Mirtul 11, 1367 DR
Year of the Shield
"Beneath those winding halls,
In the bowels of the keep,
Secrets hide within those walls:
Secrets buried deep.
For under those tombs and tomes,
Beneath those deepest deeps—
Something more secret hides;
Something secret sleeps."
"Oh, I don't know... it's just not very snappy, is it? And 'sleep', well, it almost implies a sort of negligence, don't you think?"
"Are you really asking what I think? I've written a dozen different versions for you!"
Miirym hummed to herself. "We wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea, now."
"They're not supposed to have any idea. That's why it's a secret." Sajantha set down her harp. "If you'd just allow me some notes, maybe, instead of stuffing it all into my head—"
"I quite liked that one with the wailing, what was that, again?
"I don't remember. Ask Imoen."
Imoen grinned from where she leaned against the stone wall.
"This dragon's got no tail, this dragon's got no face—
But you call her a kobold and she'll grind you into paste!
This dragon's got no face, this dragon's got no scales—
But don't you try and cross her, or oh boy she'll make you wail!"
"Yes, why don't you add something like that?"
"We tried that. And you said you were far too noble to associate with such ribald tavern songs. Or kobolds."
"Did I...?" Mirrym sighed. "I'm sure I was right." She lifted her head. "But just for me, thou speakest—yes? These songs were just for me."
"I'm not as like to leave the keep. You know it. I'm not going anywhere."
"Such a claim to make! Thou art not stuck here, not like poor Miirym, no. It is thine own fears that bind thee, nothing more."
The cold pricked through her clothes; Sajantha leaned forward, crossing her arms.
"Sing the tavern song for me, then. Without the part about the kobold. I don't care for kobolds."
"You don't care for kobolds," Sajantha muttered, plucking at her harp, "you don't care what I say. If you'd all just be quiet, I could figure out a way!" Another pluck, only no sound with it. Sajantha scowled, tried again. Nothing.
Nothing: no sound at all. The silence sat heavy, pushing her down; it crawled into her ears, stuffed them tight—
Sajantha rubbed them, shook her head. Imoen's lips were moving. "What?" Sajantha gasped, feeling only the vibration of her voice, "What did I—"
"...oium," Miirym said, the word hanging in the air like the ringing remaining in Sajantha's ears as the spell lifted.
Imoen, open-mouthed, looked like she couldn't decide whether to laugh or be horrified. Sajantha couldn't decide, either. "Did you just—did you do that to yourself? Make yourself deaf?"
Had she? Sajantha's heart pounded. She licked her lips. But how? "I didn't mean to."
"It's got a truth to it," Imoen said. "Your magic. That's what it is. You say it, make us believe it. Believe you. So it's true. You make it true." She sat back. "Never thought you could do it to your own self, though."
"A sorceress needs not recite a spell, when 'tis her voice that's magic." Miirym looked up. "When all her words are magic."
Sajantha shook her head. "It's not, though; it's not like that. My magic, it doesn't listen to me!"
"Maybe your magic's deaf, too," said Imoen.
"How can it be me, if I can't control it?"
"How can you expect to control it," Miirym asked, "if you cannot accept it?"
~*-{/=S=\}-*~
26th of Tarsahk, 1368 DR
Year of the Banner
Even early spring, the enclosed gardens trapped enough humidity to make it feel like High Braze on Midsummer. The air hung thick with moisture enough to assuage the thirst of all the green growing things, and ensure that any people passing through did so at a hurried pace, lest they be left as damp. Few monks lagged enough to offer Sajantha and her harp more than a smile.
This, then, had become the one place she could play without feeling underfoot, without worrying that she bothered anyone, disrupted anything. If the monks did not enjoy her music, well, they would not hurry any faster away. A perfect arrangement.
When Sajantha played for Miirym in the cool of the deep, her songs were only ever saturated with the gloom that grew down there; it crept in her mind, in her notes. She hoped the life around the gardens could summon a more uplifting tune.
The hanging plants around her rustled, seemed to swing in time to her music. She closed her eyes and pictured her song as a breeze, stirring the air with more than just sound. Her hair fluttered against her face, and she opened her eyes only to discover she had an audience: a surprise that lost her fingering and her voice both. The harp squeaked, a far more elegant sound than she made. The heavy air seemed to settle, thick; she licked her lips and looked up. "Oops."
Not one of the abbey's own, but his robes marked him a monk all the same. The stranger's full mouth curved into a smile. "A lovely tune," he said. "I am sorry to have shortened it."
"Oh," Sajantha said, brushing off her skirts. "Thanks. It's quite alright." Though she could not even recall what she had been playing. Unable to start it up again, she faltered for anything to fill the silence. "It takes my mind off things," she told him, because it was clear her mind was nowhere near her, and it might be best to admit it, straightaway. The air felt far warmer than it had just a moment before.
"Ah," the young man said, crossing his arms behind his back. "I could use a diversion, myself."
She tilted her head. Not so very much older than she, somewhere in his twenties, she guessed. She'd seen a similar shaven scalp bent over books in the library... "Alaundo," she blurted. "You're the fellow studying Alaundo."
He paused, drawing back a bit. "I am... flattered you found me of note."
She glanced back down at her harp. "Not so many visitors about the keep that we fail to notice them." And not so much going on about the keep, at that.
"I see." He folded his arms in front of him, now, his sleeves strained around strong arms. "You know Alaundo?"
Who here did not! "It's rather difficult to escape him. You must have heard the Chant when you arrived? There's monks marching about reading his prophecies every hour. We've practically all got them memorized."
"Perhaps I might have your assistance analyzing some of his passages, then."
"Oh, I'm afraid I'm nothing like an expert—though there's plenty who would be happy to assist you. I know Seeker Karan has some more unusual interpretations, if you're in need of a fresh look. And the sage Gorion knows quite a lot, as well. If he's the time to spare."
"Yes," he said. "I have... encountered Gorion, already."
"Then you really don't need me, after all." She gave a little shrug. "Good luck to you, though."
He shook his head a bit, took some slow steps away. "Sorry to have disturbed you."
Sajantha had just packed up her harp when she noticed Imoen. Hands on hips, her friend thinned her lips and started shaking her head. Sajantha looked around. "What?"
"Handsome guy like that pays you a compliment and that's the best you can do? That encounter was absolutely rife with possibilities and you let it slip right on by. You're hopeless!"
"Why?" Sajantha straightened. "What was I supposed to do? I said 'thank you'!"
Imoen sighed.
Sajantha hugged her harp to her chest. "You think he liked me?"
"I think if you open up your eyes and look out from a book once in awhile, you can start figuring things out for yourself. I think you won't ever know if you don't ever try."
"It's almost the end of his tenday. He'll be leaving soon, anyhow."
Imoen snorted. "What kind of child of a Harper are you, if you can't even be brave with this little thing?"
"That's different!"
"It ain't. Brave is brave. Your heart's beating fast and you're scared, but you ignore it. It gets better. Fun, even." She grinned. "You should try it."
The next day, Sajantha found the young monk had not moved very far. Alaundo's familiar books covered his table, worn and welcoming.
"Knowledge of our world is to be nurtured like a precious flower, for it is the most precious thing we have," she said.
He looked up, brow furrowed. How irritated was she when interrupted in such a state! She cursed Imoen's interference beneath her breath. Visitors traveled hundreds of miles and spent a small fortune simply for the privilege of accessing the keep—not to be interrupted by silly girls! She shouldn't have thought to involve herself.
His light eyes stared up at her, expectant. Exasperated? "Alaundo," she said, pointing at the open volume. She hoped her face was not so very red as it felt.
"Ah..." he said, "that's right." He really looked at her, then, squinting a bit. "The harpist." His fingers flexed.
"Sajantha." She mimed a curtsy. "Bard of the Binder, singer of songs—and scriber of scrolls, should you need any copies." Ulraunt's recent compromise there seemed more akin to a punishment.
"And quite a musician." He held out his hand. "Koveras."
Something shimmered as though she reached through a weave; she caught the briefest flicker across his eyes. He stared back at her, that sheen of light remained: eyes not glowing, but—
He blinked. The only thing in his eyes was confusion. He looked up, covered in flecks of gold, blinking them away, but the particles wouldn't disappear.
"I'm sorry!" she blurted, dropping his hand to raise her own to her mouth: a hand covered in the same fine, golden dust. She shook them off to no avail, tried rubbing them on her clothes as she spoke. "I'm so sorry—it happens sometimes, when I'm, um—"
tense troubled turbulent—
The heat on her face seemed to have interfered with her tongue as well. "I've been trying, but it—sometimes it gets away from me. I'm so sorry."
Koveras did not move. Was it only her anxious mind that likened his stillness to a coiled crouch, as if that majestic golden sculpture might at any moment burst to life in a shower of sparks?
She held her breath; the moment passed, and when the golden man at last stirred, he was as calm and composed as his voice: "Your magic is often this unpredictable?"
"Aye. My father says it's to do with the Weave—wild magic."
"Wild magic," he repeated. "I have read of this: unfocused. Chaotic. Power without direction..." He did not look upset any longer. "Who did you say your father was?"
"Oh. Gorion—Gorion's my father."
"Is he, now...?" The monk must not be mad, after all; she caught a distinct curve to his lips.
"Don't—please don't tell anyone about this, though." She began to brush the glitterdust from him, but lost her nerve, afraid to press her luck. She gripped her hand to her chest, instead. "If the Keeper should find out—well, we've ever been at odds over this sort of thing."
"I can't imagine why." Koveras smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. "Do not fear, Sajantha. I have business to attend to, but I will keep your secret with me."
"Will you—will you be returning, though? I mean, how goes your research?"
The corners of his mouth turned up. Amused? Was he laughing at her? He hid it in very well, if so; perhaps he was just being polite. "Better than I had thought... though there are always more loose ends to tie up. But you know what sticklers these monks are for rules." He stood, and Sajantha was drawn to her feet with him. Looking even more like a statue with the gold coating his broad shoulders, he stooped to scoop up his readings. "I will have to come back later."
"Oh," said Sajantha. "Then I suppose I will see you again..."
Koveras glanced back once more over his shoulder as he walked away. This time it was definitely a smile. "I'm already looking forward to it."
Sajantha shared a smile with her feet before noticing that her father stood nearby. She wondered if he had been watching, a thought that made her heart stutter out a bit. She brushed her hands off again on her skirts. Why should she feel so out of sorts? She hadn't done anything wrong. Not really.
Sajantha smiled at her father. He must have been looking past her, though; he didn't smile back.
Hi! I hate to leave a tag like "please R&R" but you have no idea how much it would help me if you leave a comment. I mean, not only does it give me a boost of energy/inspiration to keep writing (and considering how long this is taking me, every little bit helps), but I am actually trying to bring my writing to a professional/publish-able level, so any kind of feedback I get is priceless to me... so really, I will literally beg you if I have to. It's just as helpful to know what I'm doing wrong as what I'm doing right (well, probably more helpful, even-I keep wondering what I most need to improve on, and it's making it harder to post the next part, since I don't want to keep making the same mistakes...). So whether you liked it or not or whatever; I'd love to hear anything you have to say. Thanks, and thank you so much for reading!