Soul-Singer of Tyrnos. Ardath Mayhar

make it seem. They are not bound by flesh, as we are. They know more worlds than this, and our limited dimensions cannot hold them. They are outside time. They are not, in fact, physical beings, though they can seem so.”

      I opened my mouth to question, but she raised her hand. “Wait. I am not done. Their ways are unlike our own. They may set you a task, but they will not make it easy or assure your success. And the penalty of failure will be death...or worse things. The tools and knowledge you will need will be available, but only your own courage and wit and de­termination will set them into your hands. Though it may seem that you are swept along by events, it will be only your own right choosing that leads you down the path that leads in the way of the gods.”

      I nodded slowly. “I must not depend, then on being shown the way. I must do what seems right—and hope that it will be....” I stood there, shaken by the sudden realization of what she had said.

      “I was a Chosen,” she said, taking my hand in both of hers. “It is a strange thing, but you will have no time to think of it. You will be tempted aside, it may be, or delayed or distracted, but the gods will not have it so. Take care what you do, Yeleeve. Follow your guides, whatever they may be. Trust in your own instinct. The gods do not choose unsuitable instruments.”

      She stooped and kissed my cheek. Then she was gone.

      I settled my leathers about me, then took up the pack. I looked around the cell that had been mine since I was ten years old. Not one item lay in it that was mine. The stool, the mat, the pitcher were already anonymously waiting for their next user. I might never have spent a decade sleeping in this space. I straightened my shoulders under the pack, brushed aside the curtain, and moved into the hall.

      The building was empty. I realized that my classmates had already gone their ways while I was detained by Elysias. This suited me, for I had found few among them who were better company than my own thoughts. We had been a solitary lot, as Singers must be, and our teachers had discouraged the forming of friendships.

      I moved down the stair, and the sculptures of crystal glimmered in their niches as if to say farewell. The icy shapes had delighted me from the time when I had been forced to stand on tiptoe to see them. I felt, rather sadly, that it was a strange thing that I regretted most the leaving of their cold forms.

      In the passageway that stood between the arched portal and the Hall I found two who waited for me. Amos and Sirna stood there, tall shapes in blue with the Huym symbol glowing on their robe fronts.

      I stopped before them and bent my head for their blessings. Their hands moved, forming the Huym’s lyre-shaped figure in the still air. Then Amos stepped forward and spoke softly to me.

      “We have felt a strange compulsion, Child. Always there are those whom we are saddened to see depart these walls. You have been such a one for your teachers. Elysias is puzzled at our intuition that you may be the Chosen, but we are not. Though you have been rebellious and strong-minded, we have valued your mind and your spirit. There is within you a toughness and determination that comforts our thoughts of you.

      “We feel a premonition that you may face the most difficult task any Singer has faced in many generations. Go with the gods, Yeleeve. Go with our blessings.” They moved their hands again, and the Huym gleamed faintly in the air that followed their motions.

      I was strangely moved. There had been no affection offered or asked in all those long years. Respect had flowed between in an unspoken current, but we had been set apart by years and training. I had not suspected that these two greatest of my teachers had held any special feeling for me.

      I bent my head and murmured, “My thanks, Wise Ones. Hold me in heart.” Then I turned and went down the corri­dor, out the tall portal, and into the Longroad that weaves to­gether all the villages and holdings of our stingily-tenanted western hills.

      I turned once. The School for Singers loomed behind me in the sun of noon, its smooth curves glistening as if gilded. The arched doors were shadowed by the carved portico, and the slender windows were shuttered with bars of shade. Its face seemed closed against me. I turned back to my way and did not look again.

      That first day was a long one. No holding lay within a half­ day’s journey of the School, and only the curves of the hills, the windings of the road, and the occasional late-summer birds bore me company. Still I was not lonely. Loneliness is wrung out of the fibers of a Singer before childhood ends.

      Night found me on the edges of grasslands that gave prom­ise of being grazing grounds, though I could see no cattle. The over-warm day had given way to a breeze that promised to nip a bit before morning, so I took the plain cloak from my pack and spread it beneath a hedge that bordered the road­way. A handful of grass from the meadow made a pillow, and my resting place was ready.

      After munching my dried fruit, I lay back to watch the stars through the thorny branches above me. For a moment I closed my eyes, and when they opened again it was dawn.

      That morning I bitterly regretted my faithful washing pitcher. I felt as if the grime of years had crusted over my face, but I rose, folded away the cloak, and moved forward, watching for a sign of a dwelling or a stream. I suspected that my love of cleanliness might be sorely tried in my life on the road.

      Before the sun was well over the line of low trees to the east, I saw a curl of smoke above a modest farmhouse. Then I hurried, and soon I was lifting the latch of the wooden gate that divided the garden walk from the road.

      An army of geese set up a ferocious medley of honkings and hissings. The big white gander came forward, neck curled like a serpent, wings cocked for battle. I prudently stood where I was and called out, “Is anyone there? A Singer, new-­come from the School, begs a bit of water for washing.”

      The door opened with a rush, and a pale woman fluttered into the yard. “Be’n a Singer, indeed?” she asked. “Th’ gods ha’ heard our cry. Come in, Singer, and be welcome. We’ve need of such as ye.”

      A moment of panic struck me. I had sung souls, true, but only under the eye of one or another of my teachers or Elysias. Never before had I been faced with total responsibility for the well-being of another person. Still, I kept my face calm as I followed the dame into her cramped home.

      A long bony man lay on a low couch before the fire. His forehead was clammy to my touch, and his skin was prickled as if with chill, though the morning was already warm. His eyes were sunk beneath the brows, and their lids were bluish. He was very ill, I could see, though I had no training in physi­cian craft.

      “Good dame,” I said, drawing her aside to the window, “Your man is ill, not troubled in his spirit. We who are Singers can do little for sickness of the body.”

      She looked at me with such uncomprehending faith in her eyes that I sighed and continued, “Yet I will try. But when I am done, find some person who can be trusted and send to the School for a healer.”

      She nodded and snapped her fingers. A small boy crawled down from an overhead loft and looked up at me. He seemed far brighter than his mother, so I told him, “Go to the School. If you run quickly, you will be there before dark. Tell them that a healer is needed and bring him back with you as soon as may be.”

      He nodded and set off with the air of one who knows what he is about.

      Now I set my mind on the sick man. No living soul can take harm from being truly sung, and I comforted myself with that thought.

      For the first time in my life, I felt the Power sing through me, unfiltered through the mind of another. I drew a deep breath, and the music took me in its grasp. There in that dark hut I sang, and the wan spirit of the man formed on the wall beside the hearth at my back.

      It was a gentle singing. Cramped spaces eased; tensions were relaxed. Old worries were erased in that time while I sang. The wife stood in silent awe, staring at the shape behind me. I could see in her face the changes as they were made.

      When I was done, the man lay deeply asleep, and it was a different sleep from that in which I had found him. I watched him for a time, making certain that all was as well as his sick body could manage.