The Singers of Nevya (31 page)

Chapter Thirty

What are you thinking of, Sira?

I am remembering Isbel. You met her, did you not?

Theo grinned across the table. They were at the evening meal, enjoying the vegetable-laden
keftet
that now graced Observatory’s tables. Sira delighted in seeing Theo’s brown cheeks smooth again, his hair bouncing energetically around his shoulders. Her own hair she kept severely cropped, but she too was less gaunt, and her skin was healed, all patchiness gone.

Isbel with the dimples, who loved to tell stories,
Theo sent.
She should be Cantrix of Amric now.

So she should. For almost three years.

And what were you remembering?

Sira traced the grain in the ironwood of the table with her long forefinger.
Isbel’s mother withdrew from her when her Gift made itself known. I never understood why that pained my friend so much, even when she had three summers. But now . . .
Sira lifted her head and looked around the great room.
Now I believe I do.

The days of silent meals at Observatory had ended. Families sat together, talking and laughing. Friends crossed the room to chat. Sira knew them now, their names, their histories. She had helped Theo heal many a small ailment and a few serious ones. She had eased the pain of the dying and the pangs of childbirth, and had learned from Theo to allow some feelings to penetrate her mental shields. If she did not love these people, she at least understood that they loved each other. And so she understood why Isbel had suffered for her mother’s abandonment.

Together Sira and Theo left the great room. Many House members called out to Theo, and he answered every one, smiling. Annet, Jon’s mate, said, “Good night, Cantrix Sira.” Sira nodded to her with her customary gravity. One or two other House members bowed to her. Pol was in conversation near the door. He looked up, and she met his gaze.

I am sure he thinks you are a gift straight from the Spirit
, Theo sent.

She turned her eyes to Theo. The time was at hand when she must speak to him of her intentions. It would not be easy.

There is something else I am remembering,
Sira sent.
A young boy, Gifted, but untrained. His mother was an itinerant who died young. His father refused to allow him
—
Zakri was his name
—
to be tested for Conservatory. He was deeply troubled when I met him, even desperate.

This can be a cruel world,
Theo sent.
Do you know what they say in the Southern Timberlands?

She smiled, anticipating a proverb.

They say,
Theo sent with a wink,
that a
wezel
with too many kits is feeding the
ferrel
.

What does that mean?

It means you should not take on more tasks than you can reasonably accomplish.

But, Theo, the shortage of Singers is growing serious on the Continent.

Theo shook his head.
No. I think the shortage is of Cantors and Cantrixes. The Gift still appears. It has appeared here, at Observatory.

Sira’s eyebrows rose.
What do you mean?

I think Lise’s child
—
she is two
—
is Gifted. We will have a student.

Sira looked up swiftly.
But, Theo
—
she should go to Conservatory.

Theo shook his head again.
I do not think so. Lise’s child, and any other Gifted ones born to Observatory, should be trained at home. There must be a reason why the Gift appeared now, when you and I are here.

Sira fell silent. Change was desperately needed on Nevya, and change was coming. She felt it as clearly as she and other Nevyans felt the coming of summer. Something profound and essential was in the making, and in some way on the Spirit could understand, she was part of it.

Theo smiled at her.
The way we treat the Gift must change. The cost must not be too high, or the Gift will be suppressed.

Sira sighed.
And if the Gift is suppressed, the people pay the price.

The summer was very near. From the aerie of Observatory, the people could already see the brightening of the sky that marked the beginning of the long-awaited warm season. Before long, the Visitor would appear, low on the horizon. When its warmth reached Nevya the snow would melt even here, at what felt to Sira like the top of the world. It seemed to intensify her sense of destiny, the destiny that pulled at her in a way she could neither define nor resist.

Theo took her hand when they were alone in the corridor.
You are very thoughtful tonight. Shall we walk, or do you prefer to be alone?

Sira considered.
Let us walk in the gardens.

Done
, he sent, and pulled her after him in a half run that made her laugh as she tried to keep up. She pulled her hand away and slowed to a dignified pace when they encountered House members in the hall.

The
quiru
light in the nursery gardens had begun to dim just a little from its daytime brilliance. Sira and Theo held their
quirunha
very early, before the morning meal, to let it diminish before night fell, enough for the Watchers to see the night sky. There had been no more sightings by the rotating teams, and no revel, but the centuries-old tradition carried on as always. Here in the gardens the plants grew strong and high, and the effluvium of offal was replaced by the rich smell of compost and damp warm air. The gardeners smiled and called to the two Singers when they came in.

For some minutes they strolled arm in arm. Sometimes Sira pinched some dark dirt between her fingers, or Theo bent his face to a plant to breathe in its fragrance. Finally Sira indicated a bench under a sapling in one corner of the nursery, and they sat side by side.

Theo looked up at the tentative buds just beginning to show.
There may be fruit here one day.
He glanced at Sira, and the blue of his eyes darkened.
Or perhaps not.

There will be fruit
, Sira sent.
Because I think you want to stay here.

And you do not.

Sira closed her eyes as if in pain.
My dearest dear,
she began, then felt Theo’s hand on her shoulder.

I know, Sira. I know your thoughts and I believe I know your heart.

Sira opened her eyes to drink in Theo’s face, the lines of laughter around his mouth, the vivid color of his eyes. She touched his hair, his face, his arm. For her it was a most demonstrative gesture, and it was his turn to close his eyes.

Theo, I cannot explain, but I have work to do. I hardly know how to begin it, or where, but it is of the greatest importance.

He caught her hand in his and pressed her fingers to his lips. When he opened his eyes, his usual smile was a ghost of itself.
Do you think Pol will let you go?

He must. I have given Observatory their own Cantor.

Theo shook his head, but Sira insisted.
So I have, but only if you agree. A Cantor must serve willingly. He must choose the work, and the sacrifice.

All my life I have wanted my own House
, Theo sent,
but I never dreamed of my own Cantoris. I am not sure, even now, that it is possible.

You are as Gifted a Cantor as any I have known, except Maestra Lu.

They looked at each other for a long time, knowing each other’s joy, unable to avoid the pain that would come. Then Theo slowly, tenderly, put his hands on either side of Sira’s face and kissed her fully on the lips. She did not pull back, though at the unaccustomed contact her stomach contracted strangely. His mouth was smooth and cool, and she tried to capture the moment in her memory, an indulgence that would not be soon repeated.

Come back to me, Sira. As soon as you can.

I will. I promise.

Theo flashed a sudden grin, merry and brave and steady.
I will serve you nursery fruit on your return!

Sira found Pol in his apartments, and when she asked to speak with him, he led her through the varied clutter to the room with the long table on which he had shown her the artifact.

“I am going to leave Observatory when the summer is here,” she told him without preamble. “Please arrange a guide for me, and when he has brought me to Ogre Pass he can return home.”

Pol watched her through narrowed eyes. “I’m not going to let you do that,” he rasped, with an air of finality.

“Your House has the Singer Theo now. I trained him for you. You owe this to me.”

“My people have grown to like having a warm House. I don’t know that the Singer Theo, fine though he is, can manage alone.”

Sira stared at Pol. She felt no inclination to waste time arguing. “We will show you.”

“The only way you can do that is for you to leave, Cantrix,” Pol said heavily. “And I have told you, I will not allow it. I’m sorry,” he added, surprisingly. “I see no choice.”

The air around Sira began to sparkle dangerously, and her jaw grew tight with anger. She rose to leave, only looking back at Pol at the door. “I knew if I sang for you, you would think you had defeated me. You were wrong. I sang because of Theo, because his Gift is worth any sacrifice.

“You can never control me, Pol, any more than the Magistral Committee of Nevya could. You should seek a truce with the Committee. Your House members never need to live in the cold and dark again. You need a succession of Cantors and Cantrixes who are properly trained, and for that you need to rejoin the Nevyan community.”

Pol, his face as hard as the cliffs around Observatory, folded his arms and said nothing.

The next morning Theo mounted the dais of the Cantoris alone. The sleepy House members who faithfully attended the early-morning ceremonies were already seated on the benches. Pol stood in back, as always. He stepped forward before Theo began.

“Where is Cantrix Sira?” he grated. The assembly looked back and forth, from him to Theo, curious and alarmed.

Theo felt their apprehension, and he grinned at them. Ignoring Pol, he said, “There is no need for concern.” He bowed formally to the assembly, and took his seat as calmly as he had been doing each morning for months. He began in
Iridu
, modulated to
Aiodu
, and began to sing. Warmth and light swelled on the tide of his psi, and the room began to brighten, as always. The people smiled, comforted. As they had learned to do, they closed their eyes to listen.

Before the
quirunha
was finished, Pol offended all courtesy by stamping out of the Cantoris. Theo’s concentration was so complete, so perfect, that he was unaware of Pol’s departure. It had no effect on the
quirunha
.

When he stood to chant the final prayer, and bowed, receiving the answering bows of the people, Theo realized Pol was gone, and he smiled to himself. Let him look, he thought. Let him turn Observatory upside down. He will never find her.

For three days, Theo maintained the House
quiru
alone. Pol prowled the corridors, and asked questions of all the House members. He minutely examined the stables to see if
hruss
or tack were missing. All were accounted for. Even Sira’s own saddle still hung on its ironwood peg, awaiting the day when she could use it again.

At evening of the third day, beside himself with rage and frustration, Pol pounded on Theo’s door. Theo was practicing, but he laid the
filhata
aside, taking ample time to wrap it meticulously before opening the door.

“By the Six Stars, Singer, you will tell me where she is! Surely you would not let her try to find the Pass on her own?”

Theo grinned hugely. “Shall I sing for you, maybe a little something in the first mode, to help you relax? I do not think so much excitement can be good for you.”

Pol controlled his temper with visible effort. His small eyes snapped with anger, but his rough voice was even. “Just tell me. I don’t want her to die.”

“She will not die. You have no need to fear for her.”

“I sent a rider after her, all the way to the canyon. He didn’t find her.” Pol slumped against the doorjamb, and Theo took pity on him.

“Has the House been cold, Pol?” Pol shook his head. “Dark?” Another shake. “You are going to have to let her go.”

Pol straightened and came into Theo’s small room, looking around absently at its sparse furnishings. “It’s true, Singer. The House has been as warm as ever. It has never been in better care.” He folded his arms. “The Cantrix has given us a great deal. I want her to be safe.”

Theo gestured to the door. “Come with me. I will show you where she is.”

He led Pol down the corridors to the back of the House, where the abattoir doors opened onto the waste drop. A broad path lay within the reach of the House
quiru
, which was just beginning to fade for the hours of darkness. The two men stepped out onto the path, and Theo pointed down to the smaller mountain that bulked behind Observatory. A small circle of yellow light blossomed on a ledge of the mountain, perhaps an hour’s ride away.

Pol looked at it and began to laugh, not his usual sardonic bark, but a rumble of mirth that took years from his appearance and infected Theo, too. Together they looked at Sira’s camp
quiru
and laughed into the violet evening. Only when the House
quiru
began to noticeably diminish, and the cold to slip past it, did they step back in through the abattoir.

Theo sent to Sira,
You can come home now. All is well.

Sira sent back,
I will. I will be there for your
quirunha 
in the morning.

Chapter Thirty-one

Sira did attend the
quirunha
the next day. She made her way down the slippery talus slope from her campsite in the first light of morning, and made the steeper climb up Observatory’s peak just as the glow of the Visitor began to shine on the southern horizon. Sira walked into the Cantoris as Theo began with the ritual bow, and she and the other members of the assembly bowed in response.

Sira closed her eyes and listened to Theo. His technique was quite satisfactory, she thought. His voice was pleasant, lacking the polish that early training might have given it, but always true in pitch and inflection. His
quiru
had a strength and swiftness seldom equaled on the Continent. Observatory would be well served.