The Quartered Sea (6 page)

"Sailors are known to exaggerate, Majesty." He could see she remained unconvinced. "I have even heard stories of giant kigh that turn the water of the sea into a trap for ships and a graveyard for sailors." Spreading his hands, he asked. "Surely if these kigh existed, we bards would know of them?"

"Why
surely
? You didn't learn of the fifth kigh until recently."

Once again, if the obvious differences were ignored, it might have been King Theron, sitting behind the desk. Kovar, who'd spent eight years as Bardic Captain under the old king, had to fight an instinctive reaction. Theron, he reminded himself, had been the voice of experience. Jelena was not. "The legends refer to water kigh, Majesty, and that is a quarter we have always known. If these giant kigh existed, surely we would have heard."

"So you're saying that the dangers are legendary?"

"I am saying, Majesty, that even though
some
of the reported dangers may be legendary, it is my opinion that it would be foolhardy to send a ship out into the unknown with such an untenanted hope of success."

"I thank you for your opinion, Captain." Sitting back in her chair, Jelena studied the bard for a moment or two. When the weight of her steady regard began to dip his brows toward the bridge of his nose, she turned her attention to Magda. "What do
you
think?"

The healer took a moment to glance at the man beside her. The Bardic Captain was sulking, uncomfortable with the queen thinking for herself. From the feel of his kigh, Magda suspected that he preferred Jelena unsure in her role and willing to embrace the advice of someone who'd seen more of life. Willing to embrace his advice. Perhaps it was time that he, too, came to terms with the young queen's sudden ascent to the throne. "I think, Majesty, that songs often provide valid inspiration."

"That's a platitude, not an opinion," Kovar snorted. "Not to mention complete and utter nonsense. There can be no good reason to send a ship out into the unknown."

Both hands flat on her desk, Jelena stood. Color burned on both cheeks, but her voice remained level as she said quietly, "I disagree. After careful consideration, I have decided to outfit a vessel and call for volunteers to crew her."

"Now
that's
what I call healing."

Having strode half a dozen angry paces down the hall outside the queen's office, Kovar stopped and turned to glare at Magda. "Surely you don't approve of this?"

"Surely I do. We wanted Jelena to move past her mother's unfortunate death and accept that she's queen. I think we've succeeded admirably." Walking past him, fully conscious of him pivoting to keep her locked in the beacon of his displeasure, she frowned thoughtfully. "Let's see, the Council won't be meeting again until after First Quarter Festival. I expect Her Majesty will wait and make her announcement then. After that, things should get interesting."

* * *

Five days into the new quarter, Benedikt woke to find his hand in a puddle and a pair of tiny water kigh playing tag around his fingers. Cupping his hand so that they swam lazy circles on his palm, he asked them how much rain had fallen in the night.

Too much.

There had been heavy snowfalls in the high country throughout Fourth Quarter, enough to guarantee a certain amount of flooding in the valleys below as the weather warmed. Unfortunately, it had rained every day since First Quarter Festival. If it kept up, the flooding would be severe.

Pushed by a sense of urgency, he quickly packed up his camp and ate a cold breakfast while he traveled. Much of the path was wet enough that kigh rose up around his boots with every step. As much as he appreciated their company, that wasn't good.

He reached the village of Janinton just before noon, although, with the sun hidden beneath a thick blanket of gray cloud, he had to tell the time by the state of his stomach. He was looking forward to a hot meal when, just as he spotted the first cluster of villagers sitting miserably in the damp circle of their possessions, he heard the Song.

It seemed there was a bard already in Janinton; a bard who Sang water and was, even now, Singing the river away from the village.

Other bards could plan their paths to cover the country most efficiently; he had to show up and discover he was of no more use than a bottomless boat. Then he heard the desperation in the Song. The river's kigh were not responding.

Stripping off the encumbrance of his pack, Benedikt raced for the river's edge. Those last few notes, more wailed than Sung, told him he had no time to waste. The villagers called out to him as he pounded past, but he ignored them. Leaping over a wet chicken, too miserable to move out of his way, he rounded the last building and rocked to a stop.

The original settlers of Janinton had built in a bend of the Silverglass River. Most years when the water was high, the Second Quarter melt poured around the upper half of the bend and then spread out over the banks into the marshlands to the north. This year, something had clearly happened upstream and a wave of icy water roared directly toward the village, the only barrier a slender figure Singing to kigh that weren't listening.

The leading crest would reach the unknown bard in a heartbeat. Rushing forward, Benedikt sucked in a damp lungful of air and threw his Song toward the surging water. Dark with mud and debris churned out of the mountains, the flood smashed into the bend and began to rise behind the twisting, translucent bodies of the kigh. The other bard jerked around, but Benedikt had no time to acknowledge him. Weaving a complicated melody in and around the notes that held the kigh in place, he layered them along the path of the river, in some places three feet above the banks. On the other side of the village, he allowed the water to spill out of its translucent chute and into the marsh.

Toward midafternoon, a hand lightly touched his arm and a quiet voice wove itself into the Song where he'd be certain to hear. "Benedikt, you've taken the pressure off. The levees should hold now."

Should hold? Benedikt waved the interruption away. He would Sing until the flood had passed.

It was dark when that same hand gripped his shoulder and told him it was over, he could stop Singing. Somehow, he managed the four notes of the gratitude, releasing the kigh. When he looked down, he could just barely make out the river lapping against the toes of his boots.

"The village?" he whispered.

"Safe." The hand on his shoulder turned him around, then folded his fingers about the warm curves of a clay mug. "Drink this, Benedikt. The village herbalist says it'll ease your throat."

Using both hands, he got the mug to his mouth and took a tentative sip. "Tastes like goat piss and honey."

"Doesn't it always?"

He studied the pale oval that seemed to float in front of him as he drank, trying to put the features together into some sort of recognizable face. "Pjazef ? You're supposed to be in Somes. Singing earth."

"I'm on my way to Somes, but I had to run an errand for the healers first."

Pjazef had finished training just as he was beginning. They'd never known each other well—which was amazing in itself considering how well rumor insisted Pjazef knew most of the bards and half the country—but, as far as Benedikt could remember… "Didn't think you Sang water."

"After today, I don't think I do either," the other bard admitted, taking back the empty mug and slipping an arm around Benedikt's waist. "Come on, I've got a bed all ready for you; we can talk in the morning."

Next morning, Benedikt crouched by the water's edge, peering intently down at the kigh. Everything he'd done yesterday could be destroyed today if the conditions upstream hadn't changed. In spite of the remarkable healing powers of the herbalist's tea, he hadn't voice enough to compel so he had to convince. Time after time, the kigh flung themselves away from his quiet Song, wanting to play. Finally, he got enough of an answer, straightened and turned.

"There's still plenty of runoff coming," he announced, wishing that, like the bard beside him, he could use the air kigh for volume instead of his abraded throat. "But it shouldn't be any more than the river and the wetlands can handle."

Gathered between the two bards and the first of the half-timbered houses, the half circle of villagers cheered. Pjazef grinned up at Benedikt, pitching his voice over the sound. "I said it last night and I'll say it again now. You were absolutely amazing. If I hadn't seen you do it, I wouldn't have believed it could be done."

Two spots of color high on his cheeks, Benedikt grinned. "I did do a pretty good job, didn't I?"

"Pretty good? Center it, man, you did what no one else could have. I had to try because I was here, but I fully expected to be swept away. My only hope was that I could Sing a strong enough water to keep from drowning."

Having heard a little of Pjazef's Song, Benedikt had his doubts.

"I'm just glad I was here to Witness for you 'cause the way you were Singing, your recall's going to be full of kigh and not much else. This is Urmi i'Margit," he added on his next breath as a middle-aged woman stepped forward, "the village headwoman."

Too quickly for him to avoid, Urmi dragged Benedikt into a vigorous hug. "You saved our homes," she told him, cheeks wet. "Probably our very lives, there's no way we can thank you sufficiently for what you've done."

The men and women behind her murmured in agreement. Releasing him, she swiped at her face with the palms of her hands. "If there's ever anything you need that the people of Janinton can give you, anything at all…"

Benedikt watched, astounded, as her eyes slowly slid together in the center of her face. A heartbeat later, Pjazef caught him and heaved him back more or less vertical. "I'm all right," he insisted as the shorter bard slipped a shoulder under his left arm. "I can walk."

"I know." There was a definite wink implicit in the tone. "I just like hanging on to you. Why don't we head back to the herbalist's, and you can spend a little more time recovering from saving the world."

"I didn't save the world."

"Then you can recover from saving this part of it. Unless, you're up to a bit of gratitude." Eyes crinkling at the corners, he glanced up through a fringe of russet hair. "The head-woman might think there's no way to thank you, but a couple of the younger villagers have come up with some pretty inventive ideas."

His tone made the general, if not the specifics, of those ideas quite clear.

The last thing Benedikt wanted to do at the moment was Sing, but sex came a close second. "I think I'll just go with you."

"Wise choice."

The herbalist's small house was dry and warm, and that alone would've recommended it, but it also smelled wonderful—a mix of summer meadows and woodland clearings. The two bards had spent the night in the downstairs room she kept for the sick, and Benedikt assumed he'd be returning there. Pjazef, however, guided him to the couch beside the stove. "This way you won't be so cut off from what's happening."

It would've taken too much effort to insist that he didn't mind, so he lay back and closed his eyes.

He had no idea how long he'd been asleep when the voices woke him.

"Don't fuss so, Pjazef, it's no wonder he's exhausted. The body is full of water, you know; he was Singing a different Song to bits of himself even while he was Singing the river. Let him sleep."

Benedikt forced his eyes open. "I'm awake."

The herbalist, a spare woman in her mid-forties, shot him one keen look and reached for a covered pot on the stove. Benedikt would've liked to have asked her what she'd seen, but he didn't get a chance as Pjazef suddenly filled his line of sight.

"I was beginning to worry." He dropped down on the side of the couch and laid one hand lightly on Benedikt's chest. "How are you feeling?"

Benedikt blinked at him, trying to focus. "How do you make that sound like an invitation?"

Looking a little startled, the other bard brushed a bit of hair back off his face, and smiled. "Practice," he suggested.

Her opinion of his practices plain on her face, the herbalist reached past Pjazef's shoulder and handed Benedikt a familiar mug. "This lot should taste like goat piss and raspberries," she told him. "You get that down you, and you should feel more like yourself. And you…"