Hello, Ansset said.
Hello, Riktors answered.
They said little else, for there was little enough to say. But when Esste left the room, they stood together at the window, looking out, watching the hawks hunting and shouting instructions at the birds desperately trying to survive.
4
Riktors died three years afterward, in the spring, and in his will he asked the empire to accept Ansset as his heir. It seemed the natural thing to do, since Riktors had no children and their love for each other was legendary. So Ansset was crowned and reigned for sixty years, until he was eighty-two years old, always with the help of Kyaren and the Mayor; privately they regarded each other as equals, though it was Ansset's head that wore the crown.
They became beloved, all of them, as Mikal and Riktors, who had made many enemies, could never have been loved. The stories gradually came out, about Ansset and Mikal and, Riktors and Josif and Kyaren and the Mayor; they became myths that people could cling to, because they were true. The stories were told, not in public meetings, where it might be politic to praise the rulers of the empire, but in private, in homes where people marveled at the things the great ones suffered, while children dreamed of being Songbirds, loved by everyone, so that someday they could become emperors on the golden throne at Susquehanna.
The legends amused Ansset because they had grown so in the telling, and touched Kyaren because she knew it was a reflection of the people's love. But it changed nothing. In the middle of the government, surrounded by work for a hundred thousand worlds, they managed to make a family of it. Every night they would come home together, Mayor and Kyaren as husband and wife, with Efrim the oldest of their children; and Ansset was the uncle who never took a wife, who acted more like the older brother to everyone, who played with the children and talked with the parents but then, in the end, went alone to his bedroom where the noise of the family penetrated softly, as if from a great distance.
You are mine, but you are not mine, Ansset said. I am yours, but you hardly know it.
He was not unhappy.
But he wasn't happy, either.
5
This is a hell of a thing to spring on us, Kyaren said crossly.
If you expect either of us to take the crown, you're going to be disappointed, the Mayor said.
I wouldn't give you the crown if you wanted it, Ansset said smiling. I'm getting old, and you're even older. So to hell with you. He turned and called across the room, where Efrim was talking to two of his brothers while he held his youngest grandson in his arms. Efrim, Ansset called. Are you ready to be emperor?
Efrim laughed, but then saw that Ansset was not laughing. He came to the table where his parents and his uncle sat. You're joking? he asked.
Are you ready? I'm leaving.
Where?
Does it matter?
Don't make it such a mystery, Kyaren said, cutting in. He has some crazy idea that the Songhouse is aching to have him come home.
Ansset was still smiling, still watching Efrim's face.
You're really abdicating?
Efrim, Ansset said, letting himself sound impatient, yon knew damn well you'd be emperor someday. How many of my children do you see crowding around? Now I ask you, are you ready?
Yes, Efrim answered seriously.
When Mikal abdicated, it took him only a couple of weeks. I won't dally so long. Tomorrow.
Why so quickly? Kyaren asked.
I've made up my mind. I want to do it. I'm wasting time waiting here.
If you just want to visit, Ansset, visit, the Mayor said. Stay on Tew for a few months. Then decide.
You don't understand, Ansset said. I don't want to go there as emperor. I want to go there as Ansset. Not even Ansset the former Songbird. Just Ansset who's willing to sweep or clean stables or any damn thing they have for me to do, but don't you understand? This is home for you, and for me too, in a way--
In every way--
No. Because you belong here. But this isn't what I was born for. I'm not right here. I was raised among songs. I want to die among them,
Esste's dead, Ansset. She died years ago. Will you even know anyone there? You'll just be a stranger. Kyaren looked worried, but Ansset reached out and playfully smoothed the wrinkles on her forehead. Don't bother, she said, brushing his hand away. They've been permanently engraved.
It's not Esste I'm going back to see. It's not anyone.
And Efrim put his hand on his uncle's shoulder. It's Ansset you want to find, isn't it? Some little boy or girl with a voice that moves stones, isn't it?
Ansset clapped his hand over Efrim's and laughed. Another me? I'll never find another Ansset, Efrim! If I go there looking for that, III never find it. I may not have sung long, but no one will ever sing like that again.
And Kyaren realized that out of all the achievements of his life, out of all that he had done, Ansset was still proudest of what he had done when he was ten years old.
The legends would have been good enough just with the stories that were current before Ansset abdicated. But there was one more story to add, and for this one Ansset left Earth, left his office, left the last of his money at the station, and arrived penniless at the Songhouse door.
They let him in.
RRUK
1
Ansset had been emperor for only thirty years when Esste's work came to an end. She felt the end coming in summer; felt the ennui of doing again and again work that she had mastered long before. There were no students who interested her. There were no teachers left who were her close friends, except Onn. She was more and more distant from all the life of the Songhouse, though from the High Room she still directed that life.
In the fall, Esste began to long for things she could not have. She longed for her childhood. She longed for a lover in a crystal house. She longed for Ansset, the beautiful boy whom she had held in her arms and loved as she had loved no one else.
But the longings could not be fulfilled; the crystal house was filled with other loves by now, surely; the girl Esste had died, shedding younger skins until now the hard-faced woman in dark robes was her only relic; and Ansset was emperor of mankind, not a child anymore, and she could not embrace him now.
Oh, she toyed with the idea of journeying to Susquehanna again. But before she had gone in answer to the empire's need. She could not justify such a journey merely to satisfy her own, especially when she knew that, in the end, her real need would be unsatisfied.
All songs must end, said the maxim, before we can know them. Without borders on a thing it cannot be comprehended as a whole. And so Esste decided to put the final border on her life, so that all her works and all her days could be viewed and understood and, perhaps, sung.
It was winter, and snow fell heavily outside the windows of the High Room. Esste had not decided beforehand that this day above all others would be the day. Perhaps it was the beauty of the snow; perhaps it was the knowledge that the cold would take her quickly, in a storm like this. But she sent on errands those likely to discover her too soon. Then she opened all the shutters and let the wind pour in, took off her clothing, and lay on stone in the center of the room.
As the wind swept over her, covering her with snow-flakes that melted more and more slowly, Esste hid behind her Control and wondered. She had sung many songs in her life, but which should she sing last? What song should the High Room hear as her own funerary?
She was indecisive too long, and sang nothing as she lay on the High Room floor. In the end her Control failed her, as in extremity it must always fail; but as she crawled feebly under her robes and blankets, a part of her noticed with satisfaction that the work was already done. Blankets alone would do nothing. The snow was two inches deep in the High Room. Tomorrow a new Songmaster would come here and the Songhouse would be taught new songs.
2
Onn was busy.
There was much to be done, and several key Deafs and Blinds had been sent out on errands at once, which sometimes
happened but was damned inconvenient.
Sometimes, Onn had confided to a young master, I feel like I might as well be deaf, for all the time I get to spend with music.
But he didn't mind. He was a good singer, a good teacher, worthy of respect. Yet unlike many of the high masters and Songmasters who had the responsibility of seeing that the Songhouse ran smoothly, he was also a good administrator. He got jobs done. He remembered details. So that where most masters were willing to see almost all the work and decisions taken care of by the Blinds, Onn made it a point to know as much about all the operations of the Songhouse as he could, and help Esste as much as possible.
More important, he did it without being obnoxious. And so it was only reasonable for him and everyone else to assume that he would be the next Songmaster in the High Room, when Esste decided she was finished. And he would have been, too, if he hadn't been so busy.
When the Songmaster of the High Room did not wish to be disturbed, he or she simply did not answer a knock on the door. This was accepted practice. The only ones who could defy this were Deafs and Blinds going about their business, because, according to the etiquette of the place, they were generally regarded as nonexistent. A Deaf whose routine called for him to sweep out a room would simply sweep out the room, and the person who had sought privacy there would not mind-though if a student or a teacher were to enter without permission, it would be quite rude.
All this was simply taken for granted. But Onn had to consult the computer for an answer to a question, and that meant conferring with Esste. The problem seemed urgent at the time, though a few hours later he could not even remember what it was. He went to the High Room and knocked on the door.
There wasn't an answer.
If Onn had been ambitious instead of dedicated, he would have thought of the possibility that Esste did not answer because she had decided to quit her work, and he would have tiptoed away and been patient. Or if Onn had been less confident of himself, he would not have dared to open the door. But he was dedicated and confident, and he opened the door, and so it was he who found Esste's corpse cold under a thick layer of snow.
Esste's loss grieved him, and he sat in the cold (after having closed the shutters and turned on the heat) with her corpse for some time, mourning the loss of her friendship, for he had loved her very much.
But he also knew his responsibility. He had found the body. Therefore he had to inform the person who would be the next Songmaster in the High Room. Yet he himself was the only logical choice for the position. And custom forbade him to name himself. It could not be done.
It occurred to him-he was human, after all-to leave the room immediately with all as he had found it and go wait patiently for some Deaf or Blind to find the body, which was as it should be anyway.
But he was honest, and knew that the very fact that he had defied custom already and entered without permission was reason enough for him to be denied the office. If he could flout courtesy and enter when a person wanted privacy, he was too thoughtless to be Songmaster of the High Room.
But who else? It was not an accident that he was the most obvious choice for the High Room-it was not just because he was outstanding, but also because no one else was particularly suited for the work. There were many gifted singers and teachers among the Songmasters and high masters-after all, it was singing and teaching they were selected for. But a person of such strong will, such dedication, such wisdom that the Songhouse would be safe if guided by that will and that wisdom?
In all the years of the Songhouse's existence, there had always been someone, an easy choice, or at least an understandable one. Always one of the Songmasters had been ready, or if not one of them, then an outstanding young high master whose choice was clearly right.
This time there was no one. Oh, there were two or three who might have done passable work, but Onn could not have borne to work under them, for one was prone to make whimsical decisions, and another often got involved in petty quarrels, and the third was too absentminded to be depended on. Someone would always be cleaning up after their errors. That was not the way it ought to be.
By evening, Onn was getting desperate. He had barred the door-no sense in letting the rumor get out if a chance Deaf should enter-and with the snow now forming puddles on the ground, he was feeling quite damp and uncomfortable. He resolved not to leave the room until he had decided. But he could not decide.
And so, early in the morning, after a fitful sleep, he got up, keyed the door to open to his hand, locked it behind him, and began prowling the Stalls and Chambers, the Common Rooms and the toilets and the kitchens, hoping that some startling idea would occur to him, or that his indecision would be resolved, so that he could choose someone to replace Esste.
It was afternoon when, despondent, he stepped into a Common Room where a group of Breezes were being taught. He came just for solace; the young voices were unskilled enough that their singing did not force him to pay attention, yet they were good enough that their harmonies and countermelodies were a pleasure to hear.
As he sat at the back of the room, he began to watch the teacher, began to listen to her. He recognized her immediately, of course. She had enough ability that she ought to have been teaching in Stalls and Chambers-her own voice was refined and pure. But she was not young, and never likely to be advanced to be a high master or Songmaster, and so she had asked to remain in the Common Room, since she loved the children and would not be ashamed or disappointed to end her life teaching them. Esste had immediately given consent, since it was good for children to learn from the best possible voices, and this woman was the best singer of any of the teachers in the Common Room.
Her manner with the children was loving but direct, kind but accurate. It was plain that the children were devoted to her; the normal squabbles that were bound to break out in a class this age were easily handled, and they were touchingly eager to sing well for her approval. When a song was especially good, she would join in, not loudly, but in a soft and beautiful harmony that would excite the children and inspire them to sing better.
Onn had made up his mind before he realized it. Suddenly he found himself protesting a decision he had not known that he had made. She's too inexperienced, he told himself, though in fact there was no one but him who really had experience in doing some of the work of the High Room. She's too quiet, too shy to work her will in the Songhouse, he insisted, but knew that as she guided the children with love, not power, she would be able to guide the Songhouse as well.
And finally all his objections came down to the last one: pity. She loved teaching the little children, and in the High Room she would only have time for one or two children, and those, would have to be in Stalls and Chambers. She would not be happy to give up a work she so enjoyed doing to accept a task that she herself and most others would think was beyond her.
Onn was certain, however. Watching her he knew that she should take Esste's place. And if it was hard for her, and she had to give up something to do it-well, the Songhouse exacted high prices from its children, and she would do her duty willingly, as all the people of the Songhouse would.
He arose, and she ended the song to ask him what he wanted.
Rruk, he said, Esste has died.
He was pleased that it did not occur to her that she was being called to replace Esste. Instead her dismay was heartfelt, and nothing but mourning for her beloved Song-master Esste. She sang her grief, and the children tentatively joined in. Her song had begun with all the technique she had, but as the children tried to join her, she simplified almost by habit, put her music within their reach, and together they sang touchingly of love that had to end with death. It moved Onn greatly. She was a generous woman. He had chosen well.
When her song ended, he said the words that would cause her, he knew, much misery.
Rruk, I found her body, and I ask you to make the funeral arrangements.
She understood instantly, and her Control held, though she said softly, Songmaster Onn, the
chance that led you to find her body was cruel, but the chance that brought you to me was madness.
Nevertheless, it is your task.
Then I will do it. But I think I will not be the only one to mourn the fact that for the first time, our custom has failed to choose the one best-suited for that duty.
They were singing to each other, their voices controlled but beautiful with emotions that the children were hardly experienced enough to comprehend.
Our custom has not failed, Onn said, and you will be sure of that in time.
She left her class then, and the students scurried away to tell everyone the news, and all over the Songhouse songs of mourning for Esste began, along with whispers of amazement that Onn was not the successor, that he in fact had for the first time in history chosen a Songmaster for the High Room who was not even a master, who was merely a teacher of Breezes.
Onn and Rruk carefully tended to Esste's body. Naked, the old woman looked incredibly frail, nothing like the image of power she had always presented. But then, she had lived among those to whom the body meant nothing and the voice was the key to what a person was, and by that standard no one more powerful had been known in the Songhouse in many lifetimes. Onn and Rruk sang and talked as they worked, Rruk asking many questions and Onn trying to teach her in a few hours what had taken him many years to learn.
Finally, in frustration, she said, I cannot learn it.
And he answered, I will be here and help you all you need.
She agreed, and so, instead of immediately trying to assert her authority as Songmaster, she began merely as a mouthpiece for Onn's decisions. Such a thing could not be kept hidden, and there were those who thought Onn might have done better to choose them, but that he had chosen Rruk because she was so weak he could rule the Songhouse through her.
Gradually, however, she began to perform her duties alone, and slowly the people of the Songhouse came to realize that she had made them all, somehow, happier; that while the music had not noticeably improved or got worse, the songs had all become somehow happier. She treated all the children with as much respect as due any adult; she treated all the adults with as much patience and love as due any child. And it worked. And when Onn died not too many years afterward, there was no doubt that he had chosen correctly-in fact, there were many who said that chance had been kind to the Songhouse, by making Rruk and not Onn Songmaster in the High Room. For the Songhouse had not lost his expertise, and had gained Rruk's understanding as well.
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