Sing the Four Quarters

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Are you out of your mind?"

Her tone was ice and iron, and Lukas shrank back, knowing as he did that distance would be no protection from the implied threat. "She was at the high tower, Lady. Looking down into the pass! I had to stop her!" His hand flicked out in the sign against the kigh.

"Looking down into the pass?"

"Yes, Lady."

And things had been going so well… Frowning, she prodded Stasya's limp body with the toe of her boot. The dark hair was matted and sticky with blood and the back of the bard's tunic showed a crimson stain. "You're certain she's still alive?"

Lukas dropped to his knees beside the crumpled body. "Yes, Lady. She breathes and her heart beats."

So much easier, Olina reflected, if he'd just killed her outright. Had Lukas killed the bard, she'd merely have him confined, convinced that she'd arrange his escape before the king arrived to sit in Judgment. During that escape, she'd have him killed. The kigh could go ahead and tell the bard traveling with His Majesty everything they saw because none of it would arouse suspicion.

To ensure an easy and early victory, Theron must be in the keep when the Cemandian army arrived. It was vital he not receive any information that would make him cautious enough to postpone the end of his journey.

While the kigh might have seen Lukas strike the blow, Stasya would very definitely Sing everything she knew the moment she regained consciousness. Therefore, she mustn't be allowed to Sing. Olina remembered being told that a bard's death attracted the kigh. She had no memory of who had told her or how true the observation might be, but now that she could be implicated in was a risk she had no intention of taking. Stasya would just have to be put where the kigh couldn't reach her.

"Carry her to the old section of the keep," Olina commanded at last. "If you let anyone see you, I will be very angry. Do you understand?"

Very angry. Thankful that he remained on his knees, for they would have surely given out, Lukas nodded. "Yes, Lady."

"I'll meet you in the small chamber at the north end of the Great hall." She fixed her gaze on him and was pleased to see him tremble. "Remember, no one is to see you."

Gerek had spent a wonderful morning pulling weeds from the fields autumn-sown with corn. It was a task that all the village children participated in from the time they were strong enough to beat the weeds until they were strong enough to move to larger tasks. Each child had a row—some of the smallest children were paired—and there were races and singing and trophies passed from grubby hand to grubby hand as a particularly long rooted foe was vanquished.

Although Gerek had been able to stay for the midday picnic and a lovely mud fight that had been too quickly broken up, he wasn't allowed to remain for the afternoon's fun.

"You're the due now," his Aunty Olina had told him. "And you have responsibilities the other children do not."

He'd settled back on his heels and stared up at her. "It's the 'sponsibility of the due to share in the work and know what's going on." Experience had taught him not to preface such announcements with, my papa said.

Aunty Olina had smiled. "Very well. But only for the morning."

"And the picnic."

Her brows had risen, but after a moment she'd nodded. "Of course."

Urmi, the stablemaster, had come to get him and the pleasure of riding home on Kaspar, his pony, had almost made up for having to leave. From the stable, aware that he was going to be late and knowing how his aunt felt about that sort of thing, he'd take a shortcut through the old section of the keep.

Still a spiral staircase and a narrow corridor away from the nursery, the sound of boots ringing against the floor froze him in place. Only his Aunty Olina walked like that, like she was slapping the stone with her feet. Was she looking for him? Was she maybe angry with him? Gerek looked around for a place to hide.

Dropping to his stomach, he squirmed under a carved stone bench and tucked himself as tightly as he could against the wall. The footsteps grew louder, then he saw a pair of black boots stride past his hiding place. Grinning broadly, he hugged his knees as they passed. You don't know I'm here, he thought. You don't… Then he frowned as a tooled leather strap dragged by. Why was his Aunty Olina carrying the bard's stuff?

"Did anyone see you?"

"No, Lady."

"Good. And the bard?"

Wrapped tightly in the folds of an old horse blanket, Stasya moaned. Lukas stared down at her, then up at Olina. "She lives, Lady."

"So I can hear." She shifted the weight of Stasya's pack, hastily stuffed behind closed shutters with everything the bard had brought to Ohrid. "Follow me."

Heaving his burden back over his shoulders, Lukas followed.

Leading the way through the ground floor of the keep, Olina took a moment to light a torch with flint and steel and then descended into the cellars, the steward with his burden treading closely on her flickering shadow.

"Are we going to leave her down here, Lady?'

She didn't bother to answer.

They crossed two rooms, long unused even for storage. In the third, she stopped, and let pack and instrument case slide to the floor. "Put her down and open that," she said, gesturing at an iron grate set flush with the rough-cut stone.

In the end, it took both their strength thrown against the grate to lift it.

Lukas stared through the narrow opening into a darkness so complete it seemed solid. "What is it?" he panted, mouth working against the dank smell of ancient decay rising into the cellar.

"It's an oubliette," Olina told him, scrubbing her palms together. At his blank expression, she added dryly, " A hole in the ground. An old Cemandian custom."

"I never knew this was here."

"Why should you?" She jerked her head toward the pack. "Get that down there and then her."

"Down there?" Lukas backed a step away from the hole.

Olina's eyes narrowed as signs of incipient panic began to appear in the steward's manner. She didn't have time for this. "Try to remember that killing or attempting to kill a bard means a Death Judgment and that you struck the blow. I am only trying to help you stay alive." Icy blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on his face.

After a moment, Lukas picked up the pack with visibly trembling hands and shoved it through the hole. He threw down the instrument case, listened to it land and bounce, and turned to stare at the feebly moving body of the bard.

"Lady…"

"Do it!" Olina snapped, seeing the rest of her well worked plans come unraveled in his hesitation. "Or shall we just drag her back outside and give the kigh a good look at what you've done?"

He had to swallow before he could speak. "No, Lady."

Stasya moaned. Voices slammed about within her skull with such force that she couldn't make out the actual words. She tried to push against the scratchy fabric confining her, but her arms refused to respond.

She moaned again as something dragged her over a surface both hard and cold and poured her into emptiness.

Her thoughts cleared just long enough for her to realize that she was falling, then a brilliant flash of white light exploded against the inside of her head and darkness claimed her again.

His small body pressed into the recessed doorway, hid den in shadows barely touched by the pale sunlight slanting through high, narrow windows, Gerek watched as his Aunty Olina and Lukas came up from the cellars. What did they do with the bard? he wondered. Were they mad at her, too, because of what she did to his papa? He watched the torch ground out against the threshold and left lying on the stone, then he watched them walk away.

Brow furrowed, he padded over to the doorway and squatted to look at the torch. Remembering something he'd seen Rezka do once at the kitchen hearth, he leaned forward and blew on the blackened end. Nothing happened. Eyes narrowed, he leaned closer and blew again.

A thin wisp of smoke climbed up to be lost in shadows of the ceiling.

Pleased with himself, he picked up the torch carefully in both hands and kept blowing until, suddenly, it was alight.

His papa didn't like him playing with fire.

But if he wasn't even allowed to yell at the bard, how come Aunty Olina was allowed to leave her in the cellar? He was the due. He should at least get to yell.

"I'm blind."

The words bounced back and forth through the darkness, making it clear, even through the pounding pain, that she was in a very enclosed space. There was no panic behind the words; not yet, she figured she'd save that for when she had the energy to make it worthwhile.

Moving slowly, Stasya forced herself up into a sitting position and fought the urge to vomit. With both hands pressed hard against her mouth and her throat working convulsively against the bile, she sat motionless until the need became less than all she was.

Sucking damp, musty air through her teeth, she reached behind her and gingerly searched the back of her head where the pain seemed the most intense. Her fingers came away sticky and she swallowed her most recent meal for a second time as, involuntarily, she jerked away from her own touch.

Obviously, she hadn't been alone looking down at the palisade and someone had done a thorough job of stopping her from passing on what she'd seen.

Feeling as though her head were an egg, cracked and ready to fry, she groped around her, trying to identify the objects she'd half landed on. Her pack was easy, the bent cedar frame had dug a painful bruise into her shoulder—a bruise she accepted with gratitude as its padded bulk had kept her head from connecting with the stone of the floor. Untangling her legs from a blanket that smelled strongly of the stable, she bent too far forward, the world tilted, and she cracked her nose against her knee.

Her eyes welled with tears and she let them fall, fighting for control only when she felt hysteria rising.

A flailing arm brushed a familiar curve of padded leather.

"My harp!" Anger became a useful distraction, blocking everything else until she held her harp on her lap and could run her fingers over its strings; the harp case had exceeded its maker's guarantee and the soft whisper of sound calmed her enough to wonder, what next.

She'd get no response if she Sang the kigh. Not even for Tadeus would they come so far into a building.

Tadeus.

Blind.

Eyes opened or closed, the darkness pressed against her with identical intensity. All at once, she couldn't breathe. Her heartbeat grew louder, louder, louder. Blood roared in her ears. Her fingers tightened convulsively. The dying note of a snapped harp string brought her back to herself.

"Careful." Her voice shook, but for the most part she had it under control. "You won't find any replacement strings down here."

Down here.

At the moment, being blind was the least of her problems.

Stretching out an arm, she found a wall and had to stop herself from trying to drive her fingers into the damp rock. With the mountain supporting her, for her prison had clearly been dug not built, she managed to stand.

"Bard? Hey, Bard? Are you down there?"

"Gerek?" Shoulder braced against the wall, Stasya looked up. Relief hit her so hard, she almost fell. Through the outline of a narrow grate she could see a flicker of flame. She wasn't blind. Blinking away tears, she reached for the light, but as near as she could tell the opening was an arm's length again above her fingers. "Gerek! Go tell your Aunt Olina where I am!"

"She knows." Gerek leaned forward, resting the end of the torch in one of the holes in the metal, squinting until he thought he could see the bard's face in the darkness. "Her and Lukas put you there. That'll teach you for taking away my papa."

Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Stasya sagged but the wall caught her. Found your traitor, Majesty. Now what? "Hey, Bard? Can you get out?" Let's not waste this one chance. She pulled herself erect, as close to the grate as she could get. "No, Gerek, I can't."

"So what'll happen?"

"I'll die." Die. Die. Die. The word lingered. Stasya tried to ignore it.

Gerek chewed his lip while he thought about it. "Good," he declared after a moment. "I want you to be dead. Just like my papa."

Stasya's heart contracted at the pain in his voice and she came to a sudden decision. "Gerek, I need to tell you a secret." She couldn't Command because she couldn't see his eyes and, under the circumstances, she doubted Charm would be very effective. All she could do was work her voice so that he had to believe her. "It's a very important secret and you mustn't tell anyone."

He liked secrets and the anticipation of hearing one made him forget his plans to yell at the bard. "What?"

"Promise you won't tell."

"I promise."

"Your papa isn't dead. It was a mistake, like he said, and the king is coming to make it better."

"My papa isn't dead?"

She put everything she had into the repetition. "Your papa isn't dead."

Kneeling by the grate, both hands holding tightly to the smoking torch, Gerek turned over the words in his mind, examining each one. The world, pressing so tightly around him, suddenly loosened. His papa wasn't dead. He knew it. He'd known it all along. His papa had said it was a mistake. Just wait till he told his Aunty Olina.

Halfway to his feet, he frowned and knelt again. The bard had made him promise not to tell.

"Why can't I tell?" he demanded.

"Because we don't want the bad people who really did what they said your papa did to find out he's alive."

"Oh. Is he going to catch them?"

"Yes. And he's coming here. Really, really soon." Down in the pit, Stasya hoped it'd be soon enough. "He's coming with Annice, the bard who was here in Third Quarter. Do you remember her?"

Gerek sat back on his heels. "Of course I remember."

He sounded so indignant, Stasya couldn't help but smile. "I was supposed to watch for them, because they'll be sneaking up to the keep, but I can't do that now…"

"'Cause you're in a hole."

"That's right, so I need you to do something for me. I need you to go visit Bohdan."

"Papa's steward. I like him better than Lukas even if he told me to do things more."

"That's good, because when you're alone with him, I need you to tell him what I told you about your papa." Bohdan, for all he was a sick old man, was the only person remaining in Ohrid who might possibly have enough authority to stand up against Lukas and Olina. Based on what she'd seen back in Fourth Quarter, he was also the only person in Ohrid she'd trust with the truth.

"But I promised not to tell anyone."

Grinding her teeth sent knives of pain through her head. "Anyone but Bohdan," Stasya amended. "Do you remember what to tell him?"

"That Papa isn't dead and it was a mistake and he's coming with Nees."

"What a good memory you've got."

Gerek snorted. "I'm five."

"Of course you are. And I need you to tell him where I am and who put me here."

"Okay."

"But don't tell your Aunt Olina!"

"'Course not, I promised. Papa says you never break a promise." He stood. "Besides, Aunty Olina knows where you are. I gotta go 'cause my fire is going out."

"Gerek?" No, she couldn't ask him to leave the torch. She had no idea how far he'd have to travel in the dark without it. "Never mind."

"Okay." He was almost to the next room when he remembered something and returned to the grate. "Bard? I don't want you to be dead no more."

Her back against the wall, Stasya lifted her head one last time toward the light. "I'm glad, Gerek."

"In case you're curious, we're in Ohrid."

Pjerin pushed the mare to one side of the path and turned to stare in confusion at Annice. "How do you know?"

"By the way the kigh react to your presence."

Her tone hinted that any idiot should know that, but, remembering the morning's tears, Pjerin gave her the benefit of the doubt and kept his own voice neutral. "Excuse me?"

"The kigh recognize you as the person responsible for this area of land." Annice pushed an overhanging branch out of her way, waiting until the shower of water droplets ceased before she continued walking. There was no point in taking shelter from the storm and then being drenched by its aftermath. "Surely you've heard the idea that the lord and the land are one?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"When you took the title, didn't you make a cut with the family sword and bleed on the earth? At First Quarter Festival, don't you make the first cut for the plow? And at Second Quarter Festival, don't you spend the night in the fields, spilling your seed?"

"Annice!"

She grinned at him. "Well, don't you? It's your right; you're not too old, or too young, I imagine you have plenty of choices, and I know all the parts work."

"Annice!" When she looked as if she was going to continue, he raised his free hand and cut her off. "All right. I do. Now drop it."

"I was only about to point out that all these things—and others—tie you to the land." She nodded toward the earth at his feet. "The kigh know that you've come home."

The door to the armory, which was heavy and had a tendency to stick, would have defeated him had one of the stablehands not chanced by to open it for him. Gerek thanked her, explained he could close it by himself, and waited until she'd rounded the corner before he went inside.

While Nurse Jany had fussed and scrubbed him and helped him dress, Gerek had made up his mind. Bohdan was old and sick and couldn't help the bard anyway.

Taking bow and quiver from their pegs, he checked them as he'd been taught, slung the quiver over his shoulder, and wrapped the bowstring tightly for traveling. He had a cooked sausage in his belt-pouch and he had a plan.

Gerek stared up at his papa's sword. It was the due's special sword his Aunty Olina had said when she'd handed it to him at First Quarter Festival. His papa was the due. He was going to take his papa his sword.

Hung high above his reach, he had to stand on a bench and use the end of his bow to knock it off the wall. The blade bounced partway out of the scabbard when it landed, hilt ringing loudly against the stone floor of the armory, but Gerek shoved the pieces back together and wrapped it awkwardly in his best cloak. He wasn't allowed to play with the sword, so he figured he should hide it until he was out of the keep.

No one saw him as he made his way to the gate, struggling a little with his heavy load. Relishing his role as a secret messenger, he stayed in the shadows close to the walls. Once outside the walls, he slipped off onto a narrow path too steep for anything but goats or children, screened from above by the lip of the track. He had to let the sword slide down alone, but it didn't seem to have hurt it when he retrieved it at the bottom.

With one wistful glance toward the shrieks of laughter coming from the fields on the other side of the village, he darted into the tangle of growth bordering the creek that ran from the base of the keep to the forest. He wasn't a baby. He knew that if he kept to the track, they'd find him and bring him back.

He also knew, although he couldn't put the idea into words, that there could be no going back. His Aunty Olina wasn't the type to forgive such treachery.

"Stop crying, Jany!" Olina snapped. "I can't understand a word you're saying. Gerek spent the afternoon in the fields when I expressly forbade it and he's going to be punished." Although the boy's disobedience had actually been convenient as she'd had enough to take care of without supervising his lessons, that didn't negate the fact he'd disobeyed.

Gerek's nurse choked back a sob and lifted her face from a damp, crumpled square of linen. "He didn't spend the afternoon in the fields, Lady. I washed him and I dressed him and I sent him down to you."

"Just because he was washed and dressed doesn't mean he didn't return to the pleasures of mud," Olina pointed out, drumming her fingers on the arms of her chair. Gerek had obviously become too much for the old woman to handle. He needed a tutor, and the moment the Cemandian invasion was complete, she'd get him one.

"No, Lady, I spoke with Gitka. He wasn't there. No one has seen him all afternoon."

"No one?"

"No one, Lady. What if he's…" The thought became too much for her and she burst into fresh sobs.

"What if he's what? Hurt? You're not helping him, Jany." Olina stood, lips set in a thin line. Although fond of the child, she had no doubt that he'd be found tucked into a corner somewhere, happily oblivious to the panic he'd caused his nurse. Meanwhile, she could use this incident for other ends. "Find Lukas; he can organize a search of the keep."

Eventually, the search spread out from the keep to the village and the surrounding valley. Torches were lit as night fell and the voices calling his name grew strained and frightened. Parents held their own children closer and remembered all the dangers of the darkness.

Olina stood by the entrance to the old cellars, staring at the stub of the torch and the print of a small foot outlined in crumbling flakes of earth. Gerek had gone into the cellar carrying the torch she had used when they got rid of the bard and then come out again. What had he seen? And what, if anything, had he been told? Things had just become much more complicated.

"Has anyone checked the palisade? He may have gone to watch the work and…"

"Lady!" Urmi pushed her way through the crowd gathered in the outer courtyard. "I've just searched the armory! The due's sword is missing!"

The little fool has probably taken it and trotted off to challenge the king! Olina slapped control around her relief. At least he's not hiding in the keep with what he knows. Now, I can deal with this. "Has anyone seen the bard?"

No one had.

The server sent to check Stasya's room raced back crying that the bard was gone.

An ugly murmur ran through the crowd. Olina listened and did nothing although she could have stopped it with a word—reaction would serve her better than reason. She was pleased to see Lukas flash the sign against the kigh and more pleased still to see it mirrored around the courtyard.

"The bard can't have gone far!" Urmi cried. "She's on foot. We have to get Gerek back. We have to go after her!"

"And face the kigh at night?"

Urmi turned on the man who'd spoken, her lip curled. "I'm not afraid of the kigh!"

"You should be." Lukas stepped forward, but stayed in Olina's shadow. "You saw what the kigh did to my house and my daughter."

The muttering grew more apprehensive and less militant. Even those who personally despised Lukas couldn't deny that his house had burned and his daughter was dead.

"Remember that this is the bard who took Pjerin to his execution." Olina's voice cut through the babble, leaving a sharply defined line of silence behind it as assumptions were hastily shuffled.

"Shkoder is destroying the Dues of Ohrid!"

The babble became a roar.

"But why?" someone called.

"Because Shkoder is afraid!" came the answer from the back of the crowd. "We're all that stands between them and Cemandia, and suppose we don't want to be a living barrier anymore?"

"His Grace—that is, His Grace's father—saw it coming. He tried to make a deal with Cemandia and they killed him."

Olina hid a smile. It was such a small step from oath-breaker to martyr.

"What has Shkoder ever done for us?"

"Cemandia sends us trade!" bellowed one of the villagers who'd made a handsome profit at that first fair. "Once a year, Shkoder sends us a bard to let us know what we don't have."

"Sends a spy!"

"King Theron's probably coming with an army!"

"Do the bards work for Theron or does Theron work for the bards?"

"He's ruled by the kigh!"

"Kigh are not enclosed in the Circle!"

Again the sign against the kigh flicked out, but this time, hands that had never made it before traced the gesture, caught up in the mass hysteria of the mob.

"Send a message to Cemandia! Let them know what's going on! Cemandia has no dealings with the kigh!"

Well pleased with the result of her suggestion, Olina raised both hands to silence the cries of agreement. "There's nothing more that can be done tonight. Go home. See to your children. And think on how we will greet King Theron when he arrives." With any luck, they'd jump him when he entered the valley and deliver his whole party to her in pieces.

"But what of Gerek?" Urmi protested as people began to turn away.

"What good will you do him if the kigh strike you down?" Olina asked her.

"Well, none, but…"

"No. We can only pray that he remains unharmed and plan our vengeance if he is hurt."

"I could ride…"

"Can you track the wind?"

The stablemaster's face fell. "No, Lady."

Olina watched her walk away, watched them all walk away, until there was only Lukas standing beside her on the steps to the Great Hall, the torch he held isolating them in a circle of flickering light.

"What about the boy?" he asked, eyes shifting nervously from side to side. "He isn't with the bard." His tongue darted out to swipe at his lips. "Is he?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Olina snapped.

"Then why?"

Olina turned to stare full at him. "Are you questioning my judgment?"

"No, lady. Only… That is…" Lukas took a deep breath and found enough courage in it to carry on. "Do you know where the due is?"

"As he wasn't found in the valley, I can only assume he reached the forest. He probably took his father's sword and went off to challenge King Theron with it."

"But why?"

"I imagine he saw you deal with the bard."

Lukas paled, his face between beard and hair bone white even by torchlight. "Lady!"

"You've nothing to worry about. Haven't I arranged it so that no one will go after him? So no one will wonder about the absence of the bard?"

"Yes, Lady. Thank you, Lady." When she started to walk away, he scuttled after her. "But suppose he reaches the king and…"

"And nothing. The king is still approximately ten days away. Gerek is barely five years old. I'll be very surprised if he even survives the night." She pushed at the weight of her hair and muttered, "The stupid little fool. Had to be a hero. He's dead—" She turned on Lukas so suddenly he stumbled and almost dropped the torch. "—because you couldn't think past the moment."

"I'm sorry, Lady." He scrubbed his free hand against his tunic, leaving damp smudges of sweat on the fabric. "I couldn't be more sorry."

She stared down at him for a long moment. "Yes, you could," she said at last. She'd been going to mold Gerek, turn him into the kind of due neither Pjerin nor her brother had had the courage to be. And this sweating, stumbling idiot had lost her that immortality.

He was alive because, at the moment, she didn't need any more unanswered questions. When the moment ended, so did he.

Her back against the wall, every piece of clothing from her pack either on her or under her to fight the damp and cold, Stasya considered her companion. The chill air had helped preserve enough integrity that it had been a body, not just dry and dusty bones that she'd found folded in on itself against the far wall. The remains of a tangled beard had given him gender and the intricate carving she could trace on a buckle and a pair of wrist bands suggested he'd been a man of some means.

How long ago, she wondered, knees tucked up against her chest and arms wrapped tight around them. How long has he been down here? Does anyone remember him? How long did he live before he died?

She rested her head on her knees, eyes closed to give an illusion of choice in the darkness. Were the ends of his fingers broken and split from trying to claw his way out through the heart of the mountain? Had he screamed and fought? What had he done when he'd realized that no one would come?

Ten days. The king would arrive in ten days.

With luck, Annice and the due would contact Bohdan sooner.

But she had to count on surviving for ten days.

There'd been trail food for a couple of days still in her pack that could be stretched to provide meager rations, but her water skin had been empty. She'd have to lick the moisture off the walls and hope the bit of water she'd crawled through earlier would continue to collect at the lowest point of the floor.

Ten days.

Her head throbbed and standing left her so dizzy that the mountain had to act as her support as well as her prison.

Ten days.

I could made a song out of this that would pull night terrors from the most flint-hearted listener. Let's hope I last long enough to sing it.

Long past rot, the faint smell of continuing decay was an omnipresent reminder of the alternative.

Tired and hungry, Gerek plodded between the towering trunks of ancient pines, dragging his father's sword behind him. Above him, each needle stood out in sharp relief against an ominous gray-green sky.

The sword caught on a half-buried stick and the sudden jerk threw the small body to the ground. "That didn't hurt," he gasped, getting slowly to his feet and trying desperately hard not to cry.

Exhaustion had brought him a few hours of fitful sleep tucked in the hollow between two giant roots. A dense layer of fallen needles had made a comfortable enough bed, but with the moon hidden behind cloud and the forest noises so loud and so close, he'd spent most of the night staring wide-eyed and terror-stricken out of his refuge. The scream of an owl heard from the safety of his nursery was not the same sound heard alone in the dark; Gerek had screamed in turn and thrown the protection of his cloak over his head. Fortunately, the larger predators had been hunting elsewhere.

Yanking the sword free, he wiped his nose on his sleeve and started walking again, too young to notice it had grown ominously quiet.

He'd eaten the sausage in triumph when he'd gained the safety of the trees without being seen from the keep and he'd licked the grease from his fingers exactly the way that Nurse Jany always told him not to. At dusk there'd been only water sucked up from the stream to quiet the first rumbling of hunger. At sunrise, he'd left the stream for the easier walking under the pines. At mid-morning, with a sharp ache behind his belt, he'd tried to eat a handful of red berries he'd found in a clearing, hanging plump and thick next to pretty purple flowers, but they'd tasted so bitter he'd spit them out without swallowing and continued to spit for some time.

Now his stomach hurt, and he wondered why his papa was so far away.

Thunder boomed directly overhead and Gerek froze.

A few moments later, he was drenched to the skin as the huge trees bent and swayed like saplings. Nearly solid sheets of water poured through the holes in the canopy. Whimpering, his back pressed hard against a sticky trunk, Gerek lost himself in the fury of the storm. The wind howled like the demons Nurse Jany said still lived in the mountains, and even stuffing his fingers in his ears couldn't keep out their shrieking. When a branch as big around as he was crashed to the ground in a deafening cascade of smaller twigs, he panicked and ran.

Pushed in front of a wind strong enough at times to lift both child and sword from the ground, Gerek scrambled blindly forward, screaming for his father. Oblivious to welts and scratches, he plunged out from under the pines into an area of younger trees and thicker underbrush. The sword caught again.

Sobbing in near hysteria, Gerek yanked on the belt, his only remaining coherent thought that he had to get the sword to his papa. Jammed in a tangle of poplar suckers, the sword refused to move. He threw his weight against the leather. A sudden, violent gust of wind added its strength to his. The sword flew free. Gerek tumbled backward and lost his grip.

Coughing and sputtering, he fought his way back to his feet and looked frantically around him. The rain made it nearly impossible to see. He took two jerky steps forward and clutched frantically at a sapling for support as the sodden earth slid out from under his feet and down into a deep, steep-sided ravine.

Another gust of wind blew the curtain of rain aside just long enough for him to see that the sword lay, half covered in mud, on a ledge a little way down from where he stood.

He had to get the sword to his papa.

Rubbing the water from his eyes, he crouched, still holding the sapling, and stretched out his other arm. The rain pounded against it and his fingers dug into the ground a handbreadth short.

Gerek set his jaw, panic pushed aside by determination. Releasing his anchor, he inched forward. His fingers touched the scabbard, then his hand wrapped around it.

Unfortunately, the sword weighed much more than the child could lift one-handed. It began to slide. Blinking away rain and scowling furiously, Gerek refused to let go. His free hand flailed for the sapling, couldn't reach it, and dug into the earth instead.

The handful he held fell with him.

Wind and rain and the roar of water below drowned out his cries.

"Pjerin, I have to sit." With one hand pressed tight against the curve of her belly, Annice lowered herself to a rock still damp from the recent rain.

"But we just sat out the storm."

"I know." She let the lead rope slide through slack fingers and the mule dropped her head to graze.

Something in her voice pulled Pjerin to her side. He dropped the mare's reins, knowing she wouldn't wander, and peered anxious down at Annice. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know." An attempted smile didn't quite reached her face. "It hurts."

"What hurts? The baby?"

"I think so."

He stared at her in disbelief. "You think so?"

"Well, I've never…" The stiff set to her shoulders suddenly relaxed. "It stopped."

"What stopped!"

"Every now and then, it… that is, this," she tapped the curve gently, "gets all hard, kind of tightens from the top down."

"So it's happened before?"

Annice nodded. "But it never hurt before."

Pjerin felt a sudden line of sweat bead down the center of his back. "You're not… I mean… you couldn't be…"

"I'm not due until Second Quarter Festival and that's…" She stopped and looked up at him, eyes wide. "That's soon, Pjerin. I didn't realize it was so soon. What are we going to do?"

He dropped to one knee beside her, ignoring the wet that began to immediately soak through his breeches. "The moon was almost full last night; remember how it looked before the clouds came down?" When she nodded, he continued, his voice low and soothing although under the calm facade his heart slammed against his ribs. "That means we're got a little better than fourteen days to Second Quarter Festival. All we've got to do is get to the keep. There's a midwife in the village. A good one. She'll see that everything goes all right."

Annice reached out and brushed a strand of damp hair back off his face. "But they think you're a traitor at the keep. You condemned yourself in front of them under Command."

"So if you've got time, you'll put me back under Command and we'll tell them what really happened. And if you don't," he captured her hand with both of his, slipping his wounded arm out of the sling, "they'll lock me in a room for a few days until you're well enough to straighten things out. But, Annice, whatever they think of me, won't affect how they treat either you or my child."

"My child," she corrected automatically. Then, realizing that was the response he'd expected, smiled. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly on the forehead. "Thank you."

"Just don't have that baby while I'm the only one around to deal with it." Although he spoke lightly, he'd never meant anything more.

"I'll do my best." The last word came out like a small explosion and they both stared at the billowing folds of shift and overdress.

"Was that a foot?" Pjerin asked, awed.

Less awed by what had become a frequent occurrence whenever she stopped walking, Annice nodded. "Both feet." The tiny body rolled and kicked and, teeth clenched, she pushed herself up on Pjerin's good shoulder. "On second thought, I'm ready to have it now."

Pjerin stood as well, tucking his arm back into the triangle of cloth that theoretically held it immobile. "It can't be far to the keep."

Annice snorted and pulled Milena forward. "It had better not be."

Late that afternoon when they were watering the animals, Pjerin peered upstream. "I know where we are," he announced triumphantly. "That ravine widens out the farther you go into it and there're caves cut into the sides. When I was thirteen, my father led a hunting party down it to kill a bear."

Leaning on the mule's warm flank, Annice looked disgusted. "Why didn't he just leave it alone?"

"It had already been wounded," Pjerin explained, "probably in a fight with another male, and it was hanging around the valley attacking the livestock. People started to worry about losing children, so Father went after it." Bending, he slurped water up off his cupped palm. "If I can find the cave, we'll sleep warm and dry tonight."

"If it isn't already occupied."

He grinned at her, spirits lifted by familiarity. "Bards think too highly of themselves to share?"

"Bards think too highly of themselves to be eaten," she told him.

They'd just reached the edge of the ravine where raw dirt walls, too steep for any but the most tenacious plants, marked the depth the water had risen in the past when, all at once, Annice stopped.

"Pjerin!"

He turned so quickly he stumbled and nearly fell. "Is it happening again?"

"What? No, it's the kigh!" She stared at the ground. "I've never seen them so… Here!" She thrust the lead rope into his hands, carefully lowered herself into a squat, and Sang a question.

Pjerin backed up one incredulous step. As Annice Sang, the earth in front of her heaved and rolled. He stared, amazed, and could almost make out the individual shapes of the agitated kigh. Amazement grew as the earth continued to move even after Annice stopped Singing. Then he caught sight of her expression and amazement turned to fear.

"You've got to follow them, Pjerin. Hurry!"

He opened his mouth to ask her why, but her next words snapped it closed.

"Gerek's been hurt. They think he's dying."

The disturbance in the earth moved up the ravine as though a giant mole were digging just below the surface at full speed. Through the roaring in his ears Pjerin heard Annice say she'd catch up as fast as she could, then he was running in pursuit of the kigh.

They remained exactly the same distance in front of him as they had when he began. Pjerin's lungs began to burn as he raced toward his son. His wounded shoulder ached as loose dirt and stone forced him to flail about with both arms lest he lose his balance. He'd been running forever, he was certain of it, when he saw the tiny body lying half covered in muddy water.

"Gerek!"

Diving to his knees, Pjerin caught up the still, pale body of his child. A part of him knew that the boy could have internal damage and that moving him was the worst thing he could do, but all the other parts only wanted to hold him.

Scratches and welts covered every inch of exposed skin and slack lips had already taken on a hint of blue. His son draped across his lap, Pjerin lowered his head until his left ear rested on what seemed a minimal curve of chest. He couldn't remember Gerek being so small. The tears began when, faint but unmistakable, he heard a heartbeat.

Hands trembling, Pjerin pulled off sodden clothes and searched for broken bones; arms and legs were bruised but solid. A blue and purple lump covered half his forehead from his hairline to just over his right eye.

"So cold…" Stripping off his shirt, ignoring the tearing pain as he stretched tissue that had barely begun to heal, Pjerin pressed the child's limp body against his torso, skin to skin. Body heat was all he had to give. "Papa's here," he murmured, "everything's going to be all right." Holding Gerek in place with one arm, he began frantically massaging chilled flesh with the other.

Annice arrived a few moments later, gasping for breath, her knuckles white around the pack strap she'd been clutching so that the trotting mule could support some of her weight. She stared down at Pjerin still rubbing Gerek's unresponsive body and got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd seen dead children before and although the kigh said Gerek still lived, she knew that he'd be taking his place in the Circle soon. If they could get him to a healer… but the nearest was in Marienka, and he wouldn't live five hours let alone five days.

She watched Pjerin's back as he tried to rub warmth and life back into his son and couldn't think of a thing to say. Finally, she knelt across from him, reached out, and gently touched him on the shoulder.

Pjerin jerked his head up and stared at her for a moment with no idea of who she was. His whole world had become the child in his arms. Then he remembered. His hand wrapped around her wrist and he dragged her closer. "Sing!" he commanded. "Sing and make him better."

He was hurting her, but she made no move to pull away. "I'm not a healer, Pjerin. I can't."

"You can!" he insisted, eyes burning into hers. "The healer who came to me in Elbasan told me that some believe the body has a kigh and that's what they heal. You Sing all four quarters, Annice. Sing five!"

"That's not how it works," she began, but he cut her off, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"It has to work! I'm begging you, Annice." He searched for a way to make her realize how important this was. "Gerek's dying. I'll give up all rights to the child you carry if you can just save him. Please. You have to try."

"But…"

"Annice, please."

Her own cheeks wet, Annice swallowed and opened her mouth to Sing him comfort, something that would help to take the edges off his pain, when she felt a gentle touch on her knee.

The kigh nodded when she glanced down at it. And when she glanced past it, a whole circle of kigh nodded.

Annice drew in a long shuddering breath and pulled her hand from Pjerin's grip. It wouldn't hurt anything to try. She touched Gerek lightly with her fingertips, and Sang.

She had to Sing earth, it was all she really could Sing now, but she tried to put into it all that she'd felt that morning in the valley when everything had been new and anything was possible. Because love crossed all four quarters, she Sang Pjerin's love for his son and her love for the baby beneath her heart.

The kigh moved closer.

Gerek's heartbeat became slower, fainter.

So she Sang Gerek. Everything she knew about him. Everything she'd seen, everything she'd guessed, everything Pjerin had told her.

It wasn't going to be enough.

She knew it.

She heard Pjerin moan. He knew it, too.

The kigh began to Sing with her; a familiar rumble of sound, felt rather than heard.

Familiar…

Eyes closed, Annice began the first anthem Sung to earth at Final Quarter Festival. The kigh took it up. When she finished, she began water. Behind her, the music of the stream slowed. Impossibly, she heard a liquid ripple of Song. Fire. Orange tongues of flame danced over the grass on the bank. Air. It was more a plea than an anthem. Her voice took the music and begged with it. Just as she thought it doomed to fail, her hair lifted off the back of her neck and cold fingers traced patterns on her skin.

Tears streaming down her face, Annice ran up the last notes of air and right into the joyous welcome of the sun throwing herself into the Song. Light returns. Life continues.

And another voice Sang with her. A silent voice. A gentle voice. A strong voice.

It Sang healing.

Gerek's heart beat faster. Stronger. His skin began to warm.

One by one, the kigh fell silent.

The silent voice and Annice continued on a moment longer together.

Then only Annice Sang.

Cradled in his father's arms, Gerek coughed and started to cry.

Annice felt the kigh catch her as she fell.