Kirith Kirin (The City Behind the Stars) (21 page)

“Oh, him,” Commyna said. “I might have known.”

“He’s suspicious of the boy,” Vella said.

“It won’t really do any harm to let him watch, will it?” Vissyn asked, with a sly look at the others.

“I don’t see what it could hurt,” Vella said, after a moment’s thought.

“It will serve him right, since he is so impertinent as to sneak up on us while we are minding our own business. Taking advantage of knowledge he gained unfairly.” Commyna faced the shrine with a guileless look that was cat-like, nevertheless, in its promise of mischief. She took my hand again, and Vissyn took the other. We stood in a ring in front of the stone altar, where in a metal lamp a fire was flickering. A throb of power ran through my hand, a pure tangible strength, a vibration that rose over all of us, and Vissyn whispered, “You add to us nicely, son of Kinth. You have good strings.”

Vella told her to hush, and awareness of time left me, completely, as it had not since the day of the storm when the lake women first took me from Nixva’s back. A pure music came from among our joined hands along with singing like a cold wind. But I was not afraid; I was a part of the force that was singing, and the song carried me with it.

The song made me think of many things, above all of the women themselves. When they sang they gave out a feeling of strength and light that filled my vision. They said they had performed a ceremony in Arthen each year, but for how long? When they sang they felt as old as the earth underfoot, and the song was renewing everything, the forest, mountains, rivers, oceans, the worlds, the changeable stars, the emptiness of heaven. Their song called for a light like no other light, they called for the Hand to light the Lamp-that-lights-the-Lamps, a line of another old hymn, and when the light came to my inner eyes I lost sight of the world for a long time.

The singing ended but I was sustained by brightness, seeing only the sere white light, a small sun landed in my brain. The lake women led me to my horse by their voices, and I knew this was another of their tests, but I was blissful and laughed, finding Nixva by the sound of his breathing, which I knew like my own. I mounted him and got my balance, the light making me laugh, obscuring everything. Next thing I remember we were at Illyn Water, drinking tea and smelling the breezes. I saw only the light for a long time, but I could hear them clearly, and described for them how I had felt during the song, and what I was seeing now. We spoke in Wyyvisar, the Words moving from one mind into another, as formal as spoken language and as audible if one had the ear. I was beginning to understand better and better.

I must learn to see past the light but retain it, Vella said. I could do this only by Words. Since a song had brought the light, most likely a song would be needed for vision to exceed the light. Patiently she helped me to understand how such a song would be made, what Words would be used, and what form, what melody, what level of application, what object. I must breathe deeply, sit quietly, make an image in my mind and sing.

I listened to her attentively, feeling sudden joy. What she described seemed plain and easy. I knew this was another test, but this time I was not concerned, this time I relaxed as each of the women had taught me to do, centered my breathing and cleared my mind. The song came to me, waiting for me already. The sound made sense, it was a harmony I sang softly, into the emptiness of the small place. Wind blew against my real face. I had learned to be in both spaces at the same time. Now I must deal with the light. I was glad while it shone in my eyes, but I was just as glad when it became a mist, when the mist cleared. The lake women were seated in a circle watching me. They were smiling with quiet pride.

“Congratulations, Jessex,” Commyna said. “Happy Vithilonyi.”

“Happy Vithilonyi, ma’am. What are you congratulating me for?”

“You’ve just made your first song,” Vissyn said. “You’ve moved Power.”

“I can’t believe it,” Vella said, sitting up straight, gazing big-eyed at the rest of us. “You’ve been with us such a short time.”

“Be quiet, sister,” Commyna ordered sharply. “He’s really very slow, I think he could learn Wyyvisar much faster.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “However, you should be pleased with yourself. The moving of Power in Words marks your transition from seventh level apprentice to sixth level adept. You are no longer quite a beginner. A fine gift on festival day.”

I sat up a bit straighter. It surprised me that the news should mean so much. No one said anything, but I felt some pride coming from the women too, and finally Vella said, “Well, like it or not, Commyna, he does pretty good for a mortal boy.”

“He would have to. He has a short life. The lessons only get harder from here.” Commyna’s expression was typically dry. “However, in honor of festival day, and of your passage to the sixth level, you will get the day off, Jessex.”

“camp is moving tomorrow,” I said.

“Never mind that,” she answered. “We’ll find a time and come for you. You will be living on Nixva for the next few weeks anyway. Don’t fret, you’ll get your time at Illyn.”

Again I was surprised at how much this news relieved me. This was plain to read on my face, and Vissyn said, laughing, “I believe he’s enjoying himself, anyway.”

“I am,” I said. “I’ve never had so much fun doing anything.”

“It’s good that you like your work,” Commyna said in a serene voice.

This was the end of my instruction for the day. I asked Commyna what suuren I should report to Mordwen for this ride, since the invention of the suuren-object had become part of our daily routine. Ordinarily she did not take much time to choose the object I was to report but today my question made her thoughtful. After consideration she said, “We have a problem today, Jessex. This morning you were seen joining us in Hyvurgren Field by someone from camp.”

I remembered the discussion about the spy in the forest, just before we began singing at the shrine. “I don’t know who could have followed me,” I said. “Nixva is a fast horse.”

“The visitor may not have been following you, necessarily,” Vissyn said. “There are a few folks who know we come to Arthen for this particular holiday.”

“Who was in the forest this morning? You know, don’t you.”

Vissyn smiled. “Yes. We know.”

My heart sank; I didn’t know why. “It was Kirith Kirin, wasn’t it?”

Commyna answered, “Yes. Because it was him, we didn’t interfere to hide you.”

I gazed at the lake beyond them, confused. “If he asks me questions, how will I answer? You’ve told me to say nothing about magic away from the lake.”

“Nor has the rule changed,” Commyna said. “Don’t worry so much. Kirith Kirin knows more about us than I can explain to you in one morning. He won’t expect you to tell him anything. If he asks you a question, answer him yes or no. If he asks you more than you think you should tell, refuse to answer. He won’t press you. It’s very simple.”

This was delivered in nearly the same voice she would have used to scold me. I said I would do as I was told. She explained further, in a gentler tone, “He may be disturbed by what he knows. If he should seek counsel from one of his friends, if he should tell them something about what he’s seen, you must acknowledge nothing. If he’s disturbed and seems angry, you must not worry, the anger will pass.”

I felt a sudden sense of dread. She would hardly warn me unless it were likely. “Why would he be angry?”

She watched me for a long time. After a moment she said, “It can’t be easy, knowing so little of your own fate, when other folks know so much. I’m sorry, Jessex. I can’t answer your question. Kirith Kirin has had hopes for you that may be changed, or may seem to be changed, by the fact that you are our pupil. Just remember what I’ve told you. If it seems Kirith Kirin is cold to you, or angry, don’t let it trouble you. The anger is his own and will have nothing to do with you. The feeling will pass from him in time.”

5

Vithilonyi is a drinking man’s holiday. When I got back to camp, the party had already started. I went down to main camp to find Uncle Sivisal, and he greeted me at his tent with a glass of Klyr wine. We went walking through the camp drinking and saying hello to people. It surprised me how many folks I knew — apprentices from archery drill, cooks from the common tent, members of the doctor’s staff, servants of the Nivri and Finru, the Nivri and Finru themselves; all of whom greeted us graciously. A spirit of the holiday returned to me for a few moments while we traveled through that noisy crowd. The wine settled my nerves, Uncle Sivisal had hardly watered it, and in the crowd I felt smaller, less significant, more hidden.

Far ahead, I saw Kirith Kirin approaching, Imral with him. As if he could feel my eyes on him, Kirith Kirin looked across the crowd to me.

A whiteness closed over his face. He had never shown me such a cold expression. He looked away. But the two were still approaching us, and soon they were close enough for voices to carry. Imral asked me cordially if I had a pleasant ride that morning. I said yes, my heart pounding. Imral greeted my uncle, who answered in a formal way. Through all this, Kirith Kirin remained silent.

He was struggling. Whatever sign he was reading in what he had seen at Hyvurgren Field had misled him; he could not look me in the eye. Dread filled me and I wanted to run away. Uncle Sivisal had his hand on my shoulder. I swallowed wine and breathed deeply. Mordwen Illythin found us and instructed me to come with him for the suuren book; the holiday could not interfere with this task.

Before we opened the book, Mordwen shared a cup of wine with me in his tent. I could hardly speak, feeling dull and empty inside. He asked me to tell him what suuren I had seen that morning, and I did. A white dove flying across a small pond. He wrote it carefully. I was feeling worse and worse. I asked if he would mind excusing me, I wanted to find Axfel and give him a run in the woods.

I ran home to the shrine tent, ignoring Axfel, disdaining the shrine in favor of flinging myself face-down onto the cot.

I lay shivering for a long time. Once I got up long enough to tie the flap to my room closed. After that I did not move, lying without thought for hours, breathing as the lake women had taught me. The shivering stopped and a species of relaxation came to me. Afternoon drew on into evening. Sounds of celebration penetrated from the camp occasionally, and once I heard someone’s voice calling for me in the outer shrine. I lay still and quiet, pretending sleep, and the bearer of the voice went away.

I did actually sleep for a while. When I woke the taste of wine was stale in my mouth and Mordwen Illythin was bending over me, saying, “It’s nearly time for Kithilunen, you must wake up.”

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. For a moment I could not remember what day it was or how I had gotten into bed. The sound of laughter and music penetrated from outside and I realized the festival was still going on.

In the lamp room I washed my face in the water basin and went through the necessary preparations for the lighting of lamps for festival night. We would have all nine lamps burning, three of each kind, inside and outside the shrine. Mordwen helped me, running through the steps for the festival ceremony at the same time. I worked efficiently, letting nothing enter my thoughts but what was needed for the work at hand. Peace came to me as I worked.

We were filling the last lamp when the sound of singing filled the air.

On Vithilonyi, it is customary to carry torches to the shrine, lighting the torches in daylight and burning them long into evening. At home, when we went to Mikinoos for the Festival there, we each had our own torch to carry. At the shrine that night more lanterns and torches burned than I had ever seen before, in the clearing and in the forest beyond, hundreds of them, flickering light on every side. A feeling of magic possessed me as I set out the lamps and awaited the dimming of the stone. The six I lit when the sun went down joined the three lamps that had burned through the whole day. Standing beside the last lamp, gazing out into the clearing where so many faces were watching reverently, I sang the Evening Song and “Light in the Darkness.” I sang for Commyna, letting my voice rise to fullness, hoping the sound would reach her. It did not seem safe to sing for anyone else just then.

Kirith Kirin was there. He stood close to the altar, and I passed him each time I brought out a lamp. Even his posture was cold.

When the song was done I hurried behind the altar, pulling on my coat and slipping out the back of the tent quickly, before anyone could find me. I waited near the brook where I bathed each morning, Axfel beside me kissing my fingers with his cold muzzle. I heard a fair voice call my name once, but I refused to answer. I stood quietly beside the creek till I was certain I heard no other sounds from the tent above. Axfel walked me back up the path.