Song Magick (37 page)

Telyn rolled the brittle parchment carefully
into its protective membrane tube and lifted the harp from the
stack of papers, but not slowly enough to prevent the movement from
sending the topmost document sliding to the floor in the sudden
displacement of air. She crouched and retrieved the creased
parchment, which had fallen face-up on the scarred wooden floor,
catching her breath when she saw the hand in which it was
written.

It was without a formal seal and signed
simply “
A
”, but there was no mistaking the author’s
identity. King Amorion’s bold, distinctive handwriting was well
known to Telyn; the monarch preferred to draft his own missives and
seldom employed a secretary. Telyn realized she must be holding the
private message that Emrys had delivered and hurriedly returned it
face down to the top of the pile, but not before she had seen
enough to make her eyes widen.

She glanced in guilty shock at the alcove,
but Gwidion still lay peacefully sleeping. Collecting her harp and
the scroll, Telyn slipped out of the library and returned to her
own room, well aware that she could not share what she had learned
with anyone, not even Mithrais. The information was too sensitive,
too important...and Telyn found herself almost wishing she could be
involved in the delegation’s business despite Vuldur’s presence,
for what was brewing was intrigue at its best.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

To avoid thinking about Vuldur’s impending
arrival, Telyn immersed herself in studying the records for the
last few hours before dusk, relieved to discover that Genefar’s
feminine, curling hand was far more easily read than the scribe’s
minute recordings. The document was not an actual part of the
Tauron history; another fine, brittle parchment had been inserted
into the scroll and rolled inside it. She separated the parchment
from the history with reverent care and spread it upon the
table.

Telyn’s command of the old language served
her well in this endeavor. Days of researching the previous scrolls
had oriented Telyn’s mind to the task, and she was able to
translate almost without conscious effort what she read on the
parchment.

Quickly skimming the details that Gwidion had
told her, Telyn searched for the heart of what she needed to know,
and found a passage:
In the minds of these heartspeakers lies a
window unguarded by the barriers of self, and there the old gifts
sleep, awaiting the touch of true magic to prime them. By imposing
my will upon those whom I enlisted to aid me in my pursuit of
esoteric knowledge, they were able to feed upon my powers and,
through me, use them.

With a start, Telyn recognized the
metaphorical window Genefar described in her account. It was that
unshielded, blank place in the mind which she had touched in
Cormac, Colm, and today in Gwidion, while she used her most unique
gifts—gifts, it seemed, that were less of bardic nature, and more
of true magic. She read on.

I beseeched the Old Ones for an answer to
how the Tauron might learn to use the magic as I did, for such
feeding drained me of strength. They told me that these men could
not develop their own gifts, nor the gifts be passed on to their
issue until the fount would be reopened to all. It was not, they
said, the time for the covenant to be fulfilled.

When will that be? I asked, and they
replied: When the seed-voice comes to us.

Through more questions I was able to
discover that the seed-voice will be a woman who carries her own
gift of power, as I do. It is a magic that comes from within, and
not from an external source as from the fount. While men can
harness the powers that reside in the earth, only those who can
carry life within themselves can create their own source of magic.
So it was that a man's power created the barriers now guarding the
fount, which set the covenant with the Gwaith’orn in motion, so it
must be a woman whose power will open it once more and fulfill the
covenant. No more than this could I learn from them.

For two years, I did not think on it, and
then, Laonel of Halperin came to join the Order. He possessed a
sense of understanding of the Gwaith’orn that I lacked despite all
my gifts, although he had not yet learned to receive the images the
Tauron use to locate and advise. As Elder Heartspeaker, I took him
into the Wood to train him in this art, and to my amazement, the
Old Ones hailed Laonel as ‘seed-speaker’ at his first touch. At my
urging, he confessed that the Gwaith'orn spoke to him freely, and
had shared with him the knowledge of his role in the fulfillment of
the covenant should the seed voice appear. He would be the male
counterpoint to the female, the anchor in the eye of the storm.

The last sentence was less than reassuring,
but there was something else in this passage tugged at Telyn’s
memory, and she shook her head subconsciously as she scanned the
paragraph again. She made a note to return to it later, for the
information regarding how Genefar shared her gifts with the Tauron
was her primary goal. She found what she sought a moment later, but
the words brought more confusion than clarity.

There are those who claim spells and
incantations are necessary to the performance of magic. My
experience has proven that it is helpful to provide a focus to
those less practiced in the arts, to bring minds together in one
purpose. It is my opinion that any method of centering thought will
do, but I have found that the Tauron vows provide such a focus in
their cadence and in their own gravity.

Cadence and gravity...music, rhythm, and
emotion; it all seemed intertwined with the way Telyn had been able
to share her gifts with other musicians, but the similarities ended
there. The long-ago Lady of Cerisild had had no one to teach her
but the Gwaith’orn, and Telyn soberly realized as she read the
account that Genefar's raw talent had been her downfall.

Drained by the eight men who had been
enlisted to help her work the pattern of magic, Genefar had been
unable to control or direct the power outwards into the Wood.
Instead, it had grounded itself in the heartspeakers, and overcame
them. Only the most skilled survived the outflow of power, sensing
just in time that she had lost control and were able to sever the
connection between Genefar and themselves before they were rendered
unconscious.

Telyn thought that as a trained bard, she had
more experience in the slow build and fine direction of magic than
Genefar had ever learned, and she breathed silent thanks that she
had been sent as fine a teacher as Emrys had been. Even with her
intensive training in music and disciplines, Telyn’s gifts
sometimes seemed to strain eagerly behind the rigid controls of her
will. Having experienced the enormous flow of energy that the
Gwaith’orn pulled from her in the Circle, it chilled her to think
how much power might be at her beck and call.

Most importantly, but perhaps more
disconcerting, Telyn learned from the document that the Gwaith'orn
had not intervened during the fatal attempt, neither to help nor to
hinder. It seemed to be a point in Telyn’s favor that the
Gwaith’orn seemed all too eager to help her fulfill their
expectations, but Telyn wondered how much they would aid her if
things went awry.

There was more detailed information about the
act itself, but Telyn declined to read it yet. The time to depart
for the guild house was rapidly approaching, evidenced by the
increasing shadows in the dayroom, and Telyn did not feel her
research had yielded much that was helpful in regard to sharing her
gifts without the aid of music. Genefar’s vague reference to spells
and incantations still mystified Telyn, and she re-read the passage
in the failing light several times, her brow furrowed in
thought.

Cadence and gravity...music and rhythm...

Telyn sat up straight, staring into the air
in front of her as comprehension struck like lightning, and she
began to laugh.

“It can’t be that simple,” she said
aloud.

“What is that?” Mithrais’ voice responded
quietly, and she turned to smile at him as he stood framed in the
doorway of the balcony. He had retreated there as she studied the
ancient documents, each lost in their own thoughts but taking
comfort in the nearness of the other.

“Genefar has provided me with clues,” she
said. “I may have found another way to share my gifts, if my
interpretation is correct.”

Telyn motioned for him to be seated and
lifted a pitcher of nectar, drawn from one of the casks that
Riordan had sent. She poured a cup for Mithrais, and as she handed
it to him, asked “What are the Tauron vows, Mithrais?”

One eyebrow went up as he sipped the nectar.
“Last night as we lit the pyre,” Mithrais told her, “we spoke a
version of the vows we take in the Order. It is quite literally a
blood oath, as we shed our blood on the stone in the center of the
Circle.” He showed her a small scar inside his right wrist.

“A powerful act in its own right,” Telyn
allowed, touching the scar gently with her fingertip, and
clarified, “but I need to know precisely how the vows are
spoken.”

Mithrais looked at her curiously, but sat up
straighter. His eyes never left hers, and in that unwavering gaze
she saw the intensity of pride and commitment.

“I give my blood to the Wood, that it may be
shed in willing defense of my people and in the service of the Lord
of Cerisild.

“I am the servant of the Gwaith’orn, and no
hand shall fell them, no harm befall them on my watch. I will
remain worthy of the gifts of the Old Ones, who hold my ancient
birthright in trust in accord with the covenant.

“So spoken, these vows compel me to my last
breath.”

Telyn was moved by the powerful emotion that
lay behind Mithrais’ quiet voice. His unquestionable devotion to
the Wood had never been more apparent than while speaking those
words, but the vows had not contained what she had hoped to
hear.

Mithrais sensed her disappointment. “You
expected something different,” he noted. “What was it?”

“A spell,” Telyn sighed as she drank from her
cup, and explained at his surprised expression, “Something that
could be chanted, or perhaps sung.”

“The essence of the vows has remained
unchanged since the beginning of the Order.” He tapped the
parchment with a meaningful glance. “However, the tongue has
changed.”

“The old language!” Telyn exclaimed. “Of
course!”

“The vows were still made in the old language
until perhaps forty-five years ago, the words learned syllable by
syllable if necessary, until the Tauron adopted a more modern
translation.” Mithrais took another draught of the nectar,
thinking. “Conlad has been in the Order for more than fifty years.
He would have taken his vows in their original form.”

“We can ask Conlad if he remembers the old
vows, but there may be other ways to test my theory. I believe that
Genefar is saying the uniting of purpose is the goal, and not
necessarily the words being spoken.”

Telyn set her cup on the table and offered
her hands to him. Mithrais met them with his own, his fingers
caressing hers as they intertwined, palms touching. The spark of
connection which in the beginning had been disconcerting to Telyn
was now a welcome intimacy, an unspoken confirmation of their
bond.

“I remember that Gilmarion called you a
‘tree-monk’ at the guild house,” she said, her lips lifting in a
mischievous smile. “Have you ever met one of those clerics, who
serve the gods by taking vows of chastity, obedience, and rejecting
worldly vices?”

“I have met a few as they traveled the
southern road through the Wood,” Mithrais allowed. “They seemed
learned and kind.” His lips brushed her forehead. “I assure you
that despite whatever Gilmarion may think, we take no such vows in
the Tauron.”

“I should hope not,” Telyn murmured with a
laugh, leaning into the kiss briefly before reluctantly pulling
away. “There is one group which employs a meditation that they
claim brings them closer to their deity. It allows them to reach an
intense state of calm and concentration. Some employ the breathing
disciplines I practice, but others use syllables spoken aloud and
in unison rather than patterns of breathing. The syllables spoken
together mean nothing, but in specific arrangements they produce
certain vibrations...” Telyn halted again. “Resonance,” she mused,
and shook her head. “Interesting. We have to be on the right
path.”

“Similar things were taught in the Order long
ago, before the Tauron abandoned the more difficult practices,”
Mithrais told her, his eyes lighting. “Father and I have
experimented with them on occasion. I have never used a chant, as
you say, but I have used the breathing patterns more recently. In
order to attempt the resonance travel I had to reach a very deep
level of control.”

“Things seem to be falling into place.” Telyn
bit her lip as she leaned back in her chair, and thinking aloud
said, “A simple meditation may be enough to access my gifts, for
rhythm is the deepest form of music. We’ll try the first bard’s
rune.”

“Bard’s rune?” Mithrais asked, intrigued.

“A very old way of teaching music,” Telyn
explained. “Bards once used secret symbols to record their
compositions-–rhymes or poems were used to teach the symbols. It’s
rarely used anymore. It’s complicated and time consuming. Simple
notation is faster and much easier. However, the rhymes are still
used to teach rhythm, if not the symbols.”

Mithrais listened carefully as Telyn chanted
softly, her fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on her thigh:

Ah-ma
the crescent moon

Baen
the ring of promise made

Cil-reth
the string in tune

Dar,
the fire and
Es,
the
blade.