The source of the songs.

Stepping into a roughly circular cavern, there was an island of soil, surrounded by a moat of water, with large rock spires piercing through them. Small holes on the ceiling allowed some moonlight to filter in, giving everything an eerie pale glow. It was here that Wiglaf and his friends finally managed to cut down the monster and separate its head from its shoulders.

Standing in the middle of the island, Wiglaf held his sword in both hands, bent over, ready to strike at his foe. "Come on then," he snarled. "Come out and face me, fiend. You have tormented me, my friends, my family, and their families, for long enough! Come and face your doom!"

"You are alone?" a feminine voice, smooth as silk said from within the darkness, sounding almost disappointed but mostly curious. It sounded like it came from in front of him, but the echoes made him doubt that. "There were more of you that left when you took my mate from me."

Spinning slowly, in a vague attempt to keep from being attacked from behind, Wiglaf answered the voice. "Yes, I come alone, for I am all that is left. Your damned song made sure of that. Leif was the first. He cast himself from the top of a cliff. Then Egil. We found what was left of him in the forest, ripped apart by wolves. His wife said that the night he ran away, he was screaming about a song that no one else heard. After him was Sten..." Wiglaf swallowed hard and took a sharp breath. "Sten was burned at the stake, when your song's madness took over his mind, and he slaughtered his entire family." Another shuddered breath as a single tear mixed with the sweat on his face. "My sister... and her children... dead. Because of you!"

"And what about you?" the voice asked. Dust fell from the ceiling somewhere on his left, sending a visible ripple running across the surface of the water. Wiglaf yelled and took a wild swing in that direction, but seeing nothing there, stepped back into his defensive stance. "Have you gone mad as well, warrior?"

"I must have," he admitted, his eyes darting about wildly, looking for movement. "I have come all this way, to speak with spirits and ghosts."

"I am neither, warrior. I am very much flesh and blood."

"Then stop hiding in the shadows and reveal yourself, creature," he snarled. "And I shall do as you've summoned me back here to do, and send you to your mate."

"That is not why I've called you here, warrior," the voice responded, this time sending small waves lapping at the edge of the island in front of him.

Jumping into the water where he thought the waves began, Wiglaf stabbed down into it. His sword bit into sand and stone. Pulling it out, he screamed in frustration and rage, swinging and stabbing desperately all around him on his retreat back onto land. "Then why? Why have you tortured me so?" he hissed, the fragile remains of his sanity hanging on by a thread.

A long silence followed, only broken by his heavy shuddered breathing. "Throw down your weapon, warrior," the voice commanded finally, moving around him. "I summoned you here, because I need something of you, and mean you no harm. Throw down your weapon, and I shall show myself to you."

"I do not believe you," Wiglaf grunted, tightening his grip on his sword, gathering his strength to attack.

"On the bones of my beloved, warrior, I swear that you will come to no harm if you throw down your weapon," the voice said, this time sounding like it was directly on top of him. His eyes flitted upwards, and he saw a shadow glide past the holes in the ceiling. "All I want to do, is talk."