Heartfelt Sounds (20 page)
But death…
If murder is what Lore calls for—I will turn my back.
For I have grown sick and tired of death.
The retainers trek for what seems like hours. They are tireless as the palanquin sways beneath me, rocking me to sleep or rocking me to queasiness.
We stop for what feels like mere moments for the retainers to stretch, relieve themselves, or eat. But Calanthe keeps them on a tight schedule—barely allowing them an hour of rest before we're back on a dirt road that curves into golden fields and dissipates. Overhead, the sky's a deep blue with lazy clouds puffing their way north. As the blue fades to purple and orange, the sun descending as it makes space for the moon to take its place in the sky; the palanquin slows. Despite Calanthe's screams and threats to the exhausted retainers, the palanquin slows and is eventually set down in a bowing field of dead grass blackened by a starless night.
I crawl out of the small box expecting to be hit by chilling winds. Instead, I find a cook fire with four men huddled around it. I smell burning meat and suddenly I'm starving as my stomach sings. I stand. I pat the dust from my skirts and move towards the flame.
But Calanthe grabs my collar.
“Our lady made it clear what you're to eat.” and she shoves a meager ball of rice into my face. “To keep your figure.”
From the opposite side of the palanquin, I hear a wheeze and I shiver. “I've done as Lore asked—when are you going to allow Akane's spirit to go to rest?”
Calanthe
harrumphs,
crosses her arms over her torso and stares towards the small orange fire. “When I see
fit.”
I round on her. Squeezing the ball of rice in my hand until it is almost flattened. “I have done
everything
she has asked! Why hold this over my head?”
“Because I don't trust you. I
can't,”
she lowers her head slightly, then. Looks at me beneath heavily painted lids. “not until you've fulfilled your purpose.”
“Which is?”
Calanthe's gaze slowly moves to slide over her shoulder. She brings her eyes back to me and rolls them. “You're a gateway, a bridge—,”
“What are black birds—starlings—?” I squeak, but Calanthe slaps a hand over my mouth. When the chattering of the men at the fire turns to silence, she ushers me away towards the opposite side of the palanquin. Towards Akane and the darkness.
“You must
never
utter that in public!” Calanthe hisses in my ear, her nails biting into my skin as she holds my mouth closed. “You don't need to understand these things—just be what we tell you to be and I will set her free. Do you understand this?”
I look at her. I glare. I think to bite her fingers, to dig my teeth into her skin and make her tell me. But I shake the thoughts away. I wanted to get answers peacefully—not through blood. Never through blood.
I relent. I shake my head.
Calanthe frees me. Lets her hand slide down my face. “You're a beautiful puppet. Lord Emyr will like you and never suspect a thing. Men don't know the breadth of a woman's strength—the
power
of a single voice. You'll do well as long as you follow instructions. And, if you're lucky, when the Wish is stormed you'll be left out of the attack. You'll be guiltless with no blood on your hands. And
she,”
Calanthe brings her hand to Akane's shoulder. I watch the redhead tense. “she'll be free to ascend to heaven. But
only
if you follow my instructions to a tee. Do you understand this?”
I narrow my eyes. “You can't tell me
anything?
If I'm to be of any help—I'll need to understand these things.
Some
things—,”
“The hammer does not know the mind of a carpenter. It simply meshes things together. It is never given the big picture. Just as you are, girl. You do not need to understand—you simply need to work. To pry open the gates of the Wish and find the birds a home. Do you understand this?”
“I deserve to know—,”
“Some things a better left unknown.” Calanthe tells me. Sighs as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Anything involving black birds, is better left unknown.” and she leans in, lowers her voice to a whisper and gazes over my shoulder.
“You ask the wrong questions, for the answers you seek are not answers at all—but truth. Frightening truths that will haunt your dreams until the dark god takes you from this realm. Without your heart—you are Her vassal. We are shackled and
cursed.” she breathes. Slow and steady. Calm and controlled.
“Do you understand this?”
I nod. Taken aback.
My heart no longer beats.
“Good.”
…
We meet the Wish and are immediately driven to the pearly gates of its sprawling capital. Calanthe escorts us through gray streets strewn with towering buildings and shops overburdened with an overflow of colorful goods. When we make it to the black gates of Lord Emyr's home, our procession is halted by a grave-faced retainer.
“Ran?” I hear Calanthe's voice. “Move aside, retainer. The grand marshal sends Lord Emyr a gift and
I
am to personally bring it to him.”
I listen from inside the palanquin—my nerves making my stomach churn as I kneel with my ear to the curtains.
“Well that's…” the retainer pauses. Breathes. “…unfortunate—,”
“Move
aside—
I said!” Calanthe commands, her voice a low growl.
But the palanquin doesn't move. The retainers who hold my box up stall, the floor beneath me rocking gently.
“Lord Emyr has passed.” Ran states matter-of-factly. “So you can turn your marshal's special little gift around and bring it
back
to Felicity!”
Outside, I hear Calanthe utter a low growl. It is guttural, like an animal's and I feel myself shiver as a hand rips back the golden curtain of the palanquin and talons reach inside. Calanthe grabs hold of my forearm and yanks me from the protection of my little box. I almost spill from the palanquin as the retainers drop it to the flagstones. Strong hands hoist me up before I fall, as bony hands tear me away.
The sunlight is blinding. It ricochets off of high iron gates, and kisses the high heads of erect spears held in the tight hands of watchmen enshrouded in large silver carapaces that resemble the thick shell of a crab. They are faceless in heavy silver helms. I think that they are probably boiling beneath this dry heat as Calanthe ushers me towards a man standing centered between the two watchman. A man with sleepy eyes and a tall, thin, physique.
“The marshal's gift is not a parcel!” Calanthe hisses, her nails digging into my forearm as she stops me. As she holds me still. “It is a
person!”
and she shoves me to the ground. I catch myself. Fingers splayed upon the gray flagstones at the man's feet as I bring my head up.
“
Gods,
what is
wrong
with you—,” Ran grunts. I look up and turn my head as Calanthe stomps past me. She squares her shoulders and stares squarely at Ran. Rises upon her toes to try and match his height.
“As Lord Emyr's Diviner, I
demand
you open these gates,
retainer.”
Ran snorts. Crosses his arms and looks down into Calanthe's snarling face. “Like I said, he's
dead. You
no longer have authority here, diviner. So you can
turn around—,”
I stand when Calanthe shoves him towards the gates, but the man refuses to move. He is stalwart—stubborn. “With the death of the father, comes the son. Sargon would not put me out of service simply because his father has passed. Let me in, retainer, or I
swear
I—,”
A watchman crosses himself. Moves his spear from his right hand to his left as he wards against curses with an agile flick of silver fingers.
Ran sighs. Moves to press his hand upon the gate. It opens with a moan. “Alright, diviner, alright.” When the gate's open completely, Calanthe grabs my forearm and pulls me along with her.
I look up to a towering wall the color of sand when we're through. High towers of yellow stone reach for a vacant blue sky, the tops of their columns smooth as they mix with the blue. Stretching high enough to be content with their place in the sky as they stand strong. I count three towers as Calanthe pulls me towards towering doors of dull bronze. High walls stand between each tower, connecting them like arching bridges. Like arms that stretch out only to grab and connect, forming a protective circle around whatever was inside. The grass is green here, encircling the large fortress like a gleaming emerald sea and Calanthe steps over it. Leaving the trail of pale flagstones that line the walkway as she cuts through a lively green field. I catch a glimpse of flowers creeping up the yellow walls—they're white, pure like thin clouds.
When the towering bronze entrance of the fortress looms above us, Calanthe twists violently around. Lets go of my arm, and
screams.
“
WHAT?”
Ran's there. Speechless. Somewhat smirking as his hands twitch at his sides. “You'll need to leave the marshal's…
gift,”
sleepy eyes slide to me. They narrow before his gaze falls back to Calanthe—who hisses with every breath. “out here.”
“I
swear, retainer—,”
“Your pet's out here too—you know how Lord Emyr felt about the undead,
diviner.”
he says, crossing his arms. “It's like your kind just
play
with how far you can take things the minute your master
dies.”
The last word is spat. It burns Calanthe, makes her white in the face as her shoulders slacken. As her head falls and her voice becomes tender. “I've missed the passing of a very dear friend, and you—you
taunt
me for it? Will you not leave me, retainer? Leave me to mourn with my friend's poor son?”
I watch Ran avert his eyes. They're dark, like a midnight river absent moonlight. “…I'll, uh—escort you…I
guess.”
Calanthe's attitude changes. Sours as she lifts her face. “
Fine, then.”
And she grabs me. Pulls me off as the monstrous bronze doors open with a metallic
wheeze.
We are met by marble floors cast blue in the bright light of the day as sunlight crawls through tall windows. A light fixture hangs from the rounded ceiling up above, strong silver arms entwine around elaborate candles that have been snuffed out. They remind me of tree branches heavy with ripe fruit as Calanthe pulls me through the blue tinged corridor. We pass a multitude of bronze doors clasped shut. The corridor is spacious—empty. It has a ghostly feel to it—as if people should be filling up this passageway, but cannot. As if we should be pressing our way through bodies as they flutter about the corridor, but the people who should occupy this space cannot be here.
They're in mourning—in mourning for the dead Lord Emyr.
I press the heel of my palm to my chest as Calanthe follows Ran up white-gold steps. We go up a level. Up two more, and I'm wheezing when Ran finally walks along a white washed marble corridor that is absent steps. At the end of this hallway murmurs a gallery of people swathed in black. They are like spirits moaning in the dark. Whispering and murmuring amongst themselves as they stare at a tall door cut with elaborate bronze carvings. The voices come crashing down around me as we get closer. The dull murmur growing into a buzzing roar when I'm able to make out faces and genders.
Ran stops, then. Turns and crosses his arms. “She stays out here.”
Calanthe's grip on my forearm tightens. I wince. “She is my
gift—,”
“Yeah?
Well your
gift—,”
his voice lowers. Becomes a sharp hiss meant for both our ears. “stays
here.”
I swipe my arm from Calanthe's grasp. I'm tired of being a puppet. Tired of not having a say of
where
I go. “I have no weapons.” I tell him as his gaze slides to me. “I'm defenseless—,”
“And you aren't a
witch,
like her?” Ran raises an eyebrow, tilts his head and frowns. “Excuse me if I'm reluctant to trust a pretty face.”
I narrow my eyes before Calanthe stretches her arm out before me. Effectively silencing me before I can argue any further. “She's a
singer,
retainer.” but she sighs. Lowers her head and shakes it. “Yet, I understand your apprehension. I will go, but she must remain outside the door. Will you accept these terms?”
Ran's lips become a grim line before he uncrosses his arms, “Alright then, diviner.” and he moves away. Begins to part the crowd.
But Calanthe's arm still silences me. Forces me to stay where I am. She throws a sharp glare over her shoulder. Narrows her eyes before she
hisses:
“Speak when I tell you to. These are
my
people, girl. Strangers aren't met with kindness here. Do you understand this?”
I nod curtly before her arm slaps down to her side. Calanthe returns my nod before pushing her way through the gathered mourners. Her mere presence makes them part. Makes them turn their heads and stare. When we're at the door, the mourners move farther down the hall. Giving us space as Calanthe gives them a disapproving glance before knocking on the bronze door and throwing it open. When I move to follow, Ran leans upon the door frame. Sleepy eyes turn lively, dark irises flash when I move towards the door. They dare me to enter—dare me to follow.
“Wait here.” Calanthe hisses. Turns to meet my gaze. “Whatever happens—be
here
when I come out.” her gaze flickers towards Ran before I nod. She returns the gesture and glares once more at the sleepy-eyed retainer before entering the room and slamming the door behind herself.
I wait patiently, clasping my hands before my stomach. Twiddling my thumbs as I stare at the door and ignore the harsh murmurs echoing down the hall.
But the retainer stares at me.
I lower my gaze to the floor. I'm mirrored in the marble. We both are. “Yes?” I say to him.
He seems taken aback when I acknowledge him. The marble mirrors his movements, him crossing his legs only to uncross them again as he leans against the door frame. “Just trying to figure out if you have wings.”
It is my turn to seem taken aback as my gaze moves from the marble to his eyes. “Is something wrong?”
