There were times when the calling of a bard was a somber thing.
Telyn woke from a dream of music, in which the sound of a haunting lament echoed through the fog-shrouded Cesperion Hills. She had no need to puzzle over the meaning, but rose quietly from her bed, the arc of song repeating persistently in her mind. The bard padded barefoot in her shift to the night-shadowed dayroom, where she lit a single candle from the embers of the hearth. Finding quill and ink in the desk, Telyn committed the notes to a piece of parchment, and the composition quickly took on a life of its own, the music blossoming from those few notes to a full piece in a very short time.
As she viewed the completed lament, fingers moving silently as if on the chanter of her absent pipes, the bard hoped it would accomplish two things; to honor the fallen warden whose life had been lost in her defense, and to ease the sorrow of those who mourned. Telyn had become worried about Mithrais, whose mood had grown more melancholy as the time for the rites approached. Telyn knew how deeply Aric’s death had affected him, and that he felt he was accountable.
Her own spirits had already been subdued. It had taken Telyn the lion’s share of the day to read only the first half of the Tauron scroll, painstakingly deciphering and translating the tiny, cramped writing of a long-winded scribe. It had yielded nothing in regard to the seed-voice or seed-speaker, and Gwidion had fared no better with his own scroll. Time seemed to be passing quickly; the leaves outside the library balcony thickened with the approach of summer.
As she returned to bed and what few hours of sleep remained before they would depart for the Circle, Telyn pondered wistfully how she could fulfill this memorial for Aric without her instruments, and breathed a silent prayer to the Fates to solve the dilemma for her. Almost as an afterthought, she added a plea that they would find some answers to what the Gwaith’orn expected from her.
* * * *
Mithrais had renewed the custom of sharing his morning meal with Gwidion while in residence at the manor, and Telyn was quickly made a part of that affectionate ritual. Before they departed for the Circle that morning, they breakfasted in the library in comfortable, easy companionship.
“I will continue to read the records while you are absent, but I may not be able to give it my complete attention,” Gwidion told Telyn apologetically.
“I understand,” she answered, buttering a slice of bread. “I’ll double my own efforts when we return.”
Gwidion continued, “I expect the majority of the Order will be attending the life celebration tonight. Will there be discussion of Telyn’s charge afterwards, Mithrais? Under the circumstances, I imagine rumors must be rampant.”
“No. Aric’s rites are our only official business, and we have agreed to meet the following night at the Guild House. What is discussed privately during the vigil is another matter.” Mithrais gave the bard a subdued smile. “Cormac’s enthusiastic retelling of the events in the Circle has garnered a great deal of attention.”
Telyn groaned in exasperation. “Oh, Cormac! I heard his version of the story before we left the Guild House that morning. What will he have them expecting of me?”
“They’ll expect to meet a brave and resourceful bard, who happens to have the strength of a Tauron warden and a gift that may change the Wood as we know it,” Mithrais said seriously.
“Is that all?” Telyn said sarcastically, and Mithrais grinned.
“In regard to that gift, I understand that Telyn is to be introduced to the Gwaith’orn today,” Gwidion stated.
“Yes. She’s ready, beyond any expectations I could have had,” Mithrais answered confidently.
Telyn’s brief training had been more productive than either of them had foreseen. They had quickly discovered that Telyn’s disciplines were a form of reverse shielding: even stronger than her natural barriers because of her constant use, the disciplines had easily been turned to her own shielding rather than that of others.
The singular language of the Gwaith’orn was another matter. Although Mithrais had allowed her to read his memories of conversations with the Gwaith’orn, there was nothing that could replace experience in interpreting the images, and his memories alone could not duplicate the musical references the resonance seemed to elicit from her song magic. Despite this shortcoming, Mithrais was convinced she could now stand against their overwhelming presence, but the very idea made Telyn more than a little apprehensive.
“I am certain you’ll do well.” Gwidion had followed her unspoken thoughts, which were apparent on Telyn’s troubled brow. “You alone will decide how much access to your mind they are allowed.”
“So you both keep telling me. Until I can prove it to myself I will still be frightened, so I’d best be prepared,” Telyn sighed.
“You are,” Mithrais assured her, but Telyn wished she could feel as certain.
A quiet tap at the door heralded the arrival of Diarmid, who looked bemused as he entered, smiling curiously at the bard.
“Forgive my interruption, but Telyn has a visitor,” he said.
“I?” Telyn said, alarmed, a quick, cold flood of terror rising in her breast for the first time since they had arrived in Cerisild. “Who knows that I’m here?”
Diarmid saw her discomfiture, raising a calming hand. “This visitor is genuine, Telyn,” he said in a reassuring tone. With Telyn’s permission, Mithrais had advised Diarmid of the possible danger she faced from bounty hunters, to ensure that the steward would be aware if anything was amiss.
“He was most adamant I tell you immediately that he came at the request of your ‘Uncle Rio’.” Telyn gasped as Diarmid continued, “He is an anxious, ginger-haired individual driving a small wagon drawn by a gray mare.”
“Rand! Bessa!” Telyn said, overjoyed. “Lord Riordan has sent my belongings!”
“And several casks of wine and nectar, with his compliments and greetings to Lord Gwidion,” Diarmid said with a grin and a bow, handing a letter to Gwidion with a flourish.
“Rothvori’s finest vintages, no doubt,” Gwidion said, smiling warmly, accepting the letter and breaking the seal on the parchment. “I suspect Riordan will want assurances of your well-being, Telyn, which I will be most happy to send.”
“Go and see Bessa,” Mithrais told her with a grin. “I’ll stay and talk with Father a while before we leave.”
* * * *
Relieved that she would be able to fulfill her desire to offer the lament in Aric’s memory, Telyn was prepared to depart when Mithrais joined her in the courtyard. Bessa had been led away to a well-deserved rest in a comfortable stall, while Telyn’s borrowed horse carried a large leather saddlebag containing her pipes and bodhran, and a few small whistles.
Sadly, during a rest and a brief meal before starting back to Rothvori with the garrison men who had accompanied him, Rand had confirmed the bard’s suspicions that her shattered harp was beyond repair. Telyn was overjoyed to have her remaining instruments back, her pipes providing the means to perform the lament for Aric’s life celebration.
Forced to make the reluctant concession of completing the journey to the Circle on horseback due to his healing injury, Mithrais had exchanged his own clothing for the simple, forest-green garb of a warden. A cloth-wrapped packet protecting Aric’s red braid rested inside his jerkin. The trophy reclaimed from The Dragon would be reunited with the fallen warden in the flames of his funeral pyre.
Mithrais had brought their weapons back from the guild-house, and while his bow was slung at his horse’s side, neither he nor the bard was armed with anything more immediate than a dagger. Since she would be in the company of the entire Tauron Order, she doubted that she would need her sword.
The dwellings along the southern road tapered off as they left the city behind. Villages glimpsed through the trees grew smaller and more distanced until there was nothing on either side of them but the deep Wood, and Mithrais slowed his horse’s pace just after midday, earlier than Telyn had expected. Even though the memory of the night they had traveled this road was blurry, she did not think that they were yet parallel with the Circle.
She recalled the chord of the Gwaith’orn to her mind and found the resonance easily, but it held none of the raw power that the Circle had contained. It seemed to be a single tree somewhere to the west of the road. Mithrais turned his horse into the Wood, speaking to the animal softly, and Telyn allowed her mount to follow, her palms beginning to feel damp with nervous sweat.
The Gwaith’orn had not harmed her in the previous encounter, but her resentment was still deep. Because she was so adamant that her unpredictable song magic should not influence others against their will, it rankled that the Gwaith’orn had no such reservations and drawn her to them as if she were on a string.
Telyn could not relax, the tension in her shoulders building as the resonance of the Gwaith’orn became more noticeable. Her horse tossed its head irritably, and Telyn realized she was holding the reins in a death grip. She patted the horse’s neck and murmured apologetically, and Mithrais turned around to look at her, pulling his own mount to a halt and allowing Telyn move parallel to him. He reached for her hand, kissing her cold fingers reassuringly.
“I know, I know,” Telyn said before Mithrais could speak. He grinned crookedly at her.
“We don’t have to do this now. It could wait until tomorrow when we journey home, but you’ll be tired after being awake all night, and your shields weaker.”
“I think I would rather be at full strength, thank you,” Telyn responded tartly, and sighed. “I’m not used to being so apprehensive about things. I don’t like it.”
“I promise nothing will happen that you can’t control. I’ll be there to anchor you, so that you can find your way out whenever you wish.”
Her dream of becoming lost in the forest had been frighteningly real, Telyn had learned. First-time contact sometimes resulted in an inexperienced heartspeaker being unable to break the connection alone, effectively becoming lost in the overwhelming stream of the Gwaith’orn’s consciousness. Mithrais had explained to her that the tradition of an experienced heartspeaker ‘introducing’ an initiate to the Gwaith’orn had been instituted to prevent the very thing that had happened to her.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” Telyn said resignedly, nudging her horse’s flanks with her heels. She could not continue to hold a grudge against the Gwaith’orn and hope to complete her task.
The animals slowly picked their way through the trees until they reached the Gwaith’orn. They left the horses outside the small grove, and Telyn approached the trunk of the resonant tree, looking up into the green crown of leaves that nearly hid the white-barked branches.
Mithrais took her hand and gently pushed back the sleeve of Telyn’s tunic. He encircled her wrist with his fingers, creating the contact that would allow him to listen and guide her, and the touch of his hand was comforting.
“I’ll be the eavesdropper in this conversation, as you were before,” he told her with a reassuring smile. “You won’t understand everything that they try to tell you, but it will come.”
Telyn took a shaking breath, and allowed Mithrais to place her hand on the rough bark. The shock of the mighty chord of resonance made her jerk reflexively, but she held fast and brought her other hand up resolutely, placing it on the trunk as well. Telyn felt the resonance changing, swirling down from the branches to gather about her hands, and the forceful surge of the Gwaith’orn’s consciousness against her shields made her gasp fearfully. Mithrais’ gentle hold on her wrist was all that kept her from pulling away entirely.
“It’s all right, Telyn,” Mithrais soothed her. “Remember that they can’t enter your mind unless you allow them to do so. Open your shields just a little, and they can make themselves understood. You don’t need to open to them completely for this kind of contact.”
Breathing deeply until her pounding heart slowed, Telyn allowed her shields to subside in minute increments, slowly and hesitantly, until a breach formed that let the Gwaith’orn’s consciousness flow in like water through a channel.
The presence that flooded into her mind held no flesh and blood feeling to it—no humanity at all. The very strangeness of it caused her a moment of terror as Telyn caught a definite sense of will and intent behind the alien contact. She recognized her signature, that lovely, bell-like vibration borne on the resonance with which they had previously greeted her.
Glancing nervously at Mithrais, who nodded at her with encouragement, Telyn let her thoughts shape the salutation she had heard him use when speaking to the Gwaith’orn.
Greetings, old ones. Even her mind’s voice seemed to shake with fear as she concentrated on what she was trying to convey.
There was a gentle acknowledgement, a soft wave of something that the bard could almost feel brush against her skin. Telyn’s song magic rose to give an unexpected flare of response to the communication—the bard heard in her mind a plaintive minor chord. She immediately understood their intent, or thought she did, and looked to Mithrais for confirmation.
Are they telling me not to be afraid? Telyn asked incredulously, without speaking aloud.
You are so tightly shielded that I can’t pick up everything. Mithrais’ inner voice was laced with silent laughter, his eyes full of amusement. Relax, and attempt to open to them a little more.
Telyn made a conscious effort to comply, her innate curiosity beginning to outweigh the fear. As she allowed her shields to drop a bit farther, the presence advanced eagerly. Inexplicably, her song magic once more reacted, giving a musical reference to the intent as Telyn concentrated on what the tree folk were saying.
Welcome, seed-voice. The communication brought with it a soft rise of sound that bore reassurances, a gentle harmony inside her chest. It was accompanied by a distinct feeling of recognition, and what Telyn thought might be excitement.
Why is my song magic responding? It was a thought to herself; Telyn had not really meant to ask this of the Gwaith’orn, but they answered her quickly.
It is akin to our own way of speech. A small, triumphant chord of resonance made Telyn smile slightly. She was surprised that she had understood everything they said to her thus far. The bard glanced at Mithrais, whose expression was strange as he listened to the conversation through her mind, his green eyes wide and startled.
“What is it?” she asked aloud.
“You’re receiving words, Telyn,” the warden told her, amazement in his voice. “I’ve never experienced this before.”
Seed-voice is the first in countless seasons that can shape words. The Gwaith’orn seemed to emanate relief. It is imperative that all understand. You are our voice, and will quicken the others.
What is it I that I have to do? Telyn asked them, feeling a spark of hope.
An excited trill of vibration accompanied the last: Open to us.
Telyn hesitated, uncomfortable. She felt the Gwaith’orn’s presence become insistent, and her heart began to trip in fear as their advances against her shields became stronger.
Stop it, she commanded. Don’t try to force me.
Open to us. The relentless pressure was accompanied by a stronger, more demanding chord of resonance.
Telyn severed the contact, removing her hands from the trunk of the tree as she felt her shields begin to bend resiliently against the Gwaith’orn’s determined attempt to merge their consciousness with hers. Mithrais allowed her to do so, his fingers quickly releasing her wrist, and Telyn backed away from the Gwaith’orn, her breathing ragged as she glared at the tree resentfully.
Mithrais placed his own hands on the tree and spoke to them as Telyn stalked out of the grove to wait beside the horses, her back to the Gwaith’orn. She knew they couldn’t see her, but she wanted them to know she was angry at their presumption. Mithrais soon joined her, his body warm against her back, arms going around her in a comforting embrace.
“They don’t understand how badly they’ve frightened you,” he said softly. “I attempted to explain, but they don’t know fear as we do.”
“Show them an axe and they’ll get the idea,” Telyn said darkly.
Mithrais gave a small chuckle, and glanced back at the tree. “They want to speak to you again. Perhaps they’ll understand if you tell them.”
“Not now. If they want me to trust them, they will have to behave themselves.” Telyn leaned her head back against his shoulder and blew out her breath, releasing with it some of the tension that had built up because of her apprehension. “Why did they try to force me?”
“I’ve never known them to be so aggressive, but it isn’t malevolence that drives them, Telyn. It seems to be urgency.” Mithrais kissed her temple, and reminded her softly, “You held them outside your mind the entire time. Even when you were most afraid, your shields were strong and steady against them.”
With a startled sense of satisfaction, Telyn realized that he was right. It made her feel slightly better, but her thoughts returned to the riddle at hand.
“If they wish me to affect two hundred and more Gwaith’orn before the solstice,” Telyn said with a sense of desperation, “they’ll need to tell me how to do it instead of trying to control me. Unless we can crowd them all into one room, which is highly unlikely, my gifts of song magic don’t carry that far.”
“It’s possible that they must enter your mind in order to bring about their ends,” Mithrais suggested gently, and turned her to face him. “Your communication with them was beyond even Cormac’s advantage, Telyn. He receives stronger impressions of intent and motivation, but not words. They should be able to make clear enough what they require of you. Ask them outright.”
“I know it will have to be soon. We simply don’t have the time for me to be squeamish about it,” Telyn sighed.
“That’s so.” Mithrais leaned his forehead against hers. “But I truly think that you have nothing to fear from them. When you’re ready, we will ask.”
* * * *
It was late afternoon when they reached the Circle, and Telyn counted at least thirty wardens already within the hallowed place as she guided her horse slowly through the bramble. They tethered their animals near a wagon outside the clearing, which was laden with food and casks of ale awaiting the night-long celebration of Aric’s life. Cords of wood that had been painstakingly gathered from the forest floor were stacked in readiness to feed the pyre and the smaller fires that would burn throughout the night.
The primal power was just as evident in this place as it had been before; skin-tingling, with the warmth of song magic building in Telyn’s breast like a secret flame. The four giant trees that had been instrumental in Telyn’s defense stood in majesty, as if an honor guard to the rites that would be observed here.
Atop the immense grey stone in the center of the clearing, a wooden bier had been erected on which lay the body of the fallen warden. Aric’s remains were wrapped in green cloth and covered by a pall embroidered with a symbol Telyn had not seen before, and deduced must be the crest of the Tauron Order: a circle within a circle, broken by the four compass points, was picked out in brilliant threads against the dark green mantle.
Mithrais, his face lined with pain, walked stiffly toward the Circle and took a deep, uneven breath, gazing at the bier as he stopped just outside the clearing. Telyn moved to stand beside him, feeling his grief and guilt as if it were her own, and wishing that she could help to ease it. Mithrais closed his eyes a moment, and when he opened them, smiled down at her bitterly.
“I can’t help but wonder,” he said, his voice harsh with self-recrimination. “Had I not given Aric an order that contradicted the Tauron code, would he still be alive?”
“If we are to trust in the Fates, then we must believe that this is where his life’s journey would have ended. Nothing you could have done would have changed that.”
His hand gripped hers tightly, and Telyn leaned her head against his arm, continuing softly, “If it was Aric’s part to die, that I might live to perform the task I have been given, then I share the burden of his death. I have to believe that it is part of that larger destiny Gwidion spoke of, and that I must try to fulfill it. To do anything less would dishonor his memory.”
“Then it will be fulfilled,” Mithrais promised. She knew that he spoke not only to her, but to Aric’s spirit as well. They walked into the Circle together, Telyn’s hand still clasped tightly in his.