Requiem of Silence Page 6

  For these people have power, magic, resources. All things you lack.

  All things that can be taken.

  * * *

  They come for you on the third day.

  You’ve spent the time eating everything you’ve been given and pacing the length of the small, frigid cell to keep warm and get your muscles working again. The time for sulking is over. Plans must be made.

  Food is delivered by some magical means—the tray appears twice a day, and once you’ve cleaned your plate, it disappears into thin air. You suspect this is done to unsettle you. Earthsong cannot accomplish such things but blood magic can, so you catalog it, filing the information away for a point in time at which it will be useful.

  The two men who retrieve you are solid walls of flesh. Bald heads tattooed with some sort of insignia. Their vacant, unintelligent stares mark them as servants.

  They don’t appear to be armed, but you aren’t certain. And anyway, you have no desire to resist. Indeed, you must disguise your eagerness to finally meet your captor.

  Lanterns cast tiny pools of light along the hallways of the dungeon. You can barely see your feet as you climb long staircases, bringing you into the main level of a castle that has seen better days. It is even colder up here; wind whistles through the corridors, sneaking in through gaps in the mortar of the stones. You enter a wide atrium where an entire wall has fallen away, revealing the surrounding snowcapped mountains.

  Eddies of snow gather along the remains of the ruined wall. The guards lead you to another staircase. Its crumbling condition makes climbing perilous—one misstep and you would tumble over the edge and disappear into blackness. You gird yourself and step carefully.

  The room they escort you to is a parlor—all walls intact—where a roaring fire has been built in a fireplace as tall as you are. The flames battle the bitterness of the cold, but don’t appear to be winning.

  The fire crackles. The wind hisses. You miss the ability to take in your surroundings in more detail, to identify the people nearby and their emotions with Earthsong. Now you rely on your mundane senses. The scents of dust and smoke obscure what else might be there.

  They push you onto an ancient wooden chair that surprisingly does not fall apart under you and there you wait. The delay is long enough to communicate that this is a power play. Everything is a game. This you understand perfectly well.

  A woman finally enters. Her warm skin tone reflects a mix of races, making her most likely Yalyish. In your land, children have always taken after one parent. Singer or Silent. Dark-haired or ginger-haired with nothing in between.

  But here the blend is more even. Hazel eyes, canted lightly, head covered with a bloodred wrap so you cannot see her hair, but her brows are a muddy brown. Her long robe is in the same red as her hair covering. She appears to be in her fifties, which could mean anything. You yourself appear only thirty, a tiny fraction of your true age.

  She settles on a sturdy, cushioned bench perpendicular to you. When she raises her hand, a glass of ice-blue liquid appears in her grasp. She takes a long sip before focusing on you. “I am Nikora. Do you mind if I call you Eero? True Father sounds so formal, does it not?”

  You do not want to be called Eero, so you remain silent.

  She smiles, with unnaturally white, sparkling teeth. “Ydaris told us so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet.”

  Your nose flares at the mention of your former second-in-command. Ydaris served her purpose, you always knew one day her own agenda would win out. You simply thought you would end her before the reverberations of her betrayal managed to touch you. Pity that.

  “We’re so grateful you could join us. As you have no doubt discovered, you will not be able to use blood magic during your stay. Feel free to try if it makes you feel better. Some people have to learn the hard way, and I have a feeling you are like that. Hardheaded.” She smiles as she says it, taking away some of the sting, but you don’t appreciate her tone.

  While in your cell, you did everything you could think of to draw blood. You used fingernails, the rough stone walls, the edge of the bucket, the bars. You scraped yourself with every object there, but your skin was impervious. Biting your tongue had achieved nothing, either.

  Nikora’s all-knowing grin seems to be aware of your thoughts. A few weeks ago you would have drained her of any power she had and ordered her execution. Now you simply bide your time. They may think they know what you can do, but they are wrong.

  “Generations ago, this castle belonged to Saint Dahlia and the original Physicks. Sadly, after she progressed from this world and we established our headquarters in the city, the place fell into disrepair. But it is isolated and it is secure, and if anyone cares to look for you, they will not find you here.”

  She laughs as though she’s said something funny, and sips at her liquid. You continue to stare, unwilling to be unsettled by her performance.

  “You must be dying to know why we’ve brought you here. One prison for another?” She lifts a shoulder. “We think you can help us, Eero. And we know we can help you.”

  You pitch forward slightly, intrigued in spite of yourself.

  “For a long time you wielded a great deal of power. Dark power. Power you had no business having. Then it was taken from you.”

  She leans forward, setting her glass on the side table, all seriousness now. The shrewdness in her gaze sends a chill through you, unmatched even by the icy wind.

  “Wouldn’t you like to get it back?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  We are aglow.

  Incandescent, filled with glee

  the shadows only memory until

  the sun drops down beneath

  the confines of our view.

  Tomorrow starts anew.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  The midafternoon sun did little to warm Kyara as the wind picked up from the west. She hurried back to the cottage, slipping on the silken sand. Once inside, she stamped her bare feet and rubbed her hands together to bring some warmth to them.

  Today, she’d gone south on the beach instead of north, mostly to avoid the inn and the refugees from yesterday. What would she do with her time when the weather turned too cold for her to walk the coastline and stare at the ocean all day? She was free for the first time in her life, and had no idea what to do about it.

  Suddenly, her senses went on high alert. She hadn’t perceived a sound, but some change in the air prickled her awareness. Then Darvyn stepped in from the bedroom and a smile stretched across her face.

  She relaxed instantly. “I didn’t know you were home.” But tension thrummed through him.

  “We finished checking the soil at the refugee camp, so I decided to stop in and get a change of clothes for the twins’ party tonight.”

  Guilt wrapped around her. She’d shared a prison block with Roshon, Varten, and their father, Dansig, for weeks after being captured by the Physicks. In that time, she’d bonded with the family. She should go to their party and share in the joy of freedom, but the idea of being around so many people … Also being in the palace again, where she’d been a prisoner and then, briefly, a guest—it was too much.

  She shook her head. “Please tell them I’m sorry that I won’t be there. I know they won’t understand but…”

  “It’s fine. They’ll understand … But there’s more.” His hands squeezed a bit of fabric between them. A cravat, if she wasn’t mistaken. Part of Elsiran formal wear.

  “What?”

  “I received a call from Jasminda.” He motioned to the telephone that had been installed in the cottage shortly after they’d arrived. “It’s confidential, but I’m sure she knew I’d tell you.”

  “As if I have anyone to tell,” Kyara joked, growing worried.

  His expression was bleak. “Wraiths attacked the palace.”

  Her jaw dropped. “But … we…”

  “I know. There were only three of them, but Oola and Jasminda together barely held them off. Then they just
went away. Oola wants to keep it quiet though, as to not spread panic. Jasminda said there was more bad news, but she will only tell me in person.”

  “So the Physicks’ Machine wasn’t destroyed? Or somehow they’ve found another way to open the portal?” Her voice pitched higher than normal with the memory of the wraith attack she’d witnessed.

  Darvyn crossed the room with rapid steps to embrace her. Kyara hadn’t realized she was shaking until she was pressed into his arms. “We’ll find out,” he said. “We’ll figure it all out.”

  The destruction those spirits had created back in Yaly was burned into her brain. Now it was coming here. Something had told her that a quiet life of solitude would never be possible, but she’d hoped. A fat lot of good hoping did.

  She pulled out of Darvyn’s arms and looked into his dark eyes. “I wish that I could come with you tonight, but I’m still not … ready. Not to go back to the palace.” Or around other people at all, truth be told. She’d been in a self-imposed exile since arriving here, and even this new disaster could not pull her from her solitude. She’d never imagined herself a coward before now, but perhaps that’s exactly what she was.

  “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “You think you’ll be home tonight?”

  “Of course, but it might be late.”

  “If it’s easier for you to stay in town, I’ll understand. It’s rather a long ride and—”

  “Kyara.” His tone was sharp, his gaze serious. “I am not spending a night away from you.”

  She blinked in the face of his fierce declaration.

  His hands gripped her shoulders gently. “I spent too long away from you, not knowing where you were or what was happening to you. I won’t do it again. Not unless it’s unavoidable. Understand?”

  When she’d been captured, she never thought she’d see him again. In fact, she’d thought him dead and that their next meeting would be in the World After. It had taken two long months for Darvyn and her to find their way back together. She didn’t want to do anything to risk it, but couldn’t help feeling that she was somehow holding him back.

  “All right. I’ll expect you back late,” she said lightly. “I hope there won’t be any more attacks before then.”

  He frowned. “Oola seemed to think this was a test, and that makes sense. Opening the portal seemed fairly difficult in Yaly, when the Physicks were at full strength. I know we dealt them a blow even if we didn’t wipe them out completely. Let’s hope that they’ll need even more time to regroup and mount another attack.”

  “Between the queen, the Goddess, and the Shadowfox, I know Elsira is in good hands.” She tried for a smile, but failed.

  Darvyn snorted and shook his head. “Between the new terrorist attack yesterday and this? I don’t know.” He ran a hand across his shortly cropped hair. “Fighting the True Father was one thing, but here we have to fight the people for our very right to exist. It feels different. Harder.” His shoulders slumped and she pulled him close again, this time trying to offer comfort as well as receive it.

  They held one another for a long time until Darvyn pulled back. “The driver is waiting. If you change your mind about the birthday party, just call Jasminda’s secretary and she’ll send a car for you.”

  Kyara nodded. Darvyn had showed her how to use the telephone, but she didn’t imagine she’d ever need to. His face turned grim, like he could read her thoughts.

  “Pity you’ll miss out on the sunset,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood. After watching the sun fall beneath the ocean on three consecutive days, Darvyn had failed to see why sunsets so fascinated people. She’d tried to share what enthralled her, how the colors that bled across the water were so vibrant, never the same twice, but it never moved him the way it did her.

  “Would you like me to stay until it’s set?” he asked. He would if she wanted, this she knew and was grateful for. But she shook her head, attempting a smile.

  Darvyn kissed her very thoroughly. She allowed herself to linger for just a few moments in his embrace and then pulled back. He needed to be on his way.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he said.

  And then he was gone.

  She was glad that the cottage was relatively small. Larger than a Lagrimari dwelling, especially one meant for two people, but not so large that she felt lost in it. Not so large that the loneliness pressed in against her from all sides. Could she even be lonely when it was what she preferred? What she explicitly asked for?

  A knock on the door had her whipping around. Did he forget his key? Even though this seaside town was supposed to be safe, Kyara insisted on using the locks and keys provided, never feeling too secure.

  She wrenched open the door to chide him and stopped short, finding not Darvyn on the step but a short Lagrimari woman with a shorn head. Her delicately canted eyes were turned down at the corners, giving her a sad expression.

  “So you decided to knock this time?” Kyara said irritably.

  Mooriah smirked. “I do know how to be polite.”

  Kyara shrugged. “If you truly understood politeness, you would stop coming here every day and would have listened to me the first time I told you no.”

  Mooriah crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

  “How long have you been waiting?” Kyara asked.

  “Five hundred years.”

  She snorted; she should have seen that one coming.

  An automobile drove slowly down the road, a beat-up jalopy, not one of the sleek town cars the crown provided for Darvyn. Still, she didn’t want to incite the curiosity of the neighbors by hanging about in the doorway. “Come in and close the door then.”

  Not feeling like entertaining the nuisance of an unwanted guest, Kyara marched over to the couch and plopped down on it. Mooriah made herself at home in the armchair to her left, and they both looked out the picture window to the sand and surf beyond.

  “I used to wish for this,” Mooriah said softly. She wore an unfashionable, drab dress with long sleeves, something similar to what she’d been wearing in the visions Kyara’d had of her in the World After—or wherever she’d been after having her Song drained by the Physicks. How the woman had managed to travel to the Living World was still a mystery—Mooriah had been vague, promising answers only if she got what she wanted.

  Kyara sat rigidly. “You can keep coming here, because I suppose you have nothing better to do, but my answer won’t change.”

  “What makes you think I have nothing better to do?” Mooriah asked, cocking her head.

  “Because if you did, wouldn’t you be out doing it? You wouldn’t come back from the dead to darken my door every day, or walk right in whenever it pleased you.”

  Mooriah’s gaze turned a bit sadder if it was possible. “There are a great many other things I could be doing, I assure you. But I know that I have a responsibility. And I am endeavoring to remind you of yours.”

  Kyara took a deep breath. “I don’t have any responsibilities anymore. By design.”

  “You need to learn to use your power. Now more than ever. The attack this morning? The wraiths? That is just the beginning. The prophesied events are upon us.”

  “How do you know about the wraiths?”

  Mooriah merely blinked at her, and Kyara huffed in exasperation. “Why don’t you teach me then? You’re the only other Nethersinger in existence, for seed’s sake.”

  Mooriah tilted her head. “Do you want to do it here, so close to so many? How many people could you kill if you lost control of your power?”

  Kyara gritted her teeth; the woman was right. “Well then, we can go somewhere without any people.”

  “Like the eastern mountains? Inside the caves that have been protected for millennia from power like ours? Exactly what I’ve been asking you to do.”

  Kyara stomped her foot like a child. “I don’t trust the Cavefolk.”

  She’d fallen into a trap of theirs before and Darvyn had paid the price. He’d nearly
been killed by Murmur, an elder of the Cavefolk, who’d also wanted to teach her to better control her power.

  “Their method worked, didn’t it?” Mooriah asked. But that was the wrong thing to say.

  Kyara stood abruptly. “Get out of my house and never come back. I will never let Darvyn be hurt by me or anyone else—not if I can help it. If you think that you can use him as bait—”

  Mooriah held up her hands. “I mean him no harm. And neither did Murmur. He would have helped him if you couldn’t have.”

  Kyara shook her head, staring the woman down.

  “And we are not the only two Nethersingers in existence.”

  That stopped Kyara short. Mooriah looked up expectantly, anticipating Kyara’s reaction. “If you won’t do it for you, then do it for the child who, unless she’s trained, will be far more destructive than you could ever be. Do you want that on your conscience? When you could have helped her learn control so that she won’t bear the guilt you do.”

  Kyara’s burning eyes blurred. Mooriah had struck a nerve, and it seemed the woman knew it. Fire raced up her throat as she thought of herself at eleven, wandering the Great Highway alone, a mounting stack of bodies already behind her.

  “There is another?” she said through clenched teeth.

  Mooriah nodded.

  “A child?”

  She nodded again.

  “And why did you not tell me before?”

  “It took me time to locate her. But she needs help. Your help. Our help.”

  A dam within Kyara broke and a rush of emotion burst forth; she barely held it back. “I want to meet her.”

  “Then write down this address.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  We are harnessed to one another,

  connected by the chorus and the verse.

  Bonds strengthened when we choose to rehearse.

  For practice is the key to Harmony.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING