Free The Singer of All Songs by Kate Constable Page A

while she was locked inside the grey walls of Antaris, watching the moons wheel overhead and the seasons come and go, every day the same as the one that had gone before. And she would never see him again –
    Abruptly she thrust the little globe deep into her pocket. ‘Wait!’ she cried, stumbling down the slippery bank.
    And then she was in the water.
    The shock tore the breath from her lungs. She hadn’t expected the water to be so icy, nor the current so strong; cold and terror clutched her heart. This river was alive, and freezing, and it wanted to drag her under. Her head dipped once, then twice; she inhaled a mouthful of water and came up choking. Now she was facing the wrong way, pulled along backward by the churning water. She struggled to turn, but couldn’t balance; the weight of her clothes and her boots dragged her down as if strong hands seized her ankles and held them fast. She sobbed for breath, flailing against the current and the forces dragging, dragging her under.
    Then a strong hand cupped her chin, and a commanding voice spoke above the tumult of the rushing water. ‘Be still – the water will carry you. I won’t let you sink.’ Darrow was pulling her toward the centre of the stream, where the current ran more slowly. Calwyn thrashed once, and gasped wildly for breath, then lay still and allowed him to guide her. It was true: once she stopped struggling with the water, she floated more easily; the current swept them both past the curving banks and the trees that trailed their leaves in the water. Darrow’s head moved easily beside her, almost as though he were walking calmly along the bottom of the riverbed. His hair, still dry, gleamed pale as hay in the growing light.
    They had left the Wall far behind; she could see it, shining white, through the trees. This was the outside of the Wall. that she had never glimpsed before. But there was no time to wonder at that. Darrow seized her shoulder and pulled her with matter-of-fact strength toward the bank. He sang one of his gurgling chantments, and his bundled cloak and stick flew through the air and landed on the grass. Then he was guiding her, not to the riverbank itself, but to a fallen tree that sprawled in the water, its branches catching leaves and twigs and other flotsam. Now it was to catch Calwyn herself; she saw his plan, and reached out her arms to clutch a sturdy branch. The wood was slippery, but she wrapped her arms firmly around it and clung on. The black water churned past, but for the first time she was still.
    She held her head out of the water, gulping air, and watched as Darrow pulled his lean legs up the bank as easily as an otter, and shook himself. Then he balanced on the tree trunk, gripped Calwyn’s hand, and hauled her toward the bank with such force that she thought her arm would be wrenched from its socket. Was he singing a chantment to help lift her clear? She could hear nothing but the roaring of the water. Her leg scraped against the tree, but she didn’t feel it; with a cry of relief she collapsed on dry land, and huddled there for a moment, sobbing for air, clutching solid earth.

three
City of Cheese stone

    C ALWYN HELD OUT her tingling hands toward the fire. Darrow had made her run about the grove, to gather wood and warm herself, before he lit the fire with his flint. Only then did he let her sit down, wrapped in his dry cloak. Apart from the crackling of the flames, there was silence. It was almost dawn now; only one moon remained, shining pale above the dark mass of the trees. All around them, birds had begun to stir at the approach of morning, first one tentative call, then another, until the forest rang with their twittering.
    Calwyn blinked, and sniffed hard. She would not cry in front of Darrow. But it was too late; he was frowning at her.
    ‘What is it?’
    In a muffled voice she said, ‘I’m ashamed.’
    Darrow seemed at a loss. He poked another stick into the heart of the fire, and sparks shot into