Full Circle Read Free

cold where the River had splashed him as he climbed.
    The Prowman walked behind one of the boulders near the passage and came back with a blanket and pack. He threw the blanket
     to Ash, who hesitated. All the other men were naked, except for the Prowman, who wore leggings and a tunic.
    “Am I… allowed?”
    The old man shrugged, the beads at the end of his long braids clicking softly. “Animals go naked,” he said. “We are not animals.”
    “What are we?”
    The Prowman gestured to the floor and they sat, cross-legged, Ash pulling the blanket around himself. The pack held food:
     cooked chicken, bread, apples, dried pear. Ash fell on it thankfully. He hadn’t eaten in three days.
    “Slowly,” the Prowman said. “Or you’ll just throw it all up again.”
    It was good advice, but it was hard to follow. Ash forced himself to start with the bread and chewed it thoroughly instead
     of wolfing it down.
    “What are we… Well, that’s a little hard to say,” the Prowman said, smiling. “We are… Hers. I can tell you some
     things about yourself, although I do not know you. You are a musician.”
    Ash shook his head vigorously, glad his mouth was full of bread so he didn’t have to say the disappointing words out loud.
    “No?” The Prowman paused, surprised. “You
don’t
make up music?”
    Ash stilled, his hand over the chicken.
Did
he make up music? The moment seemed to stretch for hours.
    “In my head,” he said finally. “Only in my head.”
    “Ah, well, that’s where all music starts.”
    “But I can’t sing!” Ash said. “Or play anything.”
    “The River doesn’t care about that. She wants what’s inside you, not what you do outside.”
    “What? What’s inside me?”
    “The thing that makes the music, that
thinks
the music. The centre of you. It’s why She chose me, why She chose you.”
    “Chose us to do what?”
    For the first time, the Prowman seemed unsure. “Different things. Be Her voice, for one. Be Her eyes in the world, Her… life, Her…”
    “Her lover, you said,” Ash prompted. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, except intensely curious.
    “Mmm… you’ll find out about that in time, although it won’t be what you expect.”
    “Nothing ever is!” Ash exclaimed, tired of being told only part of things, tired of always being at the beginning of understanding.
     Enough of this mysticism. He had a job to do. “I need to learn the secret songs.”
    The Prowman shook his head, and Ash jumped to his feet, infuriated. “Don’t tell me there’s
another
shagging test!”
    “No, no, don’t worry,” the Prowman said, laughing sympathetically. “You don’t need to learn the songs because when you need
     them, She will give them to you. How do you think the men learnt them in the first place? She gave them to me, and I gave
     them to the men. She will be your teacher, lad, when the time comes.”
    But Ash had a better idea.
    “
You
can sing them!” It was a relief, to hand over the responsibility to someone he was sure could fulfil it. But the Prowman
     put up a hand in refusal.
    “No. This is your job. Your time to be active in the world. I have had my time, and it was more than enough.” There was a
     note of sorrow, of loss, of relinquishment, in his voice. “So there is nothing to keep you here,” the Prowman went on. “Go
     where you need to go, and She will be there waiting for you.”
    “Sanctuary,” Ash said without thinking. “I have to go to Sanctuary.”
    The Prowman’s face became shadowed; tears stood in his eyes. With their bright blue clouded, he looked very old, the torchlight
     showing hundreds of wrinkles, his hands browned with age spots, his hair snow white.
    “Sanctuary,” he whispered. “That is a name I have not heard in a very long time.” He looked up, tears disappearing. “Why do
     you go to Sanctuary?”
    Ash hesitated, overwhelmed by how much he had to explain.
    “To raise the ghost of Acton,” he said simply. “So that