Voice for Princess (v1.1)

by John Morressy

  Brought Rhys, best bard, to sing.”

  Rhys ap Gwalter looked at Princess with awe, and joy, and an expression that rapidly came to resemble that of a man who has scuffed his foot in the pebbles of a pathway and come upon a potful of precious gems. He turned expectantly to Kedrigern, who was gazing vacantly at his wife.

  “Look you, now, there is poetry for you!” Rhys cried proudly. “That is the true cywydd, embellished with the beauties of cynghanedd. Oh, that is grand, indeed.”

  “Is she always going to talk that way?” Kedrigern asked without taking his eyes off Princess.

  “She will improve with practice. There was a bit of weakness in the second line, where the rhyme should properly have come on an unstressed syllable, and I did not count more than three consonants recurring in any line. But it is very good for a first effort. In a few years the lady will be a great bard,” Rhys said, looking very pleased with himself.

  “A great bard,” Kedrigern repeated, dazed.

  “Great bard? I grant better days May follow—but must always I be rhyming? Right cramping ‘Twould be; word-bound. Better sing Small songs, some lesser in grace, Quite modest, neat, commonplace; Speak as plain lass, prosily—So my dear deciphers me.”

  Kedrigern scratched his head, working on her utterance. The last line was promising, but he was not sure about what had gone before. Poetry was not his forte.

  “That was an excellent first line,” Rhys said. “Six consonants I counted, repeated in order. You do not often find that in a beginner, lady. Are you certain you do not wish to speak forever in cywydd, adorning your verses with cynghanedd?”

  Princess smiled to acknowledge the compliment, but she shook her head decisively. After a pause, she said: “Plain discourse will please me best; Simple speech is the sweetest.”

  Kedrigern breathed a sigh of relief. Rhys ap Gwallter shook his head slowly, sadly, as if at a great waste of good, but took up his harp once more.

  “For my third charm, I will recite something that has long been a popular favorite. It is a simple rhyming spell that is attributed to Hywel Morgan,” said the minstrel.

  “Don’t you know anything that doesn’t involve rhyming?” Kedrigern asked.

  “I have tried the best nonrhyming spell I know, and it was a disaster, with this lovely lady speaking like a four-year-old, and not a very clever one, look you.”

  “Just asking. Go right ahead with Hywel Morgan’s charm.”

  Rhys began again, and this time his music was merry and bright, a tune to dance to. His small audience could not refrain from tapping their feet in time with the harp. The words were quick and clever, and several times Princess and Kedrigern glanced at one another and shared a smile. Rhys ended on an abrupt note and looked at Princess with an expectant grin.

  “Speak to us now, lady!” he said.

  “Your music has worked like a charm! It’s done me all good and no harm.”

  “I have done it this time,” Rhys said proudly.

  “But she still speaks in rhyme,” Kedrigern pointed out.

  “Stop complaining, and give me your arm!” said Princess.

  Kedrigern did as she bade him. Princess pulled him to his feet, and with arms linked, they danced around the beaming young minstrel. At last, flushed with exertion and out of breath, they fell into their chairs, laughing for sheer joy. Princess leaned forward and laid her hand on Rhys’s. Giggling a bit, brushing back a loose strand of hair, she said, “Young man, you’re an absolute winner! I insist that you join us for dinner. I’ll give orders to Spot—something lovely and hot.”

  “You speak well, my dear, for a beginner,” Kedrigern observed.

  “Look you now,” Rhys asked, “could you fix up my feet? There is pain.”

  “Do it promptly, my sweet,” Princess said. “I’m sure you know how.”

  Kedrigern rose, saying, “I will see to it now.”

  “There is plenty of time till we eat,” Princess assured him.

  She left them, and Kedrigern set about his part of the bargain. Black Ivor Gruffydd’s spell turned out to be a simple one, and he removed it easily. As he pronounced the last word of the counterspell, Rhys’s face lit up with relief and he heaved a great sigh.

  “There is good you are with your magic, Master Kedrigern,” he said, “I did not feel a thing.”

  Kedrigern gave a self-deprecating smile and waved off the compliment. “No reason you should. It was a small spell.”

  “It did not feel small when it was in my feet.”

  “They never do. Rhys… I’m curious about something.”

  “I will answer you gladly,” said the minstrel, rising.

  “Well, it seems to me that when we were talking with Princess just now, everything was falling into rhyme. Is that right?”

  Rhys took a few gingerly steps. He grinned at Kedrigern, walked firmly around his chair, then did a vigorous little dance. “Better than ever I am, look you, Master Kedrigern. I could walk from here to the sea without stopping, thanks to you. Yes, we were all rhyming. The charm is fresh and new, you see, and it spreads out around the lady, touching others. That will pass. Indeed, if she does not remain in constant practice, she will be speaking prose in a week’s time,” he said.

  Kedrigern smiled. “All things considered, that would be for the better.”

  That night, the three of them dined lavishly and drank deeply of Kedrigern’s most treasured stock, the very best from Vosconu’s vineyards. It was well past midnight when the last song was sung, the last health drunk, and the last limerick limned. With muffled yawns and weary goodnights, Kedrigern and Princess led Rhys to the guest room and made their way to their bedchamber.

  Kedrigern awoke to a bright morning, refreshed by a night’s unbroken rest. He yawned and stretched, and turned to Princess. She was already awake, and was staring up with a preoccupied air.

  “My dear, did you have a good sleep?” he asked.

  She replied thoughtfully, “For a time, it was restful and deep. But I woke with a cry—”

  “Did you really? But why?”

  “I dreamed I’d relapsed to ‘Brereep.’”

  He took her hand and pressed it for reassurance. She snuggled closer, and they lay comfortably warm and quiet for a little while. Then Princess said, “Did you notice, my dear, that we rhyme?”

  “It will go away in a short time,” Kedrigern replied without thinking. Then, recalling his words of moments ago, he realized that he was once again falling into the rhythms of his wife’s speech. It was harmless, he knew; but something in him made him resist the spells of others. “Let us rise,” he said.

  “Yes,” Princess cheerfully agreed. “It’s best we remember our guest.”

  Kedrigern nodded, but said not a word in reply. This was really getting out of hand. He threw on his robe and went to see about breakfast, and found Rhys up and about, walking in the dooryard, taking evident pleasure in every step.

  Kedrigern signaled to the minstrel wordlessly. Rhys, seeing his gesture, grew confused and cried, “Look you now, what is this pantomime?”

  In exasperation, Kedrigern said, “Oh dear me, is there no way around it?”

  “What? The rhyming?” Rhys asked.

  “Yes!”

  “No,” said the minstrel with a shrug.

  “Well, confound it, it’s going too far! After all, Rhys—” Kedrigern replied, only to be interrupted by Spot’s morning “Yah! Yah!” of greeting. He clapped his hands over his mouth and rushed from the room, nearly colliding with a footstool Spot had set down in the process of removing it from the kitchen. Princess entered just in time to see Kedrigern’s departure. Noticing the stool, she said, “Spot, put this thing back where you found it.”

  Kedrigern gave up the struggle. All that day and the next, any conversation that took place in the house or on the grounds was in limerick form, and there were no exceptions to the rule. Even Spot’s outbursts fell into the pattern. But when, on the morning of the third day after his arrival,
Rhys ap Gwallter left them, the rhyming charm seemed to depart with him. Princess spoke in a voice as sweet and musical as an angel’s, but she spoke in prose.

  As they sat over lunch, Kedrigern said, “It took a long time, my dear, but you have your voice back at last.”

  “Thanks to you, Keddie. I knew you’d do it.”

  “Well, I needed Rhys’s help to bring it off.”

  “But if it weren’t for your own powers, Rhys would never have helped you. I’ve heard you say dozens of times that the bards of Cymri are very close with their magic. More ale?”

  “Just a drop, thank you.” Kedrigern reflected for a time, and said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s all professional courtesy, but nothing would have been done if I weren’t a wizard of some standing.”

  “Exactly. So the credit is yours.”

  “It was a privilege, my dear. And now that you have your voice, what shall we do to celebrate? Shall we have a little party?”

  “Whom would we invite? I still can’t recall anything about my family, and all my friends are toads,” Princess pointed out. “Not much point inviting them. And your friends are scattered all over the place.”

  “True,” Kedrigern said, nodding. “It would be nice if you could meet people, though. Even strangers. Even if it meant…” He paused, swallowed hard, and in a lowered voice said, “… traveling.”

  “Traveling?”

  “There’s a convention coming up. I hadn’t planned on attending, but if you’d like to… Give it some thought. No need to decide now.”

  “It’s hard to think. Actually, all I want to do for a time is talk. To anyone at all, about anything and everything. I want to talk about the meaning of life, and gossip about people I barely know. I want to discuss great art and literature and music, and tell silly jokes, and sing songs, and recite poetry, and complain about the way you leave indescribable things lying around the house when you’re in the middle of an enchantment—”

  “—I’ll try to be more careful—”

  “—And congratulate you when you work a difficult magic just right. And I want to be able to talk with another woman about all the things that don’t interest you at all.”

  “We could invite the wood-witch over for a weekend.”

  “That’s a start, I suppose. I want to say everything, Keddie—except for one thing.”

  “What’s that, my dear?”

  “Must you ask?” she said.

  Twelve

  the student, princess

  With princess speaking in her own voice, employing the cadences of normal prose discourse and sentences that came out front end first and followed in orderly sequence, the atmosphere of the cottage on Silent Thunder Mountain became noticeably more cheerful as the summer proceeded. There were bright salutations upon waking, pleasant conversations over breakfast, heartening exhortations from time to time throughout the day, witty banter at the dinner table, and a sweet “Good night” upon retiring.

  Princess was delighted by her restored power of speech, and made all possible use of it, often speaking for the sheer pleasure of speech itself. When she was not conversing with Kedrigern she talked to Spot, or to the growing things in the garden, or the birds, or the trees, or the little bright-eyed creatures that dwelt in the dark corners of Kedrigern’s study, or the winds, or to herself. She recited long poems of chivalry and blighted loves; mnemonic rhymes for Latin prepositions taking the accusative, the signs of the zodiac, and the months of the year with their proper number of days; multiplication tables as far as fifteen times fifteen; and, in relaxed moments, nursery rhymes.

  Sometimes, when dinner was over and they were strolling over the meadow in the twilight, she sang a ballad; and she sang so sweetly that Kedrigern, who had never cared very much for ballads or for singing, urged her to sing again.

  In about six weeks, though, the novelty wore off, and Princess was silent for longer and longer periods. She sang infrequently, and recited hardly at all. She spoke only to Kedrigern and Spot, and her words to the house-troll were few and of a purely utilitarian nature. Kedrigern noticed the growing silences, but made no mention of them, assuming that this was a normal reaction and would work itself out eventually. And it did.

  “Keddie, I want to start a program of studies,” said Princess one fine spring morning as they sat down to breakfast.

  “An excellent idea. Keep the mind alert. Very sensible, my dear. What do you plan to study?”

  “For one thing, I want to improve my vocabulary.”

  Kedrigern nodded in approval. He reached for a biscuit.

  “And I want to study magic.”

  Kedrigern paused in the act of breaking the biscuit, and his eyebrows rose. But his only comment was, “May I have the jam, please?”

  “That’s not a very enthusiastic response,” said Princess, pushing the jam pot in his direction.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. Actually, it’s a very good idea. I’m surprised that it didn’t occur to either of us before this, that’s all. You’ve been exposed to quite a bit of magic, and you appear to have coped very well. You seem to have a natural affinity for magic.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked with evident pleasure.

  “It’s very likely. Did you have a particular type of magic in mind?”

  “Not really. I like what you do, but I’m not ready to specialize.”

  “Very sensible,” he said, nodding and taking a bite of biscuit. He chewed slowly and thoughtfully, and at last added, “Plenty of time to make those decisions later on, when you know your strengths and weaknesses. The first thing to do is master the basics.”

  “When do we begin?” she asked brightly.

  “This morning, if you like. Now that my library is in order I can easily find my old textbooks. I’d say A Handy Book of Basic Spells and Enchantment For Beginners would be best to start with, and then you can go right on to Spells For Every Occasion.”

  “How long will it be before I’m casting spells?”

  “Hard to say. If you really have the gift, you might be able to work a small spell before the leaves turn.”

  Her face fell. “That long?”

  “My dear, that’s no time at all. I don’t want to name names, but I know several people of considerable standing in the profession who were ten years learning to spell properly. What I do may look easy, but I didn’t learn it overnight.”

  Princess sighed and gazed out the window; then she rose resolutely and, placing her hands on her hips, said, “If that’s the case, Keddie, the sooner we start, the better. Let’s get to it.”

  Though it showed signs of frequent use, Kedrigern’s library was still in unaccustomed good order. Here and there a book lay opened, face down, on stool or table, and a small stack was rising on either side of the wizard’s reading chair. But the shelves were tidy, and the categories remained clearly delineated. No longer were collections of spells commingled haphazard with collections of counterspells, or books of formulae, or architectural drawings; dictionaries were not flanked by gazetteers and jest books, nor were atlases the neighbors of analecta or enchiridions. Primers of wizardry had their own individual niche, as did glossaries, lexicons, and thesauri. There was a place for everything, and practically everything was in its place, or so close by as to make no real difference. Kedrigern felt almost embarrassingly well organized, and covered his awkward feelings with a great show of efficiency, snatching down a book here, leafing rapidly through it and replacing it with a censorious frown, taking down another from there, examining its index critically and then tucking it under his arm while he scanned the shelves for others.

  Princess seated herself in his big comfortable chair and put her feet up, looking on with interest as he made his selection. He turned to her at last with two books under his arm and a third book in his hand. One by one he placed them in her lap, identifying each as he did so.

  “This blue one is Enchantment For Beginners. It’s the best introduction to the field. Very clear and
easy to understand,” he said as he presented the first book.

  “What spells does it contain?”

  “No spells in here. It’s purely introductory. It gives you all the basic dos and don’ts, all the laws and rules and necessary precautions.”

  “It looks awfully thin. Aren’t there a lot of rules to learn?”

  “There are quite a few precautions, but they’re all common sense. There are only three laws of magic.”

  Princess looked incredulous. “Only three?”

  “Let rne see…” Kedrigern closed his eyes, pressed his fingertips to his brow, and began to recite. “First Law: Subjects of spells remain spelled unless despelled by some external power. Second Law: Enchantment and spelling are proportional to, and of a kind determined by, the spell or enchantment invoked. Third Law: To every spell, there is an equal and opposite counterspell, and the same goes for enchantments.” He looked up, blinked, and said proudly, “I had to memorize them a hundred and forty years ago, and I’ve still got them word perfect. No, it was nearer a hundred and fifty years ago. Think of that.”

  “Have they been any help?”

  “Oh, my, yes. The third law, for instance, keeps one from becoming overconfident. Overconfidence is one of the great hazards of the profession. You really must have all the laws and rules and safety precautions by heart before you start learning other things.”

  “All right, I’ll learn them,” she said with a resigned sigh. “But when do I start learning to spell?”

  He flourished a slender book and said, “This is A Handy Book Of Basic Spells. You must get it by heart, and practice every day for at least eight hours until everything in here is second nature.”

  “Eight hours?” she repeated in dismay. “Every day?”

  “That’s the minimum, my dear. It’s a difficult business, magic. If it were easy, you’d have wizards everywhere you turn. They’d be as thick as alchemists.” He laid the book in her lap and held up the third for display. “When you have A Handy Book of Basic Spells down pat, you go on to Spells For Every Occasion. It’s an advanced speller.”

  “Do I have to memorize that, too?” she asked. The book was bound in black, like the introductory speller, but at least five times thicker.