“I’m not a musician by trade,” he added. “I just travel about on business for my father.” Also true. It was not wise to tell falsehoods in the presence of a magic creature. They could take those falsehoods and make them true. “I play what I can remember, and some music of my own, but I can’t claim to have a large number of songs in my head. Is there anything you would like to hear?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Anything at all. I don’t know enough of your music to give you names of songs. I only know that I very much like what I have heard you play so far.”
Well the last thing he was going to do was lapse into melancholy again. So what would be cheerful? He thought about all the couples in the inn, and smiled slightly. Well, why not? He sang one of the songs of his own making, about weddings and the contentment of a couple who were happily suited to one another. He preferred that to a love song, because not every contented couple was madly in love. In fact, being madly in love wasn’t always a good thing. Being madly in love could lead to jealousy, suspicion, any manner of negative things. The Tradition had a way of twisting what you did to its own purposes, and his purpose was to keep his land from having too many bad things happen in it.
From there, he moved on to other songs, some with a purpose, some without. It did no harm to sing the songs of peace and prosperity here…and in fact, now that he came to think of it, he modified a couple of them on the fly to include the sorts of things that fisherfolk would need. Fair winds. Good catches. Safely out and safely back again. And—always, always remembering to honor the Sea King. Many a Traditional tragedy had begun by angering the Sea King. Katya nodded her head and tapped her feet in time to the music, and once or twice even got up and danced to one of his dancing tunes.
He played past sunset and into moonrise, and finally it was his tired fingers and not a lack of will to continue that caused him to halt.
“I hope your parents are not going to fly in a rage that you are out of the house at this time of night,” he said—fairly sure now, since she had said nothing about parents or needing to be home, that she was not going to have that particular difficulty. In fact, he was fairly certain that she was not human…or at least, not an ordinary human. She had told him nothing about herself save her name, and he was quite, quite certain that it wasn’t her “true name” either. No, she was something magical. But whatever it was, he was just as sure that she meant no harm.
“Oh, I am my own person and need ask leave of no one for my comings and goings,” she replied with a toss of her head and a grin. “But you are right. It is late and I should be going. I will come here tomorrow, though, if you like.”
Sasha, you goose, you’re half in love with her, aren’t you? He couldn’t help chiding himself at the same time that he was congratulating himself that she wanted to meet him again. But how could anyone not be in love with her? She was altogether adorable.
“In that case, since I am not particularly needed at home, I’ll just prolong my visit to the seashore,” he said with an answering grin. “I couldn’t possibly leave you here to stroll on the sand alone.”
“Then I’ll be off until tomorrow!” She jumped to her feet, laughed gaily, and ran around the boulders they had chosen to keep the breeze off.
And when he rounded them himself, she was nowhere to be seen.
Definitely magic.
Sasha, you’re such a fool.
That I am, he told the sensible part of himself. But at this moment, a happy one.
Katya thought that this might have been one of the happiest days of her life. Not a delirious happiness; a quiet happiness, something not to be shouted, but to savor.
She hadn’t thought it was going to be nearly so nice; when her father had first told her she needed to go to Led Belarus.
The Sea King had sent for her as soon as she was rested from the long swim home from Nippon. As always, when her mission was successful, he let her recover before needing to hear the detailed account of what had happened.
They sat together over breakfast…which was, she reflected a little sadly, nothing like a breakfast on the Drylands. Raw fish, kelp, some fruits and vegetables from the Drylands, but nothing that couldn’t stand immersion in water and nothing cooked. It was probably very healthy, but…
But the food wasn’t why they were meeting together, and she continued on with her story—leaving out the early misadventure with the courtesan’s robes. When she was done, it was clear that he was quite happy with how she had conducted herself, so far from home. He was very interested in the overture from the head of the kitsune clan. “I think I had heard once they were notable for mischief,” he observed, “but also for loyalty and wisdom. I believe we can strike a good bargain here. But now—” He grimaced. “I hate to send you out again so soon, but…I am presented with a puzzle. It is the Kingdom of Led Belarus.”
She tilted her head to the side. Led Belarus was very close, geographically speaking, to the Palace. And never once, in all the time that she had been alive, had there been any problems with that little Kingdom.
But then, her father hadn’t exactly said there was a problem.
“A puzzle? But they have been quiet for three generations, Father. No great evils, only a modest prosperity and—” and then it struck her “—and they are too quiet, are they not?”
He nodded glumly. One of the little reef fish flitted over to their table to beg scraps, and he absent-mindedly fed it bits of lettuce. “The real peace and prosperity is little more than twenty years long. This troubles me. It may be nothing. But such quiet invites The Tradition to create some dreadful catastrophe, or put it in the mind of some evil mage to move in and take over. People become complacent about bad things happening, and it becomes easy for evil to invade. The Tradition does not like quiet.”
“Quiet does not make for stories and songs,” she sighed. “You are quite right, Father. This should be looked into. Even the tiniest of Kingdoms can attract great evil.” Then she smiled. “At least it is not far. And Led Belarus does not live up to its name in summer.” And besides…there would be good breakfasts….
So she went. As soon as she set foot on the beach, she asked The Tradition to give her proper clothing, and got the most delightful red-and-white outfit in lovely silk! A grand full skirt that stopped at about the calf—a wonderful embroidered blouse with a high neck—a red leather waist-cincher and matching boots. She pointed the toe of the boot outward, looking at its decorations. Boots fit for dancing in! She smiled happily. The colors delighted her eye, and there was no doubt it was very practical. And by the sort of sheer happenstance that could only be the hand of The Tradition at work in her favor, no sooner had she gotten clothed, than she heard music from farther up the beach. There was something about the music, too. This was no ordinary musician, she was sure of it, the song carried a burden of melancholy far heavier than mere words and tune could convey. Of course, at that moment, she had no notion of just how fortuitous this meeting was to be.
Picking her way carefully through the wrack and flotsam cast up by the last tide, she found the source of the music. The playing was solid and skilled, though not masterful. The singing had a great deal of heart, and the singer’s voice was pleasant. But there was some hint of something behind the music that she couldn’t quite identify.
She climbed carefully and quietly up to the top of a boulder, taking care not to disturb the singer, and got her first glimpse of him. What she saw made her smile with pleasure.
Oh my. Now there is a handsome fellow!
He was blond, the sort of white-blond like hers, which looked unreal; his shock of hair was a bit untidy, but that was to be expected, given that he was out in the wind. He had a good, broad brow that suggested a lot of intelligence. His eyes were closed, so she couldn’t see what color they were—but he had high cheekbones, a good nose, and a strong chin. His mouth looked as though he smiled more than he frowned, but there were some odd worry lines creasing his forehead.
He was not a
tall man, but he was very well built, and his hands were those of a musician rather than a warrior.
She couldn’t place his clothing; a white, high-necked, embroidered shirt, a wide sash, soft suede trousers and riding boots. It wasn’t peasant gear, but other than that, she couldn’t identify what sort of job he did, although it did seem rather too well made and unworn for that of an ordinary minstrel.
As she examined him, he seemed to sense that she was there, finished his song, and opened his eyes.
She had expected blue eyes, but instead, they were a startling and striking shade of intense violet.
His speaking voice was as good as his singing voice.
And there was something about him…She coaxed him into talking, though it didn’t take a lot of coaxing, and she listened carefully to what he said.
She heard the truth in what he told her, but also heard, beneath the words that he gave her, that he was not telling her all the truth. That was fine. She would learn all of it eventually.
And she could tell he was good, that he had an instinct for goodness. When he offered to sing more, she seized on that as a fine excuse to remain.
She sat cross-legged on the sun-warmed boulder, and listened; from the first note, she knew that she had not been wrong. There was something more there. Something powerful that explained exactly why Led Belarus was so peaceful, so prosperous.
This man was a Songweaver. And a Seventh Son. She could sense both those things, now that she was looking for them. The power of the Songweaver put gentle persuasion behind every word he sang. The signs of the Seventh Son were less obvious, but the violet eyes were what had started her down that path of reasoning. When he mentioned he had six brothers she knew he had to be the youngest.
And—for that reason, he must also be a Fortunate Fool.
So he was a triply blessed young man, with the power of a Fortunate Fool, a Seventh Son, and a Songweaver.
These might not be powerful magics, but tiny magics, worked wisely…
Now, the Songweavers were not Bards as such; they had a different sort of magic. Rather than forcing The Tradition to aid them, or outright undermining it, the Songweavers coaxed it, placated it, and led it along gently into the path that they wanted it to travel. Songweavers worked in small ways, not large ones, and yet small corrections, made early, rendered the powerful magics unnecessary.
Songweavers worked by modifying Traditional paths that already existed rather than inserting new ones. Wish to make your Kingdom prosperous and peaceful? Sing it that way, then make sure that the songs spread, that they are the sort of thing that ordinary people whistle, hum, and sing while they’re working. They don’t have to be the great, earth-shattering Songs of the Bards; in fact, you’d really rather that they weren’t. Not when what you want is the small, gradual changes.
So this was why the Kingdom of Led Belarus was so quiet. They had a little guardian to make it so. And if he was wise, he allowed a little bit of evil to come in, flourish briefly, then fade, or be taken down if need be. Nothing should be too perfect. The Tradition did not care for perfection.
The more she listened to this man, the more she liked him. And it wasn’t too terribly difficult to work out who he was, as what she had learned from the Library about Led Belarus meshed with what she was learning now. A “Sasha,” who traveled about Led Belarus on behalf of his father? A Seventh Son to boot? This could only be Prince Sasha, Seventh Son and Fortunate Fool.
And, of course, Songweaver, though she hadn’t known that until she’d met him.
Somehow she’d found herself promising to come back to meet him here on the beach. Somehow, he’d promised to extend his stay here to meet her….
Somehow…or with the impetus of The Tradition.
Well, this was one time when she would willingly go along with The Tradition.
The swim back to the Sea King’s Palace seemed to take no time at all, and her father was free and taking a brief bit of leisure in the garden when she sought him out.
“Have you not yet gone, daughter?” he asked, looking surprised. She smiled.
“There and back again, Father,” she assured him. “The answer is simple. A chance meeting gave me all the answers. Prince Sasha, the youngest of the seven Princes, is a Songweaver.”
Understanding dawned on her father’s face immediately. “Ah! And Seventh Son…that would make him a Fortunate Fool as well?”
“Yes,” she agreed, “only not so foolish.”
She outlined all that Sasha had told her, and all that she surmised. Her father listened carefully and nodded now and again.
“Is it possible,” he asked at last, “that the King of Led Belarus is canny enough about The Tradition to make the boy a Fool in public and something else altogether in private?”
“I would say that is a certainty, Father.” She gazed off for a moment over his shoulder. “Sasha’s songs are carefully worded. Not so powerful that The Tradition would ever feel the pressure of his words. And what was more, they are very singable. He has a gift for that.”
“And what sort of a man is he?” asked her father shrewdly. “All this is well and good, but if there is greed or overweening ambition in him—”
She shook her head. “He’s kind, Father, and very dedicated to caring for his Kingdom. I think that the moon is going to come down into the sea to ask for one of us in marriage before Sasha uses his power for his own gain.”
“And your instincts tell you to trust him.” The King looked at his daughter shrewdly. Katya blushed, and he chuckled. “Well, the day has finally come. My daughter has found a young man who interests her. You fancy this minstrel, Katya?”
She blushed even harder, and he laughed. “Then by all means, so long as you remember your primary duty is to me and this Kingdom, pursue the young man. Take him to your bed, if you like. It is not our way to meddle in love affairs. But keep your eyes open and your wits about you. Remember all the advice about young men that you have given others. I wish to have no Rusalka daughters. Do I make myself clear?”
She nodded. And she knew that her father was right. She knew very little about Sasha.
But she wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything….
“As a Songweaver, he could, if he wished, do us a good turn or two,” the King mused aloud. “I would be very grateful for such help.”
“I will see what can be done, Father, but I have only just met him—” she began.
He laughed. “And you know how to rectify that. Go, my dear. And be glad that you have Siren, and not Mermaid blood in your veins.”
She blushed even harder. But she also lost no time in retracing her path back to the shores of Led Belarus.
Chapter 8
Sasha sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the message that had finally caught up with him. He had been sending Yasha short reports from every significant stop he had made, more as a way for his family to keep track of where he was than because they needed any news about what he was doing.
It was a message that came with a gift, which told him immediately that he probably wouldn’t like it. Had this message arrived at any time previous to yesterday afternoon, he would have been angry, a little hurt, and a great deal resentful.
Dear Sasha, We are at a delicate position at the moment. The negotiations for your brother’s bride are going very well. But any little thing could bring it all crashing down. Therefore, if you would, please remain where you are until we send for you? With the letter had come a substantial pouch of money, enough to keep him well for quite some time, and the messenger waited patiently down below for his answer. Which, because Sasha was a good son, and would do as his father asked, would be to agree to the request and not make trouble.
Now at any other time, he would have been annoyed, and even hurt by this. After all, it wasn’t as if he chose to be the Fortunate Fool. Given the option he would much rather—
He weighed the pouch of money in his hand. What would he rather be?
If
he was to have the choice without needing to factor in starvation…he’d be a minstrel. He could still sing the Kingdom to make it prosper and protect it as a minstrel. In fact, it might be easier.
He entertained the fantasy for a moment—for it was a fantasy—of spending his time riding from inn to inn, enjoying the sun and sky by day, tucked up in a cozy corner with an appreciative audience by night, and after the inn was closed, finding a saucy serving wench waiting for him in his bed….
But the reality for minstrels, as he very well knew, was traveling afoot, or if lucky, catching a ride with a farmer. There were very few minstrels who could afford a horse, and most of those were with a troupe of entertainers, sharing a wagon, which had its own advantages and drawbacks. Since he didn’t think he’d fit in well with any such group, he would have to go it alone. The life of a minstrel was filled with lots of rainy days, cold days, days of endless snow, and the occasional blistering-hot day just for variety. It was smoke-filled, filthy inns that, unlike the Jolly Sturgeon, were full of the stench of stale, thin kvass—a thin, bitter beer—burned food, unwashed bodies, and vomit. And most of all, the life of a minstrel was going hungry, sleeping without shelter, most of the time. When there was shelter, it was in someone’s barn, in a shed, or on the hard floor of one of those wretched inns.
I am a pampered Prince, he thought wryly. I wouldn’t last out the season.
Of course, if he could manage to be a Prince incognito, to have money sent to him whenever he needed it, to have a good horse under him and good clothing on his back, that would be very different.
I wonder if it would be possible to simply make the rounds all the time? Or, well, not all the time, but there would be no difficulty finding a nice, cozy inn to spend winter months. Would he still then be the Fortunate Fool for the Kingdom? That would be the real question. Probably only a Godmother could answer it.
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