The Singing by Alison Croggon

  "Something's happened," said Hem. He wondered if it was anything to do with Hulls, and cast Karim a dark glance. But Karim was looking toward the door, where Marich and Saliman were entering, their hair plastered to their heads. Before them floated a magelight, and Hem realized how dark it had grown in the taproom, even as they had been talking. It was now almost full night.

  "Nobody here?" said Saliman. His gaze swept around the taproom, resting on the spilled mug, the abandoned meal.

  "No one," said Karim. "I just checked upstairs. It looks as if everyone has run away."

  Saliman frowned, but didn't say anything. He took a tinderbox from his pack and lit the oil lamps, and a warm glow filled the room.

  "I do not smell the work of the Dark in this place," Saliman said when he had finished. "But for the moment I cannot guess why it has been abandoned. It is owned by Finar, a proud man if ever I have met one; he would defend his tavern against the Nameless One himself. But it feels as if no one has been here for at least a day. And they clearly left in a hurry."

  "We didn't see anyone in the village, either," said Hem, remembering back. At the time, as they came down the road, he had thought it was because the weather was so bad; but he couldn't remember seeing lights in any windows. There should have been some, surely, on such a gloomy day.

  "I suppose we should just make the best of it," said Marich. "I don't want to go back out into that." For a moment the five of them stood in the empty taproom, listening to the downpour outside. It sounded, if anything, as if it were getting heavier.

  "Me neither," said Hem, with feeling.

  Saliman shrugged. "I suppose we have shelter, and the horses, at least, are content. Hem and I can put some veiling about the building, so we don't attract the attention of passers-by. And even if enemies were close, who would be out on a night like this? All the same, I would give much to know why the people here left in such a hurry. Hem, let's go upstairs and see what we can find."

  "Nobody's there," said Karim, an edge of testiness in his voice.

  "I know," said Saliman. "But it could be that we might find some clue about what has happened here."

  Together Hem and Saliman climbed the narrow staircase off the hallway, their magelights casting a silvery glow over the dark wood. They said nothing until they were upstairs. Saliman briefly checked the rooms: they were mostly bedchambers, and all of them looked as if people had left hurriedly.

  "What do you think happened here?" asked Hem.

  "I can only guess," said Saliman. "Something frightened the people here, that seems very clear. But there's no sign of vio­lence, nor any smell of sorcery."

  "Should we stay here?"

  "I don't think we have much choice at the moment," said Saliman. "Usha can't go any farther today, and the rain has set in. In any case, we should stay the night and decide what to do tomorrow."

  They found nothing of interest and gloomily returned to the taproom. Karim was lounging by the fire with his feet up, and had helped himself to beer. Hekibel and Marich were investigating the kitchen, and Marich had already lit the stove. They had found some stale bread and a stew that was going moldy, which Hekibel had thrown out; but there was still plenty of edible food, including a huge, round cheese moldering fragrantly under a cloth, some winter apples, turnips, and carrots, and plenty of flour and grains. Hekibel had even found some yeast and was already pounding dough on the broad wooden table, her hands covered with flour.

  "I thought I'd make some bread and a stew, and maybe an apple pie," said Hekibel. "There's some smoked meat hanging in the larder, and various other bits and pieces. At least we can have some dinner. We can leave some coins to pay—we're not looters."

  "A wonderful idea," said Saliman, smiling. "I'll investigate the cellar. As I recall, Finar had some very good Annaren wines. But first Hem and I will attend to some charms, so our lights don't attract any unwelcome attention. We might as well do it before we get changed, Hem, because we have to go outside and we'll just get wet again."

  Hem nodded, and he and Saliman went back through the taproom and out the front door of the tavern. The Imlan ran close to the road here, a couple of hundred spans away, and Hem could hear its roar even over the rain.

  I think that the river is very close to flooding, said Saliman, speaking into Hem's mind so he could hear him over the rain. And this is a low-lying area. It could be that the villagers left because they feared it would break its banks.

  Maybe . . . Hem replied dubiously. It didn't sound likely to him—wouldn't they rather be working to protect their proper­ties? He squinted up the road, trying to see through the pall of darkness and rain. It was pitch-dark, but as his eyes adjusted, Hem could make out the black shapes of the other buildings that lined the street. Then he blinked—farther up, there was a bright light, a fire perhaps.

  It doesn't look as if everyone's gone, he said, nudging Saliman.

  You're right, said Saliman. I wonder . . . perhaps we could find out what has happened here.. .but we should complete the charm first.

  He and Saliman had become very practiced at working together as mages. Covering a large building like the tavern with a glimveil that would fool the eyes of Hulls was tricky and effortful, but they completed the task quickly. When they had finished, they stood back and inspected their work: from more than two paces away, the tavern looked as deserted as every­where else, its windows blank and dark.

  Shall we go and see what the light is? said Hem.

  Saliman nodded, and they cautiously made their way up the road. They lit no magelights; they were uncertain what they would find, and didn't want to take any chances.

  As they drew closer, they saw that the light was indeed a fire. A house was ablaze, the flames spitting under the heavy rain, which was already beginning to put it out. They watched as the roof beams collapsed spectacularly in an explosion of sparks.

  "Nothing here," said Saliman out loud, and turned to go back to the tavern. "And there's certainly no danger of it spreading."

  Hem dragged his eyes away from the fire, and was about to follow Saliman when a figure sprang out of the darkness and lunged at Saliman. Taken off guard, Saliman was knocked to the ground. Hem shouted with surprise and leaped toward them, wondering what to do; he couldn't hit the assailant with any guarantee that he wouldn't hit Saliman. For a brief moment, the two figures grappled fiercely, rolling over and over on the road, and then there was a sudden burst of magelight and Saliman sprang to his feet. His assailant lay gasping on the ground, utterly still, his body twisted in a strange attitude.

  Saliman was standing over his attacker, panting. A magelight glimmered to life before him, and the whites of his eyes flashed as he turned toward Hem.

  "Are you all right?" Hem asked.

  "Yes," said Saliman. "No thanks to our friend here."

  Hem glanced at the man on the ground. His face was pressed against the mud, one arm flung out, the other twisted underneath him. His body shuddered in the rain, but he couldn't move a muscle: Saliman had stilled him with a charm.

  "I've stilled everything living within fifty paces of this place," said Saliman. "Except you, of course. Nothing can attack us now, but perhaps it might do to have a quick look around."

  The man on the ground screamed through his frozen lips, and the hair rose on Hem's neck; he didn't sound human. He shuddered and gladly turned away to scout the surrounding area. There wasn't much to see: nearby was a low stone wall and a couple of fruit trees, but otherwise it was clear of hiding places. Hem supposed that the man had been hiding behind the wall before he attacked Saliman. He returned to Saliman, who was wiping the mud off his face with his sleeves.

  "I couldn't get much wetter than I already am," he said. "But mud as well! The indignity!" He smiled, and Hem smiled back uncertainly, knowing that Saliman was trying to reassure him. Hem felt in his bones that all was not well. "I suppose we should find out what manner of man decided to pounce on me, and why. He's not a Hull, I know that much."


  A short distance away there was an open byre, now empty, that would provide a shelter from the rain. Saliman bent down and said something indistinctly to the man, and then picked him up, holding his elbow, and led him to the byre. Once inside, the man sat down heavily on the ground, hiding his face in his hands. In the pale magelight he looked completely wretched. His clothes were rags, and seemed to be charred, his hair was stiff with mud, and his limbs shook violently. Hem watched him suspiciously from the doorway, his hand on the hilt of his shortsword.

  "Until I release this charm, you cannot move unless I per­mit you to," said Saliman.

  The man whimpered, but said nothing.

  "I have no wish to harm you," Saliman continued. "I want to know who you are, and what has happened here. What is your name?"

  For a time the only sound was the rain falling on the ground outside. Hem was just about to repeat Saliman's question when the man groaned and attempted to speak, and Saliman held his hand up to Hem, bidding him to be quiet.

  "I can't—I can't remember . . ." said the man. "I had a name once. No name now. No name."

  "Is the house that burned down your house?" said Saliman, again looking across at Hem. His voice was much gentler; clearly they had found a madman, a creature who deserved pity, not aggression.

  "House?"

  "The fire," said Hem impatiently. "Was it your house?"

  "Fire! What fire? Is there a fire?" The man stared at them in sudden panic, and Hem at last saw his ruined face. The man's face was covered with scabs, his mouth was open and drooling, and the veins on his neck were like thick, twisted cords. But worst of all were his eyes, which started out of his head, rolling with terror. His irises were almost completely silvered over with strange, milky cataracts, as if a spider had spun a thick web over his eyes; whatever color his eyes had been, they were now pale yellow, the pupil barely visible.

  Saliman leaped back as if he had been burned, and swore under his breath. "Get out, Hem!" he said, turning around sharply "Get out of here!"

  "No," said Hem.

  "It's the White Sickness. By the Light, I understand now. Hem, you are a healer, you understand disease: the White Sickness is very contagious. You must go at once."

  "No, I'm not leaving you," said Hem. "What are we going to do with him?"

  The man had turned away from them and was now sob­bing into his hands. Hem stared at him with a mixture of pity and disgust.

  "He's in the last stages," said Saliman. "You see his eyes: they are almost white. Soon he'll be completely blind. I'm sur­prised that he saw us, frankly. He's out of his mind—he leaped on me with the strength of a lion and I barely fought him off. He was trying to kill me. I would have had no chance without magery. And I expect he's already forgotten why he did it. Whoever he is, we will never know."

  "Can't we heal him?" Hem looked over at Saliman, and Saliman dropped his eyes and was silent for a long time. Hem waited, feeling an awful premonition growing inside him.

  "I'll be honest, Hem," Saliman said. "If I were in the Healing Houses in Turbansk, with all the physic there and the best of care, I would rate this man's chances very small. And even there, to drive back this sickness would take all my strength. Here we have not the medicines, nor the care, and I am already very weary. Even if I could drive the sickness out of his body, which I doubt, I do not think he would survive it."

  "We can't leave him like this!" Hem was now examining the man with a healer's eye. When he had first seen his face, he had thought him an old man, but he realized with a shock that he was probably much younger. His body was skeletal, as if he had been starved for a long time, and there were sores all over him. He was clearly in a high fever, and his cheeks were flushed, but he was shaking violently with cold, whimpering and moaning. Hem noticed that he had serious burns on his legs and hands as well. Remembering stories he had heard about the madness caused by the White Sickness, Hem thought that it was likely that the man had burned the house down, whether it was his own or not.

  "No, we cannot leave him in such suffering." There was a tone in Saliman's voice that made Hem look at him sharply. "Hem, please leave."

  "No," Hem said again. "What are you going to do?"

  "I will give him the only mercy left to him in this world," said Saliman. "I wish I knew his name. Well, if you will not go, I cannot make you."

  Saliman bowed his head for a moment, and then he leaned forward and placed his palms over the man's eyes, breathing in deeply. For a moment the byre was flooded with blinding white light, and then it went utterly dark. When Saliman did not renew his magelight, Hem made one himself. On the other side of the byre the two figures were outlined in the silvery light, one now silent and still on the ground, one standing quietly, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed.

  "Saliman?" Hem's voice was high with anxiety. "Saliman? Are you all right?"

  Saliman sighed heavily. Then he stood straight and lifted his arm, and a silver radiance began to glimmer faintly around his form. "May the Light protect this man's soul," he said. "And may he find solace beyond the Gate." Then he lowered his arms, and the illumination within him faded away. He looked utterly exhausted. He slowly lifted his head and looked at Hem, and a light stood in his eyes that made Hem's throat tighten with sorrow.

  "Well, that's done," said Saliman. He began to say some­thing else, but his voice faltered and he fell silent.

  Hem stepped forward, wanting to take Saliman's arm, but Saliman waved him away. "You must not touch me, Hem," he said. "Do not even come near me. I may have the White Sickness myself now."

  Hem felt the blood drain from his face. "You what?"

  "I may have the illness. That man, whoever he was, breathed and dribbled all over me. He might even have bitten me. You know how swiftly it spreads. I would rather not take the risk of passing it on to you."

  Hem stared at Saliman in shock. "That can't happen," he said. "You can't get sick. You're a healer."

  "You know very well that healers can get sick," Saliman said, his voice like iron. "Now, Hem, listen to me. I want you to go back to the tavern and tell the others what has happened. You didn't touch the sick man, so I do not believe you will be infected. I will go to the ostler's room, by the stables. I can make a fire there. I'd like some dinner, so if you can bring a plate of something to the door ... and bring my pack, also. Leave them by the door. Do not come in. If I am well tomorrow morning, we will know I do not have the sickness. At least it is quick."

  "But—"

  "Go," said Saliman harshly. "Do what I tell you. Go now."

  Hem nodded, swallowing, and ran blindly back to the tav­ern. Such was his distress that he ran past it in the dark, and had to backtrack: the glimveil was working all too well.

  Irc, perched on a chair near the fire, cawed in welcome and fluttered over to Hem's shoulder, and Hekibel came out of the kitchen, her arms still smeared with flour.

  "Where's Saliman?" she said, looking past Hem's shoulder.

  "You were a long time," said Marich at the same time. "We were about to send out a search party."

  Hem stood dripping in the doorway, and found that he didn't know what to say. He went over to the fire.

  "What's happened?" asked Hekibel. "Hem, what's wrong?"

  Hem felt tears gathering in his throat, but he refused to cry.

  "Saliman was attacked by a man with the White Sickness," he said. "He won't come in, for fear that he is infected. He's going to the ostler's room by the stables."

  The three players looked at Hem in shock, and Hekibel began to run toward the back door.

  "He won't let you near him," said Hem. "We'll know if he's sick by tomorrow. He might not be. He wants some dry clothes, and he'll need some food. He said to put them in the doorway of the ostler's room."

  "If he's in the stables, we can't get to the horses," said Karim.

  "He won't be near the caravan," Hem said, looking at Karim with open dislike. "He is trying to protect us."

  "No wonder this place
is abandoned," said Karim. "The White Sickness runs through a place like wildfire. They say it only takes a touch for the corruption to spread from man to man."

  Hem said nothing. He took his pack and went upstairs so he could change out of his soaking clothes. The clothes in his pack were still damp, and after a little thought he opened the chest in the room. Inside were tunics and jerkins, a little big for him but mercifully dry, and he threw them over his head. He took his own clothes downstairs so he could hang them in front of the fire and dry them out. When he walked in, there was an uncomfortable silence, as if everyone had been talking about him. He saw that they were all pale with fear, and his stomach lurched with sudden contempt.

  "You leave here if you like," he said fiercely. "I'll stay with Saliman. You needn't worry. But we might as well have that apple pie."

  "There might be nothing wrong with him," said Hekibel, her voice wavering. "But if he is sick, no one can heal the White Sickness—"

  "Bards can cure it," said Hem. "If he's sick, I'll heal him."

  "Have you healed it before?" asked Hekibel. Her voice was almost a whisper.