Song of Souls - Skye MacKinnon Page 0,1

is becoming increasingly rare. It's a small hamlet, no more than twenty houses, all of them huddled together in defence of the wild lands surrounding it. It's taken me an entire day on horseback to reach it. A hundred years ago, I travelled on the back of the music, faster than the wind, but I have become tired of that recently. I wished for a horse and it came into existence, a large, black steed with fiery eyes and an insatiable appetite for apples. He doesn't need earthly food, just like myself, but apples help motivate him on dreary days like today. I have a couple of them stashed in the saddlebags, in case he throws yet another tantrum. He's a magnificent stallion, but he's also strong-willed and temperamental. Some days, I leave him in the stable and later wish him to wherever I've ended up. He doesn't like it, but it's not like I care.

I stopped caring a long time ago.

The village's gloomy atmosphere makes me want to move on and find a prettier place, but the Song doesn't allow for that. If I don't follow it, it'll make me pay. The Song is always hungry, always looking for its next victim, and I'm its tool, nothing more. The Song decides who I will lead from this world and into the next. I can't resist it any more than the humans can.

I jump off my steed and offer him another apple. There's no need to bind him to a tree; he won't leave. He knows I'd just wish him back to wherever I am. He's more intelligent than mortal horses, although I sometimes wish that wasn't the case. He judges me for what I do, I know it. His fiery eyes hold disappointment whenever the Song leads me to a child. I've told him that I cannot fight the Song, but his disdain for my actions doesn't waver.

Just a horse. His opinion doesn't matter.

I walk into the village until I get to the house the Song points out. It's the biggest one with a sturdy, freshly patched roof. I walk through the closed door and two walls until I see the human I'm here to take. An old woman, at the edge of death. Those are my favourites. They don't have long to live anyway. Me pulling them into another world won't change much. It's a very different case when it comes to children. Those are hard.

I take out my pipe and gently stroke it. I love it as much as I loathe it. The music it produces is beautiful, yet I hate what it does to people.

As soon as I hold the pipe to my lips, the song fades. It always does that, now that it’s sure I will follow its command. It's like it isn't needed once I play the pipe and create my own music. My fingers dance on the smooth wood without my intervention. I never learned to play the pipe. It's almost like it plays me.

Today's melody is slow and wistful. It matches the movements of the old lady as she gets up from her armchair and walks towards me. Her eyes are blank, enchanted by the music. I don't know if humans are aware of what's happening when they're controlled by me and my pipe. If they are, they don't show any signs of struggle. Most have passive expressions, but some relax, even smile. It makes me feel better about it all.

This woman doesn't smile, but she looks relaxed as if she's dreaming about something nice. No nightmares for her.

I never stop playing as I leave the house, trusting on the old lady to follow me. She shuffles along, barefoot and in nothing but her nightgown. It doesn't matter; her neighbours won't stop her. Once I play the pipe, humans will ignore my victim. They still see her, but they don't care that she's not dressed properly and is randomly walking down the street. It's a strange magic which means that families will never get to say goodbye to their loved ones.

I have to walk slow to match the woman's pace. I want to be away from the village before I turn her over to the Song. It feels wrong to do it in such close vicinity to other humans, even if they can't see me. If they knew I existed, they'd be scared. Their entire lives would be different. They'd know that they could be taken from their life at any moment