The sun burned in the ruined sky as the Blind Bard stood neath the frail trees, his dog at his side, say true.

See them:

The Man: Ædus, fifth of his name, of the old Belle blood, say true. Tall as mountains, hair grown long, skin every color ever was, say true, say true.

The Bitch: le Fay, third of her name, last of Lex’s Pack, say true. Fur black as the Keep, jaws as coldiron, belly full of young and tits hung low, say true, say true.

Winter had been hard, say true, coldest five generations back so said the old ones, yet Roundtown stood as ever fore. Spring had come as had summer, and fall would come soon enough, and still the Town would rest in the valley as the Architects had built it, say true, say true.

On this day the sun hung high above the valley and warmed the ground, still green, say true, light shining down upon the Town; every farm, every building, every beast and human shone as if the light wished to hold for its own the Architects’ work, see Their mark in every thing, say true, say true.

The Blind Bard hauled the harvest with his sister and father as the sun rose, as was his duty, yet now stood in the woods beyond Red River, as his duty had become. He thought back, as was his way, and remembered how he had come to stand amongst the pale trees of the woods.

He had not heard his mother’s voice when first she called him. His mind was on the rough basket filled with grain biting into the patchwork colors of his back even as the sun baked him from above. The cows were in a fuss over something, as it seemed they always were, say true, and le Fay would bark some sense into them, as she always did. His mother had to shout fore he heard her honeyed voice above the din.

Ædus Belle! Amanda Belle, sixth of her name, called to him, standing solid as stone in the field, now all but harvested, a smile on her lips and a chicken neath each arm. Never could a bird wish for a better roost than Roundtown, say true, yet still wings sprained or spindle legs snapped. Amanda knew the ways of all things living in the valley, even the beasts of the woods whose mothers never learned the Song to teach them; there was no hurt she could not heal, say true, say true.

The Blind Bard knew the chickens were Dawn, thirty-first of her name, and Lily, twenty-eighth of her name, both of the Green Roost, say true, from how they struggled against his mother’s grip. These fowl bore no wounds, only sharp beaks and wicked intentions, say true, and his mother would suffer no more their rage.

Come now, sweet boy! cried Amanda. The Blind Bard heard and turned, handing the sack of grain to his sister even as she sagged neath its weight. He did not help her steady nor relieve her this new load; she was a Belle, say true, and there is no load a Belle cannot bear, say true, say true.

Must I sprout roots and leaves fore you’ll come to me? his mother asked, looking toward him with warmth in her eyes. How many beasts within him had that sweet smile slain?

The Blind Bard looked to his father, Curtis, third of his name, of the green Nazk blood, say true. There was no seed a Nazk could not grow, no weed they could not conquer; roots ran through their veins, and the Blind Bard felt the green call through his father. Curtis waved his son on and shared a smile with his wife as he brought his daughter close to show a bright beetle fresh plucked from the grain.

Fore the Blind Bard took a step toward Amanda, le Fay was on her, ever quick as fore, say true.

I’m sorry, Mother! the Blind Bard lied over her laughs and squeals. He allowed le Fay a moment longer, then called her to his side where she sat with her swollen belly spread out neath her as a shadow. She panted, mischief in her eyes as her tail swung side to side. No one could love Amanda more than her children or her husband, say true, save le Fay. Amanda gave her a dagger look, trying as she could not to smile as Dawn and Lily made their outrage known. The Blind Bard cleaned the dust from le Fay’s paws off his mother’s shoulders and wiped the bitch’s drool from her face fore he kissed her cheek. Only then did he see her eyes, still clear and bright no matter her age, say true, were far away and he felt the nerves neath her smile.

Secrets could not live among the Belles, say true, nor could Amanda have hidden her fear from her son if she tried. As his father would wipe the soil from a freshly dug root so the Blind Bard Sang through her, sweeping away her thoughts of the chickens (…this is twice now this pair has found mischief together, what’s to be done?…) and her thoughts of his father, his back toward them now and the beetle flicked away (…see how tall he still stands? see how the light catches in the silver in his hair, so dark and…) and even her thoughts on the sun above them (…this heat means trouble for the hogs…) and found her worries, hidden away as jewels of old.

Jeremy Carr? the Blind Bard cried. What could a Carr want of me?

I don’t know, my sweet boy, his mother said, the lines round her eyes deep as her worry grew.

They spoke now of Jeremy, eighth of his name, the Serpent, the Great Deceiver, say true, unworthy of the deep Carr blood, say true, say true. None had ever had the Sight clear as him and none had ever been prouder of their blood (among his longfathers were Derek the Scout, third of his name, he who Saw the third invasion, say true, and Wise Cherry, sixth of her name, she who Saw the plague brought by the birds many generations back, say true).

His mother’s skin too shone many colors in the sun’s light, yet the Blind Bard saw her pale in the field among the crops’ remains. Her fear was as the Flu of old, needing only breath to spread one to the other. le Fay could shake Amanda’s worry easy as she shook water from her fur after a swim, say true, yet she felt the fear take root in her man’s belly and let loose a low whine. Her tail lay still and her eyes were on the Blind Bard, waiting for his sign as she ever would, say true, say true.

He looked back at her, her ears back and her tongue hidden, and felt overcome by her unease. No human ever lived could feel how dogs feel, and no dog ever lived was closer than le Fay to her man, say true. He felt everything in her as from within himself, the fear coiling as a snake in her chest, the dull ache in her back from carrying her young so long, the pups kicking and stirring so it felt as great stones tumbling within his belly.

As he felt, so did she, say true; where she went, he went and what he saw, she saw, as had ever been and ever would, say true, say true.

Even as I scooped these hellions up Old Winny caught my arm and passed along the message, his mother said as she drew the chickens neath her arms close and they clucked protest. Jeremy will meet you in the woods beyond Red River, say true.

She did not need to say it. The Belles did not need speak at all, so strong within them was the Song, their blood’s gift from the Architects, say true. From way back, fore even the Town was the Town, the Belles kept their stories in their blood and Sang as others breathed. And none Sang sweeter than the Blind Bard, say true, say true.

He never meant to go too deep nor press too hard, yet he felt the story within his mother and could not stop from seizing it, wrapping himself round it til nothing ever was save him and the story.

The Blind Bard saw: The main street, townsfolk going about their duties; here was a heifer (Susan, tenth of her name, of the East Herd, say true) and a girl (Kim, ninth of her name, of the dark Jones blood, say true) walking together toward the East Pasture, there was a boy (Lamar, fourth of his name, of the bright Scott blood, say true) carrying his sister (Bri, fifth of her name, born only in the spring, say true) toward the stable where their mother tended horses.

There were the chickens, chasing an old cat (Stephan, twelfth of his name, of Kara’s Clowder, say true) between the legs of the heifer and the girl, only to be swept up by the Blind Bard’s swift hands, wings flapping and beaks pecking air even as the Blind Bard let loose a laugh. And then here was Old Winny (Winifred, third of her name, of the hot Roe blood, say true) striding up to him with a secret burning her lips. The Blind Bard killed his smile as he leaned in close to hear the old woman’s whispers, then felt the valley fall from neath his feet.

Jeremy Carr is looking for your Sneak Ædus! the old woman had hissed. Say true!

The heat, then, the fire kept burning low deep in his belly, say true.

Sneak Ædus.

Damn the name. Damn the name and those who –

The Blind Bard made himself feel his feet atop the ground and le Fay at his side, her eyes still upon him. He had sung too low and begun to drift as those of his blood always did. For a moment he could only feel what had been felt, see what had been seen, yet he was there again now, in front of his mother, her eyes staring beyond anything. As he quieted his Song her eyes came back to him and she was with him again. The Blind Bard had gone too quick and dazed her with his need to know what had been, what was said. He knew now and was sorry for the knowing, say true.

The Blind Bard could guess what came next without aid of the Song. His mother had kept the heat in check, let Old Winny have her say. Jeremy sought Sneak Ædus in the woods beyond Red River. No doubt the old woman had asked questions, hungry as she ever was for something to whisper of, say true. His mother had no answers then as she had none now, only the message now delivered.

The woods. This was an ill omen if ever the Blind Bard saw one, say true. Uprights did not use the woods, save for the Joneses and even then only when in need of wild herbs. le Fay knew it well and had hunted among the trees days on end fore her young began to grow in her belly, yet the Blind Bard had never joined her beyond the River. Even so, he could not refuse what a Seer willed, say true. His shoulders rose and his jaw set even as he smiled at his mother and hid away his fears and le Fay began to wag her tail again. The fear still sat heavy on her chest, say true, yet she would follow her man’s lead as she ever had, say true, say true.

If Jeremy wants to see me, then he’ll see me, say true, the Blind Bard said, looking past his mother toward the row of low houses between Belle’s Bluff and Red River. He looked back at his mother, then towards his father and their home beyond the fields. It could be worse, he could have come here himself.

Say true, his mother agreed, her eyes distant again. Belle’s Bluff was their land as it had ever been and ever would be, say true, and the other folk of the valley came here only with dire need. The Blind Bard felt his mother move back through her years to the last time those of other bloods had come to her home, her land as had been her father’s and her longfathers’, say true. Then it had been to hear her only son’s shame, and heard it had been. What more could they want of him?

The Blind Bard pulled away from her memories fore he sank too deep again.

Old Winny knew nothing more? he asked, only for the asking.

Nothing. You know Winny, always so excited by the first she never stays to hear the last, say true, answered Amanda with some of the laughter returning to her eyes, yet not enough for the Blind Bard’s liking.

The Latrosians? he asked only for himself and le Fay, yet his mother heard and her lines grew deep.

Hush, now, she said, her voice stern as when he’d delighted in startling hogs as a boy. We’ve no reason to think such, and be glad of it, say true.

It had been five years since the last invasion and over twenty since the one fore that, and the Blind Bard doubted the Latrosians had multiplied enough to storm the Town again just yet. And even if the bandits were stirring in their mountain caves, what could he or any other Belle do fore they arrived? His blood carried no Sight, say true, only the Song and the stories.

Yet what else could the Carr want of him?

I’ll go now, the Blind Bard told his mother, eager to have this meeting over and her worry eased. Tell Father I’ll be back to finish the day’s harvest.

He’ll be happy to hear it, say true, though Camryn may yet steal your work while you’re away, she said as she looked past him to where his sister hauled yet another sack of grain toward their father, pride shining in her eyes as chips of flint.

She’s welcome to it, say true, the Blind Bard said, causing his mother to grin fore he kissed her cheek again. Seeing the signs and knowing her man’s heart, le Fay hauled herself to her feet and was ready to follow fore he’d taken his first step toward the River, say true.

Next Chapter: Pure Gold