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nt。 I heard the splash of oars as he pulled away； and I entered the cottage。 It was dim and hung with old； thin tapestries of artful design。 The main room was spread with pillows of muted color。 They made a circular pattern about a small stool。 Omerye sat on the stool and patted one of the nearest pillows。 I sank down； so full of questions and confusion； I only had strength for silence。
It was broken by her musical voice。 〃Do you understand what this is about？〃 I shook my head； no。 She raised the pipes。 〃You are the one I play for；〃 she said。 I still did not understand。 She raised the pipes higher； until they nearly touched her lips。 〃Since the first moment I played；〃 she said； 〃I saw a person in my mind。 And it is that person I make my music for。〃 She stopped； the pipes drooping lower； and shook her head。 〃No。 That isn't right。〃 She pressed the pipes tight against her breasts。 〃I make music for me。〃 The pipes came up again。 〃But I play the music for 。。。 you。 You are that person in my mind。〃 The pipes were closing on her lips again。 She said； 〃And you have been there； since 。。。 since 。。。 well； always。〃
She menced to play。 In my mind the music formed the image of a small； pale child； she was silent and serious and given to dreams。 When I write that I saw her； imagine my ears were my eyes； and the notes created form and color better than any light。 The child loved all sound； whether shrill bird cries or the knock of dry wood against a dock。 I saw her make sounds of her own； using mon things to produce unmon notes。 I saw her form those notes into a first whole song。 She always played to a mirror； and in the mirror I saw an image I couldn't quite make out。 The vision blurred； then I found the child grown into a girl with swelling buds for breasts and hips flaring into womanhood。 She sat before the mirror； red hair spilling downward as her head bent over new pipes。 She made a lovely song； but you could tell by her hesitation； she was testing new ground。 I saw her glance into the mirror； as if seeking approval。 At first I thought I saw her own reflection there； but the red hair that shone back was of a slightly different color； and the features smiling approval were not hers； but mine。 The music carried me onward： I saw the girl bee a woman； saw her music lift above all heights； saw that woman play before important and approving people。 But always there was one person whose approval Omerye was really seeking； and that person was me。
The song ended； and I opened my eyes to see tears in her own； but there was gladness in the tears。 〃Now； here is the first song I ever heard in my head；〃 she said。 〃But； I could never play it。。。 until now。〃 She lifted the pipes once again； and melody swirled about me。 Each note was one I had never heard before； but the refrain haunted close； oddly familiar。 The song found secret places； and each place was happy to be revealed。 Omerye's pipes swept me away； and she and I were discovering new things together： fresh vistas of mountains and rivers and rolling seas。 The pipes stopped； and as the last notes drained from the air； I realized the song had been made only for me。
〃Now； do you understand？〃 she asked； trembling； anxious。
As I began to answer； a black pit opened； and she became a small； distant figure across the wide gulf。 Bitter memories of Deoce and little Emilie flooded out； washing over me。 Grief struck and became hard； dry sobs rattling in my chest。 I was locked in mourning； and as I mourned I knew I would soon suffer another great loss。 For how could I ask Omerye to live with such specters？
Halab heard me and took pity。 I felt his presence； and his whisper rustled in my ear。 〃You will find them there；〃 he said； 〃if you will only look。〃 I did； and when I raised my head； the pit had vanished。 Omerye's face was close； and I looked into her eyes and saw Deoce and Emilie reborn。 Omerye's love joined theirs and became the whole。 〃Do you understand？〃 she asked again。
〃Yes；〃 I said。 〃I understand。〃 I swept her from the stool； and she came into my arms with a cry of delight。 We fell into the pillows； aching for want of the other； all hot hands and twining limbs。 My fingers opened her tunic with ease； as if from much practice。 They caressed softness that was at once mysterious and familiar。 I heard myself say； 〃I love you； Omerye。〃 I heard her whisper back； 〃I have always loved you； Amalric。〃 And then； except to repeat those words； we did not speak for many hours。 We made love until dawn； and in the chill morning； Omerye played that song once more。 She played and I listened； and we were plete。
They say time passes swiftly for new lovers； and as if in a dream。 Only the last was true for us： we spent the following weeks in a trance； drank with one another； but each week seemed more like years and heaped together they made a lifetime。 There was much to know； but there was also much known； and before very long there it was understood that any future the gods allowed would be lived in the other's pany。 The only question was where； and that was settled the first time I broached it。 〃Shall I speak to the king？〃 I asked。 〃And ask to bee one of his subjects so I can remain here with you？〃
〃Only if it pleases you；〃 Omerye said。 〃But don't make the mistake of doing it to please me。〃
〃Wouldn't you rather remain with your own people？〃 I asked； thinking of Deoce and wondering if fate would have cast different dice if we had returned to her tribe。 〃You are much admired here。 I fear your art would suffer in Orissa。〃
〃Admiration has never been my goal；〃 Omerye said。 〃Only freedom to make any music I choose。〃
〃You would have that in Orissa；〃 I said。 〃And admiration as well。 But I do not think it is as great a treasure as it is in Vacaan。〃
Omerye's face darkened 〃It is not so wonderful as you have been led to believe；〃 she said。 〃The king may say all is encouraged for art's sake； but in practice it is another thing。 In Vacaan there are unspoken boundaries that limit all the arts。 If you go beyond it； certain 。。。 things 。。。 happen。 The least of which is you are suddenly without patrons； or audience of any kind。〃
〃But how can that be？〃 I asked。 〃Why； in Vacann； artists are paid the greatest of all pliments。 When their work is plete； a spell is cast so no one can duplicate it in any manner。 And each is preserved； so the work remains in all ways unique。〃
〃Uniquely tame 。。。 and therefore not unique at all；〃 Omerye replied。 〃When you have been here longer； you will see nothing is allowed that stirs public questioning or debate。 An artist can only dare with form； or color； or tone。 But we can never challenge authority。 Much is made of our system； because authority goes to great trouble to sniff out our talents when we are young。 Then we are given the best of training。 But along with that training a very subtle message is imparted： do this； and no more。〃
〃What happens to those who don't listen？〃 I asked。
She shivered。 〃One day；〃 she said； low； 〃they simply fail to appear。〃 The twin of the chill that had touched her； touched me； and I thought of the missing tavern keeper 。。。 and Raveline。 〃We all know better than to ask what happened to them；〃 Omerye continued。 〃And we take great care w