The Singer of All Songs

  Darrow led her past dark warehouses, sheds that stank of fish, and sailors’ and fishermen’s clubhouses that murmured with surly talk and the muffled clank of tankards. Little boats, the first Calwyn had ever seen, clustered by the jetties, riding the water like gulls resting on the waves. The smallest of the moons was rising, and the constellation she called theTree was already visible in the crisp clear sky. It had been very strange for Calwyn to watch the familiar stars come out every night, always the same, as she travelled further and further from home, but never so strange as it seemed this night, to see them gleaming over the dark sighing carpet of the ocean. The stars seemed dimmer here than in Antaris; she did not know why.

  Darrow was limping fast, swinging his stick impatiently, as he scanned each of the quiet jetties until he found what he was looking for. Calwyn caught up with him where he stood staring down at a trim little fishing vessel with cheerful but shabby paint. The cabin was all in darkness.

  ‘They’re not here.’ Darrow stared back toward the lights and faint noises of the city buildings. ‘They must be ashore, perhaps in one of those inns.’

  ‘Can we wait for them on the boat?’ Calwyn was filled with hope; it looked so welcoming, bobbing gently on the dark water. But Darrow shook his head.

  ‘I would not trespass on friendship by going aboard uninvited,’ he said. ‘Besides, the cabin will be locked.’ He saw Calwyn’s look of surprise. ‘In Kalysons, people keep their houses and their possessions locked up. It is a more mistrustful place than Antaris. No, I will go looking for them. You had better wait here. The inns do not permit women to enter.’

  ‘But –’ Calwyn opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Perhaps it was best to do as he said at least some of the time, when it didn’t really matter, and save her disagreements for a time when it did. Obediently she seated herself on a squat bollard, pulled her cloak tightly about her, and tried to look patient. ‘Very well.’

  ‘I will be as quick as I can.’ Darrow limped away, down the length of the jetty. Calwyn watched him disappear, then turned and gazed out over the endless dark cold sea. She found herself thinking of the great hall in Antaris, and the sound of all the sisters singing and laughing together, and the cheerful swirl of the little girls dancing before the fire, the warm hubbub of the place. But there, too, she had sat apart, and felt lonely and desolate; it was not so different here.

  The single moon rose a little higher. She passed some time in practising the exercises that helped her to breathe and sing in one steady flow, without pausing to gulp for air. She did one round of the nightly exercises, and then another. Then she sang one of the hearth songs of the spring festival, the story of brave Si’leth and her doomed love for the dark heroVereth.

  She broke off her song abruptly, listening for footsteps on the jetty. Darrow had been gone a long time. What would she do if he never returned? Seized with panic, she leapt to her feet and began to hurry back down the jetty toward the lights.

  She had no clear idea in which direction Darrow had gone. Raucous singing burst from the nearest of the inns; she couldn’t quite make out the words. The door was open. Calwyn drew her cloak over her head, and was about to slip inside when someone blocked her path.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going, missy?’ A greasy-faced youth with lank hair leered at her.

  Calwyn drew herself up as tall and proud as Tamen or Marna. ‘I am seeking my friend.’

  ‘Not in there, you’re not. It’s a private club, see? Not a member, are you?’

  ‘Stay out here and talk to us, bright-eyes,’ came another voice, and Calwyn saw that there were three or four young men lounging about outside. One of them leaned over and spat close to her feet. She stepped backward. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Where you from? That don’t sound like a voice from our city.’

  Calwyn thought quickly. ‘I come from a farm far away on the plains – almost in the mountains.’

  They all sniggered. The greasy youth reached out and fingered the cloth of her cloak. Calwyn pulled away, afraid he might see the yellow of her tunic beneath. ‘Just being friendly,’ said the youth, and he gripped a handful of her cloak tightly in his fist.

  ‘Come from the mountains, do you?’ a voice drawled from the shadows. ‘Ever see any of them witches?’

  ‘They’re not witches.’ Calwyn flushed with temper. ‘They are priestesses of the Goddess.’

  ‘Hear that? I think she’s a witch-girl herself !’ The first youth looked to his friends for appreciation, then gave a tug on Calwyn’s cloak to pull her closer. He put his face up to hers; his breath stank. ‘Sing a spell for us, witch!’

  Calwyn was hot with fury. If they wanted to hear chantment, she would give them chantment. She drew in a quick deep breath, narrowed her eyes, parted her lips, and sang.

  Instantly, the youth who had been taunting her took a step backward, his hands flying to his mouth, his eyes wide with shock. He made a muffled imploring sound, as though he were gagged; frantically he tore at his mouth with his fingers, but he could not part his lips.

  In a voice that shook with rage, Calwyn said, ‘Those who speak ill of the Goddess or Her servants should not speak at all.’

  The youth stared at her with wide belligerent eyes, but there was terror there too. He shook his head dumbly from side to side, his fingers still scrabbling at his mouth. His friends had drawn back, gaping with shock and fright.

  A sharp voice behind Calwyn said, ‘What goes on here?’

  It was Darrow, striding along the cobbles with his uneven step, swinging his carved stick, his face set and angry. Behind him were two men, dressed in high boots and thick short jackets.

  ‘They have threatened a Daughter of Taris, and received just punishment.’ Calwyn’s fists were clenched at her sides; she stood tall and straight, staring hard at the youth who had mocked her. He turned wildly to Darrow, his hands clapped over his mouth, his face contorted with helpless rage.

  Darrow was at her side now. ‘Whatever you have done, undo it.’ His voice was low, but angry. Calwyn sang some notes, and at once the greasy youth tottered backward, released. His mouth opened wide; he felt his jaw gingerly with both hands, and spat several times onto the street, as if getting rid of poison. Then with one final menacing yell, he and his friends stumbled away into the night.

  ‘What did you do to him?’ It was one of Darrow’s friends who asked, half-admiring, half-amused.

  ‘I froze his spittle in his mouth, that’s all,’ said Calwyn. ‘It’s done him no harm.’

  ‘Come.’ Darrow turned with a sweep of his cloak. Calwyn hurried to walk beside him. His profile in the moonlight was hard and hawk-like; presently he looked sternly across at her. ‘That was very foolish, Calwyn.’

  ‘I didn’t hurt him. And he deserved it.’

  ‘No doubt he did, but that’s not the point. I have told you over and over again that chantment is feared and abhorred in Kalysons, that chanters are not welcome here. This is no place to play your tricks. What if those boys run about the town telling the story of how a witch of Antaris stopped one of their tongues with magic?’

  ‘Don’t lecture me as if I were a child! You should be praising me for using my wits.’ Calwyn’s face burned with resentment and rage. ‘Those boys won’t tell any tales, since they were the ones made to look foolish.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ he said grimly. ‘But next time, try to hold your tongue.’

  Calwyn stalked along in a fury. Had she escaped the scoldings of the priestesses only to exchange them for lectures from Darrow? And to tell her off like that in front of his friends was unforgivable. Darkly she muttered, ‘At least in Antaris men don’t behave as though women are there to do their bidding.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said one of Darrow’s friends suddenly, coming up behind them. He was a short, curly-headed man, a few years younger than Darrow, with bright dark eyes, his face crinkled with lines of cheerful humour. He seemed to bounce along, ready for any mischief or merri
ment. He grinned at Calwyn. ‘I’m sure you’ve done a good deed tonight for all the young girls of Kalysons. Those louts will think twice before they tease anyone else.’ He held out his hand to Calwyn. ‘I’m Xanni. That miserable oaf is my big brother, Tonno.’

  The taller and burlier of the pair, still walking behind them, raised his hand in a brief salute. He was dark and curly-haired, like his brother, but he had an ill-tempered, surly look, as if he had been dragged away in the middle of his meal, and his bushy eyebrows were drawn together in a permanent scowl.

  ‘My name is Calwyn.’

  ‘And you come from Antaris. I can see that with my own eyes, even if Darrow hadn’t told me.’ Xanni nodded down at Calwyn’s yellow sleeve. ‘We’ll have to get you some new clothes, you can’t run about the town looking like that. It’s not safe.’

  Suddenly Calwyn felt a pang of perverse attachment to her robes. It was true, they marked her out at once as a priestess, or a witch, for those who knew or had heard the tales, and yet she couldn’t help feeling that to put the yellow robes away would be a kind of betrayal. No one would know that she was a sister of Antaris, a handmaiden of the Goddess. It would feel like losing part of herself.

  They came to the brothers’ boat. Xanni jumped down onto the deck, and casually, without making a fuss about it, extended a hand to help Darrow. Calwyn hesitated on the jetty; she had never set foot on a boat before. What would be between her and the deep dark water? Only some thin pieces of wood, nailed together.

  Tonno growled, ‘Jump down, lass, we haven’t got all night.’

  Calwyn jumped, and staggered. Though the boat was still, she was certain she could feel the unsteady bed of sea water shifting beneath the soles of her feet. Darrow saw her uneasy look. ‘You’ll get used to it soon enough. We shall make a sailor of you, never fear.’

  ‘You won’t send me back to the mountains, then?’ she said.

  ‘Not tonight,’ he said gruffly. And he held out a hand to guide her to the hatchway.

  Down below the deck, Xanni was busy with the lanterns, filling the snug cabin with a warm glow of light. The interior was as cosy as a tiny cottage, with a long table and cushioned benches on either side, storage cupboards and lockers, and a doorway onto a lower cabin lined with bunks. Peering eagerly about, Calwyn squeezed herself into a corner behind the table.

  But she had little time for staring before Xanni andTonno rummaged in the lockers and produced some food. It was only hard bread, a cold leftover stew of fish and beans, and some dried fruits, but Calwyn fell upon it as gratefully as if it had been the feast she’d been dreaming of all day. ‘If we’d known you were coming, we would have stocked up the larder.’ Xanni grinned broadly as he watched Darrow tear off a large hunk of bread. ‘But Tonno will make you his particular hot potion.’

  Tonno was already at work over the little stove in the corner, and soon the cabin was filled with a delicious smell of ginger and spices. Presently the drink was slopped into four tin mugs, and Tonno shoved one across the table to Calwyn. ‘There’s honey in that from Antaris.’

  She inhaled the sweet clear brew with her eyes closed, and shook her head. ‘Not from Antaris.’

  Xanni and Tonno exchanged glances, and Xanni laughed. ‘It was bought at the fair last autumn, and they swore blind it was best Antaris honey.’

  ‘We paid good coin for that,’ grumbled Tonno. ‘How do you know it’s not mountain honey?’

  ‘I should think I’d know the scent from my own hives.’

  ‘Calwyn was beekeeper to the sisters there,’ said Darrow.

  ‘It’s very good, all the same,’ said Calwyn hastily, butTonno only grunted.

  ‘And now that you have eaten badly and drunk well,’ said Xanni cheerfully, settling himself at the table across from Darrow, ‘I think it’s time for the tale you owe us, my friend. How did you come by that limp?’

  ‘How did you come by her?’ growledTonno from the steps, as he packed some dried leaves into the bowl of a pipe. Calwyn watched as he lit it, drew back and blew the smoke out through the hatchway into the night air. The blue tendrils smelled of cherrywood and some other pungent scent she didn’t recognise. She leaned back against the warm planks of the cabin wall and wrapped her hands around her mug. A pleasant tiredness was beginning to creep over her; dreamily she thought how easy it would be to fall asleep here, sitting up on this hard bench.

  She closed her eyes and began to doze, half-aware of Darrow’s voice as he wove the tale of his journey across the mountains, how he had injured himself crossing the Wall. how Calwyn had found him and brought him to the Dwellings, and how Samis had followed him there at last. Even the story of that final dreadful night seemed hazy and unreal, as if it had happened to someone else. Then he was telling how they had fled together down the river, floating and tumbling and drifting, carried further and further away . . .

  She was woken by the sound of Xanni’s laughter. ‘Fetch a pillow, Tonno, it would be a shame to wake her now.’

  ‘I am awake.’ Sleepily, Calwyn dragged herself upright and blinked in the lamplight.

  ‘So,’ said Tonno, ignoring her. ‘You managed to escape him this time.’

  ‘This time. But perhaps we can turn the chase around, and hunt the hunter.’ Darrow leaned forward eagerly. ‘I’ve been thinking about something that Calwyn said to me when we were in Antaris, that the best way to stop him from carrying out his plan might be to gather a band of chanters and face him together. I saw in Antaris, when all the priestesses sang together, how it weakened his powers.’

  ‘But he still defeated us that night,’ said Calwyn sharply. ‘And almost killed one of the sisters, besides.’

  ‘True, but most of his victories come more easily than that. You were right that day, Calwyn, though I wouldn’t admit it.’ Fleetingly his eyes met hers, and he smiled at her astonished face, then looked quickly away.

  Xanni began to laugh. ‘It will be the simplest of tasks! Look, we already have an ironcrafter and a priestess of ice-call. At this rate, by summer’s end Fledgewing will be so heavy with chanters we won’t be able to move through the water!’

  ‘Fledgewing is the name of this good boat,’ Darrow said to Calwyn, patting the warm timbers. ‘I hope it will take us to Mithates for the next stage of our quest. With its crew, of course. If they are willing.’ He raised an inquiring eyebrow to the brothers. Tonno merely grunted, and glared at his pipe, but Xanni clapped Darrow warmly on the back.

  ‘By all means! We haven’t forgotten the promise we made to you in Gellan. We’ll take you wherever you wish, and gladly, whether it be Mithates or Merithuros or anywhere in between.’

  ‘Steady,’ muttered Tonno. ‘He’ll promise to sail you from one moon to the next if you let him.’

  ‘Mithates is the land of the guardians of the Power of Fire, isn’t it?’ said Calwyn hesitantly, struggling to remember what Darrow had shown her on the little wooden globe.

  ‘It was so, once,’ Darrow corrected her. ‘But now chantment is outlawed, and the colleges of Mithates spend their days making weapons to sell to whoever will buy them.’

  For once Xanni looked serious. ‘Aye, they pride themselves on having no enemies. They’ll sell spears to Rengan and swords to Baltimar, and call them both friend, and the two lands jumping to cut each other’s throats.’

  ‘With friendship like that –’ Tonno left his sentence unfinished, and spat out of the hatchway.

  ‘But if there are no more chanters in Mithates, why are we going there?’ asked Calwyn.

  ‘I said that chantment was outlawed, not that there were no more chanters. There are chanters in every corner of Tremaris, if you know how to find them.’

  ‘You think we’ll find someone there to help us fight Samis?’ ‘I am sure of it. The Power of Fire is the third of the great Powers. If we can find a master of fire to help us, perhaps we will be almost strong enough.’

  ‘When would you have us sail?’ Xanni ran an eager hand through his curly hair, as if he
would be happy to start at once.

  ‘As soon as we can be ready.’

  Xanni nodded. ‘All we need is one day to buy provisions. And find some clothes for the lass. We could be gone by nightfall.’

  From the steps, Tonno said, ‘Perhaps Enna’s clothes will fit her.’

  ‘I was thinking the same thing.’ Xanni turned in his chair. ‘Enna was our sister. She was a tall lass too, like you, and not yet in skirts.’

  Calwyn had not seen a single woman in the city streets wearing a tunic and trousers like her own. In Kalysons, it was the custom for girls of marrying age to wear long full skirts and aprons. Calwyn couldn’t imagine what it would be like to walk or run or climb, dragging those cumbersome wide skirts.

  Shyly she asked, ‘What happened to your sister?’

  Tonno gave a grunt, tapped out his pipe, and abruptly hauled himself onto the deck. Xanni said, ‘Enna died of a fever when we were young. She wasn’t even sixteen summers.’

  ‘Oh – I’m sorry –’

  Xanni smiled sadly. ‘Aye, well, it was a long time ago. Tomorrow I’ll go to the house of our aunt, where our childhood things are stored, and we’ll make you look less like a priestess and more like a fisherman’s daughter.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Calwyn’s face was split by a sudden yawn she couldn’t suppress.

  ‘She is falling asleep where she sits,’ said Darrow. ‘You had better show her a place to lay her head.’

  Xanni laughed. ‘Never fear, my friend! We have quarters fit for your little priestess.’

  Calwyn had already glimpsed the lower cabin with its four deep bunks, each screened by a curtain. But Xanni opened a small hatchway she hadn’t noticed, in the bow of the boat, and revealed another tiny cabin. The space was cluttered with nets and coils of rope, which Xanni hauled out, clearing two more narrow bunks lying along the prow. ‘It’s a long time since we had a cabin boy,’ he said. ‘We can tidy this better in the morning light.’ He stood aside to let Calwyn through the little hatchway. ‘I’m sorry it smells so strong of fish,’ he said doubtfully, but after nights of sleeping on bare planks or straw, with only her cloak for shelter, Calwyn was beyond caring. Rolled in a blanket, with the luxury of an old feather pillow beneath her head, her eyes were soon closing. Faintly she heard Darrow’s cross voice say, ‘not my anything’, and the explosion of Xanni’s laughter. But gently rocked by the boat, and lulled by the soft slap of water against Fledgewing’s sides, she was asleep before she had taken ten breaths.