The Song and its Singer in *Sing a Graveyard Song*

The Song and Its Singer

Meet Magretha, the only wielder of power that Alstera can trust in the village of Alpage, deep in the snow-covered mountains of Sing a Graveyard Song 

The Song to Seal the Dead

Earth, water, air and fire.

Blood, breath, flesh and bones.

Sun and shadow, soil and stone.

 

Earth to sifting dust, of which `twas shaped.

Water of brief life, to the stream belong.

Air to rushing winds, no breath to `scape.

Fire of bright spirit, the flame ever strong.

 

Return to the ether, no more to know strife.

Return to the gods, their gift of thy life.

 

Empty the vessel, out thy life pours.

Cross the great chasm, seal the last door.

Spirit to Neothera, to live nevermore.

 

Earth, water, air and fire.

Blood, breath, flesh and bones.

Sun and shadow, soil and stone.

Meet Magretha in this excerpt from the Prologue.

Wrapped well against the evening’s cold, Magretha watched the first stars peeking out in the moonless
Dragon night. Soon the bowl of sky would glitter with stars, twinkling jewels on a grand lady’s velvet gown, the way she imagined the gown her father had once described. A sight she would never see unless she ventured to the lowlands as he’d once done. No grand stranger would ever come to Alpage, and she had no desire to leave her mountains.

She sighed and massaged her back, aching from the day’s physical toil. Today, last day of Deep Winter, she and Feldie and Leute had fought for the lives of a mother and her too-early babe, fighting to snatch life from grasping death. She was awed anew by the tenuous chain that linked a soul to a fragile body. An apprentice only, this day she had wielded power that a year ago she would not have dreamed of wielding. For the past hour, exhilaration had fueled her. They had won their battle to save both mother and babe. The elation had now ebbed, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Feldie had sapped more than power from her in the battle against death. Magretha massaged the small of her back and wished for a steaming bath to ease her muscles.

“Tired, my almost-daughter?”

The older woman had shed her stained apron, but splotches of birth-blood flecked her sweat-damp blouse. Her tousled hair gleamed silver in the dying light. She came to Magretha and rested an arm around her waist.

“A good omen, this babe of Grisetta’s. Last child of Deep Winter. You did well tonight.”

“I was so afraid I would hurt Grisetta or the baby.”

“Yet you did not. `Tis glad I am that I took you to apprentice. This day’s work was proof of my choice. You did well with as a difficult a birth as you’ll ever encounter. A month early and the babe not turned; the mother exhausted long before the babe crowned. Without your younger power and stronger arms to do the work, I doubt that either would have lived.”

“Leute could have done as well, Feldie. Or Kortie.”

“Leute has not your gentle touch nor your power’s depth. She will never make the wise woman that you will. And Kortie is mewed up with grief for her husband Harroth. Besides, already you surpass both of my erstwhile apprentices. I fear you will soon surpass me.”

“Never, Feldie. You know so much.”

“Not as much as I should, almost-daughter.” She hugged the younger woman. “Come, Grisetta cuddles her new son close, and her family gather to celebrate. `Tis time we were on our way. You have your scrip?”

“Here. And yours.” She hoisted both packs onto her shoulder. “Thereiss said she would have hot soup and cold ale waiting for us when we finished.”

“I look forward to the ale.” Feldie looked back into the house. “Where is Leute?”

“She left quite a while ago. She said the after-birth must be buried within an hour of the babe’s birth.”

“Ah, that old superstition. The monstrous twin born with us all, buried before it saps life from the living.” Her raised eyebrows and creepy voice mocked the belief, a shocking reminder that she was an outlander. Feldie had been Alpage’s wise woman since before Magretha was born, but she had the non-native’s prejudice against certain village beliefs. “Leute is much for the superstitions, but it is as good a reason as any to dispose of the after-birth.” She wrapped her cloak tighter. “Lead on, almost-daughter. I would fill my belly before I sleep.”

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Books 1, 2, and 3 of the Fae Mark'd Wizard by Remi Black