The Girl who Sang with Whales by Marc Secchia

Author:Marc Secchia [Secchia, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-10-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19: The Audition

ZHIALEIANA’S STOMACH CHURNED. She wished she had not eaten two rijjifruit for breakfast, because either the fruit had been bad, or her nerves were about to take over in the worst possible way.

The Grand Harbourmaster had sent her forth with a firm, “You’ll do fine. Don’t worry.” And she had remained calm–reasonably so–as she was conveyed across town in the Master’s litter. But her first sight of the Conservatory set her composure a-flutter.

“Is there a privy nearby?” she asked the servant who had conducted her to the huge, firmly shut doors of the Grand Concert Hall.

The woman, perhaps noting the sea-cucumber green of her complexion, showed her the way with alacrity. Zhialeiana dashed within and threw up violently into the chamber pot. She moaned unhappily as her stomach cramped and gurgled and gathered its strength for another sally.

Suddenly, a pair of hands held her headscarf back. “Easy, sweetbun. Nerves, eh?” Zhialeiana could not speak. She heaved again. “Didn’t sleep the nightsong? I can’t remember another individual audition with the Bards. You been especially naughty?”

A chuckle found its way through her misery. “Not too bad … I hope, thank you.”

“Wipe your mouth. I’m Yihué, and I look after this little school of golden jackets,” said the woman, who seemed very young to command such an important position. As Zhisu rinsed her mouth with fresh, sweet water from a crystal jug set alongside a beautiful bronze laver, she added, “Just you remember they’re people, the same as you and me. They sleep, wake with their hair in a bird’s nest, and do their business in a privy. Siondik has putrid breath in the mornsong and Ahindiú is allergic to crab. Rinse your lips again, sweetbun. That’s better. Now, let me look at you. May I?”

Zhisu’s stiffened as Yihué reached up and put her hands to her face. Mother, the woman was tiny; was she blind too? But she’d been so certain of their route through the Conservatory to the Grand Concert Hall. And this woman looked after all the Bards? She was as impressed as a hermit crab which had stumbled upon a perfect new shell.

After running her fingertips gently over Zhisu’s face, Yihué said, “Tall, wonderful cheekbones, unusual hair–bend down please. Relax, sweetbun. This is how I see best. What Island do you call home?”

“Ciopalioi Atoll.”

“Mother Rorqual’s truth, is it? Hmm.” She peered into Zhialeiana’s eyes from no more than a hand’s breadth away and then put a strand of her hair almost to her nose. “The Mother made you of her very best clay, didn’t she?”

“Ah–”

“No time for that. Flying fish now, back to the hall. They’re about ready.”

The Mother’s very best clay? Yihué was sweet–wrong, but heart-warmingly sweet nevertheless. At least she was not wishing to die any more.

The double doors facing her were twice her height and wide enough to accommodate a crowd. That made them wider than necessary to intimidate her, not counting the pair of guards standing rigidly to attention either side. Four sets of disapproving eyes.

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