Slaves of the Mastery (26 page)

‘Be careful,’ said the Master. ‘Be very careful.’

He let him go.

‘Graff!’

The Keeper of the Master’s Household hurried forward.

‘Tell Marius everything he’s to do. Marius, you’ll play your part precisely as you’re instructed. This wedding will be a symphony! It will be one great seamless work of
art! I am the artist, my people are my medium! I make beauty out of life itself! Fiddle!’

Spalian stepped forward and gave the Master his violin. Bowman saw with relief that he had been forgotten. As Graff now led Ortiz away, and Bowman trotted meekly behind, the Master raised his
violin to his shoulder and began to play.

When they were out in the street once more, Ortiz turned eagerly to Bowman.

‘He’s astonishing, isn’t he? Such power! Such love! But perhaps he frightened you.’

‘Yes,’ said Bowman truthfully. ‘He did.’

The Master had great power, and Bowman had felt it. But even as the Master had shaken him, Bowman had sensed the limits of his strength. When the time comes, he thought to himself, it may be me
who frightens him.

Now that the wedding was only days away, there were consultations between Meeron Graff, the Keeper of the Master’s Household, and Barzan, the Grand Vizier of Gang. The
Grand Vizier then summoned the members of the court to explain how the ceremony was to proceed.

‘You must go too,’ said Kestrel to Sisi, wanting to be at the meeting for her own reasons.

‘Barzan is the most boring man in the empire,’ said Sisi. ‘You go, darling, and then tell me whatever I need to know.’

Sisi was much more interested in the final fittings for her wedding dress. She didn’t at all want to be married, but she did want to wear the dress.

So Kestrel attended the meeting, keeping herself discreetly at the back, and listened with close attention as the Grand Vizier explained the order of the main events.

There was to be a processional entrance into the High Domain, in which the Johdila would ride in an open carriage, in her wedding dress, watched by thousands. She would enter the great domed
hall on foot. Here there was to be a display of the famous manaxa. Immediately after this, the bride and groom would dance the tantaraza. They would then take the five steps towards each other and
exchange vows, and as man and wife would sit down to a huge banquet, that would last the rest of the day.

‘A huge banquet, eh?’ said the Johanna. ‘Quite right, too. What’s a wedding without a banquet?’

‘I understand there’s to be music,’ said Barzan. ‘The Master is very fond of music.’

‘Music’s all well and good,’ said the Johanna. ‘But the banquet’s the thing.’

When the meeting was over, Barzan noticed with satisfaction that Zohon was once again in conversation with the Johdila’s servant. All this talk of weddings, he trusted, had put the
Commander in a romantic mood.

Barzan was right.

‘I think of her day and night,’ Zohon was saying to Kestrel. ‘Let her only command me, and I will take her away from all this. But I must know she loves me.’

‘Only the free can love,’ said Kestrel.

This struck Zohon with great force.

‘The Johdila is not free?’

‘Neither she nor her country. Often I hear her sighing and murmuring, “Oh for the man who will make my country strong again, and set my people free!”’

‘That’s me! Who else?’

‘Perhaps the Mastery will be too powerful even for you.’

‘We shall see about that!’ Zohon smacked his silver hammer into the palm of his left hand. Then his eyes turned with sudden suspicion on Kestrel.

‘How do I know any of this is true? How do I know you’re not lying to me?’ This doubt took root rapidly in his mind. ‘The Johdila has told me nothing herself. All I know
comes from you. Who are you? What do you want? How do I know you’re not tricking me?’

Kestrel thought fast.

‘You know, because the Johdila has given you the secret sign.’

‘When? I haven’t seen it.’

He stared at her with hard suspicious eyes.

‘She’s very discreet. You must watch all the time.’

‘I’ve watched, but I’ve seen no sign. I must see this sign for myself.’

Kestrel looked round, as if to assure herself that they weren’t overheard, and then said in a whisper,

‘This evening, after supper, I’ll walk with the Johdila between the trees. Place yourself out of sight by the carriages, and watch. I’ll tell the Johdila you’re watching.
Then you’ll see.’

‘I hope so,’ said Zohon grimly. ‘For your sake.’

Kestrel had no difficulty in getting the Johdila to take a stroll with her alone. Sisi had matters of her own to talk over in private with her friend. Kestrel half-listened, waiting for the
moment when she could give Sisi their secret friend sign. Sisi would then do the same for her, and Zohon, watching from the shadows, would be satisfied.

‘When will I see your brother again, Kess? I must see him before the wedding. It’s tremendously important.’

‘Sisi, you must forget about my brother.’

She was making sure they walked in such a way that Sisi was facing the carriages.

‘Why? I like him. I think maybe I love him.’

‘No, you don’t. That’s all nonsense. You don’t know anything about him.’

‘That doesn’t matter.’ Sisi was surprisingly persistent on the subject. ‘Mama says that no one ever knows anything about the person they marry. They learn to like them
afterwards.’

‘Well, I don’t think he’d like you.’

Sisi stopped walking and stared at Kestrel, shocked. Kestrel had been hardly thinking what she was saying, and at once regretted her words. She rather wondered why she had said them.

‘I don’t mean that,’ she said.

‘Yes, you do,’ said Sisi, blinking back tears. ‘You think I’m silly, and vain, and useless.’

‘No, I don’t –’

‘And you’re right. Only what you have to understand is, until I met you, that’s what everyone wanted me to be.’

‘Please, Sisi –’

‘So you see, I’ve been trying my best to please everyone, only I’ve chosen the wrong everyone to please. Now I’ve decided to change, and I will change, because although I
am silly and vain and useless, I can tell there’s another way I can be, which is more like you. And that’s what I’ve decided to be.’

‘You’re a better person than I am,’ said Kestrel sadly. She knew that Zohon was watching from his hiding place. Now that the moment had come, she found it was much harder than
she thought. It felt too much like betrayal.

‘Please go on being my friend, Kess,’ said Sisi. ‘You don’t know how important you are to me.’

‘Of course I will.’

Then, without Kestrel prompting her, she put the palms of her hands together, and interclasped her fingers, in the sign that Kestrel had told her meant secret friendship. Zohon, hiding between
the carriages, saw her make the sign that Kestrel had told him meant eternal love. It was all he had been waiting for. Convinced now that Kestrel had told him the truth, he slipped away to prepare
his men.

Kestrel heard him go, even as she pressed her hands together in the return sign. Tears sprang into her eyes. Forgive me, Sisi, she said silently. I wasn’t going to betray you. But
it’s happened now.

That evening, word spread through the slaves quarters of the Manth people that Ira Hath the prophetess had had another vision of the future, and wished to pass it on to her
people. There were still a few who believed that Ira Hath had the true gift, but most of the large crowd who gathered to hear her were merely curious.

They arrived through the evening shadows in little groups of threes and fours, not wanting to arouse the suspicions of their masters. Ira had seated herself on the ground in front of a large
open fire, and the Manth people gathered in an ever-widening ring around its warmth. Dr Greeth came, as the Haths had known he would, and placed himself near the front, where if necessary he could
speak against the prophecy. The others regarded Ira Manth’s utterances as entertainment. Jessel Greeth believed her to be dangerous.

When they were all settled, Ira Hath stood before them.

‘Thank you for coming to hear me,’ she began.

‘Can’t hear!’ shouted voices from the back. And, ‘Say, O unhappy people!’ shouted those at the front.

‘O unhappy people!’ said Ira Hath.

‘O unhappy people!’ chanted back the jokers in the crowd, delighted.

The effect of this mockery on the prophetess was predictable. She became angry. Wanting to wipe the smiles off their foolish faces, she called down on their heads the full catastrophe to
come.

‘This city will burn!’

‘Burn!’ they wailed back at her. ‘We’ll all burn!’

The more she doomed them, the more they laughed.

‘The wind is rising! The wind will carry all before it!’

‘Wooo-wooo!’ they cried, flapping their arms.

‘We must seek the homeland! The time of cruelty is coming! Be afraid!’

‘Oooh!’ they shivered, giggling. ‘Oooh-aaah!’

‘Laugh now! Soon you’ll be weeping!’

‘Boo-hoo! Waa-waa!’ they cried.

Hanno Hath stood up beside his wife. It was hopeless. He knew it, and she knew it. But it was his duty to try to warn them.

‘My friends,’ he said in his most reasonable voice. ‘Tonight my wife’s prophecies make you laugh. But when you see the city burning, remember her words. Return here, to
this hillside. Bring food, warm clothes, anything you can carry. And together we will seek the homeland.’

This was different. Nobody laughed. Instead, they fell to talking nervously among themselves. Jessel Greeth had been content while everyone was mocking the Haths. But now he felt he had better
take control of the situation.

‘This woman,’ he said, pointing at Ira Hath, ‘tells you the city will burn. But we know who will burn if we pay any more attention to her wild ravings. Our loved ones will
burn, as they burned before.’

There were nods and murmurs of agreement to this all over the crowd.

‘Why do we listen to her?’ cried Jessel Greeth. ‘Why do we go on letting this mad family put the rest of us in such danger? Let’s leave them to prophesy to
themselves.’

People began to leave. Pinto tugged at her father’s sleeve.

‘Lift me up on your shoulders, pa!’

Hanno swung her thin body up onto his shoulders, and there where they could all see her in the flickering firelight, Pinto spoke to the crowd.

‘Babies!’ she cried. ‘You’re not Manth, you’re just slaves and babies! We’ll go without you. We’ll find the homeland without you. We don’t need
you. So pooa-pooa pocksicker to you all!’

The crowd responded with a big cheer. No one quite knew why they cheered. Perhaps it was because they thought it was brave of a seven-year-old child to be so defiant. Perhaps they just cheered
because it was good to hear the old oaths again.

T
he sea is rough today. High waves suck and roll, gathering themselves ever higher until they break at last, and crash in fury onto the shore.
Gulls are hurled in the wind overhead, screaming their long thin screams. The coarse sand seethes with foam.

Dogface the hermit stands looking out across the grey water to the island. His robe flaps about his legs. He’s cold, and tired, and hungry. Further along the shore other solitary figures
stand as he stands. They’re waiting, as he waits, for a lull in the wind.

As the day ends, the sea at last begins to grow calm. The water’s surface still rises and falls in heaving swells, but the direction of the wind is changing, and the hermit knows he can
make the crossing now. He prepares his mind, and begins his song, aware that along the coast the others are doing the same.

He rises in the air and glides out over the breaking foam. The others do likewise. Soon there are many figures to be seen skimming low over the water, rising and falling with the sea’s
swell, flying to Sirene.

As Dogface reaches the island he hears the chant coming from the hilltop, and knows he is still in time. They have begun the song of opening, a song that will last through the night. He comes to
land on the island’s stony shore, and begins at once to hurry up the long winding path. Behind him he hears others following; ahead, the ever-louder surge of song that he has sung before in
training, but never in earnest. His heart beats with excitement, and he too joins in, singing aloud. The song is like a succession of drumrolls, it powers onward, its rhythm intensifying with each
cycle, until the Singers feel their bodies move in a slow rocking stamp, forward and stamp, backward and stamp, in time with the driving wordless chords.

Singing, striding to the beat of the song, Dogface reaches the top of the hill. Here before him, lit by the silver-grey light of a sun setting in cloud, rise the towering roofless walls. Within
the hall stands a great crowd of Singer people, more than a hundred, all singing, rocking, and stamping together. As Dogface takes his place among them he looks round and sees faces he remembers
from his time of training; but there are no answering looks of recognition. They are deep in the song.

By the time those who followed the hermit reach the hall, Dogface too sees no one and hears nothing but the song. This is the beginning of the destiny he chose, many years ago. This is what he
trained for, and has waited for so patiently. The time of consummation has almost come.

All through the night the Singer people sing their song. As they sing they feel beneath their stamping feet the slow shudder of the earth. They feel its spasms, and they know that slowly, unseen
as yet, it is opening. They sing on, the rhythm never abating, urging the ground to swell, and stretch, and tear.

At first light, the opening begins. Those standing where the thin crack appears jump aside, but never pause in their pulsing song. They sing now with all their power, forcing the sound out and
up with a shout, a stamp and a shout, a clap and a stamp and a shout. Still more Singer people are arriving, as they have been doing all through the night. They come singing, and the song grows
ever louder.

Now there comes a jarring juddering cracking sound, followed by a long rumbling groan: the sound they have long expected, but have never heard. They are the lucky ones. They are the generation
who will know the wind on fire.