Previous Blackbird file

Previous Everyone but Blackbird file.

Blackbird of the Anchor sits alone on a stool at the perimeter, observing, trying to remain disentangled from the retainers mingling around the buffet while she finishes her own meal. Her long black hair is worn loose and combed so that it covers most of the left side of her face. It's dreadfully annoying -- half-blinding her left eye, but it looks sexy and -- more important -- makes for effective camouflage. The full-length blue velvet and satin dress she is wearing is another kind of camouflage -- it was created by the best dressmaker in Waltham and is fitted and cut to draw as much attention as possible while still being eminently tasteful. It makes her look like a foreign princess. It is definitely overkill for an outdoor feast in the backwoods of McMannon, but she had decided that tonight wasn't a night to take any chances.

She slices a piece of pork with her heavy Tudor huntsman's knife -- the same knife that so upset the flower of Yorkish knighthood earlier this day -- and takes a bite. The flesh is warm in her mouth, warmer than life, and makes her think of things that hunt and things that die. She knows which she'd rather be. She looks over the crowd gathered at the tables and wonders who among them will be hunters, and who will merely die.

It is an unlikely gathering in the wilderness; nobility of no less than a half-dozen duchies all answering the call of an albino, half-elf bastard most of them wouldn't let sleep in their stable were it not for the perverse fates that elevated him to lordship over an unseen but literally cursed plot of land. That's right. Literally. Castle Llughen, the ancient hold of these lands, has lain under Druid curse for centuries, a symbol of Druid power ever since the ancestral nobility of McMannon dared to encroach upon the sanctity of the Forest Savage.

Now, after all this time, Jhereg thinks to take the castle back. And all have come to aid him in the name of friendship and goodness. Blackbird laughs to herself.

Blackbird: [unspoken]

Goodness, indeed. Some have come hoping to claim a portion of the legendary treasure of castle Llughen for their own. Some have come hoping to cloak themselves in glory. Some came because they were bored. And I'll bet there's more than a few who are here only because they are anxious to see this upstart freak of a lordling meet a long-overdue death. I came because he asked me. But I would have come even had he not. For no matter what happens, it is bound to make a good story.

Narrator:

She watches the man sitting across from Friedrich. Lady Glorianna is busily melting all over him. Blackbird smirks.

Blackbird: [unspoken]
If your prescience is at all vivid tonight, Glori, I can understand why you are getting so hot. Let's just see that it's me, not you.

Richard would thank me for saving his sister, even if you would not.

Narrator:

Brandon is not the most handsome man at the table -- Friedrich himself claims that honor. In many ways he is fearsome to look on, but he has a wolfish charisma and a confidence of carriage that mark him as one not to be ignored. He is one who hunts. Blackbird feels a strange mixture of loathing and desire every time she looks at him.

Blackbird: [unspoken]

I'm glad I've come if only for you, Brandon. Dangerous. Dangerous. Danger to me. Danger to yourself. Everything about you is dangerous. The ways you make me feel. The way you look right through me. The dangerous games we play with each other.

Narrator:

Tearing her eyes away from Brandon, she slices deeply into the meat in front of her. Warm, sweet-smelling juices run out onto the platter.

Brandon is not the only one that evening who claims her thoughts. It is for Sir Richard and Sir Hesketh, for Hesketh especially, that she has worked so diligently on this evening's performance. She rehearses her new songs in her mind. They are still clear and solid in her mind, but she can't set aside the worry that they will begin to disintegrate too, lost along with who knows what else in the aftermath of her injury.

Blackbird: [unspoken]

I don't *feel* like I'm forgetting anything else, but how can I even be sure I even know what I'm forgetting? It only becomes apparent as gaps in things I do know. I can't spot any really huge holes. I remember who I am and where I cam from. I remember Belerian and Brandon -- oh, do I remember them -- and Ti, and Sir Richard and how we met. No, it only seems to be bits and pieces. Which is scary in its own way. It is not having a big piece gone, but it is having the whole shattered, with just little slivers flying off and the rest to be cobbled together as well as possible. It makes me feel fragmented. Embarrassing, too, not to be able to remember parts of songs that I've known since I was a child. I wonder what else I can't remember.

Ti's eyes. I can't remember what color his eyes are.

Narrator:

She concentrates fiercely on Ti's face, mentally running her hands over it. She can see it clearly in her mind, can feel his thick beard in her fingertips, watch the curve of his mouth when he laughs, but every time she looks toward his eyes, there is blankness. The eyes that always looked upon her so fondly aren't there anymore.

She fights a sudden irrational urge to race back to Devonshire as fast as Rocinante can carry her, to look in those eyes and restore that very valuable missing memory. Determined that she doesn't *want* to know what else she doesn't remember -- at least, not tonight, not right before she is going to perform -- she looks around for something to divert her attention.

Something to let her relax a notch. She's getting tired of the adrenal reaction that comes with the fear triggered by her forgetting things. It's also a disturbing note that she has gotten used to the tight control needed to keep her hands from shaking when the rush hits so hard. It just doesn't set well, a sign that something might be seriously unwell.

Her eyes and ears are drawn to the Anchor playing quietly in the background. She was disappointed when she first saw him that they did not meet earlier and get an opportunity to practice together. Though used to playing alone, she is excited by the thought of having another Anchor with whom to perform -- it is an old Anchor truism that two is much more than one plus one. When an Anchor doesn't have to worry about being a one person show, she can focus on aspects of her performance that are often neglected. The thought of dance springs to her mind. The fact that she must accompany herself on lute when she's by herself means she rarely gets the full body freedom she'd like. She knows her dancing is one of her greatest potential talents, but also one of the most underdeveloped, and she welcomes any chance she can get to exercise it.

Blackbird: [unspoken]
A shame we didn't encounter each other earlier. We might have put something together that would really blow them out of their seats. but if we go with some of the standards, we should do fine. (If you can remember the standards.)

Narrator:
She's made up her mind to introduce herself, but before she does, she watches him for a while, trying to see what she can learn about him.

She is at once struck by his appearance -- he reminds her greatly of her father, which is more than a little unusual. Almost nobody outside of Cairngorms has a complexion close that of her and her father, and the facial features of the 'gormers differ greatly. This man is no Gormer.

He is slim and rather small like her father, and his hair is the same glossy jet. His eyes are like two onyx stones. She observes that he smiles more often and easily than her father does. This man doesn't have that look of coiled potential she sees in him -- and sometimes in the mirror. He is very relaxed at what he is doing - and doing quite well her professional eye and ear note.

Finally, she rises and goes to the Anchor. She waits a polite distance back until he finishes his song, then steps forward.

Blackbird:
Good evening.

Rojo: [a very warm smile]
Good evening, beautiful lady. Did you enjoy my song?

Blackbird: [nodding]
It was beautiful -- so subtle. I came because I recognized you as an Anchor and I wished to make myself available to you. I am Blackbird, an apprentice out of Harrogate. Sir Brandon of Harrogate has invited me to perform for the guests tonight.

Oh, crap! Not another one. He has "smitten" written all over his expression. He's an Anchor, perhaps a master - or he will be soon - he should be used to getting over a broken heart.

Narrator:
They converse a while longer, discovering what songs they know in common and in what range both prefer to play and sing. Then Blackbird excuses herself. She is still not feeling as composed as she likes to before playing -- the past days have included too many unexpected hits, both physical and mental. There is more than a little comfort from the fact that she will be supported by such a talented Anchor.

She keeps apart as much as possible for the duration of the meal -- waiting until bellies are comfortably full and ale and wine are beginning to flow more freely. Appetites wane and peoples' attention begins to shift away from their stomachs. She catches a few of the telltale looks from those around her that say "You're the Anchor! Aren't you supposed to be saying something about now?"

It's Friedrich's show tonight, though, so she merely rises and moves to the fire where she is visible and warms her hands. When he sees her she nods -- it's enough to let him know she's ready. And soon the expected summons arrives in the form of Friedrich's omnipresent retainer.

Gerd (better know to most as Friedrich's unamed loyal retainer #1):
Miss Blackbird, my Lord Friedrich wished for me to let you know that the favor of your entertainment would be most welcome now, if you would care to oblige.

Blackbird: [nods]
Please tell Sir Friedrich his request is welcome. And thank you, Gerd.

Narrator:
Gerd, professionally unfazable when acting for Friedrich, is unused to drawing any notice personally. He looks pleasantly surprised at Blackbird's thanks to him, bows, and gives her a friendly smile before heading over to Rojo, then back to his place behind Friedrich.

She lets Rojo move first toward the open area beside the table, then follows. She has situated herself so that her route takes her behind Brandon. As she passes, she briefly puts a hand on his shoulder. The look she gets from Glorianna is quite clear - "Not as easy as that."

Blackbird: [smiles. unspoken]
That wasn't even an attempt, Glori.

Narrator:
Since they have not spent time practicing together, they work by alternating solo numbers with standards that nearly all Anchors know well enough to play as duets.

On one such number, Blackbird drops a chord when she realizes that the nonsense syllables Rojo speaks when singing background are not nonsense. It took her long to notice -- realization rose up out of her subconscious, because her conscious mind was not thinking in the language Rojo was speaking -- her father's language, the language she had always thought of as a private thing, a secret bond between her and her father. She knew, in theory, that there was somewhere a whole nation of people who spoke this language, but she never expected to meet one in York!

Rojo:
... a cantar ...

Blackbird: [mentally translating while trying to sing]
Sing a song!

Rojo:
...ahora y siempre...

Blackbird: [unspoken]
Now and forever!

Narrator:
She can only concentrate on a few of his words without becoming distracted. He doesn't seem to be saying anything of import, just replacing "Ohs and Ahs" with approriate phrases from her [she can't stop thinking of it as *hers*] language. The sound of it reminds her again of what she had always believed, that it is a more graceful poetic tongue than the gutteral Yorkish common.

She flashes him a questioning look, but he just smiles back at her and keeps singing -- what else could he do? Suddenly, she can't wait for this to be over, so she can talk to him.

The song ends, and it is her turn.

Stu:

I often rewrite anachronistic elements of songs I use, but for the life of me, I couldn't think of an image to replace Eden and still get the same effect. I think there is some place in the mythos of York for a lost paradise called Eden....

Blackbird:

I'd like to play for you the first of two songs I wrote only this afternoon while trying to put my head back together after a rather unwise and one-sided disagreement with a warhorse. My awakening from the incident was unpleasant in more than one way. So out of it comes a song about rude awakenings.

Narrator:

She begins to alternate intricate strumming with striking the edge of her hand against body of the lute, drum-like. Rojo picks up the rhythm and follows along.

Blackbird:

Narrator:

Blackbird finshes the song with a feeling of satisfaction. It was a good performance -- perhaps her best of the evening.

She starts to step aside to give Rojo his turn, but he gives her a curious expression and holds up two fingers. She catches his meaning -- he wants her to play the second song. Blackbird smiles.

Blackbird:
And this is the second song I wrote today.

Narrator:
Blackbird starts strumming a simple pattern she learned at the guildhall in Harrogate.

Blackbird:

Narrator:
Blackbird stops suddenly and jarringly, looking at her hands like they've just turned green and scaly. From behind her Rojo picks up where she left off - with but the slightest of pauses.

With a pattern as familiar as this one, she can play almost unconsciously while she sings, her hands remember the proper chords practically by themselves. Until this time.

Blackbird: [unspoken]

I forgot the next chord. I've played that progression hundreds of times, until I was sick of it. I played it all afternoon. I couldn't have forgotten it. (But you did.)

Narrator:
She closes her eyes for a minute, and rapidly runs through the progression in her mind. In a second, it comes to her. She opens her eyes and gives a nervous laugh. She looks a little shaken.

Rojo stops when she speaks.

Blackbird: [aloud. voice now sounding more relaxed]
Sorry, that one's a little rough. Let's give it one more try.

Narrator:
She starts over from the beginning and this time has no problem. She gets to the place she stopped before and smoothly makes the transition, though her heart beats a little faster, wondering if her mind will again choose that moment to go blank.

Blackbird: [continuing]

Next file.