The Singers of Nevya (32 page)
Read The Singers of Nevya Online
Authors: Louise Marley
Tags: #Magic, #Imaginary Places, #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #Fantasy, #Singers, #General
The House members had learned to recite the closing prayer. When it was over, the
quirunha
was complete. Sira stood where she was and spoke before Theo could leave the dais.
“Members of Observatory,” she began. Surprised faces turned to her–Theo’s questioning, Pol’s ironic, the people’s curious. She walked forward, down the aisle between the benches.
Observatory had grown used to Sira’s silence. She rarely spoke aloud in public. They moved uneasily in their seats, murmuring among themselves as she stepped up beside Theo.
“Forgive me for interrupting your
quirunha
,” she said to Theo, and she included the assembly in her glance. “At Conservatory, where I trained, the day of departure from the House was the day on which a Singer became a full Cantor.” Her voice rang through the Cantoris. Others heard her, and came in from the great room. The Cantoris was soon full, with people standing in the doorway and crowding the benches.
“Here at Observatory,” Sira went on, “the ceremony is reversed. The Singer Theo has come to stay, and so it is on this day that I pronounce him to be a full Cantor. He has already proven himself. From this day, he is Cantor Theo v’Observatory, and as such, is to be accorded all the respect due his position and his title.”
Sira turned and bowed to Theo.
Congratulations, Cantor
.
Thank you, Maestra
, he sent with a wink.
And do not argue. You are
my
maestra.
Sira stepped down then, away from the dais, leaving Cantor Theo to receive the congratulations and good wishes of his House members. She watched from the doorway, where Pol joined her.
“I’m glad to see you back,” he said.
“The summer is here,” she told him. “There is a party in Ogre Pass. I want to go down to meet them.”
He looked up at her, his intelligent ugly face resigned. “How do you know that?”
“I have seen their
quiru
these past two nights.”
Pol nodded. “You’re right. Our hunters spotted them yesterday.” He bowed slightly. “I will arrange a guide. Your
hruss
is healthy, and your tack is ready.”
“Have you considered my suggestion about renewing your ties to the Committee?”
“I have, Cantrix,” he said. “I would appreciate your recommendation to them.”
Sira measured Pol with a long look. She smiled a little, then bowed, deeply and formally. “It will be my honor,” she said, “Magister Pol.”
Pol laughed, but bowed stiffly to her in return. “Thank you, Cantrix Sira.”
Sira looked back into the Cantoris, and saw Theo coming up the aisle. “When can I leave?” she asked, feeling a sudden bitter ache in her throat.
“Today,” he answered, “if you wish.”
“So I do,” she responded softly. Pol turned away to make the arrangements, and Sira waited for Theo to join her. Together they walked slowly down the corridor to her room, and though they were in perfect accord, they neither touched nor conversed. Sira thought her chest would burst with her love, and she feared Theo must feel the same. Still in silence, they began to collect her few possessions.
It took no more than an hour for Sira to prepare. Morys, one of Observatory’s riders, came by to announce that her
hruss
was saddled, and that he was ready to depart.
“I—” Sira began, then found she was unable to speak further. The purpose that had driven her these past days was suddenly drowned in a wave of grief. She hung her head in helpless misery, and Theo stepped forward.
“The Singer will be ready in half an hour,” he told Morys. “We will meet you in the courtyard.” The man nodded, and disappeared.
Heavily, Sira sat down on her cot.
This is so very hard.
Theo sat next to her, but he did not touch her.
How can I ever thank you?
You have already, in a thousand ways.
She hardly dared lift her head for fear she would lose her composure.
I will miss you
, she sent, staring at her twined fingers.
I will be with you each moment
, he answered. She took a trembling breath and looked into his eyes. His gaze was warm and reassuring.
There was nothing left to do, and after a time they rose to go to the courtyard. At the last moment, Theo pressed something small into Sira’s hand.
For later.
The
hruss
stood ready, its saddlepacks stuffed full of dried meat and grain. The two suns had begun their slow dance across the cloudless blue sky, and Sira stood in the courtyard with the reins in her hand to say farewell to Observatory. She pushed back her furs to feel the mountain air chill her cheeks. The full warmth of summer would not reach the peak of Observatory for some time yet.
She was surprised to find that Pol and a sizable contingent of House members had assembled on the steps, steps that were now smooth and straight and solid, to say goodbye to her.
She could think of nothing to say to them. She had been an unwilling guest in their House, yet she had worked hard and long for them. Several of the House members had tears in their eyes. Sira saw those tears, and accepted them as gifts.
Pol rasped, “Until you return, be well, Singer.”
Sira bowed. At a signal from Pol, the House members retreated inside the double doors, leaving only Theo on the steps.
His smile was as bright as ever as he faced her, but she was as sure of his feelings as she was of the duty that was tearing her away from him. They stood for long moments in silence, the early suns glancing off the shrinking firn on the peaks around them. Then Theo, ever faithful, broke the mood.
Your guide is waiting.
Sira nodded, and pulled herself up into the saddle.
I will be waiting, too,
Theo added, and Sira turned her face away to hide the tears that slipped down her cheeks.
She was too late. He saw, and took a step forward, but she held up her narrow hand.
I cannot bear it.
He stopped.
Sira, remember that I love you. Go with the Spirit.
She wiped her cheeks with her hands, then turned back to Theo.
Goodbye, my dear friend.
Her face felt stiff and ugly with pain.
Theo’s smile faded for just a moment, the blue of his eyes suspiciously bright, but he kept his control.
Be safe,
he sent.
And come back.
I promise
. She lifted her reins, and turned her
hruss
. She dared not look back as she rode out of the courtyard to join Morys, who waited among the trees. She felt Theo’s presence, strong and calm, watching her go.
What am I doing? she asked herself, in a moment of panic.
You are doing what you need to do
, Theo sent. He had read even her private thought.
Yes, my dearest dear,
she sent back, comforted. Morys rode out to meet her, and led the way through the trees to the path down the mountain.
Goodbye, my Theo
, she sent.
Goodbye, my love, came the answer. She felt the warmth in his thought even after the contact was broken, and she was alone again.
Only then, when she could no longer hear him, did she look into her hand at his gift.
It was a fragment of metal strung on a thong, polished and imprinted with incomprehensible glyphs. It was Theo’s necklace, which had been his mother’s, and her father’s before that. It was Theo’s talisman, and now Sira’s.
She placed the thong around her own neck, tucking the metal down inside her tunic over her heart. It was cold at first, then it grew warm against her skin. She pressed her fingers over it as she rode after Morys down the mountain. It seemed to vibrate with Theo’s essence, from his soul to hers.
Thank you
, she sent, sure he could not hear, but sending anyway.
Thank you
.
BOOK TWO:
S
ING
THE WARMTH
Prologue
Sira watched as Theo modulated nimbly from
Aiodu
to
Doryu
. His hair had grown long, thick blond waves falling past his shoulders as he bent over the
filhata
. From time to time, he tossed his hair back with a quick movement, without disturbing the melody that flowed from the strings. Warmth billowed around them as he played, and the room brightened. He looked up once to assure the light was full and golden, the warmth secure, before he played a smooth cadence. He placed the flat of his hand on the strings and looked expectantly at Sira.
She sighed with pleasure, with pride, and with undeniable regret. He was ready.
Change was needed on Nevya, and change was coming. Sira felt it as clearly as she and all other Nevyans felt the long-awaited advent of summer. Something profound and essential was in the making, and in some way only the Spirit could comprehend, Sira and Theo were part of it, the two of them swept along as if by the waves of the Frozen Sea breaking against the rocky coast of the Continent.
Theo
, she sent, then hesitated, wondering how to go on.
His eyes were as blue as hers were dark. When Nevya’s wandering sun finally appeared to join its brother, the sky over the Continent would be that same blue, clear and intense, violet-tinged in the evenings.
What is it?
he asked.
Still not good enough?
You know perfectly well how good it is. There is little more for me to teach you.
His crooked smile turned her heart, and the crinkle of his eyes made her breath catch in her throat. She might have stayed right here, singing beside Theo in the Cantoris, forever. But the force of the Gift drawing her away was too strong. She could not indulge herself any longer, and she saw in his face that he understood.
So
, he sent.
We are at the end
.
Theo gazed at Sira’s narrow face, her thin, strong lips. His eyes lingered on her eyebrow, scarred white by a
caeru
claw, and on her cropped hair. She kept it short, as if she were on the point of traveling at any moment. In truth, she had not left Observatory in four years.
I must find that boy, Zakri
, she sent.
He is the next step.
Well, you know the saying
. He winked, trying to draw one of her rare smiles.
Even an
urbear
has a mate.
Sira raised her eyebrows.
I suppose that applies
,
but I cannot guess its meaning.
It only means no one is unique. Except
, he teased,
perhaps the Cantrix Sira!
Do not call me that!
she sent, with spirit, but without rancor.
He laughed. However much she might protest, the title persisted, and with good reason. She had served Observatory as a full Cantrix. The House showed abundant evidence of her care, the people flourishing, the gardens growing, the children playing in health and security. Now, he knew, it was his turn.
You will be back.
So I will. And I will think of you always.
He put his big hand on her long, narrow one for a precious moment. They rarely touched, and when they did, she always pulled away first.
I will be waiting for you,
he sent.
Sira moved her hand, taking it from his to smooth her scarred eyebrow with her forefinger, a habitual gesture. She looked out through the thick window to the snowy peaks that hid Observatory from the rest of the Continent.
You will find the answers
, he assured her.
She nodded.
With the help of the Spirit.
Chapter One
Isbel spent a long time saying farewell to her home. She lingered in the practice rooms, stone-walled cubicles redolent of hours of
Doryu, Aiodu, Iridu
. She walked in the nursery gardens, remembering her friend Sira, who had disappeared without a trace in the Marik Mountains the year before. Isbel went to the
ubanyix
, too, and stroked the carved ironwood of the tub. She dipped her hand into the clear water and touched it to her cheeks, to blend with the tears there as she thought of Maestra Lu, her teacher, gone now with the Spirit beyond the stars.
Isbel’s teachers and classmates had been all her family since the day she entered its doors as a frightened seven-year-old. Her mother, Mreen, had delivered her over to Conservatory, then gone back to her House, and died within the year.
The young Singers were gathered near the window of the great room, planning their last remarks to Isbel—the new Cantrix Isbel—just as she had done when others of her class left on their assignments. Cantrix Isbel. She would assume her title today. She hoped she was ready.
Isbel
.
Isbel wiped her eyes with trembling hands, and smoothed her hair back into its binding.
Yes, Maestro Nikei. I am here.
It is time.
Nikei’s sending was gentle. The teachers knew how difficult it was for the young Singers to leave Conservatory, but Isbel doubted any of them could understand how truly bereft she felt. Still, this was her duty. Her personal feelings must be put aside as she took up her responsibilities in the House of Amric.
She straightened her shoulders and composed her face as best she could as she walked toward the great doors at the front of the House. She meant not to weep, but her eyes stung, and her lips trembled. Sira’s ceremony had been cool and controlled. Arn, now Cantor of Perl, had smiled and waved. Jana, on her way to be Cantrix at Lamdon, had sobbed as she said her farewells. Isbel wanted very much to comport herself with dignity.
The people of Conservatory assembled in ranks on the wide steps facing the courtyard. Isbel pulled her
caeru
furs close around her face and fixed her gaze on the cobblestones as she passed through the crowd. She didn’t lift them until she reached her traveling party.
One of Amric’s riders stepped forward and bowed. He towered above Isbel, larger than life in his heavy furs. He led a shaggy
hruss
by the rein.
Isbel shrank back when she saw the size of the animal. She glanced around, a little panicked. Her mount was the smallest of all the party. She bit her lip, and took a step closer. She stretched her arm up, trying to reach the horn of the saddle, but she could not even graze it with her fingers.
The rider murmured, “Please forgive me, Cantrix,” as he helped her to put her fur-booted foot into the wooden stirrup. Again he begged her pardon, and boosted her carefully up to the high-cantled saddle. Isbel realized, as she settled against the hard leather, that he was apologizing for touching her.
Until this moment she had not thought about what that meant. Her friends, her teachers—all of them touched and embraced as family. The Housemen and women of Conservatory did not touch Gifted ones, but the students hardly noticed that, occupied as they were with each other. At Amric, Isbel would have only her senior with whom she could be truly at ease, and he must be treated with the deepest respect. She would have to speak aloud almost constantly, as well. However would she become accustomed to it all?
Perched high on the mountain
hruss
, she gazed down past its broad head and drooping ears to Magister Nikei, Magister Mkel, and the remaining members of her class. The second-level students watched the events of the morning with composure, neither wonder-struck nor nervous. Their own ceremonies were still at least a summer away. The small class of first-level students observed everything with wide eyes. They had seen very few such rituals. They clung together like
caeru
pups on their first day out of the den.
The day was cloudy, and a bitter wind blew from the Mariks to nip at exposed skin. Isbel knew her ceremony must be short. The season of deep cold had Nevya firmly in its frigid grip.
Congratulations, Cantrix Isbel,
Maestro Nikei sent. His use of her title began the ceremony, and the students joined in with enthusiasm.
Goodbye, Cantrix.
Good luck, Cantrix!
Cantrix Isbel, we will miss you.
The riders from Amric waited as their
hruss
shuffled their big hooves and puffed clouds of steam into the icy air. The riders could not hear this part of the ceremony, nor could the House members gathered with the Singers. Patiently, holding their furs around them, the unGifted watched in silence until the farewells from the Singers were over.
Two first-level students sobbed together as they tried to send to Isbel. They had not had long practice, and their sending was garbled.
Goodbye . . . Isbel, Cantrix, I mean . .
Isbel, we . . . we . . . with the Spirit!
How often the little ones had clustered around her to hear her stories and songs as she tried to ease their homesickness and their longing for their mothers! And who, Isbel wondered, would tell them stories now?
Goodbye, Corin
, she sent, flashing her dimples at them to make them smile.
Goodbye, Sith. Be well, and practice hard. I will think of you often.
The silent messages ended all too soon. Little clouds of steamy breath hung before each face, a warning against staying out of doors too long. Magister Mkel cleared his throat, and concluded the ceremony.
“Cantrix Isbel,” he said aloud. Threatening tears burned in Isbel’s eyes. She knew the words that were coming. She blinked hard and squeezed her fingers together inside her new
caeru
fur gloves.
“Every Singer’s true home is Conservatory,” the Magister intoned. “Remember that we always wait for your return, by the will of the Spirit.”
Isbel bowed to him, then clutched at the pommel of her saddle as she felt herself slip in her high seat. “Thank you,” she whispered. There was more she had planned to say, but she no longer trusted her voice. She lifted her hand to the Magister and to all her House.
The House members bowed. The young Singers gazed up at her in silent intensity, each no doubt imagining their own turn, that day when they would start out as she was, to ride with a party of strangers to a strange House, and an unknown future.
Isbel swallowed, and set her lips so they would not tremble. She turned to the rider who held her reins. “I am ready.” Her voice shook only a little, and though her chest hurt with holding back her tears, hold them back she did.
The tall rider handed the reins to her, and mounted his own
hruss
. Awkwardly, Isbel tried to imitate the way he held his reins, sat in his saddle. Never in her life had she ridden
hruss
by herself, nor even been out of doors since the last summer.
In a silence broken only by the huffing of the beasts and the clatter of their hooves against the cobblestones, the travelers rode out of the courtyard. At the last moment Isbel looked back over her shoulder at the faces of her friends and her teachers. The
hruss’s
long strides made her sway in her saddle as it carried her away, down the snowy ride and around a stand of ironwood trees. Soon she could no longer see the people, but only the steep roofs of Conservatory outlined in the yellow glow of its
quiru
.
She sobbed twice, pressing her gloved hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. Then she drew a shuddering breath, and turned her face forward, toward Amric, her new House. She was an adult now, four summers old, more than twenty years. She was a full Cantrix, and she must behave accordingly. She prayed to the Spirit of Stars that she would be strong enough.
Kai v’Amric rode protectively close to the young Cantrix. He marveled that the power of the Cantoris should rest in such a small person. He watched her play her
filla
their first night out, when the party made their camp. The deft way she held the shining bit of carved ironwood to her lips, and the delicate melody she wove, seemed miraculous. He caught his breath as the
quiru
sprang up gracefully around her, warm and glowing in the early dark of the season.
How could it be, Kai wondered, that the Gift could be such a beneficent power in a person such as Cantrix Isbel, while in someone like that crazy boy at Amric it was like an enraged beast, lashing out at any provocation. That boy—Zakri, his name was—was an outcast. No one spoke to him. In fact, no one dared. He earned his keep by laboring among
hruss
, and anyone who valued his health knew enough to stay away from the stables when Zakri was there. The Housekeeper allowed him to stay at Amric only because he kept the night watch and promised not to bother anyone. Rumors abounded about his last House.
The Gift was a very different thing in this lovely girl, this brand-new Cantrix. Kai waited on her, bringing her tea and
keftet
, working the snow under her bedfurs to give her a smooth surface for sleeping. He bowed to her so often that she finally laughed, showing deep dimples in her pretty cheeks, and begged him to stop.
On the second day he knew she was saddle-sore. He waited for her to complain. He saw the awkward way she held her reins and moved in her saddle. He wanted to help her, to instruct her, but he knew better than to address a full Cantrix unless she spoke to him first.
Amric lay five days’ ride to the northeast of Conservatory, six in bad weather. For Kai, this was an easy trip. The slow pace, the plentiful food, and the light duties of watching over Amric’s new Cantrix made it almost a holiday. His older brothers, Rho and Tam, rode ahead with the guide, glancing back from time to time, but leaving him to his work without their usual teasing. The Cantrix’s new Housewoman rode just behind them. So far she had not even spoken to her mistress, which was fine with Kai. He settled back into his saddle and grinned to himself.
“Is something funny?”
He straightened instantly. The young Cantrix’s voice was light and musical, much as he would have expected. It was her red-brown hair and green eyes that surprised him.
“Oh, no . . . no, Cantrix. I was just thinking.”
“Please tell me,” she said. “And tell me what to call you.” She had to look up at him from beneath the yellow-white
caeru
fur that circled her face. Kai’s breath caught at her beauty, and something warm stirred in his belly.