Keilan-minnai spoke, presumably an answer to a question Eiryn hadn’t heard. “She studied with Radèn-minnoi and came to the beach with me.”
“I used to love the beach,” Anou-minnoi sighed. “What did you do there, child?”
Eiryn lifted her head a little to look at the woman beside her. Keilan-minnai was focused on her plate. She wasn’t going to help this time, was she? Eiryn swallowed, trying to ignore the bitterness in her stomach and trying not to twist her hands into her sash. Hesitantly, she told Anou-minnoi about the shells she’d found. The old man smiled, then asked her all sorts of questions and told her things he’d learned that she didn’t know. He didn’t think her thoughts about the shiny stones were stupid, either. Janyn-minnoi would have said so. Arèn-minnoi would probably have told her not to be silly. But Anou-minnoi listened and even helped her find words for things. Before long Eiryn was telling the old man everything she could remember about her day.
She nearly hit the people beside her when she got to the part where Radèn-minnoi fell out of the tree. She’d swung her arms wide and thrown her weight backwards as much as she’d dared. Her chair almost toppled over in the process, but a servant used aos hip to thrust the chair forwards again and it didn’t. Anou-minnoi laughed in a way that made her smile too, until she realised the amount of trouble she’d have gotten Radèn in with the telling. So she hurried on through that part and hoped for the best. Anou-minnoi didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d tell on Radèn and make his parents angry with him.
When she got to the courtyard again, she fell silent a moment. Should she tell Anou-minnoi about what had happened between Radèn and Janyn-minnoi? She’d probably get them both into trouble. So she told him how Radèn-minnoi had looked after her and did her best not to tell the old man much more. Radèn wouldn’t get into trouble just for looking after her.
“Did he now?” the old man asked, one hand stroking the tip of his grey plait. Eiryn nodded. “That’s very good of him.” He didn’t ask or push, merely sucked on a couple of lobster legs. Eiryn felt a little relieved at that, but she still wanted to talk about something else before he could ask more questions.
“Janyn-minnoi said the faslaeraoina met to talk about me,” she mumbled so softly that she didn’t think Anou-minnoi would heard it over the chattering of the crowd, but the elderly kerisoi was looking at her, eyebrows raised, as he started to eat some of the octopus legs he’d just been served. Eiryn hated those, so she pulled her bowl of cold soup closer. If anyone tried to take it away now, she could hang over it so no one would. Because Anou-minnoi continued to be silent, Eiryn turned to Keilan-minnai for help, but the woman was busy talking to someone else.
When Eiryn’d regained her courage, she asked “Did they?” a little louder and tried to keep looking at the old man in front of her. She ate a spoonful of cold soup too and finally let someone carry it away because it really didn’t taste nice anymore.
Anou-minnoi swallowed his food before answering, “Did who what?”
Eiryn was surprised to find that the old man hadn’t sought out someone else to talk to yet, but also a little flattered. “Did, did the faslaeraoina t-t-talk about, about me?” she asked again. She couldn’t think of a different question to ask.
“Don’t be silly, child.” Anou-minnoi smiled at her and the words didn’t upset her the way they sometimes did. Eiryn was relieved, but she didn’t know what else to ask and she fell silent again. The old man didn’t speak either; he simply enjoyed his food.
It wasn’t until Eiryn caught Keilan-minnai’s hand move that she had an idea. “Anou-minnoi? How many farakaoina are there?”
The man blinked. “As many as there are grains of sand on the beach. Why do you ask?”
“I’d like to know,” she muttered and tried a bit of octopus. It was still horrid. “Are they all easy?”
“Many of them are very complicated, but you shouldn’t worry about them yet.”
“Can anyone use them?”
The man’s laugh soon turned into a coughing fit, but he waved help from the people around him away. Eiryn fidgeted in her seat, but Anou-minnoi just smiled at her like there was no harm done. “You know we can’t, child. Not unless we work together. If you can’t get the pitch you need, you need help from someone who can.”
Eiryn nodded. She did know that. “Why do we need to learn farakaoina we can’t use?”
Before the man could answer, Keilan-minnai cut in. “Are you bothering poor Anou-minnoi about farakaoina, asafai?” She looked amused while Anou-minnoi looked so innocent that Eiryn could only giggle.
“She’s a smart little girl, isn’t she?”Anou-minnoi asked. Eiryn did her best to ignore them by focusing on the way her plate of octopus was replaced by one of fish. She liked fish a lot more and she was a little hungry now. She’d try to finish at least this dish so her uncle wouldn’t be upset. She’d try for half. That was a lot of fish to eat.
“Very smart,” Keilan-minnai answered. “Eiryn-minnai, can you sing the farakaoina you’ve learned today?”
Eiryn swallowed her bite of mackerel quickly, both pleased by the honorific and scared of it. It implied they were equals, and she was only a child. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. It wasn’t a difficult farakaoina, but she still started to sing just as softly as she had before because she was afraid of making a mistake. Gradually she grew in confidence and sang a little louder. She repeated the farakaoina a few times then sang it back into silence.
“And you only learned that today, Eiryn-minnai?” Anou-minnoi asked in a soft voice. He was staring at her and it made her look down at her plate as she nodded. Her cheeks were burning.
“Keilan-minnai used it when she combed my hair,” she whispered. Eiryn had wound her hands in her sash by now. At least this way she wouldn’t tug on her hair. Or crawl under the table to hide.
“Astounding. Didn’t you find it difficult?”
Eiryn gave a sharp shake of her head. It’d been easy and fun. Anou-minnoi’s attention drifted from her to discussing farakaoina with Keilan-minnai which left her a little sad. She’d liked talking to Anou-minnoi. She wasn’t hungry anymore either. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to continue talking with Anou-minnoi and Keilan-minnai, Eiryn listened to them and tried to figure out what they were discussing. She didn’t understand many of the words, though, and she was too afraid to interrupt them and ask.
After a while, Anou-minnoi said, “I do believe, Keilan-minnai, that someone wants to partake in our discussions.” He was smiling still.
Eiryn looked at him blankly. “Partake?”
“Join,” Keilan-minnai answered. “Do you want to try?”
Eiryn nodded. She liked learning farakaoina.
“Just let us know if you don’t understand something. Shall we discuss something easier, Anou-minnoi?”
“How about the feeling of fasaoi?” the man offered, and winked at Eiryn. She pretended not to notice because she didn’t understand why he’d done it.
“What do you think, Eiryn? Do you want to talk about that?” Keilan-minnai asked, dipping a thin slice of bread in a white sauce.
Eiryn thought, running a finger along the rim of her plate. She hadn’t learned much about fasaoi yet, but if she could ask questions now then she wouldn’t have so many when Orryn-minnaoi taught them and Janyn-minnoi wouldn’t insist she was stupid whenever no one was looking. Maybe, silently, she’d call him stupid if she knew an answer he didn’t. Then she could tell Radèn and he could say he was proud of her for not calling Janyn-minnoi stupid. He’d probably tell her she should have, though.
At long length she nodded and she was happy when she noticed that not even Keilan-minnai had turned away from her.
“Wonderful!” If they hadn’t been sitting at the banquet table, Anou-minnoi would have clapped his hands, Eiryn was sure of it. “Can you feel fasaoi?”
Eiryn frowned. She wasn’t supposed to, was she? She glanced at Keilan-minnai, but the woman seemed focused on
her plate like that would make more food appear on it.
“Concentrate. Can you feel it? Anywhere?”
Eiryn didn’t know what she was supposed to concentrate on, but she tried. She focused on what Keilan-minnai had already taught her about fasaoi. It was all around them, much like air, so she tried to focus on the air. It’d help if she knew what fasaoi was supposed to feel like, though. She jolted when she felt something slimy slide over her and she could hear voices whispering far below everyone else. She wasn’t sure how she knew those voices were different, but they were. Was that what fasaoi felt like? Frightened, she looked up at Anou-minnoi. She didn’t want to feel that. Fasaoi wasn’t supposed to feel like that, was it? Maybe Janyn-minnoi was right after all and she was sifanou and that was why she felt horrible and the voices had come back to haunt her.
Eiryn frowned when Anou-minnoi rose suddenly. The banquet wasn’t over yet. They hadn’t had fruits and banquets always ended with them. “Would you like to go for a walk in the gardens, child?” the man asked. He smiled softly, resting a dark hand on the back of the chair. Eiryn nodded, then turned to look at Keilan-minnai. She’d come too, wouldn’t she? Eiryn really hoped so.
“I’ll be all right, asafai. You should go. Fresh air will do you good.”
Not sure that it would, Eiryn tugged on her hair. She also slid off her chair because she did want to go outside and escape all the people. Perhaps she’d even feel hungry and could convince Anou-minnoi to get her something to eat. Eiryn had to walk the length of the hall to the doors herself. Anou-minnoi kept pace with her on the other side of the table, but he was still on the other side. Eiryn was sure to keep her head down and her ears hidden under her hair. But no one paid her or Anou-minnoi any attention.
When they no longer had a banquet table in between then, Anou-minnoi came closer and offered her his hand. She took it gingerly, surprised by the wrinkles. Dai’s hands had felt like that sometimes after she’d bathed, though hers had been harder.
“Why isn’t your hair wet?” she asked, frowning. Janyn would tell her she was stupid, but she didn’t understand. Water made you wrinkly, but Anou-minnoi looked and felt entirely dry.
“Why would it be wet?”
“You’re wrinkly.”
Anou-minnoi raised his free hand and studied it for a few moment. “So I am,” he said. “That’s because I’m old, not wet.” There was mirth in his voice and it bubbled through Eiryn like soup had before dai would tell her not to play with her food. So Eiryn wasn’t upset by what he’d said. The old man squeezed her hand lightly, but he didn’t speak as they walked. The great doors to the hall were closed, but Anou-minnoi led Eiryn down a smaller one and explained that it was an old servants’ passage. It wasn’t used during the banquets, but it was never closed. It was badly lit too and Eiryn was grateful for the pressure on her hand and the sense of someone beside her or she would’ve cried. That was when she heard Anou-minnoi sing.
“Why didn’t I hear you before?” The farakaoina wasn’t one that Eiryn recognised, but she was quite sure it wasn’t one he’d started just then.
“It’s a farakaoina of invisibility,” the man told her, still singing. “It would be a little pointless if everyone could hear where you were, wouldn’t it?”
“Is that why no one looked at us?”
“Quite so. But now we have left and no one will make a fuss.” He led her through another door — it was so hidden Eiryn hadn’t even seen it — and onto a spacious, glimmery hall. Eiryn didn’t recognise it. She’d never been in a hall with so much green. The floor was green; the tapestries were green; the curtains were green. And the night, she could see through the windows, was dark. Eiryn couldn’t see any stars, though. Not until Anou-minnoi had led her outside. Two of the windows turned out to be doors. Eiryn was delighted; she never would have guessed. The garden itself was a maze of shadows, though. There were no lights save what fell through the windows and shone down from the stars. Eiryn stopped at the edge of the light circle and squinted to look into the darkness.
Anou-minnoi stood beside her. Here, she could hear the soft murmur of the waves, chirping crickets and distant voices drifting on the breeze. There were no trees in this garden, only grass and rocks. Eiryn looked up at the sky with its pattern of cloud and star. She’d never been outside after nightfall before. She shivered in the cold and hugged herself with her free arm.
Anou-minnoi began to sing a low farakaoina that she didn’t know. It wove effortlessly through the night and Eiryn carefully tried to mimic it. Her throat hurt, sometimes. Certain she was doing something wrong, Eiryn repeated the notes and altered them until she found something that didn’t hurt and still sounded like Anou-minnoi’s original farakaoina.
“Never do that, child,” the man chided her. She was in the middle of trying to figure out how to change a note she couldn’t even reach when he did and she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or upset. Her throat hurt.
“Oh, my old bones. I’m sure there’s a place to sit somewhere over there.” Anou-minnoi waved a hand at a patch of shadow and it took Eiryn a moment to realise that there were flat rocks there. The old man marched over so fast Eiryn had no idea why he’d been complaining about his bones; she could barely keep up. He lifted her onto the rock too, wobbling slightly, and she settled with her legs pulled up and her hair carefully tugged over her ears again.
Anou-minnoi sat down beside her, looking very serious. “Never practice a farakaoina that isn’t suited to your voice and never alter it. Do you know why?”
“It’s dangerous? Keilan-minnai says that making something move is only one small difference from unmaking it.”
“It is.”
“What’s ‘unmaking’?”
She thought the old man frowned; it was hard to tell in the darkness where she could barely see his face. “It means to destroy something like it never was.” Before she knew what to say next, the man complained about his bones again.
“Should I get Imar-minnaoi?” Eiryn wrung her hands into her dress. She didn’t even know how to get back to the banquet hall. And Imar-minnaoi hadn’t helped dai keep her promise.
“It’s all right, little one. Ao can’t heal old age.”
Not sure of what to do, Eiryn shifted her seat until she was leaning against the old man. He put an arm around her shoulders and, in a moment, untied his sash and laid it over her like a blanket. It wasn’t very warm, but it helped a little.
Clouds drifted across the stars in differing patterns. Neither Eiryn nor Anou-minnoi spoke. All she heard were the waves and, sometimes, the crickets. She didn’t like the crickets. They were loud.
When she was almost asleep, the old man spoke. It took her a moment to realise he’d asked her a question.
“Spheres,” she answered without even thinking, but even she could hear how slurred her voice was and she wanted, very much, to have a bath. “I said goodbye and I saw coloured spheres floating upwards.”
“I see.”
Eiryn yawned. “Why did dai break her promise?” she asked. She didn’t want to talk about the spheres. They made her feel icky and slimy. Anou-minnoi said nothing and she couldn’t see more than his eyes in the darkness when she looked up. And the shape of his nose. She could see that too. Eiryn curled up against him and made herself as small as possible when the whispers came back. They clawed at her and she couldn’t tell when they’d come and when they’d go, but they frightened her. Anou-minnoi’s sash slipped down over her knees and her upper arms turned to goose bumps. Faintly, Eiryn could hear her mother’s voice in the whispers. That voice didn’t claw at her. It soothed and called to her where the rest tried to drown out everything around her.
Anou-minnoi’s voice cut through the whispers like a penknife. “Sometimes the Balance does not give us a choice and makes an oathbreaker of us. These questions are important, Eiryn-minnai.”
Eiryn nodded against the old man’s chest. He still had an arm wrapped around her and he moved it now, to reposition the sash
. Arèn-minnoi would scold her and tell her to sit properly. Her mother’s voice laughed in the distance. Amaru-dai and Arèn-minnoi had never gotten along well. If Eiryn closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was snuggled up against her mother.
“Did you hear Amaru-minnai afterwards?”
Eiryn nodded again. She wouldn’t tell him anything else, though. She’d decided that she wouldn’t say a thing more than what she’d already said. But there was one question which she wanted to ask. It was a perfect night for daring. “Am I sifanouai?” She shuffled away from him as she spoke. Anou-minnoi let her move, though he never took his arm from around her shoulders. There was room enough for her to shuffle out of his reach, but she liked the touch. It kept her calm and it made the whispers less loud and aggressive.
Anou-minnoi was silent. Not for long, but long enough for the whispers to grow louder again. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, and she was certain she didn’t want to. “Sifanou. I don’t believe so,” the old man said and Eiryn stored the words away in her heart as best she could. The oldest of the faslaeraoina didn’t think she was sifanou. “Just unlucky.” Unlucky. Eiryn didn’t like that word, but it was better than being sifanou. Maybe she should ask Arèn-minnoi and Keilan-minnai as well. If they thought she was unlucky too then she might believe it.
The old man pulled her close again, a farakaoina under his breath that made his sash as warm as if someone had hung it in front of a fire. He combed his fingers through her hair, but unlike Keilan-minnai he tugged it over her ears. The gesture made Eiryn cry and he held her, shifted their bodies around until she could bury her face in his shirt and cry and cry and cry as he held her, solid and strong.
A Promise Broken Page 8
