Читать книгу Soul-Singer of Tyrnos - Ardath Mayhar - Страница 6

Chapter Three

Daymare

I walked away from chaos into the lonely quiet of the road. Behind me rose the hubbub of men left suddenly leader­less, and I knew with certainty that future granny tales would tell of some fearsome warrior who came, armed and mighty, to unseat the terrible Razul.

I laughed. None would ever believe that it was only I, small and young and a woman, too, who had been the instrument of that Lord’s doom. Still, that was my task, the fate of those who must be Singers.

Though I had come to the city of Raz in the grip of grim purpose, now I went away from it in the twilight with no des­tination in my mind. All ways are alike to a Singer, and we must trust to the gods to lead us toward the work they hold ready for our hands.

The dust puffed away from each russet boot as I walked. I looked up toward the darkening horizon and saw that it might well turn into mud, for purple-gray cloud hung there. It raced the night down-country toward me.

To my right, a few rods from the verge of the road, was the hem of a considerable wood that seemed to stretch in ever-­thicker reaches until it filled the whole prospect to the south. Deciding that its shelter would be preferable to the exposed road, I turned aside and made my way among the slim young saplings of its outer edge until I reached the greater boles that marked the beginning of the real forest.

The strange stillness that precedes a storm held the wood in a fragile trance. My steps did nothing to break the waiting mood, as I made my way into the dimness of the ways beneath the heavy-leaved spread of branches that roofed out the sky. Finding, by touch, a hollow in a giant trunk, I rattled a dead branch inside to frighten away any resting serpent. Then I climbed into the gap, glad to find so secure a haven from the rain and the night that was now upon me.

I did not touch the wheel of my lightglass. There was some mood of darkness and quiet in that place that I felt would not take kindly to the intrusion of my kind. Instead I settled my bones among the twiggy debris that lay on the floor of my nook and closed my eyes, glad enough for the chance of rest, though I still felt the Power tingling along my nerves in faint echoes.

A crash of thunder and the chill mist of rain blown into my hiding place woke me. As I peered out, I could see the area about my tree kindled to wet-silver brightness by a flash of lightning. And more than trees and vines and fallen trunks were thereby revealed.

I looked closely, not to miss the next lightning bolt. All through the wood, as far as I could see, there were dark forms, shapeless as though hooded and cloaked in black, moving through the sheeting rain, standing as though looking upward toward the shouting sky, or drifting into an eddy that seemed to center upon the tree in which I lay.

I closed my eyes and drew upon the residue of Power that still thrummed within me. I traced glowing bars of force across the opening behind which I lay, crosshatched them with others, and set at the webbed center the Huym. With­out further worry, I slept again, lulled by the drumming of the rain and the swishing of branches.

When I woke, a shaft of pale sunlight was striking into my refuge. I stretched and climbed down onto the soaked mold of the forest floor, examining it closely for any trace of those dark watchers of the night before. The rain had been heavy and long, and if there had been any mark of foot or paw, it was obliterated now.

Drawing from my pack a chunk of cheese and a heel of good bread, I stood and ate, surveying my surroundings care­fully. Though there seemed nothing amiss, still there was a feel to that wood that made my neck hairs rise. Though I made no stir or movement more than was necessary, I could hear no bird, see no motion anywhere about me. Such an old forest should have been astir with small creatures: rabbits scuttling through the undergrowth, beetles chomping noisily at the fallen and lichenous logs, birds feeding in the upper reaches. There was nothing.

A clatter of hooves over a stony patch in the nearby road distracted me, and I moved to the edge of the trees to see who was corning so swiftly. Away toward the towers of Raz, now out of sight behind the fold of low hills, the road was awash with morning sun. Drawing near upon it was a pony bearing a youth who flogged it without mercy, urging it to more speed.

Suspecting that I was the object of his pursuit, I stepped into view and raised my arms high, that he might see me. He reined in the pony and walked it through the young growth to the spot where I stood. As he drew near, I saw that he was, indeed, very young...more than twelve, perhaps, but less than fourteen. His milk-pale skin was blotched with cinna­mon-colored freckles, and his hair was red-gold in the light.

As he approached, I saw his eyes widen and a look some­thing like awe overspread his features. He sprang from the pony’s back and knelt at my feet, making obeisance as though I were one of the High Adept, rather than a very young Singer clad in leather.

“You slept the night in the accursed wood?” he asked, as I lifted him to his feet and looked into his face. “None but the very wise and the terribly wicked can sleep safely there. My mother....” He choked as if to quell a sob, then continued, “...My mother is like to die, because her mare carried her into that forest and dashed her head against a limb, knocking her senseless.”

“Surely no wood can be blamed for a frightened horse,” I murmured. “Such accidents happen everywhere, to all kinds of folk who never saw this wood.”

“Not of the injury is she like to die,” he said. “When they told me in the town that a Singer had come and gone, I came after you as fast as Cherry could gallop. I knew that you, if anyone alive, may be able to save her. May I sit and tell you of our trouble?”

So we sat at the edge of the road, as he feared to go into the trees, and he told me this tale:

“My father is from home, having been called by the High King to come down to the Citadel in the south. My mother, with his leave, wished to visit Grandam, who lives in Raz. Even Razul would not dare meddle with those of our family, and both knew that she could safely make the journey. We came past this wood on our way; we made our visit and per­suaded Grandam to return home with us. Again we made to pass this wood, but a great black shadow rose beneath the hooves of Mother’s mare, and she fled into the wood, mad with fear.

“We took Mother up, Grandam and I and the servants, and bore her home. It is not far, and there we brought her to her­self. She seemed a bit dazed, but not seriously hurt. We were well content, for a time. But she had not known, before my father left, that there would be a new babe. He has not re­turned, though there has been more than enough time for him to end his business with the High King. She has grown wild and pale and weak. She calls for him in the night and speaks strangely of people in the wood.

“Our folk, though not wicked, are very fearful of things they cannot understand. They are talking among themselves, say­ing that the child to come is not of my father’s get, but a demon begotten on my mother in the accursed wood. They will not listen to a youngling like me. They hardly listen to Grandam, though she is tall and fierce and can quell them, for now. They want to slay the child, though it means slaying Mother as well. She will not stay them, for she fears, too, that the child is not of human kind. Twice she has eluded her nurses and gone into the village to those who would take her life. Both times, thanks be to the gods, we overtook her and brought her safely back. Still, we know that we must have help, and I went to Raz to find a physician. When I learned that you had been there, I knew that the gods held us in their hands.”

Here the boy paused, and I looked at him long. “I am sur­prised that any remembered that I was there,” I said. “Few seemed to see me, even as I sang. After...afterward no one but Anna, the serving woman, could see me at all.”

“But it was Anna I went to,” he said. “She is Nurse’s sister, and she told me which way to go. Will you come with me to my father’s house and see to my mother? The folk will surely listen to a Singer of Souls.”

“I will come,” I said. “But first I must cleanse this wood. If it reaches out and draws victims to it, it must not be left to do further wickedness. Tell me how to come after you, then go and spread the news of my coming. I will be there shortly.”

The boy stood up from the stone upon which he sat. His hair flamed in the sunlight, and he said firmly, “Rolduth, Rellas’s son, does not leave a maid alone to do a fearsome work. What help I can give you, I will.”

I did not smile, for he was much in earnest. “Then come with me into the wood, Rolduth. Take my hand...no harm will come to you, that I swear.” He turned even paler than was his natural hue, but he took my hand. Together, we went into that still forest. When I reached the small clearing before the hollow tree, I stopped in the middle of it and turned to my companion. With my forefinger, I drew the Seal upon his forehead.

“Close your eyes, Rolduth. Stand firm, no matter what you hear or feel or touch. No matter what pictures form behind your eyelids. Your strength, added to my own, will make this task easier, leaving me more for healing your mother.”

He looked about the clearing, which seemed very innocent, now, in the morning light. He nodded and closed his eyes. His warm, grubby hand held mine tightly.

I took a deep breath and held it. The Power surged, and I sang. As if a ground mist sprang into being, a haze filmed over the wood. In the mist walked the shapes of men and women. Some held up their hands, pleading; many cringed as if from blows; all seemed hunched and twisted with fear or pain. The sounds of whips cracking popped dimly in my cars. Ragged cries and tortured screams wove pale echoes through the wood. Murders were done before my eyes...and things more atrocious. I knew that I stood in a place un­hallowed by ancient cruelties, and I sang more strongly still.

The Power leaped in me until I saw its dim haze stand out from my body as an aura. I sang sleep. I sang peace. I sang the death that ends all cruelties. By little and by little, the shapes became fewer, the sounds thinned to nothing, the haze drifted away on a little breeze that came wandering through the leaves. We stood, after a time, in a peaceful hollow where blue flowers peeped from hanging vines, even in this autumn season. Above us, where the sun shafted through, a shadow flickered, and I looked up in alarm. It was only a bird...the first one, I had no doubt, in years beyond counting.

The boy opened his eyes and again looked about the place where we stood. “Is it done?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Now we will go to your mother,” I said, loosing his hand from mine. “Your strength was of much help to me, Rolduth, son of Rellas. I am proud to have had you beside me.”

He flushed with pleasure, and we walked to the road, leading the still-winded Cherry. The morning was not far advanced, though to me it seemed to have been long indeed. Still we made good time, though I was a bit fatigued after cleansing the wood. His young legs outpaced mine, his impatience speeding my own efforts.

Truly it was not far to the house of Rellas. Well before noon we topped a slow rise of land, and Rolduth touched my arm, pointing down into the wide valley that lay below us.

“There is my home. The Watchers will see us and tell my Grandam that we are coming. Do you mind, Singer, if I ride ahead and tell her first?”

I waved him on and kept my even pace, for too much haste disorders the mind and heats the blood. So I was taught, and so I have found it to be, when one must put forth much energy in one’s work. As a result, I found myself met, at some distance from the village wall, by a lady of fine aspect and searching eyes.

She was tall, and though her hair was streaked with gray, it was still dark, matching her eyes. She strode out with a long, free gait, more like a boy than a grandmother. When we met, she clasped my hands in her own and smiled down at me.

“Well come, Singer. The gods, pardoning our doubts and our fears, send us aid at the hour of our greatest need. Enter our village and be at peace.”

I returned her clasp and moved with her through the silent and staring folk, up the well graveled street, to the house of Rellas. It was no castle, nor even a Great House like that of Razul.

Yet it was large and airy, made with some eye to grace and nice proportion. There were a few servants but they were not cowed or fearful, and they met me with warm water for washing.

We ate the noon meal in cheerful talk of the road and the weather. So well-mannered was my hostess that she made no more mention of her worry until all my needs were met. There she led me into a small chamber, hung with embroideries and furnished with cushioned chairs and low worktables strewn with handwork and carefully copied books.

“Rolduth has told you of our trouble,” she began, as we sat. “Some skill I have in soothing disordered spirits, for Raz is a disorderly place, with much head-cracking among the low, and more subtle wounds in those higher on the social scale. But my daughter has a wound I cannot heal. The blow to the head may be the sole cause, yet I believe it to be more. The accursed wood plays some part in her delirium. Unless she can be helped, she will escape our care and throw her life away.”

I nodded. Looking her in the eyes, I said, “I have never tended such a case, being young in my profession. You may know that our training lies mainly in the direction of calling up the consciences of the powerful into the scrutiny of their subjects. But a spirit is a spirit, be it born or unborn, living or dead. The wood was filled with uneasy spirits and soaked in old horrors, yet I was able to sing it to rest. With the gods aiding me, I may be able to do the same for your daughter. But will that be enough, Lady? Will the villagers accept her assurances? Think on it, while I go to see her.”

I went through the door she indicated, leaving the Lady Meltha with a thoughtful look on her face. The inner cham­ber was cool and dim, for thick draperies were drawn across the windows, though I could see by their motions that the shutters were open to the mild fall day. In a large bed against the unwindowed wall lay a young woman... almost too young, it seemed to me, to be the mother of so big a boy as Rolduth.

Her eyes turned toward me as I entered. Even in the dark­ness, I could see that she possessed a glory of red-gold hair and large eyes that seemed bottomless, as gray eyes often do. With­out speaking, I went to the window and opened the curtains, letting the glow of the noon sun pour into the room.

She turned away with a protesting gesture. I went to her and took her hand. “Lady Felisa, I am a Singer of Souls. I have come to help you determine if the child you carry is or is not what you fear it may be.”

Her breathing eased, and the wild look left her. She stared at me searchingly, and I could feel her relaxing, bit by bit. “Can it be done now?” she asked, and there was despera­tion in her voice.

“It can. But you know that there is unrest among the peo­ple in the village. Would it not be better to go out into the Mother Chapel there, and in the presence of all who can en­ter to sing the soul of your unborn child?”

“If I were certain of the outcome, I would say yes. If I should, indeed, be carrying a demon-child, I fear for your life and those of my mother and son. The folk are ignorant, though we try to teach them. They cling more to the earth-­demons than to the teachings of the Mother and the beings of the gods. When they are filled with fear, they are most dan­gerous.” Her voice carried away as a weary whisper, but I nodded again.

“Then we must first make a determination here. Do you want your mother and your son?”

“My mother. I fear to have my son...see....”

So, with the Lady Meltha at my side, I stood for the second time in the same day and called upon the Power. My weari­ness seemed to be no obstacle, for the pulsing tensions built within me to override any failing of the flesh. My long breath, held for a heartbeat, came forth in a note so soft that it was barely within range of hearing. A crooning melody took me, and I sang.

I had never sung the soul of a child. I expected it to be small, but it was not. It was, perhaps, more tender, but there was no difference in the size of the impulse I felt.

On a spot on the wall, a shape appeared. A sad shape, it seemed, tentative and uncertain. Its short history shone within it, from the first pulse of life when it was only a mote of mat­ter within its mother. Shadows appeared and disappeared. I guessed that these were stresses that had troubled Felisa and were conveyed to her infant through her own system. Then a tremendous shadow rose up and engulfed that glow of life, almost extinguishing it. As if a dark hand had twisted it, its shape changed, and a blot of darkness seemed to grow within it.

I reached out my hand and took Meltha’s. She gripped firmly, and her warm strength was added to the Power and my own faltering energies. Again I breathed deeply. Then I sang a note of exultation, of triumph over darkness, of affirma­tion of life. A song of joy gripped me. As I sang, I saw the dark blot fade, slowly, and the twisted shape grow round and complete again. The glow brightened to glory, and as the song ended it winked out.

I fell at the Lady Meltha’s feet, wrung dry by the exertions of the day. She lifted me to the bed beside her daughter and put a cool cloth to my cheek.

“Well done, Singer,” she said. “So it was a human child, Felisa. You felt its warping by the dark forces of the wood and feared it a demon...and who is to say that the fears of the folk might not have been justified, had it come to birth un­healed?”

Felisa bent over me, her eyes filled with worry. “Have you come to harm, Singer?” she asked.

“No harm,” I breathed. “But I fear I will have no strength for another singing for a time. Will the people wait?” The sound of booted feet moved in the antechamber, and the door was quietly opened. Felisa gasped beside me; then she was up and moving into the arms of a stocky man who gladly received her there.

With admirably few words, Meltha told him what was needful. I asked again, as he digested that strange mixture of tragedy and hope, “Will the people wait?” He looked down at me and made a strange little salute, as from one warrior to another. “The people will wait,” he said.