Felix spent the few weeks practicing the sneezing song, which he now knew as the Song of Minor Maladies, sometimes on his own and sometimes with Madina and any test subject who happened to be enjoying the north courtyard. Madina said it was important for anyone living in a place that was after all called the Barracks to be occasionally tested on their self-defense skills. If they ended up on the grass in a puddle of their own mucus, that was just the price of education.

The rest was spent learning how to read in a poorly lit room branching off the library. His tutor was a girl with a single long braid of dark hair trailing down her back named Hannah. She was a bit small and sickly looking like she wasn’t getting enough to eat, though Felix had seen her eating Mathilda’s stew in the hall with relish, so her health probably wasn't at issue.

As a teacher, Hannah was middling at best with a voice that was too quiet and eyes that did not meet his when he asked a question, but she was the only native Iberian speaker available. On the other hand, she was patient with his mistakes, which were frequent, and knew many useful shortcuts for memorizing sounds and their unfamiliar combinations, so it wasn't all bad.

By the end of their third week together, Felix was able to see past her shortcomings and was rather fond of the mousy girl. It wasn’t the sort of fondness he had for Clarissa—she was more like a younger sister, or what he imagined, one would be like, never having had one. Though she was also a younger sister who told him what to do and on whom he was totally dependent.

“I want you to read as much of this as you can,” she said, handing him a leather-bound book of myths from Greece written in Iberian. “Tell me about what you read tomorrow, okay?”

“Is it okay for me to take this back with me? You said it was your book,” Felix answered.

“Mmhm. Please, take it,” she said, her dark, chestnut-shaped eyes smiling. “Just be careful.”

“I will, thanks.” He put the book in the large sheepskin bag Madina had given him the other day, saying it was just lying around her and Bruno’s quarters, so he might as well have it. He felt a strange mixture of pride in having earned her trust, at least a little, and shame at having tried to deceive her. He had made the song work, yes, but he had still tried to cheat just to get away from her.

She should have just told me how to do it properly the first day. He told himself the same thing every time he felt guilty about the cat hair trick, but it hadn't worked yet.

As he made his way toward the Dining Hall for supper, Felix had to admit that he was beginning to like it at the Barracks. He tried to assess whether this was simply because he was contrasting his life here to his recent life in the ante-City, compared to which anything might seem good. But it really was better for him there than it was at home. He was able to play his lute without his sister trying to smash it for interrupting her gossip time with her silly friends. He was able to learn how to read without his mother caterwauling about the devil. He didn’t have to break his back working the fields or chopping wood. Even the food and the beds were better and softer. Coming halfway across the world to a country he had never seen because of the vague possibility he could learn more about poetry had seemed like the most recklessly stupid thing he had ever done just a few weeks ago, but somehow, even something as recklessly stupid as that had paid off.

Mostly. Except for one thing. He was trying not to think of it as he placed two juicy-looking pieces of roast chicken on his plate and slathered them with gravy. That one tiny little thing that shaded all the good he was currently experiencing.

He might die. Felix had known that on an abstract level since Yew explained how the Song-Catchers worked. At the time, he had been more concerned about losing his freedom, but recent events had made it relevant again.

It was all Janus’s fault. His ring was connected somehow to the situation with the infamous Basso. Later, he told Yew about something called “the Song of Waking-Death” and everyone in the Barracks had gone into a panic.

Of course, Janus insisted on being involved in what came next, and Yew was more than willing to oblige him.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“They need a ‘counter-song’ for the one of ‘waking-death’,” Janus explained days ago from the top bunk as twilight faded into the darkness outside. “Yew even knows where to find it, but he’s sure the owner won’t let us make a copy.”

“So they’re going to ‘catch’ it from him, right?”

“Not ‘they’. Me. I’m going to do it.”

“What? Why?”

“I asked and Yew said yes. It’ll save them having to return the original if I read it since I can just make a copy.”

“Why would you volunteer for that? We just got here…”

“I have to know what happened to my memories.”

Felix had heard the full story of Janus and his missing year over the last weeks, and he still didn’t see why he was so obsessed with getting back a bunch of probably miserable memories.

"I don’t get it,” Felix said. “That sounds dumb.”

"Look, what I mean is—”

"This is boring. I’m going to sleep.”

Despite that, the next morning Felix had climbed Yew’s still ridiculously tall tower and asked to join in this counter-song nonsense. Felix was the one to get him involved with the Song-Catchers in the first place, so Janus was his responsibility. And he was going to get sent on a mission sooner or later, so it might as well be this one.

Felix was in the Dining Hall aggressively cutting a plate of overcooked roast pheasant and leeks when Janus joined him at one of the long tables. Just looking at him pissed Felix off.

Janus looked puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wish you hadn’t gotten us wrapped up in this thing with this Basso guy and his death-song or whatever you called it. I don't know how you can be so calm about it either. Doesn’t that idea that we might die in a few days scare you?

Janus stared at him blankly as he his buttered roll. “Why would it?”

“Don’t you remember that guy who ran into Clarissa’s office? He was a strong guy with loads of experience, but he still almost got killed. That’s the kind of work these people do—the kind of work we’re about to be doing.”

Janus pondered this for a minute as he chewed his bread. “I don’t think we’ll die.”

“Really? Care to explain why?”

“Hmm…I don’t know. I just don’t think we will. We didn’t die in the forest, remember?”

“They weren’t trying to kill us then! It was a test. This is the real thing.”

“Do you want to run away then?” Janus asked, taking a bite of chicken. Felix could tell it was a sincere question, not a taunt. Felix thought the other boy would even offer to join him if he said yes.

“I don’t want to run away, but I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how you manage.”

Felix hadn’t noticed him until just then, but Chretien suddenly sat down beside them, his plate stacked with chicken and turnips. “Felix, friend, you need not worry about your own death. In the first place, I can assure you: eventually, you will die. This is a platitude, yes, but it is also a deep truth. The only thing you can do about that is go to confession and hope for the best. Furthermore, you are much more likely to be captured and sold to the Bulgars than killed in our line of work. We may even try to pay a ransom if Master Yew is in a generous mood.”

“Well, I suppose that’s better than being killed.” The prospect of being “sold to the Bulgars” was certainly terrifying, but Felix felt a mild relief to hear the odds of his death were not as high as he thought. His mind felt free to dwell on other questions, and as it happened, Chretien might be able to answer one.

“Hey, the other day you said it took you months to get your song to move just one tear. But I managed to get Madina to sneeze a few times after the second day, and I was able to give Janus here enough of a fit to knock him down last night—“

“Don’t remind me about that,” Janus added. “My nose still hurts.”

“Yes, anyway—what I’m saying is, I know I’m not some kind of prodigy, and everyone says you’re one of the ‘strongest’ Bards here. So how does that work out?”

“You must learn to appreciate your own strength more, friend!” Chretien said, patting him on the back. “You did learn much faster than usual, and you should take pride in it. But yes, it usually does not take months to produce such a small effect. My song is different from most, which makes it very troublesome to use. Most songs, they are a simple message sent from a Bard to change the target somehow. My song instead creates a bond between my will and the will of my target, which allows me to control it with my mind even after the song ends; it is called a numen-bond. Have you seen Master Yew moving the dust? It is the same thing."

“I thought that songs couldn’t effect the singer,” Janus pointed out. “Or wait...maybe that doesn’t count, I’m not sure.”

“No, your intuition is apt, but this is something of an exception since the bond doesn’t change the will of the singer in itself, it just ties the singer’s will to something else. Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, certainly. But, are there any others around besides you and Yew who can use songs like that?”

“There are, but why don’t you try finding out about them on your own, yes? I don’t want you to become dependent on me for your knowledge of the Guild.”

“Why can’t you just tell us?” Felix asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Is it just one of the rules of being a Bard that everything has to be mysterious?”

“Just so, my friend,” Chretien replied. “It is rule nine. It is good that you are learning.”

Felix waited for Chretien to wink or give some indication he was joking, but it never came.