Chapter Thirty-One: The Laws of Songweaving

“There are rules to singing a song. You cannot simply string together a group of sounds and call it music.”

—Sonata the Speechless, The Woman with no Voice

Ein’s sleep was deep and undisturbed that night. He didn’t dream of beaches or storm maidens, or burning villages and starless realms watched by faceless gods. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, it was light and the muffled sounds of morning were trickling through the thin walls.

Everyone was up already, gathered by the table and eating, all except Talberon. The Druid watched impassively from the corner, flipping through the tome he always carried.

“Eat up,” Drakhorn said, waving at Ein. “The food belongs to you, anyway.”

“It does?”

“We salvaged it from the bandits,” Merrill explained. “Come on, Ein. It’s going to go bad if we don’t eat it, anyway.”

Ein sat down beside Rhinne and began to eat, breaking off a chunk of hard bread and bringing it tentatively to his mouth. Drakhorn had boiled some vegetables in a stew, and although the seasoning was basic and left much to be desired, Ein found himself inhaling everything as quickly as he could without even bothering to wipe his mouth.

“When are we leaving today?” he asked.

“Never,” Talberon answered. “If you think your father’s in any state to travel after last night, you’re a fool.”

“Sorry.” Alend smiled sheepishly, sawing through a thick cut of meat. “Lord Drakhorn says it’s going to be another day before I’m ready to travel.”

“Only because you keep opening up that wound of yours,” the tailor glared. “I’ve stitched it up and applied the best poultice I could make. Talberon’s done his part as well, running ragged across town to fetch the necessary ingredients. Promise me you won’t go anywhere, or you’ll undo all our hard work.”

“I promise.”

“Does that mean we get the day to look around town?” Evaine piped.

Garax smirked. “Eager to venture out again so soon?”

“Of course. Don’t you and Ein feel the same?” she asked, poking Merrill in the ribs.

Ein couldn’t deny his curiosity. They were in Caerlon supposedly, and he hadn’t even set foot onto the streets yet. He wanted to see what the town was like at least once before they left.

“No,” Talberon immediately said. Ein’s face fell, and Evaine opened her mouth to protest. “You’ll stand out too much. We’re already taking a huge risk by staying here. Letting them loose in the streets will be like lighting a signal fire to the Faceless.”

“Come on,” Garax said. “Cut them a bit of slack, will you? Don’t you remember what it was like to be a kid?”

Ein’s jaw twitched.

“I can give them some proper clothes,” Drakhorn offered. “Maybe then they’ll draw less attention.”

Evaine brightened. “Yes, please! That would be amazing!”

“Even so, it’s dangerous. Do you think you’d be able to defend them both with that crude sword by your side, young Thoren?” Ein swallowed but shook his head. The Worgal blade he’d salvaged was barely enough to defend himself. If he met an opponent wielding a weapon with longer reach, he would be in trouble.

“Who says we need defending?” Evaine fired.

“You told us the story yourself. If the storyteller hadn’t been with you, you wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Evaine shut her mouth, fuming.

“Why don’t you go with them, Talberon?” Alend asked. “You’re not doing anything today, anyway. We’ve already stocked up for the journey ahead. Besides, you can keep watch from afar in your sparrow form, can’t you?”

“You can teach them about the Soulsong too,” Garax added. “Ein’s already Awakened, and I think Evaine is close.”

Alend shook his head. “To think there was such talent hiding in Felhaven…”

“Teach us the Soulsong,” Evaine said. “That’s magic, right? Then we’ll be able to defend ourselves.”

“The path of a Songweaver is a dangerous one,” Talberon spoke. “Once you take the first step, there’s no turning back.”

“I think,” said Ein, “it’s already too late to turn back.” All eyes turned towards him. “When I saw Al'Ashar in that vision during my sickness, he said something. He said that I was a Fateweaver, and that I would fall—we would all fall before him. Somehow, I get the impression that Al'Ashar has taken a personal interest to us.”

Dark lines crossed Talberon’s face as he tugged at his beard, thinking. “You’re sure it was the Oathbreaker?”

“It had to be. The presence I felt from him was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.”

Talberon drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Merciful Cenedria,” he muttered. “I suppose I have no choice then, do I?”

“I’m glad that’s decided,” Evaine quipped. “Come on, Ein, Merrill. Do you want to join us, Rhinne?”

“Gods no,” the girl said. “I absolutely hate the skins you people wear. How can you stand walking around with all that weight on you? And don’t get me started on shoes. Why would you want to smother your feet like that?”

“You’ll have to dress properly when you leave,” Drakhorn pointed out. “The guards won’t let you into Aldoran if you look like a beggar. Especially since all the beggars wearing as little as you would have frozen to death by now.”

Rhinne scowled. “All the more reason to enjoy my freedom while I can.”

Evaine shrugged, wiping her mouth against a napkin. “Come on then, let’s not waste any time. Hurry up and finish eating, Ein. You too, Merrill!”

A half hour later, the three Felhaveners set foot onto the streets of Caerlon in the clean, dry cotton of middle class citizens, free of dirt and grime for what felt like the first time since they’d left home. Talberon soared above them, a grey shadow flying just out of reach of the scruffy alleycats, flitting between the rooftops and the thin clotheslines and tall lampposts that decorated the town. Ein froze like a startled deer as they turned onto the main street, unsure of where to look. He’d heard stories and seen pictures of towns before—there was nothing special about them, yet he found himself overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information assailing his senses. There were so many people, places, sounds, smells, sensations that his mind simply shut down and refused to operate.

This isn’t even a city, Ein thought. He couldn’t fathom what Aldoran would be like.

-Don’t stand still.-

A voice projected itself into Ein’s head, startling him. He looked around, coming face to face with Merrill and Evaine.

“Did you hear that?” Evaine asked. Merrill nodded.

-Keep moving. You’ll stand out if you stop in the middle of the street, gawking.-

There was a shrill cry from above as a sparrow swooped past them, clipping Ein on the ear. Ein winced.

“We’d better listen to him,” he said, gesturing to the others. It felt strange to have someone project their voice directly into his mind.

They took their time walking through Caerlon, peering at the signs and into the windows, eyeing the stalls and their owners by the side of the road. Evaine talked without stopping while Ein and Merrill occasionally offered one-word inputs. There were more shops than Ein could count, a stark contrast to the scant amount of services available in Felhaven—everything from apothecaries to potteries, cobblers’ to breweries, carpenters to stonemasons and a dozen merchants selling miscellaneous goods from banged up wagons. He counted three forges, four bakeries and eight grocery stalls before finally giving up. Merrill had surrendered long ago, resigning himself to being pulled about by Evaine’s whims.

-Ein. Evaine.-

They both looked upwards towards the voice as Talberon swooped from one rooftop to another.

-Listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you. The Soulsong is an extremely dangerous weapon, not just to others but to the wielder themselves. You must not try to jump ahead at any time. Do you still remember how it felt to be stricken with the Soulsickness, Ein?-

Ein nodded. He wouldn’t be forgetting for a while.

-Good. Never forget that feeling, for the slightest misuse, the slightest miscalculation can result in death. Do you both understand?-

Ein and Evaine nodded, not trusting themselves to speak in the middle of the busy street. Merrill followed a short way behind them, hands thrust into his pockets.

-Sound is magic. Think back to when you were a child, listening to the merry harping of a jester’s song, or the sad wail of a tragedy. Think of how you felt. Think of the happiness, the laughter, the sadness, the weeping. Think of how your body was manipulated. Tavern songs and performances are magic, in their most basic form.

-Now think of another time, perhaps not so long ago. Think of a time a travelling troupe visited and performed and sang. Think of the emotion laced within their voices, and how that made you feel. It magnified those feelings, didn’t it? A song sang with emotion had a greater effect than a song sang without.

-That is the Soulsong. To truly impose your will upon reality, you must entwine your voice with Spirit. By creating sounds, whether it be by singing or speaking words, sometimes even playing instruments, Spirit can be channelled. Spirit governs the world. It is present in all living things. It makes up life, and when we channel it, we use it to manipulate the natural laws of the universe. It is most easily accessible during times when we feel great emotion, but a trained Songweaver can draw from it at will.-

Ein thought back to when he’d wielded his Soulsong on the bridge, calling on the lightning. He’d experienced a torrent of emotions—fear, despair, anger, frustration, several more he couldn’t put names to.

-The more powerful the intended effect of a Soulsong, the more Spirit it will draw upon. At its most basic level, a Soulsong will draw energy from its weaver. On the night you called down lightning against the Apocalypse Knight, you drew far more Spirit than your body could give. That was what caused the Soulsickness. You became fever stricken for three days, the amount of time it took for your body to recover the amount of Spirit it needed to function. Had you remained in that state for much longer, your body would have given out and you would have died. That is the most important law of Songweaving—the Law of Equivalence. Spirit can neither be created or destroyed, only manipulated. Never draw upon more Spirit than you can provide, or you will pay for it with your life.-

They took a turn into a series of alleyways, focusing on the Druid’s voice. Evaine was silent for once. Ein became aware of just how much noise there was in the world. Even when the voices were gone, there were the cries of birds in the distance and the scampering of rodents in the gutters. Beneath those, there was the grass and the trees and the brushing of the wind against cobble. And when all sound was gone, there was the beating of his own heart, the rustle of his clothes as he walked, the pattering of his shoes against the ground. They were the sounds of Spirit as it leaped from one form to another, from noise to movement to heat and then back again, a never-ending cycle.

-There are two more universal laws of Songweaving. Memorize and understand them, and you are on the path to becoming a competent Songweaver.-

Evaine muttered something under her breath about scholars and classes.

-The Law of Translation states thus: A Songweaver can draw upon another the Spirit of another entity. However, the more potent that entity’s Spirit, the more resistant they are to your attempts. For example, a Songweaver may easily draw energy from a tree, but would have a harder time drawing energy from a man or a fellow Songweaver. Some objects such as certain metals and gems make near perfect wells of Spirit due to their low spiritual resistance.-

“Wait a second,” Ein said. “So we can draw energy from other people to fuel our magic?”

-Correct. But the greater control over their Spirit that entity has, the harder it is to take from it. As a general rule, the more sentient a species is, the more resistance it will put up, but the energy it provides would also be minimal. I could draw upon an entire tree and I would only be able to start a small fire. I could also draw upon energy from one of you to start that campfire, but it would require far more effort and concentration.-

“Doesn’t that mean you could potentially kill someone without even touching them? Just by using them as a source of fuel for your song?”

-It is possible. Come over here with me.-

Talberon brought them to a halt in front of a water fountain, surrounded by the looming townhouses of the residential district. The statue of the messenger god Eolas, god of wisdom, logic and cities stood in the centre of the stone basin, encircled by water spewing from holes by his feet. He wore a thin hemp tunic and held a messenger bag under one hand as he stood atop the water in mid-stride, feathered wings splaying from his sandals. Talberon landed atop the messenger god’s helmet and stared at them.

-Young mistress. Evaine, was it?-

Evaine blinked. “Yes?”

-You mentioned you had brief control over water through your voice?-

Evaine nodded. “I did.”

The swallow swivelled its head, examining their surroundings. The area was empty save a few housewives wandering about, carrying bags of groceries and basketfuls of washing in their hands. None of them paid them any heed.

-This will be a good place to try and put some of this into practice. I want you to concentrate on doing something with that water. Alter the direction of flow perhaps, or increase the intensity at which it cycles from the fountain. Focus on that one thing you want it to do, and then make a sound with your throat. It can be a hum or a whisper, a word, a grunt, a howl even, though I’d advise you keep your voice low. Speak as if speaking the language of water itself.-

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Evaine scowled. “Could you get any vaguer?”

-This is something you will just have to practice and work out yourself. Now, go.”

Evaine stared at the water and then whispered. “Stop.”

The water gurgled but made no attempt to halt.

-Try and lace your voice with emotion. Will it to stop. Coax it, coerce it, whichever path you choose, make sure it is apparent in your voice. Tone and method of delivery are often more meaningful than words themselves.-

Evaine stared at the fountain, thinking. Then, she pressed her lips together and hummed. Ein felt it at once—a soft brush against his ear, like a mother crooning to a child. One of the streams of water froze in mid-air, individual globules hovering in place. Evaine gasped and the spell was broken, the water splashing back into the basin.

-Good. You have a great deal of talent, young Mistress.- Evaine flushed with pleasure. –How do you feel?-

“Fine,” she said. “That was nothing. I think I could do more, maybe lift a whole bucketful of water even, now that I’ve gotten the hang of it.”

-Do it then.-

“Shouldn’t you take it easier?” Merrill asked. “Isn’t that what you said to do, Talberon?”

The Druid didn’t answer. Evaine stared at the fountain again and growled. It was a harsher sound this time, a command for the water to rise and obey her. Her brow lowered into a straight line, her fists clenching by her sides, her shoulders tensing up. A bucket-sized sphere of water surfaced from the basin, slowly rising to eye level as droplets and streamed down its sides. Evaine began to tremble as she eyed the water with fierce intensity, struggling to lift it.

-You can stop now. Save your energy.-

Evaine exhaled and the sphere dropped back into the fountain, landing with a splash that wet Ein’s trousers.

-What did that feel like?-

“It felt like I was trying to lift a boulder,” Evaine said. “It was hard. I was running out of breath to keep humming, too.”

-That is why we need to string together separate sounds and words for more potent Songweaving. But, enough of that. Try to do the same thing again—but this time, I want you to focus on that tree over there as well. Focus on not only getting the water to obey you, but the tree to give up its Spirit. Don’t try to lift as much this time, just a cup’s worth will do.-

Evaine wiped the sweat from her forehead and locked her jaw. She hummed again, and a small bubble of water rose from the depths. Evaine faltered and it collapsed before it had even risen an inch.

-A lot harder, isn’t it?-

She nodded.

-Now, look at the tree.-

Ein and Merrill turned along with Evaine and they let out a collective gasp. The tree had already been stunted before, covered with withered leaves of yellow and grey-green, but it had shrivelled even further, drooping over like a dying man, several patches of leaves turned black in colour.

-Remember this sight, Songweavers, for this is the price of the Soulsong. If you’d tried to draw any more energy, that tree would have died. If you’re ever forced to draw Spirit from another being, whether it be a tree or a man, never take more than you need to. There are patches of land around the Far Reaches where the relicts and Faceless drew Spirit from the earth with no mercy. That grass will never turn green again, not for millennia to come. We call it Blight, for it is a blight upon Faengard.-

Evaine paled. “And any Songweaver can do it? Any enemy Songweaver could do it on us?”

-Try it on Ein. Ein, when you feel it, I want you to fight back and do everything you can to defend yourself from the pull.-

“Should we really be doing this?” Merrill interjected. “Isn’t this dangerous?”

-The ground rules must be established. Go, Evaine.-

Evaine hesitated and then turned to Ein. “Let me know if you want me to stop,” she murmured.

Ein swallowed, his gaze darting back to the tree. If he didn’t act quickly enough, would he end up like that? A withered husk of a human being, blackened and broken—

He felt the tug at once, drilling into his skull. There wasn’t a chance in the world he could miss it. It was a foreign substance, a hideous tentacle slithering through his ears, yanking at his brain. He fought back instinctively, slamming shut the iron gates of his mind, teeth locking up, fists closing, bending his knees. He didn’t stop until the tendril had fled, and even as he stood panting on his haunches, he still felt its touch inside of him. It felt like Evaine—he knew it was hers, the way he knew her voice was hers—but it was foreign and disturbing all the same, as if his entire body had been skinned and laid bare for her to scrutinize.

Evaine was on her backside across the ground from him. She was shaking.

-What did it feel like?-

The two looked at each other, Merrill standing above them, trying to figure out what happened. She rose to her feet and brushed her hair out of her eyes with a shaky hand.

“I was walking,” she said. “Walking through a dark forest. I was heading deeper and deeper into it, into a den of some sort. It wasn’t mine. It told me to go back with each step I took. When I passed the threshold…” she looked nervously at Ein, and there was fear in her eyes. “A black wolf came out and chased me away. The trees started collapsing. I thought I was going to die.”

-And that is what it feels like when a Songweaver tries a Spiritual attack on another. Even the most basic of animals have the instinct to defend themselves. Learn what it feels like to be attacked, and rest easy that it is no simple feat to take from another without their consent. But also, do not forget that there exist people in our world, abominations who are capable of such feats. Keep your wits about you at all times.-

Talberon took to the skies while Ein and Evaine were still reeling, putting the pieces of their minds back together. –Let us keep moving now, and I will tell you the third law.-

They left the fountain in the residential district and made their way back to the main road, passing a cluster of guards along the way. The guards surrounded the entrance of an alleyway, two of them roping it off, another small group down the far end examining a body on the ground, a third interviewing a woman with closely-cropped hair and a pierced ear. Ein caught the scent of blood in the air.

“That must be the place where your father was attacked by the Faceless,” Merrill murmured. “It’s right behind Master Drakhorn’s store.”

-The Faceless are everywhere, young ones. You must not give out your trust easily.-

They finished their second circuit of Caerlon and strode down the main square. It was nearing noon now and the food stalls were piling up with customers. Though resources were scarce, there were always ingenious recipes to be made by skilled chefs, making meals where only leftovers and stale scraps were to be found.

-The third and final law is the Law of Similarity. The Law of Similarity states that the cost of a Soulsong can be reduced by drawing Spirit from a similar source, as our young Mistress demonstrated. Had you tried to convert matter itself, for example creating water from air or earth, it would have required far more Spirit to do so. But because the water was already there, all that was required was for you to manipulate it. It is a simple concept—like attracts like. The same goes for you, young Master Ein. The only reason you were able to call down such a great bolt of lightning was because there was a storm happening at the same time. We call these things catalysts. By adding a factor, in this case the presence of water, or a storm, the cost of the Soulsong is reduced and we can attempt greater feats with our voices. Is that clear?-

Evaine and Ein nodded.

-Good. There is a second part to the law also. I take it neither of you have heard of Wyrd?-

The sparrow’s question was met by blank stares. Only Merrill answered.

“I remember Garax talking about it once,” he said. “He was telling me about the origins of certain words. Just as Wyd and wind are derived from each other, Wyrd is yet another variation. It means fate, doesn’t it? Destiny?”

-That is correct.- Merrill looked proud at finally finding something to contribute to the discussion. –Wyrd is the embodiment of a person’s soul, their signature among the Winds of Fate. In terms of Songweaving, it is their affinity. There are certain feats that each Songweaver can do better than others of their kind. Specialities, of sorts. For the young Mistress, it would be controlling the element of water. For young Master Ein, it would be manipulation of lightning and storms. There are many more I have encountered—the essence of speed, unrivalled skill with arms, bewitching beauty, just to name a few.

-The second part of the Law of Similarity states that a Songweaver who tries to manipulate an element that is not theirs will be far less efficient at it, requiring exponentially higher amounts of Spirit to accomplish that feat than one with a matching affinity. Effectively, this means that the songs most Songweavers can sing, such as lighting a simple fire or concealing oneself, are limited to small areas of effect and potency.-

“Talberon,” said Ein, keeping his voice low. The sparrow landed on his shoulder as they waded through a crowd of people, tagging onto the end of a line. “Does Wyrd have anything to do with dreams? For the past few days until I woke up, I had a lot of dreams where I was alone on a beach, listening to a woman sing. She claimed she was Reyalin, the Lady of the Storm, and that I was one of the few vessels who could ‘host her Wyrd.’”

“Me too,” Evaine cut in. “Though my dreams have been a bit different. I’ve been standing on a pool of water, looking into my reflection, and instead of seeing myself I see a man. I have no idea who he is, though, and he never mentioned Wyrd, but he was also singing.”

They both looked to Merrill, but he shook his head. “I haven’t had any dreams like that,” he said.

Talberon was still for a moment. –Do you still have these dreams? Either of you?-

“No,” Ein said.

“Yes,” Evaine said.

-That is interesting. Another piece of the puzzle falls into place.-

“What do you mean?” Ein asked.

-Among those with Wyrd, there are certain anomalies— prodigies if you will. During their time, they develop such powerful Wyrds that fate itself begins to gravitate toward them. We call people with these Wyrds Fateweavers—for almost certainly, they will play a part in the fates of many around them. Traditionally, most Fateweavers have been Songweavers, but there have also been a select few who hold abilities outside of Songweaving. All Fateweavers will go on to become Heroes of Faengard, leaving their mark on the world in some way or another, and rather than passing on to Vallaheim or Hellheim, they will ascend to the Hall of Heroes to await rebirth. Rebirth will take the form of their Wyrd re-establishing itself in the body of another—reincarnation, if you will.

-If what you say is true, Ein, then you possess one of these special Wyrds, the Wyrd of Reyalin the Stormdancer. The same goes for you, Evaine. Thus, you are both Fateweavers as well as Songweavers, and your actions will decide the fates of many to come.- Talberon took off into the air again as the crowd grew more dense. –There is, however, a great downside that comes with being a Fateweaver.-

“What’s that?” Evaine asked.

-Ein, you mentioned that you saw the Oathbreaker himself during one of your delusions. Might I ask, what was the context of that? Where were you in your dream when you saw him?-

“It was a strange place,” Ein said. “Like I was flying among the stars, but instead of stars there were lots and lots of lights.” He frowned, trying to recall all the details of the dream. “The lights were all people, with their own hues and shades of colour, their own voices. Some were brighter than others. I recognized a few of them, like my father and my sister.”

-Was that after or before your final dream with Reyalin?-

“After.”

Talberon landed atop the tarp of one of the stalls, fluffing his feathers. The three reached the front of the line and they broke off briefly to buy a skewer of meat each and a loaf of bread. As they stepped away to find a place to eat, Talberon re-joined them.

-All Fateweavers go through a stage called Awakening, usually triggered by an extremely distressing incident. Once a person has Awakened, they become detectable in Astreal, the Spirit Plane. My guess is that after the battle with the Bloodmane at Felhaven, you began that process, and you ended it a day ago. That dream you had was a visit to Astreal. The lights you saw, those were the spirits of everything in the entire universe. It’s a wonder you managed to remain sane.-

“You mean that pressure I felt from Al'Ashar… that was his Spirit?”

-Yes. He is a god, Ein. He is beyond the realm of mortals, and the mere touch of his presence is enough to drive a man insane.- Talberon circled above, startling a group of pigeons. -For people who can enter Astreal and remain sane, tracking a particular signature is possible, especially one as bright as a Fateweaver’s. That would explain why the relicts pursued you. It is likely that the Oathbreaker is seeking to destroy all the Fateweavers in the world, all the Reborn Heroes of Faengard, for combined, they pose a threat to his return.-

“Is there a way to protect ourselves? Maybe hide our presence in the Spirit Plane, like that charm you gave my sister?” The charm I threw away.

Evaine finished her skewer and licked her fingertips. “This is all so much to take in,” she shook her head.

-I cannot hide your presence completely. But I can create that charm again for you both. To a light like your sister who doesn’t burn as brightly, it would serve to completely conceal them. To those like you and your father, it would lower the range an entity would be able to detect you from and help you blend in with those around you, making it harder to be found. I will create one for you also, young Master Merrill.-

“Me?” Merrill pointed to himself, forgetting about the food in his mouth. Evaine scowled, flicking the crumb from her shoulder.

-Yes. I, too, have been to Astreal. You shine brightly as well, Merrill. You will have a part to play in this Age to end all Ages.-

A look of concern spread across Merrill’s face. “I’m not sure I want to be a part of all this,” he murmured.

“Come on,” Evaine said, slapping him on the arm. “Most kids could only dream of being in your place. Doesn’t it sound great, being a Hero of Faengard?”

Just how much are you willing to sacrifice to go after her? Ein wondered.

“I suppose I don’t have a choice either way,” Merrill said. “There’s no way I’m going back alone, after all.”

They finished their meal and threw away their skewers. “We should head back,” Ein said. “Make sure we’re packed and ready to leave tomorrow.”

“What? We haven’t even been to the taverns yet,” Evaine protested.

“We can go at night,” Merrill said. “That’s when they’re the busiest, anyway. Master Garax would probably want to join us.”

-Merrill is right. You’ll have plenty of time for that tonight, if you so wish it. Besides, there will be far more to see at Aldoran. Go back and practice your Songweaving. I will go and secure a ride along the Royal Road for tomorrow morning.-

Evaine sighed. “Alright,” she said. “You two had better come with me.”

“Just don’t use up all our funds,” Merrill warned. “We might need that money for the journey.”

“I’m sure money won’t be a problem,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Ein and I are Fateweavers! We’ll just go around and beat up another bandit camp.” She waltzed away, humming to herself.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even bother,” Merrill sighed.

Ein looked at the sky. It was going to be a clear night.