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Bryar sat off to the side of the conference room. At the table were the eight chosen to build the template, along with Quinn and Arwen. Even from across the room, he picked up Quinn’s mood; she wanted to yell or punch something, but she wouldn’t. She never did. Frustrations built up until she descended into sarcasm, dissolved into very private tears, or took off on one of her rare journeys. The last time he’d seen her so tense was when Willow insisted on volunteering for this same circle, but that had been fear. This was different.
Next to him, Tai held herself still, her Aura-enhanced senses alert. Like him, she must detect the palpable tension in the room.
Tai’s right hand wrapped around his left, the incomplete one. Although she was a Scribe, the comfort flowing from her touch was such that he’d begun to wonder if she manifested Healer’s skills as well.
The last to arrive, Kiril strode in and dropped into the vacant chair beside Bryar. They exchanged nods.
Arwen called them to order and began the explanations. Bryar’s only job was to be there and aware. All things considered, he was glad Dal had excluded him from consideration for the circle. Despite Tai’s ministrations, he felt an odd fatigue, as if a reservoir of Aura-infused energy inside him had been drained away. Willow sometimes experienced the same depletion after an intense Healing.
Perhaps he’d take Tai to Ezra’s for a while. He needed space to heal. And to learn to trust she wouldn’t leave again.
Her reasoning had been straightforward, for all that he didn’t agree with it. Their burgeoning relationship claimed too much of his focus. She wanted him to succeed, and wanted him to survive even more. “I’d become a distraction,” she had said, late on the night she’d first returned to him. “And I suspected you would build on grief, or anger, or however you responded to my disappearance.”
“You worried your grandparents. It wasn’t only me.”
“I spent several nine-days with them before I came down here. They always believed I was safe and well. Arwen was the worst. She gave me a tongue-lashing that just about blistered my hide.”
“Don’t go again.”
“Never.”
Replaying their conversation, one of many that interspersed their lovemaking, Bryar lost track of the meeting. When Tai elbowed him, he snapped to attention to find the circle working in pairs as Arwen and Quinn hovered, assessing the progress. Odd flows in the Aura permeated the room as the other Weavers learned their weaves and experimented with sections of the currents. Like being in training again, he mused, but the unfamiliar, conflicting energies made his heart beat faster.
On his other side, Kiril fidgeted. “Got to stretch my legs.”
“You’re not needed,” Quinn said, turning from the table to glare at him. “Go ahead, get out of here. Just turn up tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”
Bryar swore Kiril planned his actions to irk Quinn. If so, he succeeded. She turned her back on them, her shoulders rigid, as he exited the room.
“Want to escape, too?” he whispered to Tai.
“I’d like that.”
Bryar cleared their departure with Arwen, and the two of them made their way out of the building.
“Where to?” he asked.
“The river?”
“Rivers carry bad connotations where you’re concerned.” He was only half joking.
She grinned. “Best get over it, then. I’m looking forward to hiding from the world in my secret place. With you.”
“I bet Rebecca knows about your secret place.” He kept his hand on her shoulder as they strolled, needing the contact. “Probably Ezra, too.”
“That’s okay,” Tai said comfortably. “As long as everyone keeps up the pretense.”
They followed the bluff above the river for half an hour before stopping in a grassy clearing. The day spun above them, warm and cloudless, carrying the scents of spring. Bryar stretched out, his head on Tai’s lap and her fingers in his hair. “I doubt I’ll ever recapture what I had,” he said, words he had hardly dared articulate even to himself. “The innocence. An uncomplicated life, but all I needed.”
“But you knew it wasn’t entirely real. Not after how you were raised.”
“I hope never to face anything like this again.” The smile faded as he rolled onto his stomach and let his good hand brush the short grass. “I guess I’d grown out of childhood memories. The ones from Borgonne are fresh, and I’ve got the souvenir, don’t I?” He wiggled what was left of his fingers in the warm air.
“Hush. Your day isn’t over.”
“But it’s all changed.” He twisted, hooked his arms around her slender waist, and pulled her down beside him. “I never wanted to be a hero.”
Tai spoke into his shoulder. “Too late. I bet the other Bards are writing songs about you already.”
“The other Bards should find another way to amuse themselves. I’m just a man, Tai. Some people may thrive on confrontation and risk, but I don’t count myself among them.”
“No, you’re better than that,” Tai said, her voice serious. “The real hero is the one who doesn’t want to do it and does it anyway. You’re a good man.”
Simple words, but through them a touch of healing flowed into his battered heart.
“But to thrive,” she continued, “you need to do what you do best.” She shoved his arm out of the way and sat, pulling him up beside her. “This is yours.”
She pulled his old flute from her day pack.
Time stopped.
He closed his eyes, blocking out the impossible temptation.
“Experiment with the fingering. This one’s going to be a challenge,” she added, raising his left hand and kissing the place where his second finger had been. “But by changing the angle... I’ve played around with it, and I believe it’s possible.”
He barely registered her words as he fought against the wave of fear twisting his gut. He’d turned from what he had been, and she was thrusting it back at him. Daring him.
He looked away, into the depths of the turbulent river. “Tai, I don’t think I can. If I fail... it’d be a double loss. Taking even the memory of what I had.”
“If you succeed, you give birth to music again. And if it doesn’t work, you still have your voice. And I’m a pretty good accompanist.”
Bryar stared at the instrument, then, as if mesmerized, he took it from her. With his eyes closed he explored the flute with his fingers, locating the familiar holes, not daring to attempt the fingering. Not yet.
“If you stay in the low register?” Tai asked.
Could he? With Tai here, everyone else far away, there would never be a better time to try. Bryar swallowed, then began to experiment. Awkwardly, he managed to cover the three left-hand holes.
The resultant note emerged clear and pure, ascending into the trees.
Another note, and another. Tears pooled under his eyelids; he ignored them.
The beginning of a melody evolved, more in his mind than in the air as he fumbled to open and close the holes. It was much too soon to work on more complex fingering. But that still gave him a full octave, majors and minors and the haunting Phrygian mode he built into the music he kept for himself, to be played on riverbanks, crossing moors, speaking to the land.
He let the notes die away as reality sank in. Didn’t she know it was fake? Couldn’t anyone see the ugliness he carried? The horror of the knife jutting from Duncan’s abdomen intruded, destroying the sweetness of the music.
He’d never be free to create beauty again. He’d lost the right.
Bryar jerked the flute from his lips. Shaking, he sprang to his feet. “I can’t.” His voice, rose, filling the air over the tumultuous water. “Why are you doing this? Why don’t you leave me alone?” He hurled the flute as far as he could, then watched stunned as it fell into the river.
Only dimly aware of Tai’s stricken expression, he tore down the trail away from the Motherhouse. Borgonne and the tower had changed him. There was no going back. And damn her anyway, for tempting him with what was now forever proscribed.
~~
TAI APPEARED AT QUINN’S door the next morning, early.
“What...?” Not quite awake, it took Quinn a moment to recognize the state her fellow Scribe was in. “Come in, quickly. What’s happened?”
Tai’s face was ashen. No sooner had the door closed than tears flooded her eyes. “He threw it away. But I found it in the corridor outside my suite just now. But he threw it away, Quinn. He threw it away.”
Quinn blinked at the raw emotion underlying the young woman’s words. “I’ll make tisane. We have work to do later.” She rested a pot of water on her cookfire and began sorting through her stock of herbs.
Tai’s outpouring of grief was short-lived; her training took over. “You’re a Scribe, and you know him so well,” she said, her voice rough. “My thinking’s just completely muddled.”
“Start by telling me what he threw away.” Quinn thanked the Sustainer she’d prepared last night for the morning’s work. What spare time she had allowed herself would go to getting sense out of Tai.
“This.” Tai reached into her day pack and pulled out the flute.
Quinn took the instrument and looked it over. “A little the worse for wear, I’d say.” She set it on the table.
“It’s been in the river. How did it end up in the Scribes’ lodge? And why is he so angry?”
The water simmered. Quinn added herbs and brought the pot, with two mugs, to the table. “Tell me what happened. There’s no time for hysteria.”
As they sat, the young woman calmed, perhaps responding to the methodical, businesslike tone in Quinn’s voice. “We went to the river. I gave him the flute, and... he played. Only the lower octave, but as lovely as I’ve ever heard. It got to him, too, I could see it in his face. Then he started shaking, and shouted at me that he’d never make music again, and I shouldn’t force him to. He hurled the flute in the water and stormed off. I haven’t seen him since. But just now I found this on the shelf beside my door.” She touched the little instrument almost reverently. “What does that mean? And why did he say he’d never make music? He was making music.”
Tai was on edge. Scribes were analysts; few of them gave way to emotion. Tai might be a law unto herself, but once she got over the shock, she’d draw on a reservoir of calm logic before taking action. Probably unexpected action, knowing Tai, Quinn reflected as she poured the tisane. “Drink this.”
Tai did. “I’m not a fool,” she said after downing half the mug. “This happened so suddenly, that’s all. The connections aren’t clear. The whole ordeal the other side of the hills must weigh on his mind, but he has to create music again. He needs it. And it’s possible, at least with the flute. Shouldn’t music help him?”
Quinn sipped her own tisane, thinking. “People who undergo traumas behave in ways that seem irrational, or so Willow says. Healers have techniques to ease them back into normal life. I expect Bryar’s thoughts are as muddled as yours. Could it be some kind of self-imposed punishment for killing Duncan?”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure we’ll ever know. Why Kiril would lie about it makes no sense, unless he expected to gain by it. Bryar struck with the knife first.”
“And passed out. There are no witnesses to what happened after that.”
“One way or another, he fought with the intent to harm.”
“Only to save himself.”
Quinn smiled at the younger Scribe’s stubborn defense of Bryar. “Maybe that doesn’t matter. Go wash your face, Tai. We’ve got the circle mid-morning. Hopefully, he’ll turn up.”
“This is weird.” Tai managed a smile. “I’ve never been at a loss for words. I may not talk much, but I always know what to say if I choose to. Now I don’t. It’s like he’s a stranger.”
“But remember, Bryar’s the same man, even though we can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through. We’ll get it sorted out.”
She handed Tai the flute and hustled her from the room.
At the door, Tai stopped. “Quinn? Where did the flute come from?”
Quinn smiled, remembering Bryar’s facility in the water. “Think about it.”
Awareness lit Tai’s eyes. As soon as she was gone, Quinn thrust her feet into sandals and set off to find Dal.