Read The Seven Songs for Free Online

sat a gray stone hut. It was bordered by a dilapidated wall and surrounded by a few trailing vines and thin fruit trees. Not much of a garden, really. Yet in the days before the fall of the Shrouded Castle, it had seemed like a genuine oasis in the middle of the Rusted Plains.
    How surprised my old friends T’eilean and Garlatha would be when I brought endless bounty to their meager garden! They would be grateful beyond words. Maybe even Rhia would finally be impressed. On the other side of the wall, in the shade of some leafy boughs, I could make out two white heads. T’eilean and Garlatha. Side by side over a bed of bright yellow flowers, their heads bobbed slowly up and down, keeping time to some music only they could hear.
    I smiled, thinking of the wondrous gift I had for them. When I had last seen them, on my way to the Shrouded Castle, I was nothing more than a ragged boy with only the faintest hope of living out the day. They had expected never to see me again. Nor had I expected to return. My pace quickened, as did Rhia’s.
    Before we were twenty paces from the crumbling wall, the two heads lifted as one, like hares in a morning meadow. T’eilean was the first to his feet. He offered a large, wrinkled hand to Garlatha, but she waved it away and rose without any help. They watched us approach, T’eilean stroking his unruly whiskers, Garlatha shading her eyes. I stepped over the wall, followed by Rhia. Despite the weight of the Harp on my shoulder, I stood as tall as I possibly could.
    The wrinkles of Garlatha’s face creased into a gentle smile. “You have returned.”
    “Yes,” I replied, turning so they could see the Harp. “And I have brought you something.”
    T’eilean’s brow creased. “You mean you have brought someone.”
    Rhia stepped forward. Her gray-blue eyes shone at the sight of the two aging gardeners standing before their simple hut. Without waiting to be introduced, she nodded in greeting.
    “I am Rhia.”
    “And I am T’eilean. This is my wife of sixty-seven years, Garlatha.”
    The white-haired woman frowned and kicked at his shin, barely missing the mark. “Sixty-eight, you old fool.”
    “Sorry, my duck. Sixty-eight.” He backed away a step before adding, “She is always right, you see.”
    Garlatha snorted. “Be glad you have guests, or I’d come after you with my trowel.”
    Her husband glanced at the trowel half buried in the flower bed, waving his arm in the air with the playfulness of a bear cub. “Right again. Without occasional guests to protect me, I doubt I would have survived this long.”
    Rhia suppressed a laugh.
    Garlatha, her face softening, reached for T’eilean’s hand. They stood together for a quiet moment, as gray as the stones of their hut. Leaves quivered gently all around them, as if in tribute to the devoted hands that had nurtured this garden for so many years.
    “You remind me of two trees,” observed Rhia. “Trees that have shared the same soil for so long they have grown together. Roots and all.”
    Garlatha, her eyes sparkling, glanced at her mate.
    I decided to try again. “Speaking of things growing, I have brought you—”
    “Yes!” exclaimed the old man, cutting me off. “You have brought your friend, Rhia.” He turned toward her. “We welcome you, no less than we welcome the sunshine.”
    Garlatha tugged on the sleeve of my tunic. “What of your friend who came with you before, the one with the nose as big as a potato?”
    “Shim is fine,” I answered brusquely. “And now—”
    “Though his nose,” interrupted Rhia, “is even bigger than before.”
    Garlatha raised an eyebrow. “He did look full of surprises, that one.”
    With a dramatic tone, I cleared my throat. “And now I have a magnificent surprise for both of you.”
    Yet before I had even finished my sentence, the old woman was again speaking to Rhia. “Are you from Druma Wood? Your garb is woven in the way of the wood elves.”
    “The Druma is my home, and has