Silver nodded, smiling wryly. “I know the rules.” She sat up, picking at the grass beside her in small, nervous motions.
“I’m sorry.” She’d been Silver’s age the year she met Dawn. So why did Silver seem so much younger than she remembered being herself? Jocelyn uncrossed her legs and bunched her red cloak under her knees to serve as cushioning. “That was the year the Companions searched Valdemar high and low for Mage Gift.
“I was walking the last half mile or so to Johnson’s Ford when a lone Companion trotted past, her head up, her nostrils flared as though she smelled something good. I remember how it felt for her to pass me. Just for a moment, I wished she would Choose me. But of course, I already had my scarlets, and though I wouldn’t refuse a Companion, I didn’t really hope for one anymore.
“But I was going down the same road, and I’d never seen a Choosing take place. I quickened my steps, turning a corner just in time to see the Companion stop in front of a little girl and her mother. The girl had dark hair, the mother light. They both had pert noses and wide eyes and slender builds. It was, of course, Dawn and Lisle. Both were beautiful, and the Companion in front of them was beautiful, and all together it called up all every Choosing song and story I’d ever heard.” She could see it in her mind all over again, as if the Companion and her Chosen stood in front of her right then. Even now, years later, it awed her. “There are no words for the grace with which the Companion bowed down to that little girl and lowered her gorgeous head so her bright blue eyes met Lisle’s dark ones. I stopped no more than twelve feet away from them, and I swear I felt something flow between the Companion and the girl, some magic like the magic in a room when a Master Bard weaves his or her Gift into a powerful song.
“The girl held her arm up and she spoke the Companion’s name, ‘Tamay.’ I could hear the love in that one word, even from twelve feet away. Surely Dawn heard it, too.” Jocelyn paused again, for effect.
“Tears began to flow down Dawn’s face.
“Lisle didn’t notice.
“Tamay knelt even farther down, and nuzzled the girl. Lisle climbed up on Tamay’s foam-white back, and clutched Tamay’s bright white mane, her eyes shining with pleasure.
“Tamay stood completely still, unnaturally still, looking at Dawn. Dawn stood her ground, gazing back, brown eyes into blue. They stood that way so long my legs began to shiver from standing. There was a conversation going on between them that I couldn’t hear. And all that time, Lisle sat on Tamay’s back and twisted her hands in her new Companion’s white mane and watched her mom’s face.
“Finally, Dawn nodded. She wiped her eyes and took three steps toward Lisle. She reached up, took Lisle’s small hands, and kissed them, smiling up at her daughter through damp eyes. She whispered, ‘I love you, honey. Take good care,’ just barely loud enough for me to hear, and her little girl whispered back, ‘I love you, Mommy, and I’m sorry.’
“Dawn said, ‘Don’t ever be sorry,’ and let Lisle’s fingers slip from hers.
“The Companion turned and passed me by. She gave me a look that didn’t need Mindspeech to read. She might as well have spoken out loud and said, ‘Take care of this woman for me.’ ”
Jocelyn paused. This was the heart of the song, and she wanted to be sure Silver felt it. Silver had turned her head, but when she turned it back to see why Jocelyn had stopped talking, tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.
Jocelyn noted the tears, smiled, and kept the story moving. “I reached for Dawn, but she had already fallen to her knees in the dirt, head buried in her hands. Sobs shook her whole body. I knelt by her side, my hand on her slender, heaving back. I sang softly, soothing her as best I could.”
Silver’s voice was soft and warm, concerned. “And that’s when the last stanza starts.”
Jocelyn nodded. “Her tears were pure sorrow. I’d never heard such a forlorn sound before, and haven’t since, not from animal or human. I wanted to help her more than I’d ever wanted anything, for her sake, and for Tamay’s and Lisle’s, too. For all of our sakes. Seeing Lisle’s Choosing felt like a symbol of all that Valdemar holds dear, all the love, all the sacrifice, all the magic. It showed me what Ancar wanted to take from us.” She glanced back down at the peaceful summer scene below them, and spread her arm out over the town, encouraging Silver to see the peace.
“When I’d thought about Choosing before, I’d only seen the joy and shock and bewilderment of it, never the price. Companions choose who they choose, of course, and usually it’s not first or only children; usually it’s a blessing to the family left behind. Surely, Lisle must have a special part to play, but that’s not part of this story.”
“Did anyone ever write a song about Lisle?”
Jocelyn shrugged. “I don’t know. Remember, she’ll just barely be getting her Whites by now. I never stayed in Haven long enough to watch for her.” Jocelyn shrugged. “Most Heralds live unsung lives. It’s easy to forget that. There are so many songs about Heralds, but there are many more Heralds than songs about them. Many parents and families of people who come to Haven, whether Herald or Bard or Mage or Healer, well, their pain is unsung as well.” She stared down at her knotted fingers. “That’s why I wrote ‘Dawn of Sorrows,’ for Choosing, and all the love and pain and sacrifice and promise of that moment. Dawn’s pain would have gone unnoticed, a single sacrifice in a flood of things surrendered to save Valdemar from Ancar. Except I gave people her story for remembrance. That’s what Bards do.”
Silver twisted her hands in her lap. “I haven’t yet written anything that many people sing.” The wistful yearning in her voice echoed in her eyes.
Jocelyn stood up. “Your life will surely yield opportunities. Come on, there’s only a few hours until dark. We should get moving.” She bent down to gather up her battered leather pack and fiddle case, and when she stood back up, she saw the disappointment on Silver’s face. She sighed. “Yes, there’s more. I’ll tell you more of the story tonight.”
“Thank you.” Silver’s voice sounded small. She shouldered her own nearly-new black leather pack. A flute case hung below her pack, tied in with purple ribbons, and she carried a gittern case that looked as new as her pack. “Will we stay at an inn tonight?”
Jocelyn shook her head. “Not if you want the rest of Dawn’s story. It doesn’t make me want to sing. They’ll have plenty of minstrels and even Bards in a town this close to Haven—they won’t expect us to sing.”
Silver fell silent, and Jocelyn started down the hill, setting a good, hard pace. Silver’s footsteps behind her reminded her of Dawn following her, and she walked faster, leading them downhill through tall dry grass and yellow mustard flowers. If only she hadn’t tried so hard to help Dawn. She struggled to distract herself by counting the small suncup butterflies flashing white and orange over yellow mustard flowers and tiny blue wild onions. She picked up speed, nearly jogging down the water-rutted path.
After an hour, the footsteps behind her began to fade and Jocelyn stopped, looking back. Silver’s cheeks shone red with exertion and her shoulders drooped. Jocelyn heard her own rattling breath and stopped. She waited for Silver to catch up, then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to walk so fast.”
Beads of sweat stood out on Silver’s forehead. She breathed in little hard gulps. “I didn’t know how much you’d mind talking about Dawn.” She licked her lips and brushed damp hair from her face, looking at Jocelyn earnestly. “I thought I was asking about a song, but I guess I was asking about more. You don’t have to tell me.”