The Pearl of the Soul of the World - By Meredith Ann Pierce Page 0,20

from home—

Then strong-hoof of a starhorse

must hallow him unguessed

If adamant's edge is to plunder

his breast.

Then, only, may the Warhorse

and Warrior arise

To rally the warhosts, and thunder

the skies."

Aeriel let her mind wander back, remembering how she had found and freed the enchanted Ions in the fires of Orm before the Witch's remaining darkangels could recapture them.

"But first there must assemble

ones icari would claim.

A bride in the temple

must enter the flame,

With steeds found for six brothers,

beyond a dust deepsea,

And new arrows reckoned, a wand

given wings— "

The rime recounted the rescued Ions agreeing to serve as steeds for Prince Irrylath's Istern brothers, the magical silver arrowheads forged by Talb the Mage for the Lady Syllva, and the Ancient white messenger bird that had come to Aeriel, melding with her wooden staff to become for a time its living figurehead.

"That when a princess-royal's

to have tasted of the tree…"

She remembered the taste of a strange golden fruit upon her tongue—sharp, yet so tremendously sweet. The dark girl sang on:

"Then far from Esternesse's

city, these things:

A gathering of gargoyles,

a feasting on the stone,

The Witch of Westernesse's

hag overthrown."

The gargoyled Ions all assembled at Orm, a dreadful sacrifice upon an Ancient altar, and the Witch's red-eyed harridan falling screaming from the highest ledge…

Aeriel came to herself with a start, realizing that Erin had reached the end of the second long stanza—the last stanza anyone knew—and had stopped singing. The pale girl shook herself and gazed at her friend, wondering.

"Where did you hear that song?" she said. "I never knew it had a tune before."

Erin laughed. "All the camp's singing it. Some bard's doing. Volunteers, when they come, march in singing it. I would not be surprised if it is all over Westernesse by now." She smiled devilishly. "Your notoriety spreads."

Aeriel looked wryly away for a moment—but her annoyance at Erin's playful needling never lasted.

She sighed, thinking of the rime. "But what is the rest of it?" she asked. "No one knows. Talb the Mage has no inkling; nor do the Ions, and my maiden-spirits have not spoken to me since Orm."

She glanced upward at the constellation of pale yellow stars called commonly the Maidens' Dance.

Elliptical in shape, it floated overhead like a burning crown.

"How shall I learn the rest of the rime?" Aeriel wondered aloud. "We're preparing to march, and I don't even know Ravenna's plan!"

Sobering, Erin touched her companion's hand lightly, once. "Take heart. Everything of which the rime speaks so far has come to pass. The Witch must know this. Perhaps she has grown so afraid of you now that she has withdrawn into her palace of cold white stone and will not show herself." The dark girl shrugged. "In all events, it's no use worrying. I am certain that soon you will discover the last of the rime."

Aeriel could not help smiling, just a little. Erin always cheered her. But her mood quickly darkened.

She fidgeted, biting her lip.

"It's Irrylath I am most uneasy for. He is still within her reach—and the dreams she sends him are dire.

I fear for him."

"I don't," said Erin sourly. "He is so full of his army and this war—he spends more time in the company of Avarclon and that Sabr than he does in yours. He never speaks to you; he does not send for you. Is he not your husband?"

"Peace, Erin," Aeriel said wearily. "There will be time for all that, after the war."

But the dark girl shook her head.

"I have heard the rumors flying all over camp, all about this enchantment the White Witch still holds on him," she exclaimed, "that he may not lie with you or anyone while the White Witch lives—but I tell you from experience that that is very little of what makes a man, and though he may not lie with you, he might touch you, or talk to you, or even look at you when you are in his company—but no, it is ever 'my troops," and 'the warhost," and 'My steed calls me away!" Sabr, that bedaggered bandit, dotes on him."

Aeriel tensed. "She is his cousin."

"So are you. And which of you is his wife?"

Aeriel felt the knot beneath her breastbone tighten. She gripped a handful of desiccated sand suddenly as though she meant to hurl it at Erin. The near tents sighed in the wind. Aeriel opened her fingers and let the sand trickle away. "I'll not speak of this."

"No, you never will," snapped Erin. She gazed off across the camp, between the airy pavilions in pale, pale green, ghost blue,