The Singers of Nevya (41 page)

Iban chuckled. “I know that lullaby. We sing it to children.” In his light voice, he sang:

L
ITTLE ONE, LOST ONE,

S
LEEPY ONE, SMALL ONE,

P
ILLOW YOUR HEAD,

D
REAM OF THE STARS,

A
ND THE
S
HIP THAT CARRIES YOU HOME.

The day brightened as the two suns wheeled above the Pass, the Visitor trailing low against the skyline as if barely able to keep up. Sira felt a surprising sense of freedom as she breathed the open air under a clear sky, after being so long closed up within doors. She liked hearing Iban’s song.

L
ITTLE ONE, SWEET ONE,

D
ROWSY ONE, LOST ONE,

T
HE NIGHT IS LONG,

T
HE SNOW IS COLD,

B
UT THE
S
HIP WILL CARRY YOU HOME.

“I like that, Singer,” Tani said when he finished. “You should sing it for my little daughter sometime. My own voice is not so sweet!”

Laughter rippled briefly among the travelers, and then they settled in silence to ride through the long day. The broad floor of the Pass was feathered with softwood shoots that made the reaches glow a soft green. Intermittent patches of old snow gleamed among the seedlings, and the air had the scent of summer. Sira breathed and thought, and made her plans.

Lamdon, the capital House, lay three days’ ride to the northeast. Theo had worked as an itinerant Singer for ten years, and had told Sira as much as he could of the locations of the Houses and the small and large passes that connected them through the Marik Mountains, but as she rode now through the greatest pass of all, she reflected on how much she had to learn. Every hill and stone and valley had a name to the itinerants, and those she would need to know. Every House had its own character, its own influence, and these she would have to study. The task of learning she had set herself was almost as great as the one she had pursued for so many years at Conservatory, and the most difficult part was that she could not undertake it alone. She must apprentice herself to someone, an itinerant Singer, someone willing to teach her. He would have to tolerate the resentment that would follow her, the Cantrix who had abandoned the Cantoris. Sira had no illusions about what awaited her at Lamdon. She gazed at the wiry figure of the Singer Iban as he rode ahead of her, and she traced her scarred eyebrow with her finger.

The days of their journey were long and filled with sunshine. They rode with furs thrown back and faces lifted to the fresh breeze. Dom and Tani talked quietly between themselves, and with the Singer Iban. Sira was silent for many hours at a time. She rode alone, thinking, gazing at the mountains. Niel was also silent. She often felt his eyes on her, but she could think of nothing to say to her father. He was no less a stranger to her than the others in the party.

Their last day in the Pass they rode late into the twilight, hoping to reach Lamdon before the mid-day meal of the next day. When their campsite was finally selected, and
hruss
were being unsaddled, Singer Iban turned to Sira. “I would like to hear you play before the end of our journey. Would you call up the
quiru
tonight?”

“So I will, if you like,” she agreed. “But you must call me only Singer, if you please.”

He looked at her closely, the gray of his eyes catching the half-light, his eyebrows drawing quickly together as they so often did. Sira found his mobile face fascinating.

He bowed. “Singer, then. Will you sing?”

She bowed in return, and reached inside her tunic. Niel was already spreading her bedfurs, and she sat cross-legged on them, looking out into the violet evening. It seemed a shame to dull the colors of the twilight with the yellow light of a
quiru
, but she knew well how uneasy Nevyan travelers felt without the familiar haven of light around them. True and complete darkness terrified all Nevyans. Even at Observatory, where darkness was required at night so the two Watchers under their glass dome at the top of the House could Watch, some light of the day’s
quiru
remained.

Sira played in
Aiodu
, a lilting melody she and Theo had created in the long hours they spent in her room at Observatory. Their tune, wafting into the open air, delighted her, and she modulated to
Lidya
to express her pleasure. To return to
Aiodu
she took a long time, slowing the melody, expanding its shape, transforming the lowered third degree of
Lidya
into the first degree of
Aiodu
, until her piece settled naturally into its final notes. The
quiru
swelled swiftly at first, then firmed into a column of light and gentle warmth around the people and the beasts.

Iban nodded and smiled, eyebrows dancing now. “Lovely, Singer Sira. And I wish you luck in renouncing your title. On all the Continent, only the Conservatory-trained play so.”

Sira was silent as the meal was prepared, and though desultory chatter rose about her, she did not hear it. She listened instead, in her memory, to Theo playing his
filla
at Observatory. His modulations were as deft and sophisticated as her own. She had taught him herself, as far from Conservatory as a Singer could get, and she knew him to be as capable as any Cantor.

Her father stood before her now, a bowl of
keftet
in his hands. “You’re a full Cantrix,” he said in his deep voice. “You can never put that away.”

She accepted the ironwood bowl and did not answer. How could she explain to him what she was only discovering herself? They looked into each other’s faces, which were so like, and Sira reflected that she and he were alike in other ways, too. After several moments she shook her head and looked away. Niel turned abruptly, returning to the cooking fire, leaving Sira to try to finish her meal despite her ruined appetite. Neither spoke again for the remainder of the evening.

*

The largest of all the Houses on Nevya lay between folds of hills, dominating the landscape. Its
quiru
glowed brightly even in the summer light. Some sensitive Cantrix who heard their approach hastened to summon a sizable welcoming party. The Magister of Lamdon himself stood with a number of the Cantors and Cantrixes and members of the Magistral Committee, and many House members gathered below them on the broad steps. The afternoon suns shone on the brilliant red and blue and green sleeveless tunics of the Housemen and women. Sira, in the drab years at Observatory, had forgotten how bright colors could be, and how the House members at Lamdon went bare-armed, boasting of the warmth of their House.

Dom stepped forward to help her dismount, but Sira jumped down before he reached her. She faced the dignitaries, and a plump dark man began welcoming remarks with much formality.

“Cantrix Sira,” he said, aloud so the Magister and all the company could hear. “I am Cantor Abram, senior Cantor of Lamdon. Nevya has waited for your return for a long time. I speak for all of us here in bidding you welcome home.” He bowed, and sent,
Cantrix Sharn would have been delighted to see you safe. She thought of you often.

Sira bowed in answer.

The Magister began a rather long speech of thanks to the riders who, he said at length, had rescued Cantrix Sira. Sira saw the amusement dancing on Iban’s face at the use of her title. Much was made of Niel, the father of the missing Cantrix, who had left the safety of his House to go in search of his daughter. Conservatory also, the Magister said, would be greatly relieved at the news that the Cantrix was home.

Through all of this Sira stood in silence. The ceremony wound slowly on, seeming about to end several times, then gathering energy for one more speech, one more round of bows. It seemed hours before the travelers were at last allowed to step through the enormous double doors, to be led to rooms where they could doff their traveling clothes. The Housekeeper of Lamdon, with yet another deep bow, introduced Sira to a Housewoman who would serve her, and promised a special evening meal and entertainment in her honor.

Lamdon was too warm in these weeks of summer, flaunting its Singer power. On most days three Cantors sang the
quirunha
. There were eight of them assigned to Lamdon’s Cantoris. Not only were the House members able to go about with their arms exposed, Sira observed, but they needed to, or they would cook like
caeru
meat over a slow fire. She hurried to shed her heavy furs, and when her Housewoman invited her to the
ubanyix
, she accepted with alacrity.

The bathing tub at Lamdon had to be the largest on the Continent. The last time Sira had seen it she had been a guest of Sharn, treasuring a moment of intimacy with the old Cantrix who had known Maestra Lu so well. Now several Housewomen were soaking at one end. One of them was washing a babe who squeaked happily as the water splashed over its head. Sira dropped her clothes onto a bench, and stepped down into the tub to slip beneath the lavishly scented water. Flower petals floated on the surface. Sira caught one in her fingers, marveling anew at the extravagance. The contrast with Observatory, even the renewed and stronger Observatory, was vivid and distressing. She reached into a niche for a fragrant bar of soap just as another woman, loosening the binding of her long hair, stepped down into the bath beside her.

We are glad to see you back, Cantrix
, she sent.

Sira looked up and drew in a surprised breath.
Jana!

The other Singer did not smile.
Cantrix, of course. Like yourself.

Of course. I am sorry. It has just been so long . . .

It has been long indeed.
Jana’s hair fell free to spread about her in the water.
All our class have been full Cantors and Cantrixes for at least two years.

And you were assigned to Lamdon
, Sira sent.
Congratulations.

The only one of our class
, Jana responded.

Where are the others?

Jana went through the list, naming eleven other Houses, and the young Singers who had entered their Cantorises. Sira nodded, remembering each, their strengths, their weaknesses. She hoped they had had better luck than she.

Did you know Cantrix Sharn
? she asked at last.

Jana shook her head.
She died just before I came. The whole Continent mourned her.

Their Housewomen came into the
ubanyix
, carrying thick towels and fresh tunics. “Cantrix Jana,” one said, “Cantor Abram has asked to see both you and Cantrix Sira.”

“Coming, Oona.” Jana swept up the wet strands of her hair and twisted them to squeeze out the water, then stood to step out of the tub. Sira marveled at how plump she appeared. Sira’s own body was as lean as a
wezel
’s, her long arms and legs like the softwood saplings flourishing now in the Mariks. At Observatory there were none but babes who carried extra flesh. She had forgotten what it was to see rounded arms and bellies, soft thighs, generous breasts. When she stood, the water ran down her flanks and over her own breasts, which were barely larger than those of a well-muscled man.

Jana sent,
Let us talk later.

Sira accepted a towel.
Do you know if Isbel is well?

Jana nodded. Sira saw the two Housewomen exchange a glance, knowing the Cantrixes were communicating.

She is well, I believe
, Jana sent. She made a wry face.
But I met her senior. It must be difficult working with him. He is not an easy man.

A little quiver of premonition ran through Sira’s belly. She frowned, wondering at it as she rubbed her cropped hair with the towel and handed it back. She put on a clean dark tunic, without sleeves, and a pair of too-short trousers and light boots. She was ready, but she had to wait several moments while the Housewomen helped bind Jana’s long hair. She tried to concentrate, knowing how important this meeting with Cantor Abram would be. She must postpone thinking of Isbel, fragile, loyal Isbel. Isbel would never have survived the sort of disaster she herself had experienced.

I only wish, Sira thought, that Theo were here. It is very hard without him.

Chapter Ten

Lamdon’s corridors were so long that Sira could hardly see from one end to the other, especially in the brilliance of the
quiru
. The staircases were broad and deep, and echoed with the cheerful voices of the House members. Cantrix Jana showed her into a large reception room that was abundantly decorated with nursery flowers, demonstrating Lamdon’s Singer-wealth. Only in a House
quiru
of this intensity could these fragile blooms exist, delicate petals of red and pink and lavender clustered in exotic shapes that made Sira think somehow of music. The people of Observatory would have been open-mouthed with wonder.

Sira turned her gaze away from the flowers and onto Cantor Abram and the members of the Magistral Committee who flanked Magister Gowan around a long, polished table. More flowers, in an ornate
obis
-carved ironwood bowl, rested in the center of the table.

Cantor Abram rose and bowed. “Please sit down, Cantrix Sira,” he said, aloud for the benefit of the Committee and the Magister. Only the Magisters at Conservatory came from the ranks of the Gifted. It was the only Magistrate not conferred by birth.

As Sira took her seat she was aware that Cantor Abram was staring at her. She strengthened her shielding, and saw his eyes flicker in his plump face as he felt her do so. Had he actually been intruding on her thoughts? Cantrix Jana sat next to her, as a friend would sit close by, but Sira doubted very much that there was anyone, in all this gathering, who could truly be considered her friend.

All eight of the Cantors and Cantrixes of Lamdon were present, and the Housekeeper as well. Three or four other people, wearing dark but heavily-embroidered tunics, stood behind the Magister in formal ranks. Niel v’Arren sat in a prominent seat at the table, as befitted the parent of one of the Gifted.

Sira drew a slow breath, and linked her long fingers in her lap. My struggle, she thought, begins here.