nothing!” (Thwack!)
“Brainless cretin! The goats should be taking care of you!”
All the boy could try to do was shield himself and evade the blows, not very successfully. When Patek, his mother, wife of Thain, came out from behind the barn where she had been feeding the chickens, the boy looked to her for sympathy but got none. “To think I wasted myself nursing such a dolt! Quick! Give me another switch!”
It was a very bruised and miserable Ain Harad who spent long hours climbing through briars, limping across stony plateaus, scaling hillsides in search of the missing goats. He found them, one by one, but was sure the imps of evil had spent all that morning placing the creatures in the most inaccessible places. There was a pillar of stone in the middle of a plain. It was said to be part of a palace from some ancient time, before the age of the Goddess. It was smooth on all sides. Sure enough, there was a goat on top, gnawing on a weed that grew there.
He was not allowed to sleep in the house that night. When he got home, his family wouldn’t feed him. They had barred the door. So he sat out under the stars, and tried to play a song. It was a simple one, something he had known for years. But for the first time he could remember, he could not play. It was terrifying. All the music was wrung out of him.
Only after many hours of sleepless sorrow did anything come. It was as if breath had returned. He thought of the lady, of the song he had played for her. He could not remember it wholly, but he recalled brief parts of it, and the memory of the dancer was his inspiration.
* * * *
On the day before he was to leave for the wars, Zadain came upon his younger brother as he sat in the middle of a pasture with his face held between his fists. The boy was so caught up in his brooding that he did not notice the goats scattering at his brother’s approach. Nor did he mark Zadain’s dress: tall, leather boots, a blue tunic, a kilt set with metal strips, and a round helmet.
Said the elder to the younger, “Brother, you’ve always been a bit distracted, and I’ve always said that maybe your head isn’t right. But I know that something special troubles you. I’m not sure I’ll be back, where I’m going, so I’d like to set everything right between us before I leave. So tell me what your trouble is.”
When Ain saw that his brother was sincere, he unburdened himself of the whole story, but his trust was shattered when Zadain burst into laughter.
“You’re haunted by some dancing hussy you met in the hills? Do you mean that, after all the years in the world, after the Goddess has lived and died, you’ve finally discovered sex?”
“No! No! It isn’t like that at all!” The goats scattered as Ain shouted.
“Oh, I see. You mean to say that some lofty, ethereal creature appeared out of heaven, which can never be seen by any of us insensitive, vulgar mortals. Except you, of course—”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—not exactly—”
“Goat crap! Now look here, idiot little brother—” Zadain grabbed Ain by the front of his shirt and shook him. “I’ll show you what sort of girl she is. I’ll go up in those hills this very night, and if she’s still there I’ll bring her back over my shoulder, like any other piece of loot—”
“No! You can’t!”
“I think I can.” Zadain shoved him to the ground. The lyre fell out of Ain’s bag and rattled over some stones. “Listen, little boy, when and if you ever grow up, you’ll find out what that thing between your legs is good for. You don’t play music on it!”
Helplessly, Ain watched his brother stalk off in the direction of the hills. And he watched the sun set behind those hills. The stars came out. He stayed in the field, allowing the goats to wander where they would. When he was sure that the new glow in the hills was not moonlight, he ran in that direction, stumbling over the rough terrain and falling painfully, but always pressing on. His father’s anger didn’t frighten him now. Nothing else mattered.
At last he reached a spot where, through a trick of echoes, he heard a dim strain of music. He was certain. And there was another sound. It was the lady. He was certain of that too. Was she angry, frightened, startled? No, she was laughing.
The light went out.
* * * *
Ain returned to the farm, again without most of the goats, just as the sun rose, but before his parents could reach for the switches, Zadain arrived. The elder brother was not visibly harmed, but he seemed diminished, emptied of all but a rudimentary awareness. He walked like a corpse rooted out of its grave. His face was blank. He only spoke when spoken to, and then without any feeling.
The younger brother looked on with knowing dread, but at the same time he was sure this was Zadain’s punishment for his blasphemy. He would not end up like this.…
Then Thain exchanged glances with Patek his wife, and they grabbed Ain by either arm, dragged him out of Zadain’s hearing, and demanded of him what he knew. The tale was recounted, and afterward the father spoke in a low, grim voice.
“And what do you think your lady will make of you now? After this?” He pointed to his elder son.
“Father, I don’t imagine. I can’t imagine. But I’ve heard old stories, about people who loved ladies like that, and I am sure that if she is pleased with my music, she’ll come to me again.”
Thain struck him in the face.
“You blind fool! Can’t you see that your brother is bewitched? I think you are too. I think your brain has melted away. Know this: I’ve heard of creatures like this lady before, and I haven’t been listening to idle stories or poetry. I know what she, or it, really is. She is one of the Bright Powers. The Bright Powers move about with the changing of the seasons, like clouds, like wind or the sun. They have no minds. Their outward forms are illusions. They are fragments of the Goddess, shards, splinters, motes of glittering dust. When a great image falls, it breaks into a million tiny pieces. These are the Bright Powers. They are remnants of the fair aspect of the Goddess. She had a dark side too, from which come the Dark Powers. People say that the Dark ones are more dangerous, but as you can see, this Bright one didn’t do your brother any good.”
“Father, I am sure you’re wrong. She is a lovely lady.”
Thain struck him again.
“Listen! I am not wrong! Foolish boy, know this from more years of experience than you’re ever likely to see! This is my judgment: I forbid you to make music, or to sing when you are in the fields, or otherwise to summon this Bright Power. If you do—” he looked back to where Zadain stood, still as a statue, then into his wife’s face, then back to Ain. His voice broke. He seemed about to weep. “If you do…If you do, then I have no more sons. You shall be turned out from this house, driven from all Randelcainé, as is the law. Understand?”
“Yes, Father. I do.”
Then Thain took the lyre and hung it on a peg inside the house. “There it stays,” he said, “until you’re over this madness.”
A little while later the thing that had been Zadain rose, took up shield and spear, and departed for the wars.
* * * *
The boy tended the flock for another two days, and he remained silent all the while, in obedience
