The Singers of Nevya (87 page)

W
AITING FOR SUMMER, WAITING TO GROW.

Sira, still kneeling on the edge of Mreen’s bedfurs, looked up at Zakri. He was shocked to see tears in her eyes.
I am sorry, Cantrix,
he began.

She shook her head.
No, Zakri, do not be. It is a beautiful song, and a beautiful thought. I only thought of your mother . . . it touched me.

Mreen was sound asleep at last. The whole camp was quiet, ready for the night. Sira got up and went to her own bedfurs. The men made a quick trip out of the
quiru
, and Zakri made a last round of the
hruss
, making certain they were settled in. Their heads hung low to the trampled snow, but their ears swiveled back and forth, following the sounds the people made.

When they were all in their bedfurs, Zakri leaned on his elbow, looking across the coals of the cookfire.
Cantrix Sira, why did that old children’s song upset you?

It did not upset me,
she sent firmly.
I was moved. That is all.

But something upset you, earlier. I saw it.

Sira sat up in her bedfurs, tracing her scarred eyebrow with her finger. Theo sat up as well, watching her.

You were talking about carvers, and whether they learn to shield
. Zakri nodded. She put her arms around her upraised knees and leaned her chin on them.
Long ago, I hurt someone, and I am loath to do it again. Perhaps I cannot do it again. I fear this whole crisis comes about because of the way we treat the Gift, measuring it, testing it as if it were an absolute. For this carver, only Conservatory could have satisfied his ambitions. Theo felt much the same, but his parents would not allow it . . . they insisted he follow in their traditions. If there were more choices for the Gifted, other paths for them to follow, this tragedy might have been averted.

Theo put in,
Remember, Sira, the irontree sucker cannot force the treeling to take root.

Sira shook her head.
I remember the proverb, but . .
. She shrugged.

Zakri laughed quietly.
I do not get it either,
he sent.

Theo sent,
Cho is responsible for what he has become. You are certainly not, Sira, nor even, I think, the Committee or Conservatory.

She hugged her knees tighter.
Just the same, I am fearful for the Gift. Will they listen, now, when we tell them about Observatory? That we have so many, while the Houses of the Continent have so few? And what awful things will we have to do at Soren?

At the least,
Theo assured her,
we will save the little one there. One task at a time.

Sira took a deep breath, rubbing her eyes as if to banish her dark thoughts.
Why, Theo, no proverb for that?

Too tired, my dear
. He yawned to prove it. They both lay down, pulling their bedfurs close about them.

Zakri followed their example, but for some time he lay staring up at the stars past the
quiru
, thinking. He was fearful for Mreen, for himself, for these others. But he was very glad to be here, to be with Sira and with Theo. He was grateful for the choice.

Chapter Twenty

Sook, standing alone at her window, saw the travelers crest the ridge above the House. They trooped down toward Soren in a colorful wave of
hruss
, some carrying riders, two laden only with bulging packs, two with loaded
pukuru
sliding behind them over the snow. She pressed herself against the window and counted them. Twelve people, and sixteen
hruss
! Never had she seen so many riders at one time. With trembling fingers, she brushed and rebound her hair, her eyes never leaving the scene. Surely this meant Zakri was here at last!

Perhaps Zakri could even see her, standing in her narrow window. She clasped her hands beneath her chin and watched the
quiru
bloom about the traveling party, just beyond the courtyard. It towered against the gray sky, a wide column of warmth and light. Housemen set about making the camp comfortable, unpacking a table from the
pukuru
, two high-backed chairs, several stools. They ranged bedfurs in a long row at the edge of the camp, and tethered the
hruss
on the other side. Sook stared into the brilliant light, trying to make out the faces of the people.

She could not find Zakri. There were two tall, slender men, but neither was he, and they both behaved like servants. They bowed often to two shorter men, one plump and dark, one even plumper, the fattest man Sook had ever seen, and pale as the snow on the hills around them. Those two were quickly seated in the tall chairs, and two others near them on stools. One of the Housemen started a cookfire and soon the seated men were holding cups of tea, looking at the House, but making no move toward it. Two burly Housemen took up positions at the edge of the
quiru
. They wore long knives strapped about them, and they stood facing out toward Soren.

Sook’s hopes thinned, faded away like curls of smoke. She lowered herself into the window seat, suddenly weary. She gazed out at the newly made camp, and the men in it, and she understood all too well who and what they were. She had never been to the capital House of Nevya, in fact had never been away from her own House in her life, but she knew that such an exhibition of riches could come from only one place. It wasn’t Zakri who had come, but Lamdon. Lamdon! Cantors and Magisters and Committee members. What did such people know of real trouble?

In the outer room of the apartment, she heard the itinerants talking and Cho’s light voice in response. “It’s just what we’ve been waiting for,” he said. “Call the Singers into the Cantoris. You, Klas, give the carvers one last chance to be a part of this. Our goal has come to us!”

Someone asked a question Sook couldn’t hear. Cho’s answer was as clear and sharp as the icicles under Soren’s eaves. “It’s Magister Gowan. That dark man with him is Cantor Abram himself. Just where we want them.”

Sook leaned forward, putting her forehead against the cold limeglass. The men from Lamdon were being served a meal, not a simple bowl of
keftet
but several different dishes spread out around them. She imagined what there might be for them to eat—grain for sure, dried fruit, perhaps nutbread with oil to dip it in. Her mouth watered, and a spasm of craving knotted her stomach. She wrapped her arms around her middle and set her jaw. They must not give in, neither she nor Mura nor the carvers nor the House members! They must stand on their own, and together. And they must warn those soft men from Lamdon! Didn’t they realize Cho could strike at them even as they sat over their meal?

Two short raps sounded at her door, and the bolt slid back. Bree looked in. “Sook, I’m sorry, but no bath today. You probably saw?”

Sook jumped to her feet. “What’s going to happen?”

Bree’s plain features twisted. “We’re having a meeting in the Cantoris. I don’t feel good about this. That’s Magister Gowan out there!”

“So I heard,” Sook answered. She turned back to the window. “Which one is he?”

“The white one,” Bree grunted.

“Spirit!” Sook exclaimed. “Did you ever know a man could grow so fat?”

“A few weeks at Soren, and he’d be skinny as a
wezel
,” Bree retorted. “Like the rest of us. Anyway, I have to go. Sorry about the
ubanyix
.”

“Bree, wait!” Sook cried. “Could you just—just forget—about locking the door? I promise I won’t say a word. And with all this excitement . . .”

Bree looked back over her shoulder. The apartment was empty, but she hesitated. “I’m still in trouble for trying to help you the last time,” she muttered.

“I know,” Sook said softly. “But if he fails, and you’ve been kind to me—I know Singer Zakri will stand up for you!”

“Zakri?” Bree squinted at her. “You know, Sook, I have to agree with Mura. You put a lot of faith in a man you don’t really know. And he’s not even out there!”

Sook stiffened her back. “He will be! And I know what I need to know.”

“They all say the same thing,” Bree said sourly.

“Bree—just for me, then? If he finds out I’ll tell him I unlocked it myself!”

Bree shook her head, muttering, “Six Stars! I’ll probably be sorry for this. Just remember, if he puts someone else on this duty, you may not get any favors at all!”

Sook gave Bree a brilliant smile. “Thank you, thank you! Hurry to your meeting, now, Singer,” she said. “I’ll be back before you are. They’ll never even know I’m gone!”

Sook found Mura and Eun and most of the carvers gathered around the long scarred table in the kitchens. They gave hushed cries of joy at seeing her, then drew her quickly into their whispered conversation. She glanced around to see that Nori was conspicuous by her absence, and that one or two carvers had also not come. She could hardly blame them for being afraid, but she was elated at the chance for action. Surely something would happen now!

Yul’s death had aged Mura. The set of her mouth was bitter, her eyes under their wrinkled lids dark with grief. “We’re going to send someone out,” she said, “someone to tell them what’s happening. That’s the Magister of Lamdon out there, come at last!”

“Have you seen him?” Sook asked. “Any of you?”

No one had. “He’s short and fat. And old. I don’t think he’s a match for Cho.”

“But he’s the Magister of Lamdon! Of the whole Continent!” one of the carvers protested. “How can the Singers oppose him?”

“This is just what Cho wanted,” Sook told them. “I heard him say so.”

“Surely he won’t attack Magister Gowan!” Eun said faintly.

Sook thought for a moment, her fingers on her lips. “I don’t think it’s Magister Gowan he’ll attack,” she said. “The Magister of Lamdon isn’t Gifted, only the Magister of Conservatory. Right?” She looked around the group for confirmation. “So the one he’ll attack is the man with the Magister. The Gifted one.”

“But who’s with him? Who came as his Singer?”

“Not just his Singer. Cantor Abram, senior Cantor of Lamdon.” Sook put her hands on her hips. “He’s a fool, sitting out there on a great chair like he was up on the dais, nice and safe in his own Cantoris! Cho will make
keftet
out of him!”

Mura snorted. “That would serve him right,” she said. “But maybe if we hurry we can prevent it. We were just deciding who should go.”

“I’ll go!” Sook cried immediately.

“No, you won’t,” said the carver. “They watch you too closely. You’ll go back where they expect you to be. One of us will go.”

“But,” Mura said, “it shouldn’t be one of the Gifted. He knows just how to hurt you.”

“Then who?”

Mura stared at them. “I’m going to do it.”

“Mura, no!” Sook protested. “Not you. Someone else, someone younger.”

“She’s right,” the carver put in. “It should be someone who can run, who can get there quickly in the dark. In the cold.”

“Me, then,” Sook said again.

The heavy door to the kitchen swung open, and Bree’s weathered face showed in the doorway. “Sook!” she hissed. “They’re done! You need to hurry!”

Sook hugged Mura quickly, and nodded to the carvers. “I have to go. But, Mura . . .”

“Please!” Bree said urgently.

Sook cast an imploring glance back at Mura, but she ran. Taking the back staircase, she hurried up to the upper level and into Cho’s apartment, closing her bedroom door behind her with some moments to spare before the itinerants came back. Sook listened to the sounds of them returning, the thudding of resettled furniture, the brush of their boots against the floor, murmured conversation. She knelt in the windowseat again. All afternoon she stayed there, staring into the
quiru
across the courtyard.

*

Raised voices roused Sook. She had fallen asleep, curled in the windowseat. Her neck was stiff. She groaned, and massaged it with both hands.

“Impossible!” came an imperious cry beyond her door. “The Magister will never agree, nor the Committee!”

Sook stumbled to her feet, bending to rub one tingling ankle. A glance outside showed her the Lamdon party’s
quiru
now shone in a dusky sky. Long fingers of shadow, cast by the unusual light beyond the courtyard, stretched across the cobblestones.

“That’s what we want, and that’s what we’ll have,” she heard Cho announce, his high-pitched voice carrying easily to her ears. “Freedom to fix our own prices, whether itinerants or carvers; Soren as a base, without interference from the Committee; and the same rights Cantors have, private apartments, full privileges, and our own leader.”

The Lamdon courier sputtered angrily. His voice did not carry so well, and Sook hobbled to the door on her stinging foot to press her ear to it.

“Are you prepared to make the sacrifices Cantors and Cantrixes make, then? To serve as they do?”

Cho’s voice was cool and even. “But, courier, we do serve. We’ve served you, in fact. Did you drink from a carved teacup out there, in your great
quiru
? Did you eat from an ironwood plate? Use a spoon? A cookpot?”

“It’s hardly the same,” the courier shouted. “You’re insane!”

“I?” Cho laughed and Sook heard his chair scrape the floor. She could picture him in his usual pose by the window, leaning against the frame, drawing his long black plait through his fingers. “I think it’s you and your Magister—and perhaps your Cantors, out there—who aren’t sane. You have no power over me.”

“But what you’re doing to these people, to this House—” The courier grew shrill in his frustration.

“Do you see them trying to escape, to run across that courtyard to join you?”

“They know we could hardly carry the whole House back to Lamdon.”

“But they see you out there, you and your pale Magister and your weak Cantors. They see you eating and drinking like you were at some great feast, they see you fat and comfortable as they never are, and they understand even more why we need to do this.”

“But—”

A bang, as of a fist on a table, startled Sook away from the door. “No more talk!” Cho said, loudly this time. “Go back and tell them. If they don’t leave, and carry our message to the Committee, they’ll regret it. If they need a demonstration, I’ll give them one!”