Spirit Song

by M C Dwyer

  “Oh. I’m working in the library with Orin.”

  Alric gave a low whistle. “You must be higher born than you look if you can read and write and all.”

  Nepenthe gazed at him in surprise. “You can’t read?” In his mind, that seemed odd for some reason, but he couldn’t access the memories that would tell him why.

  “Do I look like a high born brat with nothing better to do than study?” He laughed. “What would I use it for, anyway?”

  For stories, Nepenthe thought. For adventures and knowledge and living lives not your own. Out loud, he said nothing, merely shrugging.

  His companion finished filling his plate and led him into the adjoining room. This was filled with tables and benches and an assortment of serving men and women. From their clothes, he was guessing these worked outdoors, either in the gardens or stables or similar. He filed in behind Alric and found a seat near a group of Alric’s friends. They greeted him heartily, and roasted him for being late to supper. Alric blamed Nepenthe, and immediately introduced him around. They welcomed him with smiles, and he merely nodded and ducked his head.

  After supper Nepenthe was somewhat at a loss. The library shut down at dusk, the risk of fire being too great to allow any sort of light near the books, and he wasn’t sure where to find Aidan. If there was another bonfire going, he might be there; but Nepenthe didn’t want to deal with the other Ailerons, though he wouldn’t have minded seeing one of his friends.

  That thought gave him pause. When was the last time he’d had friends? He couldn’t remember. He sighed, and wondered if he remembered his way to the balcony he’d found the night before.

  Starting from his bedroom, he let his feet retrace the path he’d followed the previous night, and with a faint smile discovered the glass doors. He carefully checked the balcony before opening the doors; he didn’t want to surprise anyone as he’d been surprised last night. The coast was clear, however, so he opened the doors and slipped outside.

  As expected, there was a fire in the courtyard below, but it was a fairly small one. A glance up at the sky and the gathering storm clouds suggested the reason why, and also explained why the few people in sight were picking things up and heading for shelter.

  Thunder rumbled, though Nepenthe hadn’t seen the flash of lightning, and the first few drops of rain plopped onto the balcony. A slow, true smile spread across Nepenthe’s face. He stepped backwards until he felt the stone bench behind him, then sat down and turned his face to the sky.

  With a rush of wind and a bolt of lightning that split the sky, the storm was upon them. From below came laughter and dismayed screams as the last few stragglers were caught in the deluge, but this did not disturb Nepenthe. He sat with his face turned to the sky, eyes closed and rain running down his face, soaking his clothes in seconds. He kicked off his shoes and slid them under the bench, then stretched out his bare toes so they could feel the rain, too.

  The storm built to a crescendo, drawing Nepenthe to his feet. He lifted his arms to the sky, then rose up on his bare toes and began to dance across the balcony, spinning and stepping in time to the reverberations of the storm. He laughed as he spun, pirouetting with only the rain as his partner.

  As the last rumbles of the storm subsided, he swept a graceful bow to the air, and then wiped the water from his face and flicked it at the sky with another laugh.

  He looked down at his wet clothes a bit ruefully. He had no others to change into, but he did not regret his dance. He retrieved his shoes and turned to go inside, only to be brought up short by a shadow standing in the doorway.

  “You’re crazy, Penthe,” Aidan said, and Nepenthe breathed out in relief. “Here, I thought you might need this.” He dropped a towel on Nepenthe’s head and tugged his shoes out of his hands.

  Nepenthe blotted his hair dry, then wrapped the towel around his wet clothes.

  “Take off your shirt at least, you crazy child,” Aidan scolded. “You’ll drip water all the way back to your room.”

  Pulling the towel closer, Nepenthe scowled. The moon emerged from the clouds in time to reveal Aidan’s expressive eyeroll.

  “Come on, then. But don’t blame me when you get scolded by the housekeeper.” He led the way back to Nepenthe’s room, where there was a large tub of steaming water waiting for him.

  “I’m fine,” Nepenthe protested.

  “There’s no way you can be fine after staying out in that storm. You’ll catch your death if you don’t warm up, and I’m not leaving until you’ve gotten into that tub.”

  There was a mulish set to Nepenthe’s chin as he wrapped the towel closer around him, but it started to quiver when Aidan advanced on him.

  By the simple expedient of picking him up by the towel, Aidan lifted him in the air and then dropped him into the tub, ignoring his mew of protest.

  Nepenthe rose from the water with a wrathful look in his flashing green eyes, and Aidan found himself retreating a step. Shaking off the now sopping towel, Nepenthe wadded it up and threw it at Aidan’s face, then sank back into the tub, submerging himself completely underwater. To Aidan’s discomfiture and annoyance, he stayed there an impossible length of time.

  Throwing his hands up in defeat, Aidan left, taking the dripping towel with him. He returned a while later with a dry towel and a clean nightshirt. Nepenthe rose until only his eyes were above water, his wet curls plastered to his forehead and trailing in front of his still flashing eyes. He blew bubbles at Aidan and sank again.

  At that, Aidan couldn’t stay angry. He laughed and wished Nepenthe a good night. One slim arm emerged from the tub to wave dismissively at him, and he laughed again and left.

  Chapter 5

  The days quickly fell into a pattern. After a quick breakfast with Alric or whoever happened to be eating at the time, Nepenthe would grab a bit of bread and cheese or an apple and head up to the record room. Sometimes he would descend the tower stairs to eat with Orin in the library, or take a short break with one of the hundreds of books on the shelves.

  The library was by far his favorite place, and if a summer storm darkened the tower windows to a point where he could no longer decipher the faded writings, he would descend to the library and ask Orin to recommend another book to him. Orin was always delighted to do so, and the two became fast friends.

  In the evenings, he occasionally sought out Aidan or one of the other Ailerons he knew, but they frequently stayed out in the courtyard with the other Ailerons, laughing and talking about things Nepenthe knew nothing about. More often, he retreated to his favored balcony, though as the season wore on, it tended to attract couples looking for a quiet place to stargaze and enjoy each other’s company. Nepenthe wrinkled his nose in disgust and began searching for another hiding place.

  He ranged all over the palace in his search, finding places that were cloaked in vast swaths of linen, an inch thick in dust, and places with not a speck of dust in sight but no indication that they were in use. Once such place was directly opposite what he’d deduced were the king’s private quarters.

  He’d never been inside, of course, but the halls were full of serving men and women who moved briskly and with purpose, and well-dressed clerks who shuffled bits of paper back and forth all day. This section was also directly behind what he’d discovered was the throne room.

  Opposite this was the place Nepenthe had found, and it was as regal as any bedroom suite he could imagine but was apparently unused. It was cleaned often enough that he never discovered any great amount of dust, but he’d also never caught any of the maids cleaning—though it was possible they did that in the mornings while he was sorting in the tower. Regardless, these chambers were equipped with the most perfect balcony Nepenthe could have imagined. It was high enough that the noise from below was muted, and it was built out from a corner of the palace so his view stretched across the horizon. He could see much of the city, when he was so inclined, and even more of the night sky, which was his view of choice.

  He retreated to
his newfound haven on an almost nightly basis, dodging what few servants were out and about and enjoying the solitude.

  On one evening when he’d retreated to the balcony earlier than usual, he noticed some activity in the courtyard below. Several people were practicing their swordplay, taking advantage of the lingering sunlight and long shadows that meant they had light to see but cooler temperatures than earlier in the day. He leaned on the balcony rail, watching the swift back and forth of the combatants and admiring their graceful footwork.

  Pushing back from the edge, he gave a salute with an imaginary blade and lunged forward. His mouth quirked slightly at his own clumsiness, and he gave a mocking bow to the sky. Turning back indoors, he scampered down the stairs and set off in search of Aidan. If he was going to learn to use a sword, he may as well do it properly.

  “You want to learn the sword?” Aidan said when Nepenthe finally ran him to ground in the courtyard. The evening was too sultry for a fire, but it hadn’t stopped the Ailerons and their friends from gathering, regardless.

  Aidan was sitting with Drinian and a woman Nepenthe didn’t know.

  “That sounds like a great idea,” Drinian said, smiling up at Nepenthe.

  He ducked his head but smiled back.

  “I don’t know,” Aidan said, then hastened to add, “I mean, that’s great, but I’m not sure I’m the one to teach you.”

  Nepenthe’s face fell and the unknown woman nudged Aidan in the side.

  “You’re going to say no to that face? I’d teach him myself, though sword’s not really my weapon.”

  Peeking up through his curls, Nepenthe met the woman’s eyes with a questioning look.

  “Longbow,” she said, miming drawing the string. “I’d teach you that if you wanted.”

  Drinian chuckled. “He’d never manage to pull the string. Wait till he has some more growth on him, and then, maybe.”

  Nepenthe flushed but didn’t move.

  “Well,” Aidan finally said, “I can try, but I’m not much of a teacher.”

  Nodding vigorously, all Nepenthe managed to say was, “Yes.”

  The woman chuckled. “I’m Ena, by the way. You must be Nepenthe.” She put out a hand that Nepenthe approached like a stray dog: cautiously and as though it might bite.

  He shook it briefly and quickly retreated. This only caused Ena’s smile to grow.

  “You’ll still have to do whatever work Orin assigns,” Aidan said, returning to the topic at hand. “That means we’ll have to train in the mornings before my duties, as well.”

  Nepenthe nodded again. “I’m always awake by first bell, anyway,” he said.

  Aidan smiled. “Well, find yourself some old clothes to get sweaty in, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  Flashing a brilliant smile that made Aidan blink, Nepenthe dashed off to find the seamstress’ bag of castoff clothing.

  The seamstress wasn’t in the workroom, but her bag of castoffs was, so Nepenthe dug through it eagerly, looking for something that might fit him. He’d been here once before, after getting soaked in the storm. His clothes hadn’t dried by morning, and Aidan had hauled him protesting through the halls and dropped him at the seamstress’ feet.

  “He needs clothes,” Aidan had announced. “And as you can see, mine are manifestly too big for him.”

  Nepenthe had tugged the cuffs of the sleeves back up on his wrists and scowled.

  The seamstress had nodded, then dug through the bag of clothes until she’d found several shirts, tunics, and trousers that were about the right size. With a ruthless suddenness that had caught Nepenthe off guard, she’d yanked his borrowed nightshirt up and over his head, and pulled one of the shirts down in its place before he’d done more than squawk.

  He scowled at the memory. Aidan had laughed, no doubt congratulating the seamstress on her victory, but Nepenthe had burned with humiliation for some time. The past was past, however, and for now he needed something he could train in—hopefully making himself strong enough to not fall victim to that sort of treatment again.

  With a silent huff of victory, Nepenthe withdrew an old linen shirt. It was too big and the cuffs were frayed beyond repair and most of the indigo dye had faded, but that wasn’t a problem. He scavenged among the seamstress’ tools and found a needle and thread as well as a large pair of scissors. A few judicious cuts with the scissors removed most of the sleeves and the side seams, and a few minutes’ work produced a long, sleeveless tunic that would let him move as well as be easy to wash between workouts.

  Pleased with the night’s work, he returned to his room to sleep so he’d be ready in the morning.

  Chapter 6

  Dawn found Nepenthe dressed and ready in the training yard. No one else was around yet, so he amused himself by whacking at the straw dummies with a wooden practice blade.

  “Penthe,” Aidan said as he walked in, then stifled a yawn. “You’re early.”

  He nodded. “I told you, I’m up early most days.”

  Aidan smiled ruefully. “I was up too late last night, myself.”

  Nepenthe nodded knowingly. “Talking to Ena.”

  A faint flush painted Aidan’s cheeks. “Yes, brat. I was talking to Ena. That’s no crime.”

  With a surprised look, Nepenthe met his eyes. “I didn’t say it was.”

  Aidan shook his head. “Let’s begin. First, before you can hold a blade, you have to prepare your body. If your body has no strength, it doesn’t matter how strong your arm is. Your body moves the blade, not your arm.”

  Nepenthe nodded.

  “Well?” Aidan said, motioning at the packed dirt ring around the training yard.

  With a longsuffering sigh, Nepenthe moved to the track and started jogging. To his credit, Aidan ran with him, giving him pointers about how to breathe and what to do to banish the stitch in his side.

  Nepenthe was panting almost immediately, and Aidan turned and jogged backwards, simultaneously teasing and encouraging him. He lowered his head and ran on, until Aidan finally called a halt. They were both dripping; the summer morning was already stifling though the sun had not yet touched the yard, but Aidan didn’t let Nepenthe quit.

  “Pushups,” he said, dropping to the ground and demonstrating.

  Flopping to the ground with a groan, Nepenthe managed two before his arms trembled and collapsed. “I can’t,” he mumbled into the dirt. The dust stuck to the sweat on his face, painting it a mottled brown.

  “Come on,” Aidan said. “Give me at least ten, and then I’ll let you rest.”

  He sighed and leveraged himself up on his arms again, managing two more before the inevitable collapse.

  “You can do better than that,” Aidan said, nudging his shoulder.

  Nepenthe shot an aggrieved look from under his dirt-streaked brow, and forced himself back up again. He managed, with several pauses, to do six more, and then flopped to the ground on his back. “I’m done. I don’t care what you say.”

  “We’ll stop here for the day. But you need to wash up before you go.”

  Encouraged by the prospect of being done, Nepenthe climbed laboriously to his feet and trudged towards the corner where a pump was set in a tiled inset. A trench ran along the back, carrying the wastewater under the wall and away from the yard. With a couple pumps from arms that felt like soggy bread, he got the water going and splashed it gently on his muddy arms.

  “You won’t get anywhere like that,” Aidan said, walking up to the pump and pulling his shirt over his head.

  Nepenthe averted his eyes from his bare torso and continued splashing.

  “Just put your whole head under,” Aidan added, putting his hand on Nepenthe’s curly hair and pushing him towards the stream of water.

  With a gasp, Nepenthe knocked Aidan’s arm away and twisted out from under him. He landed on the ground on his backside, and stared up with an expression that was equal parts fear and anger.

  Aidan backed up a step at the look on his face and put his hands up.
/>   “Don’t”—Nepenthe had to stop for another gasped breath—“don’t touch me.”

  Brows pulling down in a frown, Aidan said, “Sorry, Penthe; I meant no harm.”

  His breathing returning to normal, Nepenthe sighed, “I know.” And with that he pushed himself to his feet and returned to his room where he made do with a rag and the tepid water in the washbasin. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he scowled and combed the wet curls down over his ears. He poked gently at the walls in his mind, wondering if this would be the time that allowed him to see the reason for his fearful existence. The walls lashed back with a surge of terror and an image of a face he did not recognize, but was no doubt the reason for the existence of the walls in the first place.

  With another longsuffering sigh, he took himself off to the kitchens for breakfast and then retreated to his tower room.

  A day of sorting random papers and memorabilia that had accumulated over the decades did much to restore his equanimity. He rather enjoyed bringing order to the chaos that was the record room, and it was extraordinarily pleasant to complete a task that was solely his—and that he could do with natural, thoughtless skill. In his limited memory he couldn’t remember having done anything similar. But he was now reaching the point where some decisions were going to have to be made regarding organizational structure. He could sort things by time or type, or some combination of both, but Orin’s needs were going to have to make the final decision.

  He took the question with him down the tower stairs and asked Orin around his lunch, this time a fresh orange and a loaf of bread the cook had stuffed with meat and cheese before baking.

  “Good heavens, child!” Orin said, lowering his own bit of bread to gaze at Nepenthe in surprise. “I hadn’t even thought that far ahead, yet.”

  “It all depends on what you need,” Nepenthe explained earnestly, leaning forward and gesturing animatedly with his fingers. “Are you planning to sort it by categories, or chronologically? Because you could organize it according to the reign of the different kings and queens throughout history, but if you were looking for a certain type of information then maybe it’d be better to sort by category? But if you sorted by both time and type of information, then you could just search that one particular area of each monarch’s reign, but then maybe you’d be better off making an index…” he trailed off when he realized Orin was laughing too hard to be able to hear anything he said.