Songs of the Earth (21 page)

The tension in the air around him increased. On the tree trunk the flames dimmed to a bluish glow and almost disappeared. Gair concentrated harder. A fresh blaze sprang up and Godril stifled it again. Setting his feet, Gair reached for more of the Song.

This time his fire struggled to take hold. There was more smoke than heat; it drifted towards him, tickling his throat. Gair let the
music ring louder in his mind. It skirled along every nerve, tingling, singing, delicious warmth enfolding him, but still the flames were no stronger than matchlights. He opened wider, wider still, not trying to focus now, only just in control, and the heat of it was painful. He stood under a desert sun, his skin scorching. In a few moments, he would have to surrender.

With a report like a cork drawn from the Goddess’ own wine-bottle, the length of timber blew apart. Flaming fragments whirled across the yard, bouncing and smoking. Somebody swore, and the darker of the two women laughed aloud. The other frowned at the smouldering splinters and one by one extinguished them.

‘You never did know when to stop, Godril.’ For all the warrior-hardness of her frame, the desertwoman’s voice was throaty and sensual, spiced with an accent Gair could not place. It had a smoky quality that tickled at his concentration like a feather in his shirt.

‘Enough, Aysha. Now is not the time,’ Godril growled. He looked back at Gair. ‘I judge you can work fire.’

Next to speak was one of the brothers. Now that Gair was paying close attention, he saw threads of silver in the man’s hair and beard, the darkness of his eyes contrasting with his sallow skin. His name was Barin and he commanded Gair to work water, sculpting it into shapes to order, condensing it out of the air and sucking it out of the ground. Gair sweated and fought to achieve the results demanded of him, but he did it.

Barin, with a curt nod, was satisfied. ‘I judge you can work water.’

He was followed by Eavin, his brother, who spun air.

Gair was obliged to create cooling breezes, blow out fire, twist air and water together into a waterspout, breathe as the Master fought to stifle him, spin a shield around himself as he was pelted with all manner of objects, both solid and illusory. He was thankful beyond words for Alderan’s lessons aboard the
Kittiwake
.

Esther, the grandmotherly one, worked earth. For one so benign and comfortable in appearance, she had eyes as shrewd as a
moneylender’s and a streak of startling ruthlessness running through her placid strength. Deftly her plump hands shaped earthquakes and tremors, broke the rocks in front of her and melted them with fire, and Gair was alternately instructed to do the same, or stop her.

Then the four of them melded their talents, water and fire, earth and air in differing combinations, until his mind raced. Satisfying them had become more difficult. Each failure, each renewed effort brought fresh sweat to his back and chest. His temples throbbed ferociously, and only stubbornness kept him on his feet.

Finally the four Masters broke off. Gair released his hold on the Song and bent over, sucking in air to ease the tightness in his chest. When the dizziness passed and his pulse had slowed, he straightened up. Although the physical effort had been minimal, he ached in every limb and his spine was running with sweat. Soot, dirt and even blood streaked his whites.

The Masters waited, their faces impassive. The sun fell full on Gair’s back now, making his shadow so short it pooled round his feet. It must be past noon, then; over four hours gone, and there were still two Masters left to test him. He mopped his face with his sleeve. At the far end, the pink-faced man smiled slightly, fingers steepled under his chin. Eyes bright with amusement, he crooked a brow, as if to ask if Gair cared to be let in on the joke.

Gair ignored him because the woman Godril had called Aysha had stood up. Her bearing made her appear taller than she was, but her frame looked oddly proportioned, longer above the waist than below. Then he realised what was wrong. She was leaning on two canes, as if her legs were too weak to support her for long. She saw him looking and stared back fiercely, daring him to pity her, refusing his compassion. Her beautiful eyes were hard as sapphires. Spreading her arms, she dropped her canes and turned her face to the sun. Her outline shimmered like heat haze, shrank, and in her place a kestrel perched on the bench.

Can you do this, Leahn?
demanded her voice in his mind. With a shriek the kestrel broke for the sky.

Gair could not answer – he did not know how to project his thoughts into hers. But he could show her. He reached into the restless music of the Song for a Leahn fire-eagle. In the iron room, he had been a hawk in the mews, blinded by a hood, held down by jesses, but dreaming of the sky. Now he could fly again, and his cramped wings remembered.

Four or five wingbeats lifted him from the ground, then he circled upwards to where the kestrel hovered over the yard. The fire-eagle was a large bird, six or eight times the kestrel’s size, and it did not have the smaller hawk’s hovering skills, but there was a fine thermal rising off the pantile roofs of Chapterhouse that his broad wings could ride.

By the saints, it was good to stretch his wings again. He had not taken to the air since the tail-end of last winter, and he had not realised how much he missed it until he felt the wind lift him clear of the walls and the weight of the earth fell away beneath him. It was as invigorating as plunging into a cool pond on a hot summer’s day. All fatigue was washed from his limbs.

Aysha’s kestrel darted around him, scrutinising everything, from the shape of his talons to the ruddy-gold of his plumage.
This is a good shape. Let’s see how well you handle it
.

In the blink of an eye she had transformed into a female fire-eagle and swooped towards the inland hills.

Gair glanced down at the open-mouthed Masters staring up from the yard, then dived after her.

Aysha led him a merry chase above the vineyards of Penglas. Halt she might be on the ground, but in the air she was graceful as a dancer. Banking and twisting round the columns of rising air, she shrieked aloud, just for the joy of it, and Gair followed, a mirror to her every move. After ten years, this shape fit him like his own skin.

I like this shape, Leahn
, Aysha declared.
Perhaps not as swift as the
kestrel, but agile and strong. I could fly the breadth of the world on these wings
. She cocked her head.
You must learn to speak like this, so we can talk when we fly together. It will come quickly, once you know how
.

Far below them, a farmer in a straw hat walked amongst his vines. Now and then he stooped to inspect the ripening fruit, or pick off a blighted leaf. Aysha turned upwind, studying the gentle slope below. Gair climbed a little higher. The warm air that rose from the hillside held him aloft, as if he was floating in a deep bath. Maintaining position required no more from him than an occasional flick of a wing, even less effort than reaching for the soap.

Abruptly, Aysha folded her wings. She stooped like an arrow falling, straight for the farmer’s hat. Gair dived after her. She was descending too fast, far too fast; surely she would—

Fire-gold wings flared, bright in the sun, then she was stroking upwards again with something pale gripped in her talons. The farmer clapped his hands to his balding pate and gaped in astonishment.

Goggling like a goosed girl!
Aysha’s laughter bubbled into Gair’s mind. Up she soared, past him and higher still, then rolled and tumbled back down. Low over the vineyard she dropped the hat and laughed again as its owner chased after it.

Oh, that was fun! Coran calls me childish, but there’s no harm done. The farmer will get his hat back … eventually
.

Banking, she swung towards the fields of the home farm. The wind dropped to barely a breeze. Rising heat from the hillside brought Gair scents of lavender and thyme and summer-baked earth. Insects ticked and buzzed. A dog barked outside the farm gate and he smelled woodsmoke, and cooking. In its hollow, Chapterhouse sat pooled in the thick, golden light of early afternoon like a sugar-paste confection in honey.

He was reminded of Uncle Merion’s house, and long summer days. He remembered the tangle of St Winifrae’s Bells that grew around the windows of the upstairs bedrooms, nodding their white heads to the bees, leaded mullions winking in tawny
sandstone walls, and competing with the other boys to see who could slide furthest along the freshly waxed Long Gallery in their stockinged feet …

Most of his memories from Leah, at least the ones he allowed himself, were from that place. He had learned to swim and fish at Blackcraig, and how to sail a dinghy. He’d learned how to forget he was different. And now he could never go back. A sweet pang of homesickness twisted inside him, sharp as a splinter.

The practice yards opened beneath him. Upturned faces watched the eagles’ approach.

You must fly with me again, Leahn, and show me what other shapes you know
, said Aysha.
I shall teach you to be a porpoise and we shall swim to the drowned palaces of Al-Amar. Be a wolf and we will hunt the mountains by moonlight!

Abruptly she swooped underneath him and seized his talons in hers. Startled, he flared his wings to brake, but her momentum pulled him sideways and they tumbled over and over, spiralling down towards the yard. Then as swiftly as she had caught hold of him she let go. She peeled away without another glance in his direction to land on her bench and resume her proper form. It took Gair a few moments to right himself and catch his breath, then he circled back down. The shadows were cool around him, but as he regained his normal height he caught the westering sun full in the face and had to shade his eyes to make out six astonished faces staring at him.

It started as a chuckle, deep in Alderan’s belly. Then it rose, swelled and burst out in a great roar of amusement. The old man slapped his thighs and shook his head; a wide grin split his beard.

Excellent!
His voice rang in Gair’s head.
Truly, truly excellent!

Aysha’s fathomless eyes lingered on him, blue enough to drown in. Then she said formally, ‘I am Aysha. I judge you can work shapes.’

Still fighting to stifle his merriment, Alderan laid a hand on Gair’s shoulder. ‘Are we agreed?’ he asked.

The Masters glanced at one another and a shiver in the Song inside him told Gair they were conferring amongst themselves.

‘We are,’ they said together.

As one, they stood and inclined their heads in salute. The shimmering tension expanded to enfold him, holding him as fast as if the air itself had solidified around him. At the back of his mind a doorway opened onto a vast space filled with brilliant colours. In the colours he could feel presences, waiting for his acknowledgement, but he did not know what to do. Alderan squeezed his shoulder; as if taking their cue from it, seven voices spoke directly to his mind.

Welcome, Gair, to the Order of the Veil
.

One by one they made themselves known to him, so that he might recognise the patterns of their minds, then they took their leave. Aysha lingered longest, and her pattern stayed in his thoughts: ice-white, sky-blue, the grey of agates and the deep red of heart’s blood. She contrasted markedly with Alderan. The old man’s colours were surprisingly mellow – amber and jasper, brandy and port, with none of the sharp lines of Aysha’s, but a vein of silver and black ran through them like a scar.

As Alderan left his mind, the window onto infinity closed and Gair was alone inside his head once more. Then all he could feel was the stupendous heaviness of his limbs as fatigue came crashing down on him.

‘You look all-in,’ said Alderan.

Gair mopped his face with his sleeve again. He needed a bath, and badly. ‘At least I didn’t throw up this time.’

‘That’s because they didn’t push you too hard.’

‘They weren’t exactly easy on me!’

‘No, but they could have been much harsher. That’s why Coran was there, to make sure they didn’t demand more of you than you could give.’

‘Was he the red-haired one on the end, the one who didn’t say anything?’

Alderan nodded. ‘He was there as adjudicator. You’ll no doubt get to meet him at some point. He’s on the faculty.’

‘What does he teach?’

‘Wards and shields.’ They walked back down the yard and at the door to the changing rooms Alderan paused. ‘You never told me you could shape-shift.’

‘You never asked.’

‘Ha!’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘Well, I think I deserved that. You’ve certainly made an impression on them. I should imagine Aysha will want to work on your shape-shifting.’

‘She said as much.’

‘You share a rare gift. She was the only shape-shifter our Order had ever seen. Now we are blessed with two.’

‘So what happens next?’

‘You said you wanted to learn. We’ll teach you as much as we can. After that, it’s up to you.’ Alderan laid a hand on Gair’s shoulder. ‘You’d be welcome here, as one of us. We need as many
gaeden
as we can find to maintain the Veil.’

‘Can I take some time to think about it? With everything that’s happened …’ Gair paused.

‘Of course. Take as long as you need.’ With a smile, he turned to leave.