The Silence of Medair

"Not to boast of," Medair said, wishing she hadn’t asked. He had reworked and renamed the song, but she had recognised the subject. Telsen would be pleased to know that his work hadn’t been too complex to achieve popular immortality. This song, at least, had outlasted him.

Wanting to turn the conversation, she opened her satchel and drew out a blanket. Avahn started to refuse when she offered, then caught himself.

"For a moment I forgot," he said. "What else have you got in there, Kel ar Corleaux?"

"Everything but the horse," she replied. "It’s a bad habit, but easier than carrying the full weight of everything I own." She was a little amazed at the lightness of her tone, but she was finding it difficult to resist Avahn’s ready humour. White Snake or not, he was good company.

"So if you lose this, you have nothing? I see why you call it a bad habit."

"It’s difficult to lose," she replied. "And I’d still have the horse."

"Then it’s also possible to trace?" he shot back, with a mild grin. "You give yourself away so easily. Little by little I shall have all your secrets from you, Kel Medair ar Corleaux."

"Thank you for warning me," she replied, laughing. He was probably uncertain why she fell so silent afterwards and turned her attention fully to tending her horse, whom she’d decided to name Eidal. Or perhaps he saw her immediate reason well enough, if not the history behind it. White Snakes. She didn’t want to befriend this youth, with his glib tongue and whatever secrets he was hiding behind his carefree attitude. Yes, she’d called Ibisians White Snakes, and a few things worse than that. A year and five hundred more ago they had been the enemy, the invaders, evil founded on pride. Now they were people.

-oOo-

Medair finally ran out of things to do with Eidal, and was forced to join the others. They had settled in the clearest area on the hilltop, where the rocks were few and the grass soft. Stars and a half-moon shimmered in the pool and, beneath the fathomless well of the sky, everyone seemed small and shadowy and not quite real.

"Please be seated, Kel ar Corleaux," Cor-Ibis said, indicating a space to his left, in the shelter of the jagged rock he was resting against. He may well have been watching her all the time, without her realising. Now, he coolly followed her every movement, pale eyes turned silver once more by the uncertain light.

It was stupid to feel uncomfortable sitting close to a man she had bathed, dressed and fed. But he had been less than himself then, not watching her in that horribly incisive way. Settling out of the bite of the wind, she tried not to lean obviously out of his reach.

"I would ask you of the people of Farakkan," said a soft voice out of the past. She closed her mind to the memory, to all thought of blue eyes. But she could not so easily shut away a living voice.

"The capacity of a Herald’s satchel is rumoured to have been enormous," Cor-Ibis said. "Do you have some estimate of how much can be contained within your own?" He paused, perhaps because she was staring at the stars like they were escape just out of reach, then continued. "Forgive my curiosity, Kel ar Corleaux. It is apparent that there is a great deal you do not wish to discuss and it would be impolite to try and force the issue, but the legends of the past have their fascinations."

"That can be taken as a warning not to leave it lying about open anywhere," Avahn put in. "Or you will most certainly find us trying to discover how it works. How many blankets do you have in there? More importantly, how many will you give to me?"

His words earned him an admonitory frown from Keris las Theomain. Medair wondered if Cor-Ibis found his heir unsatisfactory. But then, she doubted he would be fooled by the pose.

"Twelve, I think," she replied, knowing that it was pointless to wish them all dead so that she could shut out their voices as well. "It’s very easy to lose track." She looked back to Cor-Ibis, patient and silent in the twilight. "You’re correct, Keridahl. I have no wish to discuss my satchel, its creator, its contents, my destination or any organisations I may or may not be affiliated with. If I had thought it likely that I could have travelled to Athere without my satchel’s qualities becoming obvious, I would not have revealed it."

"We cannot in honour press you," said Jedda las Theomain, unexpectedly. "But your silence rouses suspicion."

"The Silence of Medair," Avahn said, expelling his breath in a soft laugh. The others seemed to comprehend his inexplicable amusement, but did not share it. Medair looked at him blankly through the gloom, trying to weigh the strength of Ibisian honour, which at least was more clear-cut than Ibisian humour.

The two servants chose this fortuitous moment to start passing around the beginnings of the meal: crusty rolls, fruit, pieces of cold roast chicken and slices of lamb.