Songs of the Earth (66 page)

‘Did you find out anything?’

‘A little. Donata’s mind was taken over and her gift subsumed. That was what Savin used to hold the Gateway open. An illusion of her colours was left in the weaving to disguise what he was up to, to buy himself some time.’ Alderan sighed and looked suddenly weary. ‘There’s too much we don’t know how to do, too much knowledge lost to us. I’d hoped to be better prepared before we had to face him again.’

‘And Darin?’

‘Darin was his cat’s-paw. Savin could never come at us directly because of the wards, so he sent an agent. It was sheer blind bad luck that Darin was the one he gave the token to.’

‘Token?’

‘He was holding it in his fist when we found him. A crystal, cut and polished to resemble a gemstone. It probably had a glamour woven around it to ensure Darin kept it close by. Savin tied strings to him through it. I’m sure you can work out the rest.’

Guilt wrenched at Gair’s heart. ‘Darin was going to have the stone set into a ring for Renna. A betrothal ring. He asked me to stand as his second.’

‘Gair, I am so sorry. I know he was your friend.’

And I was too wrapped up in myself to see what was happening. The knight’s move, the one that comes at you sideways, from the angle you least expect
. He looked away. It was some time before he trusted himself to speak.

‘At least he never woke up.’

‘No, that’s one thing we can be thankful for, I suppose. Once Savin took control, I think Darin only knew what was happening for a very short time. When the shield was taken down, his body was alive, but the spark that made it a person was gone. His heart stopped the following day.’

Gair flinched. He would miss the Belisthan’s ready laughter, his mischievous sense of fun. Darin had been the first friend he’d made at Chapterhouse; it had been like having a brother. He was surprised how much it hurt, surprised he could still feel that much hurt after what he had seen. He’d thought he was numb to it.

‘You were right, Alderan,’ he said abruptly. ‘About Savin. He sees everything as a tool towards his ends, even other people. They’re just pieces on a chessboard, to be sacrificed when expedient.’

‘That’s one thing I wish I could have been wrong about.’ The old man grimaced. ‘It would have spared us all an ocean of pain.’

‘How many did we lose?’

‘In all, twenty-four. Nine adepts, including Darin. Eleven apprentices. Brendan, Tivor, Donata.’

‘And Aysha.’

‘And Aysha.’

He hadn’t said her name out loud since it happened. For an instant she was there in the room, watching him from the couch; the scent of her skin was in his nostrils and her colours danced through his mind. He shut his eyes tightly. Still he saw the other images: dark blood, torn flesh – the other thing all those bottles of brandy had not been enough to drown. Gair opened his eyes and found his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

‘I’ll see him burn for this. By the Goddess, I’ll set the torch myself.’ It came out as a growl.

Alderan said nothing, but watched him with sorrow in his eyes.

‘He killed
children
.’ Gair’s chest tightened, his voice choked by the weight of everything he had suppressed. ‘Little boys and girls no higher than this, who could barely light a candle with their talent. He brought demons and he let them kill children.’
And her. Holy Mother, please, take care of her for me. Take care of them all
. ‘He killed my friends, twenty-four people who had never harmed him, never raised a hand against him. I won’t let him get away with that. I can’t. I will see him broken.’

Strong hands gripped his arms. Alderan’s voice was low and fierce. ‘Gair, I know you’re hurting. You want to see Savin punished, and so do I. I understand, believe me. He took someone from me too, and I mean to call him to account for that, as well as for what was done here. But not today, lad. Not today.’ He tightened his grip briefly, enough to force Gair to look at him. ‘All things in their season, Gair. There will be a reckoning, I have no doubt of it, but today we’ve got other things to do.’

Alderan was right.

‘I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,’ the old man said.

Gair couldn’t speak yet; Alderan embraced him firmly and he hugged back as hard. There was some comfort in that simple gesture, and he clung to it.

‘I miss her.’

It was lame, inadequate, too small. Those three words could not do her justice, nor could they begin to express the yawning sense of loss. Tears threatened, and his face twisted up as he fought to keep them at bay.

‘I miss her too. We did not always see eye to eye, Aysha and I, but I respected her enormously. You were good for her, I think.’

‘I thought you didn’t approve.’

‘We don’t have many rules at Chapterhouse and that was one of them, it’s true. But such things rarely wait for approval from
mere mortals. You had the Goddess’ blessing, the pair of you, and there is no higher power.’

Steadier now, Gair straightened up and took a deep breath. ‘Thank you.’ Another deep breath. He ran his hand over his hair and checked the silver
zirin
at his nape was still secure. He wiped his eyes, just in case, and forced the memories back behind the walls he had constructed.

‘Ready?’ the old man asked.

‘As I’ll ever be.’

Alderan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, fond but also sad. ‘Let’s go and say our farewells, eh?’

Chapterhouse held its breath as they walked through it. There should have been clattering feet, banging doors, the hive-like hum of busyness that usually filled the place, but their feet made the only sound. Stairwells, cloisters, even the main yard stood empty and still. Out through the gates they went, and climbed the rise with its view of the home farm and the road down to Pencruik. Pensaeca Sound shimmered like pewter, whipped into whitecaps by the wind. Overhead, high, thin cloud veiled a pale sky.

The entire population of Chapterhouse was arranged in a loose circle around the three pyres. Staff wore their everyday clothes, Masters and adepts their mantles, which were snapping in the boisterous breeze. Every face was solemn; even the smallest children, peering shyly round their parents’ legs, knew something important was happening and kept silent. Gair and Alderan made their way to the head of the circle, where a brazier flamed.

Verenas, the chaplain, waited for them, snowy vestments billowing and the Book of Eador in his hands.

Each pyre was as tall as a man and gleamed with oil. On top, the linen-wrapped bodies were anonymous as cords of wood. Which was hers? Gair had no way to tell. The shrouds gave no clue even which were men and which women, though the smaller forms of the children were distressingly easy to pick out.

As Verenas recited the service for the dead, Gair hardly listened.
He chanted the responses with the rest of the mourners, knelt to receive the benediction, but his thoughts were elsewhere. In his mind he rode the sky above, felt the crisp air thrum through his feathers as he soared, and another eagle echoed his every move.

When the last amen faded, Alderan held a torch to the brazier. It took a moment to catch as the restless flames snapped back and forth. Then the old man turned and offered the torch to Gair.

He fixed Aysha’s colours in his mind, vibrant as a stained-glass chapel window with the sun behind it. Close to the pyres, the air was heady with spiced oil; that much sappy young wood needed help to ignite, so they’d had to use a lot. It filled his lungs and made it so hard to breathe.

Go with the Goddess, carianh
.

Then he put the torch to the pyre. In moments the flames roared into the air and heat struck his face like a blow.

Carianh
. Beloved. He wished he’d said it more often. He should have told her every time the word sounded in his heart – when she’d read Gimraeli poetry to him by firelight, when they had lain together in silence with her fingers twined in his. Every single time.

Sparks fountained up, spiralling around the column of flame. Gair spread his arms and drew on the Song. The melody came from somewhere beyond the white heat of a furnace, keen as the edge of a blade. It was the sound of heaven’s own smithy, in which the stars were forged. Flecks of silver appeared in the inferno before him, then spread to the pyres on either side. Gradually argent replaced the orange and gold, then the silver turned steely, became blue.

Now the heat drove him back, a pace at a time, but he continued to call the Song. He would make the flame as pure as he could, to let Chapterhouse’s dead be carried heavenwards on it without the taint of smoke and ash. It was all he could do for them now, for her.

Finally, he allowed his tears to fall.

Tanith watched from a distance, wrapped in her cloak. She hadn’t seen the Leahn since that day. He hadn’t opened his door to her, or anyone else, and she’d been reluctant to intrude on his grief, however much Healing she was sure he needed. He seemed whole enough, dressed in clean clothes, his hair neatly combed, but it was the eyes that betrayed him, grey as flints and remote as the northern sea. His control of the Song was as sure as ever, though she still had no idea how he’d managed to shield himself from the damage Savin had done to his mind. She had seen that for herself, and the memory was enough to make her shudder. One day, she feared, Gair would fly apart under the strain.

If only she could have reached Aysha in time, she could have saved her, and spared him this pain. But time could not be spooled backwards like a bobbin of yarn, and what was done was done. She rubbed the fresh scar that ran down her forearm. She would always wear it, no matter how many times it was Healed. That was her reminder of her failure. She should have tried harder. She would have stood in front of the demons and let them devour her instead, if it could have prevented the wound Gair had taken to his heart.

Tanith closed her eyes to stop the prickle turning into tears.

‘A strange ritual,’ said K’shaa at her shoulder. ‘We give our dead to the sea, not to fire.’

She opened her eyes again and quoted the sea-elf burial ceremony in a voice that only trembled a tiny bit.

‘“We are born of water, and to water we return. Let our sea-brother be taken by the water and carried home to the Mother until the tide brings him back to us once more.”’

K’shaa inclined his head, long braids stirring in the breeze. ‘Well spoken. Tell me, do you always do this?’ A crook of his fingers took in the blue flames that coruscated skywards.

‘No. I’ve never seen this before. I think it is something new.’

‘I have seen many new things of late,’ the sea-elf said. His voice lilted with regret and not a little disapproval. ‘Much is changing.’

Tanith folded her arms deeper inside her cloak, suddenly chilled.

‘Do your people read the future, K’shaa?’ she asked. ‘Do you see signs and portents in the heavens, hear rumours on the wind?’

He cocked his head and regarded her with tilted eyes. ‘I hear storms coming,’ he said. ‘I smell the lightning in the womb of the clouds and read the waves. Those are the only portents I know.’

She watched Gair, bathed in the light of the pyres. His eyes were closed now, and tears shone silver as they coursed down his face.
So much pain in there – how does he bear it?

‘I hear the storms too,’ she replied. ‘I fear the one coming may be the end of us all.’