The Singers of Nevya (9 page)

Zakri possessed a powerful Gift. It would cause serious problems if not harnessed soon. She tried to open her mind to him, but he didn’t know how to respond.

Sira remembered her first days at Conservatory, when the dormitory grew quieter and quieter as the young Gifted ones, surrounded by their own kind, began to speak with their minds and not their voices. She wondered if Zakri’s mother would have taught him how.

The next day Zakri and his father and brother were gone, in search of the mother’s body to take home for burial. The softer ground of summer always meant burials, but it meant more sadness for Zakri. Sira sent up a prayer to the Spirit for him. It was all she could think of to do.

Another day, when the summer had passed its zenith, Sira sat in the courtyard in the long afternoon playing a lively melody for a little girl who danced, laughing, on the cobblestones. Denis and several other children were watching and applauding, in accord for once. Sira was startled when a shadow fell over her. Still playing, she glanced up above her
filla
.

Rhia was standing over her, frowning. “Must you play here?”

Sira abruptly broke off her music and stood, deeply offended. The little girl who had been dancing dashed away. Denis and the others stepped back, watching.

Rhia’s jaw was set and she was pinching the material of her tunic, over and over. As Sira searched for some response, Rhia turned and called to one of the Housemen who had been nearby a moment before. “Bors! Bors! Come here!” Her voice was harsh in the bright air.

Sira was both fascinated and repelled. Rhia was angry about something, and clearly the other House members were afraid of her.

“Bors!” The Houseman appeared from around the corner, and bowed quickly to Rhia. “Where is the Magister?” she snapped.

“I believe he is away from the House,” the man offered. He looked as nervous as a
caeru
being pursued through the forest. “There was a report of a
caeru
den—”

“Hunting. Just when he is needed, naturally!” Rhia said bitterly. Waves of her deep and helpless anger swept over Sira.

Deciding this situation had nothing to do with her, Sira started to walk away.

“Cantrix.” Sira stopped. Rhia’s eyes glittered, and Sira knew that her anger was out of control. “Don’t play out here again,” she said.

Sira stood tall, looking down at the older woman for a moment as she secured her own composure. “I see no reason not to entertain the House members with my music.”

Sira? Do not argue with her. Come in, please.

It was Magret, sending clearly and strongly to her junior.

Sira, of course, obeyed immediately, but her cheeks burned with shame at being called away like a child. With her back arrow-straight, she spun about, and stalked into the House.

Cantrix Magret was waiting just inside the door. She gestured to Sira, drawing her toward their apartments.
Sira, I am sorry, but
. . . Magret looked up quickly, and Sira saw Trude leaning against the door of the great room

“Did Rhia find the Magister?” she asked lazily. “The Committee member is waiting.”

“I do not know,” Magret answered quickly. Sira was lost in the currents of anger, fear, and envy swirling through the atmosphere.

“Don’t mind Rhia, young Cantrix,” Trude went on, straightening, turning toward the stairs. “It’s hard for her. She can’t win either way.” Trude did not bother to shield her enjoyment of the conflict.

As Trude’s generous figure disappeared up the stairs, Sira turned to her senior.
What is happening here?

“It is better we speak aloud,” Magret said softly. “The mind’s ear extends far beyond the physical one. Come to my room, and I will explain as best I can.”

Sira followed Magret, but fresh anger made the air glisten around her. By the time she sat down in Magret’s apartment, her jaw ached from clenching it.

“A member of the Magistral Committee is making the rounds of the Houses to arrange a congress,” Magret told her. “She expected to talk to Magister Shen, and Rhia is embarrassed that she cannot find him.”

“What does that have to do with my playing in the courtyard?”

“Nothing, Sira. Nothing. But Rhia is not kindly disposed toward Singers in general. Trude and Denis constantly try her patience. It is one reason the House members avoid the
quirunha
. She was angry, and you were there—that is all. But she can be dangerous. When she loses her temper, she abuses her power.” Magret whispered her last remark.

“In what way?” Sira asked.

Magret kept her voice very low and her eyes averted. “She banished one or two Housemen who crossed her, and they and their families had to go begging for another House. And through the Housekeeper, she controls privileges certain families receive. Some of them are essential, and families suffer.”

“But what could she do to me?”

“I do not know. But she is a clever and determined woman. And not a forgiving one.”

Sira looked down at the fists she had made in her lap, and released them, stretching her long fingers. “This is a strange House.”

“All Houses have their strangenesses. You will become accustomed to it.”

Sira brought her gaze up to her senior’s. “We have trained and worked all our lives to serve our Houses. I do not think I will become accustomed to disrespect.”

“We have no choice, my dear. Where Conservatory sends us, we go. And serve.” Magret sighed. “Choice is a luxury beyond a Cantrix’s reach.”

Sira said nothing more, but she could not accept Magret’s statement. There would be more to her life than compliance and obedience. There had to be, or she would be as frustrated as young Zakri.

Chapter Eight

The softwood shoots sprang up in abundance during the weeks of summer, their tender green needles flourishing under the light of the twin suns. The ironwood trees, thick and dark, looked heavy and ancient among them.

Now the summer was fading. The faraway disc of the Visitor dropped lower and lower toward the southern horizon, and the air cooled sharply. The steady trickle of summer guests dwindled, and itinerant Singers began to offer their services to those who had stayed late, to ensure their safe journeys home.

It was on one of these last summer days that the Housekeeper Wil bowed to Sira after the
quirunha
and asked her to come to the Magister’s apartments. “Rhia wishes to see you, Cantrix,” he said, adding with a deprecating smile, “at your convenience, of course.”

Sira nodded, though she doubted her convenience had little to do with the summons. She followed the Housekeeper out of the Cantoris. They were both tall and slender, and they drew many glances as they walked through the corridors. Sira tried to look oblivious, but for once she felt graceful, not awkward, in her great height.

Rhia was waiting for them with tea and a tray of refreshments. Trude was also present, sitting near the window and selecting tidbits from the tray with her plump hand in the manner of one long familiar with her surroundings. It was odd to see the two women together. What a strange relationship they had: Trude, the former Cantrix, mother of the Magister’s son; and Rhia, childless mate of the Magister.

Rhia bowed nicely, and Sira’s answering bow was polite but deliberately shallow. The flash in Rhia’s eyes showed she understood. Still, her attitude remained courteous.

“I won’t keep you long, Cantrix,” Rhia said. “I want to discuss something with you.” She gestured to the refreshments, but Sira shook her head. The Housekeeper stood behind Rhia’s chair, and Sira, watching the older woman sink elegantly into her seat, felt suddenly and distressingly gauche. Rhia’s dark tunic and trousers were simple, but impeccably draped. Sira tried to unobtrusively smooth her own plain tunic. She stopped when she saw Wil’s slight smile. She dropped her hands and composed her face, deciding not to look at him again.

“The Magister will be making a trip to the capital, to Lamdon,” Rhia was saying. “There is to be a meeting of the Magistral Committee. I—that is, we would like you to accompany him. It will be a three-day ride, and he needs a Singer.”

With Trude so close, Sira kept her thoughts low. She could indulge in excitement later. But Lamdon! Lamdon, with its eight Cantors, and people coming to the Cantoris from all over the Continent! She was so delighted she almost forgot an important question. When it occurred to her, her spirits sank as quickly as they had risen.

She blurted, “Why me?”

Rhia smiled, and reached for her teacup. “We would prefer Cantrix Magret to stay here, to sustain the House
quiru
. Now that Cantor Grigr has retired, we are again shorthanded. Naturally, Cantrix Magret has managed it alone many times. We feel there is less risk that way.”

She did not mention the possibility of hiring an itinerant Singer, and Sira did not want to bring it up. Perhaps they felt an itinerant was not adequate protection for the Magister. Knowing Trude was watching from the window, Sira hid her elation. She felt like a child hiding a sweet.

“In that case,” she said rather stiffly, “I will be happy to travel with the Magister.”

Rhia nodded. “Good.” Her smile was gracious. Sira could hardly reconcile this charming woman with the furious one who had insulted her in the courtyard not many days before. “Thank you, Cantrix. You leave in a week, then, and you’ll be gone eight days. The Magister only expects to stay at Lamdon two nights.”

Sira nodded. Rhia rose, signaling the end of the discussion. Wil and Trude stayed behind as Sira paced back to her own small room, her step and her heart light with anticipation.

Magret found her later in the
ubanyix
, lazing in the warm, scented water.

“Well, Sira, this is unusual for you, is it not?” Magret smiled at her junior as she hung up her tunic. “Is the water hot enough?”

“It is fine, Cantrix,” Sira said, returning Magret’s smile. Magret eased herself into the warm water with a pleasurable sigh. There were only two other women in the ironwood tub, washing each other’s hair at the far end.

Magret reached for the soap in its carved niche. “What did the Housekeeper want?”

“Rhia wanted to see me.” Sira tried to speak casually. “They want me to go to Lamdon with Magister Shen.”

Magret dropped her eyes. Sira feared she was upset, or perhaps resentful. She opened her mind, hoping for some sharing of Magret’s inner thoughts. She was relieved to feel neither anger nor envy, only a brief moment of concern before her senior shielded her mind.

Sira said in a rush, “It should have been you, should it not? So I said to Rhia.”

The lines around Magret’s mouth deepened. “Perhaps. In another case it might have been I. More likely, they would have hired an itinerant. Perhaps because of your youth . . .” She sighed. “Perhaps they hope the journey will give you experience.”

Sira understood Magret did not believe this. There was something else. She waited for an explanation, but Magret only shook her head. “I do not know, Sira. I do not know what might be in Rhia’s mind.” She glanced at the other women in the
ubanyix
. “I beg you to be cautious.”

Sira nodded. “I will, Cantrix. Although I do not know what to be cautious about.”

Magret’s chuckle sounded weary. “I do not usually hear any doubts from you. And I cannot tell you exactly what to be on guard against. Perhaps—just be aware of everything.

“You will meet Cantrix Sharn, senior at Lamdon. She is a wonderful Singer, and an old friend. You can give her my regards. And enjoy yourself!”

“I will.” Sira stretched her long arms above her head in joy, pushing away any doubts that might cloud her pleasure. Lamdon! It was a dream come true.

When the day came, the sight of her old friend Rollie in the traveling party added to Sira’s delight. The rider, her tanned face swathed in the yellow-white fur of her hood, came forward to secure Sira’s furs and saddlepacks and to help her mount. Patting the
hruss
’s heavy neck, she winked at Sira. “So here we go again, young Cantrix!”

Sira grinned. “I am so glad to see you, Rollie.”

A great adventure lay ahead, and here was Rollie to share it. Not even the Magister’s gruff presence could darken Sira’s mood. And unless he chose to freeze to death, he would have to hear her sing, something he had not done in all the months of her sojourn in his House.

The last halfhearted days of summer were a week past. The Visitor had dropped below the southern skyline, and the travelers were in full cold-weather gear. It was a small traveling party, with only two other riders besides Rollie. Big-shouldered men, looking even larger in their furs, rode at the head of the group.

“Alks is the one on your left, Cantrix,” Rollie whispered. “Mike is the other one.” She gave Sira a conspiratorial smile. “Not too sociable, you’ll find.”

Sira loved the feel of the saddle, though she knew that after all these months she would be saddle-sore once again. The cold air was exhilarating, and the prospect of Lamdon filled her with energy. Having Rollie to ride beside her made everything perfect. There would be news of Maestra Lu, also. Lamdon had everything. Sira hummed a little tune as she rode.

As the day wore on and the party climbed steadily upward into the Mariks, snow began to fall. The Magister, boisterously cheerful and clearly in his element here in the mountains, told Alks to make camp as soon as they dropped into Ogre Pass. Sira caught a snowflake on her tongue, then blushed when she realized what she had done. Rollie chuckled, and Sira did, too. She supposed, just for the moment, she could forget the dignity of the Cantoris.

Ogre Pass was in itself exciting to Sira. She had never traveled through it before. In fact, she had never been further north than Bariken. A wide canyon with steep, wooded sides and a flat floor, Ogre Pass wound through the Mariks, south to north. Lamdon and Isenhope were at the northern end. Its southern mouth opened to the Houses on the Frozen Sea. There were no Houses to the east unless, as legend had it in one of Isbel’s songs, the Watchers had a House there. Sira looked eastward to the fierce jagged peaks on the horizon, and doubted anyone could build a House in that terrain.