The Singers of Nevya (72 page)

Berk gave a low rumble in his throat, a warning sound. Zakri heard him, and flicked him a look of assent. He opened his mind again, briefly, to scan the room.

It was interesting, touching these minds. Zakri had begun his life with itinerants, and then had spent his youth in seclusion, his own Gift dangerously out of control. Very late, when he already had almost four summers, he had been taught to hear and send safely by Cantrix Sira, and since then he had listened to the highly disciplined thoughts of the Conservatory-trained on a daily basis. But these Gifted men and women, the
obis
-carvers, were different. They were not able to send and listen, as Cantors and Cantrixes were. Their minds were clear and practical, disciplined in another way. Their application of the Gift, the intensity with which they had to focus their psi to carve the unforgiving ironwood, gave their minds a sharpness, a definition, that had great appeal to Zakri. And at this moment, more to the point, he sensed no deception or sinister intent. He doubted they would have been capable of hiding any.

He nodded now to Yul. “I was an itinerant,” he said, including all the carvers in his glance. “But I do other work now, for Amric.” He sensed Berk’s approval, his relief that he did not reveal everything. He intended to use absolute caution in this House, lest some questing mind guess his true status. But he felt confidence here. He liked these artisans.

Sook smiled brilliantly at Zakri. He supposed it to be hope that made her dark eyes glow. Mura gave a sharp little sound of satisfaction, but she had another question. “Him?” she asked shortly, pointing a work-hardened finger at Berk.

Berk chuckled. “I’m a courier for Amric, Housewoman,” he said. “I have been so for seven summers. I’ve grown these gray hairs in the service of my House and my Magister. I would hardly change my course this far along.”

“That’s good enough for me,” she said.

“Well, then, Houseman,” said Yul slowly, “and Singer,” inclining his head to Zakri. “You’ve seen how it is here, I think.”

“We have,” Berk said.

“We’ve had no choice in these matters. Our Magister and his family went off to consult with Lamdon when it first began, and they never returned.” Yul’s eyes glittered in the bright light of the carvery as he looked back and forth between them. “But their itinerants did,” he said in a flat voice. “Their Singers came back only four days after they left the House.”

The carvers watched in painful silence as horror crept over Zakri’s and Berk’s faces. Four days. Lamdon was at least eight days’ ride from Soren, more probably ten or twelve, with a large traveling party. There was no hope for Soren’s Magister.

“There were children?” he whispered.

Yul’s eyes were bleak as he answered. “Two little ones,” he said. “The Magister’s mate was afraid to leave them behind.”

“Has no one tried to resist?” Berk asked, his voice a mere scrape in the deepest register. Zakri knew how this story would affect the courier. Berk loved his grandchildren with a fierceness that was sometimes comical; at this moment it was tragic.

Another carver stood and spoke. “Yes,” he said bitterly. “This is—was—a fine House, a brave House. But everyone who confronted Cho either died or ended up like that Singer at the center table in the great room, mindless, helpless. Even our senior Cantor is dead, although everyone pretends it was just age, or sickness. The itinerants stand between Cho and the rest of the House, and even those Singers who would rather be free are afraid to oppose him. His reach is long, and his power is growing.”

Sook put in nervously, “We’d better get to the meal, or someone will get suspicious.”

Mura moved quickly to the door. “We’ll talk again. We just wanted you to know.” She slipped out into the corridor.

Berk followed, with Sook behind him. Zakri looked around at the carvers once more, recording their faces in his memory. It would be good to know their allies in this business.

He wished Sira were with him. Her strength and courage would be an enormous asset to them all. He and Berk could hardly save the situation alone. Yul, and Mura, and Sook—they would all be helpful. But they were dealing with a Gift gone bad, its genius perverted. Anyone who opposed it would put himself in the greatest danger.

Well, with the help of the Spirit, Zakri thought, I will try to imagine what Sira would have done . . . and then do it. But I wish she were here!

Chapter Six

Mreen had been driving her parents wild, going again and again to Observatory’s thick windows during the endless days of white weather, pressing her face to the glass, trying to see through the snow that fell so thickly the sky was indistinguishable from the ground. White weather preceded the change of seasons. When it was over, milder temperatures settled over the Continent. Half a year would pass before the Visitor rolled up over the eastern horizon, adding its feeble warmth to the sun’s to bring the summer, but by that time, Mreen would already have begun her new life as a first-level student at Conservatory.

The white weather passed in its time, and the long-awaited day of Mreen’s journey was at hand. The night before the departure, Theo and Sira walked in the nursery gardens. They breathed the steamy rich air and felt the fronds of growing things brushing at their cheeks and hands. Other House members strolled past, leaving the Cantor and Cantrix alone. Sira sometimes stroked a leaf or a bud, using her right hand, the one without calluses, to feel the textures on her fingertips.

I have had the same dream three times,
she sent.

Tell me.

All dreams were significant, and they respected them. But any that came more than once were a call from the Gift, and received special attention.

It is odd,
she sent.
In the dream, I see a tiny
quiru.
It is small, but very bright, and all by itself out in the open, as if on the Glacier, or . . . I do not know where, really, but alone. And there is a
tkir
—I think it is a
tkir
—approaching the
quiru
, and not afraid of it as they are supposed to be. There is no fire, no people . . . just the glow of the
quiru
shining above the snow. The
tkir
circles the light, around and around, and somehow I know it wants to put out the light, to jump on it, to smother it. The beast, whatever it is, makes a terrible sound, like growling, but not a natural noise, and it tenses, ready to spring. I am too far away, and I cannot do anything, but it seems important that the
quiru
hold. Then, just before the beast actually leaps, I waken.

And what do you think it means?

She traced her scarred eyebrow with her forefinger.
It seems a warning
. The angles of her face were sharply drawn, her eyes fierce with concentration.
Be on your guard, Theo. Beware of everything, and especially . . . .

I know,
he sent back.
Especially Mreen.

She touched his shoulder with her palm, briefly. For them, it was an intimate gesture.
Especially Mreen,
she agreed.
The little
quiru
—the light—it could be Mreen. But why should she be in any danger?

I wish you could come with us
, Theo sent.

Sira had not traveled outside the walls of the House for three years, yet her hair was cropped as short as any itinerant’s, shorter even than Theo’s was now. He had always seen it as a symbol of her restlessness, her feeling of never truly belonging.

It is too soon
, she answered him.
Trisa is far too young to manage the Cantoris alone.

I know
. Theo was less shy of physical contact than she. He reached for her hand and caught it between his.
I will be on my guard. I promise you.

She returned the pressure of his hand for a moment before pulling her own away. Theo gave her the lopsided smile that made merry creases around his eyes. It was an expression she loved, and she had to return it despite her worry. Their minds were one. Their least thought, their most intimate concern, lay always open to the other.

She had often wondered if the unGifted, who mated and then lived in physical closeness all their lives, could ever comprehend the intense communion there was between herself and Theo. She loved him as she loved the Gift, with reverence, joy, and gratitude. When he was gone, she knew she would feel as if part of her very being were missing; and this was the only thought she shielded from him.

Go with the Spirit, my dear
, she sent.
And come back swiftly.

Mreen and Morys and Theo mounted their two
hruss
on a gray and cloudy morning. The beasts were laden and outfitted as if by Lamdon itself; Pol had spared nothing that might enhance the reputation of his House. Kai found no words to bid his little daughter farewell; he knelt and embraced her, his cheeks wet and his mouth twisted. His pain was such that the Gifted ones around him had to strengthen their shields. Brnwen, too, kissing her stepdaughter goodbye, wept openly. Mreen’s own eyes were red and swollen with tears and with indignant surprise that, after waiting so long, and so impatiently, she should now grieve at leaving her parents.

It will pass, Mreen
, Sira sent to her.
You will always miss them, but the pain will pass.

Kai and Brnwen stood in misery on the steps, with Trisa beside them sending her silent goodbyes to her stepsister. Theo and Sira had made their farewells; Theo nodded to Morys that he was ready. He wanted to go quickly, and not prolong the scene. Pol stood proudly on the top step, nodding and smiling as if he had caused it all to happen.

Theo bowed, lifted his hand, and turned his
hruss
away from the House. Mreen clutched his waist, hiding her face against his back, wetting his furs with tears as they rode after Morys.

It had been a long time since Theo had been on the road that led to Conservatory, and he was amazed again at its tortuousness, at the sheerness of the cliffs that loomed to the north, at the towering boulders that obstructed the way and promised to confound any who tried to find the way to Observatory—or from it—on their own.

Mreen clung to him, a speck of warmth and silence behind him. Once they started down the canyon road, where the chasm gaped to their left and the icy rocks made the
hruss
step slowly, she took one look into the dark void and hid her face once more against his back. She sent nothing during the slow hours of riding, until the
hruss
squeezed through a narrow slit in the cliff, and the path opened out onto a valley of sparse irontrees. The trees, smaller than those lower on the Continent, leaned to the north, their roots dry and crooked against the rocky ground.

Mreen
, Theo sent gently.
We have left the cliff road.

Her grip loosened as she lifted her head and looked around at their surroundings. Over his shoulder, he saw her faint glow brighten, and he smiled. She was as changeable as light itself, a sprite of energy, of emotion. Conservatory would have their hands full with this Gift!

Morys called over his shoulder, “Was your little one afraid? It’s a scary road, all right.”

Mreen cuddled against Theo’s back again.
I just thought about Conservatory
, she sent happily.
I told myself I could only go to Conservatory if I could ride down that road!

Theo laughed. “She will make a fine traveler, Morys.”

Around them the day was as gray as old snow, the clouds hanging heavily above their heads and the rimed rocks dull and dark. The brilliance of the sky in the deep cold season was gone, but Theo knew that to be a good thing. The sun in a clear sky could make tender skin flame. He himself had not been out on the roads since first going to Observatory—how long ago? Could it possibly be eight years? Indeed, he would soon have nine summers!

He threw back his head and breathed deeply of the fresh air. The peaks of Observatory’s mountains loomed above them in tumbled spikes of rock and snow, higher than any of those on the Continent. It was no wonder Observatory had been isolated for so long. It was not only their beliefs, watching for the Ship, that separated them from the rest of Nevya; whoever had chosen the site for their House, summers past remembering, must have intended them to be separate, different. But now, with the sending of Mreen to Conservatory, a connection would be made. Observatory would be part of Nevya despite their differences. The Gift willed it so.

Morys wanted to be down in Ogre Pass before the end of the daylight. They ate a quick mid-day meal in the saddle, handing bits of nutbread and dried
caeru
strips back and forth, taking snow in their mouths to quench their thirst. Once or twice they stopped to relieve themselves, but otherwise they pressed on. Theo looked back during one of these brief rests, and saw that the road they had traversed was already invisible. Giant rocks were scattered everywhere, as if by the hand of the Spirit itself, to disguise the way.

When they could just see the Pass through breaks in the landscape, Theo heard Sira faintly in his mind.

Theo
?

Yes,
he answered, as strongly as he could. His reach was not nearly so great as hers.
All is well. We are in the Pass.

And Mreen?

Fine.

He could not understand her last message, but he caught the sense of it. He wished he could have heard it more clearly; he would not hear her voice again for a long time. He sent back to her as strongly as he was able, and could only hope that perhaps she could hear though he no longer could. Then Morys was leading them down the last slope, and pointing to a campsite, a level spot protected by a stand of giant trees, encircled by their suckers. The Pass stretched before them, its road wide and clear as if scraped out with a gigantic
obis
knife, running from the northwest to the southeast. They dismounted, and Theo lifted Mreen down. She stretched her arms over her head and did a little dance of freedom, then dashed about the campsite with all the energy of a five-year-old who has been restrained for too many hours.