A Promise Broken

by Lynn E. O'Connacht

  He opened his eyes only when Anou-minnoi, the eldest of the faslaeraoina began to sing. The others, even Arèn, soon joined the old man. For once Arèn was glad of the sound of his voice, of the ability to bury his fears under the familiar loathing he’d felt for its high delicacy, as he sang the ceremonial hymn with everyone else. No one knew what the farakaoina did, but no one dared start a meeting without it in case leaving it out was dangerous. Amaru had always said their people lived in too much fear. He could not think of his sister now.

  Anou shuffled his way over to the head of the chairs, standing in front of the windows. “Our meeting,” the old man started, leathery voice still dancing over the tail-notes of the farakaoina. “Our meeting deals with a very peculiar case, though not an isolated one. How fares the child, Keilan-minnai?”

  “She appears to be well,” the woman answered, sing-song, but Arèn kept his eyes firmly on the withered man who led the meeting. Anou-minnoi had already been old when Arèn had joined them as treasurer of the realm. Now the man was ancient and yet… Arèn could not imagine that the man would ever retire. He would have to soon, though, and Arèn didn’t relish the thought. Not all kerisaoina were as wise as Anou-minnoi, nor as kind. It’d be a powerful blow to them.

  As the farakaoina of the assembled voices grew softer, Anou-minnoi nodded at Keilan’s words. “This child —” and though Arèn knew it was only protocol, the omission of his niece’s name grated him “— is said, by some, to have used fasaoi. Others maintain it was an unfortunate coincidence. If a child so young can indeed manipulate fasaoi, that child poses a danger to the very harmony of life. They could tear the universe apart in a tantrum. We must determine the truth.”

  Arèn forced himself not to hold his breath, to keep breathing, as Anou-minnoi continued speaking. “Eiryn Enrai’Amaru now Enroi’Arèn is how we know this child. Daughter to Amaru Enrai’Sarrynna and niece to Arèn Enrai’Sarrynna, the latter of whom is present in this room today. Do you have anything to say, Arèn-minnoi?”

  Inclining his head, Arèn rose. It was not his place to stand at the head of the proceedings, so he stayed where he was, hands clasped behind his back for fear that they would tremble. “I do.” His voice was firm, but it had never been the strength of his voice he’d worried about. It was his ability to stand rock-solid, never show how afraid he truly was. All twenty faslaeraoina. This would be his best chance to convince them of the ludicrousness of their suppositions. He would not fail. He could not. He bowed lightly: once to Anou-minnoi and once to the other assembled faslaeraoina.

  “The child is four. That fact alone makes it impossible for her to have used fasaoi.” It was the simplest of his arguments, but it was also the truth. No child under ten could. When one of the younger faslaeraoina, Myrtan, rose, Arèn held up his hand to stall him. Myrtan knew how rude it was to interrupt someone before that person was finished. The other kerisoi sat back down, visibly annoyed. Arèn felt likewise. He knew that Myrtan didn’t like him, but he hadn’t expected that dislike to be so strong that Myrtan would endanger a child. Keilan had told him that the rules and protocols of a meeting such as this were only ever broken if the situation was too dire to be civil.

  “I am aware that my family has a lineage of strong and talented singers even by our standards.” People whispered, in fact, that Eiryn would be counted among them in time, no matter what she chose to do, and Arèn did not doubt it; he’d heard the girl practice. He’d even had to forbid her to practice some of the farakaoina he’d heard her sing because they were too dangerous.

  “I am aware that some in our line have come into their voice sooner than most, but we see the same range as within all families. Others in this room have matured sooner than most.” Anou-minnoi, Myrtan and Keilan were all examples of that. Arèn looked straight at the man who’d wanted to interrupt him as he spoke, to remind Myrtan of that fact. “It is not rare, but it is uncommon within Eiryn’s family line and it bears no relevance on the matter.

  “Furthermore, Eiryn Enroi’Arèn is not showing any of the others signs that come with the transition to maturity. Keilan-minnai has stated that she is well. She is a child who has been bereaved of her mother. She is confused and upset, as is only to be expected in such circumstances. But she is not in the pain and discomfort we all know accompanies the maturing of our voices.”

  He paused briefly to glance about the room. Only a few seemed to be paying close attention to his words. Some, if not most, would already have made up their minds. All of them would hopefully be reminded of the nausea, the headaches and the burning pain in their chests. “She was surrounded by adults who sensed nothing unusual in the fasaoi around them. It is undeniable that the child sang a farakaoina to summon forth water and it is undeniable that it did start to rain during her cries. Yet the people gathered at my sister’s funeral noticed nothing unusual then or since. They would have.”

  “Would they?” Myrtan asked as he rose again. For the second time, he requested no permission to speak of Anou-minnoi. Arèn did his best not to stare daggers at the man. He did his best not to react at all beyond what courtesy and protocol would allow him. If Myrtan wanted to convince the faslaeraoina that the situation was dire by breaking protocol, Arèn could certainly convince them it wasn’t by doggedly sticking to it.

  Myrtan’s sister, who was sitting next to the kerisoi, rose before anyone could react. She put a hand on his shoulder, and shot Arèn a glance full of… He hoped that was not pity. Myrtan bowed to everyone and sat back down. He offered no apology, of course, no excuse that his emotions had got the better of him such as expected if one was in error. The woman beside him, however, trilled, requesting the floor for a question. Arèn bowed to Anou-minnoi, though he stayed standing. He was allowed. Keilan had said that, in this case, because it would be asked of him it would indicate strength.

  Arèn didn’t feel strong.

  “Recent studies have discovered that an alarming number of kerisaoina lies about their child’s maturing, early or late. Most children might not show as much promise as your niece, but if we cannot be sure from what age a child has been able to use fasaoi, how can we be sure your niece is unable to do it?”

  Only a few faslaeraoina muttered in agreement and almost all Arèn’s tension left him. The outcome was already decided then. He was about to answer when Keilan asked permission to speak and Arèn gladly deflected the answer to his friend to allow him the time to recover and keep his relief hidden from those, such as Myrtan, who might seize on it.

  “I have read these studies extensively, Mystá-minnai. All of the children maturing earlier are found to be eight or nine years old, not four, and research suggests that these children are more advanced compared to their peers. It has long been known that our ability to use fasaoi is linked to the maturing of our bodies.”

  “And what if previous research is wrong? What if researchers manipulated it to keep Balance only in appearances?” Myrtan asked. He didn’t even rise this time.

  Arèn had never wanted to punch someone so strongly in his entire life and he couldn’t understand why Anou-minnoi let the other man get away with it. Courtesy and protocol or not, he could not let that stand. “Are you accusing Anou-minnoi and his team of hiding something, Myrtan-minnoi?” It might be dangerous to divert the meeting this way, he wasn’t sure, but at least this way he might keep control of it.

  “And who says they’re not?” Myrtan asked icily. “We’ve all done it.”

  Before Myrtan could continue, Anou-minnoi’s voice rang out throughout the hall and Arèn marvelled at the strength and suppressed fury of it. “Myrtan. Do you think that we would be so careless as to let your generation and the next unravel all our toils? No. We are not here to discuss the decisions or the workings of your elders, though you are free to start your own study and enquiries after this meeting is concluded. We are here to discuss the fate of one girl only. That is what we decide on today.”

  Arèn hid a smile as he noticed Myrtan clench his fists. The man ha
d never been one to back down or be intimidated, and if Arèn was careful he could use that against Myrtan. He hated the idea of using the meeting to sort whatever personal issue Myrtan seemed to have with him, but if he had to play that game to protect his niece... Fasaoi but if he was forced into it he would play it well.

  The tinge to Myrtan’s voice when the man answered Anou-minnoi was probably anger. “Why not discuss this now? If you have nothing to hide, why not discuss it now?”

  Since all protocol and rules had been broken too far to be mended this session, Arèn spoke up. “Because it takes time.” He kept his voice steady and even, but Myrtan had all but accused the leader of their number of hiding something sifanou and offered no evidence to support the claim. If there were rules to such a discussion, Arèn did not know them and he did not care.

  Anou-minnoi nodded at him. The man looked even older now, and perhaps a little winded. Arèn continued, “We are not here to spend days researching accusations based on speculation when we have a very simple case before us. Is Eiryn Enrai’Arèn capable of using fasaoi or not? We cannot afford to delay that question more than we already have. Test her, if you want proof.”

  “We will spend days researching that too,” one of the elder faslaeraoina remarked. “I would have thought you, more than anyone here, would want it resolved quickly.”

  “I want it resolved well.” Arèn held out his hands, palms forward to suggest he posed no threat. “I have always put my life in service of the Balance over my own interest. You all know that. If I had cause to believe my niece had upset the Balance or was sifanou I would have taken action long ago.

  “Summer rains are not uncommon in Lir, and it had already rained earlier that day. We had already moved the funeral to a courtyard to ensure it would go well. Eiryn lost her mother. She was a scared, upset and confused four-year-old child, and the one person she has relied on all her short life and who has always been there to comfort her was lying on a pyre that was set on fire. Would that not upset someone?” He looked around, pausing for effect, tense with the effort of keeping his voice steady and low. The last thing he needed now was to wince at the pitch of it. “Most of you are parents. All of you have been children. Imagine that it was your child crying for their parent. If you had been in her place, would not you yourselves have been upset?”

  Arèn had not meant to say that, not like that. Calm, collected. He’d planned to win them over with logic and arguments, not show them how angry he was with them all. He hadn’t even realised how furious he’d been until now.

  Keilan spoke up while he was reordering his thoughts. Her voice was soft but clear and he could hear the farakaoina to snatch people’s attention running through it. “Test her. Put her in a situation where her emotions are in a similar tangle and her attempts to use fasaoi are the same. See what she does. Keep her inside, so that the environment is controlled. If the girl cannot use fasaoi, nothing will happen. If she can, we will know and decide what to do then.”

  Silence. Arèn knew he should look around and gauge everyone’s reactions, but he could not bear the thought that he might have been wrong, that the faslaeraoina would not see logic or sense. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of staring at his shoes and the floor, Anou-minnoi clapped his hands once to call everyone’s attention to him. “This is a good idea. We will vote on it now.”

  Arèn had to suppress a sigh of relief. No one would have a chance to change their mind, for better or for worse. He sat back down as Anou-minnoi made his way back to his seat. The old man was almost shuffling as he moved towards the stone chair at the far end of the rows. When Anou-minnoi reached it, he turned around to face the rest of the faslaeraoina and said, “Should this girl be tested? Think about your answer and let fasaoi guide you.” Then he sat down.

  Closing his eyes again, Arèn listened. The hall was silent, not even the rustle of cloth as people moved sounded and the sun warmed his face. It was good. Arèn listened intently for the soft hum of fasaoi that was ever around them. As always, it took him a while to discern the melody and untangle it from the world itself. The hall was designed to facilitate that, if there were no visitors, and he couldn’t even hear the breathing of the person sitting next to him. He let his thoughts wander along the cliffs and beaches of the song and imagined it sung not in the voice of his birth, which always became discordant, but the voice of his self, which never did.

  Fasaoi ebbed and flowed around him and through him, though Arèn knew better than to look for it. He let it wander through the arguments and defences he could think of, let it bash against the rock of his conviction and found it survived uneroded.

  And so he did not change his mind. Satisfied he had made the right decision the first time, Arèn let the fasaoi fade from his consciousness again and opened his eyes. Looking around, it seemed like only Myrtan, Keilan and even Anou-minnoi had already found their answers and were studying him.

  He should, perhaps, have pretended to need longer to make up his mind to suggest he was not biased, but he had never discovered whether anyone other than his sister could tell when he was only pretending. Besides, it could easily achieve the opposite and make him seem unsure about his own convictions. Arèn kept his face carefully blank; with the time stretching on he found worry and uncertainty return to his thoughts and he would not give Myrtan the satisfaction of seeing his anxiety nor anyone else the suggestion that he doubted the outcome. With some effort, Arèn turned his thoughts to happy memories instead.

  Eventually Anou-minnoi cleared his throat. Arèn blinked. Had he truly not noticed that everyone had finished their deliberations? Looking around, it seemed that they had. Keilan winked at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile back. He’d have to ask Keilan about Myrtan. They both worked in the library. Surely she knew something about the man that Arèn could use.

  “Those who have decided, please rise.” Arèn rose with the others. Two of the faslaeraoina stayed seated; Orryn and Bunbryl hadn’t moved yet. Clouds drifted past slowly, darkening the hall momentarily, and Arèn tried to tell himself that their standing at that time would not bode ill for his niece. No one sang as Anou-minnoi once again made his way to the dais from which he kept order.

  “All those in favour, please step forward.”

  Arèn took a step towards the centre, surprised to find Mystá doing so as well. Most stepped in unison with him, some hesitated slightly and some… did not move, but the vote was overwhelmingly in favour. Inwardly, Arèn sighed with relief, even though he’d expected a result like this. He barely even heard Anou-minnoi vote in favour of the test. It was not his ideal outcome, but it was good enough.

  When the old man asked the faslaeraoina to sit back down again, Arèn sat. He knew he’d be spending most of the day discussing how Eiryn was supposed to be tested and who should bear witness to it. Myrtan was voted onto the team and the man all but jumped up to speak. It was only Mystá’s soft voice that made him settle on the chair again, scowling. Arèn had to suppress a bitter chuckle. He’d prefer Myrtan far away from his niece, true, but the other kerisoi clearly didn’t want to be a part of the research team. Arèn had to wonder why. Keilan was voted to be a member as well. Fasaoi grateful, he thought as the faslaeraoina discussed whether to test the girl in the great hall or somewhere else. His niece would be safe now.

  As they walked back to Keilan’s office in the library, she said, “That wasn’t as bad as you thought, was it?”

  It was long past noon and the question startled Arèn out of wondering how his niece had coped with his absence all day. He’d never left her alone for so long before. No one else was wandering the halls at the moment, so he decided he could afford complete honesty in his answer.

  “I had hoped the accusations would be dismissed immediately.”

  “I know.” She patted his shoulder. “But this how it’s been determined in all the other cases I could find. It’s never been dismissed out of hand.” Keilan stopped in front of a window and looked out across the gard
ens. Arèn stopped and looked too. Gardeners were raking leaves and tending plants, but he doubted he could see whatever Keilan did. It was all just greenery to him; he’d never cared much for plants.

  After a while, Keilan resumed walking and he followed. “You don’t usually risk so much.”

  Startled, he missed a step. “What do you mean?”

  “Myrtan-minnoi. I’m surprised no one accused you of covering for Anou-minnoi. They could have.”

  “They didn’t.”

  “But they could have, and you’d have been accused of hiding something yourself.”

  Arèn shrugged. “I have nothing to hide. I would have proven any accusation wrong. My concern is discovering whether or not there is any merit to their claims.” And making sure they didn’t hurt his niece further in the process. He’d been grateful when the faslaeraoina had decided simply observing Eiryn around the use of fasaoi and when she was practicing was enough. “Why did Mystá vote for the testing instead of against?”

  “She fancies you.”

  Arèn stumbled as he registered the answer. He repeated the answer to be sure that he’d understood it right.

  “Yes. She’d probably never admit to it because she chose to be palmbound, but we’ve all seen the signs. Why don’t you try talking to her a little more often?”

  Arèn shook his head. Though he knew Mystá’s husband had died several years ago and he’d had a few professional conversations with the woman in the past, he didn’t know her well. Surely he would have noticed. Then, she’d been palmbound and those ties held even after death. Besides he’d never had much interest in romance.

  “I do not have time for courting,” he answered coolly.

  Keilan laughed as they reached the door to the library. “Then don’t think of it as courting,” she said as she opened the door. “Think of it as making a friend. She’ll notice you’re not interested in romance soon enough. Come on.”