Sing the Four Quarters (37 page)

"If we were going to
descend
."

Annice, no longer flexible enough to twist, turned right around to face him. "Pjerin, there's no way these people, whoever they are, are looking for either of us. Right?"

Against his better judgment, he growled agreement.

"And we could use some supplies. Right?"

"What about the guard?"

"What
about
the guard? They're not already down there. We left nothing they could follow. And if I don't get to talk to someone besides you, I'm going to push you off the next cliff we come to."

They locked gazes and after a moment Pjerin smiled. "Good point," he acknowledged. "Unfortunately, considering your condition, I can't make the same plans." Tugging Milena into movement, he gestured toward the valley with his free hand. "After you."

Off the ridge, it quickly became obvious that the homestead was farther away than it appeared and it was late afternoon when they finally reached it. While one of two dogs remained guarding the small herd of longhaired goats, the other charged toward them, barking and snarling.

"Steady," Pjerin said softly as the mule backed to the end of her lead rope, ears flat against her skull and whites showing all around both eyes. "Annice, don't move."

Annice shot him an incredulous glance. "Well, I'd actually
planned
on screaming and running for the hills."

Pjerin ignored her, all his attention focused on the dog. A scar parting the thick tricolored fur along one heavy shoulder as well as the tattered remains of an ear, showed the animal willing to follow through on the snarled threats. His free hand dropped to the handle of his dagger. "Annice, move very slowly and take the lead rope."

Impressed by the calming cadences of his voice, she stretched out her arm, inch by inch, until she could close her fingers around the taut line of twisted hemp. "Got it."

A body length away, the dog stopped and danced stiff-legged on the spot, lips pulled up off its teeth, hackles raised, still barking.

Pjerin released his hold and swung his arm around in front of his body in a graceful arc, hand open, the movement as nonthreatening as he could make it. "It's all right. We're not here to harm anything of yours. Quiet…"

Eyes narrowed, ears flat, it crept forward.

"… that's it. We don't smell like trouble, do we? No." He kept his weight on the balls of his feet, ready just in case.

His hand held out at waist level, the dog barely had to lift its head to sniff his fingers. It backed up a step and began to bark again, the snarl not so prevalent.

"Safety! Come here!"

Caught in mid-bark, the dog's ears went up, it spun around, plumed tail beating the air, and galloped toward the young woman advancing from the buildings.

Without turning, Pjerin reached behind dim. Annice gave him the rope. "Very impressive," she said.

He shrugged. "What do bards do when this happens?"

"Well, I once spent three hours in a tree until the family came home from picking berries. The mutt pissed on my pack and I made up a song about the trials of the road."

"The Trials of the Road'? That's yours? I
like
that song."

Annice rolled her eyes at his tone. "You needn't sound so surprised."

"Hello." With one hand resting lightly on Safety's broad head, the young woman stopped a careful distance away. Her eyes widened slightly as she noted Annice's condition, but her expression remained basically neutral. "You're a long way off the beaten path."

Aware that Pjerin awaited her lead, Annice weighed her options. They still had small items to trade, but they were no longer posing as traders. She knew there
had
to be other travelers with reason to be crossing this isolated valley, but she couldn't remember either travelers or reasons. Her memory had grown worse as the baby had grown bigger and she wasn't thrilled about it.
Oh, out

of the Circle with it
! Taking a deep breath, she Sang the notes that made up her name.

When she finished, Pjerin appeared to be grinding his teeth and the young woman was smiling broadly.

"You're bards! By the Circle, you're bards!" She hurried forward, both hands outstretched.

Safety, taking its cue from its mistress, raced on ahead and leaped around them, barking wildly. Pjerin told it sternly to be still and, panting happily, the big dog sat on his foot.

"Oh, be welcome! Be welcome! Bards! Wait till Gregor hears! We haven't seen anyone but each other for almost four full quarters!" She thrust her fist at Annice. "Adrie i'Marija."

"Annice." And added as she lightly touched the other woman's fist with hers, "This is Jorin a'Gerek. He isn't a bard, but he is responsible for the extra weight I'm carrying and decided not to let me Walk alone."

"I should certainly hope not." Adrie stepped back for a more thorough examination. "When are you due?"

"Around Second Quarter Festival."

"So soon? You should…" An angry wail from the largest of the three buildings cut off the advice. "Oh, no, Mari's awake. You can turn your mule out with the goats for the rest of the afternoon. The dogs will watch her. We bring everything in at night because of the wolves." The wail became an insistent shriek. Adrie ran for the house. "Hush, baby, Mama's coming."

"Wolves?" Annice repeated.

Pjerin shook his head. "Oh, no, you're not changing the subject that easily. Why didn't you just tell her who we
really
are? Make it easier for them. You've forced them to take a moment and figure it out on their own."

"Try to pay attention," Annice told him, as he began to undo the straps holding the two packs on Milena's broad back.

"They haven't spoken to anyone for nearly four full quarters. They don't know about the Due of Ohrid's treason and they've no reason to think you're him."

"And what about the troop of guards we know is looking for us? They're going to be able to get a pretty good description when they show up here."

"If. There's a lot of country in between here and

Vidor for them to get lost in and we didn't leave tracks, remember. If they even managed to find out we left Vidor, they could easily think we doubled back, or were swallowed by the earth, or a great winged serpent came and carried us away."

"Annice, they're trained guards. They can't all be totally incompetent." He ground the protest out through clenched teeth. "If they think I'm a traitor, they'll also think I'm heading for Ohrid to try to get through the pass to Cemandia.

This place is between Vidor and Ohrid."

"If they thought that, they'd be guarding the pass, not chasing after us. They know that as long as you're with me, you
can't
go to Cemandia because although you may be safe—depending, of course, on how Queen Jirina feels about failed traitors—I'll be under immediate sentence of death for being able to Sing the kigh."

His brows met over the bridge of his nose. "You must get tired of being right all the time."

Annice smiled sweetly at him. "Haven't yet."

"… was here to Sing earth for us and take a recall of what we've done to the place back to His Majesty. Late First Quarter it was. His name was uh, Jaks?" Gregor twisted one end of his mustache. "No, that's not it."

"Jazep," Annice offered. "Now that you've spoken of it, I remember his recall. Four years ago, you petitioned His Majesty for the rights to this valley, promising that in five years you could be paying taxes directly to him. In return, King Theron was to grant you his protection should anyone try to move in on you. As neither Vidor nor Ohrid claimed the valley, and His Majesty was impressed by your…" She paused, searching for the word.

"Balls?" Adrie suggested, glancing up from Mari's suckling. Gregor reddened.

Annice nodded, her hands gratefully busy with newly acquired knitting needles and wool. ''Balls are good. I was thinking of initiative, but balls are definitely better. Anyway, His Majesty was impressed and agreed to the bargain.

Jazep's been by every First Quarter since."

"You beat him this year. We thought when we first heard the dogs it might be him." Gregor leaned back against the wall of the house and stared down the broad length of the valley; grass, trees, and goats painted gold by the setting sun. "Do you remember what Jazep said? I mean, about how we're doing?" He wasn't very successful at sounding like it didn't matter.

Actually, she did. Last year, with only two left to go, Jazep had said it would take a miracle for the valley to begin producing surplus in the time remaining. "Well, he said you've gotten a remarkable amount accomplished." Which he had.

Gregor nodded, satisfied, then he stood. "It's getting dark. Time to bring in the animals. Easier for the dogs if they're all in one place at night."

Pjerin stood as well. "Adrie said there were wolves?"

"Didn't you hear them coming through the hills?"

"Once or twice off in the distance, but never very close."

"You're in the distance, Jorin," Gregor told him dryly. "If this part of the Circle didn't enclose so many deer, we wouldn't have a goat left."

As the two men walked off, Adrie added, "If not for the dogs, the deer would strip the gardens." She glanced down beside Annice's stool. "You haven't finished your goat's milk."

Annice made a face. It tasted like cooked lamb smelled. "I, uh, I don't really like it very much."

"It is a little strong at this season," Adrie admitted. "But it's good for the baby."

"Maybe, but I have to drink it."

Adrie shrugged and returned her attention to the infant fussing at her breast.

Annice sighed. There was no point in being prepared to argue when the other person refused to cooperate. She hated the assumption that she was mature enough to realize what was best for all concerned—it made it impossible to create elaborate justifications for not doing the right thing.

Picking up the heavy clay cup, she frowned down at the contents, then swallowed the milk as quickly as she could.

You better appreciate this, baby
, she thought as her entire body shuddered at the aftertaste. '
Cause I wouldn't do this
for anyone else
.

Later, after an evening of singing and storytelling and edited news of the world beyond the valley, Annice and Pjerin bedded down in the loft Gregor had spent part of Fourth Quarter constructing across one end of the small house.

Adrie had offered the only bed, but they'd both argued that the loft was fine. The bed, while large enough for two, insisted on a level of companionship they wouldn't be able to maintain.

Next morning, Annice woke to a familiar bounce on her bladder. She sighed and dragged her shift over her head.

While she had no real objection to the baby being up before dawn, she didn't appreciate having to be awake as well.

Crawling around Pjerin—
They look so innocent when they're asleep
.—she very carefully swung out onto the ladder, waited a moment for various bits to catch up to the movement, and climbed slowly down to the floor.

The arc of sky was pearly gray, touched with a blush of rose-pink over the mountains to the east. Annice came out of the privy, allowed an investigation by Safety and her mother, Honor, and walked a short distance from the house.

Although she was still tired, she had no real anticipation of being able to sleep again—not with the baby awake and kicking.

Climbing to the top of a small knoll, she turned to the east and dug her toes into damp ground. Almost without meaning to, she started to Sing.

It began as a simple welcome to the day, a fledgling Song, pure tones chasing each other joyously up and down the scale. When the first light crested the mountains, it became the Song she'd Sung to the earth in the gardens of Elbasan.

As the day lifted out of shadow, it gradually changed again, becoming more complicated. Swaying, Annice spread her arms and opened her heart, pouring hopes and fears and dreams and self into the Song. Eyes half closed, she filled the valley with her voice, feeling it respond, Singing to that response. The more she Sang, the more energy she seemed to be pulling up through the soles of her feet and the more she poured into the Song.

When the last note lapped against the valley walls, she laid both hands lightly against the curve of her body and smiled. "Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" she murmured, replete. "It's been a while since we really Sang."

Stepping forward, she frowned, confused, at the ground. The grass on the knoll, cropped nearly to bare dirt by the grazing goats, had grown up thick and green and ankle high. As she watched, the whole valley seemed to ripple as her Song settled into the earth. Bees droned to the heavy heads of early wild flowers and birds answered her Song with a chorus of their own.

Annice turned, slowly, trying to take it all in.

Off to one side of the house, the tiny apple trees that Adrie had carefully dug out of her father's orchard were in full bloom, a thousand white blossoms touched with pink lifted to the morning sun. The day before, what few blossoms there were, had been ragged and unlikely to fruit.

Standing just outside the house, Pjerin, Adrie, and Gregor stared at her in amazement. Leaking milk soaked Adrie's shift over her breasts and both men had erections. Only Mari, balanced on her mother's hip, seemed unaffected. She giggled and pointed as a bluebird dropped for a bug right at Gregor's feet, then took flight again with an iridescent flurry of sapphire wings.

Annice smiled at them a little self-consciously. Her Singing had never evoked quite that expression of stunned reverence from an audience before; not to mention the physical response. Something told her there'd be seconds of goat's milk this morning—a less than appetizing proposition—and more than enough eggs to go around.

Squatting, both hands spread flat on the earth, Jazep hummed thoughtfully to himself. The kigh had lifted his bedroll, dumped him naked into the dawn, and insisted he listen to the Song resonating through the earth.

There could be no mistaking the emotional signature.

Annice.

It seemed that a minor ability to Sing earth had absorbed the other three quarters and become a talent to equal his own