ENOUGH!
The voice was a blood-song. He knew it instinctively. Another blood-song. The tone was different to his own, stronger and more controlled. Another voice speaking in his mind. The marble face dissolved and drifted away like sand on the wind, the sound of the chisel stopped and did not resume.
Your song is unschooled, the voice said. It makes you vulnerable. You should be wary. Not every Singer is a friend.
He tried to answer but the words choked him. The song, he realised. He can only hear the song. He struggled to summon the music, to sing his reply, but all he could produce was a thin trill of alarm.
Don’t fear me, the voice said. Find me when you recover from this. I have something for you.
He summoned all his remaining strength, forcing the song into a single word. Where?
The image of the chisel and the stone returned, but this time the marble block was whole, the face it contained still hidden, the chisel lay atop it, waiting. You know where.
Chapter 5
He awoke to a smell more foul than even the sewers of Linesh. Something wet and rough scraped over his face and he became aware of a crushing weight on his chest.
“Get off him you filthy brute!” Sister Gilma’s stern command made his eyes flutter open, finding himself face to face with Scratch, the slave-hound giving a happy rasp of greeting.
“Hello, you daft dog,” Vaelin groaned in response.
“OFF!” Sister Gilma’s shout sent Scratch skulking from the bed, slinking into a corner with a petulant whine. He had always treated the sister with a wary respect, perhaps because she had never shown the slightest fear of him.
Vaelin scanned the room finding it mostly bare of furniture save for the bed and a table where Sister Gilma had arranged the variety of vials and boxes that held her curatives. From the open window came the keening of gulls and a breeze tinged with the combined odours of salt and fish.
“Brother Caenis commandeered the old offices of the Linesh Merchants Guild,” Sister Gilma explained, pressing a hand to his forehead and feeling for the pulse in his wrist. “All roads in the city led to the docks and the building was standing empty so it seemed a good choice for a headquarters. Your dog was frantic until we let it in the room. He’s been here the whole time.”
Vaelin grunted and licked at his dry lips. “How long?”
Her bright blue eyes regarded him with a moment’s wariness before she went to the table, pouring a greenish liquid into a cup and mixing in a pale white powder. “Five days,” she said without turning. “You lost a lot of blood. More than I thought a man could lose and still live, in fact.” She gave a wry chuckle, the inevitable bright smile on her lips when she turned back, holding the cup to his lips. “Drink this.”
The mixture had a bitter but not unpleasant taste and he felt his weariness receding almost immediately. Five days. He had no sense of it, no lingering memory of dreams or delusions. Five days lost. To what? The voice, the other blood-song, he could still hear it, a faint but persistent call. His own song answering, the vision of the marble block and chisel vivid in his mind. Sella’s words in the Fallen City becoming clearer. There are others, older and wiser with the same gift. They can guide you.
“I have to…” He raised himself up, trying to draw back the covers.
“No!” Gilma’s tone brooked no argument, her plump hand pushing him back into the softness of the bed. He found he didn’t have the strength to resist. “Absolutely not. You will lie there and rest, brother.” She pulled the covers up and secured them firmly under his chin. “The city is quiet. Brother Caenis has things well in hand. There is nothing requiring your attention.”
She drew back, for once her face was entirely serious. “Brother, do you have any idea what happened to you?”
“Never seen the like, eh?”
She shook her head. “No, I never have. When someone bleeds there has to be an injury, a cut, a lesion, something. You show no sign of any injury. A swelling in your brain that could cause you to bleed like that would have killed you, yet here you are. There was some wild talk amongst the men about Governor Aruan trying to kill you with a Dark curse or some such. Caenis had to put a guard on his mansion and hand out a few floggings before they calmed down.”
Floggings? he thought. I never have to flog them. “I don’t know, sister,” he told her honestly. “I don’t know why it happened.” I just know what caused it.