And he sang with the girl who lay partly in the sea, and his voice did not silence hers. Once she even looked at him, and smiled, and he felt that his voice might not be so hateful, after all. He sang her the love song, and the next day he left Vigil.

The other retreat was Promontory, and it was by far the largest. Here was where most of the Blinds lived, singers who returned and discovered that they did not really enjoy teaching, that they weren't really good at it. Promontory was a city of people who sang constantly, but spent their lives doing other things than music.

Promontory also coasted on a sea, the huge stone buildings (for the Songhouse children could never be long from stone) towering over a choppy, frigid sea. There were no children there, by age, but the games played in the woods, in the fields, and in the cold water of the bay were all children's games. As Rruk had explained to him before he came to Promontory, They gave up most of their childhood singing for other people's pleasure. Now they can be children all they like.

It was not all play, however. There were huge libraries, with teachers who had learned what the universe had to teach them and were passing their knowledge on down to ever younger Blinds until finally they died, usually happy. They never called themselves Blinds here, of course-here they were just people, as if everyone lived this way. Those who showed exceptional ability at government and administration were brought to the Songhouse to serve; the rest were content most of the time at Promontory.

Ansset wasn't, however. The setting was beautiful and the people were kind, but it was too crowded, and while there was no restriction on his speaking to them, he found that they looked at him oddly because he never sang. Soon enough they knew who he was-his identity was no secret among the Blinds-and while they treated him with deference, there was no hope of friendship. His strange life was unintelligible to most of them, and they left him alone.

Inevitably, then, though he visited Promontory several times, he came back to the Songhouse after only a week or so. Speech to the Blinds and solitary songs in the forest or desert were not enough to attract him away from the songs of the children.

And, after a while, there was another reason for him to return. He had never meant to break his vow of silence; he was ashamed when he realized that Rruk could not trust him after all, that his Control was not enough to stop him. But some promises cannot be kept, he knew. And some should not be kept. And so, in one quiet room in the Song-house, where Esste once had taught him to sing until he touched the edges of the walls, he sang.

7

If Ller had not been Fiimma's Songmaster, it might have gone undiscovered. And if Fiimma had been a worse singer, it might not have worried Ller enough to report it. But Fiimma was obviously going to be a Songbird. And the changes in her songs, which might have been mysterious to another Songmaster, were easily explained to Ller. For he knew that Ansset was in the Songhouse. And he recognized his music in Fiimma's strange new songs.

At first he thought it was just a momentary lapse-that Fiimma had overheard Ansset somehow and incorporated what she heard into her music. But the themes became persistent. Fiimma sang songs that required experiences she had never had. She had always sung of death, but now she sang of killing; she sang of passion she could not possibly have felt; her melodies bespoke the pain of suffering she could not have gone through, not in her few years.

Fiimma, Ller said. I know.

She had Control. She showed nothing of the surprise, the fear she must have felt.

Did he tell you he made an oath of silence?

She nodded.

Come with me.

Ller took her to the High Room, where Rruk let them in. Rruk had often heard Fiimma sing before-the child had showed promise from the start. I want you to hear Fiimma sing, Ller told Rruk.

But Fiimma would not sing.

Then I'll have to tell you, Ller said. I know that Ansset is here. I thought I was the only singer who knew. But Fiimma has heard him sing. It has distorted her voice.

It has made my voice more beautiful, Fiimma said.

She sings things she shouldn't know anything about.

Rruk looked at the girl, but spoke to Ller. Ller, my friend, Ansset used to sing things he didn't know. He would take it from the voices of the people who spoke to him, as no singer has ever been able to do.

But Fiimma has never shown that ability. There isn't any doubt, Rruk. He has not only been singing in the Songhouse, he has been teaching Fiimma. I don't know what conditions you imposed on Ansset, but I thought you should know this. Her voice has been polluted.

It was then that Fiimma sang to Rruk, removing all doubt of Ansset's influence. She must have been holding back on the things she learned from Ansset when she sang for Ller before. For now her voice came out full, and it was not at all the voice that Fiimma had had only months ago.

The song was more powerful than it had a right to be. She had learned emotions she had no reason ever to have felt. And she knew tricks, subtle and distorted things she did with her voice that were irresistibly surprising, that could not easily be coped with, that Rruk and Ller could hardly bear without breaking Control. The song was beautiful, yet it was also terrible, something that should not be coming out of the mouth of a child.

What has he done to you? Rruk asked, when the song was through.

He has taught me my most beautiful voice, Fiimma said. Didn't you hear it? Wasn't it beautiful?

Rruk did not answer. She only summoned the head of housekeeping, and had him call for Ansset.

8

I trusted you, Rruk said to Ansset...nsset did not answer.

You taught Fiimma. You sang to her. And you consciously taught her things she had no business learning.

I did, he said softly.

The damage is irreparable. Her own voice will never be restored to her, her purity is gone. She was our finest voice in years.

She still is.

She isn't herself. Ansset, how could you? Why did you? He was silent for a moment, then made a decision. She knew who I was, he said.

She couldn't have.

No one told her. She just knew. When I realized it, I kept away from her as much as I could. For two years, whenever I saw her I would leave. Because she knew.

Why couldn't you have kept it up?

She wouldn't let me. She followed me. She wanted me to teach her. She had heard of me ever since she came here, and she wanted to know my voice. So one day she followed me into a room that no one uses, where I sometimes went because-because of memories. And she begged me.

Rruk stood and walked away from him. Tell me the coercion she used. Tell me why you didn't just go out the door.

I wanted to. But Rruk, you don't understand. She wanted to hear my voice. She wanted to hear me sing,

I thought you couldn't sing.

I can't. And so I told her that. I broke the vow and said to her, 'I don't have any songs. I lost them all years ago.'

And as he said it, Rruk understood. For his speech was his song, and that was enough to have broken all the barriers.

She sang it back to me, you see, Ansset said. She took my words and my feelings and she sang them back. Her voice was beautiful. She took my wretched voice and turned it into a song. The song I would have sung, if I had been able. I couldn't help myself then, I didn't want to help myself.

Rruk turned to face him. She was Controlled, but he knew, or thought he knew, what she was thinking. Rruk, my friend, Ansset said, you hear a hundred children singing your songs every day. You've touched them all, you sing to them all in the great hall, you know that when these singers go out and come back, and in all the years to come, your voice will be preserved among their voices.