Читать книгу Soul-Singer of Tyrnos - Ardath Mayhar - Страница 4

Chapter One

For the Last Time

When the chime rang for the last time, there was stillness. In the stone building that housed the Singers, the three notes rippled up the curving stairwells, fanned along the corridors. I felt my own breath stop for a heartbeat. From this day for­ward, my life and those of my fellows would be changed totally.

I moved through the door-curtain and found myself among others who were robed in gray, as I was. The long folds billowed about us as we hurried silently down the stair to the Great Hall. For the last time, for the last time, I thought, as we poured through the doors in a gray tide and went to our knees on our kneeling-cushions.

As usual there was a long wait. I found myself studying the great map that followed the curve of the wall behind the tall chairs where the Teachers would sit. All the world of Riahith was drawn upon it, though in these latter days there are none who sail across the vast oceans to visit the continents that rim their other shores. Our own lands centered the map, and I found myself wondering what my own path through them would be, when we were given our assigned directions.

The ragged triangle of Malchion capped the continent, straggling upward into the Northern Seas, then widening downward to meet the mountains that divide it from our own Tyrnos. Our country bulged outward from the mountains to the sea, covering the western third of the landmass. Scarlet circles marked the four great cities that serve our sparsely populated country: Sarnos, to westward; Lilion, guarding the eastern border, high in the mountains between Tyrnos and Ageron, the land to the East; the Citadel, home of the High King, to the south and east of our own location; Langlorn, on the southern sea.

Where would my own paths lie? That thought, I knew, lay in all our hearts. We knelt, a floor-full of young men and women, quiet and disciplined. Yet our minds were already casting outward, wondering what labors lay before us to test the long schooling that we had been given.

There was a change in the pressure of the air around us. All stood in one effortless upward thrust of trained muscles. The three Eldest appeared behind their chairs as if by magic, so soundless had been their steps. Elysias, the Director, took her place in the center and touched the silver bell that hung in its half-moon frame. Its “ting!” sent us to our knees again, as Amos sat himself to her left and Sirna to her right.

The voice of Elysias floated quietly upward, as we touched our fingers to our knees and bent our heads. “Once again we have completed a Training,” she sang, “Most High Gods, whose thought forms our world and all its fellows, look upon your new instruments and servants. They have come through years and trials and disciplines, leaving behind all that they were, all that they had. Even their names they now leave behind them, that they may not be tempted to glorify themselves.”

Our voices joined hers, now, in affirmation, the harmonies finding themselves effortlessly, from long custom. Then the note died away. Amos touched the bell. “After so many years, you know your duties. Yet I shall define them once again, for the final time. Yours is the task of keeping Tyrnos a place of justice, of mercy, of good conscience. When you sing the soul of a noble, it hangs there for all his folk to see in its uprightness or its evil. If a soul revealed to be wicked remains unmended, the High King is empowered to remove its owner from his place or authority and to replace him with another.

“When you sing the soul of a landholder, the same holds true. When you sing the souls of common folk, laborers or serving women or bondsmen, it is given to you to set their small warpings aright. You are not allowed to refuse the request of anyone. You are not allowed to pass any Great House without presenting yourself for a Singing of its Lord or Lady. And that Lord or Lady is not allowed to refuse your offer.

“Ours is the strangest calling in all the world of Riahith. No other land is conducted by the laws that rule us. No other folk produce those who, like you, are gifted with the Voice that links you with the High Gods. You have given up much. You are offered more.” His voice stilled, and we hummed a note of acceptance.

Sirna touched the bell. Her voice took up the tale. “The gods have many servants,” she said. “Common folk serve them, though less knowingly than we. The living trees, the very grasses of the meadow serve them. Beasts serve them. Scorn no aid that is offered you, whatever the source. Remember that we who teach you do not know all that is to be known of the gods and their kindred. A few of us, over the long years, have encountered beings who are of the gods. She who was once Soul-Singer to the High King set into the record that above us is placed the One Who Watches All, who is neither man nor woman, human nor beast.

“Take thought for those who seem strange or alien. Though it has been known that Outsiders have touched our world, those who are truly alien to us have not been met for many lives of men. Those who serve the gods will touch a note of gladness in your hearts.”

Now Elysias rose to her feet, her blue robe with its silver Symbol flowing outward from her shoulders. Her voice deep with reverence, she said, “In every generation, one Singer is chosen by the gods for some terrible task. Often it is a task that we, who should be of the Wise, have not recognized as important. Seldom do the gods choose as we would choose, but their choice has never failed them.

“We who are Singers stand between our land and all its perils. Tyrnos needs no devices, for it has its Singers. Tyrnos has no army, for it has its Singers. Tyrnos needs no tight web of governors and enforcers, for it has its Singers. Every day we hold our land safe and strong and secure. Feel no shame if your calling is only that which comes to the common run. But if you are summoned to other tasks, feel no pride. It is simply your duty.”

She touched the silver bell once again, and when its thin voice had died away the chairs were empty.

Then the map was lighted from within. My breath tightened in my throat. Now the time had come for each Singer to be given his direction. Tension filled the air as the first name was called, and a golden arrow shone on the map. Southwest, toward Sarnos and the Ocean. Another, and another, and another received their arrows. As each was directed, he or she rose and left the hall. Our ranks grew thinner. My name caught my ear, and I gazed at the map. North by east lay my path, then.

No cities lay in my way; not even any large towns were there. Only farmsteads and lordly holdings, forests and grasslands, almost-emptiness. Still I felt little disappointment. I was small; my voice was not yet powerful. I knew myself to be ignorant of many things. I had not expected to be sent to a great city.

I went straight to my sleeping mat. When I pushed aside the curtain to enter, I stopped in surprise, for Elysias herself stood in my narrow space. My mat was rolled away, and it its place was a small pack. Beside it were the leather tunic and trousers that all of my kind wore into the world, with a pair of heavy shoes beside them.

“I have come, Yeleeve, because I am compelled to,” she said. “My thought has been with you since my finger first touched the bell. It is in my mind that you might be the Chosen of this generation, though why this should be I can­not imagine. Many of your class are finer Singers than you. Most are larger and stronger. Yet your name rings in my heart.

“If this be true, I must give you further instruction and ad­vice. Know, Child, that while the gods can be tangible and human-like, as you have been taught, they are much more than that fact would make it seem. They are not bound by flesh, as we are. They know more worlds than this, and our limited dimensions cannot hold them. They are outside time. They are not, in fact, physical beings, though they can seem so.”

I opened my mouth to question, but she raised her hand. “Wait. I am not done. Their ways are unlike our own. They may set you a task, but they will not make it easy or assure your success. And the penalty of failure will be death...or worse things. The tools and knowledge you will need will be available, but only your own courage and wit and de­termination will set them into your hands. Though it may seem that you are swept along by events, it will be only your own right choosing that leads you down the path that leads in the way of the gods.”

I nodded slowly. “I must not depend, then on being shown the way. I must do what seems right—and hope that it will be....” I stood there, shaken by the sudden realization of what she had said.

“I was a Chosen,” she said, taking my hand in both of hers. “It is a strange thing, but you will have no time to think of it. You will be tempted aside, it may be, or delayed or distracted, but the gods will not have it so. Take care what you do, Yeleeve. Follow your guides, whatever they may be. Trust in your own instinct. The gods do not choose unsuitable instruments.”

She stooped and kissed my cheek. Then she was gone.

I settled my leathers about me, then took up the pack. I looked around the cell that had been mine since I was ten years old. Not one item lay in it that was mine. The stool, the mat, the pitcher were already anonymously waiting for their next user. I might never have spent a decade sleeping in this space. I straightened my shoulders under the pack, brushed aside the curtain, and moved into the hall.

The building was empty. I realized that my classmates had already gone their ways while I was detained by Elysias. This suited me, for I had found few among them who were better company than my own thoughts. We had been a solitary lot, as Singers must be, and our teachers had discouraged the forming of friendships.

I moved down the stair, and the sculptures of crystal glimmered in their niches as if to say farewell. The icy shapes had delighted me from the time when I had been forced to stand on tiptoe to see them. I felt, rather sadly, that it was a strange thing that I regretted most the leaving of their cold forms.

In the passageway that stood between the arched portal and the Hall I found two who waited for me. Amos and Sirna stood there, tall shapes in blue with the Huym symbol glowing on their robe fronts.

I stopped before them and bent my head for their blessings. Their hands moved, forming the Huym’s lyre-shaped figure in the still air. Then Amos stepped forward and spoke softly to me.

“We have felt a strange compulsion, Child. Always there are those whom we are saddened to see depart these walls. You have been such a one for your teachers. Elysias is puzzled at our intuition that you may be the Chosen, but we are not. Though you have been rebellious and strong-minded, we have valued your mind and your spirit. There is within you a toughness and determination that comforts our thoughts of you.

“We feel a premonition that you may face the most difficult task any Singer has faced in many generations. Go with the gods, Yeleeve. Go with our blessings.” They moved their hands again, and the Huym gleamed faintly in the air that followed their motions.

I was strangely moved. There had been no affection offered or asked in all those long years. Respect had flowed between in an unspoken current, but we had been set apart by years and training. I had not suspected that these two greatest of my teachers had held any special feeling for me.

I bent my head and murmured, “My thanks, Wise Ones. Hold me in heart.” Then I turned and went down the corri­dor, out the tall portal, and into the Longroad that weaves to­gether all the villages and holdings of our stingily-tenanted western hills.

I turned once. The School for Singers loomed behind me in the sun of noon, its smooth curves glistening as if gilded. The arched doors were shadowed by the carved portico, and the slender windows were shuttered with bars of shade. Its face seemed closed against me. I turned back to my way and did not look again.

That first day was a long one. No holding lay within a half­ day’s journey of the School, and only the curves of the hills, the windings of the road, and the occasional late-summer birds bore me company. Still I was not lonely. Loneliness is wrung out of the fibers of a Singer before childhood ends.

Night found me on the edges of grasslands that gave prom­ise of being grazing grounds, though I could see no cattle. The over-warm day had given way to a breeze that promised to nip a bit before morning, so I took the plain cloak from my pack and spread it beneath a hedge that bordered the road­way. A handful of grass from the meadow made a pillow, and my resting place was ready.

After munching my dried fruit, I lay back to watch the stars through the thorny branches above me. For a moment I closed my eyes, and when they opened again it was dawn.

That morning I bitterly regretted my faithful washing pitcher. I felt as if the grime of years had crusted over my face, but I rose, folded away the cloak, and moved forward, watching for a sign of a dwelling or a stream. I suspected that my love of cleanliness might be sorely tried in my life on the road.

Before the sun was well over the line of low trees to the east, I saw a curl of smoke above a modest farmhouse. Then I hurried, and soon I was lifting the latch of the wooden gate that divided the garden walk from the road.

An army of geese set up a ferocious medley of honkings and hissings. The big white gander came forward, neck curled like a serpent, wings cocked for battle. I prudently stood where I was and called out, “Is anyone there? A Singer, new-­come from the School, begs a bit of water for washing.”

The door opened with a rush, and a pale woman fluttered into the yard. “Be’n a Singer, indeed?” she asked. “Th’ gods ha’ heard our cry. Come in, Singer, and be welcome. We’ve need of such as ye.”

A moment of panic struck me. I had sung souls, true, but only under the eye of one or another of my teachers or Elysias. Never before had I been faced with total responsibility for the well-being of another person. Still, I kept my face calm as I followed the dame into her cramped home.

A long bony man lay on a low couch before the fire. His forehead was clammy to my touch, and his skin was prickled as if with chill, though the morning was already warm. His eyes were sunk beneath the brows, and their lids were bluish. He was very ill, I could see, though I had no training in physi­cian craft.

“Good dame,” I said, drawing her aside to the window, “Your man is ill, not troubled in his spirit. We who are Singers can do little for sickness of the body.”

She looked at me with such uncomprehending faith in her eyes that I sighed and continued, “Yet I will try. But when I am done, find some person who can be trusted and send to the School for a healer.”

She nodded and snapped her fingers. A small boy crawled down from an overhead loft and looked up at me. He seemed far brighter than his mother, so I told him, “Go to the School. If you run quickly, you will be there before dark. Tell them that a healer is needed and bring him back with you as soon as may be.”

He nodded and set off with the air of one who knows what he is about.

Now I set my mind on the sick man. No living soul can take harm from being truly sung, and I comforted myself with that thought.

For the first time in my life, I felt the Power sing through me, unfiltered through the mind of another. I drew a deep breath, and the music took me in its grasp. There in that dark hut I sang, and the wan spirit of the man formed on the wall beside the hearth at my back.

It was a gentle singing. Cramped spaces eased; tensions were relaxed. Old worries were erased in that time while I sang. The wife stood in silent awe, staring at the shape behind me. I could see in her face the changes as they were made.

When I was done, the man lay deeply asleep, and it was a different sleep from that in which I had found him. I watched him for a time, making certain that all was as well as his sick body could manage. Then I asked the dame, “May I wash at your well? I have slept under a hedge, and water was not at hand.”

She blushed crimson with shame. “I be out in my manners, Singer. Should be that I offered you food and drink before you made to sing. Now forgive me. I’ll warm water enough for a bath, while you eat your morning meal.”

So I found myself sitting in the shade before the door with a tray of griddle cakes on my lap, watching the morning progress over the farmlands that now lay across my way. As I nibbled, listening to my hostess splash pails of water into the great iron tub over the fire, I suddenly realized that I was now, in very truth, a Singer of Souls.