Songmaster by Card Orson Scott

Author:Card, Orson Scott [Card, Orson Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Music, Adult
ISBN: 9781429966849
Amazon: 142996684X
Goodreads: 9828628
Publisher: Orb Books
Published: 1980-07-01T07:00:00+00:00

18

“Songbird,” Riktors Ashen said, “it seems that someone has taught you new songs.”

Ansset stood among the guards, who all held lasers trained on him. Control kept him from showing any emotion at all, though he longed to cry out with the agony that tore at him inside. My walls are deep, but can they hold this? he wondered, and inside his head he heard, faintly, a voice singing to him. It was Esste’s voice, and she sang the love song, and that was what allowed him to contain the guilt and the grief and the fear and keep Control.

“You must have studied under a master,” Riktors said.

“I never,” Ansset started, and then realized that he could not keep on speaking, not and keep Control.

“Don’t torture the boy, Captain,” said Mikal from where he sat in a corner of the council room.

The Chamberlain launched into his pro forma resignation. “I should have examined the boy’s muscle structure and realized what new skills he had been given. I submit my resignation. I beg you to take my life.”

The Chamberlain must be even more worried than usual, Ansset realized, for he had prostrated himself in front of the emperor.

“Shut up and get up,” Mikal said. The Chamberlain arose with his face gray. Mikal had not followed the ritual. The Chamberlain’s life was still on the line.

“Apparently,” Mikal said, “we’ve broken through some of the barriers laid in my Songbird’s mind. Let’s see how many.”

Ansset stood watching as Riktors took a packet off the table and spread pictures for Ansset to look at. Ansset looked at the first one and felt sick. He did not know why they were making him look until he saw the third one and gasped, despite Control.

“You know this one,” Riktors said.

Ansset nodded dumbly.

“Point to the ones you know.”

So Ansset pointed to nearly half of them, and Riktors checked them against a list he held in his hands, and when Ansset was through and turned away (slowly, slowly, because the guards with the lasers were nervous), Riktors smiled grimly at Mikal.

“He picked every single one kidnapped and murdered after he himself was kidnapped. There was a connection after all.”

“I killed them,” Ansset said, and his voice was not calm. It shook as no one in the palace had ever heard it shake before. Mikal looked at him, but said nothing, gave no sign of sympathy. “They had me practice on them,” Ansset finished.

“Who had you practice?” Riktors demanded.

“They! The voices—from the box.” Ansset struggled to hold onto the memory that had been hidden from him by the block. Now he knew why the block had been so strong—he could not have borne knowing what was hidden in his mind. But now it was in the open, and he had to bear it, at least long enough to tell. He had to tell, though he longed to let the block slide back to hide these memories forever.

“What box?” Riktors would not let up.

“The box. A wooden box. Maybe a receiver, maybe a recording.

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