Where were the Thassa? All I could see were animals and vans. But as we approached the cliff door I had my answer. From it came a sound which was more than mere chanting. It partook also of the movement of the air in a way I do not have any words in off-world vocabulary to describe. I fell into the rhythm of it unknowingly and then realized what I did. Beside me I heard Maelen’s voice raised in song.
We passed from the light of the valley under that heavy portal into a hall. It was not dark, globes hung high over our heads and we walked through moonlight, although a few feet outside the sun struck hot across the rock.
And the Thassa were there in numbers I could not count. Before us there was a pathway open to the very center of the place, and down that Maelen went; I, less surely, a step or two behind her. Always that singing rang in our ears, beat in our blood, was a part of us,
So we came to a space where there was an oval dais or platform raised a few steps above the surface of the floor. And on that stood four of the Thassa; two were men, two women. Although they were firm of flesh, bright of eye, yet about them was such an aura of age, authority, and wisdom as to set them apart, even as their present positions set them bodily above the rest. Each carried a wand. But these were not the relatively short rods such as Maelen bore; rather did they top their holders’ heads when one end was planted firmly on the floor. And the light which shone from these shafts rivaled and paled the moon globes.
Maelen did not mount the two steps to join them, but stood in the open just below. And when I hesitantly came up beside her, I saw that her face was closed and bleak; yet still she sang.
They all sang until it seemed to me that we did not truly stand on firm rock, but rather that we wavered back and forth in the currents of an ocean of sound. I felt that I did not look upon Thassa but upon other people—or spirits. My vision of them was never complete; rather were they shadows of what might be the truth.
How long did we stand so? To this day I do not know, any more than I can dimly guess the meaning of what was happening. I think that by their united will as a people they built up certain forces, and from those they drew what they needed for their purposes. This is a very fumbling explanation of what I involuntarily joined during that day.
The song was dying, fading away, in a series of slow, sobbing notes. Now it carried with it a vast burden of sorrow, as if all the private griefs of an old, old people had been distilled through centuries, and each small ultimate drop of despair preserved for future tasting.
It was not for other ears, that end-song of the Thassa. I might wear Maquad’s body, and in some small ways respond to Thassa ways, but I was not Maquad and now I put my hands to my ears to shut out the song I could no longer bear. I felt tears on my cheeks, sobs burst from my chest, although those about me gave no outward sign of the unbearable grief they shared.
One of the four on the dais moved. A wand swung out and pointed to me. And then I no longer heard! I was free of the cloud I could not bear. So it was until the song was done.
Then the second of those commanding that assembly moved. This time the wand pointed to Maelen. From her fingers her own symbol of authority freed itself, to fly to the greater rod as iron might be drawn to a magnet. She gave a little gasp and put out her hand as if, too late, she would have caught her errant wand. Then both hands fell to her sides and she stood motionless.
“What is your tale in this time and place, Singer?”
The question, which resounded in my head as well as in hers, was not voiced aloud, but was none the less plain.
“It is thus—” She began our story, telling it simply and clearly. None of them interrupted her while she spoke, nor commented on any part of our incredible experiences. When she had done, she on the dais whose wand had entrapped Maelen’s spoke:
“This, too, was in your mind. Singer; that there was one of your blood-clan who knew heart hunger, and that if the semblance of the one for whom she hungered be returned, perhaps good might come of it.”
“Is this not so?” the man to the right of the speaker asked.
“In the beginning, I do not think so. Later-” Maelen’s hand rose and fell in a small gesture which I read as resignation.
“Let that other who is so concerned stand forward,” summoned the woman.
There was a stir and from the right came a Thassa woman. Although I could not read age among them, I believed that she was perhaps even younger than Maelen. She held out her hand to Maelen, and their fingers interlocked in both greeting and deep affection.
“Merlay, look upon this man. Is he the one whom you have mourned?”
She turned slightly to look at me. For a moment there was a kind of awakening in her face, a light in her eyes, as one might look when fronting a miracle. Then that light was gone, her face veiled and still.
“This is not he,” she murmured.
“Nor could ever be!” the other woman on the dais said sharply. “As well you know, Singer!” And her sharpness was keener yet as she spoke to Maelen. “Standing Words are not to be altered, Singer, for any personal reason. You have sworn oaths, do you now admit yourself foresworn.”
The other man on the dais, moved now, raising his wand and swinging its tip lightly through the air between the three and Maelen.
“Standing Words,” he repeated. “Yes, we lean upon Standing Words as our anchors and supports. Yet it seems to me that this sorry coil was begun through Standing Words. Maelen”—he was the first to speak her name and I thought there was some compassion in his tone—”first saved this man because of a debt. Nor is she responsible thereafter for much which happened. Therefore we lay upon her that she do as she has thought to do, return with him to Yrjar and there undo what has been wrought through her powers.”
“Which she cannot do,” said the sharp-voiced woman, and I read satisfaction in her speech. “For have we not had news of what will happen to Maelen the Singer if she is seen there?”
Maelen raised her head to look at the other in open surprise.
“What mean you. Old One? What danger lies in Yrjar?”
“The off-worlders who have raised fire, shed blood, and loosed the barsks of war have said that Maelen enchanted Osokun and drove him mad, and that they will have her dead—many believing them.”
“Off-worlders? What off-worlders—and why?” For the first time I broke into what had seemed none of my affair, only between Maelen and the rulers of her people. But off-worlders—what was behind all this?
“Not of your breed, my son,” the man who had spoken for Maelen replied. “But rather that one who sought out Maelen before the beginning of all this and wished her to be his tool, and those for whom he carried a sword in this matter. It would seem that you and yours have some powerful enemy off-world, who have now brought the quarrel to Yiktor.”
“But—if you mean the Combine men—” I was startled. “I have no personal enemy among them. Long ago their kind and mine warred, that is true. But of late years our differences have been settled. This is madness.”
One of the women on the dais smiled sadly. “All war and slaying is madness whether it be between man and man, or man and animal. But for whatever reason these bring their fight to the plains, it is true they have set a price on Maelen. Perhaps they fear she knows too much of them. To venture into Yrjar—”
“As Maelen,” spoke the girl who stood hand in hand with my companion, “perhaps not. As Merlay—?”
The eldest man considered. Then he shook his head, almost regretfully. “There is the matter of time. Already the Third Ring begins to fade from the night sky. And only under it may an exchange of Thassa with Thassa hold true. You would not survive more than four days.”
“It need not be so,” continued Merlay, “if the exchange is not made here, but in the hills which border the plains. Then to Yrjar—four days will suffice.”