Maybe it’s as simple as the fact that I’ve never sung with this intention before.
That made sense. But it was also a depressing thought. It could mean I’d be no use to Baylet or our people. Or it could mean I’d wreak no vengeance for my da. The very thought of it brought a new wave of shivers. And in shivering, I happened on a new, entirely unpleasant idea. Maybe in turning Suffering into a song to suit my own need, a need to harm, I’d opened up a darker part of myself. An untested part. Like an unused muscle that, when overworked, tires quickly, making a man sweat and retch.
Could also be that the rough-throat technique itself had been my failing. Twice as hard as pure vocalization if it’s done correctly. But I’d thought it would be second nature to me. Besides toying with it now and again back at Descant, I’d grown up hearing it a fair bit.
Whatever the reason, I’d failed to make Suffering the right kind of song to take to battle. And as I sat shivering, what worried me most of all was that I just wasn’t cut out for this. I took another sip of strong sage tea, and was bending nearer the fire when Baylet ducked into my tent.
“Not a good day,” he said right off.
I swallowed my tea and said nothing.
He sat across the fire from me, knitting his hands together. The scar on his neck caught the firelight in flickers of orange and shadow. “What did you sing?”
“Something from Suffering,” I replied, looking down into my mug. “I thought the power of it would transfer . . .”
“Suffering?! Dear Lords of Song, you’re crazier than your father.” There was a soft chuckle. “I’m going to assume your Maesteri wouldn’t approve.”
“He might laugh, given how well it went.” I wiped the sweat off my face. “And you might wind up disappointed you brought me here.”
Baylet stared at me through the flames. “I already told you. I brought you back as much for you as I did for me.”
“Ah, right. For my da. I imagine he’d be proud, too,” I said with no small measure of sarcasm.
“You have a gift, Belamae, no question about that. But so do a hundred others just like you. I’ve no delusion that one voice will tip the scales in our favor. And you letting your failure color your sense of your father’s pride is foolish. It’s not honest either.” He paused a long moment. “You probably failed because you’re still looking at things for what they are.”
“And what are they?” I asked.
Baylet pinned me with a thoughtful stare. But he never answered my question. The silence that stretched between us became uncomfortable. I shivered the whole time, inching closer to the fire so that my knees had grown hot.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Why Suffering? Was that your plan the whole time?”
I took up a stick and poked at the fire, causing sparks to be scattered up in the heat. “I think it probably was. Not the specific passage. But it’s the one music none of the rest here know.” I pointed vaguely toward the staging area with my stick. “And Suffering . . . there’s a lot about it that makes sense here.”
Baylet listened, never looking away from me. “And yet you told me your training wasn’t complete. What do you know about absolute sound, then?”
The question didn’t seem conversational. He was asking for a reason, and it had to do with more than just today’s disappointment.
“A little,” I answered. “Maesteri Divad tried to show me before I left. But I wasn’t terribly receptive.”
As I said it, I began to wonder if Divad had been coaching me, preparing me, for when I arrived here. Surely he’d known I wouldn’t stay in Recityv. He could judge a stranger’s intention from body language and the first word out his mouth. And he’d known me for four years.
“Absolute sound is the last principle of music you must master before you can sing Suffering the way it was intended.” Baylet’s eyes grew distant, staring across the flames. “And at their core, the Mor Refrains are written with the same principle in mind. There’s more to them than that, but you can think of them in that way.” His eyes focused on me. “Which is why we didn’t bring them with us; why we never do.”
I fought to remember what Maesteri Divad had said the last time we’d spoken, argued. Anything to help me pull myself from the music illness that had gotten inside me.
“And I still stand by that,” Baylet said, though his voice didn’t sound convincing. “But you . . . I need to tell you something. Things have changed during your four days—”
“Four days. What are you talking about?”
Baylet gave a weak smile with one corner of his mouth. “You slept straight through the first three. While you did, the Sellari changed their strategy.” His eyes then widened with new understanding. “It makes sense now. They must have realized you’d sung Suffering.”
“What makes sense?” I threw back my blankets, worry getting the better of me.
“All the Sellari coming at us now, on all fronts, are like our own Shoarden men. Our songs don’t stop them.” He scrubbed the stubble on his cheeks. “They don’t hear us. We are reduced to steel alone . . . And we’re outmanned five to one.”
I felt a heavy pressure in my chest. “It’s my fault,” I muttered. “For trying to sing Suffering.”
Baylet stood. “Timing is a hell of a thing, Belamae. If you’d had more training at Descant, the Sellari wouldn’t need to hear your song for it to beat them down.” He laughed bitterly. “That’s not a fair thing for me to say. The use of song that way is precisely why the Mor Nation Refrains are held safe. Never sung.”
Baylet then pulled a sword from beneath his own cloak and laid it on the ground. He stared
