The Singers of Nevya (17 page)

Something fine has been destroyed in this misadventure, Theo thought. Though he had never met this young woman before, and though he could not hear her thoughts, he could feel that something in her had shattered. He doubted she would ever be the same again.

What a pity, he mused, as he began drifting into sleep again. What a waste.

Chapter Fifteen

Theo had never traveled with so large a group, nor had he often traveled with another Singer. Conservatory and Lamdon had mounted a party of twelve between them, and Cantor Rico and Cantrix Sira handled all the
quiru
. Not, Theo admitted to himself, that he was up to participating. His belly was beginning to heal, but the herbal draught from Lamdon and Rico’s frequent ministrations meant that he spent the long hours of travel mostly asleep. By the second night of their journey, Theo knew they were on their way to Conservatory.

When he could, he watched Sira. She spoke only when spoken to, and then in the briefest of sentences. Her face was closed and unreadable, and Theo saw Rico and Jane exchange frowns above her head. No one offered to tell Theo exactly what had happened in Ogre Pass, but he could guess it had been something shocking.

Sira insisted on being the one to bring Theo his tea and
keftet
in the evenings. On the third night of their journey, as the others were helping themselves from the cooking pot, she knelt beside his furs and held out his bowl and cup.

“Cantrix, you shouldn’t wait on me,” he protested.

“You must allow me to,” she answered in her odd deep voice. She helped him to a sitting position, propping his saddlepack under his bedfurs so he could lean against it. She did it so naturally that he forgot to be surprised at the touch of a full Cantrix.

“Join me then,” he said, smiling. She looked at him somberly. The firelight glinted on the angles of her lean face. He thought she was going to refuse, but then she nodded, and he knew it was to indulge him. It was reason enough, he thought.

She went to the fire and bent over it. When she returned, her bowl held only a scant few mouthfuls of food. He looked into it and laughed without thinking, then gasped with pain when his belly wound reminded him it was still there.

It took him a moment to recover while Sira watched him, her bandaged eyebrow lifted. “That little bit of food was hardly worth a trip to the fire, Cantrix,” he said when he could speak. She looked into her bowl and shook her head.

“Just not hungry?” he asked. She didn’t answer. Theo said as gently as he could, “I know you’ve had a bad experience. But when you’re traveling, you need to eat and drink when you can.”

She turned her dark eyes to him. “Thank you, Singer,” she said gravely. She took a spoonful of
keftet
and put it in her mouth.

“Cantrix.” Theo cocked his head at her. “You should probably chew it, too.”

Obediently, but still solemn, Sira began to chew her food. Theo sighed, and leaned back, adjusting his bandages. “If I were healthy, Cantrix,” he said, “I’d sing you the song about a
ferrel
that picked up a
wezel
and then dropped it because it was too thin to bother with. Dropped it right into the courtyard of Filus and they turned it into a pet. It got so fat it needed a room all its own, and when the
ferrel
came back for it, it was too heavy to carry.” He winked at her, and despite herself, she smiled a little at the silly image.

“Is that the kind of song you like, Singer?” she asked.

“So it is,” he said. “Also the only kind of song I know.”

This earned him another smile. Theo tried to conceal that so much talking had tired him, but Sira saw his fatigue. “You must rest now,” she said, and reached for his bowl.

“Tomorrow,” he said sleepily, “you must teach me a new song. One I don’t know.”

“Yes,” she said. She helped him to lie down, moving his saddlepack to just within reach. “Now sleep,” she told him.

“Good night,” he murmured.

He felt relaxed and lazy, as if he were floating in a warm bath. When a faint tickle in his drifting mind said,
Thank you
, he was not really sure he had heard it. If he had, it would have marked only the second time in his adult life he had truly heard someone’s voice in his mind, and both times had been the voice of this surprising young Cantrix.

*

Sira, from her saddle, was the first to see the roofs of Conservatory above the trees as the travelers made their slow way up the snowy ride. The pace of the journey had been leisurely, adjusted for the
pukuru
, and restricted by the shortening hours of daylight as the season of deep cold approached. They had been riding for six days.

She glanced down at the fur-bundled figure of the itinerant. He was sleeping again.

She knew Cantor Rico was watching her, but she pretended otherwise. She had ignored the looks passing between Gram and Jane. There was nothing she could do to ease their fears. Anything she said to reassure them would be deception. She wanted only to see Maestra Lu, rest in her presence, and unburden herself of the awful things she had done.

Over and over again she recalled the knife plunging into Wil’s flesh, and the slice of her psi through the fabric of Trude’s mind. She recalled the rush of triumph as the weaker mind broke under her attack. Only Maestra Lu could tell her how to live with those moments.

The shaggy
hruss
filled Conservatory’s courtyard with their noise and bulk, and a somber group appeared to assemble on the steps. The day was brutally clear, sunlight glancing off snow and rippled glass windows. The Magister himself stepped forward to greet the travelers.

“Conservatory welcomes you,” he said. Sira saw Theo awake, and twist his head to try to see who was speaking. “We are very grateful to you for bringing Cantrix Sira home to us.”

Home, Sira thought. Perhaps I will never be at home again. She willed away the tightness in her throat, staring fixedly above Magister Mkel’s gray and venerable head. Maestra Lu was not in the gathering on the steps, but Isbel was, and all her old classmates except Arn.

Sira slid off her
hruss
to bow to Mkel. Hooves clacked and slid on the paving stones as the rest of the party dismounted, stretching, smiling with relief at reaching their destination.

Mkel’s eyes were on Sira, the patterns of wrinkles in his face deepened by the harsh light. “Are you well, Cantrix?”

Sira nodded, holding herself rigidly upright. The bandage on her forehead felt enormous.

Jane came to stand beside her. “The Cantrix is tired, Magister,” she said. “We have been riding for hours today.”

“Of course,” said Mkel. “All of you must come in and bathe and eat.” He gestured to several Housemen, who came forward to take the reins of the
hruss
. The doors of the House opened wide, and the students led the party inside. Two Housemen came out to unhitch the
pukuru
. They each took an end to carry Theo up the steps, but he waved them off.

“I can walk,” he said. “Just lend me an arm.” With help from one of the Housemen, he struggled up from the
pukuru
. Sira turned back, thinking she would help him, but he shook his head at her, and she understood that he wanted to walk into Conservatory under his own power.

Sira’s classmates stood apart, watching as she entered the House. They bowed when she passed them, formally as strangers. She knew they were curious, and trying not to show it. They were waiting for her lead, as they would for any other full Cantrix. Only a few short months ago they would have plunged into a lively, silent conversation, full of questions and jibes and jests. But she was one of them no longer. She was Cantrix Sira, and she could not go back.

Mkel made his way to her through the cluster of people. “Cantrix Sira, we will talk after you have refreshed yourself.”

“Thank you, Magister. I will not be long.”

“Take the time as you need. I will speak with Gram and Jane first. And Cantor Rico.”

Rico bowed to the Magister, and they turned toward the stairs. Sira looked up, and found Isbel standing before her.

Isbel, her rosy face solemn, bowed. She sent, presuming on old friendship,
Cantrix Sira, a bath first? Or are you hungry?

“A bath, please,” Sira said aloud. Isbel took a sharp breath. Sira looked straight ahead, trying not to see Isbel’s hurt. “And something to drink.”

Kevn appeared from somewhere, and bowed. “I will get tea,” he said aloud. Sira wished they would tease and taunt her as they used to. She wished Isbel would take her hand, or put an arm around her waist. But she could not bring herself to initiate the contact.

She started down the corridor toward the
ubanyix
, and Isbel followed. When they had left the others behind, Sira said, “Where is Maestra Lu?”

Isbel looked up at her old friend, meeting her eyes. “I will bathe with you, Cantrix,” she said quietly. “And I will tell you about Maestra Lu.”

Sira saw the small widening of Isbel’s eyes that meant she was opening her mind. Sira shook her head, a small gesture of helplessness. “I cannot do it right now,” Sira whispered through suddenly trembling lips. “Please tell me.”

They had arrived at the door of the
ubanyix
. Isbel opened the door. “Spirit of Stars,” she said lightly. “It is empty.”

She led Sira in, and closed the door behind them, then turned. Her eyes brimmed with sorrow. “I am so very sorry to tell you, Cantrix Sira, that our old teacher died ten days ago.”

Sira closed her eyes, and struggled to breathe as she counted back over the last days. When she dared open her eyes, she slipped her furs off her shoulders with shaking hands, and stepped out of her soiled trousers. She unbound her hair, and pulled her tunic over her head. Isbel took everything to drop on top of the mound of discarded furs.

Sira, feeling as if every inch of her hurt beyond bearing, stepped down into the warm water. Mechanically, she began to wash crusted blood from her wounds. She had grown shockingly thin. All her bones seemed exposed. Her stomach was concave, and her breasts, always small, had shrunk almost to nothing. Only her hair, dark and heavy, hung past her shoulders to trail in the water.

Can we talk now, Cantrix?
Isbel sent gently.
Sira?

Sira felt dizzy with grief. “I cannot,” she said tightly. “Not yet.”

The warm water lapped around her shoulders. She remembered being in this same bath with Lu, and the ache in her breast threatened to choke her.

“Mkel told us Maestra Lu knew you were safe before she died,” Isbel said. She leaned forward in the scented water. “Sira. You were her favorite.”

For a long moment Sira could not speak. When she did, her lips felt stiff, her words clipped. “I caused her death,” she blurted.

Isbel sucked in her breath. “No, Sira, no. Of course you did not! How can you think that? Whatever Maestra Lu did, she did because she had to. You cannot take responsibility.”

Sira closed her eyes and leaned her head against the carved ironwood tub. She heard the little splash of water as Isbel moved closer. “Sira, this—this thing that happened—you bear no blame for it. You were just their Cantrix . . .”

“Just their Cantrix. That is it, is it not?” Sira said, her eyes still closed. “All the years of study, of struggle for perfection . . . and they own us, like well-trained
hruss
.” She drew a shaky breath. Her heart felt as if it could burst. “It is the way we speak of itinerants. Oh, he’s just an itinerant, we say.” She splashed her face with water to disguise her threatening tears.

Isbel stared at her for a long, painful moment. Finally she said, “Shall I warm the water?”

Sira nodded, to allow her friend to do something for her. She could not help wondering why she had struggled so to survive. What had it been for?

She longed for the sound of Maestra Lu’s voice to guide her, to soothe her. Maestra Lu’s reach had been long, but no one, however Gifted, could reach from beyond the stars.

Isbel’s
filla
trilled. The water temperature rose and the scent from the floating herbs intensified. The familiar walls of the
ubanyix
, the robes hung on hooks on one side, even the tidy stacks of towels, pained Sira. Everything looked as it always had, but everything had changed.

Isbel slipped back into the tub, her countenance solemn in a way Sira had never seen. “Open your mind to me,” she whispered.

Sira said flatly, “I love you too much to do that. You do not want these memories.”

Tears sprang to Isbel’s eyes. “I want to help you. What a terrible ending for your first assignment! We were all so proud of you, so glad for you—you are the best of us.”

“The worst is,” Sira said slowly, “that I worked deliberately to be the best. I thought that was what mattered . . . yet in the end, it did not count for anything.”

“Your next assignment will be better.”

Sira did not answer.