The Seven Songs by T. A. Barron Read Free Book Online

around. But I saw nothing between me and the distant stars.
    “Or should I say,” whispered the voice again, “thank you, Emrys Merlin?’
    I caught my breath. “How do you know my names?”
    “Oh yes,” the voice went on breezily, “I like the Merlin part much better than dusty old Emrys.”
    Reaching up, I groped at the night air. “How do you know so much? Who are you? And where are you?”
    A soft, breathy laughter rose out of the air before me. “I am Aylah, a wishlahaylagon.” The laughter came again. “But most people simply call me a wind sister.”
    “Aylah,” I repeated. “Wind sister.” Again I reached skyward, and this time my fingertips passed through a warm current of air. “Now tell me how you know so much.”
    The smell of cinnamon grew stronger. Warm air swept slowly around me, fluttering my tunic. I felt embraced by a whirling circle of wind.
    “I know as much as the air itself, Emrys Merlin. For I travel fast and far, never sleeping, never stopping.”
    Aylah’s invisible cloak continued to spin slowly around me. “That is what a wind sister does, Emrys Merlin.” A slight sob made her pause. “Unless she is captured, as I was.”
    “Who would do such a thing?”
    “Someone evil, Emrys Merlin.” The warm air spun away, leaving me with a sudden chill.
    “Tell me.”
    “Someone evil, ahhh yes,” breathed Aylah from near the bank where I had slept. “Her names are many, but most know her as Domnu.”
    I shivered, though not from the night air. “I know Domnu. I know her treachery. Yet I wouldn’t exactly call her evil.”
    “She is surely not good, Emrys Merlin.”
    “She is neither good nor evil. She simply is. A little like fate.”
    “Dark Fate, you mean.” Aylah’s breeze blew across the strings of the Harp, tingling them lightly. “She is one of the few who are old and powerful enough to catch the wind. I don’t know why, Emrys Merlin, I only know that she locked me away in that flask and cast me aside.”
    “I’m sorry for you.”
    A warm breath of air caressed my cheek. “If you hadn’t helped me this night, Emrys Merlin, I believe I would have died.”
    My voice too a whisper, I asked, “Can the wind really die?”
    “Oh yes, Emrys Merlin, it can.” Once again she brushed my cheek. “The wind, like a person, can die from loneliness.”
    “You are not alone now.”
    “Nor are you, Emrys Merlin. Nor are you.”

4: T REASURES
    The thrill of playing the Harp, which I had not felt since leaving the Dark Hills, filled me once again. Indeed, as I walked across the rolling plateaus of the Rusted Plains, the land seemed to erupt with new life even before I paused to pluck the oaken instrument. The driest grasses bent before me, as the most lifeless leaves arose from the ground, twirled, and danced in spirals at my feet. For Aylah moved beside me. Her gentle breeze often brushed against my arms, and her wispy laughter lifted every time I played the magical strings.
    Even so, my steps sometimes grew heavy. Whenever I came across a stone hut, or a grove of fruit trees, I leaned against my staff, frowning at the memory of my encounter with T’eilean and Garlatha. I wished that I had never thought of visiting them and their garden. In addition, every time I glanced at the shadowed ridges to the east, I felt the gnawing sense that I was making a mistake by not returning to the hills to finish my work there. Yet I just didn’t feel ready to go back. Not yet. Let Rhia and the others fret a while longer.
    Flushed with anger, I strummed the Harp. To my surprise, this time the brittle grass beneath my boots did not transform into lush, green blades. Instead, the entire meadow seemed to darken slightly, as if a cloud had covered the sun. Puzzled, I looked skyward. But I found no clouds.
    Impatiently, I strummed again. But the grass only stiffened, darkened. I frowned at the instrument. What was wrong with it?
    A warm wind billowed my tunic. “You are angry, Emrys