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
