For the first time, he looked up from the graves, giving me a look that passed from puzzlement to understanding to sympathy in a breath. “No, Belamae. We honor your mother and sister this morning.”
My stomach tightened, and I felt instantly shaky. Baylet put a hand around my shoulders. Some faraway part of me thought again of how the field leader was orchestrating, influencing my decisions. But I’d have wanted to know. And no matter when or where, I’d have felt the same.
I drifted in a haze for I don’t know how long, while grief pounded at my chest with its insistent rhythms. I couldn’t keep from picturing ma and sa putting a knife to their own flesh. I felt their powerlessness and despair. And the dignity with which they went to their final earth, avoiding rough hands that—if things were left unchanged—would surely come.
Without realizing it, the words and melodies that had been circling in my mind started to come out. The sixth passage of the Song of Suffering: Self-Destruction, which was sung about the Inveterae condemned to the Bourne, countless of whom had taken their own lives rather than go to that awful place.
I sang the lament, gathering quiet strength with each phrase.
I lent it a measure of absolute value.
And I wondered if in so doing, somewhere ma and sa felt my song, though like Shoarden men, they would never hear it.
The streets of the Cathedral quarter were just beginning to come alive with the night arts. Confidence men sized up marks; sheet women angled for lonely men with spare coin; performance taverns were opening their windows, using music as a lure to drink and be entertained. More than a few packs of bearded men stood wearing hard looks, spoiling for fights. Through all this, Divad lead his four Lieholan.
For the better part of two straight days, he and Regent Helaina had argued with League leadership, clarifying the Rule of Impartiality, describing the workings of Descant Cathedral, growing angry. They’d had to involve the Court of Judicature, which helped but also delayed his students’ release. By the time the League set them free, the thuggish treatment they’d received was visible on their faces in dark and purpled spots. They were exhausted, but alive.
Divad hadn’t had time to put the ordeal into any kind of rational context yet. After a hot bath, warm meal, and night of uninterrupted sleep, he’d need to do that. They turned onto the quarter road that lead to the cathedral’s main entrance. No sooner had they come in direct sight of Descant, than the door was opened and three Lyren began gesturing urgently for them to hurry.
He broke into a run, his cloak seeming suddenly overlarge and cumbersome. Behind him, the slap of Lieholan shoes on paving stones followed close. He darted through crowds, around wagons and carriages and riders. He climbed the cathedral steps two at a time. One of the Lyren, Waalt, grabbed his arm and began to run with him, guiding him, pulling him along.
“What is it?” Divad asked, breathless.
“Luumen fell ill with autumn fever a day ago.” Waalt pulled him faster.
Divad understood immediately. “How long?”
“Almost three entire cycles.” Waalt’s voice cracked with desperate worry.
“Dear merciful gods.”
Luumen was the more experienced and stronger of the two Lieholan he’d left behind. Ill with fever, she would not have entered the Chamber of Anthems to sing Suffering. Which meant Amilee had been singing Suffering by herself.
“My last sky,” Divad whispered, and pushed his legs to go faster.
It took nearly nine hours to sing Suffering’s nine movements. After singing the cycle, the Lieholan was spent, and needed two days’ rest to fully recover. There’d been occasions when one vocalist sang part of a second cycle. But it was rare, and always came at great personal cost to the singer. Amilee had been at it for not just two full turns, but nearly three…
Casting a look backward, he called commands. “Pren, prepare yourself.” Pren’s bruises were the worst, but he was also the strongest Lieholan Descant had since Belamae’s departure. The young man stripped off his robe mid-stride, and began to run vocal scales as he maneuvered up beside Divad. “Asa, fetch a Levate.” Divad didn’t hold much hope that a physic healer could help, but he’d be prepared in any case.
The sound of their racing feet filled the cathedral halls. The flames of wall lamps fluttered with their passage. Lyren watched them go by with grave looks in their eyes.
Moments later, Divad pushed open the heavy oak doors to the Chamber of Anthems. Amilee was on her hands and knees, unable to hold her head up, singing toward the floor. Her voice sounded like corn husks brushed together by summer storm winds. She had almost no volume left. But the perfect acoustics of the rounded chamber lifted the delicate song she could still make, and gave Suffering life.