The Singers of Nevya (95 page)

Joji dropped his head, and stared down at his boots.

“Mreen!” Berk exclaimed. “You could have frozen, the two of you. It’s dark–and cold!”

Mreen dimpled up at him, and he drew a ragged breath and hugged her close once again. “You kept him warm, didn’t you, you little darling? You got him out of there, and you kept him warm! O Spirit, yours is a strange Gift!”

Berk held out his hand to the little boy. “Better come on over here by the fire, young man,” he said. “Better tell me your name, since this one can’t. You can speak, can’t you?”

Joji took a hesitant step closer, then another. Tentatively, he put his hand in Berk’s. “I can talk,” he said shyly. “My name’s Joji.”

“Joji, is it,” Berk said. “Well, Joji, you’ve had quite a time of it. But it’s nice to have your company. Hungry?”

Joji nodded, and a smile brightened his thin face. “I’m really hungry,” he said.

“Well, then. You just sit here and watch while Mreen and I make the
keftet
. We’re good at it, aren’t we, Mreen?”

Mreen nodded briskly, and ran to the saddlepacks for softwood. Berk watched her go, shaking his head, muttering to himself. He gave a shaky sigh, and looked down at the little boy she had rescued. “Ship and stars,” he muttered. He patted Joji’s shoulder and ruffled his hair before he went to fetch the cooking pot.

Chapter Twenty-six

Cho and Sook lay in a huddle in the half-light. Only the dull shine of Sook’s bare shoulders and the river of darkening blood flowing between them were distinguishible to Zakri and Theo when they thrust the door open. Zakri froze in the doorway, afraid to know whose blood it was that stained the bedfurs. Theo pushed past him to reach for Cho and pull him away from the girl.

The carver was limp and heavy, a dead weight in his hands. Theo grunted as he lifted him, and turned him face up. The knife was still buried in his ribs and it caught on the tangled furs. Sook looked down at it, then at Cho’s sightless eyes, and turned her head away.

Theo pulled one of the furs free to wrap around her nakedness. She searched his face as she accepted his ministrations, her eyes gleaming in the dusk. “Is he dead?” she asked in a breathless voice. “Did I kill him?”

Theo put his fingers under Cho’s jaw, then slipped his hand beneath the loosened tunic, feeling with his palm just below the juncture of the ribs and the breastbone. There was no movement of heart or breath. Sook clutched the fur around her shoulders and wriggled as far away from Cho as she could get, stopping only when she bumped against the wall. Theo thought she looked very young, surely not older than four summers.

“You must not blame yourself,” he told her gently. “He gave you no choice.”

Her protest was no more than a whisper, barely audible. “No, no!” Tension constricted her throat. Her hands, holding the fur, were stiff. “Tell me! Have I killed him?”

Theo had to tell her. He tugged on the sticky bedfurs, pulling them up and over Cho’s inert body. “Yes,” he said. “He is dead.”

She pounded the wall next to her with her fist, making Theo jump. “Thank the Spirit!”

He stared at her, understanding now the fire in her eyes. He had seen the same look on faces of hunters standing over their fresh kill, the hot flush of victory, the blaze of triumph. There was no regret in it.

Zakri found his feet at last and moved close to the bed. He glanced briefly at the mound of Cho’s body, then away. “Sook, are you all right?” His voice cracked.

“Zakri!” She exclaimed. “He’s dead. Cho’s dead. Look at him—”

Zakri pulled back the furs to show Cho’s waxen face. His narrow lips and thin nostrils had gone white. The black eyes that had struck terror into so many were now unmoving and dull, fixed forever on the view beyond the stars. His long braid lay twisted around his neck as if to choke off his last breath. But the knife still protruded from his side, blood drying on the hilt. There was no doubt about what had happened.

Sook had done it. Alone. Zakri could hardly take it in.

She came to her knees, the sheet bunched under her chin. Her stiff muscles now trembled violently. “I’m not sorry,” she said, speaking too fast through dry lips. “I had to do it. He was an awful man, and he was going to hurt me! I’m not sorry, I’m not!”

Zakri stared at her, speechless. It was Theo who reassured her. “Of course you are not,” he said. “You did what you had to do. But it was a hard thing, and frightening. You need some water, and fresh clothes. We can call a Housewoman to help you.”

Sook crawled on her knees to the edge of the bed. “See—” she began. She found the floor with her feet and stood up, clutching the stained furs about her. She took one step toward Zakri.

Her legs collapsed. He caught her just in time to stop her falling to the floor, and swept her up in his arms as he might pick up Mreen. Sook’s head lolled back and her loosened hair cascaded over his arm to brush the floor. Theo came to put his hand under her neck, to support her head as they lay her on the couch in the outer room.

“Stay with her,” Theo told Zakri. “I will finish with—with what has to be done.”

Zakri nodded, and knelt beside Sook, pulling an extra fur from the back of the couch to tuck around her. Theo returned to the bedroom, where Zakri could see him arranging Cho’s long legs, straightening the bloody bedfurs. Theo hesitated briefly with his hand above Cho’s face before he closed the staring eyes with his palm. At last he pulled the bedfurs all the way up over the body, leaving a long, narrow, lifeless mound.

Theo closed the bedroom door firmly and came back to the couch. The room began to brighten around them. Sook stirred and sighed. “What . . .” she whispered. “Where is . . .?” She struggled to sit up, and her eyes went wide as she remembered. She gasped, and cast a horrified glance back at the door to Cho’s bedroom.

“It is all right now,” Zakri said. “It is all over. See, the
quirunha
is going on even now.”

The room was warmer, the chill being pushed back as if swept away by the warm, bright air that replaced it. Sook looked from Zakri to Theo and back again. Her chin began to tremble.

“Oh, Zakri,” she cried. “I—I killed Cho, didn’t I? I took his knife, and I—”

Zakri repeated, “It is all right, Sook! It is over now.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. She tried to speak again, but her words dissolved in a torrent of tears. He knelt helplessly before her as she sobbed.

I do think, Cantor Zakri
, Theo sent to him,
that it will not compromise your Gift to comfort the girl. She has had a terrible experience, and there is no one else here for her.

Zakri cast Theo a grateful glance, then gingerly put his arms around Sook. She threw both arms around his neck, and wept out her loneliness and fear and horror. He held her, patting her shoulder, stroking her tumbled hair. The House warmed around them and the sounds of shouting and running feet in the corridors died away. By the time Sook’s tears were spent, Soren was as bright as morning, and warmer than it had been for many months.

Theo left the apartment, returning just as Sook was wiping her face and trying to reorder the mass of her hair. “The House members have seen to the rest of them,” he said obliquely.

Zakri stood up. He bent to rub his knees, which had grown stiff on the chill stone of the floor. “Are we needed, then?”

“Not for that. Sira would like us to come to the Cantoris—Cantrix Elnor is there.”

“Good news,” Zakri said. “Sook, shall we fetch a Housewoman for you?”

She shook her head, still shuddering slightly with the aftermath of weeping. “I have clothes, in there,” she told him, pointing to the little bedroom which had been her prison. “I just need a moment. But I don’t want to be alone!” She gave an involuntary glance at the closed bedroom door. “Will you wait for me?”

“Of course we will,” Theo assured her.

When Sook had gone into the bedroom, Theo and Zakri went to the window and looked out into the night. The unkempt state of the courtyard was made clear by the generous spill from Sira’s
quiru
.

What have they done with the others?
Zakri asked.

They have rounded them up like wild
hruss
and stabled them in the carvery,
Theo said.
No one else was hurt.

Do they know about Sook? About Cho?

I told them only that he was dead.

Sook’s door opened. She emerged dressed in a brilliant scarlet tunic and dark trousers. She had brushed her hair into a fresh binding, and scrubbed her face. Her eyes and lips were swollen and red, but she tossed her head as she looked back at the little bedroom. “I never want to see those walls again.” Her voice was shaky, but growing stronger. “I’ve had enough of being a prisoner!”

Theo bowed to her, smiling. “So be it,” he said. “May you live the rest of your life as free as the
urbear
on the Glacier!”

Sook managed a tremulous smile at him.

Together the three of them left the apartment and walked down the corridor to the broad staircase. The weeks of poor heat and light had left their mark in pockets of creeping mold and mildew that festered in corners and crevices. Dust and dirt lay everywhere, but the House members, pale and thin though they were, smiled and chattered, lively in their relief. They waved to Sook, and bowed to Theo and Zakri as they passed.

Zakri looked to his left when he reached the foot of the stairs. The carvery door was closed, bolted on the outside. Several House members stood guard before it. There were decisions to be made, reparations and punishments to be decided upon, but Zakri hoped those functions could be left to some other authority. Now that Sook was safe, and Soren free of its despot, he wanted only to return to his own House as soon as possible. He missed his own Cantoris, Cantor Gavn, even the sour Cantor Ovan.

In the Cantoris, Sira was still on the dais, a borrowed
filhata
in her lap. Cantrix Elnor, slight and gray-haired and weak, sat on one of the benches, facing her. A number of carvers were seated around Elnor at a respectful distance. They now sat, smiling, but keeping a watchful eye.

The
quiru
was complete. Sook, Theo and Zakri walked together up the aisle to the dais. Sira’s brows rose at the sight of blood on Theo’s clothes. He sent swiftly,
I will explain it all later.

She stepped down from the dais to bow formally before the elder Cantrix. “Cantrix Elnor, I present to you Cantor Theo v’Observatory.” Theo bowed also.

Elnor inclined her head. Her neck trembled slightly, and there was no color in her wrinkled cheeks, but she smiled. “I am glad to meet you, Cantor,” she said. “And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming to the aid of my House.”

“Glad to be of help,” Theo responded. “And pleased to see you well.”

She shrugged delicately. “Well enough. I will be better soon.”

“And this,” Sira began, holding out her hand to Zakri. “This is Cantor Zakri v’Amric—”

She was interrupted by an outburst from Sook. “No! It’s not true!”

Zakri turned to her, stricken. “Sook! I could not tell you before—it was not safe, but—”

Sook’s eyes blazed and her cheeks turned pink. “How could you let me think—let me feel—oh, be damned to you!” She whirled and ran from the Cantoris, leaving the Cantors and the carvers to look after her, dumbfounded.

Sira and Theo stared at Zakri. His cheeks flamed, and then paled.

“What have I done?” he begged them. “And what am I to do now?”

Sira had no answer. Theo said, “My friend, I think you had better go after her. She is hurt, and angry, but she needs to hear your explanation just the same.”

Zakri looked at Cantrix Elnor, who watched the scene in confusion. The carvers around her exchanged glances and shifted uneasily in their seats. One of them rose as if to follow Sook, then sat down again.

Cantrix Sira,
Zakri sent desperately.
I had no intention of deceiving the girl. I meant only to protect her.

Sira answer was sympathetic.
I never doubted you, Zakri! But you must tell her that.

Zakri bowed to Elnor and to Sira, and hurried up the aisle. Theo watched him go with a wry grin.
There is always one more surprise,
he sent to Sira.

Even for you,
she answered.

Oh, yes?
He folded his arms and cocked his head to one side.
I can hardly wait.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Zakri found Sook in the kitchens, where they had first met, when she served him tea at the long, knife-scarred table under Mura’s critical eye. Now Mura was gone, and Sook kept her back to him, fixing her gaze on the darkness beyond the window. He knew she was hiding her wet face and reddened eyes.

“Sook,” he said softly. “I did not mean to deceive you. It never occurred to me—I mean, I never thought—”

Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, and her shoulders slumped forward.

“Sook, please. Will you not speak with me, let me explain?”

She shook her head, and choked on a tiny sob. His heart ached with hers, and the air around him glinted with random flecks of darkness as he struggled for control. “Oh, Sook, listen to me,” he pleaded. He was horrified to hear his own voice shake. He gulped. “Listen! We are friends, are we not?”

She spoke harshly, her voice rough with tears. “We were friends. You lied to me!”

“I never did.”

“You let me think—you let me believe you were an itinerant, a working man, one of us!”

“I protected you. It was not safe for you to know what I was.”

“I can take care of myself!” she snapped.

“Yes, I know.” Suddenly weary beyond bearing, Zakri flung himself into a chair and buried his head in his hands. Sook glanced over her shoulder at him, and fresh tears welled.

“I thought—I hoped that you and I would be—” she stammered. She turned back to the window, unable to finish.

“I see that now,” he said. “But I did not understand it before. You must understand that I do not—I never think of myself in that way. The Cantoris—the
filhata
—these are my life. To give them up, after working so hard to earn them, would be the greatest sacrifice of all.”