I was sagging against Haward, and I guessed he was having quite a job to support me. ‘I want to go home,’ I said. ‘I’ll search for Derman all day tomorrow, but now I need to sleep.’
Edild brushed past Hrype and Sibert and, beckoning to Haward, said, ‘Bring her back to my house, please, Haward.’ She shot Hrype an icy look. ‘We shall speak of this in the morning.’
We plodded the remaining mile or so to Aelf Fen in silence. When we reached the first of the houses, Edild stopped, for our way led off up to our right and the others would go straight on into the village. ‘I will take her now,’ she said regally to Haward, who relinquished his hold on me, kissed me briefly on the cheek and strode away.
‘I can manage on my own!’ I exclaimed, twisting away out of her reach as she went to take my arm. I’d had enough. Without a backward glance, I strode away up the track to Edild’s house. I was aware of Hrype’s and Edild’s voices muttering in the darkness behind me, although I could not make out the words. I did not care. I wanted my bed.
I made a detour to the jakes and the water trough before I went inside. Even the chill of cold water on my hands, face and neck did not revive me; I was worn out. I stumbled back round the side of the house, and my hand was on the door latch when I heard it.
He was singing the same song. The same eerie sequence of notes filled the night air, eloquent of misery and loss. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I shivered as some strong emotion evoked by the chant coursed through me. I wanted to weep for all the sorrows in the world.
Slowly, I turned my head. Where was he? I stared wide-eyed into the shadows, but I could make out no human shape. But he was close, he must be! Why couldn’t I see him?
Dread filled me. Perhaps he wasn’t human at all. Perhaps he was a spirit, a sad ghost trapped here on earth by his grief and impotently singing his pain to the stars. .
All at once my nerve broke. Flinging open the door, I fell inside the house, slamming the solid wood behind me. I stood for some moments with my hands behind me, pressed against the door. It took a while for me to realize that I could no longer hear the singing.
I threw myself down on my bed and, just in case it started up again, covered my head with my pillow.
The singer watched as the young girl with the copper-coloured hair and the boyish figure wrested open the door of the little house and disappeared inside. You hear me, don’t you, lass? he thought. You listen to my song and you go rigid as you perceive my pain. You have a good heart, and I am sorry that I frighten you.
He heard footsteps on the path: a quick, light step that he recognized as belonging to the older woman who lived in the little house. He slipped back into his hiding place and watched as she hurried up to the door and let herself in. She was a healer; his sense of smell was strong, and he could detect her profession from the scent of her clothes, as he could from those of the copper-haired girl. The house itself smelt of clean, fresh things: of herbs and fresh-cut grass. He liked the smell. He liked being close to the house. It gave him comfort, of a sort.
But there was no real comfort, not any more. His world had come to an end. He was alone, away from the place he had known all his life. He felt the great surge of anguish rise up in him, and a few notes of his song emerged from his lips. As if the music lanced his pain, for a few moments it eased.
Music. There was always the music.
His sense of hearing was even more finely developed than his sense of smell. Ever since he had been a small boy he had heard music in the natural world all around him: in birdsong, in the rustle of leaves in spring, in the rush of water over a stream bed, in human activities such as hammering and sawing. In the cool breeze of evening, and in the distant stars that lit the heavens. He had a small harp that he liked to play, although his preferred form of expression was his own voice.
He used to sing with her. His love for her had begun when she was quite young, and it had started with a song. He had been singing at a village celebration, a well-known song that everybody knew and, a little drunk as they were, the people had bawled out the chorus. He didn’t mind; in fact he liked it when people joined in. It was good to sing. It made you happy, made you forget the hardships of life.
He knew a lot about life’s hardships. He had endured many; one in particular, vicious and bitter, that had taken all the joy from living. Until that day at the festival when he had suddenly realized that a sweet, high voice was not just singing the chorus but joining in with him for the verses.
She was harmonizing with him.
His heart had filled with happiness. He had turned to see who it was, feasted his eyes on the vision of her sweet face and fallen in love.
It had been as simple, as easy, as that.
And now she was dead.
His eyes filled with tears. He crept away, leaving the safe place from where he watched and sang and melting back into the darkness.
She was dead. And he knew what he must do.
First, he must write a song for her, for he would not allow her to be forgotten and it was up to him, who had loved her, to make sure that her sweet essence lived on.
There was another task too, a far less pure and gentle one.
Straightening his back, his jaw set in a hard line, he went hunting.
SEVEN
My brother is a habitually early riser, wide awake and padding quietly about so as not to wake anyone else long before the rest of the family stirs. I am not; Edild often has to shake me quite hard. The exception is when I have something serious on my mind, and that was the case the morning after we’d got back from our hopeless search for Derman and I’d heard the invisible singer for the second time.
I love my brother Haward dearly. I had so hoped he would find happiness with Zarina; she was so good for him, and I’d noticed that his love for her — and hers for him — had filled him with a new belief in himself so that now he barely stuttered at all. Last night, as he’d hurried to support me, the tongue-tying stammer had come right back.
He filled my mind as I lay awake in the thin light of dawn. I sensed he was calling out to me. Silently, I slipped out from under the bedcovers, pulled my gown over my shift, picked up my boots and let myself out of the house. The chill air struck me like a slap, and quickly I reached back inside for my shawl. I ran across the village, and just as I approached my parents’ house, the door opened and Haward emerged.
We grinned at each other, both of us struck by the strange link between us that had brought us to this spot at precisely the same instant. He opened his arms and hugged me. He smelt of home. After a moment he said, ‘We’re going to search again as soon as it’s light. If we make an early start there’s a while before we have to start work.’
We. ‘Who’s going? I can come, for a while anyway.’ It would not be long, for Edild had warned me we had a great deal to do that day and I dared not be absent when she wanted me.
Haward smiled. ‘You’d be an asset, for sure. Hrype and Sibert will come, and Father said he’d spare us as much time as he can. He’s going to bring Squeak.’
‘That’s good.’ My little brother is one of the most observant people I know. ‘I’ll-’
Haward grasped my hands in his. ‘There’s something else I’d much r-rather you did,’ he said. The stutter, combined with his sudden, deep frown, gave away his anxiety.
I said a silent goodbye to my happy little daydream of me being the one to find Derman — quite unharmed, of course — and bringing him safely home, cries of, However did you find him, Lassair? Did you use your magic powers and dowse for him? ringing in my ears. I looked at my brother and said, ‘Whatever it is, I’ll do it. You only have to ask.’