The Night Voice

PROLOGUE

Light, salt-laden winds blew in over the evening ocean, where an aging man with white-blond hair sat leaning against the bare base of a tree. His hair might have once been even closer to white, and it now showed darker streaks, making it more white-gray than white-blond.

Only a few noises reached him from the little seaside town a short walk inland. He never looked back and only stared out over the water, as if he already knew every sound that he heard.

A pale glimmer like an old worn road of light ran from the shore beyond his outstretched legs and tall boots to the horizon, where the sun had sunk beyond sight and the ocean. He was quiet and still, for he was not truly looking for anything out there. Lost elsewhere in thought, perhaps he didn’t hear ever-so-soft footfalls among the trees. If he did, he didn’t show it. More likely, he knew those sounds as well as those of the town.

The dark, small form was lighter of foot than almost anyone else.

“So ... where’s that husband of yours?” he asked wryly without stirring.

The short one among the deeper dark of the trees halted with a sigh.

“Oh, Father!” she whispered in exasperation. “One day, I will sneak up on you.”

He laughed, though it was a tired sound. “Not in this life, my little wild one.”

When she stepped nearer out of the trees, she was no more than a shadow, indistinct in a long robe and deep cowl. The closer she came, the more the light showed her sage’s robe of deep forest green. That in itself was strange, since no known order of sages wore that color.

Inside the cowl’s depths, twilight might have sparked a more brilliant, verdant green in her large, almond-shaped eyes. Those eyes were not unlike his, though his were the more traditional amber of their people. She slowed to a stop a few steps off and behind on his right, and he still stared out across the waters.

“I came as soon as I received your message,” the daughter said softly, taking another step. “You did not go with Mother ... to see her.”

“No point,” her father answered with a slight shake of his head. “She’s already gone by now, and so your mother was enough.”

Silence lingered briefly.

“You did not want to go?” she asked.

“Of course I did!”

Finally, he glanced away from the light upon the water, but he still didn’t look up at her. She felt his sadness, for she shared it for the one who had passed away. Too short a life had ended, even for a human woman, an old friend to them all.

The daughter looked closely at her father’s sad and coldly angry profile. Even in the dark, she saw the lines of age on his face.

“At least she was happy again, for a while,” he added. “I’ll give him that, and she deserved it.”

Another long silence, and then ...

“She was your friend as well as Mother’s,” the daughter insisted. “You should have gone. I would have, but I thought to come here first.”

At first, he didn’t answer. “Your mother needed to go alone this time,” he said quietly. “It’s the last time. And you don’t know everything ... about how it might end.”