The Singers of Nevya (75 page)

He lifted his hand to his two itinerants, now recovered, and went to the open door. The Singer Shiro met him there.

“Cho!” he cried. “They’re gone! The Singer Zakri and his courier!
Hruss
, tack, everything, gone!”

Sook’s heart thumped suddenly in her breast, and she kept her eyes down.

Very slowly, Cho turned back from the door. Sook held her breath as his fur-booted feet came to stand before her once again.

“What have you done, little Sook?” he said, his voice no more than a whisper. “You think you can play grown-up games? Do you want to play with me?”

He seized her arm again, only this time there was no pulling away. He held it tightly, at the same time deliberately pressing the back of his hard hand into the softness of her breast. Sook looked up at him, and a wave of revulsion swept her, stronger than her fear. He laughed, and she knew he had felt it, read it from her. Her skin prickled as she realized that he liked it.

“Cho!” Mura spoke up boldly, but Sook heard the tremor in her voice. “It’s my fault—it was my idea!” the older woman insisted.

“It doesn’t matter.” Cho didn’t even turn his head as he answered. “Little Sook here will help me understand. She’ll be telling me all about it!” He propelled Sook toward the door.

One of his itinerants stepped forward, saying uneasily, “Cho, don’t you think—couldn’t you—”

Cho paused for the barest moment. His eyes narrowed and his chin rose as he looked down his nose at the man. He didn’t speak.

The itinerant stumbled back, and fell hard to his knees. His fellow Singer jumped to his side, catching him before he could collapse all the way. Without aid, he would surely have struck his head against the side of the workbench. Cho thrust Sook forward then, through the door, past the watching, silent House members. She cast a last look over her shoulder at the itinerant. He was unconscious, his body limp, his features slack.

Mura ran after them, crying, “Cho! Let her go!”

She caught up with them in the corridor, and took hold of Cho’s sleeve. He stopped once more. With a jerk that Sook felt, too, he pulled his arm free of Mura’s hand.

“Woman,” he said flatly, “if you ever touch me again, I’ll kill that halfwit son of yours.”

Mura stepped back, haltingly, turning helpless eyes to Sook. Sook turned her face away to hide her own terror. “It’s all right, Mura,” she heard herself say. “I’ll be all right.” Some part of her marveled. Where did the courage come from? It was for Zakri, that was the answer. She had done it for Zakri.

Cho dragged her up the broad staircase and down the long corridor to the Magister’s apartment. Several itinerants in the hall watched dumbly as he pulled her inside, and kicked the door shut behind them.

In the Timberlands that night, in the mouth of Ogre Pass, Zakri woke trembling and sweating in his bedfurs, driven from sleep by an awful dream. He had seen an
urbear
dragging Sook off across the Great Glacier. She screamed for his help, and he tried to run to her, feet dragging in the heavy snow, but he could not reach her.

Sira had taught him that the dreams of the Gifted are never to be ignored. But what could he do about this one? O Spirit, he prayed, watch over Sook. Keep her safe until I can return.

Chapter Nine

In the eight years that had passed since Theo’s last visit to Conservatory, Magister Mkel seemed to have aged four summers. Theo bowed low to him, hiding his concern at Mkel’s appearance. He knew that Mkel’s shielding would shut out all but the strongest emotions. Just the same, Theo had no wish to offend.

Mreen and Theo had come directly to the Magister’s apartment on their arrival, leaving Morys to stable the
hruss
. Mreen, suddenly bashful, hid herself behind Theo as he greeted Mkel and his mate, Cathrin.

Mkel’s gray hair had grown white, and so thin that his scalp showed through. The skin of his face sagged, and was darkened in patches as if he, whose duties rarely allowed for travel outside his House, had been riding in the cold and sun. Cathrin was still plump and pink-cheeked, her white hair thick and beautifully bound. She stood close to her mate, one hand on the back of his chair as if she could support him through its ironwood.

“Magister Mkel,” Theo said formally, speaking aloud for Cathrin’s sake. “Observatory sends you greetings, and a student for Conservatory.”

Mreen peeked around Theo’s leg, showing only one green eye and a tumble of hair mussed into an auburn cloud by her
caeru
hood.

Cathrin smiled down at her. “Welcome to our House, dear. Won’t you say hello?”

Mreen vanished immediately behind Theo, her small hands clutching at his trousers, her face buried in the furs he still wore.

Mkel spoke slowly, as if he did not quite understand. “Observatory sends a student?” His voice was cracked and hoarse, and Theo was certain he must be ill. But this was Conservatory! Surely someone here could heal him.

Theo bowed once again. “It is true, Magister.” He stepped aside so that Mreen was visible, and he urged her forward with a gentle hand. The
quiru
at Conservatory was bright, but still Mreen’s little halo shone distinctly, darkling now in places because of her shyness. Cathrin took a small sharp breath.

“My goodness,” she murmured. “What is this, Singer?”

Mreen tipped her round face up to Theo.
Why does she call you Singer?
she demanded.
Does she not know you are a Cantor?

When I was last here, I was only Singer,
Theo sent back to her.

Mkel said, “Cantor? What does she mean?”

“Who?” Cathrin asked.

“It is this child, Cathrin,” Mkel told her. “She wants us to call Theo Cantor.”

Cathrin held up her hands, confused. “Please,” she complained. “Will one of you tell me what’s happening? Surely the child doesn’t already send?”

Mreen did not release her grip on Theo, but her usual ebullience was returning, and her eyes shone brightly up at the old couple.
Theo is Cantor,
she sent firmly, and very clearly, as if perhaps Mkel could not hear so well.
He has been Cantor Theo v’Observatory these five years! Did you not know?

The heavy lines of Mkel’s face lifted, and Theo recognized a bit of the spirit and good nature he remembered.

Mkel said, “No, child, I did not know.” He leaned forward in his chair to meet Mreen’s eyes. “I do not know you, either. What is your name?”

Mreen frowned up at Theo.
Cantor Theo, can he not send?

Before Theo could respond, Mkel sent,
Of course I can! But my mate, Cathrin, is not Gifted. Can you not speak?

Mreen shook her head.
No.

“Excuse me, Magister,” Theo hastened to say. “And Cathrin. I had better explain. It is rather complicated.”

“So it must be,” Cathrin said. “Well, it’s been a long time since I heard one of your stories, Singer . . . Theo! Oh, I hardly know what to call you.” She bustled about, bringing chairs forward, signalling to a Housewoman to bring refreshments. “At least sit down, and have something to drink and to eat.”

The Housewoman brought a tray with tidbits of nuts encased in dried fruit, and Cathrin held it out to Mreen. “Do try something, child,” she said with a smile. “And don’t worry—we’re going to work it all out.”

Mreen happily seized a sweet morsel, and wriggled up into a chair to sit crosslegged, munching. When Theo was also settled with a cup of tea in his hand, Cathrin herself sat down. Mkel watched Mreen throughout all the preparations, his eyebrows rising as her little cloud of light brightened and shifted with her mood. Wisps of curly hair wafted about her face.

“I have never seen such a one,” he murmured.

Theo said gently, “Magister Mkel . . . this is Mreen. She is Isbel’s daughter.”

Cathrin put her hand to her breast, and then to her cheek. Mreen saw her, and caught her mood. The light around her darkened, and a shadow seemed to float through it, crossing her face. Cathrin bit her lip, and reached for the tray of fruit again. “Never mind, child,” she said. “It is past.” The little girl dimpled at Cathrin as she took another sweet.

“Mreen came to Observatory with Cantrix Sira last summer,” Theo went on. “I know you have reservations about what we have done there, Magister,” with a polite nod, “but we have done what we must. I am not Conservatory-trained, though I would have liked to be; but I serve now as Cantor in Observatory’s Cantoris, and we—Sira and I—are teaching four other Gifted children there.”

“So many!” Cathrin breathed.

“Indeed. And one, Trisa, has already performed her first
quirunha
.”

Mkel leaned on one arm of his chair, chin cupped in his hand, and regarded Mreen. Theo kept his mind respectfully shielded, but his shields were not what Mkel’s were, and the older man’s emotions seeped through. Sadness, regret, and self-reproach had been dragging at Mkel for a long time. They had aged him, worn him down like the waves of the Frozen Sea wear away the rocks of the coast.

“Theo—Cantor Theo,” he said slowly. Theo knew what a great effort it was for Mkel to use the title. All his precepts, all the discipline by which he had lived his life, were challenged by it. Theo sensed his attempt to find a footing, to choose a path that would reconcile his past and this present. All the ground beneath him must seem to be shifting and crumbling like talus at the foot of a cliff.

Theo said quietly, “At least at Observatory I am Cantor Theo.”

“Of course,” Mkel answered. He straightened in his chair. “And so you should be here. Cantor Theo, I failed Cantrix Isbel. I can never forget it. I failed Cantrix Sira, as well. I am hard put to understand why Observatory should have so much of the Gift and the Houses of the Continent so little.”

“It is what we are all trying to understand,” Theo said tactfully.

“But Sira seems to know—she was so sure!”

“Sira has insights only the Gift can explain,” Theo murmured. He wished he could say more to ease Mkel’s self-reproach, but, he thought ruefully, the insights were mostly Sira’s.

Mreen had eaten her fill of sweets. She knelt in the big chair, diffidence forgotten, and gazed intensely at Mkel.
Why do you have a mate, and the other Gifted do not?

It is tradition
, he answered her.
The Magister of Conservatory takes a mate, because he has no Cantoris of his own, and because his mate acts as mother to all the children who come here to study.

Theo was impressed by the immediacy and directness of the answer, but Mreen seemed to take it quite for granted.
And so I will never have a mate?

Do you wish to be a full Cantrix, and play the
filhata
on the dais, to perform the
quirunha
?

The little girl squirmed, and her halo of light glittered joyously.
So I do! Oh, so I do!

Mkel smiled once more, but Theo felt his weariness like a stone in his mind. Mkel’s shoulders were bowed by the weight of it, his body tired by what his mind could not push away.

Cathrin leaned toward Mreen. “Are you full now, dear? Would you like to bathe?”

Mreen nodded.

“Can you not answer me, Mreen?” Cathrin asked, not yet understanding.

Mreen shook her head, very deliberately.

Cathrin’s eyes filled with bright tears. “Oh, Theo,” she said softly. “She can’t talk at all? Not a word?”

“No,” he responded. “She has never spoken aloud in her life, or cried, or laughed.”

The tears spilled over Cathrin’s pink cheeks, and Mreen jumped down from her chair and ran to stand beside her. She patted Cathrin’s hand, then looked over her shoulder at Theo.

Cantor Theo,
she sent,
please tell the lady not to be sad, because I am not
.
Tell her about my Gift, and tell her not to cry!

“Cathrin,” Theo said, “Mreen sends that she is not unhappy, nor should you be. Her Gift is very strong, and that is why she is here. She wanted this very much, to come here to study.”

“Will she sing?” Mkel asked.

“We think not. But, as you see . . .” Theo had to grin at Mreen’s small figure and its nimbus of light that now glowed with sympathy as she gazed up at Cathrin. “She has no difficulty making
quiru
.”

Cathrin, the mate of the Magister of Conservatory, held a unique position on Nevya. She was the one unGifted person on the Continent whose life was surrounded and saturated by the Gift. She gave a pragmatic sigh now, and held out her hand to Mreen.

“Wait for just a moment, Cathrin,” Mkel said. With difficulty, he stood and shuffled to a cabinet nearby. The others watched and waited as he dug in it, reaching far to the back for something. In a moment he returned to his chair, sitting down with a grunt, as if the effort had tired him further. He held a leather-wrapped object in his hand, something small and narrow.

Mreen?
he sent, smiling a little at the child.
Will you come here to me?

Mreen glanced up at Cathrin and then gently freed her hand and walked slowly to Mkel.

Mkel held out the little package.
I would like you to have this, child,
he sent. He leaned back wearily in his chair to watch her unwrap the folds of soft
caeru
hide.

A
filla
lay inside. It was small, inset with tiny bits of metal at each stop. It was worn to shiny smoothness by generations of fingers. Mreen wrapped her fingers around it and lifted it. She closed her eyes, and Theo held his breath.

After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked hard at Mkel.
It is a very old
filla, she sent to him.

Indeed it is, Mreen,
he answered.
I would like you to have it.

She looked to Theo as if for permission. He could only lift one shoulder.
Mreen, I believe this is between you and Magister Mkel.

She turned back to Mkel and dimpled.
Thank you,
she sent simply.
I like it much better than my own. I will send mine back to Observatory, and I will play this one!

Mkel smiled.
It has not been played in a very long time,
he sent.
Not since I became Magister of Conservatory.