Riktors turned to face him, and Ansset saw that his eyes were red from weeping.
I'm sorry, Riktors said. And he wept again.
The grief was sincere, unbearably sincere. By habit Ansset went to the man. But habit had weakened-where before he would have embraced Riktors and sung to him, he only came near, did not touch him, and certainly did not sing. He had no song for Riktors now.
If I could undo it, I would, Riktors said. But you pushed me harder than I can endure it. No one but you could have made me so angry, could have hurt me so deeply.
Truth rang in Riktors's voice, and with a sinking of his heart Ansset realized that Riktors had not defrauded him. He was telling no lies.
Won't you sing to me? Riktors pleaded.
Ansset wanted to say yes. But he could not. He hunted inside himself for a song, but he couldn't find one. Instead of songs, tears pressed forward in his mind; his face twisted, and he shook his head, making no sound.
Riktors looked at him bitterly, then turned away. I thought not. I knew you could never forgive me.
Ansset shook his head and tried to make a sound, tried to say, I forgive you. But he found no sound inside himself right now. Found nothing but fear and the agony of being forsaken.
Riktors waited for Ansset to speak, to deny, to forgive; when it became clear the silence would last forever if it were up to Ansset to break it, Riktors walked. Around the room, touching windows and walls. Finally he came to rest on his bed, which, when it was clear he was not going to lie down, cooperated by flowing up and around his back a little, providing support.
Well, then, I won't punish you further by keeping you with me here in the palace. You aren't going back to Tew. I can't just pension you off; I owe you better treatment than that. So I've decided to give you work.
Ansset was incurious.
Don't you care? Well, I do, Riktors said to Ansset's silence. The manager of Earth is due for a promotion. I'll give you his job. You'll report directly to the imperial capital, no prefects between us. The Mayor wanted to give you something smaller, some office where you wouldn't have so much responsibility. Riktors laughed. But you aren't trained for any lesser office, are you? At least you know protocol. And the staff is very good. They'll carry you until you learn your way. If you need help, I'll see to it you get it.
Riktors studied Ansset's face for any sign of emotion, though he knew better. Ansset wanted to show him something, show him what he was looking for. But it took all Ansset's concentration to maintain Control, to keep from breaking the glass and leaping from the palace to get outside, to keep from weeping until he cried his throat out. So Ansset said and showed nothing.
But I don't want to see you, Riktors said. - Ansset knew it was a lie.
"No, that's a lie. I must see you, I can't live without seeing you. I found that out clearly enough, Ansset. You showed me how much I need you. But I don't want to need you, not you, not now. And so I can't want to see you, and so I won't see you. Not until you're ready to forgive me. Not until you can come back and sing to me again.
I can't sing to anyone, Ansset wanted to say.
So I'll have them give you some sort of training- there isn't any school for planet managers, you know. The best they can do, meetings with the current manager. And then they'll take you to Babylon. It's a beautiful place, they tell me. I've never seen it. Once you get to Babylon, we'll never meet again. His voice was painful, and it tore at Ansset's heart For a moment he wanted to embrace this man who had, after all, been his brother and his friend. He had known Riktors, he thought, and Ansset did not know how not to love someone he so completely understood. But I did not really understand him, Ansset realized. Riktors was hidden from me, and I do not know him.
It was a wall, and Ansset did not breach it
Instead, Riktors tried to. He got up from the bed and came to where Ansset stood, knelt in front of him, embraced him around the waist and wept into his hip, clinging desperately. Ansset, please. Take it back! Say you love me, say that this is your home, sing to me, Ansset! But Ansset held his silence, and the man slid down his body until he lay crumpled at Ansset's feet, and finally the weeping stopped and, without lifting his head, Riktors said, Go. Get out of here. You'll never see me again. Rule the Earth, but you won't rule me any longer. You can leave.
Ansset pulled away from Riktors's slack arm and walked to the door. He touched it; it opened for him. But he had not left when Riktors cried out in agony, Won't you say anything to me?
Ansset turned around, hunting for something to break the silence with. Finally he thought of it.
Thank you, he said.
He meant thank you for caring for me, for still wanting me, for giving me something to do now that I can't sing anymore, now that my home is closed to me.
But Riktors heard it another way. He heard Ansset saying thank you for letting me leave you, thank you for not requiring me to be near you, thank you for letting me live and work in Babylon where I won't be required to sing for you anymore.
And so, to Ansset's surprise, when his voice croaked out the two words, utterly devoid of music, Riktors did not take them kindly. He only looked at Ansset with a look that the boy could only interpret as cold hatred. The look held for a few minutes, an unbearably long time, before Ansset finally could not stand to see Riktors's hatred any longer. He turned away and passed through the door. It closed behind him. When the door closed, Ansset realized that at last he was no longer a Songbird. The work he had now would require no songs.
To his surprise, he felt relieved. The music fell off him like a burden welcomely shed. It would be some time before he realized that not singing was an even heavier burden, and one far harder to be rid of.
5
Songmaster Onn returned alone to the Songhouse. No one was eager to spread bad news; no one rushed ahead of him to report that, incredibly, his mission had failed.
And so Esste, waiting patiently in the High Room, was the first to hear that Ansset would not come home.
I was not allowed to come to Earth. The other passengers were unloaded by shuttle, and I never set foot on the planet,
The message, Esste said. Was it sent in Ansset's own language?
It was a personal apology from Riktors Mikal, Onn said, and he recited it: "I regret having to inform you that Ansset, formerly a Songbird, refuses to return to Tew. His contract has expired, and since he is neither chattel nor a child, I cannot legally compel him. I hope you will understand that for his protection no one from the Songhouse will be allowed to land on Earth while he is here. He is busy; he is happy; do not be concerned for him.'
Esste and Onn looked at each other in silence, but the silence between them sang.
He is a liar, Esste finally said.
This much is true: Ansset does not sing.
What does he do?
Onn looked and sounded pained as he said it. "He is manager of Earth.
Esste sucked in air quickly. She sat in silence, her eyes focused on nothing. Onn's voice had been as kind as possible, his song gentle to her. But there was no gentleness in the message. Riktors might have forced Ansset to stay-that was believable. But how could Ansset have been forced to take a position of such responsibility?
He is so young, Esste sang.
He was never young, Onn answered, a descant.
I was cruel to him.
You gave him nothing but kindness.
When Riktors begged me to let them stay together, I should have refused.
All the Songmasters agreed that he should stay.
And then a cry that was not a song, that came deeper from within Esste than all her music.
Ansset, my son! What Have I done to you, Ansset, my son, my son!
Onn did not stay to watch Esste lose Control. What she did alone in the High Room was her own affair. He descended the long flight of steps, his body heavy with his own regret. He had had time to get used to the idea of Ansset not returning. Esste had not.