"No woman," High Master Wolfstooth had solemnly intoned, "has ever become a Truthsinger. Except Hansche the Dark." Young Meros was not paying attention, transfixed by the Great Hall's high ceiling and the intricate murals that adorned the walls around him. In them were men of all shapes, sizes and ages, clad in blue robes much like those of the monk before him. And all of them had their mouths open, as if preaching or shouting--or singing. Demons shrank from them, warriors bent knee before them, and the weak rejoiced. Looking at all this, Meros felt a buoyant joy bubbling up in his heart, and a smile spread across his broad, mischievous face. It did not last long, as Wolfstooth brought his staff down upon his shoulders with a sharp smack.

"Pay attention, boy!" the monk growled as his new acolyte nursed his new bruises. "Now, where was I? Ah, Hansche the Dark, the wife of Guran Dragoncap.That's him on the window over there." The stained glass, lit by the late evening sun, depicting a man with flaming red hair and deep-set eyes. A handsome bloke, if Meros did say so himself. "She bore Guran sons, but not long after a plague swept through the land. They died." Meros shuddered quietly. "Hansche was weak, and her heart failed her. She started singing--truthsinging--and with such great grief that she woke the corpses in their graves."

"A Truthsinger may not raise the dead," Meros gulped. It was a very dangerous prospect. Anything said or sung while truthsinging had an uncanny way of coming true. Not that he could do it yet. Summoning a light at night was about the peak of his abilities...so far.

"Correct. But she had broken one of the five tenets, and so we silenced her." There was something chilling in the way Wolfstooth said it. "And since then, no woman can or ever will be a Truthsinger. They're not built for it." He stared at his disciple staring back at him, slightly pop-eyed, and smirked. "As a matter of fact, some say Hansche's ghost still lurks upon our grounds. You might catch a glimpse of her if you're not careful. The Truthsingers' Great Hall is built on top of Guran's hearth. She's still looking for the sons she lost."

Meros did not quail or swallow or show fear. He just looked thoughtful.

The witching hour arrived, and it found Meros Sophian Floss shivering in his nightclothes as he crept around the Great Hall, trying to find a way in. He wished he was allowed proper robes, but until he was ordained he could not wear the blue robes of his seniors. All he was allowed were the white garments he had on, and they were a pain and a half to launder.

"Wolfstooth tricked me," he grumbled after making three full circles around the building, west to east. "Hansche's not here. She's probably just something he made up to scare...little...boys..."

Meros' voice died in his throat as his ears caught footfalls approaching. At first, he saw nothing, only heard. His skin prickled with fear and he froze in his tracks. And then, through the door--yes, right through the big bronze doors, locked and bolted--passed a ghostly figure, clad in tattered blue robes, trailing a strange wetness. Meros' gorge rose as he caught a whiff of old, rotten meat. 

"Light. I need light. T-th-there's a light, in my hand, a candle," he quavered, his eyes flashing and fading between various shades of blue as he struggled to bring his power under control. "A candle is in my hand!" He closed his fingers around the sudden, solid hank of wax...and realised it wasn't lit. Hansche approached anyway, head tilted to one side and brow furrowed in puzzlement. And she seemed so sad, so lost, that Meros forgot that he was supposed to be soiling his pants with fear in front of a blood-and-bile-covered maiden. He took a step forward, meeting her gaze. His watery blue eyes suddenly flared deep, pure azure, smooth as glass and bright as the summer.

"Don't be sad any more. Find your way home, mother. Go to your sons."

She blinked at him, surprised. Slowly, Hansche smiled, then reached out her transluscent hands and touched both his cheeks. Her fingers were like ice. She turned away, walking towards the courtyard, and slowly vanished into the night. The smell of rotten meat slowly faded.