By Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
Chapter Twenty-Eight "Voices and Choices"
Sarah hadn't had a good time of it the last two days. Sarah ran out of Mr. Plimsoul's house as fast as she could, flying past her parents, past everyone, with no tears in her eyes, but a fierce light that made them feel as hot as any tears. How could they have had Gilman killed? Sarah hadn't slept since then. She'd roamed from place to place with her cardboard suitcase. Eating ketchup soup at diners, or scrubbing dishes for a dinner. Sarah definitely wished she'd saved more of her Christmas gift money, or her bits of birthday cash now. He who has less, has more distress, as her Granny Pansy had pointed out on many occasions. Now Sarah knew just how right she was. She had eluded the searchers herself by living on the edges of town and not talking to anyone more than absolutely necessary. But she was still in the dark about Dar, and she didn't even know if her family was still looking for her. She didn't even know how much she really cared about finding out. Sarah didn't want to hurt anyone, and she didn't want to help anyone.
Everyone was still obsessed with the Gods of Autumn and their mischief-making, the last she'd heard. Sarah had thought about that, and about their towering, graceful forms. Sarah had first seen them at the well, and now she had finally wound up back there. The well still glowed steadily, although it was silent. When Sarah was close enough to look down into it, she noticed that the well was no longer a monotone dim blue. Now the fog in the well was a lollipop swirl of psychedelic colors. Ribbons of rose chased lines of cadmium yellow which subsumed streaks of azure and emerald. Chrisom white fogs wreathed around lavender blotches, and the whole thing was one mass of colors like a half-healed bruise.
Sarah was as lonely as she had ever been. She patted down the pockets in her dress for the lost pendant one more time. Not that it had shown up in the last few days or any of the other times she'd checked for it. She was patting down her right hand skirt pocket when she felt the feather twitch against her hand. Sarah brought the feather out and stared at it. It writhed against her hand, standing on its spine when she breathed out, as if hoping she would sing to it. Sarah didn't really care one way or another. The feather was like her, useless flotsam. She saw it grow large before her, the sail on a sailboat, and then down to half its size, or nothing, the period at the end of a sentence. When was the last time Sarah had had a decent meal? Her mind raced back to that huge weekend breakfast Granny Pansy had made, and then to the exquisite, unbelievable foods that furnished the table at Eva's house, with that queer dwarf bringing course after course of untried delicacies, each one better than the last. That's where she'd gotten the feather, after all. What could it do for her now? Probably nothing. But it responded to Sarah's voice. The feather wanted her to sing.
"Feather lithesome, feather bright Feather dancing day or night When my lonely heart has fears Dance my saving graces near."
The well instantly took notice of the song and cleared everything away as before when it had given Sarah a window into the quarry of the Ancient One. And there was one other thing too. Now the well was changing color. As Sarah sang, the well was turning a minty green. Mr. Plimsoul and elegant Eva were frowning and snarling at each other. They seemed like they'd be content to watch each other's murder, or to murder each other themselves if they didn't need each other so desperately to survive. The Casket of Augersaal lay at their feet between them, and behind them was a beautiful silver limousine, an Archer Limited if Sarah wasn't mistaken.
"Why're you all purple?" was Sarah's first question. Eva and Mr. Plimsoul had been covered in the purple substance the Casket of Augersaal had spit out when they couldn't sing the invocation properly, but they weren't about to tell Sarah that. Although, really, did she even care?
"Nevermind," Sarah said, indifferent. "Why'd I want you, anyway?" Sarah wondered out loud. Eva could see that Sarah was close to a kind of walking delirium, unsure of what she wanted, or even what she was thinking.
"Oh, Sarah darling, we know how special you are. You are the fated one. And the preordained hour has arrived. This is what you have been waiting for all of your life."
How Sarah wished that was true! Maybe it was true. Then Mr Plimsoul's voice intruded on her thoughts. He was giving her an assignment like she was being held in detention. That's when Sarah remembered why she had run away from them in the first place.
"Do you see this hand-writing Sarah? This is your Grandmother Tone's own hand. She is the one who wanted us to have this song. Your own Grandmother. What objection could you possibly have? You must sing this song." Mr. Plimsoul's voice was pushing hard for Sarah to agree so that they could just get on with it.
"But Gilman!" Sarah objected. "How could you have killed him! He was my brother!"
Eva's face never lost its composure. Too much was at stake for any misstep now. Eva had held her own against the Gods of Autumn. One skinny girl was not going to be a problem. But just to make sure, Eva touched the ring around her finger that contained the three golden hairs from Sarah's head that she had used to bind the girl to her during their ceremony at the well. The Night Ride had bound Mistress and Acolyte for many long centuries in the old country, and would do its work here in Traeshurstaene as well.
"Yes, Sarah, darling," began Eva smoothly. "How could we have killed Gilman? He was far away fighting a war in a desert, and we were here in Traeshurstaene, worrying about your future."
"But I heard you say..." Sarah's gaze grew glossy and unfixed as Eva spoke. So convincingly, so compellingly, so confusingly.
"Yes, Sarah, even then, when your brother Gilman was away, we were worried about you. We knew about you, and had Mr. Hecatomb try and teach you all he could about singing. It is your voice that sings what the well performs, and not otherwise. You, Sarah, can draw the deep magic from the waters of the well, and no one else."
"So you didn't...?"
"No, Sarah, darling, of course not," soothed Eva.
"Sarah," broke in Mr. Plimsoul, "there's a song that you must sing--and you must sing it right now." Sarah stared at him, not balefully, but with a baleful indifference. Sarah really didn't care what Mr. Plimsoul, or any grown-up for that matter, wanted. But Mr. Plimsoul was insistent. He was bossy and used to getting his own way.
The words were written in the belly of the well, in a strong legible woman's hand. In fact, Sarah recognized it as her Granny Pansy's handwriting. The letters were black and distinct against the softly rolling green fog that now lived in the well. Sarah also thought that it reminded her of something, some other song. Could it be the same one that the little hand and little harp had had her and Missy sing in Mr. Plimsoul's basement among all those creepy oddities?
"Please, Sarah, darling," intervened Eva. "I want you to live your own life. You know that I do. But you must help me help you. We need just this one thing from you, and then we can help you to be whatever you want, go wherever you want. You do not look like you have enjoyed your life the last few days. Why have these awful people made you a fugitive? It is not right! Please, Sarah darling, sing with us. Share your exquisite voice with those who want to hear you."
Sarah stared into the pleasant nothingness of the foggy well. Why not? Eva's voice was pleasant, better than Missy's or that stuck-up Betsy's. And if both Eva and her Granny Pansy wanted her to do it, Sarah didn't know how she could refuse. It was too lonely by herself. She had to give Eva and Granny Pansy what they wanted. That was Sarah's thought, or half-thought, or feeling about things as she replied.
"How's the tune go again?" Sarah asked. For, although she recognized the words and tune vaguely, she had no really very exact recollection of them. It was the harp that had lead her that time in the basement. If Mr. Plimsoul and Eva hadn't been so hard-pressed, they might have asked themselves where Sarah had heard the song before, if she was asking how it went again. The green of the well grew strong as they sang.
Mr. Plimsoul and Eva exchanged a greedy look which Sarah could not see. Granny Pansy was advancing on them directly, letting the other witches fend for themselves. She was going to handle Eva and Mr. Plimsoul personally, whatever it took. Granny Pansy was rolling up all four of her sleeves, and picking prime pinches of herbs and spell powders that she was rolling between her leathery fingers.
Eva pulled the purple globe up, and held it in her other hand beside the feather. The harp was there, plucking softly. Sarah could hear it rolling up out of the well, and began to respond.
"Soul and all of Augersaal,
Come and take my soul in thrall!
Begin now what no god began,
Let me live as more than man!"
In a matter of moments, the thin thread of song turned into a torrent, roaring from the well, and from Sarah's throat like a tidal wave. Note after note poured from her being. Sarah's voice, as pure as a bell and as sad as a violin, was being torn away into the well.
"Soul and all of Augersaal,
Come and take my soul in thrall!
Finish now what we began,
And let me live as more than man!"
Eva twined into the song with Sarah, and the Casket of Augersaal lifted up again, and the edge of the lid limned itself in a minty Christmas green light. Granny Pansy threw a pinched arrow of one of her spells at Mr. Plimsoul and Eva, but the Casket of Augersaal responded before either of the singers could.
It blasted Granny Pansy flat to the dock with a minty green death-ray.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT