Resenting the Hero (34 page)

There was no way any of this was real. Creol was just as crazy as the rumors had said, and for some reason he had decided to stir up this tiny village and play god. And they were playing right along with him. Surely even a Shield was allowed to get hysterical under these circumstances? “What's going to happen now?”

The man smiled kindly. Kindly. “We're going to help you break your bond to Karish.”

If he was hoping for any sign of excitement or joy from me, he was in for a disappointment. “And how is that to be accomplished?”

“You're going to kill him,” he told me.

“Who? Creol?” I was all for that. If I tried hard enough I was sure I could dredge up some lingering reactions to the music I'd just heard. I could get crazy enough to kill someone if I really wanted to.

The thug, however, looked appalled. “No! Karish!”

“Really?” So Creol did have Karish. I was relieved, in a way, to finally know, but I was also furious. I had as good as crossed Creol off the list of enemies. I had practically believed that Creol was innocent. Odd, but innocent. I was useless at everything.

“Don't worry,” the thug said. “You won't die with him. Stevan says if you're in enough of a rage when you kill Karish, the emotional turmoil will sever the bond.”

“Interesting theory,” I said dryly. “Only Karish isn't the one I'm mad at right now.”

“Don't worry,” he said again. “We'll fix that.” He gave me another smile and then wandered away to join his uncommunicative partner.

I leaned my forehead against one of the cool bars. “Great.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Karish was a mess. Filthy, his clothes stained and rumpled, his hair hanging in greasy strings, his fingernails caked with dirt. He was too pale, as though he had been ill, and he was looking a little thin. He was trembling, I could just see it. Exhausted.

I had some maternal instincts after all.

It was not the time.

The worst thing was how he looked at me. He was puzzled, uncertain. Not at all happy to see me. I could only guess that they'd told him what they planned.

And he believed them.

He was pushed into the cage with me, and as soon as he was free to do so he backed as far away from me as the bars allowed. I was astonished. He thought I was going to try to kill him.

Unbelievable. How could he think I was a willing part of this? And how could he think I was even physically capable of it? He was a man. Sure, he wasn't at his best, and I was strong and fast, but I knew nothing about fighting. And even if I did, how could he believe I would ever do anything to harm him?

It was one big, ludicrous scenario, and he believed it. What was wrong with him?

Of the Shields, only Lynch had returned with Creol. He said to her, “Forgive me, child, but we'll have to bind you now. I want you to see this, but the music will be extremely powerful. We can't expose you to it and leave you free.”

Lynch, whom I had liked and pitied so much, nodded with no apparent resentment. The woman who had been rightfully furious at her legitimate Source for having her bound, if indeed he ever did, meekly submitted to it at the word of a Source who had clearly lost his mind. And the regulars who tied her did so with as much respect as was possible under the circumstances.

The others, all the spectators and the young pseudo-soldiers, sat around and waited. If they knew what was supposed to happen, that someone was supposed to die, they weren't about to raise any objections. No, they were prepared to watch. They didn't even send the children away.

I was confused. Really, what was going on? Creol had had Karish abducted. Why? Unless he really did believe he had the power to create earthquakes, and honestly thought Karish was the only obstacle. If so, why not just kill him? Why go through the trouble of kidnapping him?

Did Karish's future title have anything to do with anything?

I hated thinking. It made my head hurt. And none of that mattered right then. What was important was that Creol was planning to drive me to murdering Karish using carefully selected music. Did he really think he could do that? And what was the point?

I wasn't going to do it, of course. Nothing could drive me to murder. Except people who picked their teeth in taverns, that was so disgusting. So after I didn't kill Karish, then what?

Karish thought I was going to do it. Ignorant bastard. Like everyone else he thought I was a weak-minded fool with no control over myself. Once again I would have to prove everyone wrong. And then Creol would rage, and Karish and I would be killed together. My, how romantic.

One disaster at a time.

I put my back against the bars and slid to the floor. I linked my arms behind me, holding onto the bars.
Hold on to something, and don't let go.
“It's your duty to guard me through the music,” I told Karish. “Now is not the time to live down to your reputation.”

He blinked.

There were no more speeches. Creol was giving instructions to the orchestra and the choir. The audience was murmuring. I glowered at Aiden for a moment, and he had the gall to smile and nod at me. It was a look of reassurance. His insanity, I thought, had to be hereditary, as he hadn't been in Middle Reach long enough to be affected by the water. Then again, I didn't know how long he had lived in High Scape before I met him. Maybe he'd spent years in Middle Reach before then. All of his stories might have been lies. Maybe the reason I'd been able to beat him at bench dancing was because he wasn't a professional dancer after all. Which would explain why he had been so forgiving upon learning he would never be able to dance again. That hadn't been normal.

Maybe he'd always been a professional storyteller. And a minstrel. He was awfully effective with that lyre.

Enough. I had my own preparations to make. I leaned my head back against the bars and closed my eyes.

I waited.

I heard silence resettle in the center. I heard instruments being shifted in hands. I felt that pause as all the musicians looked at each other to make sure everyone was going to be starting in unison. I tensed, tightening my grip on the bars.

The first piece was not a martial air, which was what I had been expecting. A woman with a beautifully low voice sang of her innocence before a handsome, careless man bewitched her, promising her a bright future of simple joys and blessings. But he had tired of her and left her, and now her life had crumbled into ash. With a powerful voice filled with exquisite pain, she begged for an explanation of what crime she had committed, except to believe in love, and my throat squeezed shut and my eyes smarted.

Foolish woman, to trust in a man so completely. They always left. Look at Caspian. Or they betrayed you. Look at Aiden.

The next song was a duet, the first woman joined by a second, a soprano. The song was warm, full of delight and reminiscence, as the two women sang of a strong childhood friendship. Two little girls who dressed as princesses together, and played house, and dreamed of marrying their perfect princes and living side by side for the rest of their lives, raising their daughters together. But then—and the music modulated to a minor key—one girl was revealed to be not so perfect. She had symptoms. She was a Shield. She was ripped from the arms of her friend and her family and sent to a far-off, mysterious, untouchable place. The girl left behind mourned for her friend, and when she was old enough she went looking for her. After years of searching she found her, but the woman who had been her childhood companion didn't know her. When reminded of their friendship the Shield sneered coldly, and went running off when her Source beckoned. And so the loyal young woman was left alone with her memories.

I couldn't believe I was crying over such mawkish garbage. I'd no doubt lost all my friends when I was sent to the academy, too, but I made a whole bunch of new ones. And if any of my childhood friends looked me up, I wouldn't turn them away. I'd be thrilled to see them. Even though I couldn't remember any of them. Because my academy friends were so very far away and I didn't have any in High Scape or Middle Reach.

The tears were blinding me. I couldn't wipe them away. I tightened my grip on the bars behind me.
Hang on to something, and don't let go.
At least I wasn't actually sobbing. That was something.

A drum started pounding. A fiddle bow danced over strings. My blood picked up its pace. My feet wanted to tap.

“Will you join us?” cried the voices, the soprano and alto joined by a host of others. “Will you come? Will you take a stand and fight? There is glory on another day for those who would be free. It will be dangerous, and difficult, some won't make it through the night. But after we will drink a toast to the new life we will see.”

I banged the back of my head against the bars.
Hold on to something, and don't let go.

Pain exploded between my shoulder blades, and I was shoved forward. I got my hands in front of me just in time to avoid landing flat on my face. I looked up and saw one of the thugs just outside the cage bearing a staff and a menacing expression. I wouldn't be allowed to lurk about the bars. I would have nothing to hold on to.

All right. No reason to panic. I could handle it. I was a reasonable adult. No way was I going to let music drive me to irrational behavior. I paced, well away from Karish, who was still looking confused. The boy still hadn't figured it out. I'd thought he was brighter than that. The thug by the bars was jabbing his staff in as far as he could, trying to force me closer to Karish. I felt like sticking my tongue out at him.

“Will you join us? Will you come? Will you take a stand and fight?”

I could hear them, the voices. The sopranos pure and high, the altos rich and mournful, the tenors clear and stirring, and the basses—Oh, Zaire, the basses. Bass voices had always slain me, so deep and powerful they made the pit of my stomach vibrate.

Damn all basses.

And they were so beguiling. They sympathized with my state of isolation. They understood. They were just like me. But if I would fight with them, strike at the enemy, we would all be free. We would all be together, and no one would ever be able to hurt us again.

I shook my head to clear it and noticed I had wandered too close to Karish. He, too, had been shoved away from the bars. He was watching me, but without the hostility I'd noticed earlier.

When we got out of this I was going to brain him for ever thinking I could possibly be dangerous to him.

The tempo of the voices changed. Each word was forcefully enunciated and sung quickly, at a monotone for a few beats and then raised or lowered in jagged arpeggios. And visions formed in my head, visions of leading an army of good, loyal people, every single one of whom would gladly die for me. Cut and bruised but untiring, I leapt over walls with graceful agility, climbed mountains, traversed narrow bridges over raging rivers, and faced a shadowy enemy with nothing but bare hands and bravery.

The enemy lost its shadows, the face melting into Karish's. His eyes intent, he had crouched down a little, his hands raised, as I circled him. He was getting ready to attack me. I tensed.

No. I was getting ready to attack him. And I was no general of any army. And he was not the enemy. And even if he were, nothing could make me attack him with my bare hands.

The voices changed again, and I froze in panic.
Counterpoint.
In frantic rounds they went, challenging me, pleading with me, the drums and fiddles chasing them up and down the scales. Triumph in major, tragedy in minor, all of it ringing in my ears and careening through my brain.

I ran to escape from it. I ran smack into the bars and was forced back from them with a hard blow. I almost liked the pain, it pushed back the music for an instant, but then it came crashing back in again. I had to move. I couldn't stand still or I'd explode. With tears in my eyes and noise filling my head I ran, blind. Forces buffeted me about, and for a moment I thought I'd been caught in a disaster. I fell, countless times, and got up and kept running.

I was going mad.

Something caught at me. Unthinking I swung out and hit something. Sense returned for a moment and I crossed my arms tightly. Don't strike at anything. I tried to pull away, but the force that had me clung on. I struggled against it, pushing and squirming, but I couldn't see or think.

“Lee, it's me.”

The words were heard but they weren't understood. They weren't set to music, after all. I pushed harder.

“Really, my dear,” the voice said again, a soft deep voice, the
r
's beautifully rolled. “You wouldn't want to confirm every bad thing Her Grace has said about slip collectors, would you?”

“It's Taro, Lee. Shintaro. Karish. Whatever you like. But please calm down. You're hurting yourself.”

The words, strengthened by a bond that was real and strong, penetrated my mind as they would not have, had they been spoken in another voice. It was Karish who held me, and he was not my enemy.

Though I thought it was probably the smell that really brought me back. The boy reeked.

The music still whipped around me, but suddenly there was a little breathing room, just enough to cast anchor and resist the pull. But my mind was tired, and the new, hastily built wall threatened to crumble even as I erected it.

Hold on to something, and don't let go.
I pressed my face against Karish's chest and clutched at his arms. I breathed, in and out. Feel the air move through my nose and lungs, feel the flesh beneath my fingers and the heart beating against my cheek. Listen to the words whispered into my ear, in that calm and familiar voice, cutting through the hysterical lyrics whipping past a handsbreadth away.