“She has to leave,” Arwin amended. “She cannot be near you. She cannot stay here.”
“She is alone . . . like I was. She is from Tonlis. I told you; she is a Songr, Master. I heard her. Even through the storm. She was singing . . . and I heard her. I waited all night for the storm to end, and the waves washed her up onto the sand. I could sense her, even when she stopped singing. A vibration still rose from her skin. It is loud, Master. Louder than even you are, and I can hear you for miles.”
“You did not hear me today!” Arwin reminded, silencing him. When Hod spoke again, his voice was pleading.
“Her life song is louder than any living thing I’ve ever heard. You could teach her. Like you teach me. She has nowhere to go. And she is a girl. She is precious. We cannot turn her away.”
“She blinds you.”
“No . . . she helps me see!”
“She blinds you, Hod,” Arwin repeated. “All your other senses fade to nothing. You know it’s true. I can see it in your face. I struck you, and you did not feel it coming. You did not hear me coming. I walked into the cave fearing the worst, and you were not here. I had to go looking for you. When I saw you . . . lying in that clearing, the witch dancing around you . . . I thought you were dead.”
“It was innocent, Master. She is innocent.”
“Innocent or not, for the first time in your life you were truly blind. She does not help you see.”
“I need only to practice,” Hod pled, but Ghisla heard the wavering in his belief.
“You will lose the sensitivity you have honed. If she is here, you will choose sight instead of insight. She will weaken you. She has weakened you already!”
“She is alone,” Hod whispered. “She has no one. Nowhere to go. And she is a girl, Master. A girl! She needs protection.”
Silence rose between them, and Ghisla didn’t dare open her eyes to see what was unfolding. Her limbs were heavy, pain throbbed in her head, and she lay in dark misery, awaiting her fate. It was minutes before either of them spoke again.
“I have been to Temple Hill,” Arwin said. “There is much talk. King Banruud has asked that a girl from each clan be brought to the temple mount. I will take the girl to Chief Lothgar in Leok. He will be relieved to have someone to send.”
“But . . . ,” Hod protested.
“It is a perfect solution. It is as if Odin himself delivered her.”
“He did not deliver her to Leok . . . He delivered her to me,” Hod argued, his voice so pained, Ghisla felt a twist in her own chest.
“You are already attached to her,” Arwin lamented. “She has ruined you.”
“I am not ruined. I am . . . I am . . .” Hod searched for the word and could not find it.
“She will hurt your training, boy,” Arwin said, almost gentle.
“Then I will work harder. Please do not send her away.”
“I do not have permission to teach her,” Arwin yelled, all gentleness gone as quickly as it had come. “The runes are forbidden to her.”
“But you would send her to the keepers?” Hod shot back. “To the temple?”
“Master Ivo is keeper of the temple and the runes. He will have to decide what to do with her . . . and the other daughters who are sent there. That is not my charge. She is not my charge. You are.”
“Her heartbeat has quickened. She is waking,” Hod said, his voice bleak.
A moment passed, and she felt them at her bedside, their combined presence blocking out the firelight that glowed beyond her lids.
“You put stones around her bed? And marked them with runes?” Arwin said, incredulous.
“I only used the runes to help her rest. And to help her wake. And . . . to rid her hair of bugs,” Hod confessed, sheepish. “Three runes . . . was all.”
“You mock their power with such things.”
“What good are runes if they are not used when they are needed? She did not see the runes . . . or understand them.”
“I did not raise you to be foolish,” Arwin spat.
“You did not raise me to be fooled. I have passed all your tests, Master. I considered that she was disguised . . . that you had sent her. But there was no deceit in her. Not in her breath or her heartbeat. Not in her fear or her words. You must listen to her sing, Master. Then you will know.”
“I don’t want to listen to her sing. She will beguile me like she’s beguiled you.”
But there was doubt in his voice, hesitation, and when Ghisla opened her eyes he was there, hovering above her, Hod beside him. His beard tickled her nose.
“Where did you come from, girl?” Arwin demanded.
She groaned, and her head spun.
“She is hurt, Master,” Hod said.
“Don’t touch her!” Arwin yelled, slapping at his charge.
“Who are you, child?” Arwin asked.
“I am Ghisla,” she whispered, and her head screamed.
“It would cost you nothing to take her pain away, Master,” Hod said.
“Shh,” Arwin growled. “Pain doesn’t lie.”
“Of course it does,” Hod argued. “There is no liar as skilled as pain. Pain will say anything to save itself.”
Arwin grumbled, but his fingers, probing and sharp, found their way into her hair. He traced the bump on her forehead with his thumbs and prodded the wound at the base of her skull with his fingers.
“She is a Songr. She has rune blood, Master,” Hod said. “You need not use your own.”
“Quiet,” Arwin demanded, and Hod obeyed. A second later, the old man drew something on her brow, his fingers wet with the blood from her head. His mouth moved over words she couldn’t hear, but Hod seemed to, for he exhaled in relief.
Her relief followed instantly.
She blinked up at Hod’s teacher. She’d known she didn’t like him. But the absence of the pain in her head made her feel slightly more charitable toward him, though he had caused it. She eased herself up so she was sitting with her back to the wall of the cave.
“Ghisla,” Hod said, his voice kind. “This is my teacher, Arwin. You mustn’t be afraid.”
“He thinks I am a witch,” she said. Of course she should be afraid. But she found her fear had fled with the pain in her head, as if Arwin’s mark had freed her of both.
“Who sent you?” Arwin demanded, holding his staff like a spear, the sharp end only inches from her breast. He was afraid too, she realized suddenly. The thought was almost comical. He was bigger and stronger. He knew magical runes, and he was not bleeding, homeless, and huddling at the end of a sharp stick.
“Who sent you?” he asked again, prodding her ribs with his staff.
“No one sent me. There is no one left,” she cried, swatting at the stick.
Hod’s brow furrowed over his mossy eyes. She had not told him everything.
“No one?” Hod asked.
“My family is dead,” she amended.
“How did you find him? How did you find Hod?” Arwin asked.
“I did not find him,” Ghisla insisted. “He found me.”
“This is true, Master,” Hod interjected.
“Shh,” Arwin spat. “She found you, Hod. She found us. She is here, isn’t she?”