Heartfelt Sounds (12 page)
Or was that years? Years now? So many days have passed. So many things have changed.
I am a different person now.
But still the same in this instance—
I look around the room once more, listening for telltale snores, before opening my mouth. Before murmuring the words:
In this bitter world, who can declare the difference between love and hate?
In these mortal realms, who can declare the difference between right and wrong?
Someday, I would like to ask—'In this world, who writes the scrolls of our Fates?'
Someday, I would like to ask—'When mortals dream, who plucks the strings of the ancient zither?'
Silence. A gentle breeze whistles outside, the cold air crawls upon the windowpane and brushes at my back. My toes curl under me and I bring my knees in closer to my chest as my voice dwindles down to a hum:
White, blankets the peak of a distant mountaintop.
As the snow falls, my sorrow for you crumbles into ashes,
Can snow grasp how—
And I hiss as the mark upon my arm
aches.
As I clap my hand to it—but my fingers are kissed too. Burned by this brand and I snatch them away. I look at the black mark upon my arm as it licks at my blood—burning, the sizzling a thing created by my mind, but it's still real. Still hissing and hurting me as if I were only branded yesterday.
Outside the closed wooden screens, the kitchen has quieted.
As a neck cracks at my right.
“Bring that over, Kokoros. Let me
see.”
Hue sounds like a doting parent and I freeze when I hear him clamber up. He moves to sit near my right side and snatches my arm. “You keep acting like it's infected when it's
fine.”
his hands are rough when they rub my mark. When he peers at it, his hair slides down my arm. “You don't have anything to worry about, alright? So stop messing with it.”
Slowly, I slide my arm away from his grip. I feel heat rise into my face. “Aren't you mad at me?”
I hear him snort. “At a face like yours?
Never!”
and I throw him a look—a worried one. “Keep giving the guys eyes like
that
and we'll
really
begin to wonder.”
He winks when my lips become a grim line. When I narrow my eyes. “Are you trying to…tell me something?”
Mismatched eyes blink. Once. Twice. Hue throws a look over his shoulder, brings his gaze back to me and then looks down my mat towards the sleeping man across from it. “You know what time it is, Kokoros?”
I shake my head at that, but he pulls me up anyway. Lets go of my arm and rushes towards the wooden screens that separate our quarters from the kitchens. He slides the screen back a bit and peers through the crack before he throws it open completely. Steps into the kitchens and motions for me to come along.
“Are we supposed to be out?” I ask him, hands clasped before my chest.
He throws me an all-knowing look. Smirks. “Does it matter? Just keep your head down—we're servants. We're supposed to be
everywhere!”
And he leads me through the corridor from before, but it's like a maze and I struggle to keep up while keeping my head down. Hue relents to walking beside me, tugging at my forearm when we've got to squeeze past someone or bow to some official who barely looks us over. Simply nods and leaves us to our work. When Hue leads me towards a corridor with an obvious dead end—I stop when I realize the trick. The wool this man is trying to pull over my eyes.
It's obvious—he knows you're a girl. He knows!
And Shanti's words come rushing back to me—I think, I think
horrible
things as Hue shoves past me and pulls at an invisible string in the ceiling.
“Rush up there and
be quick.”
he tells me as the wood paneled ceiling comes tumbling down. A pair of white-washed ladders ease out and touch the floor. I move to the ladders. I look up.
“What are you trying to do?”
He throws his gaze back. “Just go—we're almost there! I'll explain—but you have to
move!”
And I throw my gaze over my shoulder to see a guardsman padded in black moving down the corridor.
Hue shoves at my back and pushes me towards the ladder. I've got my hands on the rungs when I hear the guy yell—screaming at us to get down—but it's already too late. I'm climbing up and I come to a dust spattered wooden floor in a room that's open. Stone walls reach high and there's wide open archways standing on opposite sides. A gust of wind whispers by and my hair blows past my face.
“Go, Kokoros! Before I have to push you!”
And I hear boots slam upon the floor beneath me as I pull myself from the ladder and stand. As Hue moves to do the same, but rips the ladder up behind him—concealing the door and hiding us away.
I look out to a sky hounded by clouds. Before me, stands the open mouth of a wide stone archway with a gray lip protruding about an arm's distance out. My eyes scan the clouds—I breathe in fresh air I haven't smelt in weeks and it's refreshing. It's as if I haven't been living—just existing. Just going through nightly tasks with the overwhelming fear that this will be my life now. Forever and always, this will be my life.
Hue takes a couple of steps before the archway, turns around and opens his arms wide. “Nice, isn't it? Don't go telling the others about this place, now. Subaki and I used to share it before he…went over to the side of the cooks.” and Hue's face darkens when he recites the last bit—he hesitates as if he didn't want to say it. “Anyway, just…” he trails off when he turns around. When he goes under the wide archway to the protruding lip of gray and sits down. Dangles his legs off the edge.
Tentatively, I come to stand near him. I marvel at a flock of geese as they fly by. Heading towards the east as they fly high over my head.
“…I heard you singing in there, so…” he turns his gaze towards me, a smug grin brightening his eyes. “…if I were you I'd keep those pretty words here. Not just 'cause of the guys, but 'cause—” he stops himself. Shakes his head. “—well it's not like you'll ever meet
him,
but just in case—try to keep your singing out of earshot, okay?”
And I nod. Humoring him. “Sure, Hue.”
Silence comes when I sit. The wind's blowing lightly and when I dangle my legs off the edge I catch a good breeze. I look past my legs and see sharp black roofs that curve up.
“Are we at the top of the castle?”
“Most of the lower servants live on the top floor, this—,” and he points backwards towards the room behind us, “used to be a watchtower—or a bell tower—I can't remember which. Subaki told me…
some
time ago, but he never comes up here anymore. It's like I lost my best friend.” and he claps his hand over his mouth. “For-forget I said that.”
I cock my head. I sigh. “I understand.” I tell him, truthfully. “How you feel, I understand. I've lost many.”
And their names flash through my mind—
too many.
“Was it the march here? Corin tells me it was brutal.”
Corin—the milky eyed one among us. The one who almost never speaks—who keeps his head down.
I think to Akane's headless body as steel flashed through her neck. “Y-yeah.” I sputter out—blinking.
“Ya'll had to throw a kid in the river for the castellan.”
I nod.
“On the way here,” he tells me matter-of-factly, “I had to kill my brother.”
My mouth drops open.
“What?”
“To prove to Lord Hinata that I deserved his mark.” and he slaps his right forearm, covering the dragon before sliding his hand away. “Others had to do worse.”
“Lord Hinata?”
The Dawnlord?
Hue freezes—his eyes wide. His mouth stuck in a crooked smirk. “You—you'll,” he lowers his head. Shakes it. Clears his throat and plants his hands upon his thighs. “You'll never meet him—if
I
have anything to do with it—none of ya'll ever will.”
I swallow. Curtly, I nod and his eyes follow the movement of my head. Unblinking.
“The cold air's getting to me.” Hue murmurs, scooting back as he pushes himself up. “We should get back before the cooks do—where-ever they went off to. Let's hope that guard isn't look for us either, need a hand?”
I accept it, clasping his palm. It's sweaty.
Together, Hue and I break the monotony. Though scullion life rarely changes—night after night, the mess stays the same though the work gets easier—we make it a bit better when we invite the other boys to talk about their old lives back home. Specifically, food from home. Though we work in a kitchen, we are only fed a meager diet of rice and grains, which leaves many of us wanting. Pining for home, and it helps to talk about it. To describe the dumplings and fruit filled pastries our mothers used to make.
I avoid speaking during the discussions—satisfied with listening and dreaming about the food that's described. But it hits home when I realize that—out of the five scullions I work with—only two are able to aptly talk about their mothers or grandmothers back home. Two. The others do as I do, listen and laugh. Salivate and dream. Wishing for a home. Longing for one.
One night, Corin pipes up. Clearing his throat loudly from his spot on the floor. “I had a sister,” he tells us and we all crane our necks to hear him—freezing. This kid rarely talked, and when he did, his voice was always so soft. So delicate. Corin was frugal with his words—picky about them—and this somehow made every word uttered that much more precious. That much more important. Corin lowers his head. “who made rice pudding with dyed sugar. She called it—called it,” Corin shakes his head now, moving it from side to side. “
festival pudding.
I wish I had paid more attention to how she made it. I wish—back then, I wish I'd
cared.”
“I always believed cooking was a woman's job.” Ken says from his place near the cauldrons. “And I regret that—I wish I had learned too. I could have kept a piece of my mom that way—through her cooking.” and when he sighs, the noise is shared. It journeys around the room, stopping at the ovens. At Hue and I who lack parents or siblings, along with Sunan who sits cross legged near the door. His sunken eyes closed.
But that feeling of regret is still shared. That feeling of sorrow and loss.
And it blows away when Hue shoves himself from the ovens. Forces blackened fingers between his lips and whistles with a
screech.
…
A month passes like this. Two. Our brands heal and sometimes I forget it even marks me—but it's there. Taunting me at night before I close my eyes. Telling me who I belong to. The days are better when Hue and I can escape to that wintry rooftop. When I can sing while shoving away my thoughts of Akane. Of Nyx, Chima and Shanti. Giving my woes to the wind as I sing. As I hum and belt out notes to a world that's gone numb with cold. We're up there even when it rains. When the wind's howling at our windows and forcing the dead trees to bow—we're up there. Shrouded in silence that's pervaded by strong gusts of wind, or the sing-song dripping of a heavy rain. We're up there—alone with our thoughts. Letting them beat around our heads as we think. As we knead things out in silence.
And one day the silence is broken when Hue decides to talk. Something he often does in the kitchens, but up here—silence was golden. Our number one unspoken rule.
But he breaks it. “I wasn't supposed to be a scullion.” he tells me. Presses his hands to the stone behind us as he looks up into an angry gray sky. “Even with the mark, I was brought up to be
more.
I was supposed to serve
right under
the Dawnlord—not from miles away. Cleaning kitchens and scrubbing pots—
no.
I was brought up to be better than this—to serve in an army, not a castle! But I botched it—messed it up. Cursed myself, and now I'm here.
Stuck.”
and he coughs, lowers his head. Spits. Turns to me. “So, now you know.”
I am taken aback by his honesty. By his sudden show of grief. “You—cursed yourself?”
“When I killed my brother.” Hue sighs, lays his elbows upon his thighs and clasps his hands before himself. “When I killed my kin, I cursed myself. I muddied my family's honor and was ousted the minute the news came to them.”
“But I thought Lord Hinata—,”
Hue blows into his hands. “The scene went like this: the Dawnlord gathered the sons of all the most loyal families in the land. Lord Hinata by his side. Lord Vivek looking around like some blind vulture. He was pleased with the turnout—put us in honorable combat against each other to determine the strongest. The best and brightest.” Hue lowers his head and I watch. I bite my lip. “It came down to about ten or so. My brother and myself. A couple of men from the Grays and Redwall. Hinata stepped in—decided it wasn't fair that two boys from the same household had a stake in the combat, so he decided to 'help' us. Told us we'd fight under his banner—so we were ousted. Freed from the tournament—right then and there. We smiled and thought—
yes, we don't have to fight each other!
'Cause we both knew who'd win and who'd be pushed back home to farm for the rest of his life.
Me,”
and Hue brings an accusatory thumb to his torso. Smiles. Laughs darkly. “we knew it would be
me
and so we were happy. But the happiness was sort-lived, because when we left the tourney, Lord Hinata's agent spotted us. A woman all clothed in dark—everyone knew her as his agent, his 'nightingale', and everyone knew that her words are just as good as orders coming from Lord Hinata's own mouth. She took us aside, and we knew things weren't going good when she took us to her tent—I remember fire and a circle. She told us to get in it.”
Hue pauses. It's like he's reliving it as fire all but dances in his mismatched eyes. I bring a hand to his shoulder as the silence continues. “Hue,” I call, “you don't have to tell me if it's too painful. I understand—,”
“
No,
you don't
get it.”
and his gaze falls to me. His eyes glow. “If I don't tell
someone
the truth—it'll just go down as a rumor. A memory only
I've
got—
no.
I need to tell
someone.”
he breathes in. Breathes out. “We get in it and she throws us swords from—
somewhere—
and the fire's all around us. It's all burning on candles, but the minute we entered that circle it was like it swallowed us. Like the fire had become a
cage,
or something. Juha's like—
no, don't touch it. It's some kind of witchcraft.
And the lady cackles like a damn hyena—
of course it's witchcraft, now take it. Take it for your Dawnlord.
And we think—well what can we do? The fire's all surrounding us and we think—well maybe this is some sort of blood ritual thing and we'll get out once we cut ourselves and swear to Lord Hinata. But
no—
of course not—
no.
The lady's like—
only one may emerge.
And we clasped our swords thinking—
what?
Thinking—
why would Lord Hinata want this? Why would he save us from the tourney only to make us kill each other? Why?…”
