COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1981, 2009 by Ardath Mayhar.
All rights reserved.
Foreword
This is one of a number of my novels that began with a short story—several short stories, in fact. The first one appeared in my mind as “I” trudged down a dirt road, watching the dust curl up before my boots. I could smell the growing things, feel the air on my face—hear the pounding hooves coming up behind me. And that was a story.
When I got to know that Soul-Singer, she demanded to have her story told, so I went back and wrote it. This was an adventure in itself. And say what you will, it is the writing that is the reward. Money only allows you to stay alive to write more.
—Ardath Mayhar
Chireno, Texas
September 2007
Chapter One
For the Last Time
When the chime rang for the last time, there was stillness. In the stone building that housed the Singers, the three notes rippled up the curving stairwells, fanned along the corridors. I felt my own breath stop for a heartbeat. From this day forward, my life and those of my fellows would be changed totally.
I moved through the door-curtain and found myself among others who were robed in gray, as I was. The long folds billowed about us as we hurried silently down the stair to the Great Hall. For the last time, for the last time, I thought, as we poured through the doors in a gray tide and went to our knees on our kneeling-cushions.
As usual there was a long wait. I found myself studying the great map that followed the curve of the wall behind the tall chairs where the Teachers would sit. All the world of Riahith was drawn upon it, though in these latter days there are none who sail across the vast oceans to visit the continents that rim their other shores. Our own lands centered the map, and I found myself wondering what my own path through them would be, when we were given our assigned directions.
The ragged triangle of Malchion capped the continent, straggling upward into the Northern Seas, then widening downward to meet the mountains that divide it from our own Tyrnos. Our country bulged outward from the mountains to the sea, covering the western third of the landmass. Scarlet circles marked the four great cities that serve our sparsely populated country: Sarnos, to westward; Lilion, guarding the eastern border, high in the mountains between Tyrnos and Ageron, the land to the East; the Citadel, home of the High King, to the south and east of our own location; Langlorn, on the southern sea.
Where would my own paths lie? That thought, I knew, lay in all our hearts. We knelt, a floor-full of young men and women, quiet and disciplined. Yet our minds were already casting outward, wondering what labors lay before us to test the long schooling that we had been given.
There was a change in the pressure of the air around us. All stood in one effortless upward thrust of trained muscles. The three Eldest appeared behind their chairs as if by magic, so soundless had been their steps. Elysias, the Director, took her place in the center and touched the silver bell that hung in its half-moon frame. Its “ting!” sent us to our knees again, as Amos sat himself to her left and Sirna to her right.
The voice of Elysias floated quietly upward, as we touched our fingers to our knees and bent our heads. “Once again we have completed a Training,” she sang, “Most High Gods, whose thought forms our world and all its fellows, look upon your new instruments and servants. They have come through years and trials and disciplines, leaving behind all that they were, all that they had. Even their names they now leave behind them, that they may not be tempted to glorify themselves.”
Our voices joined hers, now, in affirmation, the harmonies finding themselves effortlessly, from long custom. Then the note died away. Amos touched the bell. “After so many years, you know your duties. Yet I shall define them once again, for the final time. Yours is the task of keeping Tyrnos a place of justice, of mercy, of good conscience. When you sing the soul of a noble, it hangs there for all his folk to see in its uprightness or its evil. If a soul revealed to be wicked remains unmended, the High King is empowered to remove its owner from his place or authority and to replace him with another.
“When you sing the soul of a landholder, the same holds true. When you sing the souls of common folk, laborers or serving women or bondsmen, it is given to you to set their small warpings aright. You are not allowed to refuse the request of anyone. You are not allowed to pass any Great House without presenting yourself for a Singing of its Lord or Lady. And that Lord or Lady is not allowed to refuse your offer.
“Ours is the strangest calling in all the world of Riahith. No other land is conducted by the laws that rule us. No other folk produce those who, like you, are gifted with the Voice that links you with the High Gods. You have given up much. You are offered more.” His voice stilled, and we hummed a note of acceptance.
Sirna touched the bell. Her voice took up the tale. “The gods have many servants,” she said. “Common folk serve them, though less knowingly than we. The living trees, the very grasses of the meadow serve them. Beasts serve them. Scorn no aid that is offered you, whatever the source. Remember that we who teach you do not know all that is to be known of the gods and their kindred. A few of us, over the long years, have encountered beings who are of the gods. She who was once Soul-Singer to the High King set into the record that above us is placed the One Who Watches All, who is neither man nor woman, human nor beast.
“Take thought for those who seem strange or alien. Though it has been known that Outsiders have touched our world, those who are truly alien to us have not been met for many lives of men. Those who serve the gods will touch a note of gladness in your hearts.”
Now Elysias rose to her feet, her blue robe with its silver Symbol flowing outward from her shoulders. Her voice deep with reverence, she said, “In every generation, one Singer is chosen by the gods for some terrible task. Often it is a task that we, who should be of the Wise, have not recognized as important. Seldom do the gods choose as we would choose, but their choice has never failed them.
“We who are Singers stand between our land and all its perils. Tyrnos needs no devices, for it has its Singers. Tyrnos has no army, for it has its Singers. Tyrnos needs no tight web of governors and enforcers, for it has its Singers. Every day we hold our land safe and strong and secure. Feel no shame if your calling is only that which comes to the common run. But if you are summoned to other tasks, feel no pride. It is simply your duty.”
She touched the silver bell once again, and when its thin voice had died away the chairs were empty.
Then the map was lighted from within. My breath tightened in my throat. Now the time had come for each Singer to be given his direction. Tension filled the air as the first name was called, and a golden arrow shone on the map. Southwest, toward Sarnos and the Ocean. Another, and another, and another received their arrows. As each was directed, he or she rose and left the hall. Our ranks grew thinner. My name caught my ear, and I gazed at the map. North by east lay my path, then.
No cities lay in my way; not even any large towns were there. Only farmsteads and lordly holdings, forests and grasslands, almost-emptiness. Still I felt little disappointment. I was small; my voice was not yet powerful. I knew myself to be ignorant of many things. I had not expected to be sent to a great city.
I went straight to my sleeping mat. When I pushed aside the curtain to enter, I stopped in surprise, for Elysias herself stood in my narrow space. My mat was rolled away, and it its place
