They both stopped, shocked out of their shared musical dream by a hammering at the door. Ember nodded to Sharra to open it, hoping she did not look as frightened as the girl did. But there was only a skinny boy standing there, clutching a bundle of slippers and hide boots.
‘I bin knockin’ for ages!’ he said crossly.
Sharra laughed shakily and accepted the proffered bundle of footwear, then told the boy to go to the kitchen for something to eat. His frown vanished and he darted away. Sharra closed the door quietly behind him, and looked at Ember. Then all at once they both burst out laughing. It was good to laugh, though Ember heard the edge of hysteria in her voice and, all at once, dark Ember rose to claim her. She stopped playing abruptly and laid the instrument aside, saying that she needed to go out for a while.
‘Lady, you have honoured me this day and given me hope,’ Sharra said soberly. ‘Even if the academy refuses me, I will never forget that a true songmaker, out of kindness, chose to play for a silly nightshelter servitor.’
‘I do not think you will be refused,’ dark Ember said. ‘Now I must go …’
‘I will send for a carriage,’ Sharra said.
Dark Ember shook her head, knowing she had no coin to pay a carriage driver. ‘I will walk.’ Sharra stared at her in such horror, that dark Ember receded leaving Ember uneasily aware that she had made some sort of mistake. ‘What is the matter?’
‘You … perhaps you have not heard. My mother said you have been in the mountains and maybe the news did not reach there. In this neighbourhood two women have been killed since the last conjoining of the moons, and more have been killed in other areas. Some say it is a murderer who hates women, and others say it is a demon hunter driven mad by his master, the Chaos spirit.’
Ember felt her skin rise into gooseflesh. Tareed had spoken of demon hunters, saying they were sent out by the Draaka cult whenever strangers appeared on Keltor.
‘I … I do not mean to frighten you,’ Sharra said. ‘But all of those slain were lone women walking, and some were even taken in daylight hours. No woman now walks alone except in well-lit and crowded streets of the city.’ She hesitated and then said diffidently, ‘If you desire it, I would be glad to accompany you.’
Ember realised that she was being offered a perfect solution to the problem of finding her way back to the piers, and she agreed with alacrity. Sharra darted off to inform her mother and Ember packed the a’luwtha into its padded bag. Her fingers brushed over the little pouch holding paints and underwear that Feyt had given her, and it struck her that, although she had to wear the same clothes that she had worn on Ramidan, with these paints she could change her appearance. This and Sharra’s company would confound anyone looking for a lone, veiled visionweaver.
Taking the pouch, she crossed to the small mirror and set about rearranging the veil so that it ended just below her eyes. She then painted her lips carefully to alter their shape, and added a few whorls of dark rose and grey to her cheeks and chin. Many Keltans wore make-up that was highly theatrical, though people such as traders and labourers and shipfolk wore no make-up at all. Vespians seemed to wear less paint as a rule but it was still common enough that her own daubs would not look out of place. Unfortunately even with the veil rearranged, she still fitted the physical description of herself too well. She thought of the big seerat, and the knowing look in his eyes, and suddenly, she had an idea. Her heart began to beat faster as she pulled off her veil and unwound the hair bandages that she had so carefully arranged that morning. She ran her fingers through to loosen the curls and was startled at the unbound red fire of her hair in the dim room. Had it always been so full of shifting light and movement? For a moment she hesitated, then she shook her head and took up her comb.
The red hair would attract attention, but thanks to the hair bandages that Feyt had given her, it was not generally known that the visionweaver was a red-head. Of course, the visionweaver was supposed to be Sheannite and Sheannites were commonly red-haired but fortunately a good many women used dye to effect the same shade, particularly songmakers who liked to have their appearance complement the inevitable performances of songs and ballads about Shenavyre. The colour of Ember’s hair was unusual and dramatic enough to be taken as artificial, and that, combined with the fringed scarves and gewgaws that the seerat’s women had given to her, would surely suggest that she was the entertainer she claimed to be.
A knock at the door put an end to her preparations. Sharra’s mouth opened in an O shape at the sight of her hair. ‘I have never seen such a colour,’ she said.
‘It was expensive,’ Ember said lightly and Sharra’s eyes widened.
‘Oh, for a moment I thought … but that’s silly. Yet it looks wonderful on you, Songmaker Gola. And it will be so startling with the red dress! You really will look like a flame tonight.
The mention of the performance made Ember feel weak at the knees and she prayed fervently that Revel would be aboard the ship. Or Mysel, who might be asked to send a hasty message to the shipmistress.
‘My mother said I could accompany you so long as I return in time to serve the evening meal, but that is an age away, and in any case, you will have to return in time to make your own preparations,’ Sharra said.
‘Let’s go then,’ Ember said, wishing the evening were an age away.
When they reached the street, Ember said, as if the thought had just come to her, ‘Perhaps we can walk to the pier. I want to see which shipmasters are in.’
‘What is his ship?’ Sharra asked. ‘My mother has a copy of the docks manifest delivered each day to post up in our public room.’
‘His?’ Ember echoed, confused.
‘Your lover,’ Sharra said matter of factly. Ember could only stare at her, flabbergasted. ‘Of course you have had lots of lovers,’ Sharra went on. ‘They say songmakers never marry because they would be bored with one man after having had so many.’
‘I … I prefer not to speak of such things …’ Ember managed, wondering what Sharra would think if she knew that far from having had many lovers, Ember had experienced none. Death had been her passionless companion from puberty. She had been kissed only once and then by something far stranger than a man. Her blood tingled momentarily at the memory of the manbeast’s lips on hers; the hint of teeth behind the softness.
‘I knew it,’ Sharra cried, taking Ember’s silence or perhaps something in her expression for confirmation. ‘Our cook said that your engagement to songmake in the mountains was probably cancelled by the mistress of the house where you performed because her man had fallen in love with you. Cook says you wear a veil to keep your true identity secret in case his woman sends assassins after you. My mother has not heard of your name, and she says it is probably false, too.’
Ember hardly knew what to say to all of this, but Sharra finally registered her silence and her face fell. ‘I have not offended you, Songmaker Gola?’
‘No …’ Ember said, telling herself that it was as good as any disguise to be thought a songmaker fleeing a troublesome liaison.
Sharra went on unhappily, ‘Forgive me, Lady. Perhaps what happened in the mountains is painful to you, though it is said that songmakers love no man so that they might love all men equally.’
Somewhat taken aback by this promiscuous and rather coldhearted picture of the songmakers, Ember at least now understood Anousha’s warning to conduct no liaison on nightshelter premises. She also understood now why Sharra had thought her scarring precluded a life as a songmaker. But surely it was not obligatory for songmakers to take a series of lovers? Alene, or certainly Tareed, would have mentioned it, if this had been so.
‘Sharra, I am quite heart-whole, I assure you,’ she said firmly. ‘But I do not wish to speak of what happened in the mountains or anywhere else. The reputation of a songmaker depends on her discretion and her tact in handling difficult matters, and it would harm us all if it were believed that we could not be trusted.’ That was a direct quote from Alene, and some of the
soulweaver’s innate sternness must have clung to it, for Sharra looked chastened almost to the point of tears.
‘I should not have asked questions, I know. My mother would be shamed. Perhaps I do so because it is unlikely that I will have many hearts offered to me, even if my voice is deemed fine enough for the songmaker academy …’
‘Men seek obvious beauty, in my experience,’ Ember said, thinking of all the men who had professed to love her for that reason. ‘But, if what you said before is true, in the end, it is the music that matters, isn’t it? That is the real reason why songmakers love no man. They have a greater love.’
Sharra’s eyes shone. ‘I did not think of it that way.’
They walked in companionable silence broken only by Sharra’s diffident suggestions that they go this way, or that. Ember pretended to think once or twice before acquiescing, though of course she had not the faintest idea of their route.
They passed a mask-maker’s booth in a little cluster of food shops, and Ember stared at the masks on display. All of them featured faces that were half-beautiful and half-monstrous and they made her think again of the freakishly handsome halfman, Soonkar, and his reaction to seeing her face uncovered. She had thought at the time that he had looked astonished, but now, looking back, it seemed to her that there had been something more than that in his face.
Sharra interrupted her musings to say shyly, ‘I never imagined a songmaker to be like you. They always seem so distant when you see them perform; like stars in the sky. They shine but you know you may never touch them.’
‘Music can do that to you,’ Ember said softly, remembering the look of grief that had crossed the face of Anousha the evening before when she had spoken of mothers loving their children. Of course she had been thinking of her daughter’s terrible scars. But she had been wrong. In her world and this one too, evidently, there were people who would hurt children, their own as well as others. For the first time, it struck Ember with the force of a blow that there might actually be worse things than discovering one had a tumour and must die.
They entered a busy street where carriages rolled quickly by in both directions. Groups of people stood about conversing or walking to and fro and there were many booths selling their wares. At the far end of the street, the sea was visible, glittering with reddish sequins of afternoon Kalinda light. They were close to the last of the many piers that spiked out from the crescent shore of Vespi, but Ember thought that she could make out the yellow pennants of the Stormsong. There were more sellers on the piers than she remembered from their arrival, not that she had paid much attention at the time. The whole pier area seemed to operate as a large open marketplace and there was a peaceful busy-ness to the scene that made her feel that her fears were groundless. Surely there would be some simple explanation for Revel’s delay, and she would come at once to explain everything to Sharra’s mother.
Ember felt the assessing eyes of a group of men lounging about on the ground near the first pier, and resisted the temptation to pluck nervously at the hem of her veil. A songmaker would be accustomed to being looked at, she told herself firmly, trying to affect a swaying walk of the sort that a woman with many lovers might have. She was close enough now to the pier where the Stormsong was tied up to see the carved figurehead at the front. She stopped, ostensibly to examine some cloth that a trader was unravelling from a trunk, but in reality to see if legionnaires or anyone else was watching the Stormsong with especial interest. There was no one that she could discern, but also no sign of Revel or Mysel on its deck, nor any crew either.
Alarm bells rang inside her head and she continued to the next pier, only half-listening as Sharra began to talk of a friend who had chosen to become a shipgirl, though most wavespeakers came from wavespeaking families. Ember stopped again, feigning interest in some woven parasols being offered by a vendor over whose shoulder she could see the other side of the Stormsong. Still, she could see no one on deck and she decided against boarding the ship. ‘Sharra, will you go and find out the name of a ship that will travel to Myrmidor either today or in the next few days?’ Her tone was casual, but Sharra stared at her.
‘My mother told me that you would travel next to Iridom.’
‘Of course. But I wish to send a name-day gift to a friend on Myrmidor …’ Ember pretended to be distracted by a green-tinted parasol.
Sharra hurried obediently away, leaving Ember to pray that she was not endangering the girl. She watched her board several ships, before coming to the Stormsong. But to Ember’s puzzlement, she then went to several more ships before returning.
‘Sethersoft and Imray are both going to Myrmidor tomorrow,’ Sharra reported cheerfully. ‘I can bring whatever you want delivered in the morning, if you like.’
Ember nodded vaguely, wondering why Sharra had not mentioned the Stormsong. It could only mean that the ship had not yet had its route confirmed, or had been refused permission to leave at all. Revel and her crew might even now be in prison being questioned about the two fugitives that they had carried. Ember felt sick.
‘Are you all right,’ Sharra asked. ‘You look pale.’
‘I … I do feel a bit odd,’ Ember said.
‘You are not ill?’ Sharra asked anxiously.
Her words gave Ember an idea. ‘I may be coming down with a chill. The journey from the mountains was terribly cold and I did not have my cloak. Perhaps I will call into the white-cloak centre on our way back to the nightshelter.’ She could go as Gola the Songmaker and, once inside, she would decide if it was safe to tell them why she was there. She doubted any of the white cloaks had looked at her closely enough to recognise her.
‘I will get a carriage,’ Sharra volunteered.
Ember shook her head, saying that she had left her coin purse at the nightshelter. ‘It does not matter. We can ask the driver to mark the fare to my mother and you can pay later.’
Ember could not think of any reason to refuse since she could not admit to having no coin, and as Sharra hurried away, she wondered uneasily what the punishment was on Keltor for people who did not honour their debts. It did not take long for the girl to return. Ember climbed into the carriage and sat, realising suddenly that she was very tired. She closed her eyes, hoping that Bleyd was well and mending fast, and that there would be no legionnaires at the centre. If there were, she would simply pretend to be a performer who feared that she had contracted a chill. Even if she did not end up seeing Bleyd, her visit to the centre would give her the perfect excuse to postpone the scheduled performance.
Ember felt her veil stir and opened her eyes to find Sharra bending close to her. She recoiled violently and the girl fell back, whitening to the lips. ‘I … I am sorry Songmaker,’ she said in a strange breathless voice. ‘You were so silent, I thought you had fainted. I … I know my face is truly horrendous …’
‘Oh Sharra!’ Ember said, shaking with relief. ‘I promise that it was not your appearance that made me draw back. I have a horror of being too close to people. It is like a sickness of the mind that makes me feel as if I am suffocating.’
Sharra stared. ‘But … how can you perform with such a fear …’
Ember thought fast. ‘The music makes it possible. In truth, music has been my sole companion and solace in life.’ The truth of her words rang starkly even in her own ears. Sharra’s eyes shone with emotion, and Ember cursed herself wearily because of course music had probably always been Sharra’s solace, too. Wanting to turn the conversation away from herself, she asked the girl what she would perform in her audition for the songmaker academy.
‘I do not know. I have always dreamed of doing something very serious and magnificent. One of the cycle of the Legendsong ballads, maybe.’
Ember sighed inwardly at the thought of yet another retelling of the tale of Shenavyre and the Unykorn. ‘Can you imagine how the songmaker judges must tire of hearing such songs from practically every would-be songmaker.’
Sharra looked shocked, then she smiled sheepishly. �
�You jest, of course. No one could tire of hearing about the Unykorn, Songmaker Gola. But you are right that most who present themselves choose important, serious songs. One could not face such men and women with a bawdy ditty.’
‘Is there nothing between bawdy ditties and songs of high drama? Are there no songs about everyday life? About ordinary men and women loving one another and living their lives simply and with humble courage?’
Sharra was gazing at her in bemusement. ‘Of course there are, but such songs are not performed by songmakers.’
‘Why not? Are legendary heroes and heroines the only things that matter on Keltor? Is not a woman who loves her child a heroine? Is not a man who does his job faithfully and modestly year after year, a hero?’
‘You … make my head hurt, Lady. I have never heard such thoughts spoken, and yet what you say is true. But to perform a common song for the judges of the songmaker academy …’ Whatever she would have said was interrupted by a knocking on the roof of the compartment.
‘We have reached the white-cloak centre,’ the carriage driver called down.
The animation in Sharra’s features faded into anxiety again, but as she made to get out, Ember stopped her. ‘I want you to take the carriage back to the nightshelter, Sharra. I may be some time. I will have the white cloaks summon another when I have finished.’
Sharra bit her lip. ‘You … you won’t forget the performance tonight? My mother has spent coin on criers to announce it and her reputation would be ruined if you did not perform.’
Ember’s heart sank. ‘Of course I will not forget,’ she managed to say with a pretence at cheerfulness. She waved the carriage away and turned to the leafy arch that was the entrance to the white-cloak centre, realising that she really had painted herself into a corner this time. For Sharra’s sake, if not her mother’s, it seemed she would have to perform. She entered using the same door as on the previous occasion, having knocked to no avail.
Darksong Page 26
