Songmaster Read online

  That very day she pleaded with Esste to let her go early. To let her leave before she ever had to hear Ansset sing again. Esste looked confused, asked for explanation. Kya-Kya only insisted again that if she wasn't allowed to go, she'd kill herself.

  You can go tomorrow, then, the new Songmaster in the High Room said.

  Before the funeral?

  Why before the funeral?

  Because he'll sing then, won't he?

  Esste nodded. His song will be beautiful.

  I know, Kya-Kya said, and her eyes filled with tears at the memory. But it won't be a human being singing it. Good-bye.

  We'll miss you, Esste said softly, and the words were tender.

  Kya-Kya had been leaving, but she turned to look Esste in the eye. Oh, you sound so sweet. I can see where Ansset learned it. A machine teaching a machine.

  You misunderstand, said Esste. It is pain teaching pain. What else do you think the Control is for?

  But Kya-Kya was gone. She saw neither Esste nor Ansset again before the tram took her and her luggage and her first month's money away from the Songhouse. I'm free, she said softly when she passed the gate leading .to Tew and the farms opened before her.

  You're a liar, you're a liar, answered the rhythm of the engines.

  7

  A machine teaching a machine. The words left a sour memory that stayed with Esste through all the funeral arrangements. A machine. Well, true enough in a and completely untrue in another. The machines were the people who had no Control, whose voice spoke all their secrets and none of their intentions. But I am in control of myself, which no machine can ever be.

  But she also understood what Kya-Kya meant. Indeed, she already knew it, and it frightened her how completely Ansset had learned Control, and how young. She watched him as he sang at Nniv's funeral He was not the only singer, but he was the youngest, and the honor was tremendous, almost unprecedented. There was a stir when he stepped up to sing. But when he was through singing, no one had any doubt that the honor was deserved. Only the new ones, the Groans and a few of the Bells were crying -it would not be right at a Songmaster's funeral to try to get anyone to break Control. But the song was grief and love and longing together, the respect of all those present, not just for Nniv, who was dead, but for the Songhouse, which he had helped keep alive. Oh, Ansset, you're a master, thought Esste, but she also noticed things that most did not notice. How his face was impassive before and after he sang; how he stood rigidly, his body focused on making the exact tone. He manipulates us, Esste thought, manipulates us but not half so perfectly as he manipulates himself. She noticed how he sensed every stir, every glance in the audience and fed upon it and gave it back a hundredfold. He is a magnifying mirror, Esste thought. You are a magnifying mirror who takes the love you've been given and spew it out stronger than before, but with none of yourself attached to it. You are not whole.

  He came to where Esste sat, and sat beside her. It was his right, since she was his master. She said no words, but only sighed in a way that said to Ansset's sensitive ears, Fair, but flawed. The unexpected and undeserved criticism did not cause his expression to change. He only answered with a grunt that meant, You hardly needed to tell me. I knew it.

  Control, thought Esste. You have certainly learned Control.

  8

  Ansset did not sing again for an audience in the Songhouse. At first he did not notice it. It was simply not his turn to solo or duo or trio or quarto in Chamber. But when everyone in his chamber had performed twice or three times, and Ansset had not been asked to sing, he became puzzled, then alarmed. He did not ask because volunteering simply was not done. He waited. And waited. And his turn never seemed to come.

  It was not long after he noticed it that the others in Chamber began commenting on it, first to each other, finally to Ansset. Did you do something wrong? they asked him, one by one at mealtime or in the corridors or in the toilet. Why are you being punished?

  Ansset only answered with a shrug or a sound that said, How should I know? But when his ban from performing continued, he began to turn away the questions with coldness that taught the questioner quickly that the subject was forbidden. It was part of Control for Ansset, not to let himself become part of speculation about this mysterious ban. Nor would his Control allow him to ask. Esste could continue as long as she liked. Whatever it meant, whatever she hoped to accomplish, Ansset would bear it unquestioning.

  She came to his stall every day, of course, just as before. Being Songmaster in the High Room meant additional duties, not relief from her previous ones. Finding and training Mikal's Songbird was her life's work, chosen freely decades ago. It would not end, the burden would not be lifted, just because Nniv died and that damned fool Kya-Kya had had the temerity to afflict her with his office. She said as much to Ansset, hoping to reassure him that he would not be losing her. But he took the news without any sign that he cared either way, and went on with the day's lessons as if nothing were wrong.

  And why should he do anything else? Until Kya-Kya had said her say just before leaving, Esste had not worried particularly. If Ansset was superb at Control, he was superb at everything else, too, and so it was not to be remarked upon. But now Esste noticed the Control as if each example of Ansset's apparent unconcern were a blow to her.

  As for Ansset, he had no idea what was going on inside Esste's mind. For Esste's Control was also superb, and she showed nothing of her worry or reasoning to Ansset. That was as it should be, Ansset assumed. I am a lake, he thought, and all my walls are high. I have no low place. I grow deeper every day.

  It did not occur to him that he might drown.

  9

  A lesson.

  Esste took Ansset to a bare room with no windows. Just stone, a dozen meters square, and a thick door that admitted no sound. They sat on the stone floor, and because all the floors were stone, they found the floor comfortable, or at least familiar, and Ansset was able to relax.

  Sing, said Esste, and Ansset sang. As always, his body was rigid and his face showed no emotion; as always, the song was intensely emotional. This time he sang of darkness and closed-in spaces, and he sounded mournful. Esste was often surprised by the depth of Ansset's understanding of things he surely, at his age, could not know firsthand.

  The song resonated and echoed back from the walls.

  It rings, Esste said.

  Mmmm, Ansset answered.

  Sing so it doesn't ring.

  Ansset sang again, this time a wordless and essentially meaningless song that danced easily through his lowest notes (which were not very low) and came out more as air than as tone. The song did not echo.

  Sing, Esste said, so that it is as loud to me, here by the wall, as it is right next to you, but so that none of it echoes.

  I can't, Ansset said.

  You can.

  Can you?

  Esste sang, and the song filled the room, but there was no echo.

  And so Ansset sang. For an hour, for another hour, trying to find the exact voice for that room. Finally, at the end of the second hour, he did it.

  Do it again.

  He did it again. And then asked, Why?

  You do not sing only into silence. You also sing into space. You must sing exactly for the space you have been given. You must fill it so that no one can fail to hear you, and yet keep your tone so clear and free of echo that all they can hear is exactly what your body produces,

  I have to do this every time?

  In a while, Ansset, it becomes reflex.

  They sat in silence for a moment. And then, softly, Ansset asked, I would like to try to fill the Chamber this way.

  Esste knew what he was asking, and refused to answer his real question. I believe the Chamber's empty right now. We could go there.

  Ansset struggled with himself for a moment-Esste assumed, anyway, for though he was silent for a time, his face showed nothing. Mother Esste, he finally said, I don't know why I've been banned.

  Have you been?
/>
  Mildly: You know I have.

  It was a minor victory. She had actually forced him to ask. Yet the victory was an empty one. He had not lost Control; he simply had found it unproductive to remain silent about it. Esste leaned back on the stone wall, not realizing that she herself was bending to his rigidity by relaxing her own.

  Ansset, what is your song?

  He looked at her blankly. Waited. Apparently he did not understand.

  Ansset, you keep singing our songs back to us. You keep taking what people feel and intensifying it and shattering us with it, but child, what song is yours?

  All.

  None. So far I have never heard you sing a song that I knew was only Ansset.

  He did not lose Control. Surely he should be angry. But he only looked at her with empty eyes and said, You are mistaken. The child was six, and said you are mistaken.

  You will not sing before an audience again until you have sung for me a song that is yours.

  How will you know?

  I don't know, Ansset. But I'll know.

  He continued to regard her steadily, and she, because of her own Control, did not break her gaze. Some children had taken to Control very badly before, and usually they ended up as Deafs. Control was not easy for anyone, but essential for the songs. Yet here was a child who, like most really good singers and Songbirds, had learned Control quickly, lived with it naturally. Too naturally. The object of Control was not to remove the singer from all human contact, but to keep that contact clear and clean. Instead of a channel, Ansset was using Control as an impenetrable, insurmountable wall.

  I will get over your walls, Ansset, she promised him silently. You will sing a song of yourself to me.

  But his blank, meaningless face said only, You will fail.

  10

  Riktors Ashen was angry when he got to the High Room. Listen, lady, do you know what this is?

  No, Esste answered, and her voice was calculated to soothe him.

  It's a warrant of entry. From the emperor. And you've entered. Why are you upset?

  I've entered after four days! I'm the emperor's personal envoy, on a very important errand--

  Riktors Ashen, Esste interrupted (but quietly, calmly), you are on an important errand, but this is not it. This is just a stop along the way--

  Damn right, Riktors said, and this petty errand has put me four days behind schedule.

  Perhaps, Riktors Ashen, you ought to have asked to see me.

  I don't have to ask. I have the emperor's warrant of entry.

  Even the emperor asks before he enters here.

  I doubt that.

  It's history, my friend. I myself brought him to this room.

  Riktors was less agitated now. Was, in fact, embarrassed at his outburst. Not that he hadn't the right-this was a man, Esste knew, who could use rage to good effect. He hadn't risen to high rank in the fleet without reason. He was embarrassed because the rage had been real, and over a matter of pride. This was a young man who was learning. Esste liked him. Even though he was also a young man who would kill anyone to get what he wanted. Death waited in his calm hands, behind his boyish face.

  History is shit, Riktors said mildly. I'm here to find out about Mikal's Songbird.

  The emperor has no Songbird.

  That, said Riktors, not without amusement, is precisely the problem. Do you realize how many years have passed since you promised him a Songbird? Mikal is a hundred eighteen years old this year. Naturally it's polite to suppose the emperor will live forever, but Mikal himself told me to tell you that he is aware of his mortality, and he hopes he will not die without having heard his Songbird sing.

  You understand that Songbirds are matched very, carefully to their hosts. Usually we have the Songbird and work to place him or her properly. This was an unusual case, and until now we haven't had the right Songbird.

  Until now?

  I believe we have the Songbird who will be Mikal's.

  I will see him now.

  Esste chose to smile. Riktors Ashen smiled back. With your permission, of course, he added.

  The child is only six years old, Esste answered. His training is far from complete.

  I want to see him, to know that he exists.

  I'll take you to him.

  They wound their way down the stairs, through passages and corridors. There are so many corridors, Riktors said, that I don't see how you have any space left for rooms. Esste said nothing until they reached the corridors of Stalls, where she paused for a moment and sang a long high note. Doors closed in the distance. Then she led the emperor's personal envoy to Ansset's door, and sang a few wordless notes outside.

  The door opened, and Riktors Ashen gasped. Ansset was thin, but his light complexion and blond hair were given a feeling of translucence by the sun coming in his window. And the boy's features were beautiful, not just regular; the kind of face that melted men's hearts as readily as women's. More readily.

  Was he chosen for his voice, or his face? Riktors Ashen asked.,

  When a child is three, answered Esste, his future face is still a mystery. His voice unfolds more easily. Ansset, I have brought this man to hear you sing.

  Ansset looked blankly at Esste, as if he did not understand but refused to ask for explanation. Esste knew immediately what Ansset planned. Riktors did not. She means for you to sing for me, he said helpfully.

  The child needs no repetition. He heard my request, and chooses not to sing.

  Ansset's face showed nothing.

  Is he deaf? asked Riktors.

  We will go now, answered Esste. They went. But Riktors lingered until the last possible moment, looking at Ansset's face.

  Beautiful, Riktors said, again and again, as they walked through more passageways toward the gatehouse.

  He is to be the emperor's Songbird, Riktors Ashen, not the emperor's catamite.

  Mikal has a large number of offspring. His tastes are not so eclectic as to include little boys. Why wouldn't the boy sing?

  Because he chose not to.

  Is he always so stubborn?

  Often.

  Hypnotherapy would take care of that. A good practitioner could lay a mental block that would forbid resistance--

  Esste sang a melody that stopped Riktors cold. He looked at her, not understanding why suddenly he was afraid of this woman.

  Riktors Ashen, I do not tell you how to move your fleets of starships between planets.

  Of course. Just a suggestion--

  You live in a world where all you expect of people is compliance, and so your hypnotherapists and your mental blocks accomplish all your ends. But here in the Song-house, we create beauty. You cannot force a child to find his voice.

  Riktors Ashen had regained his composure. You're good at that. I have to work a little harder to force people to listen to me.

  Esste opened the door to the gatehouse.

  Songmaster Esste, Riktors said, I will tell the emperor that I have seen his Songbird, and that the child is beautiful. But when can I tell him the child will be sent?

  The child will be sent when I am ready, Esste replied.

  Perhaps it would be better if the child were sent when he was ready.

  When I am ready, Esste said again, and her voice was all pleasure and grace.

  The emperor will have his Songbird before he dies.

  Esste hissed softly, which forced Riktors to come closer, to bring his face near enough that only he could hear what Esste said next:

  There is much for both of us to do before Mikal Imperator dies, isn't there?

  Riktors Ashen left quickly then, to finish his business for the emperor.

  11

  Brew takes your mind,

  Bay takes your life,

  Bog takes your money,

  Wood takes your wife.

  Stivess is cold,

  Water is hot,

  Overlook wants you,

  Norumm does not.

  What song is that? asked Ansset.

/>   Consider it a directory. It used to be taught to the children of Step, to make fun of the other great cities of Tew. Step is no longer a great city. But the ones they made fun of still are.

  Where will we go?

  You are eight years old, Ansset, Esste answered. Do you remember any life, any people outside the Song-house?

  No.

  After this, you will.

  What does the song mean? asked Ansset. The flesket stopped then, at the changing place, where Songhouse vehicles always stopped and commercial transport took over. Esste led Ansset by the hand, ignoring his question for the moment. There was business at the ticket counter, and their luggage, slight as it was, had to be searched and itemized and fed into the computer, so that no false insurance claims could be made. Esste knew from her memories of her first venture outside the Songhouse lands that Ansset understood almost nothing of what was going on. She tried explaining a few things to him, and he seemed to pick it up well enough to get along. The money, and the idea of money, he took in stride. The clothing he found uncomfortable; he kept taking the shoes off until she insisted that they were essential. She did not look forward to his getting accustomed to the food. There would be diarrhea for days-at the Songhouse he had never acquired a taste or a tolerance for sugar.

  She was not surprised at his quiet acceptance of everything. The trip meant that he was within a year of placement, yet he showed no excitement or even interest in his ultimate destination. Over the last two years he had finally begun to show a little human emotion in his face, but Esste, who knew him better than any other, was not fooled. The emotion was placed there in order to avoid exciting comment. None of it was real It was nothing more or less than what was expected and proper at the moment. And Esste despaired. There were paths and hidden places that she herself had put in Ansset's mind, but now she could not reach him at all. She could not get him to speak of himself; she could not get him to show even the slightest inadvertent emotion; and as for the closeness they had felt on the hill overlooking the lake, he never betrayed a memory of it but at the same time never allowed her to get even a few steps into the path she could follow to put him into a light trance, where she might have accomplished or at least discovered something.