Fifth Quarter

by Tanya Huff

  She bowed slightly as Prince Otavas handed her a goblet of juice, ignored the not-entirely-hidden, indulgent smile of the servant who’d poured it, and nabbed a skewer of spiced chicken before any more of it disappeared. At the far end of the room, a low dais made it possible for her to see the Emperor and the Princess Verika involved in a spirited discussion. Probably about hawking, Karlene decided, studying the hand motions. It wasn’t that difficult a guess as they were both crazy about the sport and could argue for hours over the relative merits of one bird over another.

  The prince sighed as he followed her gaze. “They were talking about water rights at the last council meeting and ended up in a shouting match about marsh hawks.”

  “It’s nice that the Emperor has someone to share his interests, Highness.”

  “It does take the pressure off the rest of us,” Otavas admitted with a smile. He turned to face her, smile broadening. “And while I don’t mind accompanying them occasionally, I personally have a deeper interest in mu …” A gust of wind tore the rest of the words from his mouth and nearly knocked him over. Fighting for balance, he stared at the bard being buffeted back and forth by a swirling column of air. He tried to reach her, was flung away, and could only watch helplessly as she staggered and almost fell.

  Somehow, Karlene managed to get both feet firmly beneath her in spite of the surrounding kigh. Long, pale fingers clutched at her clothing and hair. Above the wind-sketched outlines of elongated bodies, thin and sharply pointed faces wore nearly identical expressions as each of the kigh tried desperately to get her attention. By the time she found her voice, there were ten, maybe twelve pairs of stormy gray eyes trying to peer into hers.

  “Gently, gently,” she Sang although only the kigh could find words in the pure tones. “It’s all right. I’ll take care of it. Gently, it’ll be all right.”

  She continued Singing reassurance as the whole cluster slowed, made one final circuit around her, then sped out through the same window they’d entered, their passage throwing an elderly courtier hard against the tiles and extinguishing the torches that lined the balcony.

  A babble of voices rose into the silence that followed. The prince, taking advantage of both rank and proximity clutched at the bard’s arm. “Was it the air spirits?”

  Brow furrowed, Karlene nodded.

  “What were they so angry about?”

  Tugging her tunic back into place, she turned to face him. “The kigh weren’t angry, Highness. They were terrified.”

  * * * *

  “What could trap the kigh, Gabris? That’s the question.” Karlene walked to the window and stared out at a distinct absence of kigh. Three or four kigh—different kigh, the same kigh; no one could tell—usually hung about the windows of the bardic suite. Today the skies were clear. The kigh she’d called had fled the moment she’d released them. “I mean, even the most powerful of bards can’t compel the kigh to do something they don’t want to.”

  “Can’t or don’t?” asked the middle-aged man yawning up at her from behind the scribe’s table that dominated the room.

  Frowning, the younger bard moved back to the table. “What do you mean?”

  “Bards take vows,” Gabris reminded her. “The kigh are our allies, not our servants. Except in cases of great emergency, they are not to be compelled. However, if they can be compelled, perhaps they can also be trapped.”

  “Are you saying that it’s a bard they’re terrified of?” Karlene demanded incredulously. “Because if it is, you’re wrong. First of all, I know the Songs they use to name every living bard, and so do you. Secondly, I’ve heard the kigh identify new talent. Remember when we started testing for Imperial fledglings?” Before Gabris could answer, she continued. “Remember when Ullious showed up? It seemed that with every step he took toward the Capital, a new kigh appeared to tell us he was coming. This wasn’t the same thing. Trust me.” The strides that returned her to the window were jerky and uneven. “This was darker. Older. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it was unclean.”

  “I wasn’t accusing anyone,” Gabris told her gently. “I just want you to keep your mind open to all possiblities.”

  Karlene shrugged without turning. “All right. It’s open.” There were still no kigh outside the window. “If it’s been around for as long as they say it has, why haven’t we run into it before? I can’t recall the kigh being afraid of anything.” Pivoting on one heel, she returned to the table. “Can you?”

  “No. I can’t. I didn’t.” Both bards had spent most of a sleepless night in a light trance, sifting Bardic Memory for precedents. Gabris waved the quill he held toward a chair. “Karlene, please, sit down.”

  “Sorry.” She sank down, shoulders slumped, one hand covering her eyes.

  “Better. It’s difficult to think with you bouncing all over the room like that.” Staring up at the arc of the ceiling, he flicked at his chin with the end of his pen.

  At the first shunk, shunk, shunk, Karlene straightened, lowered her hand, and glared across the table at him.

  Shunk, shunk, shunk. Whether deep in thought or half asleep, he didn’t notice.

  He’d been doing it all morning, off and on, and the sound of the goose feather against the short, gray bristles of his beard was driving her crazy. She couldn’t take it anymore. Teeth clenched, she snaked a long arm across the table, grabbed the older bard’s wrist, and forced his arm down flat against the wood. “Please,” she ground out through clenched teeth, “don’t do that.”

  Gabris stared at her, confused, and, as she released him, the feather rose. “Don’t do what?” Shunk.

  “THAT! With the feather! Don’t do it anymore.” She leaned forward, fingers curled into fists. “Or I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”

  “I think you’re getting a little too worked up about this, Karlene.” His voice rough with fatigue, Gabris very carefully set the pen to one side while he spoke.

  “You weren’t there. You didn’t feel their terror. I am not getting too worked up about this!” She surged to her feet. “The Emperor is demanding to know what the kigh are frightened of, but all we’ve managed to get out of them is that they’re afraid of being trapped, they don’t want to talk about it, and could we please get rid of it for them.”

  “The Emperor is a lot more reasonable than he appears,” Gabris pointed out, smothering another yawn. “When you’ve been here a little longer, you’ll realize that his bark is much worse than his bite.”

  “It’s not the Emperor I’m worried about.” Arms folded, she paced back to the window and stared out at the city beyond the walls of the Imperial Palace. It was probably only her imagination, but the shadows seemed darker, defying the light. Something was very wrong.

  “May I come in?”

  Imperial princes didn’t have to knock. Karlene swung around and leaned against the sill as Gabris welcomed the Emperor’s youngest son and invited him to be seated.

  “Thank you, no.” Prince Otavas politely acknowledged the older bard, then directed all of his attention at Karlene. “I just stopped by to see if you’ve discovered what caused the air spirits to act so strangely last night.”

  In spite of a miserable morning, she had to admire the way he made it sound as though that was his only concern. His expression rather ruined the effect, but for a young man not yet eighteen with no bardic training it was an excellent effort. “I’m very sorry, Highness, but the kigh aren’t cooperating.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Behind the prince, Gabris wagged both brows suggestively.

  Karlene fought off the urge to grind her teeth. “I’m sorry, Highness,” she said again, “but no.”

  He spread his hands, the dozen or more narrow gold bands he wore adding drama to the gesture. “I wish I was one of the nine, then I’d be of some use to you.”

  It had taken years to convince the Emperor to allow his citizens to be tested for the ability to Sing the kigh, but nine Imperial fledgling
s now studied at the Bardic Hall in Elbasan—the first five would return to the Empire some time before Third Quarter festival, ready to Walk their own land. Eventually, there’d be a Bardic Hall built in the Capital.

  All at once, Karlene wondered if the prince’s infatuation with her masked a hidden pain. It had to be difficult for him; the youngest in a family dynastically secure three Imperial children before he was born. Perhaps he was desperately searching for a purpose, a purpose represented by the individual freedom and power of the bards. Had it hurt him to see others given that chance?

  “Tell me, Highness …” She used a gentler tone than she usually dared use given how little encouragement the prince needed, and ignored the startled look Gabris shot her because of it. “… do you really wish you were one of the nine? Do you want to be a bard?”

  “I’d rather be a prince.” He shrugged, not at all embarrassed by the admission. If he was hiding pain, it was obvious that he didn’t realize it. “Besides, I was tested. No talent. Couldn’t carry a tune if I got the servants to do it for me. I would like your ability to Command others to tell me the truth, though.”

  “You’re a member of the Imperial House, Highness,” Gabris interjected. “You can command others to tell you the truth.”

  “Not really.” Otavas flashed a slightly rueful smile over his shoulder at the older bard. “Everyone tells me what they assume I want to hear.” Then he ducked his head and shot a smoldering look at Karlene from under the fringe of thick, black lashes. “Well, almost everyone.”

  Karlene sighed. Twenty-eight shouldn’t feel this old. “We haven’t really got time for that this morning, Highness.”

  “You’re right, of course. I am sorry.” Settling down beside her on the broad windowsill, he smiled expectantly from one bard to the other. “What do we do now?”

  “We, Highness?”

  “Yes. His Majesty has suggested I give you every assistance.”

  Gabris barely got his fist to his mouth in time to cover a sudden spasm of not very believable coughing.

  Shooting him a look that singed rather than smoldered, Karlene indulged in a number of treasonous thoughts about His Imperial Majesty, who’d probably been maneuvered into shouting the suggestion at his youngest son in order to get some peace. “We were discussing what we were going to do next before you came in, Highness,” she said at last. “We’ve spoken to the kigh, but as I mentioned, they’re not cooperating.”

  “Have you spoken to the others?”

  “Others?” The two bards repeated the word in unison.

  “The other kigh,” Otavas offered, a little confused at their reaction. “I mean, I know you both Sing three out of the four quarters because soon you’ll have to walk around the Empire with our new bards and His Majesty, King Theron never allows bards who Sing earth to leave Shkoder and … What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Highness.” Karlene resisted the urge to beat her head against the window frame. “Gabris and I, however, are idiots.”

  “You hadn’t thought of it?”

  “No, Highness, we hadn’t.”

  “That’s all right.” He looked pleased with himself. “You’re tired. I’m just glad I could help.”

  * * * *

  When Otavas’ mother, the Princess Irenka of Shkoder, came to the Havakeen Empire to join with their crown prince, she brought with her an enduring political alliance, a much younger Gabris, and a religion that enclosed all beliefs, all philosophies within the Circle. As the years passed and more people began to appreciate a system that accepted all gods and vastly simplified a complicated calendar of feast days and obligations, the princess had a Center built in the Capital—endearing herself to the taxpayers by paying for it herself.

  The round, stone building dominated the upper half of Temple Street, style and material both looking remarkably out of place beside the local architecture.

  As Karlene followed Gabris through the eastern doors and into the cool interior of the Center, she breathed a sigh of relief. Summers in the Empire were much hotter than summers back in Shkoder. She allowed a brief moment of pity for the prince’s guards, now flanking each of the Center’s four doors and undoubtedly baking in their armor, then hurried to catch up to the two men.

  They’d been unable to convince Prince Otavas to stay behind.

  “I was standing right beside you last night when the air spirits arrived,” he’d pointed out. “Nothing happened to me.”

  A startled priest emerged from behind the central altar, eyes wide as she recognized the three approaching.

  “If it isn’t an inconvenience, Your Grace,” Gabris began, bowing gracefully in spite of age and bulk. “My companion and I should like to use the Center for a few moments so that we might Sing fire and water in a protected setting.”

  “An inconvenience?” The priest returned the bow. “You have only to ask, honored Bard.” She bowed to Karlene. “Honored Bards.” Then she remembered the prince and, slightly flustered, added a deeper bow, the wide, quartered sleeves of her robe sweeping against the stone floor. “Your Highness.”

  Karlene nodded in turn, her opinion of Prince Otavas rising as he ignored the priest’s unfortunate lapse. With only two bards in the Empire—even if there’d been two bards in the Empire off and on for the last twenty-two years—they were still a novelty, and for those who’d accepted the enclosure of the Circle, a bard actually Singing the kigh became a religious experience. “Unfortunately, Your Grace, we must also ask that you leave us.” The priest looked so disappointed Karlene nearly relented but, remembering the buffeting she’d taken in the assembly room, stood firm. Bad enough that they’d be responsible for the prince’s safety.

  With a final, reluctant bow, the priest sketched the sign of the Circle over her heart and left the building.

  Gabris indicated that the prince should be seated on one of the curved benches that filled the area between the walls and the altar, settled down beside him, and gestured for Karlene to go ahead.

  “Why aren’t you Singing as well?” Otavas asked him in some surprise.

  “Two reasons, Highness. One of us needs to witness and Karlene’s voice is considerably younger than mine.”

  “She has a beautiful voice, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, Highness, she does.”

  “Oh, great, encourage him,” Karlene muttered under her breath as she stepped out into the open space surrounding the three-tiered altar. She drew in a deep breath of air heavy with the familiar scents of beeswax, water, and earth and found herself unexpectedly homesick. Shkoder and the Bardic Hall suddenly seemed a very long way away. And suppose we find out what’s frightening the kigh. What then? There’s only the two of us.

  Wiping damp palms on the front of her robe, she pushed the mood aside with a simple, two-octave scale, then focused on the nearest of the huge candles that crowded the highest tier of the altar and Sang the four notes to call fire.

  Almost immediately, kigh danced on a half-dozen wicks, barely defined features flickering and changing, tiny eyes of brilliant white the only constant. Still Singing, Karlene heard an admiring murmur from the prince and the rustle of fabric as Gabris leaned forward. A little surprised at both their size and number, she Sang calming and safety until the dance grew less frantic.

  “If fire and water have been frightened as well,” Gabris had said, “perhaps calling them into the Center will make them feel secure enough to tell us what’s wrong.”

  Although fire was the most self-absorbed of all the kigh, Karlene could feel them reaching out to her. She couldn’t sense why. Apprehensions a subtle harmony within the Song, she asked if they were afraid. When it became obvious that they were, she asked if they were afraid of being trapped.

  Every candle on the altar burst into flame. A blazing tower of kigh surged toward the vaulted ceiling, individuals swallowed up in the terrifying column of white and red and gold. Gulping great lungfuls of heated air, Karlene fought to Sing over the fire’s roar.


  She could smell her hair begin to singe.

  Hands raised to protect her eyes, she stumbled back a step.

  Then another voice joined hers, wrapping a tenor line around her Song, pouring in enough additional power to reach the heart of the holocaust. After a moment, the kigh began to listen. When together the two voices Sang a gratitude, the kigh whirled in one final, flaming vortex over the center of the altar and disappeared.

  Karlene coughed and waved away the streams of smoke and the stink of burned beeswax. The candles as big around as her arm had been completely consumed. Puddles of black grease dribbled down over the edge of the altar and into the circular fountain sucked dry by the heat.

  “Are you all right?” Gabris panted, dragging her around to face him.

  Was she? The skin over her cheeks and forehead felt tight and hot and questing fingers pulled off curled and brittle bits of hair. A quick check found brows and lashes still present. “I got a little scorched,” she muttered, licking cracked lips and tasting blood. “But I’m okay.”

  A gentle touch against her arm turned her toward the prince. A weight she hadn’t realized she carried lifted when she saw him, pale and scared but unhurt. “What happened?”

  “What happened?” Karlene repeated, glancing down at the blisters rising on the backs of her hands. “I asked the kigh if they were afraid of being trapped.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all?” The two bards followed his gaze as he stared up at the arcing vault of the ceiling. Soot streaked the stone ribs in a circle the exact diameter of the altar forty feet below.

  Her heart pounding, fully aware of how close she’d come to losing control of the kigh entirely, Karlene could only give thanks that Her Majesty had insisted on both traditional dimensions and materials.