Heart of the Wolf Page 17

  Considering the solemnity and the tension in the crowd, Jocelyn was expecting some sort of speech or ceremony, but Daken merely flung the torches into the middle of the huge mound of logs. Within seconds, flames lept into the darkness as the logs caught with a great roar. The crowd moved back a bit, and Daken now came to stand beside her.

  At first, Jocelyn could barely hear the singing over the roar of the flames, but when Rina and Daken quickly joined in, she listened carefully, trying to pick out words she knew. Her knowledge of their tongue was still quite limited, however, and after a moment she gave up and simply enjoyed Rina’s clear soprano and Daken’s surprisingly good bass.

  The singing continued until the flames began to die down. Thousands of voices joined in the bitter

  cold night that seemed to lend an extra clarity to their tones. And then the huge crowd fell silent.

  Suddenly, the silence was broken by strange sounds that seemed to be coming from various directions. They were obviously musical instruments of some sort, but the sound was unlike anything she'd ever heard—mournful but strangely stirring as well. Daken leaned close to her, his arm around her waist as he spoke into her ear.

  "They’re called bezhras—a very ancient instrument played only at the Turning.”

  By now, Jocelyn was able to make out the figures standing on the outer wall of the fortress, spaced along its entire length. And she was sure there must be more somewhere in the fortress itself, perhaps atop the many towers.

  The strange music went on and on, the rhythms occasionally repeating themselves. The crowd remained absolutely still, and that strange tension seemed to be increasing. She could feel it even in Daken’s arm as he kept it about her waist.

  Finally, when the fire had at last died down to mere embers, the music stopped. But the crowd didn’t move, and Daken drew her more closely to him. She looked up at him uncertainly, but his head was lifted as he seemed to be staring off beyond the wall.

  And then she heard it, accompanied by soft exhalations from the crowd. Far, far away, beyond the walls of the fortress, the rhythms were being repeated. The music was faint but startlingly clear in the cold, dark night.

  It didn’t last long, dying away even as she strained to catch it. It was impossible to guess how far away it was, let alone in which direction, but she thought it seemed to be coming from several different places. Lovely as it was, she couldn’t help thinking that the musicians were putting themselves at great risk to be out there. Daken had said that the trails were truly treacherous.

  The end of the distant music brought an end to the strange tension that had gripped the crowd, and they once again broke out in laughter and conversation. She thought they sounded very relieved and wondered if everyone worried about those poor musicians. But if so, why did they send people out there?

  She wanted to ask Daken about it without seeming to criticize their traditions, but before she could do so, he dropped his arm from her waist and siezed her hand instead.

  “Come. I will show you what the bezhras look like.”

  He led her over to the steps that had been carved into the thick outer wall. The musicians were just then descending. They seemed pleased by her compliments and her interest in the bezhras and showed her how they were played.

  Jocelyn found them as strange as the music they created. They consisted of large leather sacks in which very faint designs could be seen, and from which a series of dark wood pipes decorated with gold protruded. Daken told her that their origins were lost in antiquity. The Kassid had always

  played them, it seemed, and the haunting music was passed down through the generations to a select few who mastered the difficult art of squeezing the sack and blowing into the pipes.

  "It must be dangerous for the musicians who went out there to play," she said as they walked back across the nearly deserted courtyard.

  He was silent for so long that she feared that despite her carefully neutral tone, she had insulted one of their traditions. She was about to apologize when he finally spoke.

  "No one goes out there, Jocelyn. That was music from our ancestors."

  "Wh—what?" she stammered, totally forgetting now about respect for tradition. "Are you saying that was ghost music?"

  "Yes."

  Surely he wasn’t serious, she thought. This was just another joke, like the time he told her that the heat in the fortress was magic.

  But then she thought about their belief that the ghosts of their ancestors rode with them into battle. Even though they had by now entered the fortress, she drew her cloak more tightly around her and shivered.

  "The spirits of our ancestors remain in these hills, and on this night, they remind us of their presence,” he said solemnly. “We call to them with the music— and they answer. The only other time we would call would be to summon them to battle.

  "There were some who feared that they might not answer this time—that they might remain silent as

  a way of telling us that we should not go forth into battle again. But they have answered—and now I think the decision to go to war will be made."

  Jocelyn didn’t know what to say. She was glad that he seemed so certain now of the alliance, but she simply could not accept that the music she had heard had come from Kassid spirits.

  Echoes, she thought suddenly. Surely it must have been echoes she’d heard. She remembered the guide Tanner showing them how voices could echo here in the mountains.

  But hadn’t that ghostly music seemed different? The rhythms had been the same, but the sequence had been different. Surely no echo could do that.

  As soon as they reached Daken’s suite, she excused herself and went to her room. She was badly shaken by his insistence that what she’d heard was ghost music—Kassid magic. Time and again, she’d denied to herself that such magic existed, because until this night, she’d seen no evidence of it other than the fortress itself, and it was sufficiently ancient to permit her to disregard its origins.

  But now, if Daken were to be believed, she had her proof.

  Still, she resisted accepting that proof. People could deceive themselves; she already knew that. She didn’t doubt that Daken and his people believed that music to have been created by their ancestors—but that didn’t necessarily make it so.

  And yet, no other explanation presented itself to her as she stood at the window, staring out into the darkness beyond the fortress walls.

  Suddenly, she was overcome with longing for her

  home—for a place where she understood what was happening around her. The pain was sharp and all- encompassing—far worse than anything she’d felt since coming here. And never had her home seemed farther away.

  Then she knew that she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. So she took off the trousers she’d worn all day with a heavy Kassid sweater and put on one of the gowns she’d brought with her. It was a simple woolen dress in a deep emerald shade that matched her eyes. Over it, she wore a matching vest with fine gold embroidery.

  The gown had a deep vee neckline and she decided to wear one of her favorite necklaces with it, a fine gold chain strung with emeralds and pearls. As a final touch, she took out the large, heavy gold ring with the carved insignia of her family. She wanted desperately to recapture her real life beyond these mountains and to remind herself that she was Ertrian and not like these strange people who believed their ancestors returned to speak with them through music.

  When Jocelyn entered the great room, Daken and Rina and Tassa were all there, gathered before the fire. Rina immediately exclaimed over Jocelyn’s necklace. She’d never seen pearls and was astonished when Jocelyn explained that they came from sea creatures who grew them inside their bodies.

  She resolutely kept her eyes away from Daken, who remained seated on the thick rug before the hearth, but she could feel his gaze upon her nonetheless.

  Both Rina and Tassa were clearly enthralled with

  the idea of such lovely things coming from the sea they’d never se
en, and Jocelyn decided she would have necklaces made for both of them when she returned to Ertria. It would make a splendid repayment for all the many kindnesses they’d shown her.

  Rina and Tassa began to talk about the day’s events and then about the remaining days of the festival. There would be more games, and dancing as well. Rina ran off to her room and returned with a beautifully embroidered dress. She held it up to Jocelyn with a grin of triumph.

  "It will fit, I think. This is a dress for dancing. There wasn’t time to make one for you, so I borrowed this from my cousin, who has outgrown it.”

  Jocelyn admired the dress, but then shook her head ruefully. "Unfortunately, the dress will not make me a dancer. Can I learn the steps before tomorrow evening?"

  "Oh I’m sure you can. They aren’t difficult,” Rina assured her.

  She then began to talk about the performance of her dance group, who would entertain before the general dancing began. “It’s very noisy," she laughed. "We wear special shoes that tap out the rhythms.”

  "Rina is the best of the group,” Tassa said proudly, "even though she had to be forced to take lessons at first. Her mother was a wonderful dancer.”

  Rina leaned close to Jocelyn, then said in a loud whisper, "Father can't dance—or at least that’s what he tells me.”

  Daken had been silent, but now he turned from

  his contemplation of the fire and smiled at his daughter. "Then perhaps tomorrow night, I will prove to you that I can’t dance.”

  After that, though, he lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence as the women talked. Soon, both Rina and Tassa proclaimed themselves to be tired and said their good-nights. Jocelyn got up, too, but Da- ken suddenly looked up at her.

  "Please stay for a while, Jocelyn—unless you are tired, too.”

  She hesitated, then walked back to her chair. She wasn’t tired, but she was feeling very confused and still badly shaken over the ghost music.

  He stood up and turned his back to the fire, making himself a large, dark silhouette. The flames flickered behind him, and the word "sorcerer" once again came to her mind. She trusted nothing at this point—not that music and not the scene before that in her bedchamber. What was real and what was illusion?

  “The music of our ancestors troubles you,” he said, making it a statement, not a question. “You still distrust our magic."

  "Yes," she replied. "Daken, in my world, ghosts are for children’s stories.”

  "And so were the Kassid until you came here," he said. "But now the Kassid and their ghosts will save your empire.”

  For a moment, she didn’t grasp the significance of what he'd said. In her mind, she was seeing that gulf between them grow ever wider. I have accepted that we don’t have a future, she thought bitterly, but now we don’t even have this time.

  Then his words got through to her and she stared at him. “Do you mean that a decision has been reached—that your people have decided to aid us?”

  He nodded. "Word was received from the other fortresses a few days ago. I didn’t tell you because no decision had been reached here. There was a group that would not decide until they had assured themselves that the ancestors hadn’t turned their backs on us. But now that they have heard the music, they too are willing to fight."

  Jocelyn had been perched rigidly on the edge of her chair, and now she sank back with a happy sigh. "If only there were some way of getting word to the palace.”

  "It may be possible,” he stated. "Several men have volunteered to try to get through to the garrison. If they succeed, then word can be passed from there. We can also learn if any attempt has been made by the Menoans to capture the garrison.”

  “Could I go with them?" she asked eagerly, then subsided when she saw the sudden pain come to his eyes. She wanted to leave, but she didn't want to leave him.

  He shook his head. "You cannot travel the way they will take, Jocelyn. And even if you could, it would be too dangerous."

  There was something in his phrasing and his tone that troubled her, but she didn’t pursue it. The truth was that she was glad he had refused her request. She was frightened by the evidence she now had of Kassid magic—but she knew she loved him anyway and wanted to stay here with him for the time allot-

  ted to them. Whether she went home now or in another two months would make little difference to the empire—but it would make a very great difference to the empress.

  She stood up and extended both her hands to Daken in a formal gesture of gratitude. "Thank you, Daken. Even though the decision was made by all your people, I know that they would not have agreed if you hadn’t declared yourself to be in favor of the alliance.”

  He took her hands with a slight smile. "So tonight you are once again the empress. When I saw you dressed like that, I thought you might have somehow found out already.”

  She withdrew her hands reluctantly and shook her head. “No. I was merely feeling very homesick and decided to become my real self again.”

  "Oh? And who have you been until now?”

  “I’m .. . not sure. So much has happened."

  He nodded, then turned to pour them both some wine. "I think we might celebrate our alliance—if not the war to come."

  They drank the wine in silence, both of them thinking about the war they didn’t want. Then Daken set down his glass and gave her a level look.

  “Jocelyn, you must come to accept us for who and what we are. There will be doubts enough among your people. We do have magic, and those who fight alongside us will see that. I think that you have never quite given up the belief that the Kassid are mere legend, despite having spent time with us. Your people will be frightened—both of war and of

  us, and while you cannot allay their fears about war, you can help them to understand that they have nothing to fear from us.”

  When she said nothing, he reached out to take her hand. His voice dropped lower.

  “And you also must accept me for what I am. I want you as much as ever, but I will not come into your bed as anything other than my true self."

  "There is more, isn’t there—more to being Kas- sid, I mean? It isn’t just the presence of your ancestors?"

  The silence that followed that was very great. For a moment, he seemed ready to drop her hand and walk away. Then, instead, he looked straight at her and nodded.

  "Yes, there is more."

  She saw the fear in his eyes and felt that fear tremble through her as well. A deep, dark abyss opened between them as they stood there with their hands clasped.

  "I don’t care about the rest of it," she said fiercely. "I love you, Daken—and we have so little time."

  She felt him relax—but not completely. Then, finally, he drew her hand up to his lips.

  "Perhaps the rest of it doesn’t matter. But I want you to be very sure of that, and you cannot be sure unless you know all of it. Think about this, Jocelyn. We will talk tomorrow.”

  Jocelyn did indeed think about it—far into the long winter night. Was it cowardly not to want your worst fears confirmed? Bravery was not a quality spoken of in connection with women; courage was male. And of course, for that very reason, Jocelyn had determined that she would always be brave A ruler must always display great strength and courage.

  But it wasn't the ruler who faced thus situation it was the woman. Only because of baker was she able to see the difference between the two.

  She tried to rationalize away her fears. He could be referring to anything. It could simply be more about their ancestors.

  But she knew it wasn't just the ancestors .And as if to confirm that, when she finally fell asleep her dreams were haunted by wolves—and men who became wolves.

  Daken was absent all the next nay and Jocelyn wondered if he might be planning to stay away for days as he had done before. But she recalled his teasing remark that he would show Rina at the festivities that evening how he couldn’t dance.

  She spent the day enjoying the games and practicing the dance steps. As Rina had sa
id, it wasn’t complicated. The formal dances at court required far more skill and attention.

  When she had changed into the dress Rina had borrowed for her, Jocelyn found Daken and Tassa awaiting her in the great room of the suite. Rina had already left to join her dance troupe.

  Jocelyn could not contain her surprise at Daken’s attire. She had never seen him in anything but dark clothing—yet here he was dressed in flowing white trousers and a loose white shirt partially covered by a brightly embroiderer vest. Tassa wore white as well, and she would learn that the Kassid always wore that color for their dances.

  Daken lifted his arms in a gesture of surrender. "Well, here I am, as promised. You said that I should let Rina see that I am not as perfect as she believes, and she will certainly see that tonight.”

  Jocelyn laughed, glad for his light mood, though she knew he would not have forgotten his promise that they would talk.

  "Have you never danced at the festival?" she asked curiously, recalling that Tassa had said his wife was an excellent dancer.

  "Long ago, when I was young and foolish and trying to impress Erina. She was very good and made me feel as clumsy as a hobbled horse. I hope that you haven’t become too good in the course of one day."

  "Not really," she lied, wondering if she could fake clumsiness.

  They entered the Great Hall to find it well filled. Those who didn’t intend to dance themselves had gathered on the wide balcony that surrounded the high-ceilinged hall. But on the floor, all was white, with vari-colored accents. It was an impressive sight.

  Daken's presence on the floor was greeted with amazement and much good-natured teasing that didn't require translation. She, to her delight and gratitude, was the recipient of many expressions of solidarity and promises that Arrat would never again trouble her empire. The Kassid might have taken their time deciding, but now that the decision was made, they seemed almost eager to go to war.