Authors: Elana Johnson
Echoes of Silence
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2016
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One
Grandmother taught me that silence never goes to waste.
“One need not talk all the time, Echo.” Her voice, rough from age and little use, spoke to me even from the grave. I pictured her rocking in her chair as she dispensed her wisdom. For twenty-three years I had absorbed everything she’d said.
Now, a year after her death, I stood silently in the foyer belonging to a wealthy aristocrat in the city proper of Umon, far from my beloved village of Iskadar. He didn’t wish to pay the agreed upon price, though my sewing did not bear a single mistake. Every stitch resided in its precise spot; the flowering vines along the hem of each tablecloth took my breath away, and a slithering power rose through my throat as I listened to his wife.
“It is beautiful work,” she whispered, her voice vaulting to the ceilings where it rebounded to my ears. “Pay the girl.”
“If I pay her the full amount, we will not have need for the tablecloths,” her husband argued. “I cannot afford the party if I pay full price for these.”
I waited, silent. I inhaled deliberately, the way Oake, my song teacher from Iskadar, had taught me. As if oxygen alone could calm the storm escalating inside. As if air could push out the anger. As if breathing was easy.
But nothing came easy without Grandmother. For magic was a powerful being, formed by two people, as bonds, uniting their voices together. Each sound joining with the other, weaving counterparts and harmonies that tamed their energies into a source of great power. Singing with a bond created a cocoon of magic, where I had felt safe and loved.
But alone, the magic had no stopper and the user no protection. Some people searched for years to find a bond, while others bonded with family members in childhood. Grandmother and I had been bonded as long as I could remember, but death bore a sharp knife that even we couldn’t escape.
I clenched my fists at my sides, pretending I could squeeze back the pain. Or the magic.
I knew I couldn’t perform a spell-song here, not inside this particular house situated so near the Prince’s palace.
The hope that he’d do the right thing faded as the aristocrat and his wife continued to argue. Helplessness crowded my throat. My sister and I needed the full amount from this job if we had any hope of keeping our modest living quarters in the West Tower.
My seam stressing work, while steady, did not provide much money. Olive worked long hours in the market, but sometimes she wasn’t able to sell her flower arrangements before they wilted. When that happened, we lost wages, supplies, time, hope.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, returning to the foyer. His wife lingered out of sight, and the idea further infuriated me. Magic coursed through me, desperate to be released through songs, and chants, and rhymes. I clenched my teeth to keep it inside.
“We are not satisfied with the work,” he said. “We’ll only pay half.” He held the lesser payment toward me, but I didn’t move to take it.
“Your wife said it was beautiful work,” I said, finally releasing my voice. Olive often criticized me for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but I felt sure she would want me to fight for the full payment in this instance. I’d found my sister thirteen months ago, living in a hovel with three other girls. Together, we’d worked hard enough and saved long enough to move into private quarters in the West Tower a few months ago.
I would not lose it now, not when the alternative was a room with only three walls, and beds stacked to the ceiling.
My mind raced through the possibly of reclaiming the tablecloths and selling them in the market. How long would that take? Could I get the amount this man had agreed to pay?
Uncertain, I steadfastly shook my head at his still-offered payment. “I must insist you pay the full amount.” The beginnings of a melody that would bend his will to mine floated through my mind.
Magic left an imprint, something that could be detected and possibly traced back to me. I stifled the spell-song, my jaw tightening. I could not release my magic carelessly, as I didn’t want to become a magician in the High King’s court. I would not subject my power to the whims of senseless men. “Please.”
He truly looked shamed as he said, “I’m sorry. I cannot.”
A sob worked its way through the contained magic in my body. If I forfeited this income, Olive and I would default on our rent. I remembered her dirty hair, her hollow face, when I found her after I had journeyed from Iskadar. Though we hadn’t bonded magically, as Grandmother had hoped, Olive and I shared a sisterly bond that would not allow me to accept defeat. I wouldn’t send her back to that lean-to.
I dug my fingers into my palms, drew a shallow breath, and hummed a charm that would soften his mind, allowing me to suggest his actions. The notes barely met my own ears, and I felt certain that his wife would not hear me. The imprint I would leave with this simple music would not be noticed by anyone.
Unless that person could detect magicians. I had never met a magician who could sense the power in others, and Oake had not either. But the High King of Nyth seemed to have unlimited resources at his disposal and his magicians had learned—perhaps forcibly—to play by different rules.
I exhaled the last notes along with my fear, fury, and desperation, feeling more in control of my emotions as I gave voice to my magic. I hadn’t used a spell more advanced than the childhood songs Olive and I once sung while we peeled turnips and planted pole beans, because I didn’t truly know what would happen if I performed powerful magic while unbonded. Now, with this stronger, persuasive spell, the rich wallpapers spun, and the light from the elaborate gas-fueled chandelier sharpened into white light as bright as glinting diamonds.
“I must have the full amount,” I managed to say in a strong, sure voice.
The aristocrat turned without a word and moved on stiff legs into the room where his wife waited. As soon as he left my sight, I reached for the grand piano to steady myself.
Thankfully, the room settled to stillness. Such startling side effects had happened when I’d hummed a detection rhyme on my journey to the city. It was simple magic, but used without a bond, every note felt like an attack instead of relief.
A whispered conversation began between the man and woman, and a moment later he returned. This time, he dropped the full payment into my hands without a word. I disliked the glazed look in his eyes, but I couldn’t dwell on it. He
had
agreed to the price, and Olive and I desperately needed the income.
I hastily spun in my well-worn shoes and fled the premises. Outside, the sun beat down on the city, hinting at the promise of a hot summer. The light felt blinding, the heat oppressive, due to my use of magic.
I stuffed the money into my satchel, and casting a glance down the street to the Prince’s palace, nearly lost my footing on the steps.
A man stalked toward me, his black uniform screaming of his military standing. He had dark hair, Nythinian molasses-colored skin, and a well-placed scowl.
I hurried down the steps, looking over my shoulder as I met the street. I cursed myself as I forced my eyes forward again. I couldn’t appear to be so shifty, like I had broken a law and did not wish to be caught.
Though I had done exactly that. Oake had educated me on the history of Nyth and the High King’s rise to power. He ruled his people through ruthless spell-songs and fear. He’d driven the magicians from his land, at least those he couldn’t use for his advantage. Those who couldn’t escape he forced into servitude.
I would not let him take me, nor would I stop my voice from unleashing its full power if I was ever caught. I worked hard to live as inconspicuously as I did, and I increased the speed of my flight in the hopes of maintaining my anonymity and freedom.
I couldn’t believe I had used magic to secure money. My goal these past thirteen months had been to conceal my powers in a city devoid of magicians, keep the quarters Olive and I had obtained, and continue to work hard so we could improve our situation further.
I expected a shout in the northern language of Nyth, which I still hadn’t learned, or the grip of the soldier’s fingers to clamp around my wrist. Instead, I heard only the wheezing of my breath as I flew toward safety.
At the corner, I ducked around a hedge guarding another aristocrat’s beautiful home. I leaned against it, catching my breath and hoping the man was simply militia and not magician.
I gathered my courage and peered around the corner. The man stood at the door of the aristocrat’s home, listening to the noble. From this distance, I couldn’t hear their words, but the soldier looked directly at me. He held my eyes for several long seconds before entering the aristocrat’s house.
I didn’t wait for him to emerge, to send his guards after me, to follow me home and arrest me there. I hurried toward the towers located on the edge of the walled city.
#
My arrival at the cramped residence I shared with my sister came much earlier than usual. Olive looked up in surprise, and the emotion in her face morphed to fear. “What’s wrong?” She paused her arrangement of a wedding bouquet. She had secured the job the previous week, but took only half of the commission up front. She had used nearly all the money buying the flowers she needed for the event, but we’d also purchased another chicken for our balcony. We now had two, and we each enjoyed an egg at breakfast every day. I didn’t miss the flatcakes I had been consuming for so many months before.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied, unwilling to tell my sister about the situation in the nobility sector. She valued my anonymity above all, and she wouldn’t appreciate that I had used song-magic to secure payment.
Frustration skated through her expression, and her fingers pinched too tightly on the rose stems. “What are you doing home, then?” she asked. “Do you not have work to do?”
Looking at my sister, I was once again reminded of Grandmother’s counsel.
Sometimes you have words, Echo, that do not need to be said.
I wondered what she would tell me now. She had given no instructions for how to survive in Umon, how to live without singing magic into beauty. Her parting words, after giving me a letter for Olive, had been, “Do not use your magic near the city. I love you, Echo.”