Andre Norton: Songsmith

Joisan by now was close-pressed against her lord’s side, one arm around him, the other encircling her foster-daughter. The Wise Woman shook her head. “Not so, Eydryth,” she said solemnly.

Kerovan echoed his wife’s gesture. “My lady has the right of it, Eydryth,” he said. “I was warned, and thus could defeat the spell when it attempted to ensnare me. But had you not come here tonight, this Yachne’s ensorcellment would have found me asleep and unprepared…” He shook his head grimly. “And I have no doubt that I would have been trapped.”

“You have a long story to tell us, Sister,” Hyana said. “And you spoke of an Alon who is in danger…”

“There is so much to tell, and so little time!” Eydryth said. “I must see Jervon immediately—I may have found the means to heal him! And then we must all ride to aid Alon, because I fear that Yachne will try and take him , since she could not prey upon Kerovan. He went to seek her, but he is wearied, and was wounded yesterday. I fear greatly for him…”

“Eydryth… dear one…” Sylvya was staring at the young woman in open amazement, as if she had never seen her before. “I sense so many changes… you are so different! You have been places, done things… changed…” Quickly, the woman from the ancient past of Arvon traced a symbol in the air, and it glowed blue, tinged with green.

The songsmith drew herself up. “You have the right of it, Aunt,” she said, smiling faintly, proudly. Then, humming softly, she drew a sign of her own in the air—the shape of a musical note. It hung before them, outlined as if in a trail of turquoise fire. “I have discovered Power of my own kind,” she said. “Through my music. Else I could not have gotten Monso past the valley’s wards.”

Amazement spread across their faces; then they all stepped forward, besieging the songsmith with questions. Kerovan had to shout to be heard above the excited inquiries. “We must have the entire story, sitting down!” he ordered, now very much the lord of the hold. “And I for one will be most interested to hear about this mysterious Alon!”

Eydryth felt warmth again reddening her cheeks. She cast about again for words to tell the group about Alon, but still could find none. She smiled at her family, feeling their love, their concern, enclose her like warm arms after a nightmare. “I will tell you everything,” she promised, “as soon as may be. But first…” She took out Dahaun’s box, then opened it to peer cautiously within. To her vast relief, the healing red mud still lay within, seeming as fresh as the time she had used it to treat the Adept’s wrist. “First Jervon. I cannot sit still until I have seen my father.”

“Is that the cure you have brought?” Kerovan asked, peering skeptically into the little box. “Mud?”

Joisan put out a finger, touched the moist earth tentatively, then drew back as if it had stung her. “Where did you find this?” she gasped.

“From the Lady of the Green Silences in Escore,” Eydryth said. She glanced down at the sleeping horse, then picked up her harp from where it lay on the ground, still wrapped in her cloak. “If we are fortunate, there may be enough mud in Dahaun’s box to help Monso’s wound, also.” She smiled at all of them. “But first, oh, first I must see my father!”

Joisan smiled warmly as her fosterling. “Go, by all means, my dear. In the meantime, Kerovan and I will prepare food—I believe we have all worked up an appetite, with all these midnight alarums and excursions. Firdun and Sylvya will watch over your mount.”

“Come, Sister,” Hyana said, taking the songsmith’s arm, “I will accompany you.”

Carrying her harp and the little box, Eydryth followed her foster-sister through the halls of Kar Garudwyn, along a corridor lit by the light-globes like unto those she had seen in Es city, in the witches’ citadel. For a moment she found herself remembering Avris and wondered how her friend now fared. Then they came to Jervon’s door, and paused outside, trembling suddenly.

What if Dahaun’s mud does not work ? she wondered, feeling her mouth go dry with fear. I have traveled so long… it has been so many years… please, Amber Lady… please, Neave! I beg of you, give my father back to me !

Hyana placed a steadying hand upon her arm. Eydryth nodded at her foster-sister, straightened her shoulders, then walked in.

Jervon was lying on his pallet. A Kioga girl sat in a chair, dozing. A servant or a member of the family always watched over the Power-blasted man, lest he wander away or harm himself inadvertently, like the very young child he now resembled.

The girl, whom Eydryth remembered was named Karlis, stared wide-eyed at the newcomer. “Eydryth!” she blurted. “Welcome home, Lady!”

The songsmith greeted the servant; then Hyana smiled reassuringly at the girl. “We will watch him for a while,” she said, and Karlis took her leave.

Eydryth walked slowly over to her father’s pallet. Even in his sleep, the slackness around his mouth, the vacant expression on his face, betrayed his malady. Sitting down beside him, his daughter took his hand gently. Beneath tumbled russet-brown curls, he opened blue eyes that had once been the same vivid color as his daughter’s, but now were faded, empty of reason. “Father…” the songsmith whispered, stroking his hair, “I’ve come home.”

Jervon grinned, then babbled at her, mixing random words with nonsense syllables. At least he still recognizes me , the girl thought, wiping a smear of wetness from his chin when he had finished his greeting—if such it could be termed. “Just hold still, now,” she whispered, then began to gently stroke Dahaun’s healing mud across his forehead, covering it with a thin layer of the cool redness.

Jervon twitched, raised his hands to swipe fretfully at the healing substance. “No, don’t wipe it off,” Eydryth said, and together, she and Hyana held his hands down until he subsided, eyeing them both nervously.

“When he quiets,” Eydryth said softly, “I want you to take the mud that is left to Joisan. Tell her to spread it over the Keplian’s wound. Then have her rinse the container in a bucket of water, so that he may be offered that water to drink when he awakens and can stand again.”

“I understand,” her foster-sister said, softly.

Jervon gazed at them, then at the water jug that stood in its place on the bureau. He waved at it, babbling again. “He wants a drink,” Eydryth said, recognizing the gesture and sounds.

But before she held the goblet Hyana filled to Jervon’s lips, Eydryth, acting on impulse, dropped a dollop of the red mud into the liquid, then stirred it with a forefinger until it dissolved. “Here, Father,” she said, aiding him as he sat up. Jervon drank thirstily, then smiled vacantly and lay back down. He tossed restlessly, still wanting to scratch at the mud now drying across his forehead. “No, no,” Eydryth whispered. “Leave it where it is, Father…”

Hyana was holding the container, eyeing the red mud still within it. “Whoever this Lady of the Green Silences is, she is someone with great Power,” she said. “I can feel her magic through this container.”

“Dahaun has great Power, yes,” Eydryth said. “That is part of the story I have yet to tell you. Shhhh,” she said, turning her attention back to her father, “lie still, dear Father. Rest easy.”

“Perhaps if you sang to him…” Hyana suggested. “That always used to quiet him, even on his worst days.”

Eydryth nodded, then picked up her hand-harp. A moment to tune it, then she began gently plucking the strings, humming as she searched in her mind for a song. Alon’s face swam before her eyes, and before she knew what she was about, she was singing: