The Singers of Nevya (94 page)

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Mreen’s nimbus, the only
quiru
light in the hall, shone brilliantly in the gloom. There was no other light. She was luminous, a lamp for the darkness. She gasped as she realized it, and took another step backward.

I am Mreen
, she sent, but the man did not seem to hear her, though she could feel his anger and fear. Surely he had the Gift. But he bent forward and reached a meaty hand to take hold of her arm. She knew well that no Gifted person touches another without permission.

“Looks like you’ve got the only light in the House,” the man growled. He hauled on her arm, and she winced with pain. No one, in her entire life, had ever laid a hand on her in that way. If she could have screamed, she would have, in sheer fury. “You’re coming to see Cho,” he said, and pulled her toward the stairs.

Mreen fought him. She kicked, and scratched at his hand with her nails. Black hairs covered his arm, and she tore at them. He cursed, some word she did not recognize, and bent down to take her around the waist. His forearm was just close enough. She sank her small teeth into it, shuddering at the taste of his skin and the texture of the coarse hairs that covered it.

For good measure, she focused on the spot of the bite, and made the broken skin as hot as her abundant psi energy could make it. He yowled with pain. He dropped her as he might have dropped a
caeru
cub that got its claws into him. She turned and ran, in the only direction she could, back out through the open door and into the night.

He swore, “Six Stars, girl, when I catch you . . .” He lumbered after her, out into the cold and dark.

Her halo was brilliant in the darkness, a clear beacon for her pursuer. She ran to the edge of the courtyard, then stopped, crouching, huddling on the cobblestones. She forced herself to focus, to draw in her light until it faded to nothing, leaving her invisible in the darkness.

It was almost more than she could bear. This was nothing like the demonstration she had made at the campsite. Everyone feared the dark, of course, but Mreen, in all her five years, had never seen true darkness. Light had always emanated from her like the twinkling of a star. Now there was no light to reassure her, not her own, nor that which should come from the Cantoris, nor even the cheery small flames of one of Berk’s cookfires. She was shocked to find herself growing cold, a sensation she could not remember ever experiencing. A silent sob escaped her, and her teeth chattered. How, oh how, she wondered wildly, did other people bear it? She felt bereft. Her feet were numb already against the frigid stones, and the icy air burned in her chest. She struggled to stand upright. She knew, if this awful man did not give up the chase, that she could freeze to death, right here in front of the House, and no one would know until morning.

The man was struggling against his own fear. He called out twice, then hastened back into the dark House, where at least a semblance of warmth remained. But he remained in the doorway, peering out into the night, looking for her. She watched his sinister bulk, a shadow of menace in the doorway, and she despaired. She was too cold to cry, but her breath caught in painful spasms of shivering. She knew instinctively she must not get caught; if the bad man in this House had her in his control, nothing Cantrix Sira could do would be enough.

It was when she thought she could no longer control herself, when she thought she would have to surrender, give in to her need for warmth, that his footsteps at last retreated, and she thought she saw his dim form moving up the staircase. She waited, shivering, hugging herself inside her furs.

The moments passed. When she began to feel warm, she knew she had waited as long as she dared. She let out her breath all at once, and her nimbus flared, its consoling light and soothing warmth feeling like strong arms about her.

Mreen raced back to the open door and peeked cautiously inside. No one was in the hall, though she heard voices and running feet above the stairs. She trotted away down the nearest corridor, calling
Boy! Boy!
Above her, a ruckus of shouting mixed with a tide of psi. She tried to shield herself, but it was vivid and violent, with horrible images, the more terrible because she did not understand them. She was afraid she might be sick, right in the hallway. Then she heard him screaming.

“Stop it! Make them stop! Mama, Mama!”

She was in the wrong corridor. She heard his voice dimly through the cries and wails of other House members, and then only because his Gift lent it carrying power. She tried to fasten on it, to follow it.

Mreen looked behind her. No one had seen her light, and the man had not returned.

She could hear the boy clearly now, feel him. He was crying, sick and frightened. She retraced her steps, and ran frantically down the opposite corridor, all the way to the last apartment. Other people passed Mreen, running, calling each other’s names. Some stopped to stare at her, but no one offered to touch her again. Their fear was as powerful as the darkness.

Mreen reached the closed door and heard the boy sobbing inside while a woman’s voice pleaded with him. Mreen lifted the latch and pushed the door open.

The boy was perhaps five or six. He knelt on a couch in a muddle of bedfurs and pillows, his hands over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut. Tears and mucus ran down his face. A thin woman knelt beside him, trying to hold him as he rocked back and forth, wailing. “Oh, please, Joji, please,” the woman cried. “Joji, stop! Joji, listen to me!”

Mreen shut the door sharply behind her and the woman looked up in alarm. “What is—who are you?”

Mreen went to the bed, touching her silent lips with her hand and shaking her head, trying to explain that she could not speak. She gazed intently at the boy, but his mother pulled him back, further away from her, shielding him with her arm. “What is it? What do you want?”

Mreen ignored her.
Boy!
she sent.
Joji! Can you hear me now?

“Who are you?” the mother repeated.

Joji!
Mreen sent, as loudly as she could. Her own shields were still young and untried, but she extended them as much as she knew how, trying to shut out some of the noise from the boy’s mind, wary of leaving herself too vulnerable. She felt the mother’s suspicious gaze on her as she concentrated. Her halo sparkled vividly, intensified by her efforts.

The boy’s sobs subsided little by little as the noise in his head diminished. He wiped at his eyes, and his mother produced a bit of cloth from her pocket to clean his face. He sniffled, then sat up.

“Is it over? Is it—” His eyes stretched wide, sniffles forgotten, as he caught sight of Mreen. “Mama! Who’s that?”

“I don’t know,” his mother said. She looked down at Mreen, who stood still beside the bed, powerless to explain herself.

Mreen stamped her foot in frustration.
Boy!
she sent.
Joji! I am trying to help you.

“Oh!” he cried. “I can hear her, Mama—in my head!” He put out his hand to Mreen.

Mreen drew close to the bed, and reached up with her small hands to pull his head down. His mother gasped and pulled him away again, but Joji wriggled free of her. “It’s all right, Mama, she only wants to talk to me!” He crawled forward on his knees through the tangle of the bedfurs. “What is it?” he asked Mreen.

She put her hands on his shoulders, bringing his head down to touch her forehead to his. Carefully, as clearly as she knew how, she sent,
I am Mreen. I came to take you away.

Joji stared at her. He was dark, with soft brown eyes, and painfully thin, thinner even than his mother. He shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he told Mreen. “I can’t leave Mama.”

“Joji!” his mother exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

He turned his head to look at her. “This is Mreen, Mama. She’s Gifted.”

The woman stared at Mreen in consternation. “Where did you come from? Why don’t you speak?”

Mreen felt her shielding begin to waver, and she grasped Joji once again.
We have to hurry
, she sent urgently.
I am shielding you from all the psi, but I cannot keep it up. We have to leave before they catch us!

“Then I have to take Mama,” he said.

Mreen shook her head.
No, no. Tell her we will be back for her . .
. She drew a deep breath.
Tell her I promise.

Joji stared at her for a long moment. Mreen was growing tired from the effort of keeping her shields up around them both, and she wavered. He gasped as the noise rose again on the periphery of his mind. He turned to his mother. “Mama, I’ll be back for you. Stay here! Stay right here!”

His mother’s tears shone in the reflected light of Mreen’s nimbus. She clasped her arms about herself. “Oh, Joji, I don’t even know who this is! And where are you going?”

“She’s Mreen, I told you. She’s shielding me, but she can’t keep it up too long.” He jumped down from the bed, turning back to pat his mother’s arm. “We’ll be back, Mama, we’ll come back for you.” He glanced at Mreen, and repeated, “I promise.”

His mother put out her arm as if to stop them. Mreen turned her green eyes on her, fixing her with the intensity of her gaze, and the woman shrank back, a hand to her lips.
Tell her
, Mreen sent to Joji,
that it will be all right.

Joji frowned, not understanding completely. Again Mreen touched her forehead to his.
Tell your Mama it will be all right. Cantrix Sira is here.

Joji smiled at her, and turned to smile at his mother. “It’s wonderful, Mama! I can hear her, clear as anything! And she says don’t worry, Cantrix Sira is here.”

The woman stared at him. “Joji—I don’t know who that is, either.”

He shrugged. “Me, neither, but I know Mreen!”

Mreen tugged at his hand. She was getting very tired, and thought if they did not get away soon, her shields would fail. Joji followed, looking back only once at his mother.

In the corridor, they ran, hand in hand, to the front doors and out into the dark. Joji pulled back suddenly, tearing his hand from Mreen’s, when he saw that night had fallen over the snowy hills. He whirled, turning back to the House as if even the misery inside it was better than the terrors of the cold and dark outside. Mreen gripped his hand and pulled him close to her.

They slowed to a walk when they were down the steps. Mreen relaxed her shields and poured her energy instead into her own tiny
quiru
. It had lighted and warmed her since her earliest memory. It was much easier for her to intensify it now than it had been to quench it earlier. It bloomed full and bright about her and Joji, and in relative comfort, hands tightly joined, they made their way across the courtyard.

Mreen was exhausted. Her legs felt as heavy as
hruss
legs, plodding and thick. A sudden hoarse yell from the House made her heart thump hard in her breast. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the hairy man had spotted them, and was coming out of the House and across the cobblestones.

Joji, hurry! Run!
she sent. If he could not understand her precisely, he sensed her alarm. He yelped in fear, and together they raced for the shelter of the ironwood grove on the hill.

The big man’s legs were much longer than theirs, and he could not be half so tired as Mreen was. She heard his feet slapping against the cobblestones. She and Joji ran as hard as they could, striving for the trees, not daring to separate for fear that Joji would be left in the cold. Mreen’s breath came shallowly, and her short legs burned with effort. At the edge of the cobbled courtyard, she fell headlong from the stones to the snow.

The man exclaimed in triumph. She struggled to her knees.

Joji pulled her to her feet. “Come on, Mreen, you can do it! Come on, a few more steps!”

He tugged at her, and she was up, the two of them running together, Mreen staggering, Joji insisting. The man behind them cursed, and stumbled in the darkness. The children reached the shelter of the grove, and the man swore again as their little halo of light disappeared among the trees.

Mreen and Joji struggled on through the obstinate snowdrifts, until the House itself was obscured by the thick trunks of the trees. Only then did Mreen collapse on a huge sucker, sobbing soundlessly with what little breath she had left. Joji clung to her, amazed at his own daring in coming out with her, casting wide eyes back the way they had come to make certain the man could not see them.

For long minutes they rested, Mreen with her cheek against the rough bark of the sucker, Joji gripping her hand as if it were his only chance. When they could breathe again, and Mreen’s legs felt stronger, they began the climb up the slope toward the campsite.

Mreen tried to find her own path, to retrace her footsteps, but her nimbus did not give enough light to make it easy. The snowpack was frozen stiff by the deep cold, slick on the surface, deep and spongy when they broke through the crust. Twice they fell, together. Once Joji rolled away, out of Mreen’s halo, and his terror when he found himself in the darkness was a painful thing. Mreen had learned that fear herself not long before. He began to sob immediately with the shock of it. She clambered over the snow on all fours, to embrace him once again in her light, and they snuggled together, shivering, like two
caeru
pups lost in the drifts.

They wound slowly up through the trees, relieved when they saw at last the flicker of the
quiru
and the small steady fire within it. Mreen’s heart ached to see Berk slumped beside the fire, his head in his hands. She must have been gone for hours. She pulled at Joji, rushing him, forgetting her exhaustion, hurrying into the light and warmth Zakri had refreshed before going down to Soren. Once they were safe in its circle, she dropped Joji’s hand and flew to Berk.

She reached out to pat his grizzled cheek. His head flew up with a cry, and he swept her up in his massive arms. She hugged him back, hard. He buried his face in her shoulder and squeezed her until she thought she might never breathe again. When she could look into his face, she saw tears of relief standing in his eyes.

“You rascal!” he said hoarsely. “I thought you were gone! I—” He caught sight of Joji and broke off. “By the Ship! Who’s this, then?”