The Singer of All Songs Read Online Free PDF Page B

way slowly across the grass. ‘Lady Mother!’ She hurried to offer her arm, but the High Priestess waved her away. ‘They told me you were unwell.’
    ‘Well enough for a stroll in the orchard, as you can see. ’With a slight grimace of discomfort, Marna settled herself on a low bough; a shower of petals fluttered to the grass. ‘It is too long since I came to see the hives. All is well here, I trust?’
    ‘Yes, Lady Mother. But Amara hive is preparing for a swarm, though it’s so early in the season.’
    ‘Is that why you came to see me this morning, Calwyn?’
    ‘No.’ Calwyn hesitated, and looked about at the little group of novices clustered nearby, each with a basket or a scraping knife in her hands, each staring wide-eyed at this unaccustomed visitor. She lowered her voice. ‘I have a message from the Outlander. Likely it’s only the ravings of his fever, but . . .’
    ‘Very well.’ Marna’s voice held the trace of a smile. ‘Send the little girls away.’
    Calwyn shooed them to the hives at the end of the orchard, and warned them not to return until she came to fetch them. Once they were safely out of hearing, she settled herself cross-legged at Marna’s feet and recited what the stranger had told her.
    ‘The Singer of all Songs?’ repeated Marna. ‘You are certain that’s what he said? Those were his exact words?’
    ‘Yes, Lady Mother. And he said to tell you that he has the power of seeming something , but he never finished what he was saying.’
    ‘The Power of Seeming,’ said the High Priestess under her breath. ‘No wonder he jumps at every shadow.’ For a moment she stared out across the river, toward the gleaming mountain peaks, lost in thought, then turned her pale blue eyes back to Calwyn.
    ‘What does it mean, Lady Mother?’
    ‘The Outlander’s enemy has the Power of Seeming. That means he can wear any face he chooses, and conjure up illusions that appear as real as this bough under my hand. Imagine wandering alone through the mountains, never certain if what you see before you is real or a dream. It’s no wonder the poor man’s wits are strained.’
    Calwyn had taken off her broad-brimmed hat; now she pleated its protective veil between her fingers. ‘And the Singer of all Songs?’
    Marna was silent while the bees in the next hive, readying themselves to swarm, buzzed with their high-pitched furious humming. She was silent so long that Calwyn feared she was never going to answer, but at last she spoke.
    ‘Once you have become a full priestess, my daughter, you will learn more of these matters. It is not fitting that I should tell you too much while you are still a novice. But you already know that there are other Powers of chantment besides our own. You have heard, you have seen this sorcerer yourself, and you know that the magic he practises is not the same as ours.’
    ‘Yes, Lady Mother.’ Calwyn felt suddenly very solemn and serious. Usually during lessons and lectures, she felt only a fierce desire to be elsewhere, or an irresistible urge to fidget, but now she sat as still as a statue, sensing that what Marna was about to tell her was more important, and certainly more interesting, than herb lore or weaving patterns.
    ‘You know already that in the beginning of the world, the Ancient Ones walked the lands of Tremaris. And you know that long ago, the peoples of Tremaris were divided by the gods, each against the others, into their different lands. But now I will tell you something that you haven’t yet learned: in the beginning of the world, there were nine Powers of chantment, and the Ancient Ones were masters of them all. They had gifts beyond our imaginings, and they practised marvels that we cannot even dream of. And when the peoples of the world were divided up, the Nine Powers were divided too. We of Antaris, the children of our Goddess Mother Taris, were trusted with the second of the Powers, the craft of ice-call, and we wear her mark in token of it.’