The Soul Weaver

CHAPTER 18

We stayed. The princess was livid when she heard it was to be another three months until she could go home, and she told me I was still the stupidest boy in the world who would take the word of a bowl of water for anything. She didn’t speak to me for three days, and then decided maybe it was more of a punishment to make sure I heard her complaining all the time.

I couldn’t argue with Roxanne’s premise. I certainly needed to learn more about the Source. But a number of things had to come first.

Paulo’s condition improved every day, and soon we were able to send Nithea home. I made sure she had a supply of all the medicinal plants I found in the garden and that she knew as much as I about what to do with them. Her eager questions made me wish I had listened closer to Kellea.

As the Singlars seemed inclined to listen to me, I spent the days trying to untangle the mess the Guardian had created, dealing with their disputes and petitions. I remembered how my mother had treated the tenants at Comigor with honesty and respect, and how she had spent most of her time listening rather than talking. Those principles seemed to carry me pretty well.

“You must do something! You’re forcing me to stay in this desolation, so it’s your responsibility!”

I had never expected to find the Crown Princess of Leire in the queue of petitioners that jammed the audience hall as happened one morning a week or so after my visit to the Source. The Singlars watched in awe and fascination as she rattled the walls with her yelling. She stamped her foot and pointed her finger as if it were a crossbow aimed at my chest.

“I’ve no idea how you might amuse yourself,” I said. “And I don’t care. I’ve more important things to worry about.” What did she think I was?

“You’ve no horses, no dogs, no music, no dancing, no bow hunting, no books, games, lessons, or conversation… nothing. If I lose my mind from boredom, you’ll have a larger problem than this fellow’s collapsing wall.” She jerked her head at the Singlar just behind her. “One of his neighbors has been launching boulders at him, an amusement I might take up if you don’t give me something to do.”

“Go away.” At least twenty petitioners stood in the queue, and each one was going to use up two hours or more explaining who he was or where she was from, the history of every day since becoming “real,” and the particular circumstances of today’s need or grievance. Some of these people would still be here three days from this one, and twenty new ones would join the queue in between. “It’s hard enough to sort out these people’s actual problems.”

“Well then, I’ll help you. I’m no stranger to assizes. At least I won’t rot from disuse.”

“No.” Leiran laws and customs were not my idea of reasonable. “Go away. Ob, please see the lady out…”

“Lady.” But Roxanne shook off the leathery man’s hand and swept out of the room, her back rigid as a pillory.

On the next morning, as I labored through the first case of the day, trying to understand something about tappa skins from a Singlar who could not get out three words without an interminable pause in between, Vroon hurried across the room to my side. I was relieved to see only three more petitioners waiting, though the ever-present crush of babbling spectators milled about the hall. Vroon bowed to the waiting Singlar with a quick jerk. “Majesty, may I intrude on your speaking with this good Singlar?”

“Of course, Vroon. What is it?”

As always he swelled with pride when I spoke his name in public hearing, but his brow was drawn down in such a scowl, it almost hid his good eye. “It is the ever-talking woman, Majesty. She is making speeches with the Singlars, and I fear she is trying to make plots with them or to prevent their seeking help from you who can make them bounded.”

I jumped out of my chair and hurried down the long room, ready to throttle the woman if she was trying to undermine my authority. She was seated at a small desk, talking earnestly with a knobby-faced young woman and scratching notes on a sheet of paper. When I walked up and looked over her shoulder, she twisted her head and looked up, blinking innocently.

“Ah, Your Majesty,” she said. “This young woman wishes to take service in the Blue Tower. She’s come from a great distance to beg a ration of tappa, but isn’t sure she can find her way back to her fastness - a meager tower from the sound of it, and isolated, but I’ll not burden you with the details of her poverty or her terrifying journey. She was delighted at the idea of remaining here and exchanging her work for her sustenance. I have noted her place of residence and her description on my sheet - which, of course, I was planning to leave with you when today’s petitions are resolved - and told her that after a twentylight of good service, the king would consider granting her a name. Does that seem in order?” My mouth was open to order Roxanne to stop interfering, but the young Singlar woman bowed her head and clasped her hands together. “No name is needed,” she said very softly. “Only to eat. To help. To be bounded is a hopeful blessing of great joy, but hunger is deeper. Told was I, that the king valued good service.”

“Of course you can stay. And a twentylight… that’s reasonable. But you, Lady - ”

“And earlier, a gentleman Singlar gave me a very long description of a device he has fashioned from sticks and vines. It sounds very like a sledge, which could, of course, be useful if you think to make anything of this somewhat… primitive… settlement you call Tower City. He was one of your Witnesses, who now feels the wholeness of being Avero. I have recorded his name and the precise location of his tower, so that you may go there and see his invention on your next progress through the city - assuming, of course, that, as the wisest of monarchs do, you intend to take up the practice of periodic journeys throughout your kingdom - and so, instead of standing in this queue, Avero has returned to his fastness and is excitedly building four more sledges to have them ready when you come to inspect them.”

“All right, but - ”

“Have I done ill, Your Majesty? Shall I send for the good Avero to stand in your queue? His story of how he has grown his fastness from a mound of mud into a tower half as tall as this one is truly astounding… and interminable. And then there is the three-handed woman…” Roxanne had not smiled even once.

“All right,” I said, still considering whether or not I should lock her in her room. I didn’t trust her. Didn’t fancy her running amok with her ideas. “But I want to hear about every one, and if there’s the least - ”

“I will dispose of only the most obvious requests. In all others, especially disputes of the kind which form the foundation of law, I will discover the facts of the case and note them on a paper which the petitioners will bring to you. Two of the men waiting for you over there have already talked to me, and carry my summaries in their hands… or feet, in the case of the one with no hands. And granting names is clearly your prerogative. If only Leiran nobles were born without names…”

My daily audience ran smoothly from that day forward. Vroon disapproved of the princess, ever suspicious that she was subverting my authority. He watched her so closely, I didn’t have to worry about the matter at all.

Though it was hardly necessary, I formally and publicly repealed the Guardian’s rules that restricted the Singlars to the towers. I had no idea how to get the people to work with each other or make something out of their cities. I had to hope they would figure that out for themselves without killing each other. The Singlars seemed to learn everything very quickly, even the rotten things.

On the tenth change of the light after my visit to the Source, the morning was less grim than usual. Morning was a term only Paulo, Roxanne, and I attached to the first hours after the lamps came up. Before this particular one I’d never seen such a large portion of the sky clear enough to show so many millions of the green stars, enough of them that you could navigate the Bounded without lamps or torches. The wind was moderate and mostly warm. Occasional cool, moist pockets hung in the lee of the taller towers. The storms and lightnings stayed over the Edge, far beyond the horizon.

Paulo and I decided to take an early walk through the city. Roxanne saw us leaving and attached herself to the excursion, saying she wanted to see the new marketplace. Vroon and Zanore had told the Singlars what they’d seen in our world, and gradually the lanes of the Tower City were being transformed into a hive of flickering torchlight and unceasing activity. I wanted to see how things were progressing, too, but I also had a few things I wanted to talk about with Paulo. When you walked with Roxanne, you talked about what she wanted.

On this occasion, however, Paulo didn’t give her a chance to start. He was excited about some large four-legged beasts Zanore had told him were roaming the lands beyond the Gray Fastness. The Singlar had said the beasts were very like the horses he had obtained for us back in Valleor. “I was thinking I might have to look into that,” Paulo said.

As we walked, he held his hands out in front of him, flexing his fingers as Nithea had commanded him. They looked dreadful, discolored and scarred where they stuck out of the bandages that remained about his palms, but he could move them fairly well and was gradually regaining his strength and dexterity.

“I miss Jasyr, myself,” I said. “Do you think he and Molly are waiting for us back - Stars of night!” I stopped and pressed a hand to my forehead. If four of my Witnesses hadn’t been posted in front, behind, and to the sides of us as bodyguards, I might have thought someone had stuck a rapier right between my ears.

“What is it?” By the time Roxanne asked the question, the sensation was gone.

“Nothing,” I said, blinking my watering eyes and kneading my scalp a little, thinking I must have had too much wine the previous night.

Pink and orange lightning flashed from beyond the Edge. We walked on. Roxanne said something about riding. The piercing pain shot through my skull again… this time accompanied by screams and shouts from every side.

“Ware!”

“Firestorm!”

With a skull-shattering blast, a forked tongue of brilliant white streaked across the green-starred dome above us. Wails of terror rose from the city.

“Face out!” Paulo shouted to my bodyguards, shoving them with his bandaged hands.

The four Witnesses drew close around me, one facing each compass point. Paulo had come up with the idea, thinking they could watch for the rifts heading toward me and get me out of the path. He had forced them to practice it over and over, even when they insisted no storms would dare come again, because the king was come to the Bounded.

“What in the name of Annadis - ?” Roxanne’s yell was cut off when Paulo shoved her back flat against mine. The princess had never experienced a firestorm. The one we’d survived on our first day in the Bounded had not reached so far as the Blue Tower.

“Alas, the death fire… save us… ” A wailing Singlar, trailing a length of tappa cloth behind him, raced down the lane just ahead of a jagged rent in the earth.

Paulo reached for his hand, but his fingers slipped out of Paulo’s grasp, and the Singlar fell screaming into the fire. Feeling weak and useless, I struggled to keep breathing, clutching the sides of my head to keep it from cracking in two. Hands dragged me sideways. A burst of white flame blackened my shirt, scorched my cheek, and incinerated one of my bodyguards.

“We’ll watch out,” yelled Paulo in my ear. “Do as you need!”

This storm was far worse than the first one. I could scarcely hear him for the thunder and the pain in my head. Another rift split the sky. Fighting not to cry out, I sank to my knees. Gathering what strength I had left, I closed my eyes and plunged myself into darkness.

The canvas of my mind was scarred with searing ribbons of fire, one and then another, coming so fast I almost couldn’t keep up. As I had done before, I attempted to seal each rift as it appeared, to absorb the heat, the pain, and the terror that rode the lightning like an enemy warrior on a white charger.

Control the fire. Build your fastness strong. Confine the flames behind these walls, leaving the world dark… silent… safe…

I built the walls thick, muffling the shouts of warning, the clamor of fear and destruction. I no longer felt the hands pulling me to safety, only the soul-searing flames.

Hold, I told myself. You must hold. One slip, one weakness, will breach this armor you forge, these walls you build, this fastness that is safety. Keep it dark outside. In here, let the fire burn…

An odd sound called me out of the silent dark. The low-pitched trill might have been the buzz of a hummingbird’s wings until it skittered up the scale into a cheerful melody you might hear at a jongler fair. The piper dragged my limp senses along with him until his music was abruptly halted by a harsh whisper. “Quiet till he wakes. Your noise disturbs the king.”

“If he sleeps, then my playin‘ don’t disturb him. If he wakes, then he can decide for hisself if it bothers. My whistle must play the last of the storm away. It’s been too long silent.”

“We’ll stuff the stick down your gullet!”

“It’s all right,” I said, opening my eyes to a string of dusty, whitish lumps dangling just above my nose. Tappa roots. Three pale and anxious faces, bearing a striking resemblance to the lumpy roots, hovered close in the smoke haze that hung below the low ceiling.

“Majesty!”

The dangling foodstuffs had to be nudged out of the way, along with my relieved bodyguards, before I could prop myself up on my elbows. The place looked bleaker than the worst tenant shacks at Comigor. Dirt floor, low ceiling. My prickly bed felt like twigs with a thin blanket thrown over them. Beyond a tiny fire flickering in a freshly dug fire pit, a scrawny, light-haired youth was curled up against the wall of dried mud, playing a reed shepherd’s pipe.

“How is it with you, sire?” Nithea knelt on the floor beside me, her cool hands on my forehead and cheek. “I’m all right,” I said, taking her hands and moving them aside so I could sit up all the way. “What am I doing here? The storm… How bad was it?” Paulo stood just behind Nithea.

He stepped around her and squatted down beside me. “Seven towers destroyed in the city,” he said, speaking low. “Twenty-some damaged. Three Singlars lost, including Gant.” Gant was my fourth bodyguard, the one I’d seen catch fire. “It was just as before. All the lightning headed straight for you. After a bit everything went dark, and then it was over. You wouldn’t wake up, though, so we brought you to the closest shelter.”

“The princess?”

Paulo jerked his head to a shadowy spot beyond the makeshift fire pit.

Roxanne sat on the dirt by the wall, huddled under a long cloak, staring at her knees. She must have felt us looking at her, for she glanced up and met my gaze. Her face was smudged with soot, and her eyes were bleak. Pressing her hand to her mouth, she slowly rose to her feet. After a moment, she inhaled deeply, lowered her hand, and straightened her spine. “I’m going back to the Blue Tower now,” she said. “I’ll be in my bed.”

She stepped to the silvery trace on the wall and vanished.

Paulo gazed after her. “Her mouth was open to scream the whole time, but she couldn’t make a noise Pulled you to safety once, though. And grabbed Kalo before he could fall into a rift. He did the same for her When it was over, she followed us in here. Sat here all day staring like that.”

All day… “How long have I been out?”

“It’s almost time for the lights to go down. Are you sure you’re all right now?”

“I’m fine,” I repeated. Especially for having been insensible most of a day. “Is this your fastness?” I asked the piper.

“Tis.”

“If I could have a drink of something… ”

My three bodyguards almost fell over themselves rummaging about the place as I got to my feet. The piper directed them to a crude clay bowl, and I was soon drinking a cup of weak tappa ale.

“You’re Tom from Lach Vristal,” I said. The arm he’d used to point out the water bowl had no hand on it.

“Aye. I am that.” He grinned broadly. “And you’re the new king.”

“I followed you here from your father’s lay.”

The hand holding the reed pipe fell into his lap. “Did you now? How fare they at the lay - Pap and Hugh and Dora? I’ve a sorrow not to see them.”

“They seem well enough. But your father grieves. He thinks you were stolen away by thieves.”

“He didn’t understand how I had to come here.”

“I suppose you’d like to go back now.”

The youth had probably not been out of this hovel in weeks. The place smelled like it.

“Why would I want to go back?” said Tom.

“For your family. For the hills. For the sheep. I don’t know. What have you here? Wouldn’t you go back just to see the sun or eat a slab of bacon?”

Vroon had told me that most of the newcomers had a difficult time learning how to grow their fastnesses, or even how to get in or out of them, much less where and how to harvest the tappa roots. He and his companions felt bad about it, but didn’t know how to remedy the problem. The idea of teaching the poor souls had never occurred to them. At least Tom had learned about tappa.

The fellow smiled, then. “Listen.” Returning the pipe to his lips and propping it up with his handless wrist, he danced his five fingers over the holes.

I was not a judge of music. Though my mother valued it, and I was told she played the flute reasonably well, four years of listening to her had not made up for twelve years’ lack. But Tom’s playing was something else again. The song rambled slowly and mournfully for a while, up and down the scales as if looking for just the right note. There it was, and the next, not the one you might expect, but a different note that took you around an unsuspected corner, and before I knew it, I was somewhere else altogether…

They’re so green… the fair hills of my land. The lake so clear, imaging the bowl of the sky. Or is it the sky what is the deeps of the lake? The sun is blessed hot. Its firm hand feels so fine beating down on my shoulders, and the heather smell floats on the soft air, boiled up from the ground by the sun, Dora says. The sheep are safe, but I’ve got to get back. Pap’ll beat me for leaving the sheepcrook behind. He’s a firmer hand than even the sun. But I’m free with my pipes, and running. Up and across the hills just like the music… faster and faster, then down, down into the cool valley. Pap says the sheep smell tells of the year’s good fortune…

“You see?”

The music had stopped, taking the vision with it. I had. never felt so light, so… joyful. Now, my bodyguard’s bulk close to my elbow seemed to be the only thing that kept me from toppling over.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Paulo. Whispering.

I shook the fragments of the image from my head. “I’m fine.” I almost shivered as I wriggled the fingers of my left hand, reassuring myself that fingers and hand were all there. From the puzzled looks, I gathered that no one else had seen what I’d seen.

Tom smiled at me crookedly. “How could I leave? I never made such music in the hills, and it brings the hills to my heart so’s I don’t sorrow for ‘em too fierce. And these good folk here” - he waved his stump at Vroon and Zanore and the other Singlars - “they don’t make jest of a man if ’e’s a broken one like me. They’re all broken, too. I belong here.”

Someone had dropped a cloak about my shoulders. I hooked the clasp at my throat. “Your music is very nice. Stay as long as you like in the Bounded. Come and tell me if you decide you want to go home.” I hurried out.

From the outside, Tom’s tower was a squat, ugly place, like a mud wasp’s nest attached to a grimy windowsill. I told Vroon I wanted Tom taken care of, taught how to live properly in the Bounded, and the same for all the others that he and Ob and Zanore had brought here. If they wanted to return to their homes, Vroon should take them back through the moon-door.

Then, we headed back for the Blue Tower. I needed to sleep.

As I had expected, they were waiting for me outside the Blue Tower… the Singlars… filling the commard so that I had to pass through them to get inside. They murmured reverently and bent their knees as I passed. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of it.