AN: All I can say is, I'm sorry.

Don't kill me, please.

Disclaimer: "It was her fault entirely! Don't hurt any of we muses! It's HER FAULT!"---AC

Whispers of springtime.

Death in the night.

A song

With too many tunes.

Fragment, by Carl Sandburg

Chapter Six:

A Song With Too Many Tunes

Strix, done with training for the day, stepped in the Infirmary quietly. The maren he was looked for was bent over one of the beds, her hands working. The bed, he noticed with a touch of dismay, had an occupant.

"I was led to believe all of those harmed in the attack had healed," he said in his soft voice, moving over to her side. Stella did not look up from what she was doing.

"Aye, so was I."

The student lying in the bed was Nyct, the deep purple of her clothes giving away who she was. The wound she'd received from the golgoth, a deep tearing gash in her hand, was what Stella was currently tending; but Strix noticed that she seemed to be ill in other ways. An unnatural flush tinged her face, and her breathing was a bit thick, as if she were trying to breath around a wad of something in her throat. Her eyes were closed.

Strix knelt by his teacher's side, watching her movements with practiced eyes, noting that she seemed to be trying to clean out the wound a second time. "What's wrong with her?"

"Looks like th' wound's got i'self infected." Stella sounded grim. "An' it's a Serin infection, t' boot."

Strix wrinkled his brow. "Serin…" he repeated thoughtfully. "I…don't remember ever hearing that name…"

"No' a surprise, Strix. Hand me tha' bottle'a aloe vera paste, will yi?" She took the brown clay bottle he proffered. "It's been a' least four hundred years since I've seen a case of it. It's a strange type of infection, only happens to a wound tha's from some types of shadowbeasts…stone creatures, especially. S'first time I've seen it since th' end o' the Taming Age…" She sighed, her fingers skillfully applying the soothing balm of aloe vera. "An' I haven't a single sprig of woodsbane, tha's the worst part. It's th' only herb tha'll really stop the burnin' and heal it quick…'thout it, I can only let th' infection burn out on it's own."

Strix watched Nyct's face more closely. Her mouth with set in a tight line, and he realized with a bit of shock that she was awake. Apparently she didn't want to speak for fear of crying out.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked back down at the ugly gash that was now red and swollen. "What can we do for her until we get some woodsbane?"

"Jus give her a cool cloth on th' forehead and get tha' herb quick," was Stella's less than optimistic reply. She jerked her head towards a pile of white cloths that sat on a table nearby. "Get some water from th' kitchens or th' channel outside, will yi?"

"Yes'm." Strix straightened and left, casting a worried glance over Nyct's pale face as he did.

"Evening, Strix. What's the water for?"

Strix dipped the bucket into the channel of clear-running water that burbled up from a small spring near the edge of the courtyard and ran back underground several yards away, taking an underground tunnel to meet the Windingwater in Mystic Forest. It was the water source for the entire castle. "Miss Stella needs it. For Nyct."

"What's wrong with her?" Morgen's expression became worried. "She isn't hurt, is she?"

"Yes, she is." He gave Morgen a half-smile as he hoisted the bucket up. "If you don't mind, I have to get this back up quickly…"

"Of course." Morgen grasped the handle of the bucket, removing it from the other's grip. "You just spent the day training, I'll carry the thing. Now tell me what's wrong."

"It's her wound," explained Strix, following Morgen as they headed indoors and began weaving their way through the halls. "It's gotten infected, and it's not an infection Miss Stella can treat right now."

"Not an infection she can treat right now?" Morgen frowned, stepping to the side to allow a few girls to pass and gazing over their heads at Strix. "What do you mean?"
"She says it's an infection that's only passed on by some types of dreambeasts. She called it a Serin infection."

"A Serin infection?" Morgen's eyes widened in recognition. "Ohhh, not one of those…"

"Yes." Strix side-stepped his sister Varia, who was gazing to the other end of the hallway at someone and didn't see him at first. He gave her a small wave, and she smiled in reply. He noticed that she didn't seem to be very happy, though; almost introspective. Her eyes were distant.

"It's been ages since we've had one of those around," continued Morgen quietly. "Poor girl…she must feel awful."

"She didn't look very well."

"No, I doubt she would." He stepped back to let Strix open the door of the Infirmary, nodding his thanks. "Evening, Miss Stella. Where do you want this water?"

"Ri' here," replied the healer, not bothering to ask why the actor had brought the bucket instead of her former apprentice. She was busy swabbing delicately at Nyct's hand; the girl was breathing quickly, each breath whistling out through her clenched teeth and then sucking in sharply. Morgen placed the bucket on the floor gently and backed off.

Strix moved to Stella's side. "What should I do with the water?"

"Get one a' those cloths over on th' table, an' dip it in well. Wring it out an' put in on her forehead. She's burnin' up."

Strix did as told, his fingers moving swiftly from long hours of practice. Morgen watched from a short distance away, his eyes softening when he took in Nyct's pained expression and the way she gripped at the sheets, fingers digging deep into the bedclothes.

"Stella." He spoke softly, not wanting to make Nyct try to focus on another source of confusion. "Strix said you have no woodsbane."

"Aye, not a sprig." Stella bent over the wound, speaking to the girl. "Now hold tight, Nyct, this'll sting somethin' for a moment…"

Nyct let out a short cry before biting her lip fiercely. Morgen winced, one hand gripping his other arm, fingers dancing worriedly. "She's only going to get worse if you don't get some woodsbane on that soon."

"Y'think I don't know tha'?" Stella's eyes narrowed, showing her dislike at having to cause her patient pain. "Jus' a sec more, Nyct, there's a bad spot a' rot here…I haven't a single bit, Morgen, an' I can't send someone out at night, not wi' tha' golgoth or whatever roamin' about."

Nyct hissed and gripped the sheets tighter. Morgen gave a small noise of pain, as if he were the one who were lying on the bed.

"Oh, shove it all!" He turned and went to the cabinet, searching for the bottle labeled 'woodsbane'. "That's going to start burning like mad if you don't counteract that infection soon, and she's not going to lie there all night as it gets worse if I have anything to say about it!" He snatched the bottle from its place on the shelf and headed for the door. "I'm going out, so expect me back with some soon. Get some water boiling for the poultice."

"Morgen, yi're very well likely t' get yirself attacked if y' go out t' the swamps at night," snapped Stella.

"I'm not letting that poor girl suffer if I can do something about it," repeated Morgen, and shut the door behind him.

Stella sighed and bent back over her work, trying to clean out any small amount of infected flesh she could find, knowing that once the infection began burning the pain would be worse than the ache of having it cleaned. "Once he gets back, I'm goin' t' hit 'im over th' head with a splint," she muttered.

"Tip up."

Chank rubbed a hand across his eyes at his brother's nudge, and obediently straightened up. He nodded his head once at the newcomer to the walltop, slightly taken aback by the maren who had come up.

Morgen smiled in return, inhaling. "Mm, it's a nice breeze up tonight."

Chink nodded. The actor saw the unsaid question in his eyes.

"I'm going out for a bit," he explained, gesturing towards Mystic Forest to the west. "Miss Stella needs some more herbs, and they simply can't wait until tomorrow."

The green-haired brothers exchanged glances. "That's not a good idea," replied Chank quietly. "Now that we've had another attack, Lord Reala won't allow any maren out alone."

"Not even one of the older ones?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I have to go out," returned Morgen, urgently. "There's a girl in the Infirmary with a Serin infection, and Stella hasn't any woodsbane to counter the effects. She's going to be in torture if I don't get her some."

Chink and Chank exchanged looks, silently conferring. Chink began lowering his spear. "I'll---"

"No, I."

"I'd rather it be me."

"I should."

Morgen glanced between the two of them. "Excuse me, but please remember someone else is here and they don't know what you're both thinking. Are you coming along with?"

"Neither of you can leave your post," interrupted a third voice. Hist had climbed the stairs behind them, moving in his usual noiseless step, never giving away his presence until he spoke. "It's still several hours until my watch. I will go with him."

"Thanks, Hist." Morgen turned back to the guards. "Now can we go?"
"Yes." Chink stepped aside, allowing the actor to walk to the edge of the wall. "But don't linger--rumor is there's a golgoth in Mystic Forest."

"We weren't planning on it." Hist stalked past the two and, without further ado, leaped off into the air. Morgen followed.

Chank watched as the two maren flew for Mystic Forest, one black-haired, one white. "Let's hope they get back safely."

They were hunting.

Giant stone paws crushed the low-growing flowers, leaving round indentations to mark their passing on the mossy forest floor. Dagger-length claws pierced the flower petals without a sound. They passed silently through the forest, moved on into shadows, and were forgotten by the night.

Behind them, sharp hooves trotted noiselessly, tracking, stalking. They too passed over the delicate flowers, their sharp edges driving the fallen, bruised petals into the dirt, half-moons of crushed color pressed like a wax seal. A seal of a death warrant; something would die to tonight.

They were hunting.

Hist alighted on the mossy floor silently, standing tall and surveying their surroundings with a cautious eye. Morgen shivered and drew his cloak tighter about himself. "Brr…cold night. Right, woodsbane."

"Where should we look for it?"

"Woodsbane likes shaded, moist places," explained Morgen, kneeling and feeling the earth. "It grows near swamps and against logs…I'd say we're in a nice spot." He poked his finger in the earth, testing the wetness of the dirt and mould.

"Very well. Shall we split up?"

"I don't know." He straightened once more and pulled out his tinder and flint, lighting the torch he'd brought with some difficulty. "That's asking for danger, but it would go twice as quick…might be best."

"Perhaps. But Lord Reala's rule," he added as an afterthought. "Staying together is mandatory."

"I guess. Only have one torch, anyway." Morgen pulled his collar up. "Okay, let's find it, then. Give a holler if you see anything that looks promising."

Hist gave a small 'hn' that could be called an agreeing noise.

Holding the torch high, Morgen began searching. Hist kept step with him, eyes scanning the ground sharply, looking for the tell-tale five-leaf pattern that would denote woodsbane. They only had a short time to finish the hunt, they knew.

They weren't the only ones hunting tonight.

Deeper in Mystic Forest, a creature caught the scent of something new.

The golgoth halted and lifted its head, nostrils twitching; eyes open, it sniffed the air, looking in different directions as it tried to distinguish what the scent was and where it was coming from. Eventually the word 'nightmaren' came to its mind, and with a huff of annoyance it continued on its way. Nightmaren were small game; it was looking for something bigger tonight.

It did not know that it was being hunted as well. This hunter was not content to let the new scent go so easily; he paused, sniffing. A back hoof struck the ground thoughtfully, and then he grinned. This trail could be abandoned; easier game was afoot.

Turning, he vanished into the forest, leaving nothing but a path of bruised flower petals in his wake.

"Ugh!"

Morgen stepped back quickly. Hist's head jerked up to find his companion. "What?"

"We've hit the swampland." Morgen rubbed his foot on the drier grass, wrinkling his nose. "If it wasn't so dark I would have known we were by it. Watch your step, it's a veritable pond right around here---and you can certainly tell by the smell." He shook his head once like a horse that has scented something distasteful, silver hair whipping about his face with the movement; then he bent down and scanned the ground carefully, his waning torch held low. "But there's a better chance we'll find woodsbane here than anywhere else."

Hist nodded and bent low as well. The torch's wavering light flickered eerily off the half-hidden water, giving the effect of a strange, other-worldly green phosphor hovering about them in drifting patches. Overhead, the pale moon cast only a shadow of light through the thick cluster of branches overhead that no nightmaren could fly through.

A splash off to their right made the two jerk their heads up, dragged to a halt. The sound did not come again.

Morgen glanced at Hist questioningly, and the guard made a slight motion of his shoulders, indicating he did not know what it was. For a moment the two stood there silently, waiting, listening; the forest and swamp about them were silent.

Morgen tensed, hand drifting slowly to the sword hanging at his side. His intuition, which was quite strong, was shivering up and down his skin. He gave a slight shudder.

Without further warning another splash reverberated through the swamp, and the thud of hoof-beats splashed towards them. Morgen and Hist both straightened quickly, swords leaping to their hands. Morgen held the torch high.

Its reedy light reflected off of the nearing form of an Equs.

The centaur-like creature's sword glimmered in the torchlight, small shards of illumination dancing across the dark armor that covered its arms. It's human head was bent low in concentration as it galloped towards them; the mouth of the ram's head spouting out of its chest was open, and it was screaming horribly. Its horns poured smoke.

Morgen leapt back, water splashing at his heels. "Shards, it's an Equs!"

In the next instant the dreambeast was within striking range. They both dove to the side, Hist swinging up his sword to meet the crushing blow the Equs had aimed at him. The guard was thrown back from the sheer force of the hit, and from a few feet away he heard Morgen cry out in anguish as one of the horseman's steel-shod hoofs crushed his hand. The bones snapped.

The ram's head was still screaming. Hist staggered upright, nearly blinded by the smoke that was flooding from its horns, unable to use his hearing because of the terrible sounds it made. Some sixth instinct made him throw up his sword again in another defensive move, and he was just in time to catch another blow. Somewhere nearby Morgen was sobbing.

The strike drove him back onto his knees once more, and he had to roll over and shove himself away to avoid the crushing hooves. He spun and circled, trying to get to Morgen; with a start he found that the actor had managed to meet him, and together they fled through the swamp.

The ground beneath them was treacherous. Slimy rocks dotted the floor, covered in moss and invisible until they were stepped on; the moonlight, now the only illumination they had, was untrustworthy for it reflected off of algae-covered water and hard ground alike.

The Equs reared up on all fours in triumph, finally screaming to the sky; the ram head shrieked in reply, and the two voices blended in twisted harmony. It came back onto all fours with a giant splash of murky water, and pounded after them.

Morgen was gasping, his arm held tight to his chest and silvery tears streaking down his face; broken bones grated in his hand. Hist held his sword tightly and prayed they would get out of the swamp soon.

They had no hope of fleeing on foot, and flight was impossible with the thick overhanging vegetation. Once they reached clearer air, they could fly; all they could do was hope to evade their pursuer until they were able to fly.

A scream resounded in their ears, and Morgen threw Hist to the side with a cry. The guard hit the ground hard and rolled with the impact, coming up to find Morgen trapped beneath the Equs' hooves, somehow uncrushed. The albino maren shot him a stare that was filled with pure fear. "Run! Get back to Nightmare!"

Hist did not bother replying. Biting his lip, he shot forward, trying to distract the Equs.

The monster was not interested in being distracted. With a fling of his shield arm he blocked the guard's blow, and a swift slash of his sword sent Hist flying, eyes rolled back in his head and blood flung out in a crimson arc.

Morgen fled.

A scream tore through the dense swamp air.

Crewl Pole and Party fled through the swamp, scurrying to hiding holes in fear; the hunt was on, and they were in risk of become the hunted if they did not make themselves scarce. Sounds of pounding hooves and splashes of swamp water could be heard ringing through the marsh.

A nightmaren burst out of a thicket of hanging vines, shoving wet silver hair out of his face, silver eyes flickering hopefully towards the sky; the overgrowing limbs were still too thick to attempt flight. He splashed across the open clearing, slipping on wet stones and slimy moss. With a gasp he fell, sending up a wave of dirty water; he shoved himself up with desperate strength, sobbing. Hist was dead, stone dead…

Another scream ripped through the air, and the acrid, biting smell of the smoke that trailed from the horns on the ram's head filled his nostrils. With a bound the Equs was behind him, and he instinctively ducked and rolled, the blow that he'd sensed flying harmlessly over his head. He floundered in the water, staggering upright, ducking another blow, stepping back---straight into black water.

The black patches of ground were the most dangerous parts of the swamplands, more so than the slippery moss or the sucking mud. The black holes were deep and silent, going down farther than anyone had ever cared to measure; they went down for miles, some said. Noted only by a pure black spatter of non-color among the olive greens and slimy browns, the black holes were the places to be avoided at all costs; the trailing weeds that grew along their sides would catch you in a slippery hold, wrapping about your face and neck like oily fingers, choking the life out of you, refusing to let you return to the surface. So said nightmaren rumor.

Morgen arched his back, trying desperately to get his balance---and the Equs, not seeing where he was standing, threw a stunning blow with the flat of his sword that knocked the actor out of his senses. With a groan, eyes rolling to the side and blood tricking down his face, he fell back into the hole with a splash.

The Equs, realizing his mistake, kicked a back hoof in irritation; after a moment, when the silver-hared maren did not re-appear, he turned with a snort of disgust and cantered away through the marsh, hooves splashing up dirty circles of water. There was plenty of other game to be found. Behind him, Morgen was gripped by the slimy fingers of the hole's weeds.

They never found his corpse.