Trial of Intentions (30 page)

After many turns, they passed through a set of doors and entered an immense, circular hall. Wendra looked up and her mouth fell open in sheer wonder. The wide chamber rose higher than she could guess, and was crowned by a great dome. All around the walls stood bronze statuary depicting vocalists in the act of singing—some on this level, and more on levels above, where walkways circled the chamber. Hallways radiated from each story of the room like spokes on a wheel.

At the center of the room stood a small raised platform, a circular dais three strides across. The dais was a stage, with a modest, walnut-brown lectern, atop which lay several sheets of music. This great round theater would be a wonderfully resonant place to sing.

The chamber appeared, today, to be set for a recital of some kind. Several dozen rows of chairs faced the podium. Only a few were currently occupied.

As she approached the room's center, a familiar white-bearded man entered from one of the anterior hallways. Belamae, head Maesteri here at Descant. He smiled and came forward with open arms.

He folded her into his embrace. The man warmed her, holding her tight for several moments. His robe carried the scent of sandalwood and sage leaf, a clean smell that reminded her of home. Then he put her at arm's length, still holding her hands, and looked her top to bottom.

“You look well. How do you feel?” he asked.

“Tired.” She smiled weakly.

“Just so,” Belamae replied, and gently shook her hands side to side, obviously very pleased that she had come. “We won't sing today. But let us talk.”

She nodded, eager to talk with him, and noticed an insignia woven to his robe. It appeared as two shallowly formed Ss written side by side—the first written backward—with their bottoms connected to form a letter V.

He patted the mark. “Descant's emblem. Denotes the song form: sotto voce. Sotto voce is soft singing, under the breath. Nearly whispered, to draw meaning.”

“And this?” she asked, gently touching another insignia beside it.

“Emblem of the Leiholan,” he replied.

This second insignia still looked like two written S's, but
both
formed backward and written on top of each other so that their intersection created a slightly twisted oval with a point on each end. The top and bottom tails of the insignia also flared in an extra swoop.

Belamae smiled. “You'll find we like our meanings. The Leiholan mark suggests that doubling one's musical expression creates something more than volume.”

Wendra became suddenly apprehensive.
Anything I learn will make him expect more of me.

Belamae turned and offered her his arm. Wendra hooked her hand around the old man's elbow and the two began to stroll the circumference of the domed chamber.

“This is a replica of the Chamber of Anthems.” He spoke in hushed tones as he gestured to the hall and cupola above. “On the other side of the cathedral is the true chamber, where we sing Suffering, which is drawn from the Tract of Desolation. It's a history of the dissenting god, Quietus, and the events that saw him and all he created sealed inside the Bourne.”

“And singing Suffering keeps the Veil strong,” Wendra added.

“Some say without Suffering, there is no Veil.” He then gestured to the wide chamber again. “We use this replica to rehearse. It takes much training and preparation to sing Suffering. And even then, the toll on the singer is great.” The old man looked over at the many chairs set before the lectern—a few more now had occupants. She sensed he was remembering someone specific. He fell silent for several moments as they continued to walk, then shook his head, as if clearing his mind. “The hall is acoustically perfect. And it offers some protection from badly rendered song, so that you may safely practice here.”

“Do Leiholan in the actual Chamber of Anthems ever make mistakes?”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “They do. Not often, but it does happen. Usually, they're not mistakes of craft or memory, but of fatigue. The song requires seven hours to be fully sung. And there are only a few who have the knowledge and gift to render Suffering. Even then … some offerings of the song are simply not as vivid.”

Wendra could see she had asked a troublesome question. But the man brightened some as he looked back at her.

“But then there is you, Wendra. Your gift of song is unique. It would not only provide more rest for the other Leiholan, but it would lend strength to the Veil. I'll be more insistent this time that you make Descant your home.” He smiled paternally at her.

Rather than resistance to the old man's suggestion, she found herself warming to the thought. He clearly cared for her. And though he also had a practical need of her, his affection couldn't be misunderstood. It had been a long time since she'd felt that. Or maybe a long time since she'd
let
herself feel it—because of the Quiet, because they'd taken so much from her, from people all across the Eastlands. Her song stirred deep inside her.

Belamae must have sensed her resentment. “This isn't a place for harsh or angry thoughts, Wendra. Guard yourself against them here. This may only be a replica of the Chamber of Anthems, but part of your training is to do here what you'll do in the actual chamber. Start now.” Mild reproof edged his tone.

“You're telling me that my songs are the wrong ones. That I'm reckless.” She thought about Vendanj as she said it.

Belamae surprised her when he said, “Not entirely.” He smiled again. “Oh, you're reckless. You know this well enough. But I believe you'd like to stop being reckless, even as I know you'd like to keep the dark songs that live inside you.”

Wendra narrowed a puzzled look at the old man. “Then what do you mean,
not entirely
?”

He took a few moments to consider her question, his eyes lifting past her again to the rows of chairs set at the chamber's center. More Descant students had taken seats there. The low hum of conversation buzzed now in the hall.

“Songs of mourning and anger and dread and frustration aren't
wrong,
Wendra. These are powerful emotions, and they have a place in how we sing about life, in how we create melodies with the intent to answer some need.”

She again had the distinct feeling Belamae was referencing something in particular, some event from his own recent past. He turned the focus on her.

“Your songs of destruction and malice, are they intended to harm those who threaten you or someone you love? Or … does your despair make you sing to gratify a need for retribution, to purge your heart of some regret?”

He went on, not seeming to expect an answer. “Wendra, there are subtleties to the power you've been given. Leiholan spend a lifetime examining the nuances of melodies and the relationship those melodies have to their own feelings.” He laughed softly then. “It gets easier. But you're at an important crossroads. How you come to understand and use this gift will set a course.”

“So you want me to stay. Study here,” she said.

“You make it sound like a sentence.” He smiled warmly. Then his face became more serious. “Deciding to stay and study and
understand
won't be easy. You'll have to leave behind the vengeance you harbor in here.” He tapped his chest.

She shook her head. “You tell me my feelings aren't wrong, then you tell me to let them go. You're as hard to understand as the Sheason.”

He showed her a patient look. “You need to listen closely, Wendra. I said to leave behind the vengeance, not the pain or memory that stirs that vengeance.” Once again he glanced at the dais and lectern. The rows of chairs were now nearly full. “And I asked you to let go only
part
of the song that grows inside you. I can hear that part even now. It's a powerful song. But it's blind, Wendra. It makes
you
blind. It's born of fury, and will become harder to control each time you use it.” He hunched forward and fixed her with a flinty stare. “If you ignore everything else I say, heed me on this one thing.”

Chills ran down her arms. And she recalled what had happened in Naltus when she'd sung on the shale. She looked away from him, his scrutiny making her uncomfortable.

Then his demeanor softened. “Besides, haven't you ever paused and just … marveled that you can do things with song that others can't?”

She fell quiet for a long moment. Then nodded with a small but genuine smile. “Sometimes it doesn't seem real.” She looked at him more seriously. “How long would it take me to be ready?”

The Maesteri raised his head, looking down as a man does who intends to make an appraisal. “Hard to know. Now, some of the training is learning to read the language of music; that's easy enough. Another part is understanding the elements of music: melody, rhythm, dynamics, meter, pitch … there's more to it than simply making sound. Then you must marry this knowledge to the gift you possess. That's when you will transform music into something that can change the nature of things. To do that,” he said, pausing so that she would focus on his next words, “there are two essential parts. There is the power of it. Finding within yourself the source that gives your voice its Leiholan quality. On that score, I sense you're already rather adept.” He raised a finger of warning between them. “However, its use, how you render that power … its
intention
 … that, Wendra, is something over which you've not learned control. And if you don't, the untrained use of the first part of your Leiholan gift will consume you. It will lead you down paths.…”

Belamae's words trailed off between them. After a few moments, his gentle smile returned. “Don't dismay, though, my child. At the risk of some conceit, the one thing I'm rather good at is teaching Leiholan. And you have such great potential.”

Just then, one of the Descant students came up to them. “Maesteri,” the young man addressed Belamae in reverential tones, “we're almost ready. We're just waiting on Telaya, then we can begin.”

Belamae nodded. “Thank you, Alder. I'll watch for her arrival.”

The young man bowed slightly and returned to the crowd seated facing the lectern.

They began to stroll again. “What's happening here today? A recital?” she asked.

“A memorial.” He left it at that for the moment. Then, with a topic-changing tone, he asked, “In your time with Vendanj and Grant, how much have you learned about your family?”

Unease filled her belly.

“My child, here.” He motioned to a pair of chairs set against the chamber wall. They sat together, Belamae settling himself before turning to gather her attention again. “Wendra, your parents didn't always live in the Hollows. For most of your childhood, they lived here, in Recityv.”

The revelation struck her deep inside, like the first time one truly acknowledges mortality. But she showed none of it to him. Later, she knew, she'd mourn in some way. For now, she wanted to hear it all.

The crowd waiting at the chamber's center grew expectantly louder. Their collective hum buzzing in the hall.

“I knew your parents when they lived here, your mother especially.” He eyed her closely, as if waiting.…

The realization hit her. “My mother was Leiholan.”

“Indeed she was,” he confirmed. “One of the most gifted I ever taught. It was a tearful day when she told me she was leaving Descant for a life in the Hollows. I won't tell you I didn't try to convince her to stay. Part of that was selfish—she and I were good friends—but most of it was the Song of Suffering. Even then the number of Leiholan was not many. Her departure placed more burden on the rest of us.”

“Then why did she go?”

“She and your father were asked by Denolan SeFeery to take his son, Tahn, to a safe place and raise him as their own.” He paused, letting the revelation sink in.

A kind of relief that she had not expected filled her heart. “Tahn isn't my brother.”

“Not by birth,” he clarified. “But she agreed to help hide him. She wouldn't have let your father go alone, anyway, if only to keep your family together.”

Wendra concentrated, trying to remember any part of what he was saying. She sensed it was true, but could recall none of it.

Again he must have divined something of her thoughts. “Don't fret your lack of memory. You were helped to forget, to make the transition to the Hollows easier for everyone. What's important is that you learn more about your mother. She was some woman.”

Reluctantly, she let pass a stream of questions, and focused on his invitation. “Tell me.”

He looked in the direction of the memorial. “Telaya hasn't come yet. She's usually quite punctual.” Apparently deciding he had time to share, he turned back to Wendra, his best smile returning. “You look just like her,” he began. “I guess you know that already, but for me it's like looking into the past. I walked this very chamber with her. She was willful, too.” He gave a soft, warm laugh.

“Before you and I became acquainted, I'd never met anyone whose gift of song matched Vocencia's. Such beauty and power. I watched halls like this, overflowing with people, weep, then laugh, then fill with rapture while listening to her songs. Never a better student, either. To her natural ability she added expert understanding. It speaks deeply of her love for you that she left Descant behind.”

She loved hearing him talk about her mother. The few things she could remember of Vocencia were Wendra's fondest memories.

Then something occurred to her. “You said there were only a few who could sing Suffering. So wasn't it irresponsible for her to leave?”

Belamae's expression was unreadable. “Perhaps,” he said. “But she made the right choice. I wasn't supposed to know about Tahn. Your mother confided in me because it mattered to her that I understand the reason she chose to leave. I've not spoken of that conversation or her reason for leaving until just now. But I think the time is right to share it.”