Heartfelt Sounds (19 page)
“You're gone…you're supposed to be dead…” I whisper to her, staring into those far away eyes as limp fingers curve around my throat. “…that scar on your neck—a soldier
beheaded
you!”
But it does not phase her as her grip slowly tightens. As she grunts and straddles me—her knees tight to my body. Hugging me. She smells like the earth. Like dirt and dead things.
Akane's body rises, her hands rising as she pulls me up by my throat.
Towards the back of the room, I hear a voice:
“Why won't you sing?”
Lore's voice—the nightingale's voice—and I want to scream back—
what good would that do?!
But I remember what Yarne did to me.
My heart is gone.
I'm cursed.
But I have been blessed with tremendous power.
Yarne gave me a voice.
I open my mouth as Akane begins to crush my windpipe—forcing the air from me. Constricting my throat and closing it up—but the words come out when I sing. A voice that is not my own—like thunder, like a powerful thunderclap screeching through silence—sings. Calms Akane. Makes her eyes roll back into her head as her fingers uncurl, freeing me and I slink to the ground. I'm on my knees when her body slams to the floorboards. When there's a sharp grunt from the back of the room and the woman in black presents herself with twitching fingers firmly planted in front of her. Her face is going red—her lips twisting into a snarl that's all sharp teeth. Her gaze snaps from Akane to me—to a shadow towards her right.
“You said that this would be
easy—
that it was her
time.”
A low rumble of laughter. A snort, and Lore's out of the shadows. Stepping towards me—but stops at Akane's body. I watch the sides of her lips slide into a grin. “The dark god has chosen his gateway.
Our
gateway. Naia,” my hands slap to the floor as I close my mouth. As the world spins around me. “it is time you learned your purpose.”
…
I'm given a shift to hide my nakedness before the woman in black forces me out into the hallway. The brightness of the corridor is blinding when I'm out of that small room. Lore is leading me, with an undead Akane at my back followed by the woman in black.
She leads me up the corridor, away from the open archway at our backs. Sunlight shades the hallway in a dim white that peels away from us the further we go up the corridor. When the hallway forks two ways, Lore takes a right and I'm forced to follow as servants and wide-eyed residents flatten themselves to the walls with haste that reeks of fear. I hear people crossing themselves. Hushed voices murmur prayers or spit wards against our presence as we pass.
I recognize the paintings upon the walls—phoenixes—and Lore leads me towards the same room Hana took me to some days ago. Red phoenixes bow upon the walls and Lore snaps out her hand, striking the door and shoving it open before pushing me inside. Lore and the woman in black follows. When Akane doesn't come in, my shoulders relax. I breathe a sigh of painstaking relief.
The room has changed. A bed no longer sits upon the far wall and the balcony doors have been barred with wood. Upon the floor sits a mountain of beautiful dresses, and to my left sits an oaken vanity with a tin basin of steaming water opening its wide mouth beside it.
I can't control myself. I fall to my knees. I heave—I cry—and I'm slapped. Cracked hard across the face by a bony hand.
“Be
grateful!”
the woman in black barks as she hovers over me. Moves her arm over her opposite shoulder as she readies herself to slap me again.
The hand races towards me and I catch her wrist. I dig my nails into her skin and she winces.
“Why have you brought my friend back from the dead?!”
I
screech—
and a surge of raw strength powers through me as I pull her down to my height. She's forced to bend. Forced to kneel and glare into my face as my teeth grind painfully together. “Why couldn't you leave her in
peace—,”
And Lore's at my back now. Fingers dig into my left shoulder and I'm forced to release the woman who hisses when she's free of my grip. Who turns her back to me and mumbles angrily under her breath.
“We needed to be sure you wouldn't turn on us.” Lore whispers. Her breath slimy upon my ear. “We needed to keep you in line.”
“I'm here. I'm following you—your directions. I'm doing what you want—
let her go.”
“Unfortunately,” she responds, grabbing my shoulder. “it will not be that easy.” and she hefts me up. Makes me stand. “But I will explain what you're to do if you want her to go back into the ground. Will you listen?”
I nod and she guides me over to the vanity. I sit upon a stool of wood and Lore turns her head. Snaps at the woman in black who comes. She forces my arms over my head and throws off my shift before kneeling at my back and untying the binds around my torso.
“My birds need a home.” Lore begins, her fingers racing through my hair as the woman in black leaves me naked. A hand takes mine and I'm forced to leave Lore's side. Forced to tumble into a vat of steaming water that burns me. That hurts my skin—but the woman in black shoves me into the tub. Makes me fall into it—and I
hiss.
“The Dawnlord has declared himself grand marshal, and has forgotten to divide up the spoils of war. The Arden Vale has bowed to him. Csilla remains a dangerous but neutral territory, and the Wish has yet to choose a side.”
The woman in black is scrubbing me now. Scrubbing hard with a wooden block of bristly cloth. I wince—I tense up and press her away when she's close, but she only swats at my hands when I try to shove her. When I try to make her harsh hands go away, she scrubs harder—making my skin a muddy red as the cloth viciously rips and scrapes at me.
“My birds have entered the Wish, and found it wanting. In defense. In its people.” I stand from the tub when the woman's done, and she hurriedly towels me off. She presses clean undergarments to me and I carelessly slip them on. I begin wrapping white bindings around my chest—but a bony hand stops me. Unties the binds and begins to wrap them under my chest.
“The Wish,” Lore breathes from her spot near the vanity. “is
perfect.”
A dress is thrown to me. Hoisted over my head and it feels like a million miles of cloth have been draped over me. I'm used to men's clothing—breeches, tunics, and thin slippers. But when this woman covers me in a trailing gown of heavy, purple, silk; I feel as if the garments have been tampered with somehow. Like weights have been sewn into the graceful drop sleeves and trailing hem.
It is uncomfortable. Wearing this dress is uncomfortable, and I want to take it off.
But the woman grabs my shoulders and forces me towards the vanity. She sits me down and begins plucking at my face. She paints heavy kohl upon my eyelids before tying up pieces and parts of my hair into an elaborate style. A style fit for a dancer—a minstrel.
A songstress.
“No—,” I place my hands to the smooth oaken lip of the vanity and attempt to press myself away.
“You will be
silent
when the nightingale speaks!” comes the woman's harsh hiss.
But Lore giggles—laughs—and quiets her voice. Her single hand comes to my shoulder, the shoulder opposite the woman in black. “Now, now, Calanthe—,” Lore's pale eyes snap to the face of the woman in black, the mirror reflecting her anger as it boils beneath her skin. Her mouth becomes a grim line as her eyes narrow. “You must be
silent—,”
the word is spat—and Calanthe blinks. Backs away and immediately lowers her head. “—when the
Voice of the East
speaks.”
The Voice of the East?
My eyes widen.
She was a goddess of the old myths. Of the dead pantheons. The Voice of the East was a goddess who no longer existed. Who…died.
How could I resemble a deity?
In the mirror, I watch Lore return her gaze to me. I watch her smile. “You are our Voice of the East, Naia. And you will be a gift. A gift to the Lord of the Wish.” she runs her hand through my hair as I open my mouth reject this—to reject this new title and this new image. But I freeze. I look at myself in the mirror and almost don't recognize the person who stares back at me. Black hair falls like a dark river over purple silks. My eyes are wide—heavily lined in kohl and I blink. Lore forces my open mouth closed with biting fingers. Fingers that curve around my chin and tighten. Fingers that force me to tilt my head up.
“Should he accept you into his home—you will be our gateway.” Lore's smile is thin. Long. Her lips resemble the curved mouth of a snake's. “Our gateway to flooding the Wish with black birds.”
“I do not understand.” I tell Lore.
“You don't need to,” comes Calanthe's voice, her reply a breathy hiss uttered from the back of the room, “all
you
need to do is open your mouth and
sing
.”
…
I have nothing to take with me. Nothing to leave as a reminder of my presence. Nothing to give as gifts to those that have helped me here. Nothing for those I'd call my friends or acquaintances.
But a voice reminds me—
they've forgotten you. Lore's birds have cleared you from their memories.
Your existence has been expunged. Removed.
You never lived here.
And Kokoros the scullion never existed.
I bite my lip at that and push away from the oaken vanity before me as my eyes twinkle back at me in the mirror. Unshed tears threaten to fall when Lore leaves me. I hear her bid orders to Calanthe who rushes over to pinch me, to force me from my seat and into the hallway. Tsubame becomes a blur as Calanthe rushes me through blank hallways. I feel as if I have been misplaced. As if this has all been just a horrible dream that I have finally woken up from—only for reality to show itself to be the true nightmare. A very real dream that I must plod through. Slog my way through until I finally get to the other side. To the reality I've dreamt about. To
home.
The Orthella was my home. It ordered me away. Akane's shelter was my home—but war took that. Soldiers and the Dawnlord stole it from me. Then Tsubame was my home. But I'm ousted again. Over and over—where will I live now? Where will life drag me to now?
Will I ever truly have a home? Will I ever get to stay in one place and enjoy monotony?
When will this nightmare end?
Dear, Fates—what have I done? What have I done to deserve
this?
There is no answer. No reply, and I steel myself as my slippers touch damp grass and I'm out of the castle as Calanthe stomps past me. As she approaches the same red-gold palanquin Lord Hinata arrived in just hours before.
Akane follows her, blindly. Stops when she's near me. Murky eyes turn to me and I avoid her unwavering gaze. I avoid looking at the scar across her neck—and I tell myself it isn't her.
That's not Akane.
But when she fishes something out of the pocket of her dirt smeared breeches and places a leathery palm on my shoulder, I look up.
She doesn't speak. She nods. Nods towards a hand that's open.
A gold emblem rests in her hand. The symbol of a dragon bound in a circular ring.
Hana's emblem. She never took it back.
A soft smile graces my lips. I take it, murmuring my thanks as my fingers close around it. As I imagine that it's a little piece of Hana that will help me remember. That won't allow me to forget what I did here, even if everyone else has. Even if everyone else believes Kokoros never existed—at least I know he did. At the very least, I'll remember.
And, truly, that's all that matters.
Akane attempts a smile. Attempts a grin, but fails. The muscles of her jaw are tight when she storms through the grass towards her handler. Calanthe slaps her hands to her wide hips as she approaches a group of burly retainers. I hear her scream before she turns her gaze to me. Before she glares.
“Get in.” she spits as the men squat in the grass. Readying to hoist the palanquin up. “You're special enough to warrant a palanquin, apparently. So, get
in.”
And I do. I scramble into the little box before I'm lifted. Before a cadence is sung and the floor of the palanquin sways beneath me. Moving in time to a slick beat and a low voice that hums. That belts out notes in time to the heavy footfalls in the grass.
Pillows surround me. Scarlet. Like blood. My fingers are still curled around Hana's emblem, and I open my fingers. I let it lay upon my palm and stare into its painted red eyes. I wonder if she'll remember me. If whatever spell Lore's birds placed on her would falter—if our friendship was strong enough for her mind to overcome their witchcraft.
Remember what hangs in the balance if you fail. Hana's life—and the lives of many more.
Remember.
And I swallow. Golden curtains cut me off from the world outside, and I pull the closest one open. I peer out, turning my gaze. Looking upon Tsubame as it shrinks. As it slowly becomes smaller and smaller until it's just a little beacon on a golden hill top. Strong. Sturdy.
Protect my friends.
I tell it.
Protect them for me.
Fear bubbles in my stomach when I let the curtain slide back. Fear grows, and I wonder what I'll have to do to keep Lore from hurting the people I care about.
Sing—you'll have to sing.
But my voice holds power—and my mind flashes back to what I did to Akane.
Her eyes rolled back—it was like her life had been taken away a second time.
I didn't want to hurt—to kill. I didn't want others to feel the loss—the longing of losing someone they care deeply about.
Take what you are owed.
I inhale sharply at the words. The voice that boomed in the sky when Yarne swallowed my
heart.
She must learn to
take.
Take the lives of others for the safety of my friends? Kill for the sake of others? For their protection?
What will Lore have me
do?
I swear that I won't—I swear that I will
never
take another life.
Not for Lore—not for myself. But I will do anything—anything and everything I must to protect my friends. To protect Hana and castle Tsubame.