The Singer and the Silversmith

A short story from the world of The Shattered Moon

A brief note of introduction. I’m hoping the story itself is reasonably self-explanatory, but if you need to know a bit more (e.g., ‘what the hell’s a Dawnsinger?), there are further clues on my website. I’d love to know how well this works for you. I don’t want to give too much away because it’s pretty crucial to the plot of Three Kinds of North in particular.

Evisyn is a significant character in the series, from Vows and Watersheds onward, but this story harks back to an earlier point in her life. As she says herself, she was ‘Chosen as a Dawnsinger when I was barely eleven years old’, and she also mentions that this was seventeen years ago. This dates the story to a couple of years after Three Kinds of North, so Evisyn is well aware of the shocking disappearance of Jerya and Railu—though it will be another eight years before anyone in the Sung Lands learns where they went or what’s happened to them since. Eight years, too, before Jerya and Evisyn meet and… but if you haven’t read Vows and Watersheds, saying any more would be too much of a spoiler.

One more thing. I’ve included a few illustrations just to break up the block of text; again, I’m interested to know if this works for you or if you’d rather read without distractions.

The three Dawnsingers reined in on the crest of the rise, taking in their first glimpse of Aynsome. It hardly looked any different, thought Evisyn, to the view she'd seen seventeen years ago, looking back as the carriage took her away after Choosing. She knew, though, that even if the place looked exactly the same, people could change. Certainly she wasn't the same person she had been back then, more than half her life ago.

"How's it feel to be home, Ev?" asked Tanseer.

"Best ask me tomorrow," said Evisyn, heeling her mount and starting down the slope.

***

The old covered bridge was much the same, though a few of the boards on which the horses' hooves boomed so loud looked new. Before they were halfway across she could see that the mill on the town side had near doubled in size. A good thing, no doubt: jobs for more men, and maybe cheaper metal for the Dawnsingers' Guild too. Then, just as they clattered onto the setts of the town road, she saw something that made her frown, a steady stream of bluish-pale water discharging into the river, mingling with the current in cloudy swirls that could still be made out far downstream. She wondered if the resident Singers knew about it… and if there was anything they could do. Whatever some people might think, the powers of the Dawnsingers were hardly limitless.

***

Evisyn rode up to the Adjunct House with the others. People looked at them as they rode through the twisting grey streets. Three Dawnsingers: a troika generally meant a Choosing was in the offing. Some parents would be thinking how best to present their daughters; others might be planning on hiding them. She'd only been a Peripatetic a few years, but experienced companions had briefed her on common tricks, and she'd seen most of them by now. Disguising girls as boys; she'd seen that several times in every Rotation. And when found out, every girl and every mother looked at the Singers as if they truly had mystical powers, instead of just common sense and keen eyes—and, in most places, access to records of births.

She got her horse settled in the stable, exchanged swift greetings with the three resident Singers, then set off back down into town on foot. She was relieved to find she had no trouble finding her way.

People still looked at her as she walked down, but now it felt different. There were people here who'd know her, not as just another Dawnsinger, but as Evisyn; Sollom's Evisyn, as she'd been till her Choosing. Of course, she'd been a skinny girl of barely eleven, not a long-striding woman of twenty-eight, but some would still know her. She had her father's nose, her mother's bronze skin, albeit darkened a shade by a long summer with many days spent in the saddle.

Some recognised her, she had no doubt, but no one called out or greeted her, and she kept up her rapid stride. It had been long enough since she'd seen her family.

***

The door was opened by a young woman, somewhere about her own age. She had the hawk nose, but her skin was distinctly lighter than her own. Not Aro, then. Evisyn was disconcerted to find herself almost relieved about that.

"Greetings, Dawnsinger," said the woman demurely.

"That's quite enough of that. I'm your aunt, if I'm not mistaken."

"No, you're right enough."

"You're Tolly?"

"I am that, Aunt."

"Then you're the one that's older than me." They'd made a joke of it when they were girls. Some of the neighbour-kids had boggled at the notion that a niece could be older than her aunt; but there were more than twenty years between Evisyn and her oldest sister, Tolly's mother Gebril. Gebril had married young, too.

Tolly smiled, "Aye, and I still expect some respect for my age."

"What about some respect for your aunt? Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Of course… Granmaie's in the kitchen, up to her elbows in dough. I'll be in with the babe in a moment."

Maie was Granmaie to Tolly, of course; and Evisyn got another little shock when she realised that the four-year-old in a high chair solemnly watching pie-making operations must be Tolly's child: Hessie, she remembered. The baby, just arriving in his mother's arms, was Revish.

Letters were one thing, but seeing those children made them real—and sparked the thought: I'm a great-aunt. Draff, makes me feel old. She kept that to herself, smiled, admired the girl—who stared at her great-aunt's bald head as if she couldn't believe it—and cooed over the sleeping infant.

But it was her mother Evisyn wanted to look at, holding her at arm's length once she'd extricated herself from a long fierce embrace. Maie—a great-granmaie now—was somewhere around sixty; stouter than Evisyn remembered, and a good deal greyer, but still hale so far as she could see.

"Draff, now I've gone and got flour on your good Dawnsinger's robe," said Maie.

Evisyn laughed, partly because of the absurdity, partly because that was Maie all over and she felt almost like she was eleven again. "White on white isn't going to show. Besides, it's hardly a good robe, these are my travelling clothes." She showed them the divided skirt, which Tolly admired before being distracted by a sudden squeal from her babe. In a moment she had retired to the corner beside the range to feed the infant.

And in the same moment there was a sound behind her, the yard door scraping as it always had, and then a voice. Evisyn felt as if her heart turned over in her chest.

"So we ain't good enough for you to put a good robe on?" said Aronash.

"Aro…" said Maie in a warning tone, but Evisyn held up a hand and smiled at her youngest sister. They looked at each other for a long moment; Evisyn's smile began to feel unnaturally fixed.

"Tell true," she managed then, "I didn't think about it. Just wanted to get here soon as I could."

Aro shrugged. She was wearing a dull green tunic and breeches and her hair was cut short. "I'd'a thought, after seventeen years, what's five minutes more or less?"

"I never had a choice about the seventeen years. I did about the five minutes."

Aro looked sceptical, but before she could reply Maie stepped in between them. "I might'a known wi' you two… But you're frettin' the wee lass, and you'll be frettin' the babe off the breast too if you go on. So afore the rest of 'em gets here, I want you to sort yourselves out. Least so you can be civil afront o' Geb and your brothers. Anyways, I could do wi' you gettin' out from under my feet and lettin' me get on.”

“Don’t you need some help, then?” asked Evisyn.

“There’s Tolly, when she’s fed the wean, and Geb’ll be here soon. Get yourselves gone. Just promise me you'll not come to blows.”

"Guess we won't be tearing each other's hair out, anyway," said Evisyn, and had the pleasure of hearing Aro's snort of stifled laughter.

Aro nodded to the door she’d just come in by and Evisyn followed her out. “Stars!” she said a moment later. “You’ve kept his shed.”

The smell of sawdust and linseed oil filled her nostrils and suddenly she was blind with tears. “Sorry,” she said when she could speak once more. “I guess I never thought I’d see this again.”

Aro looked at her, head coked on a slant. “I wondered if we’d see you at the funeral.”

“Aro, I didn’t even know until a month after, maybe longer. I know you wrote…”

“Scraped up the money to send it by bird.”

“I’m sorry. And they did forward it on, but I was on a Northlands Rotation, somewhere way up past Kerrsands Bay and I didn’t see it till I got back there.”

Aro said nothing, just kept her steady gaze. Evisyn returned the scrutiny. How many times had Paie said they were twins? Just that Aro came along a little late. Two years, near enough; but as good as twins, in his eyes. Always had the same colouring, same bronze skin and dark eyes with flecks of green, and of course that same nose. Now they were the same height too. True, one had boyishly cropped hair and one had none, but cover that difference with hoods or caps, and she thought they might look more like twins than ever.

"Is that what it is?" she asked. "Are you angry because I missed the funeral?"

"That, aye—and a whole lot more."

"Tell me."

"You have to ask? You stand there with your white clothes and your shaven head, with your fine horse stabled up the hill, and you need to ask me that?"

"Are you saying… my being a Dawnsinger… you resent that?"

Aronash looked fiercely at her and said, "I resent that I am not. That I was never even considered in the next Choosing."

Evisyn took this in, and said, "Are you saying that you would have wished to be a Dawnsinger also?"

"Why not? If you can, why not I?"

"I cannot fault you for that; but you can hardly fault me for your being refused. It is a rule—"

"I know," said Aro. "A rule of the Guild. They will not—you will not—Choose a second girl if a sister has already been Chosen."

"That is true. And I'd be surprised if Maie don't think it a merciful rule." If Evisyn had a hope this would appease Aronash, a glowering look put paid to it.

"Have you forgotten?" she went on, "That I am but two years older than you? When you were of age for Choosing, I was barely thirteen, still a very junior Novice. The rule you complain of was none of my making; it had been in place for many years. Since before I was born, I'm sure."

It might have had the intended effect, if only she had not said 'Novice', but she saw at once that it was salt on Aro's wound, just as much as if she'd said 'Dawnsinger'.

"There's nothing fair about it," said Aro bitterly.

"I have not said that there is," said Evisyn, though privately she thought the rule a fair one. There would always be girls, like Aronash, who felt aggrieved, but one had to give some thought to the families also. If the Guild squandered the good will of the people, who could say what the consequences might be?

She sighed. What more was there to say, or to try? "Let me tell you something about being a Dawnsinger: we go where we're sent. It's in the Vow: I shall defer at all times to duly instituted authority. I count myself lucky being a Peripatetic, but it's our Master who tells us where to go and when. And if I hadn't been Chosen as a Peripatetic, I wouldn't be here at all."

"Aye, it's all in the Choosing, ain't it?"

Against her better judgement, Evisyn felt anger rising. She faced her sister squarely. "You said you wanted to be a Dawnsinger, but did you ever think that before I was Chosen?"

"What?"

"Had you thought of it before? We never talked about it. I don't think I even thought about it myself, not till we knew there was to be a Choosing, and then I didn't know what I felt."

"But… you looked right happy, that day."

"I was proud, that was the main thing. Everyone saying how well I'd done. Saying to Maie or Paie how proud they must be. And then being taken inside the House, and meeting the girls the Peripatetics had Chosen in other places, and we were all excited together. Proud, excited, perhaps I could say I was happy…

"It did change, though" she added, a surprise to herself as much as to her sister. "When we were in the carriage taking us to Carwerid, the four of us… We got to the brow beyond the bridge and I leaned out and looked back and I… I suppose I thought, all the life, all the people, everything I'd ever known, was in what I could see, and even then it was going out of sight. And I didn't know if I'd ever seen any of it, any of you, ever again. I sat back down and the others looked at me and next thing I knew we were all crying…"

She looked at her sister's profile, skin a flat brown in the fading light from the window. She began to prime the lantern. "Many Dawnsingers never do see their families again, you know. Some seem to forget them entirely."

"I never forgot you," said Aro. And I never forgot you, Evisyn wanted to say. My twin out of time… But Aro hadn't finished. "Draffit, Ev, do you still not see? I missed you. You went away and I… I felt like you'd abandoned me."

"Aro, no…"

"I felt like it, I said. Maybe it don't make a right lot of sense, but I was only a kid."

"So was I."

When Aro stayed silent, Evisyn tried for a lighter tone. "Looks like someone's still using this place." Her Paie, who'd spent his days wrangling heavy crucibles of killingly hot metal, had spent his free time fashioning delicate ornaments and toys from wood. There was a drift of shavings below the lathe, but they looked fresh, and the racks of tools were free of dust.

"Aye," said Aro, "That'd be me."

"Really?"

"Surprises you, does it?" A prickly tone.

"Maybe, but a good surprise. I remember we both spent time in here with him, when Maie wasn't there to tell us to stop botherin' him…" Aro smiled a little at that.

"I spent a lot more time wi' him after you…"

"After I was Chosen." She put a little stress on the last word; I didn't Choose, I was Chosen.

"Aye, Chosen…" But Aro's tone was less charged now. "Aye, well… and Maie never came out to drag me away." Evisyn saw the kindness of that, their mother's understanding that her youngest daughter had lost her sister, her twin out of time; and perhaps, too, that her father's time might be limited. He'd had the Cough before then, had probably done well to last till two years ago.

"Can I see something you've made?" she asked.

"Nowt finished here," said Aro. "A couple o' things in the house."

"And you're learning silversmithing too…?"

"Properly prenticed. "

"Did they bother much about you being a girl?"

Aro didn't answer directly. "Funny, ain't it? Go to be a Dawnsinger, you can learn anythin', I s'pose. Dawnsingers know everythin', folks say."

"That's not true. We say the most important thing the Guild does is learning. And there's always more to learn."

"Well, you know more than ord'nary folk." Evisyn did not dispute that. It was as close as you could get, in six words, to defining the central purpose of the Guild. "But if you ain't Chosen, then what is there, for girls?"

Her look was challenging, and Evisyn could not blame her. It was a question oft debated within the Guild, the stark discrepancy between the education for females within the Guild and what there was for those Outwith. But the Guild's internal wrangles were not a subject she could mention without imperilling her Vow. And again a fresh thought shouldered to the fore. It was as if she saw the cropped hair and the breeches for the first time. "Aro… have you been passing?"

"My Master knows I'm a girl," said Aro defensively. Twenty-six, thought Evisyn; are you still a girl? "I let th'others think what they will."

Evisyn shrugged. "I'll not say a word against… but what does Maie think?"

"Oh, Maie's all right about it; it's Geb who hates it. Says I'll never get a man and all that sort o'…"

"Well, I know I never will…"

Aro actually smiled at that. "Guess that's so… Mind, she's said that too. That's two of us not givin' Maie any grandweans. But Maie says she ain't about to run short o' weans any time soon. As you'll see…"

"Is there some of your work I can see? In the house?"

"Got something right here." Aro was rooting in a pocket of her breeches. A second later a pair of earrings was nestling in Evisyn's palm. Silver, glowing half-gold in the lantern-light, fashioned in the shape of sycamore leaves scarcely wider than her thumb-nail; but they were veined and textured, the edges starting to curl as the real leaves did when they'd been lying a day or two.

"Aro, these are exquisite…" She hoped Aro would hear that she meant it absolutely. "Is this pure silver?"

"Hardly ever use pure silver; it's too soft. Mostly there's seven to ten percent copper added, makes it a lot more robust."

"These must be worth a pretty penny."

"Aye, but I'm not for selling."

"D'you wear them?"

"Once on blue moons I might put on a dress…"

You were hard on me for coming in my travelling clothes, she thought. But you've not dressed up either. She said nothing; the peace between them, if it was peace, was too fragile.

And then there was a commotion just outside; family entering through the yard, as they always had. Evisyn, now, wondered at herself for knocking at the front like a stranger.

She handed the earrings back to Aro and went out to greet the rest of her family.

There were kids enough in the house that night, a regular swirl and skirl of them. Evisyn felt she'd lost count almost before she'd started.

There were nine adults in the house, she had track on that: herself, Aro, Maie, and Tolly already accounted for. Gebril had arrived quietly while she and Aro were in the shed. Another in the succession of shocks to see how much Gebril looked like Maie. Almost more like Maie than Maie herself does, thought Evisyn, puzzled until she reflected that Geb must now be much the same age Maie had been last time she had seen them. And she was the only one of the six who'd not acquired their father's nose.

It was the arrival of the brothers that had made the commotion: two of the three, with wives in tow. Both of the women were awkwardly shy of the Dawnsinger; one blushed furiously every time Evisyn even looked at her. They and Gebril all brought children; plus Tolly's two that had been here all along.

It had always been a squeeze with eight at the kitchen table, even when most of them weren't yet grown. Nine adults was more than could readily be managed. The kids, under supervision of the daughters-in-law, were consigned to the front room; it had always been a bedroom when Evisyn still lived here, but had since been changed into a neat little parlour. Well, it certainly looked small with all those kids in there. Tolly seemed not to have a seat anywhere, but bustled to and fro.

Finally, after a fair amount of to-ing and fro-ing, things settled, leaving just the immediate family at the table; Maie, five of her children, and one grand-daughter, eating good river-fish (taken in clean water, Evisyn hoped) and spring greens, with plenty of what must be this morning's bread.

Her role during the meal, it soon became clear, was mostly to listen. There were all the doings of all the families to relate, and the latest letter from the absent brother to be read and discussed. Evisyn felt there was little she could have said anyway, after discounting what they were unlikely to understand and what she was barred, by her Vow, from saying. She said what she could, did her best to admire whatever the children had achieved, and wondered several times why she seemed to hear twice as much about the boys as about the girls.

***

When she looked at her watch for the third time, only herself, Maie, Aro, and Tolly were left. Evisyn had been slow to realise that Tolly and her two offspring now lived here. There'd been no mention of a father, either tonight or in Maie's letters. Maie was not a great hand with writing; Evisyn had imagined her forming the letters one by one, just as she herself had done at six or seven. She'd wondered whether Tolly could write; she knew full well Aro could, as they'd mostly learned together. But Maie had her pride, and might very likely have refused any offer of help.

She lingered a few more minutes, then looked at the time again, more obviously, and said with a sigh, "I really will have to be going."

"Dare I hope it won't be another seventeen years afore we see you again?" said Maie.

Evisyn shrugged. "I dearly hope not, Maie. If things stay as they are now, I could be on Rotation this way every two or three years. But it's not up to me. Like I told Aro, we go where we're sent, when we're sent. Now… it won't be fair on my fellow Singers if I come in too late. We've all got to Sing tomorrow, and Dawn's early this time of year."

Farewells still took a while, and it was only when Evisyn finally found herself in the street that she realised Aro was intending to walk up with her. She had no trouble in saying she was very glad of that.

The sky was dark, all save a band of pale primrose dividing indigo clouds in the west. The air had cooled, and she shivered a little.

"Cold on a bald head, I s'pose," said Aro.

"You get used to it," she said. "Mostly I like the coolness. Oh, but I can't tell you how strange it felt, after Choosing."

Aro said nothing, but after a second she slipped her hand in the crook of Evisyn's arm. They walked on, matching strides. Yes, in some ways they were more like twins than ever, two tall, rangy women, bronze-skinned and hawk-nosed. In other ways, not so much… A sudden thought came to her. "Aro, I haven't heard half what I should about your work. But… when do you complete your Prenticeship?”

“Two years—less, now. If all goes well…”

“Well, then, listen—why didn’t I think of this right away?—the Guild needs artisans of all kinds. No men in the Precincts, but where do we get skilled women? I don’t know all about it, it’s not my responsibility, but… it seems to me there ought to be a place for someone who can work metal like you do…” Her mind was spinning. “You say silversmithing, but do you work with other metals too?”

“Sure. There’s never that much silver to go around. Brass, copper, tin…”

“And something like brass is a lot harder, isn’t it? Much better for clockwork and things.”

“Things like that?” said Aro, pointing to the watch on Evisyn’s wrist. Its weight was just enough to be always there, a constant reminder of who and what she was.

“I think the horological work is reserved for actual Dawnsingers… but who makes the tools they use? The instruments the Healers use.” And then there were sextants, astrolabes, orreries… even the little telescope in her pocket. “It would be making things for use, not jewellery and ornaments.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, if the skill’s the same.”

“I don’t know enough to be sure.” If she knew one thing, she knew she had better be absolutely straight with her sister at this moment. “But it’s fine work. Things have to be made with real precision.”

“And are you sure they’d take me?”

Again, honesty had to rule. Making a pledge she couldn't keep might be fatal for their relationship. “I can’t say ‘sure’. Not as a promise. But I can’t see why not… and anyway, I can find out, when I get back to the College.”

“When will that be?”

“Not till Equinox—till autumn. Maybe even nearer winter. Depends on the Master of Peripatetics. But you said you had two years…”

“Aye, but it’d be good to have an idea in my head.”

“I’m sorry, Aro, I don’t see I can do anything sooner. But soon as I get back I’ll make enquiries.”

“A’right. And… s’posin’ they would look at me… and s’posin I decide it’s what I want to do… would I see you?”

“Aro, I’m a Peripatetic. I’m away from the College three quarters of the year. That’s not likely to change any time soon. But when I am there, yes, I could see you. Maybe not every day, but a lot more often than I can see you now.”

“I wouldn’t know anyone else.”

“Not to start with, no. But listen, I was Chosen as a Dawnsinger when I was barely eleven years old. I didn’t know a single person. But by the time the carriage got to Carwerid, those three girls who travelled with me were my firm friends. Two of them are Singers out in the Lands now, so I don't see them more than once every few years. But the third, when I get back to the College, it’s like we’ve never been apart.”

Aro said nothing, so Evisyn went on, “Look, I know it’s a big idea, but neither of us can decide anything definite now. I’ll make my enquiries, you just think about it.”

They were almost at the Adjunct House now. Evisyn stopped in the dim space midway between two lanterns. They faced each other. "Aro…" But they'd bruised each other with words, appeased each other with more, and now it felt like she had no words left.

"I know," said her twin out of time.

"Can I…?" She opened her arms to signal her meaning.

"You sure? You know some folks take me for a man, specially in this light. Be a fair scandal if someone reckoned they'd seen a Dawnsinger embracing a man…"

"I'll take the risk." Then she laughed. "Can't see anyone anyway."

"Aye, but you looked about before you said it." But Aro was laughing too.

"Will we see you tomorrow?" said Aro a moment later, close against her ear.

"Not unless you want to get up at the crack. We'll have to be riding soon after Dawnsong."

"Might be somethin' to hear you." Aro brushed a hand over the back of Evisyn's head.

"Come to the city and you'll hear a thousand Singers every morning."

"Draff," said Aro, "How does anyone sleep?"

Above them, the first hour rang out from the House's belfry.