Sing the Four Quarters (10 page)

"I don't usually Sing earth," she said, getting slowly to her feet and looking around at the chaos. "I wasn't expecting that."

"Good." Elica's tone was dry enough to ignite. "And just what did we get in return for our six broken panes and one out of the Circle mess?"

"A kigh in every pot." Annice offered the information as an apology. "If you leave the hole so it… they can come and go, I think you'll have a lot better luck with your plants."

"You think?"

"I'm pretty sure. You might ask the captain if Jazep can come by occasionally. He Sings earth, so he's assigned to the Hall until spring."

"I'm not sure we could afford more Singing."

Annice felt her face grow hot. The healer was acting as if she'd
intended
to break the windows.

"Never mind, Annice." Elica raised a calming hand. "All things being enclosed, if the kigh make the difference, the rest doesn't matter. How are you feeling?"

Calmed in spite of herself, Annice sighed. "I'm fine." Lately, Singing air left her feeling both faint and exhausted. She managed water marginally better, but fire had become even more capricious than usual. Earth, on the other hand, seemed to use no energy at all. "By the time the baby's born, I'll only be good for making mud pies."

"Well, there isn't any reason why you shouldn't Walk, but I'm still not sure I approve." Elica stepped back from the couch, brows drawn in. "Can't you stay at the Hall?"

"For the next five months?" Annice sat up and reached for her clothes. "First of all, I'd go crazy. Secondly, although I've pretty much stopped throwing up, I'd like to get away from the smells of the city for a while just in case. Third, I'll only be gone for three weeks."

"But it's Fourth Quarter, the weather…"

"Will be clear for the next few days, according to the kigh. That's why I want to leave as soon as possible. Clear and cold makes for wonderful walking weather. Besides, I'm going up coast where you can't spit without hitting a fishing village. At the very most, I'll never be more than half a day away from shelter."

"Half a day can make a dangerous difference," Elica insisted. "In case you've forgotten, you're going to have a baby."

"No?" After a speaking glance that took in the expanding shelf of her breasts and the dark line of skin curving down from her swelling navel, Annice shrugged into her shirt. "I guess that explains the stretch mark.'

"Just one?"

"So far." She paused, pants half on and twisted until she could see the slightly indented pink streak that had appeared the week before, radiating in from her hip. "Can you
do
something about this?"

"No. But maybe it'll help if you think of it not as a disfigurement but as a medal of motherhood." Elica burst into laughter at the bard's expression, and managed to add a choked, "Maybe not."

"Medal of motherhood," Annice muttered, shoving her head through the neck of her sweater and bending for her boots.

"Spare me."

Winter winds roaring in off the sea had scrubbed the air over Elbasan to a purity that caught in the back of the throat and tasted like the promise of snow. Standing in the Citadel Gate and staring down at the city as it sloped toward the docks, Annice drew in a deep, satisfied breath.

"I can't believe you're actually happy to be Walking in Final Quarter," Jazep said, shaking his head. A heavy-set man at the best of times, he was so bundled against the cold that he appeared to be as wide as he was tall. "And you
know
what the storms are like along the coast at this time of the year."

She turned an unworried smile at him. "I found one of my best songs in a storm." Pulling off her mitten, she patted the bit of ruddy cheek visible between his hat and scarf. "Don't worry, Jaz, I've still got enough contact with air to know the weather."

"Not enough to control it."

"So I'll duck out of the way, just like everyone else has to."

He snorted disapprovingly. "Petrelis should be going."

"Petrelis has a fledgling to teach—what's his name, Ziven, he needs instruction in air and water. And don't say that I could do it," she cautioned as Jazep opened his mouth to speak, "because you know I couldn't. I'm so up and down right now, I'd tie the poor kid's abilities in knots. Besides, I'll be working on memory trances with all three of them when I get back." She couldn't decide if she was looking forward to that or not. "So, if you could lift my pack for me, I'll be on my way."

Looking unconvinced, Jazep hefted Annice's travel pack and jiggled it thoughtfully. "You sure this isn't too heavy?"

Annice rolled her eyes as she pushed her arms through the straps. "Trust me, Leonas spent so much time fussing over what I'm carrying and how much it weighs, he could've outfitted an army."

"He's worried."

"I'm fine." She pitched her voice for Jazep's ears alone. "You'd think that no one's ever had a baby before the way he's acting, the way Stasya's acting, the way the whole lot of you are acting."

Jazep's slow smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Every baby born is the first baby born in the world," he told her, speaking as she had, voice to ear. "You wait. You'll see."

She snorted and shifted back to broader tones. "I've got to get out of here or I'll never make the fort by lunch. Good music, Jazep."

"Good music, Annice." He pulled her into a brief hug. "Circle hold you and Walk safely."

Returning the pressure of his arms, Annice fought to breathe against the sudden tightening of her chest. When he released her, she turned quickly, blinking the moisture from her eyes, and waved a cheery hand at the gate guard.

"Good vigilance, Corporal Agniya."

The guard, who'd been leaning into the curve of the arch and yawning, straightened. "Good music," she began, then stopped and looked confused.

"Annice."

"How…"

"Did I know your name?" Annice shot a rakish look back over her shoulder as she stepped away from the gate, out onto Hill Street. "I'm a bard. We know everything."

"Nothing as yet, Majesty."

"Nothing?"

Liene barely managed not to bridle at the king's tone. For reasons that were never discussed, the crown and the Bardic Hall had maintained a more distant relationship than was usual over the ten years of King Theron's reign. Not so distant that it affected the smooth running of the country, Theron was too good a king for that, but enough so that he could easily avoid meeting with the young bard who'd defied him. "Nothing more than rumor and innuendo," she told him levelly.

"Which were investigated?"

"Yes, sire."

Theron leaned forward on his desk and looked up at the-Bardic Captain. "And your opinion?"

"There's definitely something going on—with this much smoke there has to be a fire somewhere—but we haven't yet found the person—or people—directly involved."

"No mention of Ohrid?"

"Only as concerns the business of the pass."

"And the due?"

"He objects to being Shkoder's gatekeeper." The king started and Liene hastened to explain. "According to the traders, it's collecting the tolls he objects to, Majesty, not holding the pass."

His expression thoughtful, Theron nodded and slowly sat back. "I remember reading something about that in the recall.

Also that he cares for his people a great deal and thinks we should be moving a little faster toward ending the isolation of the principalities."

"Our numbers are limited, Majesty, and Ohrid is a long walk…"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Captain. I
am
aware of both your numbers and how much country your people have to cover. But I think I'd like to talk to that bard, the one who was lately in Ohrid."

Although he read the recalls, King Theron never spoke to the bards and not the best control in the world could keep that thought from showing, for an instant, on Liene's face.
Well, isn't that a bit of unenclosed luck. First time in ten
years I've had a chance to throw those two together
—
and on the king's command yet
—
and the fates conspire against
us all
. "She left on a Walk three days ago, sire, heading north up the coast. Shall I have the kigh tell her to return?"

Theron stared up at the Bardic Captain, weighing her momentary lapse against the expression she now wore. Just for a moment, Liene thought she saw him reaching for the opportunity, then his eyes narrowed, and he said, "No. It's important that contact be maintained up the coast, especially in Fourth Quarter when isolation can so quickly set in.

After all, the whole point of recall is that it includes a complete observation."

No name had been spoken, but the identity of the bard filled the space between them.

Annice paused for a moment on the edge of the cliff and looked down at the village tucked between sea and rock.

From this angle, all she could see were the snow-dusted tops of cottages staggered up the hillside and the outside crescent of beach being rhythmically pounded by waves. Although she spotted a number of fishing boats pulled up on the gravel out of the sea's possessive reach, to her surprise a single vessel bobbed around in a small circle almost at the mouth of the bay. It seemed a little crazy to her, considering that puddles of ice reflected the sun all along the shore, but then small boats on summer seas seemed a little crazy to her, too, so she supposed she was unqualified to judge.

The sudden appearance of a pair of kigh very nearly flung her a disastrous step forward. Heart racing, she staggered and fought for balance, the weight of her pack dragging at her shoulders finally pulling her back onto solid ground.

While the long, pale fingers of the two agitated kigh continued to tug at her clothing, she drew a deep breath to whistle them away. Far away.

Then the message got through.

She dropped her pack so hard it bounced, snatched up her flute, and threw herself down the path to the village, Singing as she ran. Twice she stumbled and the kigh caught her. Once, the earth rearranged itself under her feet. By the time she reached the first cottage, a group of astonished people were running out to meet her, calling out questions she had no time to answer, the village dogs barking hysterically around their feet. She pushed her way through the crowd, still Singing. If the kigh were right, she had almost no time at all.

Finally she reached the water's edge. Throwing the case to one side, she shoved the halves of her flute together and raised the mouthpiece to her lips. The first note was so sharp it hurt, but, forcing herself to breathe normally, she found the second and, eyes locked on the boat, threw everything she had left into the Call.

Behind her, she heard the villagers exclaim as the fishing boat lifted on a column of water and began to rush toward the shore. Soon a stooped figure could be seen bending over something in the stern. As the boat came closer, the figure turned, became a woman, a sun-bleached fringe of blonde hair framing an expression part worry, part relief. Her mouth moved, but her voice was lost under the sound of the waves and the Song of the flute.

The cluster of kigh beneath the boat continued up onto the shore. The villagers cried out and scattered. With the bow almost upon her, Annice turned the Song to a gratitude and the kigh flowed out from underneath it, returning to the sea. The bottom of the boat dropped onto the gravel, exactly at the high water mark.

Annice let the flute drop away from her mouth and staggered back against a solid chest.

"I've got you, child." Arms wrapped around her, holding her on her feet, and she gratefully sagged against their strength, her vision swimming.

In the babble of voices that followed, Annice heard the woman cry out a name, then saw blurry figures rush forward and lift a small body out over the low stern.

Someone yelled, "Get him to old Emils!"

Then the world tilted and went away.

Annice woke staring up at the low, beamed ceiling of a fisher cottage. She struggled to sit, but a large hand pushed her back against the mattress.

"Emils says you're fine, your baby's fine, and you're an idiot."

Considering the way she felt, Annice decided not to argue with that last statement. Squinting to see in the dim light that came through the small, leather-covered window, she watched a heavyset, middle-aged woman with close-cropped gray hair cross the room to a pitcher, fill a clay mug with water, and return.

"Taska, isn't it?"

The woman smiled, pleating her face into a map of her life, and held the mug to Annice's mouth. "Imagine you remembering that. It must be three years since you Walked this way. Drink slowly, Annice. I don't want you choking to death after carrying you up those unenclosed stairs."

"That was you? The one who caught me?"

"None other." She hooked a stubby-legged, driftwood chair with her foot and dragged it across the uneven floor to the bed. "Now then." The chair groaned as she sat. "Tell me what brought you flying down the cliff just in time to rescue young Jurgis."

Jurgis. So that was the child's name. "How is he?"

"He's a tough kiddie and Emils hates to lose a patient. Takes it personal. He'll be all right after a while."

"The woman?" She tried to keep her tone neutral and didn't quite manage.

Taska's brows dipped slightly. "Nadina i'Gituska. His mother. She's outside making a nuisance of herself, along with most of the village. Refuses to leave until she's sure her kiddie's okay."

"Who's his father?"

"Who knows."

"Are you still Head?"

The brows dipped slightly lower. It wasn't a full frown, but it was close. "Wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"The kigh came for me. They said she was killing the boy."

To her surprise, Taska only nodded slowly. "Thought there was more to it than her story of him slipping on a bit of gut and going over." At the bard's questioning look, she added, "Water in the bay felt wrong."

Annice nodded slowly in turn. With training, Taska could have Sung water, but she'd had no interest in be coming a bard. According to the recall of the bard who'd found her some forty years before, nothing—not appealing to her sense of adventure, nor her sense of duty, nor just plain pleading—had shaken her from her polite reply. "
No, thank you. I'd
rather fish
."