The Singers of Nevya (18 page)

In silence, the two girls washed and dried themselves, dressed in clean clothes, and bound their hair. The tea had been left outside the door. Other bathers came in while Sira drank it. Isbel bowed and left her when she turned toward Magister Mkel’s apartment. Her memories dragged at her, slowing her steps as she walked down the corridor.

“Cantrix Sira, come in.” Cathrin greeted her warmly. For as long as Sira could remember, Cathrin, motherly and bustling, had been part of Conservatory, busy with her own brood or fussing over one of the Gifted ones. Cathrin was unGifted, generous, and comfortable.

She led Sira to a chair and set a tray of nursery fruits and nuts near her, with tea and a cup of water. Sira drank some water to please her, but she had lost her appetite somewhere along the long road she had traveled.

“Cantrix Sira,” said Mkel, coming into the room. “I am sorry to have made you wait.” Cantor Rico came just behind him, and Sira rose to bow to her two seniors. Both men looked angry. Cathrin withdrew, her own face drooping in sad lines.

“Please, sit, both of you,” the Magister said. “And eat, Cantrix Sira, or Cathrin will be after me.”

“Forgive me, Magister, but I do not believe I can eat anything just now. My apologies to Cathrin.” Sira sat down again and picked up the cup of water.

Mkel and Rico were both watching her closely. Psi sparkled in the room, but Sira kept her mind shielded, instinctively. It was the way she had controlled herself as a child. Before her Gift was molded and disciplined by stringent training, she had hidden her thoughts from her mother and her family, not understanding they could not hear her mind as she heard theirs.

Mkel seemed to sense her need for privacy. He spoke aloud. “Cantrix, now that your danger is past, I hope you will recover quickly from your awful experience.” He smiled a little.

She nodded to him, and the poultice Maestro Nikei had pressed over her eyebrow pulled at her forehead, reminding her. “I am fine, Magister. Thank you.”

Rico said, “We want to explain the events around the assassination of Magister Shen.”

Sira transferred her attention to Rico. “I know Alks and Mike were working with—” her voice caught. She cleared her throat. “I know they were working with Wil. And Trude,” she added, as if the name were an afterthought. Rico and Mkel exchanged a glance, and she knew she had not deceived them. “I do not know who actually shot Shen, or Rollie. Or me. It does not matter.”

“You are quite right, Sira,” Mkel agreed in a low voice. She had never seen him look so grim. “It does not matter who did it. What matters is who caused them to do it.”

Sira put down her cup.

“Perhaps you were aware that there were tensions at Bariken,” Mkel went on. “Rhia was actually ruling the House in all but name. Evidently that was not enough for her.”

“Cantrix Sharn was concerned,” Rico put in, “but there was little she could do. The tradition of inheritance makes it difficult to deal with an incompetent Magister. And nothing serious enough had happened before this to bring Bariken before the Magistral Committee.”

“There is no doubt,” Mkel said, “that Rhia arranged the assassination. Apparently she had expected to be Magistrix at Tarus, but the birth of a younger brother stood in her way.”

“Rhia.” Sira thought of the glossy-haired, elegant woman who had offered her the opportunity to go to Lamdon, an opportunity she had been thrilled to accept, feeding her own ambition. “I spoke with her. I felt no danger.”

“I should think you would be angry, Cantrix,” said Rico.

Sira had nothing to say to that. Maestra Lu’s face glowed in her memory and in her broken heart. I should have known, she thought. My arrogance stopped me from knowing.

“You may rest assured that Rhia has been removed as Magistrix of Bariken, and will be placed under the jurisdiction of the Magistral Committee. Their judgment will be harsh. It may be that there will be a regent at Bariken until Trude’s son by Shen is old enough to rule.” Mkel paused, giving a heavy sigh. “Magret is working with Cantor Grigr for the time being. She can use your help, but not until you feel ready to go back.”

Sira looked straight at Mkel. “I am sorry about Cantrix Magret, and I hope you will tell her so. But I cannot go back.”

Mkel and Rico glanced at each other. Mkel said calmly, “Very well.” Evidently the two men had discussed this possibility. “Perhaps you will rest here at Conservatory until you feel ready for another Cantoris.”

Sira shook her head. “Forgive me, Magister,” she said bleakly. “Rollie, who was my friend, died in the Pass. I almost did. Maestra Lu died trying to save my life, and right now I cannot imagine what it all means. I spent my youth trying to be the best at what I do, and then Rhia and—” The back of her throat was suddenly dry, and she swallowed with a small clicking sound. “—and Wil, and Trude, were content to destroy me for their own ends. What am I . . . what are all of us about, if we mean no more than that to the people we serve? I was trapped by my duty as much as by my ambition. I am ashamed and I am sad and I cannot be what they want me to be anymore.”

It was a long speech, and the two men were silent for some time after Sira finished. She stared down at her hands, twined in her lap.

At length, it was Rico who spoke. “Cantrix Sira, we are as shocked as you by what happened. Conservatory Singers are to be cherished and protected. An isolated incident—”

“Excuse me, Cantor Rico,” Sira interrupted. Her voice hardened. “Isolated or not, this incident is part of my life. I will try to understand it, but until I do, I will not be anyone’s Cantrix. I will be my own person.”

Rico looked helpless. Mkel said, “Sira. Give yourself time. We will wait for you.”

His voice carried strong and skillful psi-inflections of empathy, and Sira had to close her mind against them. Her lips trembled, and she forced them to firm. “Thank you,” she said. “But I will not change my mind.” She rose, pretending composure, and bowed to her seniors with deep respect. Then, alone, she left the apartment.

Chapter Sixteen

Theo leaned back in one of the carved chairs in the Cantoris of Conservatory, feeling the tingle of his body as Maestro Nikei played his
filla
and used his psi to coax torn flesh and muscle to come together again. Nikei insisted on giving Theo precedence during Cantoris hours. It was not customary, but no one objected. Theo chuckled to learn that everyone at Conservatory regarded him as something of a hero, having saved Cantrix Sira from the Bariken murderers. Every day since his return, Theo had submitted to Nikei’s ministrations, then stayed to watch as the Cantor treated other, less serious ailments.

He was walking now, carefully, but without too much pain. He joined Cantor Nikei on his way out of the Cantoris. “I have a question,” he said.

Nikei nodded. “Of course, Singer.”

“Don’t you ever use the first mode for healing wounds?”

Nikei frowned a little. “I use the third, to prevent infections. Why would I use the first?”

Theo almost didn’t answer, not wanting to offend the Cantor. But he was curious. “I often use it,” he said diffidently, “to help the injured person relax. The healing seems to go faster. The fear that comes with a wound slows the mending, don’t you think?”

Nikei pulled at his lip, considering. “I did not know itinerants practiced much healing.”

Theo laughed, then pressed a hand to his still-sore belly. “We must. Or we lose too many of our customers!”

They strolled into the great room, and Maestro Nikei signaled to a waiting Housewoman for tea. “Perhaps fear is not an issue here at Conservatory,” Theo said. “But outside, I have seen travelers so frightened by being hurt that they have to be restrained from doing themselves further injury.”

“But what happens to hurt them, outside?”

Theo grinned. “Everything, Maestro Nikei! They fall off
hruss
, they cut themselves with their knives, they dent their heads on the branches of softwood trees, or they get blacktoe.”

“Blacktoe?” Nikei frowned again.

If this was the Maestro’s usual expression, Theo thought, it must cause some anxiety among his students. “Blacktoe,” he told the Cantor. “When the feet get too cold, the ends of the toes turn dark. They must be warmed immediately, and slowly, or the traveler can lose them. The same for fingers. Blacktoe can kill a person if it’s not caught early.”

Nikei’s frown smoothed away. “Ah, yes, I have seen this, but had not heard that name for it. I am very interested in what you say, Singer.” Their tea arrived and they sipped at it. “Healing is the most difficult part of the Gift to develop. I had assumed—” He hesitated, and it was obvious to Theo that he chose his next words with delicacy. “I had assumed that those Singers who do not become–that is, who do not come to Conservatory—”

Theo grinned. “Rather the opposite,” he said cheerfully. “Some of the best healers are itinerants. We learn it very early, out of need.”

Nikei pulled at his lip again. “The first mode. For injuries. It is a new thought.”

Theo savored a momentary sense of belonging. As he watched House members bowing deeply to Nikei, however, he was reminded of the great chasm that lay between them. At least Nikei conversed with him. He did not speak to any of the Housemen or women, only nodded acknowledgment to one or two. The Cantor was as aloof with his own House members as if the Glacier itself lay between them.

In a few more days, Theo was moving restlessly about the House and the nursery gardens. Still swathed in bandages under his tunic, he was sore, but his energy had returned in full. He needed something to do. Only after the evening meal, when he sometimes lingered with the students in the great room, telling them stories of outside, did he feel fully occupied.

Those evenings were lovely and long. Theo’s position as one of the group that had rescued Sira gave him special privileges, and the students were allowed to stay in the great room an hour past their usual time, just to hear him talk. He told them of the southern Timberlands, and the Houses on the Frozen Sea, where tiny ships like floating
pukuru
dared the ice-clogged waters for fish that tasted fresh as sweet snow.

Once he told them the fable of the Ship, and the little ones listened wide-eyed, not knowing what was truth and what was invention.

“The Spirit of Stars,” Theo recited, using the low tone that he knew made his youngest listeners shiver, “sent the Ship, like the greatest
pukuru
you can imagine, drawn by the six strongest and biggest
hruss
It had. Spirit knew the people would need plants and animals that did not grow on the Continent, and so the giant
pukuru
was packed full of fruit seeds and grain seeds and people seeds. When it landed on the Continent, it overturned, and all the seeds spilled out and began to grow. The upside-down
pukuru
became First House, and First Singer warmed it so the seeds could blossom and grow big and strong.”

“But, Singer,” a little boy asked, “what happened to the six big
hruss
?”

Theo inclined his head. “Do you know, that’s a very good question.” He pointed to the thick windows of the great room, where the darkness of the long night stretched beyond the glow of the
quiru
. “Have you ever seen the stars?”

The boy nodded. “On my way here, with my father,” he said in a sad childish tone. He and his class were not yet adjusted, and Theo saw one of the older students touch the little boy’s shoulder, and leave her hand there to support him.

“Did anyone show you the Six Stars?” Theo asked. The boy shook his head. “The Six Stars shine above the eastern horizon when you’re outside at night. Those were the
hruss
that drew Spirit’s big
pukuru
. When it overturned, to spill the seeds and to become First House, the
hruss
were freed. They raced up into the sky, and they still run there, across the sky each night, trying to get back to the Spirit of Stars.”

The Housewomen came to fetch the little ones then, and Theo bid them good night. The older students smiled and nodded to him, several speaking aloud to wish him a good evening. Isbel, who Theo knew was Sira’s closest friend, was the last to leave the great room, making sure he had everything he might want before she, too, retired.

The next morning, she teased him. “Tell me another story,” she said as they walked from the great room after the morning meal.

He smiled down at her. “Do you want to hear about the Singer from Trevi who had to sleep in the stables because he wouldn’t go near the
ubanyor
? Or the girl at Conservatory that Magister Mkel had to shut up in her room because she asked too many questions?”

Isbel giggled, and he smiled to see the dimples twinkle in her cheeks. “I do not ask too many questions! I am a serious student trying to learn more about the Continent!”

“A serious student?” Laughing, he bowed to her. “Then sing for me. Here I am at Conservatory, and all the music I’ve heard has been the
quirunha
.”

“I will, if you like. Tomorrow. It will cost you a story, though. And now I see Cantor Nikei watching us. He will scold me for keeping you too long.”

“Wait a moment, Isbel! I want to ask you about Cantrix Sira. Is she well?”

Isbel’s green eyes darkened, and her dimples disappeared. “I do not know, Singer. She has had a bad experience, and she will not open her mind to me.”

“She won’t?”

Isbel sighed. “She only speaks aloud. With all of us. She is far away from us, somehow, because of what happened to her in Ogre Pass.”

Theo scowled. “By the Ship, that was a bad business!”

Isbel tilted her head and regarded him. “I have never heard that expression, Singer.”

“No? They say it in the Southern Houses. What do you say when you want to swear?”

Isbel blushed, and smiled again, her mood as changeable as snow clouds over the mountains. “It is hard to swear when you do not speak aloud. But I know ‘By the Six Stars,’ and—” she lowered her voice—” and
ubanyit
!”

Theo grinned. “Is that your worst? It’s a good thing you don’t travel with itinerants!”