Over the following days, William and his family settled into a new rhythm. William would work with Father in the forge from dawn until dusk. Emma stuck close to his side in the evenings, still far from friendly but no longer as skittish and hostile as she'd been since she'd come home. Mother would briefly slip into their rooms as they prepared for bed, quietly making sure they fared reasonably well in the little time she could speak to them away from Father.

Only during his nightly practice sessions with Burdock could William find any semblance of peace. Where Father had once allowed him to run deliveries around Hamelin for much of the day, he now paid Matthew Cunningham to take finished goods to their customers, leaving William confined to the forge. "I can't teach you the craft properly if all you do is prance around town can I, boy?" he'd said, although William knew as well as he did that this was merely an excuse to keep him firmly under his watchful eye.

After one such day spent working alongside his father, William limped to his usual practicing place near the Tantalus. Burdock paced the clearing, pausing to glance at William. "He hurt you again."

William prayed his expression was more smile than wince, though the fresh wounds striping his back burned as if they'd been filled with hot coals. "I had to risk it. We need to get back to Aerzen soon to make sure we can trick the Piper into coming to Hamelin on our terms instead of his, so I broke some of Father's equipment. We'll be traveling to Aerzen tomorrow to get a replacement and pick up supplies."

Burdock's fur bristled. "That was foolish. Your father has already scarred you for far less. Thank the Whole you can still walk."

"As far as Father is concerned, his horribly unskilled apprentice just made a mistake," William said. "He thinks I'm too stupid to shovel coal properly. It wasn't hard to make him think it was an accident."

"Nor would it be difficult for him to harm you under the guise of an accident, as you are well aware." Burdock's voice softened. "Though I admit you were wise to arrange for us to go to Aerzen soon. It will not be long before the harvest. I sense it in the swelling of the squash and the parsnips peeking from beneath their leafy tops." Burdock ground his teeth together as if he already held a ripened vegetable between them.

William nodded. "The Harvest Festival is in two weeks. I don't know if the Piper has sent more rats ahead of what they're planning, but we'll have a much easier time defeating him if we know what his reinforcements from Aerzen are planning."

"True, but that knowledge will do us little good if we are ill-equipped to put it to use." Burdock twitched his whiskers. "You have become adept at guiding me through simple tasks, but in order for us to defeat the Piper, you must learn to harness the Hymn of the Whole to influence those who are not already aligned with your goals."

"Using another rat could expose what we're planning, and I will not practice the Hymn on anyone in Hamelin," William said. He'd already seen how disastrous the results could be if he chose the wrong target, even on accident. "How can we practice without endangering ourselves?"

"We will need to choose carefully," Burdock said. "Although rats are not the only animals that are susceptible to the Hymn of the Whole, most are far more dangerous. We need something large enough for us to accurately observe your control over it but small enough that you could subdue it if need be."

The two of them watched the banks of the Tantalus and the surrounding woods in search of a suitable animal. The deer grazing on the other side of the river was far too large, its antlers too sharp. William briefly considered targeting the fox whose pelt flashed through the undergrowth like a fire, but the shriek of the predator's latest prey quickly made him change his mind. After how violent Burdock had become because of the Hymn, he couldn't risk losing control of something that could easily kill the rat.

At last, William saw a rabbit nibbling on grass in the shade, occasionally glancing at its surroundings and twitching its ears. Now that was something he could manage.

"Will it work on that rabbit?" William asked.

"Excellent choice," Burdock said. "They are not so different from my kind in that we are both small animals that must be wary lest we fall prey to those who are stronger than us. Have you decided upon your goal?"

"Yes." William's blood boiled with the memory of Father striking Emma. He would never allow him to hurt her ever again. From now on, he would no longer cower before the threat of the belt.

"Good. Now, play the Hymn and search for the rabbit's soul," Burdock instructed. "It will feel strange and unfamiliar at first, but once you decipher its deepest desires, the soul will offer itself to you."

William settled himself onto a fallen tree and pulled his guitar into his lap. As the Hymn's first gentle notes rose into the air, he opened himself to the creatures around him. In addition to Burdock's small but mighty blaze, the deer's soul hummed with a steady strength as firm as the earth beneath his feet, and the fox's burned with the satisfaction of a hard-earned meal. The rabbit's soul flickered like a dying candle as it sniffed the air.

William cast the Hymn toward that wary warmth, approaching with soft, delicate notes lest he frighten the rabbit. It would be safe with him, he promised. He knew how important it was to remain vigilant under the constant threat of harm. If the rabbit obeyed him for a short while, he'd provide it—no, her—with a much safer place to graze. Once her kits were old enough to leave the burrow, they too would enjoy the safety her actions would grant her.

That small, gentle soul inched toward him with the same caution as the rabbit herself hopped toward a particularly tender-looking flower blooming in the undergrowth. William slowed his playing to a steady strumming, coaxing her toward him until his soul tied itself to hers.

She was his.

William increased the Hymn's tempo until his fingers flew from one string to the next in a frantic frenzy. Pain. Leather biting into his flesh. Teeth closing over a kit too young to open his eyes, his tiny mouth parted in a high-pitched scream.

The rabbit pinned her ears back, her entire body trembling with the force of her heartbeat. No. This was not what he had promised!

The rabbit's soul tugged at the bond binding her to William as if it was caught in a snare. William slowed his fingers, sending the reassuring warmth of the sun thawing the fields after a long winter over their bond. This was merely what may happen if they did not act.

The tugging stopped as the rabbit submitted herself to his will once again. What could she do to prevent such a tragedy? She had already lost many kits before. Hawks, cave-ins, farmers who did not take kindly to animals pilfering from their fields. The world was not a safe place for a rabbit.

William poured his rage over not being able to protect Emma into the song, his veins aching from containing his thundering pulse. Bite! Claw! Kick! Teach the fox a lesson as harsh and unforgiving as what Father had taught him.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air as the rabbit charged toward the fox. Teeth built for gnawing vegetables clamped onto the fox's leg, sinking into its flesh until they reached the carrot-firm bone within. Pained yips peppered the air as the fox attempted to throw off its attacker, but the rabbit refused to let go, pummeling the carnivore with her clawed paws.

As the fox lunged toward the rabbit clinging to its leg, William grabbed onto its soul. Be still. Don't resist. It will all be over soon.

No! The fox's soul flared as incisors clamped onto the rabbit's neck. This was prey. His prey, and the struggle would make its flesh taste that much sweeter.

SNAP!

William's bond with the rabbit broke along with her neck. He cried out as her tiny soul extinguished. They had been one, and now he was alone again. Alone and weak and—

"William!" Burdock's voice freed him from his thoughts. The rat's tiny body pressed against his hand, his heart hammering beneath his fingertips. "It's alright. You're safe."

William took a deep, shuddering breath. The fox stared at him with its tail tucked between its legs before limping away with her hanging from its jaws. His rabbit. He'd only known her for a few short minutes, yet her death felt as if it had ripped a hole in his soul. It was his fault she'd died.

"No it is not," Burdock said firmly.

William flushed, realizing he'd spoken his guilt aloud. "She never would have attacked the fox if I hadn't made her."

"Not made, convinced. Though your anger fueled the song, only the anger in her own heart made her obey your command. You could not have forced her to attack, not as you are." Burdock twitched his ears as he sniffed the air. "You forget that you are not the only one who is unsatisfied with his lot in life. Many smaller animals long for power, for freedom from the fear that stalks us more efficiently than any predator."

William released a long, slow breath. "I still feel horrible."

"That is not a bad thing." Burdock gave his hand a gentle lick. "You are a kind human. Though we have much work to do before you will be able to defeat the Piper, know that regardless of what you must do to hone your skills, you are still selfless. That is admirable for one who now wields such great power."

"Thank you." William allowed himself a brief smile, but what he'd done still weighed upon his fingers as they returned to the guitar strings. How many others would have to suffer before the children would finally be free?