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He went from warmth and one surrounding presence to cold and bright and many. He was nosed to his feet and one of the many dried him off and helped him. Then the one who had surrounded him said, “You are Lyrent. You are my son.” A teat was placed in his mouth, and milk flowed into his stomach as love poured into him from his mother.
***
Lyrent learned that he could ask the adults for stories. Rolan would tell tales of adventure and bravery performed by Companions and their Heralds. His mother, Pavla, spoke of the gifts that Companions helped their Heralds to control. And Jaren told stories about Choosing, how everyone in this field would one day choose a partner, a human who could provide help with grooming, but more than that it would be a special bond carried within. Jaren told all the good, but he didn’t neglect the bad: not all Heralds had led happy lives before being chosen, not all Heralds would live to see old age -- though this was currently a time of relative peace -- and most Companions would not outlive their Heralds, whether it was because both were killed in an accident or battle or, more likely, the trauma of the bond severing was too severe.
Soon after his birth, he’d been able to feel a sort of scratching at the back of his brain, it wasn’t the pure warmth and love he felt from his mother, even when she chided him, even when she wasn’t near, but more like the direct mind-speaking the Companions did in the field. The problem was it never resolved into words, it was as if he could overhear a conversation being held at the bottom of a well.
At that point, Lyrent had still been too young to realize status or hierarchy, but he understood confidence and authority. He went to Rolan and told him about his problem, his worry that something was wrong with him.
Amusement and warmth came through strongly even before Rolan began to mindspeak. “So young? Most of those born in Companion’s field don’t start hearing the voices until they are at least three.”
Lyrent said, “But not the Grove born?”
Rolan nodded. “An excellent question, youngling, and the answer is no. When we come into the grove, we come fully grown with all -- or at least most -- of our powers.”
“So what is it?”
“May I have your permission to go beneath the surface of your mind, little one?”
Lyrent thought a moment. He knew his mother could always see down to his deepest feelings and thoughts. Letting Rolan do the same felt… dangerous, but he eventually nodded and said, “Yes, but why?”
“Because there’s more than one possibility, colt, and I need to know which it is to help you.”
Lyrent stood very still and met Rolan’s eyes. After a long moment, where he felt like he’d been running through clouds, he came back to himself.
He heard Rolan call for his mother. Rolan startled and Lyrent realized he hadn’t been meant to hear.
“Is there anything wrong?” Pavla asked first her son and then Rolan.
Lyrent said, “I don’t know, Mama.” A wave of love came from her, and he also felt something like a blanket come over his emotions and glanced at Rolan.
“Yes, youngling, I’m doing my best to keep you from panicking. I wanted your mother here while I explained this, but I didn’t intend to alarm you.”
Pavla glanced between them. “What do I need to know?”
Rolan gave a quick rundown of the sensations Lyrent described and the questions he’d asked. Finally, he said, “His gifts are awakening early, very early. He’s already aware of your conversations with Herald Nita, though he can’t discern the specifics yet. In reading him, I found that he has Mindspeech quite strongly.”
“You said ‘Gifts’?” Pavla stood closer to Lyrent and bowed her neck over his.
“Yes, Mindspeech is just the first to awaken.” Rolan turned to look at Lyrent. “These are good things. You’re just younger than we usually begin training. These gifts will help you with your Chosen, both finding him or her, but also guiding and bonding.”
He waited. Finally, Lyrent said, “I understand. I’m already hearing Mama and her Chosen. What else?”
Rolan said, “From strongest to weakest, at the moment, with practice you may develop all of them equally or one may dominate the others, do you understand?” After Lyrent nodded, he added, “Mindspeech, Empathy, Mindhealing, and, oddly, Earthsense.”
“We all have Earthsense. How else could we draw on the lines to gallop and keep going?”
Rolan shook his head. “No, Pavla, that’s the link to magic and to Valdemar we all have. This is more like the power of a Hawkbrother or a monarch. As far as I know, I am the only Companion to possess it in the form young Lyrent has.”
Pavla said, “So we start his training early?”
“I think we must. And tell Herald Nita to keep her language clean. Who knows what a young mind could pick up?” Rolan’s amusement was palpable.
***
By the time the others his age began learning the basics, Lyrent was already with the most advanced of the young Companions. All of them had reached a point where they were beginning to hear multiple voices from all over Valdemar. One of those voices would become Chosen.
Rissa was already leaning toward one young woman, Brytha, who was good with numbers and understood how to teach them well. Her parents were negotiating to marry her off. If Brytha agreed, then Rissa would follow the thread of another voice until she found the right one.
Jakint was forever grumbling that he couldn’t make up his mind. There were three whose voices kept getting stronger in his mind. One was a carpenter in the town, widowed, his children were young, but being reared by his wife’s parents on a farm outside the city. Another was an ostler, only about fifteen, working in an inn near the border the Ashekevron’s protected.
The third quickly didn’t matter as Dobbitt, oldest of their cohort went to the grooms and asked for his best tack. Marlea was only twelve and her gifts were tearing her apart. Her parents punished her for telling what she knew was going to happen and then punished her again when she proved to be right. Three days later, Dobbitt brought back his Chosen, and Marlea nearly cried with joy at being allowed to go to school and learn. Dobbitt confessed to his friends later, that she had cried with joy when he’d Chosen her. Her parents were most indignant, he reported with amusement. They thought Dobbitt must have come for their son.
Rissa got Brytha two months later after she’d escaped from her room to avoid the engagement party. Rissa was waiting in the alley behind her family’s shop and chose her before she’d leapt from the shed roof.
Rolan came by and Lyrent wandered off with him.
“I think Jakint will choose soon.”
Lyrent said, “The carpenter. The ostler is for Drea when she’s ready.”
“Ah, Jaren was saying she seemed to be rushing to get to her Choosing.” Rolan stopped for a moment. “I’ll tell Jaren to let her go. It’s not like Drea can’t continue to learn while Tarit’s in school. The lad’s barely literate. He’ll have years before his whites.”
Lyrent lifted his head to sniff the wind, then dashed off on a dead run diagonally toward the Grove. Rolan gave him a small head start, but still beat him handily to the traditional finish line. They sipped from the spring which fed the brook meandering through the field.
“And you, Lyrent?”
“There are so many. So many with Gifts, so many in situations which are draining their souls, so many who are worthy.”
“Yes. But only one can become your Chosen. I’m certain you’ve discarded a few already.”
Lyrent closed his eyes. He dropped and rolled in the sweet grass before finally answering Rolan. “One killed a man. It wasn’t in self-defense or for a worthy cause, he just got ‘mean drunk,’ as Herald Nita would say, and stabbed a man with a broken bottle. Another,” he sighed, “Even I don’t have enough Mindhealing to make him whole after what his relatives did to him. And then…”
“Hush, youngling, hush.” Rolan rubbed the young Companion’s neck with his nose soothingly. “It’s why you need to choose soon. Most will only hear a few, maybe five before they find the one person whose personality and gifts and needs are the perfect match. The bond will start to form even before they go to get their tack on. You’ve already had over a dozen, at least half of whom the bond has begun to form with, and if you don’t Choose soon, those half-formed bonds may start to damage you.”
They walked together into the cool shade of the Grove.
“Is there no one?” Rolan asked.
“I… yes, there is one. He has Bardic gift, though.”
“What other gifts do you see in him?”
“Whisten is eleven, but he already sees the whole world. His family are entertainers, but they listen to him when he tells them there’s trouble ahead or that a thief is working their crowd. They’re welcomed at the fairs because they don’t allow thieving at their shows. But they also don’t feed him much, trying to keep him small so he can help with illusions.”
“Is he getting his lessons?”
“No, and he yearns for learning.”
Rolan said, “What’s the worst thing you can tell me about Whisten?”
“He tries to run from his problems rather than solve them. He doesn’t take the time to think things through.”
Rolan chuckled. “He’s eleven. I’d be more surprised if he did think things through. What is his best quality?”
“No matter how close to tears he is for himself, no matter how little he has, he’ll turn a bright face to someone who needs it and share his last morsel of food.”
“His gifts? Besides a small Bardic gift?”
“He might have some Mindspeech, but if he does, it’s visual rather than, well, speech. Empathy nearly flows out of his skin. Foresight, especially if something will happen within days -- two weeks seems his limit -- and, oddly enough, he feels tied to the land: Earthsense.”
Rolan said, “I have only one question left. What’s his most appealing quality to you?”
Lyrent said, “He has a deep pool of silence within him. It’s like a deep spring-fed pond, clean and sharp. I’ve only seen good things come out of it.”
Rolan nudged him with his nose. “Get your tack on, youngling. You’ve Chosen.”
Lyrent looked at the older Companion in shock. “I… are you certain?”
“I’ve never heard it described better. That deep pool? Is his capacity to love. It’s a capacity you share. Go, fetch him back to the Collegium and let us develop his Gifts.”
There was a long pause, then Lyrent started to run. He pivoted on his back feet and said, “Tell Mama where I’ve gone, please, Rolan!” and then tore hell for leather to the stables.
***
Whisten’s family had moved twice since Lyrent began his journey, but he still managed to catch up to them near the Rethwellan border in less than a week.
Lyrent stood in the back and watched the performance while most of the locals gave him a wide berth. Whisten’s clear high voice sang plaintive songs while the scenery and props were changed, and when his father began the illusions, Whisten’s dark red hair and merry blue eyes were often the main distraction.
When the show ended Lyrent wandered back to the wagons the players traveled in. He ignored the children running around him and the adults making rude remarks about where he’d lost his Herald.
He stopped in front of a well kept yellow-painted wagon and tapped a hoof against the door, the sound chiming through the encampment. Whisten opened the door and their eyes met.
Lyrent felt the deep pool of silence within Whisten and dove into it saying, “I’m Lyrent and I Choose you.”