Singer From the Sea

by Sheri S. Tepper

  The silence stretched, then broke into chatter, through which the Duchess Alicia could be heard to say with a tinkling laugh, “Your Highness, surely this is neither the time nor the place. If you are jesting, it is unkind, and if you are not, it is inappropriate to make such a statement in the midst of dinner, when the Most Honorable Marchioness cannot so ignore her duties of hospitality as to give your announcement the consideration it deserves.”

  Genevieve found her tongue and forced herself to laugh in her turn, lightly, dismissively. “I’m afraid the Duchess is right, Your Highness. This would be an extremely awkward time for me to pay attention to any such very surprising flattery.”

  “You are surprised?” he asked, eyebrows lifted. “I had thought your father might have speculated with you?”

  “Oh … no, sir, he has not.”

  “Well then, you’re quite right that the matter is untimely.” And he turned to the woman on the other side and asked her about her son, while under the table, the Duchess laid a hand on Genevieve’s quivering knee as she might lay a hand on a horse’s neck to calm it.

  “Wait,” she whispered, smiling, “just wait. Smile back at me. Don’t let them think you’re shocked. Just smile, murmur, take a sip of wine, that’s it. When everyone leaves, I’ll stay behind.”

  The last course seemed interminable, and when the guests left the table it was only to reassemble in the conservatory where a stage had been set up. The players were brought on with appropriate fanfare, performing their buffoonish play about a group of vampires who were of the nobility and would drink only noble blood, the bluer the better. Genevieve did not think it funny, but then, she scarcely heard a word of it. Seemingly, some others in the room did not think it funny either, for while some of the younger ladies and gentlemen laughed heartily, the older men did not do so. Even in her confusion, Genevieve guessed that she and her father had once again, through ignorance, transgressed some canon of taste.

  The Prince excused himself and departed during the interval. Others of the older nobility left early, also, and it was a lower ranking, much diminished, though more uniformly appreciative audience who saw the final curtain with a spatter of applause and a spate of chatter. As the last guests departed, Genevieve stood beside her father, bidding them farewell. The Marshal was much as usual. He did not seem to be aware of what had happened during dinner, or that the Prince had disapproved of the entertainment. Genevieve did not enlighten him. Instead, she snatched up a shawl and slipped out onto the terrace where Alicia waited for her, wrapped in a great fur cape.

  “What can I do?” Genevieve cried. “I can’t do this, Alicia. Yugh Delganor is old. He smells old. All during dinner I smelled him, like mouldy soil in old cellars. All during dinner, I felt him, like craylets crawling on my skin, slick and slimy and strange. If I marry him, I will die, Alicia. I know it, the way I sometimes know things. And I’m sure he meant it!”

  Someone made a noise beside the house.

  “Who’s that?” whispered the Duchess, startled.

  A shadow detached itself from the house and came swiftly toward them. Aufors.

  “Did he say what I think I heard, Jenny? Is that old man wanting you as a wife?”

  Her tears were sufficient answer, and he drew her close, wrapping her in his arms.

  “Well,” said the Duchess, with a breathless laugh. “That answers one little question I’ve been interested in.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” muttered Aufors, over Genevieve’s head. “I’m bound to the service of the Marshal, and though this would be … a hideous fate for Genevieve, he will no doubt approve it heartily as fostering his own ambitions.”

  “Hush,” said Alicia. “Now is not the time. We must play for time. You must go back inside, both of you. Do whatever you usually do at bedtime. Wait for the house to settle. Then, Aufors, you bring her to the stable gate of my own house. Genevieve, bring whatever you would need for a journey in the wilderness, stout shoes, warm clothing, you know what she should bring, Colonel Leys, for you have fought in evil weather on hard terrain …”

  “I’ll bring my own kit as well,” he said grimly.

  “No,” Alicia interrupted him. “No. She must not be thought to have gone away with you, Colonel, or you with her! That could mean danger and disaster for you both: for her from her father, for you from the Prince. When morning comes, you must be here in the house, as surprised as everyone else. Now, let us get back inside, before the Marshal misses either of you.”

  “Is this the right thing?” cried Genevieve. “The Prince has not asked Father yet. We don’t know what Father will say.”

  “My dear child, you do know what your father will say.” The Duchess fixed her with a steady gaze, at which Genevieve flushed, shivering. “If you are to have time to consider this matter, you must be gone and be known to be gone before the Prince makes a formal request and before your father makes a commitment of any kind.” Her voice became ominous, weighty: “For if he makes a commitment to Yugh Delganor, he will be expected to keep it at the cost of his life or yours, or both.”

  Aufors grimaced. “She’s right, Genevieve. If your father says yes, both you and he will be totally bound by that promise. That much of the covenants is well known! Far better move while you and he still have some freedom of action. When the household is asleep, meet me in the stables. Dress warmly and bring only what you must have with you. I’ll make up a small pack of travel necessities for you.”

  He ran along the house and around the corner, to return through another door, while the women returned to the terrace, the Duchess pulling Genevieve along like a little wagon, she trundling obediently, weighed down by so many feelings of mixed horror and anger that she could not form any intention to do anything at all.

  “What has my foolish daughter been up to, dragging you out into the night?” bumbled the Marshal, with a frown at Genevieve. “Most thoughtless of her.”

  “It was I who took her out into the night,” said the Duchess, laying a pale hand against her own forehead. “The conservatory was so warm, I was suddenly taken a bit faint, Lord Marshal. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to summon my driver.”

  In moments she was gone, not without sufficient chatter to distract the Marshal from Genevieve, which allowed her to flee to her room, like a rabbit from a blundering hound. There Della helped her with her clothes, distressed by the sweat on her forehead and the way her hands shook.

  “What’s the trouble, my lady? You’re looking peaked. Did something go wrong? Wasn’t the food good?”

  “The food was wonderful, Della. I’m just tired. These dinners seems to affect me like running for miles or riding all day. When they’re over, I feel wrung out. Pull the pins from my hair. I’ll let it down and brush it. You go on to bed, it’s late and you rose earlier than I.”

  Della went away, with only a normal amount of nurse-maidish grumble and instructions. Genevieve braided her hair in a long plait, as she usually did at bedtime, but then wrapped it into a tight knot at her neck, pierced it with enough pins to hold it fast under any circumstances, dressed herself warmly, put her nightgown on over the clothing, and finally packed a small bundle that included a change of shoes and clothing, her comb and hairbrush, and a few little bits of jewelry that might be used instead of money. That made her think of the Duchess’s coins, and she tucked the small sack into the full sleeve of her cloak, which she hung in the armoire. Then she lay down, the covers drawn to her chin.

  After a time, the Marshal’s footsteps came down in the hall. He paused at her door, it opened a crack, he peered in, then he shut the door and moved on.

  She remained still, in turmoil, her mind chattering like birds in a tree, saying six things at once, none of them helpful. If her mother had meant this particular hard road, then she had a duty to stay where Delganor could do … whatever he was going to do. But what if she only thought so, and her mother had meant something else? She had no way to judge. Surely she could take a little time to judge?
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  When the house had been silent for some time, she took off the nightgown, replaced it with the heavy, hooded cloak, and slipped down the long hallways and out through the kitchen, easing through the heavy outside door that was often left unlocked because it opened only into the walled and gated yard. Just inside the stable she sat on a pile of hay that had been forked down from the loft to be ready for the stable boys in the morning. When Aufors found her, she was slumped in exhausted sleep with her bundle close at her side.

  He shook her. She came awake, eyes wide, mouth open, and he put a hand across it at once. “Shhh.”

  “Where have you been?” she whispered.

  “Hiring passage on the packet that goes down the Reusel at dawn.”

  “That’ll take me along Wantresse. I’m well known there.”

  “If you were going, you’d be known, yes. But you’re not going.”

  “I thought you said …”

  “I bought passage as I’d already planned to do. I made quite a fuss about the young lady who was going to Reu-sel-on-mere. No doubt someone will discover her there, but it’ll be another woman who’s meeting her new husband, an old friend of mine, for a bit of a honeymoon. He’s from Sealand and she from Upland. I’m paying for the trip as a present, they’ve never heard your name, and making such a project of it is a bit of legerdemain, a red herring.”

  “And I?” she asked, getting up to brush the hay from her cloak.

  “We’ll know better after the Duchess tells us what she has in mind.”

  They rode double on Aufors’s horse, Genevieve behind him, holding him tightly, wondering at the feeling this embrace caused within her. She had no time to reflect on it. The Duchess was waiting for them, together with a tall, bulky man, middle-aged and half-bearded, who regarded Genevieve with grave curiosity.

  “I’m not sure this is right,” Genevieve murmured. “Father told me not to concern myself for my care or safety, that it was his concern. Perhaps if I told him …”

  “Your telling would have precisely the same effect that it has had heretofore,” said the Duchess, in a bleak voice. “Aufors, go into the stable, there’s a good boy, my dear. For your own safety, I don’t want you to hear what’s said here.”

  When he had gone, Genevieve whispered, “Alicia. Mother told me … she told me my way would be hard. She had the gift. The one Lyndafal and I share. Perhaps I am meant to stay here and …”

  “Do you, yourself, know this is true?”

  “No,” she cried. “Not surely!”

  “Then wait until you know it!” She turned to her companion. “This is Garth Sentith, a friend of mine from Merdune. and you are now Imogene Sentith, his daughter. The two of you are riding east tonight, to slip across the border into the Tail of Merdune, and thence down the canyons to the shore. From there you will sail southward across the Lagoon to the town of Weirmills, beside the Potcherwater, where Garth has a perfumery business I have long patronized.

  “Now, Genevieve, here is pen and paper. Write me a brief note telling me that you are running away because Yugh Delganor frightened you half to death at dinner this evening. Write that you must leave before your father makes any compromising promises you might be unable to fulfill. Say you must have time to think on this. No, don’t look at me all witless! I must have a reason to speak to your father before he does anything imprudent. I will say I found your note on my door, and this will give me an excuse to let a little reality into his head. I know what I am doing, so write it!”

  Genevieve wrote, scribbling, the Duchess prompting. When the Duchess read it over, the penmanship needed no change to appear frantic and panicky.

  Alicia went to the stable door and summoned Aufors out once more: “You are to return to the Marshal’s house, Aufors, where you will pretend you have been all night, deeply asleep. For the time being, you are not to think about Genevieve. Her safety depends on your not knowing where she is. Also, try not to show that you are worried over where she might be, though I realize you may be unable to do that. She, meantime, will be sitting quiet, being helpful and safe, so we all hope, far from here. Now say your farewells, for Genevieve must be well out of High Haven by morning.”

  She turned away, the bulky man beside her, and Aufors, with a gasp that had as much pain as ardor in it, drew Genevieve into a close embrace, laid his lips on hers, and held her there while the night spun around them both. Neither of them were conscious of time. The kiss could have lasted either a little moment or forever, and it was only his awareness of her danger that made him thrust her away, holding her tightly by the shoulders.

  “Oh, my love,” he murmured huskily. “This may be the best thing I’ve ever done, helping send you out of harm’s way, or the worst, letting you go without me. Here I am, presuming. I don’t even know if you return my affection—no, don’t look at me like that. Say I didn’t know, not until just now.”

  She begged, “Can’t you come with me? Oh, Aufors, I’m so … at a loss …”

  He drew himself up and said firmly, “I believe the Duchess knows what she’s doing. I have known her for some time. I know that she plans from knowledge, whereas you and I have only intuition. When she says I might endanger you, she’s right. I’ve learned on the battlefield that once the decision is made, for good or ill, it must be done with firm conviction. Now go, and let me put on a surprised face for the Marshal!”

  Garth came then to take Genevieve’s hand and lead her away. She went reluctantly, looking back over her shoulder as Garth took her through the gate and to the alley’s end where two horses waited, their hooves muffled. While Aufors watched from the gate, they rode away, almost silently. By dawn, he knew, they would be well on their way to wherever it was they were going, certainly out of Havenor, across the border of High Haven, and well lost in the lands of somewhere else.

  NINE

  The Planet Ares

  THE PLANET ARES, WHICH WAS NOT FAR FROM HAVEN IN A spaciotemporal sense, had been resold several times before finally being settled, a millennium after its discovery, by a group of men who traced their ancestry to the frontiers of space exploration, a time when infinite space called resolute men into the wilderness to build an honorable society in which men were men, women were women, and everyone knew and accepted the difference. Aresians were more hearty than humorous, more intrepid than intuitive, more stalwart than studious. They eschewed the intellectual in favor of action, including sport of all kinds. They found a particular ecstacy in hunting or in doing things at high speed, preferably accompanied by loud noises and strong smells and with much drinking and jollity of a ribald sort to follow.

  Their belief system was called Hestonism, a homocentric faith with a god who looked and acted like the best among them, fair minded and honorable and masculine in his approach to problems. If asked, any Aresian would have said that God was an honorable competitor, a good shot, and comfortable on the playing field. Sporting metaphors were customary in explaining the relationship between deity and laity, an intermediary clergy being considered both effete and ineffectual.

  The ineffectual was eschewed as un-Aresian. People, no matter of what age or sex, should be doing something. If they were not doing something, the chances were, they were up to no good. Games had been provided by God to keep young people busy, and there was no juvenile predisposition so nefarious that it would not submit to daily sessions of competitive ball-carrying, rock-climbing, or game-shooting.

  Aresians were well aware that others were less honorable than themselves. Had this not been the case, they would not have needed a world of their own in which their native superiority could manifest itself. Aresians felt there was no challenge that could not be met by well-toned muscle augmented by superior fire power under the approving eye of a deity who kept His omniscient eye upon the target and His omnipresent hand on the trigger.

  Upon their arrival on Ares, therefore, the Aresians built sensible armories against whatever enemies might emerge in time, and they manufactured machines for the
subduing of the natural world. Subjugation of nature was one of the things strong men did, and they gloried in it, digging deep for the ores they needed and cutting down whole forests to feed their furnaces. Whenever they had a few hours free of toil, they vied with one another in games and sports, in hunting or fishing, at tramping and striving against one another in exploits of physical endurance. They bred doggedly, and proud famines with fitters of robust and vehement children were the norm.

  Relentless sport took an inevitable toll upon the world. Though Ares was largely wooded when it was settled, the animal life was not plentiful, and most of it was extremely specialized and habitat dependent. Human population grew exponentially, though it took a century or two for it to cover all sections of the planet. Once it did, however, the native animal life was soon disposed of, even that preeminent trophy animal, the latigern, a graceful, antlered beast that had once grown to an enormous size that could be dangerous if encountered during mating season by a man without weapons. Since no Aresian was ever without weapons, and since Aresians had arrived at near total destruction of latigern habitat, the animal was driven to the verge of extinction by the turn of the seventh century, Post Settlement. The last few specimens were captured in 702 and put in stasis to be sold to other-world zoos. Such establishments always bid high for the last few specimens of anything. The last latigern were, in fact, purchased by the Lord Paramount of Haven several years later, along with the last few of several other species on the market at the time.

  In 708, Post Settlement, something quite inexplicable occurred. One midnight the people of Ares were wakened by a trembling in the earth. Those who had read of such things thought it might be a crustal-quake, though it did not rise to any climax nor did it dwindle away to nothing, but merely went on shaking, a vast shivering as though, some people said, the world had caught a chill. The tremor was the same in the cities as on the farms, neither stronger nor weaker in any location, and it persisted for some hours as glassware rattled, dogs howled, and children cried fretfully.