go!”

“I’m not leaving her here on her own!” Duarte protested. “These people mean us harm!”

“Go, or forfeit your right to proceed.” The voice was implacable.

“Go on,” I muttered.

Duarte’s expression was stricken. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Look, I’ve made a loop. When it’s time, put your foot in that; it will be easier to stay on. Watch me, and when it’s your turn, try to do the same. Don’t be afraid; we’ll catch you.” He sounded more confident than he looked.

“Just go, Duarte. Let’s get this over with,” I said, not daring to glance across at Stoyan.

The pirate was, as he had said, familiar with ropes. I recalled my first glimpse of him on the deck of the Esperanca, a nonchalant figure leaning far over the turbulent water of the Black Sea, one hand carelessly holding on, the other extended to whisk my scarf out of midair. As if the two of us shared the same thoughts, Duarte reached now to touch a corner of red fabric that protruded above his belt and turned his dimpled smile on me. He set his hands to the tree root and backed up, then ran almost to the brink, slipped his foot neatly into the loop, and swung across the divide as if it were nothing, jumping down nimbly by Stoyan’s side. They sent the rope back to me; I caught it and looped it ready. Paula, the scholar. Paula, who was not particularly good at tasks requiring agility or strength. Well, I had gone across that bridge. I could do this, too.

“Give me your last riddle, please,” I said, trying not to dwell on what was to come. Too much imagination can be a drawback in such situations. I did not want to consider what might lie in that pit, beneath the shadows.