Author's note: this story begins soon after Ebañy's aunt Morwen's grisly death during a botched dweomer working with Loddlaen. That story is recounted in The Spirit Stone.
A Chattering Fool
The Westlands, Deverry and Bardek, 984-1031
Chapter 1
Devaberiel hurried over to greet Tanadario as she strode into camp, bundles of gear slung over her broad shoulders. A child of about four toddled after him, whose round, smoke-grey eyes were wide and solemn beneath pale hair the exact same shade as Devaberiel's.
'Thank the gods you're here, Tana!' Devaberiel said, taking one of the bags and leading her in. 'Here, you can pitch your tent next to mine – I've saved a place.'
When they reached the bard's ruby coloured tent, he bent to pick up the child, who had been following him like a shadow. 'This is Ebañy, my younger son.'
Depositing her gear on the ground, Tanadario smiled and held out her arms. 'Oh, what a pretty child!' Ebañy hid his face in his father's shoulder.
Devaberiel sighed. 'He's like this with everyone. Never smiles. Never speaks. Not a word to anyone since, well, all that nasty business in the summer. And he was picking up our language so well before that.'
'Ah! The poor little lamb. Well at least he turns to you for comfort.'
'I suppose. But all he does is follow me about and stare like a half-wit.'
'You mustn't say things like that, Dev! The child is grieving. He'll come around in his own good time.' She smiled at Ebañy, who peered up at her through long, pale lashes before turning his face away once more. 'Be patient, my old friend.'
Devaberiel grunted and shifted the child's weight to his other hip. 'Naught much else I can do, anyway. Come on. Let's get that tent up.'
In the coming weeks, Tanadario set about winning Ebañy over, occasionally offering him a choice morsel of food, speaking to him quietly, or simply sitting in silence near him for long periods as she sharpened her tools, whittled a spear haft, or now and then carved a small animal or other toy for him out of the leftover wood.
One wet autumn evening, as she and Devaberiel were finishing up their meal in Dev's tent, Ebañy positioned himself in between the two adults, much closer to Tanadario than he usually sat. As the sun sank and night fell, he inched sideways, so gradually she didn't notice at first, but when she did, she grinned at Dev in delight. He only grunted and resumed fussing with his harp. Eventually, Ebañy had shuffled so far that he was sitting right beside her, legs crossed beneath him, gazing into the fire. Hardly daring to breathe for fear he would startle like a wild fawn and dart back to his father, she kept both hands firmly on her knees. With a little sigh, he leaned his head back against her thigh, closed his eyes, and soon fell asleep. After a while, she gently smoothed his hair back, as pale and fine as strands of gossamer, until his father eventually picked him up and tucked him into his blankets. He didn't wake.
After that, little Ebañy followed Tanadario around the camp almost as much as he did his father.
It was obvious, however, that the bard was losing patience with his son's continued muteness. One afternoon as she was returning from a successful hunt, Tanadario heard his sonorous voice rising in irritation. Taking a firm grip on her bow and quiver, she sprinted across the camp.
'Just say, "Da!"' he yelled, gesturing emphatically. 'Just one word!' Ebañy shrank back against the wall of the tent, his eyes round as teacups and fixed on his father's face. When he saw Tanadario coming through the tent flap, Ebañy scrambled to his feet and ducked behind her, almost getting tangled in her bow as he peered at Devaberiel between her knees.
Suppressing the urge to strangle the man, she said with practised calm, 'Dev, can't you see you've frightened him?' She reached a hand down to Ebañy and he clutched it in both of his.
'Oh, how would I know whether he's frightened? He just stares like an idiot no matter what I do.'
Tanadario sighed. She'd had a feeling that getting Dev to accept her advice on raising a child would be a challenge, but she hadn't thought him quite this dense.
One mild evening, the three of them sat around their fire, wrapped warmly in cloaks and blankets, Ebañy in Tanadario's lap. Devaberiel started to sing, an old Deverry cradle song he used to sing when visiting his son in Drw Loc, before the lad's mother sent him off with the bard. After a few bars, he heard a small voice join in, wavering a little at first but gaining confidence, a clear, tuneful soprano. Devaberiel stared at Tanadario in delight, his eyes filling with tears. Not wanting to break the spell, he carefully didn't look at his son and kept singing, keeping his trained voice soft so as not to drown out Ebañy's piping, running through every song he thought the lad might remember. Ebañy joined in them all, the words sometimes indistinct or slurred, but unerring in the melodies.
When Devaberiel's voice finally faded into silence, Ebañy stuffed both his fists in his mouth as he yawned. Tanadario bent down to him and he stretched up his arms to be carried into the tent.
When she returned to the fire, Devaberiel said with obvious relief, 'His mind's not gone after all!'
'By the Star Gods, Dev, look who's the half-wit! Of course his mind was never gone! His aunt, the only person who ever loved or cared for him, is dead. He doesn't have words for that.'
Devaberiel frowned. 'You think I should talk to him about death?'
'No, I mean you should talk to him about feelings. He doesn't have words for how he feels. Talk to him about Morwen, so he doesn't forget her. Talk about how much she loved him. Tell him how much you love him. And I don't think I need to tell you to keep singing to him!' She quirked a sad smile. 'Grief can be all-consuming – how much more so for a child.'
Somewhat reassured, the bard resolved to pick up where he'd left off with his son, but the only piece of Tanadario's excellent advice that he took was to surround the child with music. His harp fascinated Ebañy. 'Don't touch!' He admonished, and Ebañy shrank back. But still he listened, sucking thoughtfully on a finger as he watched his father's practised hands rippling over the strings.
By the age of seven, Ebañy had completely forgotten the year and a half when he didn't speak. Though he vaguely remembered that something bad had happened, he had little conscious memory of anything at all that happened before the day shortly after he turned five when he'd started telling Tanadario all about the salamanders in the fire, in fluent Elvish. Ebañy had hardly stopped talking since.
Some of the children had mocked him as a 'half-wit roundear' and sent him running back to his father's tent, but he'd shrugged it off as best he could. Danalaurel, his oldest friend, had taken his silence in stride, always willing to throw a ball with him or play some other silent game, and accepted his newfound talkativeness with the same equanimity.
Ebañy gave a shout, straining as he stood up in his stirrups to get a better view. 'I see them!' he yelled in delight as the brightly coloured tents of the alardan came into view. The spring equinox was always his favourite festival, solemn though it was to begin with, and in the ten years since he'd come to live with his father, he'd savoured every one. This year would be extra special, because Devaberiel would be performing at the main event in front of the entire alardan – a song he'd been rehearsing for over a month. Ebañy had learned quickly to stay out of his father's way while he practised, though he sometimes hid nearby to listen. His father's curses when he forgot a verse or went out of tune detracted from the performance somewhat, but Ebañy just giggled silently and added more of his father's extensive vocabulary of bad words to his own.
He scanned the tents for Danalaurel, who had been riding with another alar, and he was already imagining racing their horses through the grasses and showing Dana a new stick game that Tanadario had made for him. But as he started off after finishing helping his father set up their tent, Devaberiel said sternly,
'Now lad, there's someone I want you to meet. You've met her before, a long time ago, but I doubt you'll remember.'
'But Da-'
'She's been waiting for us.' He waved a hand peremptorily.
Ebañy sighed and nodded. He followed his father silently to a plain hide tent on the edge of the encampment, still on the lookout for Dana. A thin woman with long, pale, tangled hair and violet, cat-slit eyes stood as they approached.
'Greetings, Dev! And this must be young Ebañy. I've not seen you since you were just a little lad. I'm Valandario.'
Ebañy frowned. 'You had… a stone.'
Valandario smiled. 'Yes, I have many gemstones. And you'll study them with me when you're a bit older.'
He smiled uncertainly. There was something about a black stone, something strange… but the memory eluded him like smoke.
'Come, sit,' she invited them, and shortly after a tall man sat down beside Val, whom she introduced as Javantar.
Ebañy's mind wandered as the adults talked, fine-tuning a prank he was bursting to pull on one of the older children, but he heard Valandario say,
'I think in two years – maybe three – he'll be ready to begin his training. Bring him to me and we'll see.'
'You're sure it should wait?' Devaberiel said. 'I've been training his voice for a year already, and he's been making fine progress.'
'Oh yes. His mind will be stronger and better able to take on the work then. He has a prodigious talent for the dweomer, Dev – we saw that when he was just a tiny lad. He'll be a great credit to our people.'
Devaberiel sighed. 'I'd always hoped to make a bard of him. He has a fine voice, and a good memory when he puts his mind to it.' He stifled a grimace as he glanced at his son. 'Although he seems to prefer pranks and jests.'
'Don't trouble yourself. He's young yet. No reason why he can't keep up with some bard training as well, either.' She smiled at Ebañy, who was shifting about on his cushion, the torment of having to sit in one place for so long finally becoming too much to bear.
'You'll make a fine wise one day!' she said. 'You'll need to study very hard, and take your da's lessons as well as mine.' She turned back to Devaberiel. 'A wise one with some of a bards' skills and lore will be an asset indeed! The People will need him.'
He smiled and nodded, because it seemed like what they all wanted. But he wondered whether he truly did want to be a wise one like Valandario, or a bard like his father, and what they would say if he told them he did not.
When he was finally able to make his escape to find Danalaurel, it seemed like the joy had drained from the day. On seeing Dana, he forcibly shoved the feeling away, putting on a sunny smile and throwing himself into explaining the game, pantomiming the actions with such theatrical fervour that Dana fell about in helpless laughter and begged him to do it again.
