The Singers of Nevya (25 page)

“You mean the Ship,” put in the Housewoman firmly. “Spirit of Stars sent the Ship, with all the people and plant seeds.”

Theo’s grin widened. “The Ship, then. When Spirit sent the Ship, and it overturned and made First House, it started to get cold right away.”

There were nods around him. They apparently knew this story, but they were clearly happy to suspend their work and listen to it again, told in a new voice.

“It started to get cold, and the people began to shiver. What were they going to do? They looked around them, outside the—the Ship, and they saw only irontrees. They got colder and colder, and First House got very dark when First Night came.

“It was during First Night that the wonder happened. First Singer began to sing to a little baby who was crying from the cold. First Singer hated to hear children cry, and he tried to make his lullaby a warm, sweet one to comfort this child.

“Now, if the mother of that child had told First Singer to be quiet, not to disturb her child, what might have happened? First Singer might never have seen that first glow that came from his warm lullaby. The people might have perished during First Night.

“But the mother didn’t tell First Singer to leave them alone, and First Singer sang the warmest lullaby he could think of. First House grew warm and light, and the people survived.”

The Housewoman gave an exasperated click of her tongue. “Singer, do you think you’re going to work a wonder?”

Theo’s smile faded, and he straightened. “I do not know,” he said, sounding like Sira for a moment. “But if something great does not happen here, this House is going to perish.”

The other workers moved uneasily, the mood broken. A young Housewoman sniffled and turned away. The Housewoman in charge, with a measuring glance at the others, moved to a drawer and took out a handful of cloths. “We’re not going to perish,” she said firmly. “But you might as well try to fix that old
filhata
. Mrie, fetch a bit of cooking oil for the Singer.”

As the girl went to do as she was told, the Housewoman turned back to Theo. “No need to frighten the young ones,” she said. “But it was a good story. You’re no First Singer, I’m afraid. Still, we could do with a wonder.”

“So we could.” Theo took the oil and the cloths, and bowed to the Housewoman. She surprised him with a stiff bow of her own, something at which she obviously had little practice.

“Good luck,” she said.

“Thank you.” She turned back to her work. Theo was thoughtful as he carried the things back to Sira’s room. Learning to play the
filhata
, he thought, would be wonder enough.

Sira and Theo worked on the
filhata
for three days before it was ready to play. Theo sharpened his own well-kept knife for Sira to use, and she cut the strings carefully from the
caeru
gut, saving the leftovers in a scrap of oiled cloth. She stretched the strings delicately from the body of the
filhata
to the pegs, then removed them to cut and cut again until they were just the right thickness. While she was cutting strings, Theo polished the marred surface of the
filhata
with oil, and tried to converse with Sira silently.

These cracks . . . carvings
, he sent. Then something else that was a blur.

She looked over at his work.
The body is intact
? He nodded.
Good
.

It is hard to send without
— His sending blurred again, and Sira shook her head, smiling a little. Theo sighed. Aloud he said, “It’s like digging through a snowdrift. Why is my best sending only when I’m in trouble?”

Sira chuckled aloud, but she answered silently.
Emotion provides energy. The first sendings are always spontaneous. Receivings, too.

“Doesn’t frustration count as an emotion?” Theo asked aloud. He slapped his knee. “I have plenty of that!”

Send me a description of the
filhata
now. Show me how it looks, what you are doing.

Theo ran his fingers over the whorls and ridges of the carving.
The cracks are in the carved sections
, he sent.
The wood has dried and split. But the body is whole, and should resonate all right.

Sira nodded with satisfaction, and took the instrument back into her own lap. She strung the strings more tightly now, twisting the pegs till the gut drew taut. She began to tune, patiently adjusting and readjusting strings at both ends, sometimes using the knife to trim a bit more.

At the end of the three days, she wrapped the instrument and placed it carefully on the single shelf in her room. Theo smiled with satisfaction.
Tomorrow?

Yes. Your first lesson tomorrow.
In perfect accord, they walked down the gloomy hallway to the great room for the evening meal, one dark head and one fair, one tall and thin and one powerfully built. They were friends now, Sira thought, truly friends. The Spirit of Stars had sent her an unexpected blessing, and she was grateful for it. It was the only light in the darkness of her imprisonment in this place.

The next day Theo worked with Jon in the Cantoris for an hour or more. He came to Sira’s room after, looking tired and drawn.

Rest first
, she sent to him.

He sat on the cot, leaning his shoulders against the wall.
This must be the driest wall in the whole House
, he sent. Sira laughed a little, but he did not laugh with her.

Sira grew quiet, catching a flash of Theo’s feeling. It was troubling, and she wanted to shield her mind, but that was hardly fair. Their rapport was growing stronger each day. The people of Observatory were cold and ill, and she knew that troubled Theo.

She wondered if Theo thought she was being selfish, or perhaps cruel. As she thought that, he looked up at her.
No
, he sent.
I do not.

Sira looked down at her hands, suddenly shy. She had not kept her thoughts low. She had forgotten his growing ability.

I think you are doing what you need to do
, he went on.
And I am doing the same.

She wished she could touch his hand. Aside from those moments in Ogre Pass, it seemed a summer since she had felt the touch of another human being. This thought she did keep low, though. She would not want the Singer to misunderstand. He had held her as she wept on that first night, but there was no need now. She was neither sad nor frightened.

For the first time in her life she wondered how the Cantors and Cantrixes bore the isolation that was their lot. Many worked in the Houses for six summers or more before being called home to Conservatory. All those years without a touch of a human hand seemed suddenly an enormous burden. She thought of Isbel, now on her way to Amric, and sighed.

What is it?
Theo sent.

She shook off her mood.
It is nothing. Are you ready?

Ready.

As Sira reached for the newly repaired
filhata
and placed it in Theo’s hands, he sent,
I am grateful to you for teaching me.

I am glad to have something to do. I am not used to inactivity.

Theo laughed.
You could sing, Singer.

Sira made a face.
Do not make me regret that I taught you to send!
and he laughed again.

It was a new experience for Sira to be easy in the company of anyone but Isbel and perhaps Maestra Lu. But she and Theo had spent days together, practicing, talking, sharing their meals. In a way she felt as if he were filling the void created in her life by the loss of Maestra Lu. She took pleasure now in showing how to hold the
filhata
. With the briefest of touches she placed his left hand so, and showed him how to poise his right above the strings. She tried to look at him critically, as her teachers had done with her. He was her student now, her responsibility, though she was truly too young and inexperienced to teach. The unknowable Spirit had put them together in this way, and they could only try to do Its will.

A prickle of tears surprised Sira as Theo bent his blonde head and tried the strings of the ancient instrument. It seemed many summers ago that she had held a
filhata
for the very first time. It was hardly credible that it had been no more than two. As she adjusted Theo’s hand position, Sira reflected that, in fact, she was only nineteen years old. She had barely four summers. But she felt as old as the very stones of Observatory.

Chapter Twenty-three

Sira sat alone at the morning meal listening to Jon and Theo working in the Cantoris, the sounds of their
filla
faint through the stone walls. They did their work early, so what
quiru
they were able to create would fade by night, in accordance with the requirements of the House. It was an unnecessary precaution; the
quiru
was never bright enough to fade the light of the stars.

Pol sat at the central table in the great room, his cold gaze fixed on Sira. She knew he was waiting for her to acquiesce, to follow her colleagues into the Cantoris. She tried not to think of the repaired
filhata
lying useless in her room. Stubbornly, she took a long time over her tea, letting him watch her sit idly, pointlessly at the long table.

The meals here left her hungry. She sometimes dreamed of the nursery fruit that was so abundant at Conservatory. Fruit would not grow at Observatory. Grain, yeast bread, and meat, with a paltry sprinkling of vegetables, were all Observatory’s kitchens could produce.

At length, Theo and Jon joined her. Jon looked tired and reproachful, but Theo sat down beside her with a smile of greeting, cheerful as ever.

I am hungry
, he sent. Sira reached for a bowl of the greasy
keftet
.

This is all there is
, she sent.
And it has gone cold.
Jon had a bowl also, and was listlessly eating. Theo tried some, and made a face.

You should eat anyway
, Sira sent to him.

If I eat my
keftet,
will you teach me the
filhata?

Sira’s mouth curved, and Jon looked up. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” she said, and stopped smiling. She pushed her bowl away. It was really not polite to be sending when Jon could not hear. The practice was good for Theo, though. She watched Jon as he slumped over his bowl. What exactly was the difference between them? Was Theo more Gifted, and Jon less? Or was it a matter of circumstance? Jon did not interest her at all as a student, while Theo seemed rich with untapped talent and special ability.

She rose from the table, compunction making her careful to keep her face impassive.
Meet me after your meal
, she sent to Theo.

He, too, showed nothing on his face.
I will be there soon.

As she left the great room, she heard him telling Jon some joke, trying to bring a smile to the dour face. Her own smile returned. Theo was an unusual man, worthy of any instruction she could give him. She looked forward to seeing him learn.

The first lesson on the
filhata
was tuning. Sira showed Theo the middle, deepest string, and sang the C pitch for him, to which it must always be tuned. To be sure he understood, she spoke aloud. “You must memorize the C,” she said. “Begin and end each day by singing the C until it is as automatic to you as your breath.” She sang it again, and he sang it also.

“I believe I have already memorized it,” he said.

“Have you? Do itinerants memorize it also?”

He shook his head, then grinned happily. “I can’t speak for all itinerants. But since I was little I have always remembered all the pitches.” He showed her by singing
Iridu
, the first mode, that began on the C pitch.

Wonderful, Theo
, she sent.
Your Gift includes perfect pitch. You will be an easy student.

Thank you, Maestra
, he sent, with a little bow.

Sira’s smile faded.
You must not call me that. I have not earned it.

He raised his eyebrows, but made no further comment. He watched her fingers as she deftly turned the pegs in the neck of the
filhata
, then tried it himself. C was the middle string; from the top to the bottom, the pitches were E, B, F, down to the low C, then up to G, D, and A. Sira showed him the little exercise by which she had learned to check the tuning: C-G, D-A, E-B, F-C. Theo plucked it slowly, carefully, grinning like a small boy with a new toy. He did it again, and again. Sira gave him a new exercise, and he played that one, too, slowly at first, then faster.

After some time, they both sat back, satisfied. Sira had not noticed until that moment that her hands had been on Theo’s guiding them, adjusting their position. His hair brushed her cheek as she leaned close to demonstrate the exercises. She had been too absorbed to notice. It had been exactly as if she were back at Conservatory, with all the Gifted ones with whom she had grown up. Now she felt shy again, realizing, but Theo’s enthusiasm covered any embarrassment.

Play something for me
, he sent.
Something hard!

Sira smiled.
Something hard? I am somewhat out of practice, remember.

But as she took the
filhata
in her hands, automatically checking the tuning once more, the feel of the carved wood and the strings under fingers recalled a melody she had played long ago. She had not held a
filhata
since Maestra Lu’s death, and she found herself full of an emotion she had not yet expressed.

As she began her melody, she forgot where she was. The cold and dark and frustration and anger fell away from her, and she poured her soul into the music, as she used to do before her experiences had changed her life. The air in the little room grew warm and bright, and Theo’s own psi floated with Sira’s in an ecstatic moment of forgetfulness. She felt his mind there with hers, his strength and calm, and the closeness was a great comfort.

When it ended, they were quiet for some moments. Sira drew a deep breath, and Theo closed his eyes. And odd sound from just outside the room made him open them, and they looked at each other in surprise.

It came again, a mewling cry. It sounded like an infant.