Strike the watered clouds with heaven’s lamp.
Blessed be the land that receives the damp,
Strike the watered clouds with heaven’s lamp.”
More lightning bolts cleave the clouds that have turned nearly night-black.
The Songmaster’s left hand gestures once more, and the timbre of the accompaniment deepens. The baton flicks, and the chant shifts.
“Blessed be the land that receives the rain.
Open the clouds onto the thirsty plain.
Blessed be the land that receives the rain.
Open the clouds onto the thirsty plain.”
Droplets begin to fall on the newly uncovered soil, on the fragments of dried wood that had once been shaped, and upon the sand-polished, white fragments that had, centuries earlier, belonged to some living creature.
12
The ninth glass found Anna in the dome building, standing beside Brill as she watched the players tune their instruments. Gero sat on a stool in the corner, his eyes on Brill. While she hadn’t been able to sleep, with all too many questions swirling inside her head, the combination of the midday meal, lots of water, washing up, and several hours’ rest had left her feeling surprisingly good, surprising for someone thrown from one world to another. She just hoped Elizabetta would be all right. Mario was on his own, anyway, except that she still worried.
“After they practice,” Brill suggested, “you might have a word with young Daffyd.”
“About what?” Anna asked innocently.
“Whatever you choose,” the sorcerer answered. “He’s like a skittish colt, and if he bolts, he’s going to get in trouble.”
Anna held in a frown. In trouble with whom?—Brill? Lord Barjim? the dark ones?
“The dark ones would see him as your summoner, and …” Brill shrugged.
Lovely, reflected the singer. If I don’t keep the young man here, and anything happens to him, it’s my fault! It was so convenient for Brill to forget about what he did to Daffyd’s father, but not unexpected. That sort of rationalization was typical for tenors, conductors, and directors—and, apparently, for sorcerers. Her eyes went back to the group assembling around the stools in the dome building’s practice room.
There were twelve players, and eight were strings—four violinists, with instruments like the early Italian violinos, two violas, and two cellos. Then there were the horns—two instruments resembling clarinets, one wooden flute, except it was played from the end like an American Indian flute, a last woodwind that resembled a cross between a bass clarinet and an English horn, and one brass horn halfway between a French horn and a tuba, except the brass tubing seemed thicker and shorter.
Daffyd, carrying his viola, looked sideways at Brill, then at Anna. Anna offered a smile to the young man, but he looked away quickly, and took his seat on a stool.
“Are they ready, Kaseth?”
“We are almost ready, lord.”
“We will begin with the building song,” Brill announced. After a minimal number of tunings, the sorcerer raised his hands, and with tight but fluid gestures, directed the group through the very short song.
Anna listened. Although she was no musicologist and she couldn’t have provided an explanation of Schenkerian analysis, let alone provided such an analysis—the music seemed similar to early Western music, mostly polyphonic and modal in nature. Then, did they have either the mathematics or the instrumentation to develop equal-tempered tuning? There was so much she didn’t know, didn’t even know how to ask without creating more problems.
Each instrument seemed to carry its own melody, although the predominant melody seemed to rest mostly on the high strings, the violinos. Occasionally the predominant theme was carried by both the woodwinds and the strings. The cello seemed totally used for a simplified bass version of the melody, rather than for true harmony, as was the deep sound of the bass clarinet/English horn. The brass horn—Brill had called it a falk horn—followed the violas, or so it seemed to Anna.
“ … the section where the falk horn and the bass wind join—you’re not together there … .”
The two hornists exchanged glances, and the woman clarinet player with the white-streaked red hair followed the interchange. Daffyd looked stolidly at Brill.
“Again,” the sorcerer ordered.
“Now the paving song …”
“ … the forging song …”
Through the rehearsal, if that were what it was, Anna wasn’t impressed, but she kept her face impassive, or she hoped she did.
“That will be all for this afternoon, Kaseth.” The sorcerer nodded to the man with the wispy white hair, the concertmaster, of sorts, then at Anna.
Anna slipped from the side of the practice room to the stool where Daffyd was easing his viola into the brown case. Brill followed Kaseth out into the small entry hall. Gero followed the sorcerer.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Anna said.
“You are with Lord Brill, most high sorceress,” Daffyd said stiffly, closing the instrument case.
“Yes, I am staying in his hall. That’s all. I’m a stranger here. I have no clothes, no money, and very little knowledge of Erde. What would you suggest?”
“You are a sorceress. Lord Brill says so.”
“That may be.” Anna took a deep breath. “But I don’t know who to trust, and how much. I don’t know the politics or even much about the geography. Don’t you understand, Daffyd? Even if my language is much like yours, I’m a total stranger here. I’m not a composer. I’m not even an arranger. I’m a singer, and the songs I know won’t do much here.”
Daffyd looked over his shoulder. Only the woodwind player with the white-streaked red hair remained in the practice room, and she looked directly at them. Anna caught her eyes, and the woman turned quickly and hurried out into the entry foyer.
Daffyd still did not reply.
“What is it? Is ‘singer’ a dirty word here?” The look on the youth’s face gave her the answer. “Some people act as though it’s a dirty word where I come from, too. Especially when it’s time to pay you. They want it for free, or cutrate.”
“They don’t pay sorceresses?”
“If you mean singers … no, not very much.”
Daffyd looked bewildered, and his eyes flicked toward the empty doorway. “But you are a sorceress,” he protested.
“Right now, I’m a sorceress with a few spells, just enough to keep Lord Brill off balance.”
Daffyd paled slightly. “They must be powerful.”
“Enough,” Anna temporized. “But not enough to go wandering all through Defalk, not without getting into even more trouble.” She could tell that Brill remained outside the practice room, and that bothered her. What was he expecting from her?
“But you were powerful in your world … .”
“Song magic isn’t as strong as technology magic on my world.” Anna thought of her stopped watch. “Here, it seems like some forms of technology don’t work at all, and song magic is stronger, much stronger. It takes some getting used to.”
“Why are you talking to me,” Daffyd asked, “if Lord Brill has all the answers?”
“Because no one has all the answers, and because I trust you,” she answered bluntly, but quietly enough that her words would not carry. “I couldn’t explain why, but I do.”
Daffyd opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally, he asked in a whisper. “And what about Lord Brill? Do you trust him?”
“About some things.”
Daffyd gave a small nod. “I have to think.”
“Do that.” Anna watched the young string player as he left the practice room.
Brill returned shortly, even before Anna reached the door. “He seems more settled. What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I had to learn more about your world, and that I trusted him.”
“That was dangerous.”
“His heart is good,” Anna said.
“But not his judgment.”
“He’s young,�
� Anna said, reflecting to herself that some judgment could be learned, but not trustworthiness. “We’ve all had to learn.”
“You’re more charitable than I,” Brill continued as he closed the doors to the building.
“That may be because you are more experienced in the ways of your world,” Anna answered, hating herself momentarily for trying to placate the sorcerer.
Despite the sun’s low position over the western plains, the air was still and penetrating as though Anna stood in a massive oven. She patted Farinelli and took several deep swallows from the water bottle before mounting.
As they rode back to the sorcerer’s hall, Brill edged his mare closer to Farinelli. “What do you think of our music?”
“It’s more … functional, I think. Ours is designed more for …” Anna paused. How could she say it? What was earth’s music designed for, anyway? After a time, not long before they slipped into the shadows of the hall’s gates, she finally answered. “I need to think more.”
As they rode past the main entry to the hall toward the stable, from somewhere in the back of the hall grounds came the single crow of a rooster, following by clucking and brawwking.
“You are very thoughtful, lady,” Brill said as he dismounted outside the stable. “Best you get the thinking done while you can. Events may not always allow for lengthy contemplation.”
“I appreciate the advice.” Anna dismounted and led Farinelli toward his stall, where she was met by Quies.
“How was he, lady?” asked the stablemaster.
“He was fine, thank you. I enjoyed riding him.”
“Good.” Quies led the gelding into the stall, and Anna started toward the front of the stable.
“You seem rather distant,” Brill offered, joining her. The two walked back across the stones toward the main part of the hall.
“It is rather unsettling to accept a whole new world.” Especially when you’re still not sure it’s real. Anna took off her hat, holding it in her hand. Where the hat had touched her hair was sweaty, and probably dirty from the sweat and dust. “It’s even hard to know where to start.”
“I have done my best to make you welcome.”
“I would have done the same for you, Lord Brill, and you would have had as much readjustment in my world as I do here—perhaps more.” Anna realized she shouldn’t have spoken so sharply, but her feet hurt, and she was tired of being expected to be grateful or scintillating or brilliant—or whatever Brill expected.
“Dinner will be ready in a glass or so.” Brill said stiffly in the entry hall, his eyes taking in Anna’s dusty clothes and floppy hat.
“That will allow me some time to get cleaned up,” Anna said sweetly. She was amazed at how dusty she’d gotten just from the short ride to and from the sorcerer’s outbuilding. She nodded politely and headed up the wide stone stairs. Before she had gotten three steps up, she was joined by Florenda.
While the tub filled, she rummaged through the long closets, not wanting to wear the green performing gown—especially not the longline bra—to dinner. The tub was almost full before she found a dark blue gown that was almost a wrap-around style—but it seemed to fit—the only one that really did. Most of the clothing was for women far shorter than she was. She’d still have to wear either the heels, a pair of sandals her toes hung over the front in, or boots.
She opted for the sandals, since green heels clashed with the dark blue.
Then she stripped off the dusty riding clothes and eased into the tub. For a time, she just lay in the warm water of the tub, letting it carry away the soreness in her feet and legs.
A knock on the door roused her, and she had to hurry, finally pinning her hair up into a bun that would probably come undone halfway through dinner.
Again, Florenda escorted her to the salon.
“You scarcely look like the horsewoman I saw this afternoon.” Brill bowed deeply. He had also bathed and wore the dressier blue velvet trousers and tunic, and short boots.
“You’re kind.” Anna nodded.
“Truthful. I’m still amazed that you have grown children. You have no secret spells to make you younger, you’re sure?”
“Not that I know of.” Not except hair coloring, and I’m not about to mention that.
“After a day here, what have you discovered about us?” asked the sorcerer, pulling out the chair and waiting for Anna to seat herself.
“That I have a great deal to learn.” Anna kept her voice light as she slipped into the heavy chair.
“What else?”
“Defalk seems to face some serious problems.”
Brill rang the bell, and Serna appeared immediately. Dinner was a repetition of the night before, except that the sauce on the unnamed meat was white instead of brown, and the bread was more toward rye than pumpernickel.
“Have you had any more thoughts about the difference between our music and yours?” Brill probed idly.
“Ours is more concerned with affecting how people feel,” Anna said carefully, knowing that was certainly true enough.
“That’s more like darksong. Is that because your techknowledgeable magic is more powerful than clearsong?”
Anna blinked. “Oh, it’s technological magic—the machines. Now, we can do much more with technology, but it hasn’t always been that way.” She still felt as though she were walking on eggs, trying to avoid admitting that song had no direct physical power in her world without being blatantly untruthful. “Does your clearsong—it is clearsong, isn’t it?—work better on things than people?”
“Clearsong usually does not work on people. Darksong does, but only if the sorcerer is both powerful and careful. Healing is the most dangerous type of spellcasting.”
“Don’t you have doctors?” She paused. “Healers?”
“Some healers know herbs and poultices, and there are some surgeons, but except for setting bones or sewing up wounds, most people heal better without them.”
Anna shook her head, and took another mouthful of bread. She ate slowly, her eyes heavy. The long day, and the heat, were catching up to her.
“Tomorrow, I need to work on a new spell,” Brill mused.
“For what?” Anna asked.
“That’s something sorcerers generally do not share, at least not until the work is done.” Brill took a sip of the vinegar wine that Anna continued to avoid. “You could use the other workroom.” The sorcerer’s words weren’t quite a suggestion.
“You’d prefer that I not ride anywhere alone, and that I not experiment with spells in the hall?” Anna tried to keep a smile from her face.
“I have great respect for your abilities,” Brill returned. “So might the dark ones, and they know you are here. Outside the walls, until you are more … accustomed to Liedwahr … .”
“Do you think people would come after me?”
Brill smiled sadly. “I know they will. What I do not know is how soon they will begin.”
“It sounds like you think I should work on sorcery to protect myself.”
“That is always a good idea, particularly now.”
Anna yawned. “I’m sorry. It’s not as though I’ve done that much today. Just ride and listen and look around. Maybe I’m still recovering from …” She spread her hands.
“That could be: I have never dared to try to transport someone from the mist worlds.”
Anna waited.
“It can be dangerous, and some sorcerers have been pulled there, rather than pulling objects or people here. Most times the objects or people carried are burned as if by fire.” Brill laughed, but his laugh died away. “For those reasons, hard as matters may be here, I prefer my own world.”
“So would I, but I wasn’t given much choice.” Anna finished the last of the water in the goblet and sat back. “How do I get back?”
“I do not know. I would worry about trying. It could kill you.” Brill spread his hands. “You are here, and a few others have come from the mist worlds. Likewise, there are records of older sorcerer
s traveling there, and records of those who arrived as charred corpses. I know of no one who has traveled more than one direction.” The sorcerer paused. “That does not mean it is not possible.”
Anna understood. Brill was not about to spend time on something that was impossible. He wouldn’t hinder her, but he had paying work to do, work that she had interrupted, and he was suggesting that she work on getting her own spellcasting in order—before too long. Like … starting tomorrow.
“If you don’t mind, Lord Brill, it’s time for me to turn in.” She stifled another yawn. “Time to get some sleep,” she added as she pushed back the chair and stood up.
Brill rose and bowed. “I will see you at breakfast.”
“I’m sure you will.” Anna inclined her head.
Florenda appeared and followed her up to the bedchamber.
After changing into the thin gown, Anna sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the covered windows, wondering how Elizabetta was doing, hoping that her daughter would be all right. Then, again, Avery would certainly step in. Yes, he would. Her fingers clenched.
Finally, she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets.
Neither her worries nor the lumpy mattress and pillows could keep her awake.
13
FALCOR, DEFALK
Barjim looks into the pewter goblet, then across the table. “I shouldn’t have any more.”
“No one will tell you not to, lord,” offers the blocky gray-haired man.
“No one but my conscience, or the ghost of my father, or worse yet, that of my uncle. Or the headache I’ll have tomorrow.” Barjim’s hands curl around the goblet as if he would squeeze it into scrap before he forces his fingers to relax. “Everyone is watching every move I make. If I move troops from Denguic to Mencha or farther east, the Prophet of Neserea will have an army marching from Elioch. Oh, I forgot. He already marched it to his border station at the West Pass to ensure … What did he call it? The music of tranquility?” Barjim’s heavy, hooded eyes widen fractionally, and he sets the goblet down on the ancient table. “The dark ones are massing to overwhelm me through the Sand Pass, and I can’t raise enough levies and can’t buy enough troops to reinforce the eastern marches, and Brill’s got about as much backbone as a sand adder.”
The Soprano Sorceress: The First Book of the Spellsong Cycle Page 9