Story Taster Thirteen

I am the Chantress. I'm not to be confused with the Enchantress who lives at the top of the mountain and charms out the stars, night after night, with her pleasing, persuasive speeches. I should also not be mistaken for the Disenchantress who lives at the dark pit of the valley below and mutters if you happen to pass within hearing distance. She is also responsible for occasionally throwing rocks, and directing white and black flies to the nearest vegetable plots.

I am the Chantress. Not the Chanter. You find that on bagpipes.

That's just my little joke.

The people from the village on the far side of the mountain come to me, making the trek on the precarious path their ancestors carved, and I'm quite clear with every application that the songs I'll form do not have a purpose, in the sense that no song has a direct purpose, but this has yet to stop them from asking. They say, 'Sing a song that will make my child better.'

'The child probably needs a doctor,' I say. Every single time. 'I'm no doctor. I have the number for the surgery in the town a few miles away, and the opening times for the cable car that will get you down the mountain. Also a bus timetable. Here.'