Strange things are happening to the west, they say. Odd beasts, strange figures lurking in the deep woods. The fools run about and talk of defending the town against these things no one here has actually seen, their imaginations running away with their common sense.

I know the source of this panic, this eagerness to give credence to the fantastic. It's Beran, of course, him and the woman Bard. But then again, it was always Beran.

I stood in the darkness on the road past the Bard's Residence and listen to the music and laughter floating out of the cottage, my spear gripped hard in my hands.

********

"Then what happened, Beran?"

I shot an annoyed glance at my sister. "Don't Harry him, Saleen! He'll finish the tale!" I turned back to Beran who sat on the other side of me. We had taken to meeting here on the garden wall in the afternoons, before we all had to be home for our evening meals. Beran was kin, a distant cousin, so his visits seemed natural enough to my father. If he'd heard what we talked about, he'd have died of apoplexy. Beran had always been a dreamer and he'd been telling stories of elves that were far different than what father read to us from the histories or texts as we ate dinner.

I didn't care what tales Beran told us; it was enough that he, one of the two most popular boys my age, would choose to spend his time telling them here.

Things were going just as I hoped. Eryl had to return to his parents steading every day after the classes the priests taught, leaving Beran here in town, with few others old enough for him to spend time with. I saw my chance to become closer to my cousin and through him to Eryl, and at last be like them. So I had casually asked Beran what he was doing lately, and the afternoon meetings on the wall had begun.

"Then the elves left, Saleen. No one knows where or how, but they just vanished! All that were left were some buildings, and most of those were torn down to use making the temple. Eryl says there's some old cottages deep in the forests. And there's the Tower, too, of course." He pushed some hair back that the wind had blown into his face as he grinned. "No one's been in that Tower since after they left."

"It's cursed with elf magic, father says." He rolled his eyes at my words, and a sudden suspicion dawned. "You're thinking of going in there, aren't you, Beran? You are!"

He gave me a sly wink. "It's cursed, you said so yourself! Someone would have to be a fool to go in there, Joffry. But that's enough for today, I have to be going home. Goodbye, Saleen!" He smiled past me to my sister and then dropped off the wall to the road, then started off with that long stride of his. I jumped off and ran after him.

"Wait! Beran, wait!" He stopped and turned as I caught up. "You're going in there. I want to come too. Take me with you when you go in the Tower, Beran! Please?"

"Joffry, when I do go in, I'll tell you. Now I really have to get home. And look, Saleen's waving at the wall; your father must be back. Go on! We'll talk later!"

So I let him go, and it was the next to last friendly words we ever spoke to each other.

He didn't return the next day, or the next, nor the days that followed, instead going off somewhere with Eryl. I thought they were exploring those cottages and the true meaning of Beran's promise never dawned on me until he finally approached me one afternoon and told me where he and Eryl had gone, where they had been spending their time as I sat listening to my father drone on and on.

He was so excited he nearly glowed. "We went in, Joffry. We went in, and it's amazing. I want you to come and see it for yourself."

Amazing. A few short weeks ago, I'd have leapt at the chance he offered me. But all I heard was that word. "Who is we, cousin?"

"Eryl and I, of course! There's all sorts of books, and the harp…" He waved his hands about. Of course, I thought, a harp for the musical one, the books for earnest Eryl.

It was always Beran and Eryl, just the two of them.

I listened to my cousins glowing words, and when he left with my promise to meet him next day, I went to my father and then the two of us went to the priests. I was there when the both of them were dragged out of their beds, and it felt good to see them brought down. The best part was seeing them look at each other, Beran ashamed he had admitted all so easily, Eryl hurt at the betrayal. As far as they ever knew, it was because my father had supposedly beaten the secret out of me.

I stood in the shadows and watched as they were taken off for punishment, and it felt good; very good indeed.

********

It's strange how matters turned out. For one thing, if anyone was likely to get himself devoured by a beast, I would have sworn it would 'vet been my cousin. No doubt the young Beran, the Beran That Was, would have stood there in rapt attention as the animal charged at him. The adult Beran, on the other hand, would compose five verses and a rousing chorus while being devoured. It always struck me as ironic that Eryl, who'd grown up hunting daily in the forests surrounding his home, should be the one to fall. But the gods have their own purposes, my father always said, and I doubt I'd have gained as much satisfaction if it had been the other way about. After all, I got to watch Beran's expression when I gave him the news.

As for me, when old Murl finally had the good graces to die and leave me the business, I thought I had everything. I was now a respected member of the community and the owner of a thriving business at a young age. One would think with such qualifications I would have my pick of marriageable young ladies. But somehow my overtures were always met with detached courtesy and polite excuses, and no wife sits here beside me at dinner in my home.

It's because of Beran and Eryl of course. I can see it in their eyes, hear the coolness in their voices.

It's always been Beran and Eryl. Or Beran and Saleen, or now Beran and Herys. Never any room for someone like me, someone who isn't handsome or talented. And over the years, I'd watched as he'd slowly regained his reputation, and then his music. He was famous now, the local lad who'd risen to be a Master Bard in under five years, and at a later age than most as well.

Now he and Herys were singing the old music, the songs from the west, where men had been on friendly terms with the elves for centuries, and still no one could see it. The music was bringing the magic back. The townsfolk organized a guard, and of course I joined for my own purposes.

********

I walked up the path to the cottage, skirting around the damn boulder Herys likes to perch on, and stood outside the door. Gythin was home, from the sounds of it. My nephew had been off, studying several towns over with another bard for the past two years. Another mark against Beran, sending my sister's son away. Well, I knew some of the old ballads too now, and there was one that told how a human outlaw met his end one dark night.

I held my spear tightly and knocked on the door. The music came to a halt, and a chair scraped on the floor as someone rose and walked towards the front of the cottage. I readied myself to strike when the door opened.

I don't know why I didn't. Gods, I truly don't! But it was not Beran who stood there, the tip of the spear a hand's width from his throat.

It was Gythin.

We stood frozen like that for several seconds. I waited for him to give warning, to shout my shame to the wind, but he just stood there, staring out of the light into the dark at me. Then Beran spoke up from somewhere further back in the room.

"Who is it, Gyth?"

My nephew looked at me. "Go away, Uncle." he murmured. "Go away, and never come near me again." He knew. He knew who the spear was meant for.

Then he turned and shut the door. "Someone who lost their way in the dark. I stood there, alone in the dark, as Gythin had said. Then I made my way back to town.

Behind me, the music started playing once more.

11/2001


The Tower: Part V

Early one glorious Spring day, at a farmstead bordering the Western Woods, a child was born. As has always been the custom of our folk, those present sang nearby during the birthing so the first sounds the child heard would be music, and as they did, a wondrous thing occurred. A bird of the most brilliant colors any there had ever seen perched on a tree outside, and joined its song to theirs, and then sang on when the family stopped to listen to the beauty of its voice.

The child was born, laughing.

When word reached town, the priests called for an Assembly of all citizens.

********

"Out of all my lovers, Gythin, I've never had one that didn't hog the covers at least once." Aella's finger poked me in the ribs and I flinched. "Until now. And don't go on pretending you are still asleep. You' ve been awake for an hour now. It must have been a hell of a nightmare."

"And exactly how many lovers have you had, lady mine?" I brushed her cheeks with my lips, then pulled away and sat on the side of the bed before she could touch me again. I rubbed at my eyes, hoping the question would divert her from what surely would be on her mind.

Small chance of that; Aella was not one to be so easily put off. "Oh, hundreds and hundreds, minstrel boy. And the bedding is soaked with sweat on your side. What is wrong, Gythin?" She rolled out of bed and came around to sit beside me. "Skies, Gyth! You are fair drenched! Are you ill, love?" She wiped the hair off my forehead and set her lips against it, much like my mother had when checking me for fever.

"No. Just a nightmare, like you said. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't be. Come sit by the hearth. It's only another hour or so until daylight. I'll stoke the fire and make us some oatcakes." She rose and walked out of the bedroom before I could object. "It's the meeting today isn't it? The one your damnable uncle has forced the priests to call? You were dreaming about that, weren't you?"

I sat there a few moments longer, listening to my new wife clatter around in the cottage, then stood up and wrapped the blanket about me. "Yes. It was about Uncle Joffry." I walked out and sat by the fire she made and avoided looking at Aella by staring at the flames. Married less than a week, and my first lie to her, and, I prayed, it was my last. But how could I tell her that what I dreamed of was my opening the door of my parents' cottage to have a spear held by Joffry thrust through my throat as his face twisted in hatred?

********

It's a hard thing for a child to realize that two people he cares for hate each other so much. I can recall exactly the moment when I first realized it was so between my father and my Uncle Joffry. It was before my mother had died, and Uncle had come to the farm to visit. I always looked forward to his arrival, because he usually brought some small gift for me. This time he gave me my first set of reed pipes, a small child's set, but it is because it was my first instrument that the day is so firmly fixed in my memory.

It never bothered me that Uncle always seemed to come around at those times when Da was busy in the fields. I was a small boy, and small children do not take notice of such subtleties. My mother laughed as I blew lustily on the pipes making a racket while Joffry tried in vain to . show me the finger holes. And then, my father stood in the doorway, no doubt having heard all the noise, and my mother stopped laughing. Joffry had to look past me to see my father, so I was close enough to see the anger in his eyes as he nodded brusquely towards my father.

"Beran" was all he said.

I turned to look at my father, and didn't recognize the gentle man I knew in the rigid stance and hard eyes. He just nodded, then walked out back to the fields, and after a few moments, my mother followed. Joffry turned the pipes over and over in his hands a few times, then handed them back to me. "Well, time I was going back to town, young Gythin." And then he too left me there.

After that, I always knew that when my Uncle came to visit, Da would spend all day in the fields until Joffry was gone. I knew that they hated each other. I never realized how deep the hatred ran on Joffry's part until the night I opened that door, to find him standing there with a boar spear leveled at my throat, his face filled with rage until it changed with the realization it was me, not my father, who stood before him.

That was two years ago. We hadn't spoken since.

********

Somehow or another, despite being up so early, Aella and I were not the first at the Assembly. The Town Square was already nearly full with people when we arrived, and I broke out in laughter as Aella moved through the crowd ahead of me in impatience. Having a guard-trained wife was, I saw, going to have advantages. We finally reached my father and Herys, my stepmother greeting us both with pecks on the lips and a few salty words about priests after. Then, in the way of all musicians, the three of us started to talk shop. Aella listened, grinning until the crowd around us fell silent. She pointed at the front steps of the Temple. "Priest's here. So's your Uncle."

And so he was, standing next to Phellas, who was so old acolytes had to grip him by the arms to keep him upright. Joffry was to his right, flanked by some of the more prominent members of his militia. The crowd stilled, Phellas nodded to another priest who stepped forward and read from a document.

"Good citizens, in order to save our town and its people from the evil that has insidiously made its way into our land, sacrifices must be made. It has become clear to us that the elves have found a way to use music to work magic. The recent events at Math's farm only prove how much a threat they are once more. Henceforth, only the music approved by the Temple may be sung, and all women about to give birth must be brought to the Temple grounds so that the souls of the newborn may be… "

There was more, but the uproar from the crowd drowned it out. My father and Herys were shouting at the priests, as were many others in the crowd, and suddenly Joffry raised a hand in signal. Armed men trotted out into the Square, and used their shields to herd the protestors to one side towards the doors of the Temple granary. I was pushed along with the rest, and my last sight of Aella was of her grim face before she turned away and vanished into the crowd. Then I was shoved into the darkness, the great doors slammed shut, and silence fell over the group.

"Anyone know 'Heart's Defiance'?" my father asked, and a roar of laughter answered him before the song began. I followed his voice in the dark until I stood beside him and then I too, began to sing.

12/2001


The Tower: Part VI

"Mark my words, Aellie," my Gramma once told me. "Marry a soldier or a minstrel, and you'll be a happy woman. Minstrel's make love like it's a song. And soldiers, well, they treat it every time like it may be their last, because skies know it may very well be."

My mother was horrified.

"Aella's already contrary enough, Mother, without you filling her head with such nonsense!" And so I spent the better part of a day being harried at the tender age of ten until I promised mother I would neither marry a soldier nor a minstrel. But my mother was right; I was a contrary child. I kept my promise, but in my own way. After six years of being a soldier my self, I married a Bard, not a minstrel. And Gramma was indeed right. I was a very happy woman.

But at this moment, as I crouched in a doorway by a small stack of chamber pots and tried to avoid capture by temple guards, I briefly wished I'd paid more attention to my mother's advice instead.

********

We'd spent the previous day at the Bard's Cottage with Gythin's parents. Beran and Herys were in their mid thirties, but you'd never know it by the laughter and the looks they exchanged across the table. Eventually, after we'd eaten and cleaned up, the talk turned to more serious matters. Matters such as the gathering the priests had called for the next day.

Herys minced no words. "Joffry's up to something, him and Phellas. They increased their foolish patrols and it hasn't changed a thing. The magic's been coming bit by bit, and nothing can stop it."

"It's more than that, love." Beran played a few chords on his lute and then set it down beside his chair. "Word is that Lord Westmarch is encouraging a group of scholars who are interested in the elves. And west is where the magic is coming from."

Gyth reached over to take my hand. "Do you think Phellas would dare try to stop the studies?"

"Not unless he wants to call more attention to himself. Westmarch is the Baron's younger son, after all. They' ve been fortunate, Joffry and Phellas. They have tightened their control on the town carefully, and as quietly as possible to avoid the Baron's attention. He's as much a scholar as his son, and I sometimes think he would have stepped in to halt the destruction of the Tower if he'd known about it beforehand. No, whatever they called a Gathering for, it's not to pick a fight with Lord Westmarch." Beran grinned and held up a hand as Herys started to say something. "But, I think we should all keep the name of the young lord in mind if things get badly out of hand."

"Things got out of hand long past, husband." Herys growled, and Gyth's grip on my hand tightened for a second. Before I could ask what troubled him, the conversation turned to the family trade and talk of music and performances until it was time to leave for home.

And the next day, when the guards pushed into the crowd after the protesters, and I could reach none of my new family, all I could do was nod as Beran silently mouthed a word: "Westmarch"

I nodded, and turned, and fought my way clear, and eventually found myself here, in this doorway with some chamber pots awaiting cleaning beside me.

********

Someone back at the square had started singing "Heart's Defiance" and it seemed to be coming from all around now, solitary voices from roofs or windows echoing down the narrow streets. I suddenly wondered if the guards were seeking the singers and not a woman hardly any of them had met as yet. I'd hardly time to consider this heartening idea when one of the guards rounded a corner on foot, leading his horse by the reins. He wasn't looking my way as yet, but surely he would soon, and I needed a horse if I were to have any hope of reaching Westmarch.

If I were the heroine in one of Gyth's ballads, I would have dispatched the guard in a quick passage of arms, or so blinded the poor bastard with my radiant beauty he would have gladly surrendered his mount.

I had no sword with me. And no woman's beauty is radiant enough to part a soldier from his horse willingly. So I resorted to subterfuge. I picked up one of the chamber pots as if I were a serving maid, and walked towards him. He was half turned around when I overturned it on his head and jammed it down tight, following up with a boot to his rear that sent him into the corner of the building. I grabbed the sword from his sheathe, the reins to the horse from his hands, and leapt into the saddle before he could pull the pot from his head.

Skies grant he never saw who hit him!

********

It was two days ride to Westford, but I stopped briefly at one of the holdings I once had served at and some old friends at the barracks sent me on my way with provisions and warm clothes. I was worried at first about pursuit; the wound that had ended my days as a soldier was long healed but the arm was nowhere strong enough to wield a sword well in a fight. But as no riders appeared behind me I began to relax. Either they thought I was already with the other captives in side the granary, or that guard hadn't yet admitted a woman had taken his horse and so no one had made the connection to the new bride of Bard Gythin.

Late on the second day, the horse and I clattered to a stop in the Westford courtyard. While a stable hand grabbed hold of the bridle, I slid rather sorely to the ground and announced I needed to speak urgently with the Marcher lord about trouble in Pyrfeth Town.

"Pyrfeth? What's happened?"

A man wearing a captain's insignia walked up to stare at me intently. He was not quite as tall as Beran, with dark curly hair that was starting to go gray at the temples but he was still quite pleasing to look at. And the accent was familiar. "You are from Pyrfeth?"

"Aye." He put out a hand to steady me. "I left there long ago."

"My name," he said, "is Eryl."

02/2002


The Tower: Part VII

"What are you doing? Beran and Gyth are locked up by those damned priests and you waste time nosing about in the woods like a pig hunting mushrooms! We have to go! Now!"

I ran my hand along the ground in a circle around me. The half- moon was not very bright this eve and what little light it did have was blocked by the trees around us. Satisfied what I sought was not in easy reach from where I crouched, I moved a few feet to my right and swept around in a circle once more. "Patience, Aella. My man came back from the town an hour ago. Both your husband and his father are unhurt. There is to be some sentence passed by Phellas on the morrow, but I promise you that whatever he intends shall not come pass, alright?"

"Why don't you use a torch? It'd be a damn sight quicker."

"It would also tell anyone watching from the walls of town that someone is nosing about by the Tower's ruins. And that, mistress, will certainly cause Phellas to move quicker." I glanced back to where the woman leaned angrily against a tree. "Aella, there's naught to be done this eve except wait. Get some rest if you can."

She swore a familiar barracks oath and turned to walk back to our camp, then stopped to look at me. "Can I ask what it is you are so determined to find here?"

"Something I left here a long time ago." I went back to groping about in the dark. "Something that belongs to Beran."

"You've surely taken long enough to return it to him, then, haven't you?" And then she stalked away into the dark.

I made no protest. How could I?

I knew she was right.

********

"I need to see Lord Westmark. There's trouble in Pyrfeth Town." And with the words of a tired looking horsewoman, my past suddenly caught up with me two nights ago. I crossed the space to the rider and held out a hand as she dismounted. "Pyrfeth? What's happened?"

"You are from Pyrfeth?"

" Aye, I left there long ago. My name is Eryl"

I was close enough to see the expression on her face. "You're dead!"

"Not hardly. But I'm afraid I did make it seem that way. Follow me, Lord Westmark will want to speak with you as soon as he's dressed." I led her into the hall, stealing a glance at her expression once more. She seemed grow angrier with each step into the building. "You best calm yourself before you go into my lord's study. Leave whatever it is outside until you finish with your report. What is your name, by the by?"

"My name is Aella. And what's angered me is you, Eryl of Pyrfeth. You didn't die, you ran off and left Beran to mourn you and to face Phellas and the others alone!" She grabbed my arm and stopped in the hallway. "Did you even once consider what your 'death' might do to him? Did you?"

"I left him the farm. The last I knew, he and Saleen had settled there and were raising a son. I thought they were happy there."

"Well, things have changed. Saleen died years ago, Beran married Bard Herys and is a Bard himself now. As is his son, Gythin, my husband."

"Saleen's dead?" A sudden memory of her sitting on the wall, smiling as I told her and Joffry some tale I'd read filled my mind. "May she rest in The Mother's embrace. So much has changed…"

"Aye, and so little. Phellas blames Beran's music for the return of the magic. He's trying to stop anyone from playing or singing any music he does not sanction."

I frowned. "Phellas is setting the temple against the Bardic Circle? That could tear up the whole countryside! Come on!" I started again for the study; by now Lord Westmark would be waiting there. "What of Joffry? Where does he stand in all this?"

Aella's hand waved disdainfully. "Joffry's one thing that hasn't changed. He's still a bastard."

I looked at her in surprise, but I was already turning the handle on the study door. I'd have to ask her what she meant by that later.

********

Lord Westmark saw the situation much as I had. He sent our fastest rider for the capital, and at dawn, I rode out with my troop, Aella at my side anxious to hurry back to her husband. She hadn't been happy when I called a halt this close to town, but I didn't explain what it was about this place that made me choose it. I stopped in my search along the ground to look to my right, where a path led away towards an overgrown meadow. All that was left there now of the Tower were the stones scattered over the ground. But it still stood there in my mind, its beauty and mystery untouched. Twenty years had passed, and still it filled me with awe. I forced myself back to my search.

A few minutes later, my fingers finally found the finely wrought ring that I'd first seen as a boy. I grabbed hold, pulling on the chain it anchored as I stood, opening the door to the underground chamber. A figure stepped out of the trees behind me: Aella. I might have known she'd be back. I caught the scent of pitch from her direction. "Ah. Brought back a torch, did you? Good. Bring it here, but don't light it until you've gone down a few steps. The flame won't be visible to the town sentries then." I felt my way down the short stairwell in the dark and waited as Aella followed. It took her a few moments of struggling in the dark with flint and steel, but finally the torch caught.

She looked about, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in amazement. I grinned as she took in the shelves with their intricate carved decorations. "What is this place?"

"Some sort of storeroom. I discovered it from something I read in the Tower. I used it to hide as many of the books as I could before they tore the Tower down."

"But it's empty! Where did they all go?"

I walked to the rear of the small room. "I took them to Lord Westmark. It's what he's been doing all these years, he and his scholars, studying the elven library. But I left one thing here." I reached into a dark corner, and drew out the harp case Beran had seen that first day in the Tower. I undid the small, cunningly wrought clasps and opened it to let the torchlight fall across its contents. I took the harp out of the case and looked at it critically in the light. It was still as beautiful as I recalled, no sign of aging or decay.

"It's the harp, isn't it? The one Beran talks about sometimes?"

"Yes, it's the harp. I should have brought it to him years ago. I was so angry with him though, for telling the priests about the Tower. I suppose it was my way of punishing him."

Aella stared at me. "But he didn't! It wasn't him who told the priests about the Tower."

"It was Joffry."

********

We rode into Pyrfeth shortly after the gates opened the next day, the streets deserted. We soon discovered why as we entered the market square, and found the towns people standing there, shocked expressions on their faces as they stared at two figures on the temple stairs. One was bent over someone lying in what might be blood, and as we drew closer, the man standing covered the other with a cloak.

The green cloak of a Bard.

02/2002