The Singer of All Songs (26 page)

At last the mountainous shore grew less forbidding, the slopes more gentle. Trees appeared, at first just a light scattering of green, but then more and more, clustering thickly right up to the water’s edge, until there was nothing to be seen but dense forest. Mica’s eyes were wide with wonder that there could be so many trees in the world. In the Isles, it was rare to see two trees growing side by side; to see a hundred, or a thousand, with barely a hand’s gap between them, was a marvel beyond belief.

Through the looking-tube, they saw bright flashes of colour: the glimmer of birds’ wings, blue and yellow, and trees in fruit, with globes of heavy red and gold hanging from their branches.

‘We should land as soon as we see a river,’ said Tonno. ‘We need to fill the water barrels.’

‘And I can’t wait to taste fresh fruit again,’ said Mica longingly. ‘I swear, next plate of bean and fish stew I see, I’ll chuck over the side. Though it’s the best bean and fish stew I ever ate,’ she added hastily, seeing a scowl on the face of Tonno, who was responsible for producing the meal they ate most days.

It was Trout who saw the harbour first. The wind had slackened, but not quite died; they were debating whether it was worth Mica or Calwyn summoning up a breeze, when Trout gave a cry. They all gathered at the boat’s side, silently watching as they came around the promontory, and Calwyn caught her breath, for every tree that lined the inlet was a blazetree in full autumn colours. The narrow cove was an extraordinary sight, a splash of scarlet against the dense green of the forest. Calwyn had only ever known the one solitary blazetree of the sacred valley in Antaris, but here hundreds thronged along the water, like a crowd of people all dressed in bright crimson and scarlet pressing eagerly forward to glimpse them as they glided by. The blazeleaves stirred and rustled in the breeze with the whispering she knew so well, but magnified a thousand-fold, so that a sighing chorus reached out to them across the water. She whispered, ‘The trees are singing –’

‘It’s a song of welcome, then,’ said Tonno briskly, practical as ever. ‘There’s a stream flowing into the cove. Fresh water. Darrow, help me haul in the sail, if you please. We’ll anchor here.’

While the others were busy dropping anchor, and readying the dinghy and the water barrels to be filled, Calwyn remained at the rail, looking out toward the trees. When Mica touched her elbow, she jumped.

‘You bewitched?You been starin at them trees ever since we first came round the point.’

Calwyn shivered. ‘I have a strange feeling about this place.’

‘Bad feelin, or good?’

‘Not a bad one,’ said Calwyn slowly. ‘But it’s as though the trees were calling me. Do you hear it?’

Mica paused, and listened, her tousled head on one side. ‘I can hear em rustlin all right,’ she said at last. ‘Noisiest trees I ever heard, and no mistake. But I can’t hear no callin.’

‘It’s just a fancy,’ said Calwyn, giving herself a shake. ‘Perhaps it’s the strangeness of seeing so many blazetrees in one place.’

‘You comin ashore with Tonno and me, or you want to stay here?’

‘No. I’ll come.’

The nearer they rowed the little boat toward the pebbly beach, the louder grew the song of the trees.

‘Careful!’Tonno shook himself as Calwyn splashed him.

‘I’m sorry. I was listening. I can almost hear the words –’ Tonno looked sceptical, but merely said, ‘Well, watch your oar.’

They unloaded the water barrels, rolling them up the beach to where the stream flowed between the trees. The whispering of the leaves was almost deafening now. It made even Tonno and Mica uneasy to move about in the lively rustling that drowned out their own speech. But it was stranger still for Calwyn to stand there in the scarlet grove, surrounded by the trees she held most sacred, and hear them call to her in words that she strained to understand, while she performed such an everyday task, rolling the water barrels and filling them in the clear water, just as if they’d landed at any ordinary stream. Suddenly she let go the end of the barrel she was balancing with Mica.

‘What? What’s the matter?’

‘Over there, did you see?’

Mica stared toward the shadows beneath the trees. ‘Can’t see nothin.’

‘There was someone standing there – someone watching us.’

‘What’s the delay?’ calledTonno impatiently from the edge of the stream.

‘Calwyn thinks she saw someone, under them trees.’

Tonno carefully set upright the barrel he had just filled, and came over to where they stood. ‘There are no people within twenty days’ sail of here, Calwyn. You must have seen a forest beast. Unless – was it Samis?’

Calwyn shook her head vehemently. ‘It was a man, but not him,’ she said. ‘Standing by those trees, and watching us. I saw him. He was tall, and he had strangely coloured skin, like tarnished brass.’

Tonno’s face was wary. ‘You haven’t forgotten, he can make himself look like anything, to deceive us.’

As if she could forget that! ‘It wasn’t him,’ said Calwyn passionately. ‘I know it. If there was a chantment of seeming at work here, I’m sure I’d feel it. It was someone else, a man, watching us.’

Mica peered at her anxiously. ‘Calwyn, I know it’s turned you wrong side up to be in all these trees, but we’ll go soon –’ ‘I’m not upset!’ exclaimed Calwyn. ‘I’m not –

I’m quite all right.’ She scanned the space beneath the trees, but there was nothing but shadows. The trees’ song filled her ears, calling her, calling her – She shook off Mica’s hand and began to walk hesitantly toward the trees.

‘Calwyn! You be careful! What if it were a beast you saw?’

‘Then she’ll tame it, no doubt, like she did to the others,’ growled Tonno. ‘Let her be. When she sees there’s nothing there, she’ll come back and be more useful than she is now. Come on, Mica. We fisher-folk can manage between us; we can do without the dreamers.’

Calwyn kept walking until she was under the canopy of the trees. It was cool, the ground damp underfoot. She closed her eyes and let the song of the trees wash over her. Now she knew what it reminded her of: not just the lonely whisper of the blazetree in the sacred valley, but the ancient songs that the priestesses sang there at moondark, calling the novices into the sisterhood. She took one step forward, then another, and found her lips moving to the words she knew by heart, the words she had heard every year at the turn of the season, for as long as she could remember, the calling song. Tonno was right, it was a song of welcome. The trees were welcoming her, deeper and deeper, embracing her, calling her home.

She opened her eyes.

A young man of about her own age was standing before her, the same man she had seen waiting and watching at the edge of the forest. He was tall and very thin, thinner even than Darrow, and his skin was dark, with the almost metallic sheen she had tried to describe to the others. His long hair was tied back from his face and he wore a simple robe of woven fibres. Elaborate tattoos spiralled up his arms and across his chest. Her eyes flew at once to his wrist, and as if he knew what she was looking for, he held it out toward her so that she could see the three moons branded there, in the same place as on her own arm, the mark of the Goddess. He smiled, and although no words left his lips, she heard his voice inside her mind.
Welcome, sister. Welcome to Spiridrell.

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Trout flatly. ‘There are no people here! How could there be? No traveller has ever crossed the Wildlands.’

‘But I’ve seen them,’ said Calwyn. ‘Or one of them, at least. I didn’t expect you to believe me, Trout.’ She turned to Darrow and asked him directly, ‘Do you doubt my word?’

‘Not your word,’ said Darrow slowly. ‘But I do not trust this forest. I think it may have thrown some chantment over you, to make you see what is not really there.’

‘Perhaps it was Samis,’ suggested Trout. ‘Lurking in the trees, singing up visions to trick us. We’ll wander off into the forest and never come back.’

‘She says not,’ said Tonno.

‘I saw a man,’ said Calwyn. ‘
Not
Samis. He means us no harm. He says he’s been waiting for us. He’s not afraid of us, and we shouldn’t be afraid of him. Darrow –’ She turned toward him imploringly. ‘You must believe me!’

After a moment, Darrow said, ‘Yes, I believe you. I’ll come ashore with you. But the rest of you may stay here, if you wish.’

There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Tonno said, ‘I’ll come with you. I wouldn’t leave you to face danger alone.’

‘I’ll come,’ said Mica in a flash. ‘I’m not feared.’

‘Then I suppose I’ll have to come too,’ grumbled Trout. ‘I’ve got no wish to sit here by myself and wait for you all to be killed together.’

At first it seemed that Trout’s and Tonno’s doubts were right after all, and Calwyn’s eyes had been playing tricks on her; when they stepped ashore there was no sign of life. Even the birds were silent and invisible. The breeze had dropped; the whispering of the blazetrees was hushed. It was as though the forest held its breath. But Calwyn’s feet were steady as she led them alongside the stream.

‘She might be leading us into an ambush,’Trout whispered to Mica.

‘If Calwyn and Darrow says it’s safe, then it’s safe,’ she whispered back fiercely. ‘And Tonno won’t let nothin hurt us.’

Presently Calwyn stopped; they were standing in a grove marked out by a circle of blazetrees. Ringed by white trunks, with the scarlet and crimson canopy of leaves overhead, they might have been standing under a great tent. The air was very still and cool. Calwyn held up her hand. ‘He’s coming.’

Trout gave a start as he saw a man materialise, in perfect silence, out of a dark place between the trees. He swung about, fearing that more men might appear, that they might indeed be caught in a trap. But there were no others, and the stranger was holding out fruit and flowers, not a weapon.

Welcome, friends. Welcome to Spiridrell. I have been waiting for you,
waiting for our sister to arrive.

Darrow turned a startled face to Calwyn. ‘Does he mean you?’

Again the unvoiced words sounded inside their heads.
I was
told of your coming by the arakin.

‘The arakin?’ said Darrow.

The ones you call the flesheaters. They told me one was coming, a singer
of songs.

‘They talk to you, those creatures?’ Trout grimaced. Who knew what other frightful beasts this strange young man might be in communication with?

They are the guardians of Spiridrell.
The stranger stepped forward and presented a piece of golden-skinned fruit to Darrow.
It is time for you to follow now.

He turned and walked away silently between the trees. Darrow and Calwyn followed.

‘Wait!’ said Trout. ‘We’re going with him, just like that?’

‘It may be that these people dwell in Spareth, that Spiridrell is their name for the Lost City we seek,’ said Darrow. ‘Perhaps they are the direct descendants of the Ancient Ones.’

‘There’s nothing to fear, Trout,’ said Calwyn gently. Her eyes were shining. ‘Come.’

The man had paused and was waiting for them, but as soon as the crew of
Fledgewing
began to follow, he turned and moved swiftly and unerringly through the forest. Behind them, the blazeleaves whispered in the breeze, a sibilant song of farewell.

The stranger set a rapid pace, flitting nimble and light-footed from shadow to shadow. It was difficult to keep up, and they stumbled along, cracking twigs underfoot and brushing past leaves and vines. Once Calwyn turned to Darrow, and saw that his lips were folded tight, and sweat gleamed on his brow, but he swung his stick swiftly, without faltering, and she didn’t dare to offer him her arm or any other help.

They followed the course of the stream, moving gradually uphill, until Calwyn was startled to see the jagged crimson stain of the blazetree cove far below them, and
Fledgewing
tiny as a toy on the blue-green water. The day was passing like a dream: the soft sounds of the forest, the cool shadows of the trees, and always just ahead of them the figure of their guide, fleet-footed, darting silently between the leaves and flowering vines. Her head was drowsy with the scent of the flowers, sweet and wild, and she moved her feet mechanically, one step after another, following the stranger who led them on, deeper and deeper into the forest, tracing an invisible path. She had no desire to speak, and the others were silent, as if the forest itself had laid hands on their shoulders and hushed them.

They came at last to a small clearing, and the stranger stopped, utterly still.
Wait!
came the command into their minds.

Now they were no longer moving, Calwyn could hear the tiniest sounds of the forest: the faint calls of birds, the shifting of unseen forest creatures, the gurgle of streams, even the distant whisper of the blazetrees and the sea lapping on the shore. But when the tall figures of the other forest people appeared silently between the trees, she heard no sound, no footfall, not even a breath. It was as though they rose out of the forest like a mist, or as if the shadows solidified into human form and came to life. Where there had been no one and nothing but the trees, suddenly there was a band of a dozen men and women, all dressed in the same simply woven cloths and with the same intricate tattoos as the young man who had led them from the grove.

But these people, still and silent as the trees themselves, were not holding out fruit and flowers, and their faces were stern and unwelcoming. Calwyn was aware of Trout, behind her, shuffling a little nearer, and Tonno’s hand moving surreptitiously toward his belt, where his sturdy fishing knife hung in its sheath. One of the strangers stepped forward, a woman with her hair scraped back and oiled and piled up high on a carved wooden comb. She faced the man who had led them through the forest.

Go back. Take them back to the water. You cannot come any further.

The young man did not move.
They are friends to us, not
enemies. The arakin foretold their coming. I must take them to Spiridrell.

They are not welcome in Spiridrell. The Elders will not see them. Take
them to your own place, if they are of your kind.
The woman turned her head and looked them up and down contemptuously.