Chapter IX

A tree cat somewhere to the south howled in frustration, the wavering shriek jerking Aleytys out of her uneasy sleep. The darkness inside the guest house was stygian, stifling, quickening an urge to get outside. She pulled a tunic over her head and stumbled out of the swaying tree house.

Below, a faint red spark marked the coals of the community fire, the glow thickening the blackness under the trees. Cautiously, she edged along the broad limb, stepped over the poison-tipped wirebush and climbed swiftly down the trunk, feet moving from loop to loop of laddervine with the blind eyes of habit.

A thread of music broke the silence. She followed the sound and found Gwynnor sitting on a grassy tongue of earth thrust out from the woods, forcing the stream to swing wide at this point. Here the sky was almost clear of leaves and a scattering of stars was visible. He lay on his back, listening to the song of the water and staring hungrily at the open patch of sky. The flute lay on his stomach and his hands were clasped behind his head.

Aleytys sank down beside him. His eyes twitched to her then went back to the sky.

The silence drifted along, filled with the music of the water and the rootless directionless night sounds coming from the darkness under the trees.

Gwynnor sat up, catching the flute as it rolled off his chest. “I have to thank you, Aleytys.”

“Why?” She yawned and hugged her knees, her head turned toward him.

“I’ve been sitting here for hours. Thinking. Playing this.” He touched the flute. “Really playing. I think … I think I’ll go back to the maes and hunt another teacher. The pain here,” he touched his chest, “it’s not completely gone. But I can live with the memories now.” He lifted the flute to his lips and began playing.

Aleytys lay back on the grass and let the melody play over her, blending with the night sounds to evoke a mood of magic, gentle happiness.