Seasons, page 10
“Don’t worry. I know the performance will go wonderfully.” Tarek gave her a smile so full of confidence, she didn’t have the heart to contradict him.
They reached the stage, and Shandara was surprised to see Lyssa waiting there among the other Trainees. Edwold stood beside her, a shadowed look in his eyes.
“Hello, Lyssa,” Shandara said. “Is everything well?”
“I think so.” The girl gave her a crooked smile. “I’ve been talking with Edwold.”
Shandara glanced at the boy.
“She said maybe she could help,” he said, shuffling his feet. “If you don’t mind, Bard Shandara.”
“Not at all.” Shandara’s tension eased down a notch. She wasn’t sure what Lyssa might be able to do, but just having the girl there was a relief.
“I told Edwold I’d sensed he was having trouble, during rehearsal,” Lyssa said. “With his permission, I’ll be standing by to lend my support during the performance. Maybe my Gift will be able to help.”
“I hope so,” Edwold said fervently. He jerked his chin to the front of the stage. “My family is right there, front and center and I . . .” His expression folded, and it was clear he was battling back tears.
“I’ll be right here,” Lyssa said. “You’ll do fine.”
On stage, Master Bard Tangeli was thanking the previous group of Bards, who had showcased a lively set of dance tunes from the Rethwellan border.
“I know many of you are especially looking forward to the next performance,” Master Tangeli said. “The Bardic Collegium is pleased to present the Trainee Ensemble!”
Amid cheers, the students mounted the low stairs and filed onto the stage. The instrumentalists, including Jaya, took the chairs in the center, while the vocalists ranged behind them. Edwold stood in the front row, his face pale.
Tarek squeezed Shandara’s shoulders. “Good luck,” he whispered.
She gave him a tight nod, then strode onto the stage. A quick glance into the crowd showed her a dark-haired couple standing up front, with two younger children who bore a marked resemblance to Edwold. They wore cautious smiles, and the littlest girl waved excitedly as she spotted her brother.
Turning to her Trainees, Shandara gave them a heartening smile.
“Let’s give them our best,” she said, her voice pitched for the ensemble’s ears alone. “I know you’ll make your families proud.”
Her gaze landed on Edwold, and he gave her a faint nod. Still, she saw the misgivings in his eyes.
Before the group could give in to their restless nerves, Shandara lifted her hands, nodded to Jaya for the opening notes, and launched them into “The Sparrows Aloft.”
Despite a shaky start, the ensemble rallied, and soon the joyful chorus filled the air. Bright trills from the flutes and a lovely run from Jaya’s gittern embroidered the melody, and Shandara felt her heart lighten.
The second piece, an instrumental with wordless choral accompaniment, went equally well. The audience applauded and shouted encouragement, and Shandara’s smile to the group widened.
But “Ode to a Companion” was next. As the instruments checked their tuning, Shandara watched Edwold with concern. The boy’s eyes were shadowed, his face tense.
Shandara pulled her harp from its case and went to sit by Jaya, ostensibly to tune up, but also to be near Edwold.
“You can do this,” she said to him.
He swallowed and couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Ready?” Shandara called to the group. “Follow me from here, please.”
The whispering Trainees quieted, the silence spreading in ripples out into the crowd until they sat in the center of a hushed expectancy.
Shandara nodded to Jaya, then joined her on the intro. As her fingers plucked the harp strings, she concentrated on breathing with the music, on infusing the notes with assurance and directing it at Edwold.
The singers entered on cue.
Edwold blinked rapidly, swaying.
“Unlock your knees,” Shandara whispered urgently to him. He couldn’t pass out now.
The chorus softened, holding their note. Edwold opened his mouth.
No sound emerged.
Sing! Shandara thought at him. You can, I know you can.
Still he stood there, paralyzed. Another second more and the piece would fall apart.
Unless . . .
Hoping the ensemble would follow her, Shandara began to play loudly, ringing the notes of the melody line to give Edwold more time.
There was a stuttering moment as some of the singers followed her, and some didn’t. Then the piece settled, and Shandara was suffused with gratitude. No matter how fractious and silly the Trainees could be, they were true musicians at their cores.
Indeed, as she wound the melody around and back to the solo’s starting point, the ensemble coalesced, sounding even better than at any point during their practice.
A bit of color returned to Edwold’s cheeks.
This time, when they hit his cue, he opened his mouth and sang.
Clear and high, the verse soared above the crowd, telling of the connection between Companion and Herald. The audience listened, riveted, and Shandara sat back in relief.
A relief that was short lived.
Edwold reached the second stanza and shot her a panicked look. Too late, she realized that this section was the danger point. The verse about how the bonds of love could transcend even death was next—and Edwold was breaking.
His voice cracked.
He dragged in a fresh breath and tried again, but his voice fell short of the high, soaring melody. In the front row, his parents looked on with stricken expressions.
A faint sense of misery began to permeate the air, and the crowd began to whisper.
Then, suddenly, Lyssa was there. She knelt on the stage before Edwold and grasped his hands.
“Sing,” she commanded.
Shandara nodded and played a ringing chord, pulling the fragmented ensemble back onto the beat. They could do this. They must.
Desperately, Edwold tried again. This time, a surge of warmth followed. He reached the first note. Then the second.
Shandara could not quite sense Lyssa’s outpouring of confidence and healing, the support that she lent Edwold, but it was there—visible in the straightening of his spine, in the increasing strength of his voice.
Once again, the ensemble rallied. Shandara led with her harp, her voice, keeping the chorus quiet enough that Edwold’s solo could soar.
They reached the final verse, and, with searing poignancy, Edwold sang—straight at his family.
Whatever else remains below,
We carry on, we carry on,
Remembering what is above.
We carry on with love.
The music swelled, the final chord holding, holding . . . until Shandara lifted her hand and swept it to the side. The ensemble cut off perfectly—not a single straggler or missed note.
A moment of awed silence followed.
Shandara looked at Edwold’s parents, their faces shining with tears. With approval. With love.
Then the audience broke into riotous cheers and applause. Lyssa slowly rose to stand, her face soft as she looked at Edwold.
“You did it,” Shandara said to him—to the whole Trainee Ensemble. “I’m so proud of you.”
She beckoned the boy to step forward and take his well-deserved bow. He did, his eyes bright, his smile wobbly about the edges.
“Thank you,” he said to her as he went back to his place.
Lyssa held her hand out to him, and he took it, the gesture all but lost as the other soloist took her bow, and the rest of the ensemble followed suit.
As they left the stage, they were already turning back into rowdy youths. Several of them stopped to congratulate Edwold, some by mussing his hair, others by offering to buy him sweets.
“Thanks, but I’m going with Lyssa to the pie vendor,” he said, a wash of pink across his cheeks. “After I see my family.”
Edwold’s sisters and parents rounded the corner of the stage, and there was no mistaking the gladness in their eyes. His mother went straight to him and enfolded him in her embrace.
“We are so very proud of you,” she said. “And I know Kendry would be, too.”
Edwold cleared his throat. “I sang it for you. For him.”
“We know.” His father’s voice held a somber note, but his expression was tempered with joy. “You honor his memory.”
He leaned over, drawing his whole family into his arms.
Shandara turned away, eyes pricking with tears, to find Tarek waiting for her.
“Nice work, Bard Shandara,” he said softly.
“Thank you.” She let out a breath. “For everything.”
“I bought you this.” He held out a white-ribboned token embellished with strands of silver. “It made me think of you—and the brightness you bring into the world.”
She did start crying then, as the emotions of the day overtook her. Tarek pulled her into a hug.
“I feel silly,” she said, the words muffled into his coat as she leaned into him.
“You can be as silly, or as strong, as you need to, Shan,” he said. “No matter what, I’ll be here for you.”
“I know.”
She snuffled a bit more, but the tears passed quickly. By the time she straightened and smiled at Tarek, she was filled with lightness.
“I’ll gladly wear your token,” she said. “As long as you’ll let me buy you one in return.”
He smiled down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nothing would please me better.”
“Ooh,” a girl’s voice broke in, “does this mean you’re handfasted?”
Shandara glanced at Lyssa, who stood just within earshot.
“Don’t you have a pie date?” Shandara asked archly. “I noticed you and Edwold holding hands.”
Lyssa grinned. “Exchanging pocket pies doesn’t mean anything. Not like love tokens.”
Tarek swatted at her, and she nimbly danced to the side, then went to join Edwold and his family.
Shandara watched her go, with a fond shake of her head.
“I could use a bite to eat,” she said, turning back to Tarek. “Let me just tuck my harp away.”
“Then we shall wander the Fair together.” He extended his arm. “My lady?”
She made him a curtsy, then threaded her arm through his. “Indeed, my lord. Indeed.”
No Place for a Proper Kyree
Ron Collins
Nwah hated Haven the moment she smelled it—which had been earlier this morning, back when thick woods still lined the road Kade, Winnie, and she had traveled to arrive here. First had been the acidic tang of hot steel from the smithy shops that raked the back of her throat, followed closely by the overpowering stench of human refuse that clogged her snout. The dense scent of burning wood brought up primal fears from places she’d rather not consider, and finally had come the rotting smell of discarded food soon to be slopped to pig-stock or just tilled back into the ground.
It was the last one she deemed the worst.
The woods she’d grown up in took care of its meat well before it rotted; the bulk eaten by crows, red-beaked buzzards, or other, bigger scavengers, the rest left for ants, beetles, and bore worms. The idea of purposely throwing food away became more distasteful the closer they got to the city.
:Are you all right?: Kade had asked while they padded over the hardpacked road.
:I’m fine,: she replied, knowing even then that Kade could feel her lie.
To his credit, he didn’t call her on it. Not then, anyway.
Regardless, it wasn’t Nwah’s fault that the fur around her neck stood on its end, and it wasn’t Kade or Winnie’s fault that they couldn’t understand that a city like Haven was no place for a proper kyree.
By late afternoon, however, the three of them had journeyed through the rings of the city to stand at a trellis gate that led to the Collegium.
For Nwah, the raw stillness of the street was disquieting, but thankfully so. The trek through the outer rings of Haven had been hard, and she was as tired as she was dirty. She wanted nothing more than a quiet corner where she could catch her breath and take care of her matted pelt.
Then, perhaps, could come a full belly and a languid sleep.
But there was still this to do, and she was still anxious.
The city grew tall and tight here, the buildings, pushed together, seemed to press on her, and what alleys lay between those buildings were paved with rock and tiles such that there was no bare ground to walk on. The gate was fancy, clearly wrought by a smithy of high quality, its sharp reliefs painted over in thick black coats that reflected the afternoon light. At least the year was nearly in autumn, so the air was cool and the sounds of the Harvest Fair celebration thankfully distant.
“What is it?” the guard said as he approached the gate. Nwah caught the scent of malted drink, though not as heavy as with most in the outer areas of the city.
“He’d like to apply to Healer’s College,” Winnie said.
The guard’s response was as much laugh as grunt. He turned to yell at his partner, “Hey, Harve! This grimy sod thinks he’s a Healer!”
:I don’t like him,: Nwah said.
:Don’t judge,: Kade replied. :It’s—:
:Harvest Fair,: Nwah snapped, knowing she was being too sharp, but not caring. :I know.:
As if a festival should make a difference.
Even after years with Kade, humans were hard to understand.
The two of them, Winnie and Kade, had jabbered incessantly about Harvest Fair for the past several days, though, saying it was a time when people came together to enjoy being part of the city and give thanks for their bountiful summer. Kade said even his parents, who lived a good distance from others, celebrated their crops with pies, music, and prayer, and Winnie exalted over market places in Tau that had been full of everything from handcrafted tools to exotic roots. She babbled on about music and parades. There would be parties, she said, and rituals. Plays and concerts would be held. Much gaiety would ensue.
Haven was the capital city, after all. Anything could happen.
Winnie even laughed at Kade’s expression when she said they might dance.
Nwah was from the forests, though. To her, community meant curling against the weight of her mother in the warmth of their den, or the aura of safety brought by the pack. Or, in those rare moments she let herself recall the magic she’d used to bring the animal horde together, Nwah recalled how the presence of each animal felt in her casting, unique and individual while making the whole.
Maybe that was what Harvest Fair was, she’d thought at one point.
Walking through the festivities, however, Nwah decided this was most definitely not what Harvest Fair was. Instead, the festival seemed nothing more than a reason for the entire city to go wild as a flea-bit boar.
Just getting through the outskirts had frayed her nerves.
Traversing the maze of alleyways and gates that followed laid a stifling sense of confinement onto her already overwhelming mess of anxieties.
She couldn’t imagine how people lived like this.
Each step of their way toward the Collegium made it feel more and more as though they were walking into an inescapable labyrinth, which, of course, caused her mind to race over even more horrible probabilities.
What if the guard detained them?
What if they shackled Kade rather than accepted him?
What if none of them could get out of Haven, or worse, Nwah thought as they stood at the trellis, what if Kade was accepted and they had to stay here?
What would Nwah do if she had to choose?
They’d been together so long. She couldn’t imagine leaving him.
The taste of magic in Haven was disconcerting, too.
Nodes and the lines crossed the place like an invisible cloud, their bittersweet scent tangling in her senses. They seemed fresher than others, perhaps younger, but that didn’t make sense to her, and the uncertainty made Nwah even more aware of what she didn’t know about her Gift.
As they’d walked, she found herself daydreaming in their mix without any conscious thought.
Which was something else to worry about.
What if she made a mistake?
What if she lost control?
The second guard glanced up, took in the road grime covering the three travelers, and broke out in deep laughter. “Looks more like a ditch digger to me.”
“And, yet, I’ve come to apply to Healers’ Collegium,” Kade finally spoke up.
“He’s got the Gift,” Winnie added, extending her jaw as though she was looking for a fight.
It had been her idea that Kade come to Haven. “It’s the best college in Valdemar,” she’d argued. “It’s where you belong.”
The guard’s muscular arms crossed over his chest, and the glint in his eyes grew as sharp as the dagger sheathed in his thick belt. The dusty blue tunic of his dress uniform seemed to rise.
“I’d say the mutt’s the only one of you that knows how to heel,” he said, glancing at Nwah.
The fur on her shoulders ruffled, and she fought an urge to leap at the gate.
“She’s a kyree, sir,” Kade said.
“I know what it is,” the guard snapped back. “Regardless, I think Dean Teren has better things to spend his time on.”
“How’s about a little test?” Kade said, motioning the guard. “Give me your hand.”
The guard frowned.
“The nail’s ingrown, isn’t it?” Kade said of the thumb as he motioned the guard to extend his arm.
“Fancy findings don’t make you a medicine man,” he replied.
Still, he put the hand through an open gap.
:I could give him a good clawing if you really want something to work with,: Nwah said.
