The man noticed him looking at the music case. ‘It’s a clarinet,’ he said.
‘I can’t play anything. I wish someone would have made me practise when I was a kid.’
‘My mother made me practise,’ the bald man said.
They both turned to look at the old woman, the only sound between them the regular sighing of the breathing machine.
Chilled to its soulless depth by the nurse’s vision of the beautiful red-haired girl with empty eyes, the watcher segued into the old woman’s dreams. It watched a young woman dance, thinking that the nurse had exhibited great compassion. It was this quality that defined all those of the Unraveller’s world, in whom it had found traces of the Song. Compassion.
It travelled to the still centre of the old woman’s dreams, and entered the Void …
27
She who dies soulweaving perishes in truth …
OLD SHEANNITE PROVERB
Ember roused out of a heavy sleep and opened her eyes reluctantly.
She was lying in her bed in the soulweaver’s apartment and it was dusk. Alene and Feyt were standing by the small window in the room, talking in low, serious tones. Hadn’t she wakened to this once before?
‘Tarsin insists on seeing her,’ Feyt said, shattering her sense of deja vu. ‘He does not believe she is still unconscious, and he wants the court white cloak to examine her again. We will have to make her up and mask her while she sleeps. If he removes the mask, he will see she bears no scar, but at least he will not see her eye. We will have to say that her scars are imaginary but that she must be believed for the sake of her sanity. Then we will tell her …’
‘I am afraid the time for prevarication is at an end. Her illness is too far progressed for us to go on hiding it from her. Even the court white cloak who is a fool has skill enough to see the black shadings in her aura. He told Tarsin and the court she is truly dying, though after he examined her he said she was not in much pain. Aii! Not much pain? She is not in pain only because I have been draining the poisons of her illness from her on the etheric level, before they could reach her flesh. But I am almost at the end of my strength.’ Alene ran slender fingers through her dark hair, crushing a mass of red blossoms fixed there, and the breeze flowing through the window carried their piercingly sweet fragrance to Ember.
‘How long does she have?’
Ember heard the question as if she were falling through the words, understanding that the sickness everyone had been told she was suffering was real; understanding that she was dying. The draining of poisons must have taken place while she slept. No wonder Alene had begun to look so exhausted.
‘The illness centres on the chakra of the spirit eye. Her visions and faints are connected to it. The temporary blindness she has suffered recently suggests her condition is deteriorating. I believe full blindness will come upon her close to the end,’ Alene murmured. ‘I do not think she is so far from it.’
Something bad, an inner voice taunted Ember. Something very, very bad.
‘I will drain her poisons once more, just before she leaves Ramidan, but she must go soon, for both our sakes. We must get her to Darkfall before it is too late.’
The tidal wave of terror that had begun to build drained away. There was hope on Darkfall, or why would Alene bother sending her there? The older woman had deprecated her own healing powers, but she had spoken of other soulweavers gifted in healing. If only Ember could get to them, she would be saved.
‘I am afraid there is another reason she must leave soon,’ Feyt was saying. ‘News just came from Duran that the Draaka of Acantha is bound for Ramidan. I hoped that Coralyn had lied about inviting her to irk you, or that it would take time for the Draaka to respond to the invitation, but she must have set off the moment she received it. By my reckoning she will arrive in a matter of days.’ She hesitated. ‘There was another thing …’
‘Well?’
‘Argon has asked Duran’s aid to go to Myrmidor. He has no coin and … he will not say why he travels but it must be something important for him to go so close to the prophesied place of his death. He laid the friendbinding upon her so she could not refuse. She would not have refused but it is a measure of his distrust that he imagined she would, and also of the importance of his journey if he would use that ancient binding.’
Alene said nothing and Ember wondered why the myrmidon sounded so diffident in relating this news. And who was Argon?
All at once she remembered what had happened just before she passed out.
Tarsin had been about to drink poison and she had stopped him.
The peaceful court had erupted. She had been blind by then, but she had heard the shattered glass when Tarsin hurled his untouched drink from him, demanding to know why the liquid had not harmed the tasting-boy. Ember had been half fainting even as she explained the fleeting vision. Then Tarsin had roared at her to name the poisoner, but she had fallen unconscious before she could speak …
That was all she remembered. The poisoning and the spike of pain in her head before she passed out. There was no pain now. Alene’s doing.
‘She is awake,’ Alene said suddenly.
With an exclamation Feyt hurried over and pressed a mug into Ember’s hand. She drank without caring what was in it, and the liquid burned its way down her throat, forcing the last of drowsiness out of her. Alene came across the room more slowly and Ember was startled to see how gaunt she looked. Scimitars of purple lay under her eyes and her brow was deeply lined. But any pity she felt for the soulweaver was swamped by fear for herself, because the pain and illness she saw in Alene’s face were her own.
Two things flashed through her mind ahead of her terror: the strong, bright face of the blonde girl-woman she had seen on the cliff, and the exquisite thread of dream music from the wood. Queerly, these two things held in check the tide of fears, and enabled Ember to remember there was a healer on Darkfall who could cure her if she could get there in time.
‘Thank Shenavyre, you have woken,’ Feyt said. ‘You have no idea what has happened …’
‘Later,’ Alene said firmly. ‘Ember, after you fainted, the two liquids were mingled and tested and it was proven that they formed a deadly poison. You saved Tarsin’s life.’
Ember did not know how to respond to that.
‘I merely marvel at the games played with us mortals by the Song,’ Alene sighed. ‘Though I begin to fear that there is some other agency at work than the Song. I think if this poisoning had not happened, all would have been well and you might have left the isle as we hoped, quite openly. But now there will be resistance to your departure.’
‘But surely Tarsin won’t keep me a prisoner when I have saved his life?’ Ember protested.
Alene gave a humourless smile. ‘I imagine the title will be “honoured guest”. Apart from all else, Tarsin can see the sense of having someone with the ability to protect him from assassins.’
‘But I can’t help him …’ Ember stammered. The thought of being forced to spend time with the repellent Keltan ruler horrified her.
‘You were right about the poison,’ Feyt said.
‘Whether you are a soulweaver or not,’ Alene said gently, ‘you saw true and that enabled you to save Tarsin’s life. While I saw nothing.’
Ember turned to face the older woman, wondering if Alene’s failure to see the danger to Tarsin might be because she had drained her powers keeping Ember’s pain at bay. ‘I don’t understand how I saw what I did and I certainly couldn’t make it happen again. Can’t you tell Tarsin that?’
‘He would disbelieve it for no more reason than that I said the words,’ Alene said. ‘You must convince him of it if he is to be convinced. Give him reason to let you go.’
‘Isn’t my illness reason enough?’ Ember asked, and heard the betraying harshness. There was a silence. ‘I suppose you have known since the beginning,’ she went on.
‘Not quite. I felt something was wrong when I touched you that first night, but I had exhaus
ted myself visioning to find you. Only when I touched you after you had fainted on our way from the hut to the citadel did I go deep enough. I knew then.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It was not so advanced and, to be honest, I am not a good enough healer to have guessed how your illness would progress. I suspect in your world there was some treatment you were undergoing that prevented the illness from progressing, and after you came here, it did not begin to accelerate for some period. I drained the poisons flooding your system on the etheric plane, and thought you would begin to heal. But it was not so. Gradually I came to see that I could not cure you. I have done my best but …’
‘You can’t help me any more. I heard.’ Ember sounded brusque and ungracious even to her own ears. Now she understood all too well why her mind had shuddered in response to the mention of illness. The memories of hospital were her own, not those of someone she loved.
‘You should have told me,’ she whispered.
‘To what end, Ember?’ the soulweaver enquired very gently. ‘Knowing would have changed nothing and you had to concentrate on learning to be a Sheannite.’
‘When were you going to tell me? When it gets worse …’ There was a question threaded into that, but Ember knew the answer.
The door opened and Tareed entered with a tray. Her face brightened at the sight of Ember. ‘You are awake. That is wonderful …’
But Ember was lost in the memory of the dream music, and of the blonde girl-woman on the cliff. She felt more certain than ever that she knew the girl, though she no longer sensed the hovering presence of her forgotten self. It was as though the knowledge that she was dying had driven it far away.
Alene said calmly, ‘Tar, leave the tray and go to Tarsin’s apartment. Let him know the visionweaver is awake and will call on him at his convenience.’
Tareed set the tray down and, after a fleeting look of concern at Ember, departed.
‘I will tell him that you have been healing me, but that you have no more strength for it,’ Ember said, rising and beginning to dress. Ironically, she felt very well. ‘I will tell him I need to get to Darkfall.’
Pity infused the soulweaver’s face, and Ember realised she had sounded frightened. Was frightened.
‘Speak of healing, yes, but not of travelling to Darkfall,’ Alene advised. ‘Tarsin’s mind and heart are closed to the misty isle. Do not even speak of the white-cloak academy on Myrmidor. Tell Tarsin that you wish to return to your home to die. If he offers to bring you there let him, and I will organise for you to be taken from the Sheanna isles to Myrmidor.’
‘The sooner you go the better,’ Feyt said. ‘I have heard it asked about the palace why an unknown Sheannite visionweaver is more capable of protecting the Holder than his own soulweaver. Coralyn is delighted to point this out as yet another example of the failing powers of Darkfall.’
Alene soothed, ‘Each thing has its song to sing. Truly, there is little harm that could be done to what passes for a relationship between the Holder and myself. In any case, even at the best of times, when Tarsin trusted me, I did not see all things. I am not a goddess. It is well known that soulweaving in the Void is like casting a net for waterflyts. Very often the net is drawn in empty.’
‘I am saying that Tarsin will listen to Ember,’ Feyt said. ‘He speaks of her as his saviour and cries her praises. She can use her influence on our behalf. Maybe she can bring him back to supporting Darkfall.’
‘No,’ Alene said softly. ‘She must not be seen to align herself too closely to us, lest she incur Tarsin’s wrath. And not just his. There are many who curse you for what you did, Ember. Not the least whoever plotted this murder. At this moment your life is as much in danger from the thwarted poisoner as Tarsin’s. All of his entourage – servants and attendants and courtiers – heard Tarsin ask whose face you saw in your vision. All know that you fainted before you could answer. Therefore the court waits tensely for your awakening. If I do not miss my guess, Tarsin will want you to come at once. And he will ask who you saw.’
‘Who did you see?’ Feyt asked.
Ember wanted to laugh hysterically at the irony of people trying to kill someone who was dying. But she forced herself to speak calmly. ‘I saw hands. A man’s hands. I heard two people plotting. Nothing else.’
What do I care about visions? I am sick and maybe if I don’t get away from here I’ll die, she thought.
Alene reached out to touch her cheek, compassion in the shape of her mouth. ‘Have courage, Ember. We need you to be calm and think clearly if we are to get you to Darkfall.’
Ember was steadied by the conviction in Alene’s voice.
The soulweaver said, ‘We shall let it be known at once that you saw no one. It will reassure the poisoner to know you cannot name him or his accomplice.’
Tareed returned. ‘Tarsin wants to see her now. I have said she will need a little time to dress. He said someone will come for her and bring her to his private audience chamber.’
Alene drew a deep breath. ‘Then we must get you ready.’
‘Will you come?’ Ember asked, when they had finished sleeving her hair and painting her face.
‘He has not asked for me,’ Alene said. She had been sitting to one side strumming the a’luwtha.
‘I don’t want to go without you,’ Ember whispered.
‘You do not seem to understand,’ Alene said sternly. ‘I have no idea how it is in your world, but here, especially on this isle, the Holder has the power of life and death. If you anger Tarsin he could have you flayed or thrown from the cliffs or locked in his dungeon for a lifetime and none will dare to speak against it.’
A cloud lay over the soulweaver’s face, as if her mind was elsewhere. But Ember’s mind was too much on the coming audience to care.
‘This is your chance to make Tarsin understand how sick you are. If you convince him, he may let you go out of gratitude and compassion for he is not an evil or a cruel man.’
‘If … if he refuses?’ Ember asked, hating the anxious edginess in her voice, the crawling fear.
‘Then you will graciously accept his decision,’ Alene answered. ‘You must not give Tarsin cause to issue an Edict forbidding you to leave the citadel and the isle. That, none may disobey on pain of death, even under the friendbinding.’
Ember shivered. Feyt draped a shawl around her shoulders and Ember did not bother to explain that the chill she felt had nothing to do with being cold.
It was Asa who came to the soulweaver’s apartment to conduct Ember to Tarsin. To her relief Alene insisted Feyt accompany them. They had judged it better for her not to wear a veil, so as to seem to be hiding nothing, but she wore the mask and pale makeup and tried to look sicker than she felt.
‘You think any would wish harm to the young woman who saved the life of their Holder?’ Asa asked Feyt, mockingly, when Feyt rose.
‘None, save whoever tried to poison him,’ the soulweaver responded tartly.
‘I will guard her from harm,’ Asa said.
‘As you guarded the Holder?’ Feyt replied. She did not wait for the emissary to respond, but buckled her belt on and took up the javelin.
‘That is not necessary!’
‘I will keep my own counsel as to what is necessary to protect those in my care,’ the myrmidon responded coldly. ‘Shall we go?’
Asa shrugged and offered an arm to Ember. She pretended not to see and followed the broad-shouldered amazon out the door.
Tarsin’s private audience chamber was nothing like the soulweaver’s airy apartment. Small and oppressively dark, with red furnishings, it seemed more a lair than a room. Tarsin was slumped on a red-draped throne, but he straightened as they entered.
‘My Lord, the visionweaver,’ Asa announced smoothly.
‘My dear Lady …’ Tarsin began; then, noting Feyt, he glared at the fat emissary. ‘Alone, I said.’
‘I need Feyt to help me if I fall ill again,’ Ember said quickly, careful to keep her Ke
ltan accent. She was terrified the myrmidon would be commanded to leave. ‘She knows what is needed if I should faint again. Alene has been healing me, but it has drained her dreadfully and she can no longer …’
‘Since you wish it the myrmidon may remain, but do not speak to me of Alene’s virtues,’ Tarsin said. He waved Ember to sit, and Feyt made an exaggerated effort of helping her to one of the chairs placed in a semi-circle facing the throne. Ember was glad of the amazon’s stoic presence.
Let me go, she thought.
Tarsin’s face showed sudden surprise and for a moment she was afraid she had spoken aloud. Then she saw that the Holder was looking past her and scowling. She turned to see the Iridomi chieftain enter.
‘Mother …’ Tarsin began ominously.
‘I merely bring a philtre for the weaver,’ Coralyn said in a sultry voice. ‘You must not forget that she is ill, Tarsin. We must be careful of her.’
Ember accepted the mug of what seemed to be warmed aspi milk from the older woman, and lifted it to her lips. Common-sense said that Coralyn would be unlikely to try poisoning her in front of Tarsin, so she drank. The milk was sweetened and delicious.
‘There,’ Coralyn said somewhat smugly, taking the mug back. She crossed to sit on the dais at Tarsin’s feet and, this time, he did not object.
‘Tell me, visionweaver, who brewed the poison that was to kill me,’ he commanded.
‘Come now, speak and do not fear the poisoner’s revenge,’ Coralyn said smoothly, blue eyes aglitter. Her smile was strangely hard and fixed, and Ember wondered if the Iridomi chieftain was behind the assassination attempt. It would be the sort of thing she might do, but Ember could see no advantage in her killing her own son, since the mermod would immediately become Holder, and the power base on Keltor would pass from Iridom to Fomhika.
Tarsin aimed a loutish kick at his mother. ‘I did not give you leave to speak!’ He fixed his bleary gaze on Ember. He looked sick today, she thought, and his behaviour had deteriorated from the mannered coldness he had shown during the hall to a flabby irritability.
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