Somehow it did not surprise me that he knew what was to happen on Glastonbury field. But I did not wish to hear his song of it. “Harper!” I strode up to him. He halted his song and lowered his harp.

“Pretty boy,” the raven greeted me.

I ignored it. “Do you know who I am?” I challenged the harper.

He replied without hesitation. “You are one who wears black.”

“Do you know why?”

“You grieve because you know how the song must end.” His milky eyes stared straight ahead. As if he did not care whether he angered me, he said, “You are a fool to be troubled. Do you not know that all songs must end? Waves crest, then break themselves on the sand. Kings reign in glory, then die. There is no beauty in anything without ending.”

“Scant comfort,” I muttered.

He said nothing, only strummed at his harp, as if it could speak for him. I sat next to him on white stone and tried to take more comfort from the music than I had from his words. But I had heard the music of the harpers of Avalon. I had heard the harping of a merlin in a magical cage. This wanderer’s harping sounded like the wind in sere grass by comparison.

I said to him, “I have given up trying to change the song’s ending. But I would like to save what is left of my soul.” The poor, defeated thing.

“See a holy man.”

“No. I mean really save it, put it in safekeeping, as the druids used to do for heroes venturing into the realms of the dead. Or so the old tales say.”

His fingers stopped twiddling at his harp strings and he grew very still. The raven sat on his shoulder, making small croaking noises deep in its black-feathered throat.

“You are of druid blood,” I guessed.

“Yes.”

“Will you help me?”

“Why should I?”

“Gold. I can pay you well.” With gifts King Arthur had given me.

He nodded. Then he said something odd, considering that he had showed no human warmth so far. “Do you trust me?”

“Why should I?”

“Do you trust anyone?”

No, my silence said, I scarcely trusted anyone.

“Your soul must be given to someone whom you trust,” the harper told me, “or it cannot be given at all.”

“Let me think,” I muttered, and I got up and left him sitting there.

“Oddling,” the raven accused my back as I walked away.

I walked alone, as the raven had known I must.