Heartfelt Sounds (32 page)
K-keep—keep going!
Chima—
Chima!
I open my mouth—close it and look towards the surface.
That is no longer there.
A rolling black fog darkens the ocean from up above, concealing all light. Concealing all hope.
I barely have enough air to swim that far—and if the surface has changed again—if the world's flipped and the surface is truly below me…
I won't make it.
I look down—wasting air. Only to see black. A rolling black fog that clouds everything.
Where do I go?
Bring us home.
Shanti's voice murmurs.
You're almost there.
The ocean wraps it's unforgiving hand around my neck and tightens around my skin—choking me. Making me cough—and bubbles float from my open mouth before I clamp it closed again.
They float sideways. Towards the right.
I follow them—kicking violently. My legs throbbing as they twitch and push me through the chilling water. I follow the moving bubbles until they disappear. Moving upwards towards the darkness above before they vanish out of existence.
Light comes from my right. It fights through the deepening blue, powering through the waters towards me. I reach for it. Grab for it.
A tentacle of ethereal light wraps around my wrist, and engulfs my arm. Swirling around my skin, it crawls to my face and plunges into my nostrils—forcing me to open my mouth. Forcing me to drown.
My first thought is to sing as it enters me.
My first thought is to sing:
These are memories filled with silver.
These are memories filled with hope.
The light welds with my body. It slithers beneath my skin and brings me warmth. It brings me air as water pulses through my nostrils and my mouth—filling my lungs. Displacing everything within my body as I choke. As I open my mouth for one final song. One final verse:
and I know that I will never forget our oath.
It is done.
A voice resonates within me.
Bring them home.
Bring them home, Naia.
When my head breaks above the surface of the water, I am no longer the Voice of the East.
When I throw my hair back, arching my neck as water flies against my face, I am no longer a tool.
I part my hands along the silvery surface of a still ocean and look up to low hanging clouds of ivory and cotton. I watch the moving clouds still. I watch everything pause as my eyes fall to the ocean—an ocean littered with wooden cocoons much like my own. An ocean littered with prisons. With souls barred from the afterlife. With creatures Yarne deemed “her titans”, when they were truly just people. Simple people who lost their mortal lives on Sorrel, and were washed away to a different plane. A plane of nonexistence.
A Sea of Sorrows.
I close my eyes, bring back my head and breathe. Salty brine soars high over my head—along with the soft summer scents of sweet grass. It is an intoxicating smell that makes me smile as I inhale—and branches creak. Wood cracks like multiple trees bowing beneath a gust of mighty spring wind and I smile. I keep my face to the silver sky and smile.
As wooden cocoons break. As bodies fall into the ocean and water moves as souls swim. As they test their spiritual bodies and fall from threaded prisons.
I open my mouth.
I will guide them.
I tell myself.
And I will bring them home.
I sing:
My only purpose is to find you.
My only purpose is to see you safely in my arms.
Drain the sea—open Heaven's Gate for them! Don't you care for the souls of the destitute? The underworld is
full.
There is no space for them in the Void!
Bring them to
your
world.
Bring
us
to the plains of eternity.
Rain falls. Pelts us, and little drops tap the sea as steam wafts up in spiraling funnels. White steam. Puffy steam that's like free forming cotton as it spirals towards the clouds. And the clouds themselves receive the soaring steam. They receive the steam and give a bit of themselves as the sky begins to fall away. As silver melts to blue and the whole world turns.
I care not for the harrowing trials the Fates may place in my path,
For, after a lifetime of love, and a lifetime of sadness…
When the world turns in on itself, we fall from the ocean as the sky tugs at us. I spread my arms wide and completely open them as my chest comes up. I let it happen—the gentle turning of the world as the sky blackens and the ocean sprays down as rain. We fall—the sky calls for us as it becomes blackened gravel and pulls us towards it's sable terrain. Our bodies turn as our feet angle towards the ground and the ocean pelts us like rain. Like life giving rain.
The connection that we had—the passion we possessed for each other,
Is what the Fates have scripted for us…
My feet touch gravel and I stumble as a multitude of thousands fall to the ground behind me. Rain comes down, wetting our skin and clearing the gravel away as a light drizzle becomes a torrential downpour. As I press my palms to the slick gravel, grass pokes through the black stones. Green blades push away dark pebbles and begins to grow. It curls around my feet and sprouts a single bulb of pink before green explodes behind me. Rocketing behind my feet and towards the crowd of lost souls gathered behind me. Grass spreads like a contagion of happiness, rippling through the black coal and shoving the dark rocks away as it springs beneath the thousands of people behind me. Overhead, a crimson sky parts. Overhead, rain begins to fall calmly. Droplets coming down as little bouts of drizzle, cleansing the ground.
I finish my song—the last verse—my last call. I finish the song as the Void begins to change—as it begins to become beautiful and lively. The beauty springing from my presence—and the collection of souls behind me. The beauty springing from our hearts.
I open my mouth.
As Yarne comes to life in front of me—her leathery face twisted into a dark and callous snarl. Her dress of scarlet satin is ripped and torn as the atmosphere behind her darkens. Grass does not spring to life beneath her feet—but red veins protrude through the gravel she stands upon. The crimson sky above thickens when it hangs over her head. Her hair is a cloud of confusion—a huge knot of mats upon her head.
“You've
tricked me.”
she snarls, her shoulders rising and falling as every breath comes out as a strangled hiss between her lips. “You were
my
creation—
my
puppet. How did you regain your heart? I sent those wraiths in the sand to bring you
here—
bring you back
to me!
How have you—,”
I approach her—heart climbing into my throat. I approach her and hold out my hands. “I am nobody's puppet—nobody's tool—anymore. Nor am I the Voice of the East. I am
more
than my voice, Yarne. As you are—as
all
of us are. You're
more
than a titan, mother. You're more than Aeathann.”
“I am
all powerful—I am
everything!
I
am the beginning and the end! And just as I've brought you into this world—,”
Grass begins to spring beneath her feet. Between us, a rosebud curls. Green leaves sprout upon it's thorny vine as the red bulb opens to reveal ruby tinted petals. I bend down to pluck it and take it from the earth as the sky above brightens completely with light blue. The crimson clouds roll away, the red lightening to a cottony pink.
I hold the flower between my thumb and index finger. I offer it to her.
“Just as the soil brings everything into being,” I tell her, hand outstretched. “it does not take. It demands nothing, but receives all. When we die, this is where our mortal bodies go. Back to the soil—back to the earth—,”
Yarne approaches me—fingers splayed at her sides as they twitch. “You've grown proud—you're no longer weak and cowardly—but proud.
Too
proud of your abilities and yourself. I will find another Voice, and I will start again. I will start again, and
this
Voice—
this
Voice will be leagues more powerful than
you!”
“—back to the Void. Just as the soil brings everything into being, mother…” and I hold my hand out, flowering twirling between my index and thumb. She snatches the plant from me with one quick swipe. She snatches it and grimaces. “…it receives all in gratitude.” I tell her. “Even you, mother. Even the body of a titan.”
A thorn pricks her finger and she bleeds. Yarne stumbles backwards and I watch with a hammering heart as her skin turns three shades darker. It grays—going ashen—as her skin shrivels. As her body shrinks and her skeleton becomes visible beneath the ash of her skin. She looks at me with startled eyes—with frightened eyes. With the eyes of a girl, a very human child. Large eyes that overshadow the deathly pallor of her shriveled face. The body of a thick oak breaks through the grass behind her, long branches sprouting lively white spring flowers before green leaves spring behind the petals. Yarne trips towards this oak and falls, but the oak catches her. The thick trunk cradles her heaving body as she plants her back upon it. Her chest rises and falls, rises and falls so quickly that I'm sure her heart will rip from her chest. When I approach her slowly, she plants her feet in the dirt and tries to push herself away from me with large, trembling, eyes that fill with tears.
I take my place near the oak, placing my back against the tree towards her right. I hear her wheeze. I hear her sigh and cough.
She does not beg—does not plead. She doesn't even speak.
I bring my eyes to the sky as thousands of fretful feet move through the grass. I hear voices gasp. I hear sobbing cries of joy as knees hit the ground and a woman cries out to the Fates in thanks.
“I'll help you through this.” I tell Yarne as she wheezes near me. “But, why?” and I lower my face towards the green grass. “Why did you become Aeathann? Did the titan inhabit you in death? Why—why did you
do
all of this?”
I wait, listening to the people moving. I hear a child skip through the grass, humming a gentle song. Yarne simply wheezes. Coughs up a breath and heaves.
Why?
I want to ask it again—but I feel like I don't have the time. I feel like my time here is almost up, so I decide to do something else.
I decide to help her to whatever place titans go once it's time for them to rest.
I decide to ease her pain with a lullaby.
I decide to sing.
One last time, I decide to sing.
Nyx
I'm always looking at the moon these days. Some nights I count the stars when they're out, sprinkling the night sky like candy. Other nights, when the sky's empty, I stare at the moon and think of them.
Naia, Shanti, Ran—and so many others.
Coming home to the Arden Vale was like a culture shock—everything had changed. The blackened, smog filled, sky of the Vale's Selina City had cleared. Foreign troops occupied the streets like roaches, imposing curfews on street sorceresses and sticking their long noses into establishments that made their money off of magical implements with a hard grimace or a disapproving glare. Sorceress ran businesses eventually closed—leaving the streets empty. The atmosphere had become thick with tension as the magic endowed crowd openly despised the overbearing soldiers with high strung voices that eventually boiled over into physical violence. Picking my way through the new Selina City in search of Shanti's friend was like wandering through a forest that was dying all around me. It was impossible. If I asked for a woman by the name of Bellerose, I got unbridled stares, rickety doors slammed in my face—or worse. Things always got worse. I've had to wipe spittle from my face on occasion, and eventually—I just let it go.
Either Bellerose didn't exist, or she didn't want to be found. Either way, I decided to wait and watch as the world changed. As foreign troops filed out and it became safe again to call yourself a sorceress in the Vale. Rumor had it that the Dawnlord had simply vanished. That he passed the mantle of grand marshal to another one of his generals and fled Felicity in favor of his western territories. Others whisper that he was magicked away from his throne—gone with a gust of night wind as mountains rose around Csilla to hide the desert.
The mountains rising—it was sudden. Everyone—even those that did not believe in the old gods—believed that this—this
had
to be a sign directly from the Void. The mountains rising—the ground beneath us quaking as Csilla was swallowed whole. Now, if you look out towards the Wish—there's no sea of sand anymore. Jagged peaks of purple envelopes Csilla in, and locks everyone out.
Everyone.
On the very day those mountains rose, daredevils and thrill seekers vowed to climb these peaks in the hopes of finding out what was on the other side. Of course, they didn't return. But that's the life of a risk-taker, right? Take one too many risks and your soul goes straight to the Void—but at least you left a life of fulfillment. Careful cautiousness leads directly to boredom—but at least you have your life.
It's rumored that the sands beyond that new range of mountains—the, “Throat of the World”, they're calling it—is a sea of crystalline powder. And a stone goddess rises above it all, opening her arms to the world as if to receive each and every one of us.
I imagine that's Naia. When I look up at the night sky and stare at the moon, I imagine she's okay—now that the world's in a better place and titans didn't pour through Heaven's Gate…
where-ever that is—
I imagine she's fine. I imagine everything's okay.
I've been here for quite some time now, waiting for her to return. The Djinn Arms is my home now, and while my room isn't completely my own, it's still cozy. It still reminds me of Akane's shelter and all of the friends I had there.
I wish I could go back.
But that's a selfish thing, Naia would tell me, totally selfish.
And that brings a smile to my face as I lay here on this tiny bed, staring up at a small window cut into cherrywood planks. Some ways away from me, a fire burns in a miniature fireplace of white brick. Heavily scented wood burns in that fire, lavender filling the room. Looking past the other small bed parallel to my own, I stare into the fire and watch it lick at the fat log centered within its warm embrace.