Samis. The floating sphere was so bright, the force that emanated from it so powerful, that she hadn’t even seen him at first. He was standing directly beneath the sphere, arms outstretched, head thrown back. The square stone of the ruby ring burned fiercely on his hand, with a blood-red light almost as bright as the sphere itself. The hood of his cloak had fallen back, and his eyes were wide open, unblinking, as he stared upward. It took Calwyn a moment to realise why they looked so unnatural, but then she saw that they had been drained of colour by the strong light from the sphere. His eyes, which had been so dark and piercing, were white now, like a blind man’s.
The sorcerer spoke, and his deep voice resonated around the huge chamber.
‘So, my Heron, my old friend. Have you brought your reckoning?’
Calwyn shivered, but Darrow’s voice rang out clearly over the hum of the sphere. ‘I am your friend no longer.’
‘Yet you followed me here, all the way to this lost place. The ties that bind us are not dissolved.’
‘I expected to find you striding among the gods by now. What are you waiting for?’
‘Aah –’ It was a long sigh, of regret, or of triumph. ‘Did you think I would finish it without you? We made our plans together, you and I. Have you forgotten?’
‘I have forgotten nothing.’ Darrow stood very straight; his hands were clenched at his sides, as if he held onto something very tightly. ‘I have not forgotten the day you stood on the bridge in Gellan, and said that you would rule over the whole of Tremaris, that you would be emperor of all the lands, and crush the Empire of Merithuros into dust, and the rest of Tremaris too, if you desired it.’
‘Yes. I said that,’ replied Samis. ‘And I said that I would do it with your help, or without it. And you knew then that I did not need you any longer, that my gifts were stronger than yours, and always would be. And it was then, only then, Darrow, that you turned against me. It is envy, and jealousy of my power, that has driven you to oppose me. The only reason you wish to tear me down is because you wish that you had the strength to stand now in my place. Is it not so? Is it not so, Darrow, old friend?You know I am right. You know as well as I do that this pitiful divided world needs one strong leader to put an end to its petty squabbles.’
Majestically, the sorcerer swept his arm to include them all in his grand vision, and as he spoke it seemed that pictures formed and dissolved before their eyes. ‘You know, you all know, that every corner of this sorry world is stained with hatred and fear. You, windworker, daughter of the Isles, you have seen the slave markets, and the terror that the pirates bring. You, fisherman, would you not like to see the seas swarm thick with fish again, and the farms golden with grain? Then no child would die of the wasting fever for want of good food –’
Tonno gave a low cry, and clenched his hands, and Calwyn knew that he was thinking of his dead sister, Enna. Now Samis turned to Halasaa.
‘You, son of the forests, you see your people hidden away in the trees and caves, sickly and afraid. Together we can bring them a new beginning, restore their ancient strength, their ancient wisdom. And you, my dear, my little priestess –’ The white eyes burned now into Calwyn’s, and his voice dropped to a caressing whisper. ‘You remember the promises I made to you, yes? We will open the lands of Taris to the wide world. There will be no more outcasts, no more runaways. You would like that, wouldn’t you?To break down that mighty wall?’Then he turned to Darrow. ‘And you, Heron. You cannot deny that the great Empire of Merithuros trembles on the brink of collapse and chaos, all because of the stupidity of its princes and the blindness of its Emperor. And when Merithuros collapses, the whole of Tremaris will shudder.’
Darrow did not answer. He stared straight ahead, not looking at Samis, or any of them, tense as a hawk who waits at the cliff ’s edge to fall into the arms of the wind.
‘Imagine if all the lands, all the peoples, were united in peace and plenty, singing with one voice!’ Samis’s words rang, strong and authoritative, through the chamber. ‘The Nine Powers shall be One Power, and the Nine Songs shall be One Song!’
‘You call yourself the Singer of all Songs,’ said Darrow quietly, and his voice was cold, and hard as ice. ‘Very well then. Will you stand here now before us, and sing every chantment you’ve learned? Or have you failed before you have even begun? You do not have the Nine Powers. I challenge you to sing the chantments. Sing for us now, old friend!’ The last words bit as viciously as a lash.
For a long moment there was silence, but for the restless hum of the bright spinning sphere. Then Samis began to laugh, a chilling laugh that filled every corner of the chamber, before dying away.
‘So, you challenge me? Keep your challenge, Heron. It is too late.’ A look of greedy exaltation appeared on the sorcerer’s face. ‘You still believe that the Singer of all Songs must sing every kind of chantment with his own voice. But you are mistaken. I have discovered the truth: the one who will uniteTremaris is the one who can command every chantment to be sung. Then the prophecy will be fulfilled: all songs will be one. Here is the place where it can be done: in this city, in this building, within these very walls. And it is more than half-done already.’ Once more the soft laughter chased around the chamber, echoing up and back.
Darrow whispered, ‘No –’ But his face was grey.
‘When I called to you, Heron, in the forest, that was the Power of Tongue. When the little priestess drove off the birds, that was the Power of Beasts. There were no birds; the Power of Seeming is stronger here in Spareth, is it not? Is it not so, fisherman?’ He turned and leered at Tonno. ‘When you saw your brother under the trees, that was the Power of Seeming also. When the child blew away the mists –’ He nodded toward Mica. ‘That was the Power of the Winds. And Darrow, old friend, when you opened the door to this tower, that was the Power of Iron.’
‘No!’ cried Calwyn in despair. It couldn’t be true. Had they been helping Samis all this time?
Coldly Darrow said, ‘This is trickery. You are no master of chantments. You have no right to call yourself the Singer of all Songs, any more than you have the right to the Ring of Hathara on your finger.’
Samis closed his hand over the great ruby stone, and the queer white eyes narrowed. ‘And yet I do hold the Ring. And yet I will be the Singer.’
‘You have summoned only five of the Nine Powers. What of the four that remain? You must know that we will not be tricked again.’
‘Aah –’ Samis’s voice sank to a sibilant whisper. ‘I will need no more trickery. You will give me your help, and give it freely, for the good of all Tremaris.’
Suddenly Samis wheeled about, and pointed to where Tonno and Mica stood close together, Mica’s hand wound tight in Tonno’s jacket. Before Calwyn realised what was happening, the growling throat-song of chantment rang out across the chamber. Mica screamed; Tonno’s arm grabbed her close. A silver net was rising up around the pair, woven of loose shining mesh; pinpoints of light flashed as it enclosed them, and Calwyn saw that each knot of the mesh was tipped with a needle-sharp barb. Samis sang, and the net was drawn tighter. Mica cried out again as one of the barbs bit into her flesh; a red gash tore across her arm. Tonno bared his teeth like a dog snarling. Samis smiled, and let his song fade into the silence.
‘The Power of Becoming,’ he said, in that soft, menacing voice. ‘The power of quickening, and growth, and change; the power of the journey into death. Your power, son of the forests. Will you sing for me, or must I summon up the chantment with the death of your friends?’
Horrified, Calwyn stared at Halasaa. He was very still, his gaze fixed on the dark figure at the centre of the chamber.
Do not fear. His words sounded clear and calm in her mind, and she knew they were for her alone. Remember what I have told you. This life is a dance, not a battle.
Calwyn pressed her hands to her mouth. She had never felt so helpless, so despairing. What use were fine words about dances and battles now? There was no hope. She could see from Darrow�
��s pale unhappy face that he felt it as keenly as she.
‘Do as I bid you!’ hissed Samis. ‘Or would you see your friends slashed into ribbons before your eyes?’
‘Don’t do it, Halasaa!’ cried Mica. Tears were streaming down her face. ‘Let him do his worst! We’re not feared!’
‘Foolish girl!’ Samis tipped back his head, and the light glinted in his white eyes. ‘You think to thwart me with your bravery? Understand this: your deaths will summon up the Power of Becoming as surely as your friend’s song. There is nothing to gain by defying me.’
‘Do as he says!’ Darrow bit the words out.
Halasaa looked at Mica, and gently shook his head. He raised and lowered himself on his toes, like a forest bird about to take flight. And then he began to dance.
Slowly at first, he spread his arms and began to twirl and spin, stamping his feet in a wild rhythm. Round and round the chamber he leapt and wheeled. His burnished skin glistened, his long hair flew free from its binding. Even through her despair, Calwyn marvelled at the power he summoned with his wordless magic, the craft of theTree People. She could feel the power thrum through her own body as he danced, the spark of awareness and hunger for survival that struggled in every being, the force of never-ending change: birth, and growth, and decay, and death. She began to sway with the beating of her own heart, and the pulsing of her breath; she felt the murmuring force, the burning flame that animated each of them in that ancient tower.
As the dance went on, her awareness broadened and heightened, and she could sense the powers of the beasts that crawled and flew through the forest, the powers that beat slowly through each tall tree and flickered more quickly than she could measure through the tiniest mosses and blades of grass. And as Halasaa’s dance grew stronger and more confident, the pulse of becoming throbbed through the chamber, the rhythm of every breath of every person in Tremaris, crowding there all around her: the Spiridrelleen, the peoples of Mithates and Antaris and Doryus and Gellan, and far off across the ocean in Merithuros and Baltimar, and peoples beyond whose existence she had never imagined. And out and out, flickering faintly from the stars themselves, distant worlds and beings that she had never dreamed of, humming about her like a cloud of bees, brushing her with innumerable tiny wings. It was all woven together; she felt herself, a minute stitch in an immeasurably huge fabric, tiny, tiny, spinning, dissolving. It was exhilarating, terrifying, yet somehow comforting, all at once.
Samis raised his arms high and cried out in triumph. Above his head, the silver sphere spun faster than before, the light shone from it still more brightly, and the hum of power grew louder.
‘Chantments of tongue and beasts and seeming, I command thee! Chantments of winds and iron and becoming, I command thee!’ Samis’s voice rose to a shriek. ‘Power of Fire, obey me now!’
He reached inside his cloak and drew out the Clarion of the Flame. For a moment he held the little golden horn in his hand, then he raised it to his lips.
As the wild unearthly song of the Clarion rang through the chamber, a ring of fire licked out from the hem of Samis’s dark robe, flames of red and gold, purple and green and blue, the eerie cold fire of the stars and the reflected light of the moons. Wider and wider the sea of flame spread across the floor of the chamber, until it lapped at Calwyn’s own feet. She cried out and sprang back, but the fire came no nearer. Tonno and Mica still clung together as the flames writhed around their woven cage; at its base, the silver mesh glowed red-hot. Halasaa whirled on, leaping through the flickering tongues of fire so swiftly that he hardly seemed to touch the ground. But Darrow – Calwyn spun around, and saw that he was surrounded by the flames. With a cry of pain, he threw up his arms and stumbled back, but the fire pursued him. A smell of burning flesh and cloth reached Calwyn’s nostrils, and she saw Darrow’s face contorted in a silent scream of agony.
‘Little priestess.’ Samis’s voice was in her ear, soft and deep. ‘Save him. Put out the flames.’
She didn’t stop to think; in that instant nothing mattered but the terrible danger to Darrow. She forgot that in doing Samis’s bidding, she might give him absolute power. She forgot her misery and despair, forgot that they had come here to defeat Samis, and yet at every step he had tricked them into helping him. Everything left her mind but the need to save Darrow.
She raised her hands, threw back her head, and sang. The craft of ice-call was deep in her blood, she had been learning it longer than she could remember, and to exercise it now was as simple and effortless as curling her hand to grasp a cup. She sang the ancient chantment, slow, inexorable, precise, older than fire, older than life, the power of cold and darkness and death.
As she sang, shadows appeared in the chamber. Between the bright tongues of flame there grew deep pools of pitch blackness, as black and fathomless as the spaces between the stars on a night of moondark. Wreaths of cold air crept across the ground, and breaths of mist rose where the flames met the darkness. Faintly, as if in a dream, she heard a voice shouting her name, calling her to stop. But she could not stop. The flames still writhed around Darrow, and she must put them out. Swaying, her eyes tight shut, she sang.
‘Power of Ice, I command thee! All of the Powers, the lesser and the greater, obey their master!’ The hum of the spinning sphere rose to an unbearable scream as Samis’s voice echoed through the chamber. ‘I call upon the first Power! The Power of all that is, and everything that is not, the Great Power, the unknown and unknowable, the mystery that lies beyond our understanding –’
But before the sorcerer could cry out the final words I command thee! there was a deafening explosion as the great silver sphere burst apart. Calwyn’s eyes flew open. A flood of brightness, of light and song mingled, erupted above their heads. Calwyn gave a cry, and thrust her hands into the air, just as she had done when she was a little child in Antaris, running out to greet the first snowfall, holding up her face and her hands to the sky in sheer delight.
With a roar that shivered through the ground, the tower split outwards like the cracking of a seedpod. Silver segments peeled back, curving slowly out and down to the ground, silver arc after silver arc, thrusting the floor of the chamber upwards, so they stood at the heart of a great gleaming flower.
Calwyn saw that it was night. The mists had cleared, revealing the sky spangled with stars and the three moons shining down on the ruined city. And now she felt the light and the shadow and the song and the silence raining down on her, soaking into her being. And when at last it died away, she lowered her face and looked around at the others, and she saw the same uncomprehending happiness on their faces that glowed on her own.
The cage that trapped Tonno and Mica had fallen away, and Mica leapt to Calwyn and threw her arms around her. Dazed, Calwyn hugged back. Trout stood nearby, looking sheepish, a slingshot dangling from one hand.
Tonno said, ‘Samis –’
Calwyn had forgotten about him, but now she saw the fallen figure in the centre of the chamber. The mighty sorcerer lay crumpled and diminished, all power gone out of him, an ordinary man. Darrow knelt by his side.
Calwyn rushed over. ‘Is he – ?’
‘Dead,’ said Darrow abruptly, and he drew the grey cloak over the face that gaped up toward the sky, hiding the blank, staring eyes. One hand protruded from the cloak, the golden ring with its square red stone glimmering dark as blood. Darrow eased it from the lifeless finger and held it up. ‘The Ring of Hathara,’ he said softly, and slipped it into his pocket. He saw Calwyn’s shocked look. ‘It never belonged to him. It is an ancient object of power, from the first days of Merithuros. I will take care of it, for now.’
‘What happened?’Tonno shook himself, like a dog coming out of water.
‘I think it was me,’ said Trout shyly. He held up the slingshot. ‘You were all acting so strangely, seeing things that weren’t there. Tonno and Mica were in that net thing. And then Calwyn was singing, and she looked – well, the way she looked, it was the end of everything. And so someon
e had to do something. And there was only me. And this was all I had –’
‘It was the fire – Darrow would have been burned alive –’ stammered Calwyn.
Trout shook his head. ‘I did see the flames when he blew the Clarion. But they weren’t going to hurt anyone. They were – well, they were beautiful, I suppose.’ A dreamy look drifted across his freckled face.
Tonno grunted. ‘You didn’t think of shooting Samis, instead of that silver ball?’
Abruptly Trout stuffed the slingshot back in his pocket. ‘No. I didn’t want to do that. I mean, that was the logical thing to do. But it didn’t seem right. And anyway,’ he added candidly, ‘I’m not that good a shot, and the sphere was a bigger target.’
‘The sphere was the focus.’ Darrow looked up. ‘It bound the chantments together. You chose wisely, Trout.’
The Voiced Ones used this place in ancient times. Halasaa had flung himself to the ground, exhausted, but glowing with joy and exertion. Here they called upon their gods. The sorcerer knew this.
‘Trout,’ said Darrow. ‘Come here a moment. You say that we saw things that were not there? But you didn’t see these things? Calwyn, sing a note, if you please. The highest note you can.’
Obediently Calwyn sang.
Trout shook his head apologetically. ‘I can’t hear it. I’m a bit deaf, you see. There was an explosion in my workshop about a year ago, and it hurt my ears. I can’t hear anything really high, like whistles, or insects.’
Darrow caught Calwyn’s eye and gave a small smile. ‘So you will never hear the chantments of seeming, the highest pitched of all the chantments.’
‘No wonder you never believed!’ Calwyn began to laugh, weak with relief and happiness. Her head still swam with the memory of Halasaa’s dance, and the chorus of life and being that it had summoned into her awareness. She felt dazzled, as if sparks still darted across her inner vision. Even the departed glow of Samis’s life seemed to echo somewhere in her consciousness. It would take some time before this new sense of hers lay quiet and harmonious again.
The Singer of All Songs Page 23
