Pixie was to be elevated to the scholars and Tenna wondered which of the names she’d read would soon belong to the elf girl. A few candidates stood out—one in particular.
Dismissed for lunch, Tenna told Y’neth to go ahead without her, staying behind to ask Karah a question she’d agonized over for days. Tenna stood wringing her hands as the Keeper kept working away in her closet.
“Lady,” Tenna’s voice quavered, “may I make a request?”
“Oh,” Karah stuck her head out to look at Tenna, “I was unaware you stayed behind. There’s no need to be so formal, ask whatever you wish.”
“My request is formal in nature, my lady,” Tenna hesitated. “I want to take the vows of an acolyte during tonight’s ceremony.”
Karah walked out and stood in the midst of the room. She caught the girl’s eyes with her own, searching for what else might be written behind them. Blinking and turning away, Karah walked to divan and sat, motioning Tenna to join her.
Then came the words Tenna dreaded most.
“Have you spoken to your father about this?”
Tenna’s shoulders slumped. “No,” she muttered as she fiddled with the belt of her robe, “but I thought you might let me take the vows anyway.”
Karah took Tenna’s hands. “How could you think I could be a party to keeping a secret from your father?”
“Well, I thought since you took in other children…” Tenna trailed off.
“You thought we’d accept you if you offer yourself of your own free will?” Karah asked. “No, child, your circumstances are far different from those children we take in. They have no parents to speak for them and so we become their parents. The community becomes mother and father to those who are without. Any others we take in are of an age to be independent and so allowed to join on their own inclination.”
“I see,” Tenna whispered and drew her hand away. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Tenna tried to pull away but Karah kept hold of her. “Wait, child. Why do you wish to stay? What makes you believe giving up your name is preferable to traveling with us?”
Tenna sat in silence, begrudging to answer. When she finally spoke, she was quivering. “Because, I don’t belong. I don’t deserve to stand in such company.”
Karah rocked back. “How could you believe that?”
“Just look at who’s gathered,” Tenna started. “Heirs of prophesied houses, a wizard of legend, wise people like you. I’m nobody. Just a ragamuffin offered pity by a kind man. What right do I have to stand in such company?”
“And what of Y’neth?” Karah asked. “She’s no fabled heir, nor is her captain.”
“She says you feel like you’re acting in response to other portions of the prophecies—that’s why you gave her Mesha. And Stile has a ship you need. I’m just an extra, a nobody who’s been swept into events. It would be better if I stayed behind out of everyone’s way.”
Karah stood and Tenna looked up at her face to find it indecipherable, eyes hard as stone. “It can’t be done,” her voice was cold. “You’ve not consulted your father and it would break him to lose you. He’d refuse to go on without you, thus breaking the prophecy and all would be lost. Were I to accept you as an acolyte and he found the strength to go on, what trust could he place in me? No, it cannot be done.”
“But…” Tenna tried to interject but Karah waved her to silence.
“It cannot be done, I said,” Karah’s voice went flat. “We Keepers have decided to accept no further acolytes in these times of troubles, unless they are abandoned here without any other hope. Once Mesha leaves this place there is no guarantee of the peace that has lasted so long continuing. The matter is closed.
“You will leave with us on the morrow.”
Hours later, Tenna sat behind Karah’s right elbow, peering down from the dais overlooking the clearing. She tried, without success, to smile, hopeful the joyous atmosphere of the celebration would lift her spirits.
Residents ambled into the clearing with smiles on their faces, filling the rows of benches with a rainbow of color. Elves, dwarves, and humans grouped themselves by guild. Most of the crowd were dressed in reds and greens though a small contingent of blue-robed artisans sat near the front. A block of empty benches were reserved for blues who would take their places after performing for the ceremony.
Doulos led a motley band out of the main building. Her father followed along with Katalas, Duras, and Stile, all chatting amiably as they walked to their assigned seats. Tenna scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Tander but he was nowhere to be found.
Y’neth tugged at her arm and pointed at the southern sky. A bright speck hung there, reflecting the light of the waning sun, a speck growing larger as the seconds passed. Tenna soon made out the form of Mahir as he winged his way toward the clearing.
“Mahir never misses a concert,” Karah’s voice chimed with amusement. “He’s a great lover of music.”
The shiny dragon shot overhead then spiraled back around for a gentle landing. Space had been left for him to land behind the rows of benches and he touched down lightly, working hard to keep the gusts of wind from his wings to a minimum, though he still managed to knock over unoccupied benches nearby.
Mahir reared back and let loose a roar that sounded like a trumpet fanfare, receiving an answering fanfare from the copse of trees nearest the dais. Soon the musicians emerged from the woods, walking single file as they filled a nearby stage. A shell of whitewashed wood arched up over the stage to help project the sound toward the audience.
Tenna found Tander in their midst and made eye contact. He waved with a smile, seemingly confident and reveling in the opportunity to perform.
The last of the crowd rushed to their places as the musicians settled into place. A hush fell across the spectators as the maestro took center stage. He bowed to the High Keeper, receiving her nod in acknowledgement.
He raised his arms and the orchestra lifted their instruments in response. When he snapped those arms down the audience was covered in a wave of sound.
Transfixed by the music, Tenna soon realized she was holding her breath and blew it out in a long, slow stream. She closed her eyes and felt the sound resonate through her body. The melody lifted her spirits higher and the harmony joined to make her soul soar in ways she hadn’t known were possible.
Then the choir joined.
No stranger to similar performances heard in Madhebah’s concert hall, those were weak imitations of the sonorous flow surging around her now. The sound rose in a mighty crescendo that made her grip the arms of her chair. Her heart rushed until the music crashed down into a sudden whisper so quiet she thought she’d gone almost deaf.
Then a clear voice cut through the air, a warm tenor rising so effortlessly there seemed to be no note out of reach. It was Tander singing the words of an ancient hymn—a hymn so old only the lyrics had been preserved, leaving the maestro to compose a new melody. Though Tenna had attended the rehearsals, this sounded nothing like what she’d heard before. This was far deeper.
Other voices joined one by one, adding first a simple harmony then blooming into three and four parts. An elf maid added a rippling counterpoint that danced in fleeting steps above Tander’s melody. A broad dwarf droned a pulsing bass line, humming more than singing the rumbling tones.
Then the unexpected happened. In the rehearsals, Tander’s chorale had sung through four verses of the ancient hymn then segued into another song. This time, as they reached the end of the final verse, Karah stood and began singing the first verse over again but to a far different melody.
Haunted, her voice filled the clearing, recalling days ancient even to the eldest of the assembled elven elders. As she took up the second verse, Tenna realized the High Keeper was bringing the song’s original melody back to life.
Another voice joined, adding a simple harmony much as the chorale had done with the newer tune. She glanced over at the chorale and saw no one singing along, nor anyone in the crowd
. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.
She pinpointed the source when another voice rose in three part harmony. She could see Mahir’s mouth moving, somehow producing both of the voices supporting the High Keeper’s. By the time they reached the fourth verse the dragon had added a drone of his own, one so low it made Tenna’s chest pulsate in time with his vibrato.
It was then that Tander took a step forward and took up Karah’s melody for a few measures before breaking off into a high harmony. Before long the chorale joined and the entire assembly was on its feet, adding their voices as well. The orchestra began feeling their way through the song, their strains rising to embellish the ancient hymn.
A loud rustling in the trees near Mahir interrupted the singing as a giant pushed his way out of the surrounding jungle to stand next to the dragon. Karah acknowledged his presence with a nod and continued singing. Though his kind were usually impassive in demeanor, the giant’s face had broken into something like awe and Tenna thought she saw tears glistening in his eyes. Before long, he added his own deep voice, echoing Mahir’s bass.
The symphony of praise went on until twilight. They held the final note as one as the sun gave way to starlight. When they released the note it rang on through the night air, echoing back and forth among the buildings as if reluctant to be silenced. Tenna awoke as if from a dream, finding herself standing arm in arm with Karah. The short hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as the music wafted into silence.
An unspoken murmur, something like a shared thought, passed through the crowd. Voices were raised in exultation, building into a fever pitch until they shouted as one, their noise matching Mahir’s as he trumpeted an earth-trembling roar.
The giant turned and disappeared into the wilderness.
Karah raised her hands and the crowd fell silent. The people shuddered in wonder, unwilling to break the sacredness of the moment with idle talk.
“Onúl is among us tonight,” Karah’s voice rang out. “His spirit moved within ours as we put voice to words that have been unsung since the days before the Kin Strife so long ago.
“We are reminded that we can accomplish nothing without His aide, yet there is nothing impossible for us when we let Him work through us. Future generations will be affected by the decisions we make from this day forward. Some of us depart soon to face the darkness, but we do so knowing those of you who remain here will be steadfast in holding forth the light.
“Do not despair. Hope rises where it is most needed and the light shines brightest in the darkest of nights. When we hold forth the light, we bring hope to those living in despair.
“Tonight, we name the next generation of light-bearers.”
The orchestra took their cue and began playing the processional. The crowd took their seats, leaving the white robed acolytes standing alone. They began their single-file walk onto the dais, each receiving a token bearing their new name as Karah pronounced it to the crowd.
Tenna drew the medallions from their box one by one, handing them to Karah. As the name was spoken, the elevated acolyte received a new robe from Y’neth. As they left the dais, they each disappeared behind a set of screens, reemerging moments later arrayed in their new color. From there, they joined their assigned orders.
Tenna lost track of the names as the procession melded into a blur. Then she looked up to see Pixie standing there. The girl’s smile was rapturous, her dream of becoming a scribe finally coming true.
Karah took Pixie’s medallion from Tenna and read the name.
“Tarah.”
The girl beamed as she received the name, clearly a variation of the High Keeper’s own. It made Tenna glad to know they would share the first letter of their name in common.
Tarah surprised her by breaking with tradition to gather Tenna into a hug before making her way down from the stage.
Tenna later remembered little else of the night, only the sound of an ancient hymn and the bright smile of the girl with a new name.
58
The Shrine
Tander’s beautiful dream was torn away as he was shaken from slumber, consigning it to already fading memory. He groaned and rolled over to discover the not-so-handsome face of a dwarf staring down at him. Only a lad, the dwarf’s stubble was just beginning to form in soft tufts along the jaw line. Tander wondered if he were still dreaming because there was something wrong with that face, something missing.
“Tattoo,” Tander slurred.
“My lord?” the dwarf’s voice cracked.
“You’ve got no tattoo on your face,” he said, then regretted the statement, remembering too late that the lack of a facial tattoo was a mark of shame in dwarven culture, a mark of rejection. Tander propped himself up and rubbed at his eyes in the hopes of hiding his embarrassment.
“No, my lord,” the dwarf agreed with a broad smile. “I only turned old enough to receive my tattoo last year. I’m an orphan, so no one knows what tribe I’m from. I’ve decided to maybe not get one at all.”
“Maybe you could create your own,” Tander said.
The dwarf’s eyes lost their focus, a habit common among dwarves when they stopped to contemplate an idea. Some people thought dwarves slow-witted but that was far from true. They only weighed every option with careful consideration, seldom making hasty decisions.
“Your idea has merit, my lord,” the dwarf said finally. “I’ll speak of it to the Keepers and hear their wisdom on the matter. Perhaps we might form a new tribe from the orphaned tribe-less and erase some of the stigma from our plight.” The dwarf gave a low, slow bow. “You are very wise, my lord.”
Tander waved his hands. “I don’t know about that, but I don’t suppose you woke me up to ask my advice.”
“Oh, no, my lord,” the dwarf blushed. “I got sidetracked, sorry. The Ranger-Guardian sent me to wake you.”
“The Ranger-Guardian?” Tander’s brow furrowed. “Quist?”
“Yes, my lord,” the dwarf nodded. “He sent me to inform you that your egg is hatching.”
“My egg…?” Tander shook his head, not completely awake. “My egg? My blinkswift egg! I forgot!”
Tander threw off his covers and made a dash for the wardrobe. He grabbed a robe, careless of color, and belted his Blade to his waist. He skipped the shoes and ran for the door, waving his thanks at the grinning dwarf on the way out. He worked his way through the winding corridors, taking a narrow shortcut he’d discovered between his rooms and the makeshift hatchery. He found Quist waiting for him, holding a large candle in his hands.
“Good, you came quickly,” the elf nodded. “I believe your bird is well on his way to hatching. His beak is likely already breaking through.”
“What should I do?” Tander asked, slightly out of breath.
“Now that he’s matured there’s no further need of darkness. Take this candle and light every lamp within and fill the room with light. Speak to the bird. Your’s is the only voice he knows and its sound will draw him out. He will imprint on you when he sees your face.”
Tander took the candle, then Quist handed him a heavy leather glove.
“What’s this?” the boy asked.
“You’ll need to wear the gauntlet so the bird has a place to perch. You’ll want to form the habit of keeping the gauntlet tucked into your belt, always at the ready. Now, go inside.”
“What do I do afterwards? I have no idea how to raise a blinkswift.”
“Raise?” Quist raised an eyebrow. “A blinkswift needs no training.”
“Yes,” Tander said, “but what do I do until he’s ready to fly free? Do I keep him hooded unless I’m letting him hunt? My father’s falconer kept his raptors hooded.”
“None of that is necessary,” Quist said. “A blinkswift can hunt independently the moment they are hatched. An imprinted blinkswift will never fail to return to its master and will never attack without your leave unless you are in mortal danger, and will certainly never attack you. There’s no need to worry, he’ll have you
trained soon enough.”
A wicked grin spread across the elf’s face, making him laugh. He tucked the gauntlet into his belt and pushed through the curtain into the dark hatchery. The flickering candlelight revealed a spartan room, empty apart from the high table in the middle where the egg lay in its wicker cradle. Several lamps hung from chains in a circle around the room and the boy moved to light them one by one.
Seeing the egg was something of a shock. Though he’d held it daily in the darkness, he was unprepared for the size to which it had expanded. The once light-colored orb had turned deep blue—almost black—and had grown to the size of a child’s head. The bird’s hooked beak protruded from a hole near the top of the shell, worrying at the calcified barrier keeping it from the rest of the world.
His first impulse was to help the bird get out, but he knew better. His father’s falconer had once told him that hatching was the bird’s first real test of adversity. Helping it would only give it a false sense of ease, therefore dooming it to a life of docility.
He felt better knowing he had spent all those mornings actually talking to a bird and not simply an egg. Tander greeted the bird with the name he’d chosen days before.
“Hello, Kel.”
The bird’s manic attempts to escape stopped, the hooked point of his beak turning as if in search of the voice.
“It’s me, Tander,” the boy went on. “It’s time to come out, Kel. We’ve got a ship to catch and I don’t think they’ll sit around waiting for you to work your way out of that comfortable shell.”
The egg began to shudder, tottering back and forth so violently that Tander feared it might tumble out of the cradle. One side of the shell began to pulse outward, as if the bird was kicking the inside wall. Tander heard the rapid tattoo of the bird’s beak and a crack formed. It grew wider until it went almost completely around the egg. Wet feathers stuck out from the shell and soon only the thinnest membrane held the egg’s uneven hemispheres together.
The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara) Page 31
