Chapter Twenty-four
It became a ceremony at the morning meal for Sira to sit long over her tea while Pol rested his elbows on the table in the center of the great room and watched her. She did not look at him, but she felt the intensity of his gaze as he waited, willing her to give in. Sira had the advantage in this strange conflict, because she had nothing whatever to do, and Pol had more responsibilities than one man could reasonably carry. And so each morning she sat, stubbornly, staring at the carved wood of the table or looking out through the thick windows at the surrounding treeless peaks, until Pol was forced to leave the great room to resume his duties.
As Sira waited, she endured the inadequate efforts of Jon and Theo in the Cantoris across the hall. The air in Observatory brightened slowly as they worked. Her own inactivity stifled and irritated her, and she used those feelings to fuel her resentment and strengthen her resolve.
Sira? We are finished.
Guilt assailed her as she looked up to see Theo in the doorway. He had lost weight, and his shock of blonde hair seemed less vigorous. Her own hair was still short, but she knew her skin was dry. There were blotchy patches on her arms and legs.
Coming, she sent quickly, and got up. Several Housewomen and men were still moving about the great room, clearing the long tables.
“Singer?” said a Housewoman to Theo. “Can I get you some tea? Some food?”
“Thank you, Netta,” he said, smiling at her. “I could take some tea to my room.”
“I’ll bring it right away,” she said, and bustled off.
Do you know all their names? Sira sent.
I am learning them. Theo leaned wearily against the doorjamb.
I know hardly any.
He managed a smile for her, too. Well, I am not a Cantor. Only an old itinerant.
I do not understand.
Theo’s smile faded. I know. But itinerants live among the people, not separated.
Do Cantors and Cantrixes not live among the people?
Theo shook his head. The Housewoman brought his tea, and he carried it in his hand as he and Sira moved down the corridor.
“I must speak aloud, Sira,” he said. “I’m tired this morning. It’s hard to send.”
She nodded, and he went on to answer her question. “Everything in a Cantor’s life separates him from the unGifted. He is taken from his family—”
“Not taken!”
Theo shrugged, and his smile was tired. “All right, given up by his family. He grows up at Conservatory, then goes to a Cantoris where he is never touched by a single person, where he is spoken to only by his title, where he never mates or has children . . .”
Sira drew breath to interrupt again, but thought better of it. Theo was saying something important. She pressed her lips together, and listened.
“Tell me, Cantrix,” Theo said. “What friends did you have at Bariken?”
“My senior was my friend.”
“No others?”
“Well, there was—” A painful pause ensued. “There was Rollie,” Sira finished bitterly. “She was killed.”
“Did you spend time with Rollie? Have tea together?”
“Only outside. She was a rider.”
Theo nodded in sympathy. “This is the way with Cantors and Cantrixes. They have only themselves for company. They neither know nor understand the people they work with.”
“Serve,” Sira said flatly.
Theo ventured to touch her shoulder. “Yes, of course. Serve.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a bit of shining metal on a thong around his neck. “This belonged to my mother, and her father before that, and generations of Singers past remembering. They also served, and served well.”
Sira did not know how to answer him. They reached her room, and she went in ahead of him. He slumped on her cot. Itinerants, he sent, live with the people. Among them. And . . .
Sira did not catch the last thought, and raised her eyebrows. He continued aloud, “And know them, what’s important to them, what they care about.”
Theo closed his eyes, and Sira watched him. His skin, too, suffered from the bad food and the constant cold of this place. Sira had not thought about how much she liked his appearance until this moment, as she saw that his brown cheeks were less smooth, the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper, and not so much from laughter now.
She put her hand on his, though he did not have the filhata in his hands. She liked touching him, feeling the hardness of his hands and arms, the warmth of his skin. She had not thought about that, either. Rest, she sent to him gently. Rest, my friend. I will teach you later.
He smiled without opening his eyes, and Sira drew a fur over his lap. She left the room, closing the door as softly as possible as she went out.
She had seen very little of Observatory. Suddenly, she felt impelled to see it all, to understand why Theo would allow himself to be used this way. Seized with purpose, she strode down the corridor. She would start, she thought, in the place that had been her favorite, both at Conservatory and at Bariken: the nursery gardens. She did not even know for sure where they were, but the release from inactivity felt good to her. She walked faster.
This House, she soon learned, was laid out much as other Houses. The gardens were in the back, protected between the two long wings of apartments and workrooms. Sira marveled at the phenomenon of a House, built untold centuries ago far above the other Houses of the Continent. She wondered if even the Watchers themselves understood its mysteries.
She peered into the nursery. The gardens of Observatory were not inviting. Sunshine filtered through the glass roof, but it was weak, diluted. There were shadows in the corners, and the plants languished in the cold. The miracle, Sira thought, was that Observatory had any vegetables at all. There was a faint scent of offal, and Sira suspected the waste drop was too close to the House. Perhaps they had no choice.
A gardener saw her and came forward. Sira did not even recognize his face. She withdrew quickly, feeling she had no place here.
She had no desire to see the abattoir, and as far as she knew, there was no manufactory at Observatory. There were only the kitchens and the family apartments to see. More slowly now, thoughtfully, Sira walked through the corridors, listening for sounds of family life. The halls were quieter than at Bariken, but she was sure Observatory housed considerably fewer people. She heard one or two children laughing, and at least one crying, before she reached the kitchens.
Several Housewomen were there, huddled together at a small table. The air was still warm from the preparation of the morning meal, but Sira saw that even the radiant heat from the ovens could not banish the ubiquitous mold that crept across the walls. She stopped in the doorway, struck by the attitude of the women.
One of them Sira recognized as the older woman who had been outside her apartment on the day of Theo’s first lesson. She was weeping, silently and steadily. Two other Housewomen held her hands and leaned close to her, nodding rhythmically to her sobs, in the manner of an often-observed ritual. Helplessly, Sira watched them, struck with a sense of foreboding.
“Excuse me,” she said.
A woman she had not noticed, gray-haired, aproned, came from behind some wooden tubs of grain. “Yes,” she said, her hands on her hips. She had an air of being in charge.
“What has happened?” Sira asked, dreading and yet needing to know. “Why is this woman crying?”
The woman eyed her as if wondering whether she deserved an answer. At last she said, “Her friend has died, her friend Liva. And her baby with her.”
Sira’s heart sank like a stone cast into the Frozen Sea. She did not know the name, but she knew with a terrible certainty who Liva must have been. She remembered the two women sitting on the floor outside her apartment to take in the lavish excess of her quiru, apologizing for having disturbed her. O Spirit, she thought. I am so sorry.
The woman’s weeping went on, silent, inexorable. The gray-haired Housewoman said without expression, “Do you want something?”
Sira looked at her in surprise. No title, no recognition. It was a strange feeling, and not a pleasant one. “I—I wanted to see—” She faltered. She had no business here. She had neither child nor friend to weep for.
Theo was right. She did not know these people, not their names, not their cares.
“I am sorry,” she said at last. She bowed to the Housewoman, who stood stiff and unmoving before her. “Perhaps another time.” Sira stepped backward through the doorway, away from the sight of routine, hopeless grief.
Sira did not tell Theo what she had seen. She tried to focus on his lesson. Theo was working in Aiodu, the second mode, striving to master the fingering. Sometimes Sira was impatient, seizing the filhata to demonstrate, her long fingers secure and precise on the strings. Today, though, she was methodical and tolerant.
You must release the wrist. Tight muscles inhibit other muscles.
Theo nodded. He put the filhata in his lap for a moment, and rubbed the back of his right hand. Tired.
Sira took his hand in hers and massaged the wrist. You must stop when you feel this tension, here. She pointed to the tendon in the back of his hand. Begin again with your wrist in a better position.
Theo turned his hand over and captured Sira’s. There is something bothering you.
It was automatic for Sira to pull her hand away, but his felt comforting. She let the contact go on. Did you know the young woman died? The one you treated last week?
His eyes darkened to midnight blue. I did. She and her baby were very ill.
Do you think I could have saved them? If I had warmed the House?
Theo lifted one shoulder, expressively. Sira sighed and took her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself. So many deaths, she thought, to weigh on my conscience. She felt so old, so tired. If I begin to sing here, she sent to Theo, I fear I will be trapped forever.
Theo watched her, but kept his own counsel. When she looked into his face, she saw only patience and acceptance. Do you not resent me? she asked.
His crooked grin flashed at her. Only because you can already play in Aiodu and I cannot. Now help me!
Sira smiled a little, too, as he picked up the filhata and began again. But the feeling of ancient weariness did not leave her. How long could she go on like this? How many more deaths could she bear before she broke?