The Singers of Nevya (36 page)

Magister Edrus spoke. “We are expecting a visitor within the week. Cantrix Sharn, senior Cantrix of Lamdon, will be coming here, is in fact traveling to all the Houses.”

Isbel raised her head. “Cantrix Sharn? That is a surprise!”

Edrus smiled. “A pleasant surprise, don’t you think?”

Isbel felt her cheeks warm, and she had to resist the urge to press her palms to them. “Yes, of course, Magister. It is just that my friend, that is, Cantrix Sira said—Well, I would have thought Cantrix Sharn perhaps too frail for such a trip.”

Sira had admired Sharn very much. On her ill-fated trip to Lamdon, Sharn had been kind to Sira, and impressed her with her perceptiveness. Only their old teacher, Maestra Lu, had exceeded Cantrix Sharn in Sira’s estimation, and Isbel knew that was no small achievement. It had never been an easy thing to win Sira’s admiration.

Edrus said, “It’s true, Cantrix Sharn is not strong. But she’s concerned about the shortage of Singers, as we all are, and she felt it necessary to make a tour of all the Houses. In any case, it’s a great pleasure to have her among us, even for so grave a purpose.”

“So it is, Magister,” Isbel agreed politely.

Cael said, “The itinerant’s message included you, Cantrix Isbel.”

“Me? But I have never met Cantrix Sharn.”

“She especially asked to see you.”

“I wonder why,” Isbel mused. “I am only a junior, after all. Nobody. I wonder what it can be?”

Cantor Ovan pursed his lips and interrupted her. “It is an honor for you, of course.”

Isbel colored again, and looked at her senior guiltily, as if she had done something wrong. “Oh, yes, I know, Cantor Ovan,” she said in a small voice. “I am—” She just stopped herself from saying, I am just curious. The Singer Theo had teased her about her curiosity. “I am looking forward to meeting her,” she amended. “Of course.”

Magister Edrus smiled warmly. “I’m sure you are. And so am I.” He gestured to his Houseman to offer the tray of nursery fruits again. “Now tell me, Cantrix Isbel, how are you finding our House? I hope you’ll tell us if there’s anything you need.”

Isbel tried to answer properly, while the greater part of her mind seethed with questions and anticipation. Cantrix Sharn v’Lamdon, coming here! It was a great event. Except for Cantor Ovan and one weepy four-year-old, Sharn would be the first Gifted person Isbel had seen since she had left Conservatory. They would talk perhaps, share their thoughts. And what business could Sharn have with Isbel, surely the most junior Cantrix on the Continent? Isbel could hardly wait to find out.

The senior Cantrix of the Magistral House of Lamdon arrived at Amric with the largest traveling party Isbel had ever seen. Twelve riders and no less than three itinerant Singers accompanied her. She herself did not ride
hruss
, but traveled in comfort in a softly padded
pukuru
drawn smoothly over the snow on bone runners. Upon her arrival she was helped from the sled and up Amric’s broad steps with the greatest delicacy and respect. Her furs swathed her completely, so that during the welcoming ceremony her face was all but invisible. Only indoors, in the great room, did she put back her hood and show herself.

Isbel drew a delighted breath. Sharn was beautiful, with hair as white as the snow that fell on the Glacier, before it hardened into the firn, and with skin almost as pale. She reminded Isbel of an ancient song half remembered:

. . . WHITE ON WHITE,

SNOW ON SNOW,

S
NOW FALLS EVERMORE ON SNOW . . .

The lines of her cheeks seemed deeply tooled, as if by one of Amric’s artisans, and she was as slight and thin as a child.

She was also, Isbel realized, very ill.

When Isbel was presented to her, Cantrix Sharn did something no one had done for many months. She came forward and embraced the younger Cantrix, laying her cold white fingers against Isbel’s warm cheeks.
I am so glad to meet you at last. Your friend Sira spoke to me about you.

Isbel’s eyes filled with tears, both of gratitude for the physical contact, and of sorrow for her friend.
Thank you, Cantrix Sharn
.

Sharn nodded, as if she understood exactly what Isbel was thanking her for. Isbel saw why Sira had so admired the older Cantrix, and a quick warmth sprang up in her breast. This was indeed the sort of person to inspire devotion.

After I have rested
, Sharn sent, her eyes on Isbel’s as if no one else was in the room at that moment,
we will talk.

While Sharn went on to greet Cantor Ovan, Isbel turned quickly to find the Housekeeper. He stood watchfully by the doors to the great room, and she hurried to him.

“Housekeeper,” she said in a low tone. “The Cantrix is exhausted and ill. She must rest immediately.”

The Housekeeper bowed to her without question. Moments later, Cantrix Sharn’s party had dispersed, and the Cantrix and her own Housewoman were led straight to their apartment. Isbel watched these proceedings with gratified surprise. As she made her way to her own room, Cael returned and bowed to her again. “Cantrix Sharn would like to see you privately later on. Shall I suggest the
ubanyix,
Cantrix?”

Isbel inclined her head in agreement. Cantor Ovan was only a few steps away, and she felt a wave of irritation flood from him. She caught her lip between her teeth, suppressing a giggle. After all, did Cantor Ovan expect to bathe with Lamdon’s senior Cantrix? It really was very childish of him to be resentful. And whatever was wrong with him that he could not shield his emotions better than that?

She sobered then, reflecting that Cantrix Sharn was far more than Lamdon’s senior Cantrix. She was senior to all the Cantors and Cantrixes, indeed even the itinerant Singers, of the entire Continent. And she wanted to see Isbel, herself, and privately. Isbel hurried to the
ubanyix
, drawing her
filla
out of her tunic as she went. She would warm the water, check that there were fresh towels and cakes of soap, make sure all was at its best when Cantrix Sharn came to bathe.

The elderly Cantrix looked more frail than ever without the bulk of her furs and clothing. Only her eyes seemed vital, shining brightly from her pale and wrinkled face. She sighed with relief as she sank into the steaming water of the
ubanyix.

I am not the traveler I once was, Isbel. It exhausts me.

I am sorry, Cantrix Sharn
. Isbel was careful with her thoughts, pushing her curiosity aside. It was difficult. She loved a story, and there was one here, waiting to be told.

How are you finding your assignment to Amric?

It is going well enough, I suppose,
Isbel sent cautiously.
I am not a great healer, I am afraid. But I think the
quirunha
are all right.

Sharn smiled, and trailed her long white fingers in the water.
Healing is so very difficult. It takes a long time to learn. Be patient.

I am patient, Cantrix
, Isbel could not resist telling her.
My senior is not! It would seem I have not been much help to him.

Sharn still smiled.
I remember Cantor Ovan from earlier days. Do not worry. I am sure he is pleased enough with you.

Isbel let the subject drop. Her senior had certainly not indicated satisfaction with her in any way. But, then, it did not seem important at this moment. It was a joy to lie lazily in the hot water, talking with another Singer in almost as relaxed a fashion as she had once talked with her classmates at Conservatory.

I sat just so, in the
ubanyix
at Lamdon,
Sharn sent,
with your good friend Cantrix Sira. Just after the last summer, that was. Almost three years ago. A remarkable Singer.

Isbel sighed.
I miss her.

Even more importantly, my dear,
Sharn sent, putting her thin fingers on Isbel’s plump ones,
Nevya misses her.

Sharn leaned back against the carved edge of the tub. Her white hair trailed limply in the water and her scalp looked pale and vulnerable through its wetness. She closed her eyes, as if their conversation was almost too tiring.

Isbel felt her weariness, felt her own shoulders bowed down by the weight of concerns Sharn carried. The old Cantrix’s eyes opened suddenly and looked directly into Isbel’s.
Do you sense everyone’s feelings at all times, Isbel? You must shield yourself from so much emotion.

Isbel flushed.
I do try, Cantrix Sharn. It is hard at times.

Of course it is.
Sharn closed her eyes again.
But you must do it, or you will not be able to work.

Isbel remembered Maestra Lu admonishing her on this same subject, though not so gently. She had told Sira about it, and Sira had looked puzzled, not understanding the need. Sira would never have been so weak. Her shielding never wavered. Her concentration and control were absolute.

Yes, Isbel, Sira was very strong.
Sharn had followed her thought with much delicacy, and Isbel had no sense that her privacy had been violated.
Your Gift is different from your friend’s, but no less precious.

Has Lamdon given up hope for Sira?
Isbel dreaded the answer.

We have lost three Singers. An itinerant named Jon, another named Theo, and Cantrix Sira. We have not given up hope, because we cannot. Nevya needs every Singer if we are to survive.

It was an answer, but not an answer. Isbel remembered the last time she had seen Sira, in the
ubanyix
at Conservatory. Sira had made Isbel cut her hair, and Isbel had wept as her friend’s long dark tresses had fallen away. Sira had shed no tears, though she had been so unhappy.

If only, Isbel mused, I had argued with her, gone to Magister Mkel. Sira had been so bitter over Maestra Lu’s death, and over her failure at Bariken . . .

Again Sharn followed her thought.
There was nothing you could have done, Isbel. You could not change what happened to your friend. You must grieve, and go on.

It troubles me, Cantrix Sharn, that I have never known what happened to Sira. What was so terrible that she would leave the Cantoris forever? And risk her life in doing it?

Ah, Isbel . . .
Sharn hesitated.

You are thinking I could not bear it. Sira thought that. She did not want me to have her memories, she said. But I loved her.

Yes, I understand. But what happened to Sira was so terrible, so tragic. She did not want you to carry the burden as she had to bear it.

I would rather know,
Isbel answered.

Sharn smiled sadly. Aloud she said, “I will tell you, Isbel, but in words. Shield yourself.”

Isbel nodded solemnly. She did shield herself, but there was pain just the same. A terrible thing had happened to her friend.

Choosing the most prosaic words, Sharn told her the story. An intrigue at the House of Bariken, with a plot on its Magister’s life, had caught Sira in its web. She had very nearly been killed along with the rest of the Magister’s party. Her great Gift and her iron will had saved her, but she had killed a man with a hunting knife, and sent a Gifted woman over the brink of sanity into mindlessness. The man’s death had not troubled her, because he had meant to take Sira’s life. It was the other tragedy, the obliteration of another’s mind, the misuse of her Gift, that had haunted Sira most.

Isbel shivered in the warm water, thinking of the Houseman Donel injured by the wild boy Zakri. “Poor Sira,” she murmured. “She would not even open her mind to me.”

Sharn was silent for a long time, and their memories of Sira hung between them in the quiet of the
ubanyix
. At last Sharn stirred and began to rise from the water. Isbel jumped up to help, holding the elderly Cantrix’s thin arm, reaching for towels to wrap around her.

We will talk privately again, my dear,
Sharn sent wearily.
Now, please call my Housewoman. I must try to sleep.

With a heavy heart and confused thoughts, Isbel did as Sharn asked. When the senior Cantrix was dressed and her hair rebound, she left the
ubanyix
, leaving Isbel to sit alone for a long time, wrapped in a towel, her damp hair hanging loosely on her shoulders. She bestirred herself only when Yula came looking for her. Other Housewomen were waiting outside, forbidden the
ubanyix
while Lamdon’s senior Cantrix was using it.

Isbel tried to speak pleasantly to Yula, but she felt a great weight upon her. The evening’s discussion would bring more worries, she was sure. And if Lamdon had stopped searching for Sira, she must do something, think of something. She could not—she would not—believe her friend was gone for always.

I will not let them forget, she promised herself. Until we know for sure, they must look for her, and so I will tell Cantrix Sharn.

In her heart, though, Isbel knew that it was an easy thing for a person to disappear on the Contintent. The dangers were many, and the Houses far apart. If Sira’s body lay under the eternal snows somewhere in the Mariks, it might never be discovered in Isbel’s lifetime. The thought of living with endless loneliness and vain hope was more than she could bear. Something, surely, must lighten the prospect of the years ahead of her. Isbel prayed fervently to the Spirit of Stars that it might be so.

Chapter Five

Trisa, in a bright green tunic, her curly hair neatly bound, stood on a thick rug in Magister Edrus’s apartment and smiled up at Cantrix Sharn where she sat in an elaborately carved chair. Isbel thought they made a wonderful sight, the little Gifted child and the pale white-haired woman holding her hand. Brnwen stood stony-eyed behind her daughter, and Isbel felt her effort to control her emotions. Trisa’s father looked stiff and uncomfortable, awed into silence by being in the Magister’s private rooms. When Cantrix Sharn released Trisa’s hand, the child’s face clouded.

“More,” she said, pouting. “Send more!”

Cantrix Sharn smiled down at her, then up at her mother. “There will be more–much more, Trisa, in your future,” she said gently. The wave of Brnwen’s sadness swept over Isbel, and she drew a sharp breath. Sharn glanced at her, and shook her head slightly. Isbel stared at the tips of her boots, ashamed of her weakness.