The Quartered Sea (34 page)

He missed Xhojee, missed having someone he could just talk to without guarding every word he said, and, probably because of the amount of music he was suddenly exposed to, he missed having other bards around more than he had at any time while he was with the tul. It wasn't even specific bards he missed—although Evicka would have enjoyed the song about the banana once he'd explained the dimensions of the unknown fruit—he missed just knowing they were there.
I guess I miss being part of Kovar's stupid pattern
.

Fortunately, two dozen new songs in a short time left him too busy to be very lonely. Although none of the songs were lyrically complex, he had to completely rework a number of the tunes as more than one of his teachers sang in impossible keys.

The xaan didn't seem to mind the new melodies. Benedikt suspected she didn't even notice.

Singing from the top of the wagon, he tried to fit what songs he could to the cadence of the walkers. The chance that he might be easing their drudgery helped to lessen a vague, undefined guilt.

Late afternoon, on the fifth day of rain, the caravan came to a sudden halt at the point where the causeway moved from cultivated land and onto the heart of the broad river delta that held at its center the Atixlan, the capital city.

"Our way is under water, peerless one." The caravan master balanced on one of the huge wheels and peered apologetically into the shelter. "I sent a man across the flood and the causeway appears to have held but, unless the xaan commands, I will not risk any of the wagons. What may be solid under one man…" An eloquent gesture finished the thought.

"I have as little desire to lose a wagon as you do." Lips pressed into a thin line, she locked her gaze on his face. "So, caravan master, what do you suggest?"

"We must return to the last freehold and make camp, peerless one. Once the rains stop, the causeway will quickly reappear."

The xaan exhaled sharply, drawing an interrogative bark from the dog. "Whose stupid idea was it to build a causeway in such a place?" she demanded, looking as though she'd like to bark herself.

"It is only a problem for the wagons, peerless one. And it is unusual that one of the great houses would be traveling at this time of year."

"Not one," the xaan told him shortly. "All. I'll let the Tulparax know you disapprove of the season he chose to die."

Up at the front of the shelter, Benedikt stared out past the poles and the exhausted men and women who crouched beside them. It was still raining but lightly. On its own, it would be a miserable day. Compared to the four just passed, it wasn't all that bad.

Up in front of the poles, in front of the double line of guards, a hundred-foot dip in the landscape had filled with water. What looked like swamp on both sides of the causeway had risen, met in the middle, and kept on rising. Given the lay of the land, Benedikt could only assume culverts under the causeway handled the more normal amounts of rain.

A huge drop of water came through the canvas and landed hard enough to soak immediately through the shoulder of his robe.

The xaan knew he Sang water even if she didn't know exactly what it meant. She hadn't mentioned it since that first interview, but then, neither had he. He waited, listening, but only heard her issuing terse instructions to the caravan master, none of which involved him.

Had she forgotten?

From what he'd observed over the last few days, he doubted she ever forgot anything.

"I hear also that the waves obey you."

" Yes, peerless one."

"
Obviously not very well
…"

Benedikt had thought at the time she'd been mocking him, but he'd gone back to the memory again and again, and now he was certain she hadn't been. She'd been asking for confirmation. She'd been making an observation based on what she knew.

And she didn't think much of it.

Benedikt could almost understand why his abilities had been trivialized in Shkoder. Unable to Sing air he was crippled around other bards. But no one Sang air here. Or fire. Or earth. Or anything except water.

Another drop of rain collected in the canvas and fell, striking him in the same place.

Clearing the water from the road, ensuring that the caravan could move forward without delay, would do nothing to mitigate his failure with the
Starfarer
, but it should impress the xaan. Or at least convince her that he was more than he appeared.

This is your life now. The more you have to offer, the more she'll respect you, the better your chances.

Turning to face her, he bowed in the Shkoden way, and said, "Peerless one, I can clear the water from the causeway."

Hueru's bark of laughter was cut short by the xaan's quiet, "Do it, then." She waved the caravan master off the wheel, then looked up at Benedikt. "Can you follow him?"

"Yes, peerless one." It would feel good to move, to use his body after sitting for so long. "The robe…"

"Remains on. And the hood stays up. For your own safety," she reminded him pointedly as he opened his mouth to protest.

"As you wish, peerless one." Sliding under the gauze wall, he lowered his body over the edge of the wagon and groped for the wheel's hub. A rough hand gripped his calf and directed his step. Balanced precariously, he threw a quick smile down at the caravan master, suddenly thankful for the voluminous folds of fabric around his legs. When he'd asked to get rid of the robe, he hadn't really thought about climbing down the wheel in nothing but a sawrap and sandals.
Although, with all that unbleached cotton plastered against their skin, everyone looks vaguely naked anyway
.

Suddenly, now that he'd brought the observation to the front of his thoughts, all he could see were breasts and buttocks and soft pouches of flesh swinging forward against wet fabric. Water wrapped up around his feet as he walked, clinging more than water should.

"That boy couldn't move water in a bucket," Hueru growled, absently rubbing at his tattoo with the palm of one hand. "The waves obey him, my ass. Do you see any waves out there?"

Standing beside him, the xaan ran a fingernail down the cleft of his spine. "So, if he fails I'll punish him and make you happy. Shall I punish you for doubting my judgment if he succeeds?"

"If he succeeds in moving the water out of our way, peerless one?" Hueru laughed, good humor restored by the ridiculous thought. "If he succeeds," he declared, thumbs behind the waist of his sawrap, chest thrust out, "you may punish me as you see fit."

"Out there in the middle, it's as deep as your shoulders—well, my shoulders anyway," the caravan master amended with a sideways glance up at Benedikt's height. "Current's slow, though. Easy enough to move against. If you're planning on diverting the flow, I don't know where you're gonna move it to. You've got
bajos
on both sides…"

"Bajos?"

"You know, water over mud and rotting plants—you should smell this place as it starts to dry up."

Swamp
, Benedikt translated.

"Oh, sure there's a few
chowcis
." He waved toward a clump of moss-draped trees up to their lowest branches in water. "And that there's an old
atix
—we'll start passing plenty more of them as we get closer to Atixlon—but right here there's no solid ground. Nothing to build a levee out of, nowhere to anchor it if there was, and no way the Kohunlich-xaan would give you the time to build it." He looked up at Benedikt again. "How many warm bodies you gonna need to help you do this thing you're going to do?"

"None."

"None? A word of advice, boy, from someone who's had six braids longer than you've been alive; if you can't do what you told her you can, your best bet would be to walk out there and drown yourself. It'd be quicker and a lot less painful."

Benedikt could see the kigh waiting for him out in the deep water, waiting for him to come to them. He gave the caravan master's suggestion a moment or two of careful consideration. The beckoning bodies of the kigh made it almost tempting. "As soon as the causeway clears, begin moving the caravan forward. I can hold the water for as long as necessary, but I'd rather not Sing myself hoarse."

"Sing?" The caravan master sighed deeply and clasped Benedikt's arm for a moment before moving away. He'd been at that first interview where the xaan had taunted the boy about waves and ships and the like. Assuming that it concerned the boy's time with the tul, he hadn't been paying much attention. Clearly, Benedikt was a great deal more deluded than he'd thought. Just as clearly, the xaan had called his bluff.

It was a pity. The boy really did have a nice voice and the caravan master had enjoyed every opportunity to hear him sing—or more exactly, overhear him sing for the xaan.
Oh, well, if he's going to sing now, at least I'll hear him once more before he dies
…

Wishing he could ditch the robe and feel the rain actually on his skin, Benedikt moistened his lips—
Funny they should be dry when everything else is so wet
.—and began. The four notes to call the kigh were really just for tradition's sake. He never had to call them anymore.

In the shallower water on the far side of the flood, half a dozen bright pink birds lifted broad-billed heads on ropelike necks, and stared.

"He's singing," Hueru scoffed, arms folded. "Does he expect the flood to just move out of his way if he asks it nicely?"

Watching the pattern of ripples on the water's surface, the xaan's mouth curved up in a triumphant smile. "Yes," she said. "He does."

When the kigh finished pushing the flood back, the small flock of pink birds had returned to their interrupted meal—the clear implication that whatever was happening was none of their business.

Benedikt added a sequence of eight notes to dry the gravel, then walked to the lowest point of the causeway. Still Singing, he stood with his back against one translucent wall of water and faced the other. According to the kigh, the stone culverts beneath the gravel had neither collapsed nor washed out; they were merely full. Half turning, the movement dropping his hood down onto his shoulders, he paused to enjoy the expressions on the faces he could see. Then he beckoned the caravan forward.

The murmured name could have come from one throat or a dozen. Heard through the filter of Benedikt's Song, there was no way for the two women up on the front of the wagon to tell for certain.

Beside the xaan, Yayan Quanez hissed through her teeth. "They know he isn't! He told you so himself."

"People believe what they see," Xaan Mijandra remarked thoughtfully, with no understanding at all in her voice, "It
is
a remarkable resemblance. Just think of how he would have looked with his hair loose and out of that robe."

"He defiles the robe," the high priest snarled.

The xaan took a moment to let the astounded caravan master know he should get things moving, then favored Yayan Quanez with a speculative gaze. "Is that all you have to say?"

"I have said it from the beginning, peerless one."

"Fascinating that you fixate on an article of clothing and miss the point entirely. Hueru," she turned to her cousin who watched wide-eyed and silent as the first of the guards stepped between the walls of water, "do you recognize the significance of what Benedikt has done?"

His breath coming in short, sharp, gasps as though he'd just run a great distance, Hueru shook his head. "He moved the water from our way, peerless one."

"There, you see, even Hueru understands."

He faced her then. "Did you know he could do this, peerless one?"

"He
told
me he could do this. In fact, he told us all. It's hardly his fault if you didn't believe him."

"Then our agreement…"

"Don't worry, cousin. I remember our agreement. But I have no intention of holding you to it…" Her pause was exactly long enough to give him hope. "… here and now."

Shecquai began to bark as the wagon started to roll.

"Hush, little one. Even the
hartilcos
are paying no attention, and you're certainly braver than a bird."

Frowning, Hueru stepped forward and clutched at Xaan Mijandra's arm. "You can't intend the caravan to pass through there, peerless one!"

"I can't?"