The Singers of Nevya (98 page)

“I think,” Zakri said, also chuckling, “that you have an imitator!” He gestured with his thumb to Mreen.

“What do you mean?” Sira demanded.

“Never mind,” Theo finally sputtered. “At least she chose a good model.” He wiped his eyes, and lifted his teacup to Sira. “To our Maestra!” he cried. “May summer find you disciplining Conservatory as you have disciplined all of us!”

Zakri and Mreen laughed with Theo, and lifted their cups. Sira shook her head at them all, but she was smiling, and her eyes glistened in the rich yellow light of the
quiru
.

“We will see about that,” she said softly. “It very well may be the other way around.” She lifted her cup, and every House member did the same, whether tea or wine. “To Soren!” Sira said, and the cry was echoed around the room. “To Soren!”

Chapter Twenty-nine

They saw no reason to hurry as their party made its way northeast to Conservatory. The weather was warming, the air fragrant. Joji and Mreen crowed with excitement at every new scene they passed. Mreen gave up her treasured post behind Theo to Joji, and rode behind Sira or Zakri through the long days. In the evenings, they lingered long by the embers of the cookfire, looking up into the clearing sky. They found the Six Stars, and Conservatory’s star, and then they slept gloriously late in the mornings, lulled into laziness by the sweet air that foretold summer.

Sira woke one morning to an insistent little hand on her cheek.
Cantrix Sira!
Mreen sent, bending close and patting her face softly.
Cantrix Sira! There it is!

Sira sat up, blinking. Mreen’s smile was enormous, her dimples flashing. She pointed, and Sira followed the direction of her short finger.

The sun had risen above the eastern horizon, and below it, trailing it like a distracted child, the Visitor traced the outlines of the Marik Mountains. Together, the two stars dissolved the early morning clouds into tatters of pink and gray. Sira caught her breath, and drew Mreen into the circle of her arm. The little girl knelt beside her, tucking her curls beneath Sira’s chin.

That is the Visitor, is it not?
she asked.
Summer is here, is it not?

Indeed it is, dear one,
Sira sent, hugging the warm small body close.
Indeed it is.

Then I have two whole summers now!

Sira chuckled.
So you do.

Shall I wake Cantor Theo and the others?

Sira smiled down at her and traced her round cheek with her finger.
In just a moment, Mreen. Just one more moment
. She looked back at the two suns shining above the distant peaks. Just there, she thought, just below the Visitor, is Observatory. They will be out in the courtyard today, looking up at the sky, celebrating, expecting our return. And in one more day, I will ride up to Conservatory. My true home. Every Singer’s true home, as Mkel always says. And it may be the last time ever, for me.

It was a sobering thought, and she tried to thrust it aside.
Wake the others now, Mreen. They will want to see the Visitor
. Mreen dashed away to each of the others still dreaming in their bedfurs, and Sira reached for her boots. Summer at last! It was a time to rejoice. It was no time for dark thoughts.

A large company awaited them on the steps of Conservatory. Sira’s heart lifted at the sight. House members, students, and teachers waited in formal ranks to receive her and her two students, the two Cantors who had never attended Conservatory. The two suns, shining together, gave luster to the colorful scene, the red and yellow and blue tunics of the House members, the deep colors worn by the upper-levels and the Gifted, the bared heads of all the people. Mreen and Joji were welcomed in a flutter of the youngest students. They looked like a flock of
ferrel
fledglings, circling their elders, swooping down on their new classmate and flying away with him. The
hruss
and all the gear swiftly disappeared as Sira, Zakri, Theo, and Berk bowed to Maestro Nikei, Maestra Magret, Cathrin and the others. It was a joyous reunion, but Sira knew in a heartbeat who was missing from the ceremonial gathering. Magister Mkel was not present.

Maestro Nikei?
she began. He nodded, intuiting her query before she could form it.

That is why we sent for you, Sira,
he sent.
Mkel is very ill, worse since we sent our message
. He glanced at Cathrin, who was bustling about shooing everyone indoors, making much of Zakri and Berk and Theo in her usual cheerful fashion.
Cathrin is being brave, but even she knows it will not be long now.

Is there nothing we can do?
Sira strode up the steps, formalities forgotten, to stand close to her old teacher. Maestra Magret joined them. They stepped aside, out of the flow of people.

Nikei has done all he can, Sira,
Magret assured her. She patted Sira’s arm in maternal fashion.
But Mkel wants to see you, and you can judge for yourself
. Sira nodded and turned to hurry indoors.
Sira!
Magret sent. Sira stopped in the open doorway to look down at her senior’s lined, gentle face.
Be prepared,
Magret warned.
He is very ill indeed.

Sira’s throat tightened. She took a deep breath.
Thank you, Maestra
. More slowly now, she walked into Conservatory. As she passed, she laid her hand flat against the carved wood of the door, as if greeting an old friend. She cast her eyes up to the ancient plaque above her head to read once again the familiar words:

S
ING THE LIGHT,

S
ING THE WARMTH,

R
ECEIVE AND BECOME THE GIFT,
O
S
INGERS,

T
HE WARMTH AND THE LIGHT ARE IN YOU.

Those lines were carved as deeply into her heart as into the ironwood of the plaque. Despite the sadness that awaited her, she savored this moment in which she entered Conservatory as an honored guest and alumna, no longer an outcast, no longer in disgrace. Her eyes filled with unaccustomed tears as she thought that she was, however briefly, truly home. She blinked the tears away and found Theo at her side.

What is it, Sira?
he asked, standing close but not touching her. His blue eyes were dark as an evening sky.
What is wrong?

She gave him a rueful shrug.
It is everything,
she answered.
Mkel is ill, and I am worried about him—but I am home, and all I can think of is how much I would like to stay!
More tears burned behind her eyes. She frowned and compressed her lips to compose herself.

Theo sent,
My dear, you look as fierce as that
tkir
that haunts Zakri’s dreams!

I know. But it is better than weeping like a first-level student in front of all these people.

They were following Magret and Nikei up the wide stairs then, their feet slipping easily into the worn spots of the treads. Sira looked around her, tasting the rich air of Conservatory, breathing in its essence. The arches of the doorways, the simply carved furniture, were of the simplest and most graceful designs, and the stone floor was devoid of rugs. In fact, rugs were never necessary at Conservatory. It was perfectly warm, perfectly and evenly lighted. Indeed, even now fragments of melody floated from the practice rooms, and with them came warm draughts that seemed infused, almost scented, by the music.

Yes,
Theo agreed.
It is a magnificent place. I have always envied you your years here.

At Mkel’s apartment, Maestra Magret looked once, intently, into Sira’s face. Sira nodded to her, indicating that she was ready. Nikei opened the door, and stood back for her to enter.

Sira was grateful for Magret’s warning. Had this not been Mkel’s own apartment, in which he had lived since her student days, and had she not expected to find him changed, she would have doubted her own eyes. He had always been well-fleshed, with thick hair, gray since she could remember, and lively eyes that saw and understood everything. But his illness had wasted him to a husk. He was so thin she wondered that he still lived. Only wisps remained of his hair, and his eyes fluttered, the lids falling as if he had not the strength to hold them up.

Is it Sira? Sira, are you here?
he sent. She sensed that he had no breath to speak aloud. She moved to his bedside and knelt beside it.

Yes, Magister Mkel, it is I. I am here. I am terribly sorry to find you so ill.

He moved his hand from side to side, a negating motion.
That no longer matters. I only thank the Spirit you are here at last. I have been holding on to this life only . . . only . .
. It seemed he might be too weak even to finish his sentence. She waited, and finally heard, faintly, .
. . until you could come.

Sira broke with custom by taking the spotted and wrinkled hand in her long smooth ones.
Why should that be, Mkel?
she asked, forgetting his title in the intensity of the moment.
Everyone here loves you, you have Cathrin, and Nikei—why should you need me to speed you on your journey?

His fingers slipped against hers, trying to grip them. She did it for him, holding his hand tightly, wishing she could hold his spirit as well.

Sira, my dear . . . you will find out soon enough. But thank you for being here. Watch out—watch out for Cathrin, will you? Remember she has always cared for you . . . looked out for all of you . . .

Sira turned her head to find Nikei, near the door. She whispered, “Someone should fetch Cathrin, and quickly!”

Theo said, “I will do it, Maestro Nikei,” and was gone in an instant.

Sira looked at Mkel once again, but his body was so wasted, his features collapsed and vacant, that she closed her eyes. She held his hand and saw, in her mind, the old Mkel, the vigorous man who had led and taught and set an example for all the Singers who had passed through Conservatory during his tenure.

Take care of them . .
. he sent feebly. Sira heard the door open and close, and she felt Cathrin’s warmth beside her, reaching for Mkel’s other hand. Sira was distantly aware that Cathrin was weeping softly. But for Sira, the moment was one of pure psi contact, and the physical world receded into shadows.

What can I do for you, Mkel?

His breath rattled in his chest, and she thought for a moment it was over. Then she heard in her mind, very faintly, like a melody barely remembered,
Receive . . . receive the Gift . . .

Sira did not know what it meant, but she accepted it as Mkel’s farewell to her. She sent to him,
Safe and swift passage, Mkel,
but she believed his mind had already slipped away. A moment later his hand in hers went limp. Cathrin was sobbing brokenly, and Nikei came near to murmur comfort to her. Sira opened her eyes to see that Cathrin had pressed her face against Mkel’s chest. It no longer rose and fell with his breath.

“Cathrin,” she said gently. “Mkel’s last thoughts were for you.”

Cathrin lifted her tear-stained face to look into Sira’s eyes. “Oh, no, Sira,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh, no, they were not. I know better.”

Sira began to protest, but Cathrin shook her head again. “Never mind, my dear,” she said, wiping away tears that were quickly replaced with fresh ones. “I know what Mkel’s thoughts were, and they were for Conservatory, just as they should have been. I’m so very grateful you came! He’s been waiting.”

Sira stared at Cathrin, and then at Nikei, mystified. Theo came to help her to her feet, and they stepped back to give Cathrin and Nikei time to say their own farewells.

What did he say to you, Sira?
Theo asked.

He said he had been waiting for me,
she sent.
And then—it was so odd—he said, Receive the Gift
. She felt stunned by sorrow and confusion, and she put her hand in Theo’s, needing the warmth and the strength of his touch.
I do not know what he meant. I do not understand it at all.

Theo pressed her hand.
He was close to death. Perhaps he did not know what he was saying.

But why should he be waiting for me? He is surrounded by friends!

Theo had no answer for her.

The summer warmth caused the ground to thaw quickly. Within a week of summer’s arrival, Nevyans hurried to inter their dead while it was possible. The bodies, which had lain frozen in the deep cold, were retrieved from their winter resting places and buried among the flourishing softwood shoots that sprang so quickly out of the softened tundra. It was good luck to be buried in a softwood grove, to return to the ground during the reign of the two suns.

Mkel’s burial ceremony was a grand one. The senior Cantor of Lamdon came himself. All of Conservatory, House members, Singers, teachers, riders, and a number of itinerants gathered to bid the Magister farewell, trooping on foot from the courtyard in a long column, trudging after the
pukuru
which bore Mkel’s body to its burial site. Cathrin had chosen the place carefully, on a slope overlooking the House, where, she said, Mkel could look down and see that Conservatory’s work was properly carried on. Cathrin and Nikei and Magret were dignified and composed. Only the very youngest students wept. Joji and Mreen were wide-eyed and mystified by the whirl of events of the last weeks.

Sira kept an iron control of her feelings. Theo stayed close beside her, and though they sent little, she knew he understood her grief and confusion, mixed with her joy at these precious days in her old home, these last days with Mreen and with Zakri.

When the solemn rite was over, a quiet meal was served in the great room. Cantor Abram called all of the Gifted into the Cantoris the moment they were finished, leaving the House members to drink a commemorative glass of wine. Only Cathrin joined the Cantors and Cantrixes, the teachers and students, and the visiting itinerants who came to stand in rows facing the dais.

It was not a
quirunha
, and no
filhata
were in evidence. Abram stepped up alone to the dais and bowed to the assembly. They all bowed in return, and he gestured for them to be seated.