Song Magick (31 page)

“I think that would have pleased him.” The
youngest of the Elders, who had hesitated before offering his
greeting to Telyn, drew back his hood and regarded her somewhat
resentfully. Although streaked with grey at the temples, the
familiar hue of the flame-colored hair was still recognizable in
the softening light of early evening.

“I am Jona, Elder Martial. Aric was my
nephew, Lady Bard.”

Taken aback by the Elder’s almost hostile,
accusatory introduction, Telyn put her fingertips to her heart and
bowed from the waist. “My sincerest condolences, Elder Martial. I
wish that...” She faltered, and met Jona’s eyes steadily, accepting
the blame she saw there and speaking honestly. “I have no words to
express my deep sadness that Aric’s life was lost in my defense. I
shall have to let my music speak for me.”

“I thank you.” His eyes flickered to
Mithrais, and then to the bier. “If you will excuse me, I wish to
say a last farewell to Aric before the rites begin.” Declan made
soothing motions with his hands.

“Yes, of course. I am sorry. The
introductions could have waited. We will accompany you, Jona.”
Declan nodded contritely, and the four green-mantled men walked as
a unit to the bier.

Mithrais watched their passage with a bleak
expression, then turned back to his wardens, who had arranged
themselves behind Mithrais in a show of unity.

“Jona would like to see you stripped of your
commission,” Rodril remarked. Mithrais nodded grimly.

“Do you really think they will?” Cormac
asked, looking anxiously from Rodril to Mithrais.

“Not if I have my say,” the grizzled warden
stated. “You are a born leader and a skilled warden. I trained you.
I should know. Jona’s grief will not allow him to see it, but you
made the right decision.”

“I can’t help but think there is doubt in
more than one Elder’s mind about that,” Mithrais replied in a low
voice.

“So long as it isn’t foremost in yours. Your
own confidence in your actions speaks louder than our testimony,”
Halith reminded him. “If necessary, we’ll be ready to defend you,
Mithrais.”

“All of us,” Cormac declared, and Mithrais
could not help but grin at the young Silde.

“Thank you. I couldn’t ask for better
wardens—or better friends,” he told them earnestly. His gaze turned
to the bier once more, and he rested a hand on Cormac’s good
shoulder. “Last night, the Elders told me that they’ve given the
four of us the honor of lighting the pyre that will speed Aric on
his next journey.” His voice shook with emotion. “It’s our right as
his closest comrades in arms, and will serve as our farewell to
him.”

Cormac dissolved into tears, and Telyn saw
the first signs of grief from the serene Halith as she turned into
the curve of her lifemate’s arm, her lip trembling. Rodril gathered
her in, his other arm drawing Mithrais and Cormac into a tight knot
of fellowship. Telyn felt the prickle of tears gather helplessly in
her own eyes as she witnessed this tableau of friends mourning
their diminished number.

After a moment, Mithrais’ hand reached for
Telyn’s from the midst of the group, and pulled her in. He told her
softly, his arm tightening around her, “As the flames take hold, it
would be a fitting time to offer your lament.”

* * * *

Save for a bare half-dozen wardens who had
volunteered to keep their posts on the main road, the last of the
Tauron arrived as the sun slipped below the horizon, the darkening
sky clear and beginning to show the first stars of evening. The
west was still alight with a fiery orange glow as the Order
assembled to observe the rites of mourning.

The bier was stacked round with wood and
kindling, Aric’s body wrapped in its green shroud so that his face
was now hidden from view. The pall had been folded away and
removed; the circle within a circle it had portrayed was now
repeated by the Tauron wardens who stood shoulder to shoulder
inside the ring of trees. The compass points were marked by the
four Elders, each bearing a torch, and the four remaining wardens
of the West.

Outside the circle of wardens, Telyn sat
quietly with her pipes upon one of the upturned casks that would
later provide drink for the nightlong vigil, watching and listening
until the time for the lament was at hand. She was within arm’s
reach of the easternmost Gwaith’orn, with its strangely sinuous
roots which curved back against themselves and whose branches had
provided her shelter during the assault on The Dragon. She had been
careful not to touch the tree with her hands and the tree folk did
not seek her attention, as if understanding the gravity of the
rites that were about to take place.

Declan was the first to speak, his voice
ringing through the clearing:

“We come to the Circle to honor the fallen,
and to celebrate a life well-lived in the service of the Wood. It
was here that Aric of Cassath swore his fealty to the Lord of
Cerisild, and dedicated his life to the service of the Gwaith’orn.
He departed from this Circle a Tauron warden, and now returns to
the Circle, having fulfilled his vows of service in the highest
degree.”

Declan turned and handed his torch to Halith,
who took the Elder Watchwarden’s place at the easternmost point.
“Who are we?”

“We are the servants of the Wood: the Tauron
Order, embodiment of the covenant between Silde and Gwaith’orn.”
Halith spoke clearly and proudly.

The frail, white haired Conlad spoke next,
his sonorous voice belying the fragile-seeming exterior.

“What are our vows?” he intoned, handing his
torch to Rodril, who took his place at the southern point.

“To live and die in the service of the Lord
of Cerisild, to defend the Wood and our people, and to remain
worthy of our gifts,” the tall warden replied.

“What is promised by the covenant?” Semias,
his hawk-nosed visage somber, gave his torch to Mithrais, who took
his place in the west.

“That which would have been lost will be held
in safety by the Gwaith’orn, in return for our service and
protection,” Mithrais answered.

Jona faced Cormac at the northernmost point,
but did not relinquish his torch to the initiate immediately. “What
is the duration of that covenant?”

“Unending and unbroken, until we are released
from our vows by the Gwaith’orn...or by our deaths,” Cormac
responded, his voice quavering slightly.

“Let this death serve as a reminder that our
vows are not idly spoken, and that even in times of peace, violence
can seek us out. Those who require our protection within the
borders of the Wood will receive it, though our lives may be
forfeit in their defense.” Jona’s eyes sought Telyn at the outside
of the Circle, and she saw pride mingled there with his bitterness.
The Elder Martial passed the torch to Cormac and took his own place
behind the young warden.

The Elders raised their arms in blessing. The
four wardens mirrored the movement with their torches, which blazed
skyward, and Declan spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

“Aric of Cassath, the Order releases you from
your vows.”

At a nod from Mithrais the four wardens
stepped forward, and with simultaneous movements thrust their
torches into the pyre. The fire leapt as they stepped back in
unison, the dry wood catching quickly, and above the crackle and
roar of flame came the sound of Telyn’s pipes.

The bard let the first notes drift upwards
upon the smoke in the cool and windless night. She began with no
enhancement from her gifts, allowing the music alone to call those
who grieved to a common place of sorrow. Whether they would allow
her influences to guide them through the lament was their own
choice; all were trained heartspeakers, and their shields would
prevent them from being affected unless they wished to be. The call
was repeated; Telyn felt the warmth of her song magic rising within
her breast.

She had kept herself tightly shielded here in
the Wood, but in order for her gift to insinuate itself among the
listeners, Telyn would have to reverse the disciplines that had
become her defense. She sensed no attempt from the tree folk to
breach her mind, and permitted herself to relax. Telyn willed the
rigid wall she had built around herself to dissolve, and released
the song magic to drift outwards to the assembled wardens.

With her growing sensitivity to other
heartspeakers, the bard was aware that many of the wardens had
rendered their shields accessible to her song magic. She closed her
eyes, concentrating on the atmosphere her gifts were weaving as her
nimble fingers moved on the chanter.

The music spoke of remembrance and duty,
crafting a subtle invitation to bring their personal memories of
Aric to the surface of their thoughts. Each passage of music fondly
evoked comradeship and shared experience, until rising sharply with
the poignant knowledge that in this life, comradeship had ended,
and all that remained was memory.

The pipes spiraled upwards into the painful
loss of a friend, the keening sorrow that death had come
unexpectedly and far too soon. Telyn allowed it to carry the weight
of grief to a peak, and to release it upwards with a bittersweet
reminder that while the life journey of Aric of Cassath was over,
yet another journey was beginning for him. There truly were no
endings as long as his memory remained.

The music returned to the low drift of notes
with which the lament had begun, and Telyn began to call her song
magic back, withdrawing her influences and letting the music speak
once more for itself. She intended to release the listeners to
their own thoughts and emotions, wherever they led, and into
silence, but in that hushed stillness, Telyn suddenly became aware
that a deep, visceral tremor of vibration was beginning below her
feet.

It quickly grew apparent to those who stood
within the Circle, startled faces turning to each other as the
pulsation intensified. Telyn barely had time to register that it
was coming from the Gwaith’orn, when unbidden, her song magic
flared violently in response to the power growing in the Circle,
stronger than anything she had experienced before. It rendered
Telyn breathless with its magnitude and flowed outwards into the
circle of Tauron wardens, touching them all gently with a stroke of
magic in the same way she might have sought to gather a group of
musicians under her influence.

We release Aric from our service.

The words seemed to come from the earth
itself, formless and echoing within her mind. Telyn stumbled to her
feet in disbelief as the resonance rumbled through the clearing and
out into the Wood, carrying that trace of her magic with it.

Across the Circle, Mithrais turned a
tear-streaked face to Telyn, his expression one of wonder and
shock. All about the ring of wardens, faces were lifted in
amazement, staring first at the forest giants, and then at the
bard. It was clear that all of them had heard the Gwaith’orn
speak.

Telyn stood beneath the tree, her breathing
quick and ragged, and feeling the weight of all their stares. She
glanced up into the branches above her, her mind racing with the
implications of what had just occurred. For a brief moment, it
seemed that the part of her gift the Gwaith’orn had called ‘shaping
words’ had been shared with the entire Tauron Order.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Seeking solitude and the counsel of her own
thoughts, Telyn slipped away from the Circle. Moving through the
trees, she did not stop until she sensed the point where the power
of the hallowed ground ebbed and the flame of her song magic was
dampened. She leaned against the gnarled trunk of a hulking walnut
tree, shivering slightly in the cooling night and taking comfort in
the rough, ordinary wood beneath the palms of her hands. A living
tree, it contained nothing of the overwhelming chord in which beat
the pulse of the Wood, and Telyn wanted none of that as she
struggled to come to terms with what had happened in the last
hour.

The Gwaith’orn had called forth her song
magic, a feat that Telyn had not even suspected was possible, and
then used it to make their solemn contribution to the mourning
rites. The bard had been taken completely unawares.

At the insistence of the Elders, Telyn had
reluctantly agreed to speak with the Gwaith’orn later that night,
for there were questions regarding the silence to which they had
long sought answers. It was now in Telyn’s power to receive them in
a form that could be understood, but her intent to fulfill the
charge she had been given was tangled irretrievably with her
mistrust of these powerful forest beings, who once more had
intruded without her consent. She indulged herself in a few
self-serving moments of unbridled resentment over this latest
trespass before she forced herself to look with a less jaundiced
eye at the Gwaith’orn’s actions toward her.

She had begun to suspect that there was more
at stake than simply ‘waking’ the silent Gwaith’orn—that was the
word that the Tauron Elders had been using. The tree folk had used
the term ‘quickening’ during the dream-conversation, which implied
sparking the essence of life rather than the return of
consciousness.

Images from the dream-speaking came to mind:
the far-away view of the Wood, with the ghostlight glow of the
silent trees replacing, one by one, the golden luminance of those
who still resonated together. She believed they feared this
encroaching silence, and that this was the source of their
impatient attempts to control her. Could she set aside her own fear
and distrust long enough to help them achieve their ends?

Telyn could still hear voices, and even the
sweet, breathy sound of a well-played low whistle as the Tauron
wardens congregated around smaller fires that had been lit at the
edges of the clearing. Their spirits made exuberant by the
unexpected participation of the Gwaith’orn, the Tauron were making
certain that the life celebration that followed the mourning rite
was true to its name.