Songs of the Earth (50 page)

Savin chuckled darkly, plunged his hand into Gair’s memories and pulled. They came spilling out like yarn, in a tangle of brightly coloured instants: the taste of spicebread at breakfast; the breathless hush of a snowy forest; the Vespers bell over sleet hissing on a windowpane. He picked them over carelessly, snatching up what interested him and tossing aside what did not, hauling out still more as Gair’s mind flooded with images, strewn haphazardly atop one another in bizarre combinations. Nothing was left untouched, and it hurt.

Gair screamed, each casual violation stinging worse than a sword-cut. Each old wound picked open welled forth new pain like pus. And still the hunt went on. His talent for shape-shifting was ruthlessly explored. Savin pushed and pummelled him through the changes, then yanked him back so quickly he could hardly recall how his own body felt. Then Savin reached deeper,
to pluck out every moment Gair had ever shared with Aysha, lingering over each kiss, turning it over like some exotic curio.

You have feelings for her? A cripple?

‘Please …’ Oh Goddess, the
pain
, throbbing, pounding—
Aysha, help me!

Then she was tossed aside in favour of every other Master Gair had ever met. Each word they had uttered was examined and discarded, each lesson winnowed for grains of whatever Savin sought. Alderan was treated to a similar scrutiny, for far longer. Snatches of conversation echoed round Gair’s head.

What has he told you?
Savin demanded.
What?

Deeper he plunged, back along the threads of the years at the Motherhouse, back to Gair’s childhood summers amongst the cliffs and coves of the Leahn coast, to a boy’s wondering innocence at the colours of the world. Back to a first startled breath, back to sleep, back to a blessed darkness and a song sung in stillness over the rhythm of a distant pulse.

Savin returned, raging.
Where is the key? You cannot hide it from me, boy!

Gair could not answer. His mind was paralysed by pain, deafened by his own sobbing. He was helplessly adrift in a roil of tattered memories. Savin clawed at him again and again, and fresh agonies detonated in his skull.

Where is it?

He was slipping, drifting further away—

You must know! Tell me! TELL ME!

—the darkness opening up, drawing him in—

TELL ME!

—even the pain becoming remote. It belonged to someone else now and the yammering, demanding voice faded at last into nothingness.

In the end, the paralysing cold woke him, seeping into his back and limbs. His extremities had lost all sensation; his muscles were stiff and unresponsive, except where they burned in agony. Slowly, Gair opened his eyes.

Grey. Everything was grey. Featureless, colourless, as far as he could see. He tried to turn his head to increase his field of view and pain exploded through his neck. Groaning, he screwed his eyes shut and tried moving his arms instead. More pain, but it was tolerable and he could move, although something resisted him. Likewise his legs. Opening his eyes again, he lifted his right hand and brought it round in front of his face. Snow caked his sleeve and was clutched in bluish-white fingers. That accounted for the cold at least, and the greyness, he realised, was a heavy sky overhead. As the fuzziness in his head cleared, he knew he had to move before the chill overcame him completely. Gritting his teeth, he rolled over onto his belly and dragged his legs under him.

When he staggered to his feet, he was surrounded by churned, bloody snow. Movement had started at least one wound bleeding again; spatters of fresh scarlet appeared around his feet. Gair crashed to his knees. His stomach churned and abruptly heaved. Sour bile burned his throat over and over until nothing remained to throw up.

He slumped weeping into the snow as the grey sky spun and rolled above him. It took such a long time to steady, a long time for the earth to stop pitching so that he could try to stand again. Painfully he levered himself up. Blood trickled down his chest and arm and he almost fell. Blinking, he tottered around in a circle to get his bearings.

Somewhere on an island. Sea heaved sullenly off to his right and beyond that lay the humped white shape of another island. Gair was sure he should know its name, but he could not think of it. He did know that beyond that island there was another one and beyond that, home.

To cross the water to the next island he would have to fly. He
was not sure if he could. Cautious exploration round the back of his neck found a mess of torn fabric and congealed blood. When his fingers brushed against the raw edge of the wound he sobbed aloud at the pain. He scooped up a handful of snow and dumped it onto the back of his neck. Cold lanced into him, stinging, burning, making him howl. Another handful and slowly numbness overtook the pain. Gasping for breath, he reached down inside for the Song.

It was not as strong as he remembered. It felt almost as ragged and bruised as he did himself. An eternity passed as he sorted through the melodies for the one he wanted. When he found it, it lay inert in his hands. He could not make it sing.

‘Oh Aysha, help me,’ he whispered.

He tried again. This time he felt the shape-shift begin and was halfway through it before it broke apart and he fell to his knees, retching. As soon as the nausea had diminished enough, he lurched back to his feet and tried again. He got no further, but this time he resolved not to let go. He could not afford to let go. He would not die there! Gritting his teeth against the sickness churning his stomach, he clung onto the music and willed it to carry him through.

He flew across the narrow neck of sea, one more step closer to home. Black shadows crowded into his vision and he lurched, only feet above the waves. Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him, sent him crashing into the snowy flank of the next island. Agony flooded his neck and shoulder. Scarlet seeped into his field of vision, blurring the world. He lay panting until he could summon the strength to master the pain and pull himself up the slope towards the island’s crest. Before he’d reached the top, he’d fallen to his knees again.

‘Aysha,’ he called, ‘oh Goddess,
Aysha
!’

No answer. She could not hear him. He would have to get closer, make the next change and fly, somehow. He dumped more
snow on the back of his neck and reached for that fragile, elusive melody once more.

As darkness fell, Alderan climbed the stairs to the top of the bell-tower with a spare cloak over his arm. For all spring was drawing in, snow still lay thickly on the fields, pearly under the second moon. It was not a night to be out without a cloak – not a night to be abroad at all.

One by one he closed and barred the shutters, all except the west-facing pair. Spreading his hands, he called a glim so wide he couldn’t wrap his arms around it and left it spinning in the centre of the chamber. White light lanced across the sleeping island, straight as an Imperial highway. He hoped it would be enough to guide the lad home. It had to be enough. It was all he could do. Then he sat down on a bench to wait.

An hour passed before he saw a flicker of movement and a kestrel streaked though the window to alight on the end of the bench. Her feathers were disarrayed and there was a wildness in her eyes.

Where is he? I’ve searched everywhere!

I don’t know, Aysha
, Alderan told her.
He’s out there somewhere, but I don’t know where
.

But I can HEAR him!
she wailed.
Listen!

Her colours filled his mind, and a despairing howl echoed around the inside of Alderan’s head. Aysha’s colours shuddered. He closed her out gently.

Have you spoken to him?

He can’t hear me
.

Try again, now. We must bring him home
.

Alderan watched the kestrel become still and sensed her reaching out into the night, though he could not hear her. He had never seen her like this before, not in all the years he had known her, never seen her colours stretched so taut or slashed so vividly with
scarlet. How much longer could she bear it? Looking out of the window, he searched the darkness for something, anything that might show him Gair had found his way back.

There’s no answer
. Aysha’s colours were frozen.

Maybe he is just not strong enough to reply
, Alderan said.
Keep trying
.

The kestrel dipped her head and broke contact with his mind again. He was glad, in a way; he had felt every ounce of her pain when that hopeless shriek had stabbed at her. Something had happened out there, something awful beyond imagining. Gair was too strong to have somehow fouled a weaving and lost himself to it, Alderan knew that with a certainty, as sure as he knew himself, but doubts continued to gnaw at him as the minutes passed and still there was no sign.

He had gone looking for Gair after the Council meeting broke up, but he hadn’t been able to find him in his room, the refectory or the library. Darin had not seen him since breakfast, nor had anyone else he spoke to. With concern mounting, Alderan had searched for his colours, and found no sign of them anywhere on Penglas. He had reached out to the wardens on the other inhabited islands and shown them the Leahn’s pattern of emerald and amber, but one by one they reported the same thing: wherever Gair was, he was not on the Western Isles.

What’s that?
Aysha’s presence was back inside Alderan’s head in an instant.
Out towards the Five Sisters. I thought I saw something
.

Your eyes are sharper than mine, little sister. I cannot see anything
.

I can – it
is
him, it must be!
She fluttered to the window ledge, her mind straining out, then recoiled.

What is it?

Oh Goddess, he’s hurt
, she whispered.
He can barely hold the shape. Help him, Alderan!

There is nothing I can do from here, you know that. That would be beyond even the strongest of us. He must make his own way back here. If he cannot, we will go out to him
.

If he loses the shape, the fall will kill him!

He will not lose the shape, Aysha. Be strong
.

She swore, her colours swirling in agitation, as Alderan stared out into the night. There it was, no more than a flicker in the silver beam from his glim. He fixed his eyes on it, willing it closer, until at last he could make out its shape.

Go, Aysha. Go back to your rooms
.

But I want to be here!

No, you do not
, Alderan told her.
Go. I will call you when all is well
.

She protested again, but he cut her off, hating himself for it but knowing it was for the best. Reluctantly, her kestrel took to the air and darted out into the night.

The fire-eagle lurched through the glim-light towards the tower. Its red-gold plumage was stained almost black, its wingbeats erratic, as if all strength was gone and it was propelled by sheer will alone. It barely cleared the tree-tops outside the walls.

Hold on, Gair
.

Alderan shrank the glim to make room. Another mind clutched at his, howling, and the battered bird scrambled over the balustrade to hit the floor in a smear of blood and feathers. Almost at once the shape shimmered as Gair lost his grip on the Song. His face was scratched and deathly pale. Bloody rents in his clothing showed raw flesh, his shirt was sodden scarlet.