A number of scathing arguments sprang into Wind Blossom’s mind. With a kick of her will, she disposed of them. She then spent some moments in deep thought. Finally, she answered, “I think you will say that our staff does not have time to do such extensive studies, and that we could gain more working on solving infant mortality problems.”
Janir shook his head, a small grin on his lips. “Actually, my lady, you said that in our last conversation. I have to agree, however. Given our current population it is vitally important to ensure that it grows as rapidly as possible. Our biggest gains will be in improving survival through early childhood.”
Wind Blossom nodded. “And while the young represent new cultural capital, the elderly increasingly become a drain on our precious resources.”
“You said that, too,” Janir said gently. “But I would like to disagree with you on that score. I have always admired you and wished that I could learn more from you.”
Wind Blossom smiled and patted his hand. “You were a good student, Janir.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Janir said, gripping her hand with his.
Wind Blossom turned to leave. “I think I’ll review my notes in my room.” As Janir nodded understanding, she added, “If you need me-”
“I will be sure to send someone for you, my lady,” Janir finished. He bit his lip reflectively. “I hope you are not too concerned about the memory loss. It is concentrated in your short-term and recent memories.” Wind Blossom turned back to face him as he continued, “Your knowledge of genetics is as good as it ever was and should remain so.”
“Yes,” Wind Blossom replied, turning back to the door, “but I am trying to learn reconstructive facial surgery, Janir.”
She left before the embarrassed healer could form any reply.
Tieran leaned into his stroke as he beat out the all clear. He had filled out and muscled up from the awkward sixteen-year-old he’d been when he first joined the tower. Now, at eighteen, his body was lean and tightly muscled from daily work.
He grinned as he heard his drumbeats echoing back along the cliff wall that housed Fort Hold. The echo didn’t mask the responses from the higher-pitched walking drummers in the surrounding minor holds and fields.
Jendel had been right to argue for siting the Drum Tower built between Fort Hold and the College. The shape of the cliffs made a natural reflector that concentrated the sound of his drum.
Because the location left the Large Drum exposed to all elements and particularly susceptible to Thread, it was secured in one of the rooms beside the Drum Tower during Threadfall. Jendel had made a habit of drilling his drummers in disassembling and reassembling the Large Drum. Tieran and Rodar, working as a team, had set the best time.
Tieran had come to the Drum Tower at a propitious time. The tower had only been completed a month before, and Jendel had still been experimenting with the best way to use the drums. Tieran had quickly learned the original code, mastered it, and developed a second, superior set of drum codes that Jendel and the rest of the drummers had enthusiastically adopted.
When Tieran had first escaped to the Drum Tower, he had expected to be unceremoniously hauled back to Wind Blossom. It had been half a year before he had allowed himself to believe that he had been left to fend for himself. It had taken him much longer to recognize that his place within the College was secure.
Tieran took advantage of his lofty and panoramic position to drink in the sights and sounds below him. When he was up here, two stories high and several dragonlengths from both the College and the Hold, no one could really see his face. From the heights of the Drum Tower, Tieran felt master of all he surveyed.
He saw Lord Holder Mendin on his way to the College-so soon after a Fall? Shifting his gaze, he saw Mendin’s eldest son, Leros, hot and weary, trudging in from the fields surrounded by flamethrower crews, apparently doing the job that his father should have been doing. Studying the two, he failed to notice Jendel’s jaunty step until the head drummer was halfway up the stairs to the tower.
“Tieran!” Jendel called out as he crested the stairs. Without pausing for breath, he continued, “You’re needed back at the College. See Dean Emorra.”
Tieran raised his eyebrows momentarily in surprise, then placed the huge drumsticks back on their hooks and reached for his shirt.
“Bring lunch for us when you come back,” Jendel added as Tieran started down the stairs. “And Kassa-you two will relieve us.”
“All right,” Tieran called back unheard over his shoulder with an acknowledging wave of his hand. There were always two on the Drum Tower.
Classes, Tieran guessed to himself as he crossed under the archway into the College. He made his way to the small classroom reserved for the drummers.
Emorra was waiting for him outside the door. “I want you to teach some of the youngsters drum code.”
Tieran cocked an eyebrow at her. When he had first been asked to teach, just after he had proved the value of his new codes to Jendel, he had been afraid of standing in front of a group of people with his scarred face and gangly body. But the first group had all been older students in their twenties, and they had all been intent on one thing: learning the new codes. Once he realized that, Tieran had thrown himself with enthusiasm and creativity into the job of imparting the new codes to them.
After several classes, Tieran had realized that some of the drummers weren’t learning the codes to work in the Drum Tower or in Mendin’s outlying minor holds. Some of the older students had left the College, taking their knowledge of the drum codes with them.
Others had been even more enterprising. They had taken their knowledge of the drum codes and brought them back to the music that many considered to be the life and the soul of the College. Emorra had told him that his codes had not developed into a new form of music. Rather, the drumming had allowed musicians to create new works both of jazz and of traditional old-Earth Celtic music. Tieran had been surprised, then pleased, and, finally, an enthusiastic participant in the music that had resulted.
Emorra recognized Tieran’s raised eyebrow with a nod. “I was wondering if working with drums and the drum codes might be a good way to teach musical beat.”
Tieran nodded, trying to hide his hesitation, but Emorra noticed it.
“They’re a good group; I just had them,” she told him, handing him a small drum.
Tieran’s heart sank as Emorra left. He hefted the drum, placed it under one arm, and absently beat out a quick tattoo-“trouble.” Inspiration struck, and he quickly amplified the beat and modified it.
He entered the room still drumming and took his place at the front of the class. There were eleven students in the class. All of them were young-the eldest hardly looked eleven and the youngest was close to seven years old. This was the youngest class he’d ever seen.
He switched the beat, changed the rhythm, and started a new message, still while watching his students. Two or three were unconsciously trying to imitate his beat on their drums and all of them were attentive.
With a flourish, Tieran finished his message and set the drum down on the teacher’s table. He looked at the youngsters. “Now that I’ve said all that, are there any questions?”
The eyes of the youngsters widened and there was silence in the classroom until one of the older girls raised her hand. Tieran grinned and nodded at her.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“I told you my name and welcomed you to the class on drumming, and asked you why you were here,” he answered. “Would you like to learn how?”
Every head in the class nodded, eyes wide. Tieran kept his smile to himself and started teaching the basics of drum beat and rhythm.