Kirith Kirin (The City Behind the Stars) (43 page)

“I don’t have time now. I have work I need to do.”

He told me the stewards would attend to it, not to concern myself. Stepping forward, he asked leave to touch the Fimbrel Cloak, and I said he could. He lifted the glimmering cloth with a sharp intake of breath as if it were cold as ice, and the folds about his hand glowed softly. “Oh, I hear singing.” He smiled a rapturous, almost pained smile, letting the fabric slip through his fingers. “Do you hear singing when you wear it?”

“Sometimes. And other things. While the Sisters wove it, they were always singing.” Pulling it over my shoulders, I went with Mordwen to the tent-flap, listening to the Venladrii girl’s clear piping voice. “What’s her name?” I asked.

“Amri. Sharp little thing, but she doesn’t say much. I guess that’s good. One wants a kyyvi to be able to hold her counsel.”

I said farewell to him and hurried into the morning where rain still fell. Axfel was waiting for me, having taken shelter under the awning. He leapt to his feet, his whole body shaking with delight, and I let him run with me. We did not return to camp but headed south where the hills were higher, running at first at ordinary speed and then more lightly and swiftly, both of us, the cloak streaming behind me like jewels aflame.

As we ran I began my insinging and was in trance before we reached the hillside. On the summit of a high hill I climbed one of the tall oaks whose upper branches were broad and sturdy. Sitting where my view of the southern horizon was unobstructed, I deepened the trance.

The cloak shimmered and grew full, enfolding the oak with radiance.

Speaking a Word from the dual trance, I made a fire in the air, shaping it like a wheel and setting it to spinning, singing to the flame. I was aware of the tree, the rain, the wind that swayed my high seat, the smell of freshness in the air, the shifting needs of my body, balancing and rebalancing. The rain was cold, the storm bore down with fury, clouds oppressing the tree tops, coloring the light, suffusing but not overcoming the landscape. But this was Arthen, we were spared much, as I could now see. Far away the storm was of such fury it shredded the land and the rain lashed earth into rivers, raised creeks above their beds.

The power that raised the storm was hidden from me, though I could feel its movement. Other powers of his or of his servants were at play, but these were localized; he was not yet reaching his arm northward with any more than ill intent. I tried for a long time to deepen beyond these veils of his, but I did not care to match him openly before I could stand on a High Place.

He was searching for me everywhere, but I was hidden within Arthen. He found nothing to satisfy him. I kept vigilance over him quietly, and then wove songs that would aid me on the coming ride.

The light deepened and darkened with afternoon. When I had done what I could I grasped the wheel of fire and bid it vanish, and descended from the oak summit. Axfel had waited for me all this time at the base of the tree, sheltered under a rock, happy to see me as always. I wrapped the cloak round myself and bent to face him, the rain streaming over my face and down my nose. “What do you think of your master now? Maybe he’ll be of some account in the world, you think?”

The question had never occurred to him, clearly. I leapt to my feet and we ran for home the way we had come, more fleet than any leaping deer.

Despite the rain I bathed in the hidden pool, saying good-bye to the ritual; though to tell the truth even now I follow that pattern of movements faithfully, only not so early. My bath done, I drew on the bath-coat and returned to the shrine, some time remaining before the Evening Song. My room had been cleared of my few belongings. Mordwen, who was still with Amri in the workroom, told me my personal effects had been taken to his tent. He was distracted, being in the midst of demonstrating the proper order for assembling the reyn, so I did not linger. The girl Amri looked very attentive but a bit overawed. I doubt she ever had much conversation with a Jhinuuserret before.

Near sunset, when folks gathered, Amri brought out the lamp.

A hush fell, and people watched for my reaction. I was calm as she was. A shadow fell across me, as Kirith Kirin stepped into place.

Silence followed, while Amri watched the muuren for the signal to light the lamp.

If she was frightened, the fear did not affect her timing; I could not have begun the ceremony any closer to the proper moment myself. The fire at the muuren-heart died and the lamp flamed into light. Across the clearing torches were lit as soon as the lamp could be seen burning steadily — the Jisraegen long ago perfected the art of making torches that can defy rain, burning brightly even in storm and wind. A heartbeat followed while the Venladrii child gathered her breath.

She sang Kithilunen in a voice the clarity of which might have given a nightingale reason for envy. I marveled that such a big sound could come from one so slight and small, her singing like a bright cloud, filling the clearing to the tops of the trees. The soldiers and officers were marveling. When the song was over one was left longing for more. Amri, flushed with her effort, withdrew from the altar as she had been instructed to do, taking her place beside the shrine. She was close to me, and eyed me curiously, her long, dark face seeming incongruously old for such a small, light body. I winked at her, and she hid a small smile by bowing her head.

6

The storm had grown stronger, and from the south an ill wind was blowing. Rain fell in ragged sheets, making the treetops tremble and sag, running in rivulets down the hillside, pooling in rocks and tree roots. In the south the master of the storm was moving a storm over the Woodland and beyond. His voice hung like a cloud.

To what end was he singing? I needed to find a hilltop and make a fire circle. So I sent for Nixva to be saddled and we went out to find a place.

Nixva grumbled about the rain, mane wet with glittering drops. I explained as best I could but warned him this was the lot of magician’s horses, and that he must take the bad with the good. He tossed his head as if to say he thought me somewhat arrogant, since he had been a royal horse all his life while I had only lately come to grandeur. I conceded the point but mounted to his back nevertheless, saying Words that lent us both night-vision and him fleetness beyond even his father’s.

I also kept him dry, much to his pleasure. While I knew the land somewhat, he knew it better, and when I asked him to find me the tallest hilltop he could think of, he did. He took me to the very edge of the Arth Hills, a longer ride than I had in mind, but in that country stands a tall rock called Vulnur, where in ancient days criminals were executed by leading them to the pinnacle and flinging them off. Like the rest of Arth country, Vulnur has the reputation of a haunted place.

I tethered Nixva at the base of the rock beneath the shelter of an overhanging stone. A sheer, narrow stair led round and up the pinnacle, and the falling rain had made the steps slippery and treacherous. But my art was proof against that hindrance, and I ran lightly up the steps as if they were dry as burned bone.

The white moon was rising far in the east, hanging below the ceiling of cloud and coloring the rolling treetops with silver. Once from a similar place, Lady Vella had told me the roof of the forest put her in mind of the sea, rolling blue and green, and I wondered that night if this were so, if I would agree when my journeys carried me as far as that.

Squatting down on the crest of Vulnur, gathering such thin starlight as I could find filtering through cloud, I plaited what is called the Starlight Ring, and let it grow, and as it grew I wrapped the cloak Fimbrel about me, the voices within it swelling, the cloak overhanging the tall rock like the shadow of drooping wings, filling the air and night.

I caused the Starlight Ring to flicker and burn, first as the ghost of fire and then as fire, burning air to feed its substance, a wind coursing up the sides of the rock chimney. The flame danced blue, green, orange, gold, blood red, licking upward higher as I sang Words to strengthen it. Within the Circle of Fire I placed my awareness out of body, wrapped and shrouded, and I chanted within the Fire and Darkness, letting my thought go up toward heaven, encircling darkness and enfolding fire. That time I focused all my thought on the outer eye, though all the while in the kei space my voice was making Words.

I could hear my enemy plainly, his voice insistent like a current of wind, prodding the storm gently, invoking with gentleness, patient like the good shepherd who does not wish to agitate the flock. The singing rang coldly, the voice had an edge, yet these things were subdued, and I understood Drudaen had tamed his anger, marshaled his wits, and was working his magic with craft and policy.

He had a purpose beyond the storm-sending, but I could not discern it. When I turned southward, there was only the gulf of blackness in which he had submerged. He was moving power, more than before, and a part of his mind was turned from his former purposes to a new work. I watched for a long time. The whole while he looked through me, nor could he find me even after I bent his storm a little, even when he knew I was moving. He could not pierce the veil over Arthen, and since he knew he could not, he wasted no strength on the effort.

For an instant his arrogance filled me with anger, and I longed to assail him directly, to set my thought against his and built devices on Vulnur that might break his storm, send it flying back to mock him. But this was my pride thinking and not my prudence. I had power but he had more. He had devices of many years making and I had none. Subtle and small as seemed the song within the rain clouds, were I to show my hand against it, Arthen could not hide me. This was cat-and-mouse he was playing, but I would not be a mouse.

Since I could not fathom his new strategy, then, I worked quietly against the old, and from the fire circle I plaited other fires, Wheel and Diamond, Rune and Curved Swan, speaking softly over them and sending them high, small devices that would float far overland, drawing wind upward with them, tearing the clouds that hung heavy over the northern fields. I sent nothing toward my enemy nor did I make any song whose sound would carry to him. What of my magic he could discern would seem but small and pitiable. Some of his anger would diminish into contempt. What did it prove that I had beaten Julassa Kyminax? She had never caused him to quail. She was a useful servant but she was not the only servant he had.

I plaited my runes and fire-shapes, and finally stood, stretching my arms upward, letting the cloak billow out and out, till the shadow laid the fire circle low. The wind dispersed in tatters and Vulnur sighed with rain. Whether I had done any good time would tell. I listened a last moment to that other singing, the magic he was making whose purpose I could not discern. Troubled, I descended the curved stairs, returning to Nixva who had awaited me patiently beneath the canopy of stone.

He greeted me with characteristic affection, resting his muzzle in the nape of my neck. I stood close to him, gathering strength before beginning the ride home through the storm, glad of his warm breath, of his comforting bulk. He invited me to his back with a toss of the head, being impatient to return to his place on the horse-lines. I obeyed and we began our quick ride beneath the trees.

But when we passed the jagged rocks at the base of Vulnur, I saw a strange sight. Over the rocks lay a soft blue glow, and within the faint light were many figures moving: translucent, fragile eidolons with voices like the faint cries of birds. These were, I guessed, the unrestful dead ones thrown from the height, maybe wakened by my magic-making or maybe following their usual routine, dancing and wailing on the foot-stones as they had done through the long ages since they died. We watched, Nixva and I, the horse inherently fearless and me guarded by my power. They took no note of our presence, which was a relief, since ghosts can be troublesome. I would have stayed longer to watch if I had not become aware of the lateness of the hour. Speaking quietly to Nixva, I turned his head and we made the journey to the Nevyssan hills, where watchfires burned like flowers on the dark hillside.

7

In camp I found commotion. Soldiers stirred among tents and wagons, polishing armor or weapons, packing or simply talking. Some who saw me bowed respectfully but withdrew from my path nevertheless.

At Mordwen’s tent I received a summons to see Kirith Kirin. A full contingent of guard was posted there, with orders to let me pass. I gave Nixva to one of the soldiers to return to the lines, warning the woman that the stallion was hungry, wet, and apt to be feisty.

Within the tent, light from many lamps flickered through fabric walls. Kirith Kirin and Lady Karsten sat on embroidered cushions illuminated by the warmly colored lights of mid-evening. Tea brewed, smelling of fragrant arrowflower, and on a low table rested a wrought silver tray of cakes. Imral Ynuuvil was reading a scroll, making notes in the margin with a bone-handled pen.

“I’m starved,” I said, reaching for a cup and drawing tea from the heated oet. The others laughed, and Karsten said, “Well, pull off your cloak and eat a waycake. It was a dreadful night to go riding, don’t you think?”