Sheri Tepper - Singer From The Sea

by Singer From The Sea(Lit)

  There were a number of religions on Haven, the largest one being that of the nobility, the One True Church of the Divine Author of the Covenant. The Divine Author was invoked during weddings, dedications, jubilees, and the covenanting of noble girls at puberty. The Divine Author was anthropomorphic, inexpressibly regal, and He dwelt in heaven, which He had created and maintained as an ecstatic home to which all covenantly men were welcomed after death. There they would be served by angels, allowing their wives, daughters, and other female relatives a well-deserved rest in a separate heaven of their own (as the commentaries on the covenants made clear) where they could flutter on bright wings among the celestial flowers.

  The creation and maintenance of heaven were the Divine Author's only duties, so far as Aufors could tell. Seemingly, the nobility didn't want a god who interfered in their lives. They needed no other scripture than the covenants and the commentaries. If they worshipped anything, they worshipped the covenants their own ancestors had written, though, so it was taught, the writing was done by divine inspiration. The members of the Tribunal, the Covenanters, served as clergy, and the Invigilator enforced compliance on those the scrutators found nonconforming. It was a very neat, contained system.

  The Frangians, on the other hand, worshipped the Whatever, by eschewing toil of any kind. Toil was seen as an offense against the generosity of Whatever, though there were a few Frangians, the Mariners' Guild, who did toil on ships. They were tolerated by their brethren for it was assumed the ships would be needed to transport all purified Frangians to heaven, which they called Galul and identified as being near the south planetary pole. Since all Frangians were sterilized at puberty-to avoid the toil of parenthood-they would have died out long ago were it not for the converts from elsewhere, who flowed constantly into the province in defiance of the Lord Paramount's edicts.

  Though the Covenanters and the Whatevers had the largest numbers of adherents, nothing in the covenants required commoners to give up the religions of their forebears, and there were dozens of beliefs current among them. Aufors had never been particularly interested in religion, certainly not enough to seek spiritual help from it, not even from the Mother of Worlds. Whatever was done for Genevieve, he told himself, it would have to be done without divine intervention, which meant he must do it himself, though he judged himself to be barely capable of it.

  Less than a month before he had prided himself on his self-control, now he found himself becoming frantic at the idea of Genevieve being betrothed. It didn't matter whether it was to Yugh Delganor or to any other of the old men whose names he had just learned. Despite his concern, he was not so out of control as to forget that a frantic man is a careless man, a lesson every soldier learns soon or dies wishing he had learned sooner.

  All these concerns were simmering in his mind, like so much consomme, as yet unjelled, when he returned to his quarters to find a message from the lady in question: Could he help her find a dressmaker?

  Aufors sat upon his bed and laughed until tears ran from his eyes. He had planned on rank and privilege and an honorable retirement, he had struggled with the idea of seeking divine intercession, he had determined to assure Genevieve's salvation; what he would actually do, for the love of heaven, was find a dressmaker!

  An hour or so later he was at her door, ready to provide whatever help he could. She did not disappoint him in her response to his service.

  "Aufors, this is beneath your notice, and I would not ask except that I have no confidante here in Havenor. While I got on well with the Duchess Alicia, it's not the sort of thing I want to ask a completely new acquaintance. You're the one I know best-"

  He stopped her apologies with an upheld hand. "Genevieve, say no more about it. On my way here, I stopped at the home of one of my colleagues who has a pretty and well-dressed wife. Both of them are gregarious people who go about socially, so she knows what is needed. She gave me three names." He handed her a card on which he had noted them down in a firm hand. "She says the first woman is totally trustworthy, though without much imagination. The last one is inclined to imagine rather more than she might wish, and she counsels a firm hand. She says in general the first woman does less with more, while the other two do more with less. The second name on that list dresses the Lady Charmante, consort of Prince Thumsort."

  Genevieve surprised herself by giggling. "The... lady was very strikingly dressed at our dinner. If you had not told me what you told me, I'd never have known. Oh, Aufors, thank you. Father feels our first effort was so well received he must do another as soon as may be, and after that, who knows? A whole string of dinners, probably." She sighed, looking down at her hands in her lap. "If Prince Thumsort comes again, I must learn more about fish and batfly fever! And, oh, I almost forgot, I have been invited to a concert by Duke Edoard. What does one wear to concerts here in Havenor?"

  "I'll find out," he murmured, examining her lowered face closely, though it gave very little away. She did not seem cheered at the thought of concerts or new dresses, which won his sympathies as he himself preferred less frippery in both men's and women's clothing. Her hands were tightly clenched, as though they fought for control. He decided to pry, just a little.

  "I heard your father say that the Lord Paramount envisions some duty for you at court. Have you any idea what that might be?"

  Her hands twisted and she shook her head. "No, I don't. And when he mentioned querying what the Lord Paramount might have in mind, I begged him to let the matter alone until we know better what we're doing here. Delia thought it wisest, also. You know, I sometimes think Delia knows more that's going on than I do."

  He chuckled. "She probably does. Certain subjects seem to be taboo among the courtiers, either that or they're talking in a code I don't understand, but the servants speak as they like, especially when they are in their own quarters where no one bothers them, or even notices them. In the army, it's the same with the enlisted men. Most officers don't listen to their talk. I do, because I was one of them, and knowledge picked up in the lat-ah, parade ground is better than ignorance fostered in the drawing room. If Delia trusts you, perhaps she will tell you what she hears."

  They fell silent for a moment, each much occupied in looking at the other. In the space between them, the air wavered before Genevieve's eyes, like rippled water, then cleared to display a city, squat and earth-colored against a bloody sky. A huge voice sang in the silence, but she could not understand the words. She looked down at her hands, and they were red with blood. Blackness swept around her.

  He reached out to her, too late, for she had slumped to the floor all at once, limply and without a sound.

  "All right, Jenny, what is this?" he growled, falling to his knees beside her, putting one arm beneath her shoulders to lift her.

  She opened her eyes and stared wonderingly into his face as he held her close, her head lying against his shoulder.

  "Tell me," he urged, his voice shaking. "You've done this twice. Once at the dinner, then again today. Are you not well? What is this?" He shook her, as he might shake a child, gently, almost pleadingly.

  "I saw..." she murmured, only half aware of his presence. "I saw a city made of earth, with earthen walls. I heard a voice sing loudly, like a great trumpet blowing. My hands had blood on them..."

  He picked her up and placed her in a large chair away from the window, keeping his arm around her, thrilling to the touch of her as he had when they had danced together, having the same trouble hiding it now as then. "And the other night?"

  She shook her head wonderingly. "I was watching a shipwreck. There were people struggling in the water..."

  He breathed deeply and stepped away. "And are these the first such visions? No, I can see it in your face. They are not. There have been others?"

  "Yes, Aufors." She lowered her face, as though shamed.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" he cried. "You should have told me. You might have needed... needed someone."

  "I had someone. Mrs. Blessingham, at scho
ol. She always... tended to things. Once she found out my visions really..."

  "Really what?"

  "... really happened."

  "You're a seeress?" He doubted seeresses, but he did not doubt this woman. So. She was a seeress?

  "Shhh, Aufors. Father will hear you."

  "He doesn't know?"

  "Of course not. He'd be furious. He doesn't even like to talk about such things. Mother... Mother knew. She was like me. According to the Duchess, Alicia, so was her mother and her daughter. We're related, she says. Several generations back."

  "Tell me what you've seen that came true?" he demanded, sounding impatient, even to himself, but so eager to help her that he needed to know immediately, without delay!

  She sighed. "Oh, Aufors, many different things. Little things, mostly. A cat hiding her kittens in the hen house. A neighbor losing a chicken coop in a spring flood. Once I saw the roof blowing off the kitchen at school, and that same winter it did. Mostly they're just feelings of things that will go awry, choices that are mistaken..."

  "And your own future?"

  "I don't know. I've never seen anything about my own future, at least, nothing that I know of."

  "Except you will be on the deck of a ship..."

  "No. I think that already happened. Long ago. And the one just now, if I'm in it. I guess I am in it, for I saw my own hands. That's the only one that includes myself."

  He sat down, pulling his chair close to hers. "It would be dangerous for you to get yourself involved in the court, Jenny. Somehow we've got to keep you out of that!"

  "We can't." She smiled, rather wearily. "I thought there might be some way I could stay away, but there isn't. Father needs me here-this first dinner party made that very obvious, Aufors. He'd have been in a dreadful mess without me. Besides, the Lord Paramount asked me to be here."

  "You need someone, surely." He rose, striding to and fro, agitatedly. "The Duchess of Merdune, perhaps she could be..."

  "You're thinking she might help me? Well, perhaps. She said she would call on me, and since we really are kinswomen, she may actually do so."

  "Your father asked me to take an apartment here, in the house. So far, for various reasons, I've delayed, but I could be here tomorrow if it would help you..."

  "If it would help me?" she asked. "Of course it would help me, but you shouldn't do it for that reason."

  "Genevieve..." he cried, the word breaking from him uncontrollably, all his feelings in his face. "For what other reason would I?"

  He reached for her hand, ready to go on, but she gasped, as though breathing hurt her. Her eyes filled as she held up her hand, palm out, forbidding him.

  "It would help me, provided you understand... we must stop this familiarity of ours. I know I asked you to call me Genevieve or even Jenny, but I'm afraid it's likely to be... misunderstood. Father has already... misunderstood it. From now on, you must be Colonel Leys to me, and I must be My Lady to you, and you must not say whatever you just started to say. It is not fair to you, I know, and it is no more fair to me."

  "You have a right to be happy!"

  She shook her head, her lips trembling. "I am a daughter of the covenant, Colonel Leys. The covenant allows us our youth, but that is about all it allows us. I was happy, at school. I didn't realize until I came here how happy I was there. I knew my way, there, and who my friends were. I had my niche and was comfortable in it. I didn't ask to be brought here, and the people here are strangers... no, not merely strangers but strange! As though... as though they are not made of the same stuff that you are. As though all their words are paint. Do you understand?"

  "Paint?" He frowned. "You mean, painting over, covering up, hiding something."

  "Yes. Covering up something. Exactly. As though they all know a secret. Or some of them do, and the others pretend to. I don't know what it is, but it distresses me. Delia says I'm merely tired out, and perhaps she's right, but I cannot... cannot deal with anything complicated just now. Not until I've watched this play, and caught onto it, and learned what the plot is, you see? If I don't know how it's going, I might get dragged into it. If I were once to be caught in it... oh, maybe I could never go back to being what I am."

  "What you are?" he whispered, amazed. "You're as real as the earth itself. What do you think you are?"

  She was shaking, horrified at herself for what she had already said. Well, she had said it. No point in going back. "I told you! I'm a mouse, a watcher from corners. I don't have anything to do with the plot. I'm happier if I can just stay to myself, watching. Which I must do, until I come to obeying my mother's dying words. No, don't ask. Please please, Colonel..."

  He frowned in concentration, telling himself not to argue with her, not to accuse her of silliness or stupidity, to take her words seriously though everything in him denied what she was saying. He promised that he would move into the house by morning, after which she sent him away before going upstairs to lie on her bed and cry for all the things she was feeling with no way at all to be rid of them or do anything about them.

  When she had cried herself out, she got up, washed her face, returned to her bed, and took up the book that lay open upon the table, determined to lose herself in thinking about something else. After Alicia had mentioned the book, the strange account of their mutual ancestress, the Lord Paramount's wife, Queen Stephanie, Genevieve had found it in the library.

  She read:

  This is a story our people tell

  Long, long ago on another world, our grandmother te kui nui, mother of us all, heard the voice of all worlds singing.

  "E, kui," the spirit called. "I have a task for you."

  "Oh, lo," cried our grandmother. "Am I not burdened down with tasks'? Here are children at my knees, here are sons running wild, here are daughters begging knowledge, here are gardens to be cared for, am I not well laden with burdens?"

  And the voice said, "This is a greater task than all of those, and on this task the lives of your children and gardens will depend, for I set upon you the task of sailing among the stars in the long time to come."

  And our grandmother did not know what to say for a time, but then she replied, "Oh, great filler of worlds, surely only those who have passed beyond the world may sail between the stars. Are my children not to have the gift of life?"

  And Tangaroa said, "The time will come when te wairua hohonu needs a service of you, and against that time, I would prepare you.

  "You must go to your sons and grandsons and tell them to build great canoes, and you must take all your children and all your belongings, and you must set sail as I shall guide you, to a new land."

  So our grandmother came to her sons and grandsons, who were many, and told them of the command she had received. And after a time of talk, not all of which was sensible or respectful, so that our grandmother was forced to shout loudly, our people set about building the great canoes. And when the first canoe was built, the people came to grandmother and asked what name it should have.

  And grandmother said, "It shall be named nga Tumau Hohonu, the servants of the deep, and when it comes to land, the people of that canoe shall take that name forever."

  So it sailed away. And when the second canoe was finished, grandmother said, "It shall be named nga Kaikaukau Whetu, the star swimmers, and when it comes to land, the people of that canoe shall take that name forever."

  This is the story my people tell. Others say this did not happen, that it was not until the great ship left the world that our people were visited by the spirit. And others say that the spirit never spoke, it was all accidental, that we just happened to be there, for we and the spirit left the world together. I, Stephanie, sometimes believe one and sometimes another, but I like to think of the ancestral canoes setting out upon the great and trackless sea, nga matawaka hollowed from the trees of the forest, sailing on and on, into the emptiness at the edge of the sky.

  However it happened, I came to be he Kaikaukau Whetu, a star swimmer, and I am still he tumau hoh
onu, a servant of the deep...

  Genevieve came to herself with a start at the sound of the first dinner bell, reverberating in the great hall below. She laid the book on the bed beside her and sat up, the thoughts and images of the book evoking and blending with stories her mother had told. Stephanie's story was not unfamiliar, though her mother had used different words to tell it no less enigmatically than Stephanie herself.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Delia, coming with an armful of newly laundered petticoats. "Come, Jenny," she said in an admonitory tone. "No time for daydreams. It's time you were dressed for dinner."

  And when Genevieve went down to dinner, Delia neatened the bed, putting the book away on the shelf, where it stayed for some time, forgotten.

  Genevieve made appointments with the first and second dressmakers on the list, saving the third for later. From the first, a colorless little woman with a pinched mouth that spat pins and wiry fingers that extruded tape measures, she ordered two gowns, simple ones of classic cut and exemplary fabric. The whole transaction took less than an hour, once the measurements were taken.