Song of the Dead

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  Meredy lifts her head and turns toward me, but doesn’t raise her eyes.

  The air in the narrow room is getting much too thin to share.

  “Be safe out there. Please.” Her voice follows me as I head into the hallway, and I don’t have to glance back to know she’s making a final, frantic search for something to guard against the lashing rain before following me up the stairs.

  I shake my head, more confused by her than ever. She knows me well enough to realize I have a habit of running toward danger, not away from it. And I know her well enough to detect the note of longing in her words, moments after she pushed me away.

  I have a sure and sudden feeling that girl is going to be the death of me.

  III

  In my haste to leave the cabin, I nearly trip over Lysander. The grizzly bear fills the hallway even when he’s stretched out on his belly. His amber eyes are alert, his breathing heavy, like he’s just as unnerved by the storm as I am. “Don’t look so worried,” I murmur, patting his neck. “At least you can swim, big man.”

  Above deck, the wind howls like a restless Shade, distorting the sounds of the crew calling to one another. I blink rain from my eyes as fast as I can, but searching for Kasmira like this is going to take a while.

  The ship leans right. I collide with the quartermaster, who curses and dashes away, leaving me to lean against the side of the ship and rub my smarting head.

  “Kas!” I shout.

  My voice, like the voices of the many people struggling to keep us floating, is lost to the wind, but Kasmira’s lack of an answer still makes a lump of panic rise in my throat. She could be trying to divert the storm, pushing her body beyond its limits—using too much magic.

  When necromancers walk into the Deadlands, we forfeit the chance for our spirits to go there when we die. Using our magic is a guarantee that someday, we just won’t be anymore. Like Evander. But when an inventor or a weather mage pushes their magic too far, they could faint—or worse, their brains could bleed. They could die in the act of wielding their incredible power.

  All magics have a price, each one terrible in its own way, but the weather mage’s cost seems especially cruel just now. If we lose our fearless captain, none of us will make it far, let alone back to Karthia.

  I can’t lose anyone else. Not here. The sea was supposed to save what’s left of me, not rip away the remaining pieces.

  I stagger across the deck, making my way from the middle of the ship to the quarterdeck, hoping Kasmira is at the helm. The white-capped waves rear higher with each collision, sending a furious spray over the bow, making me slip far too often. I might as well have left my cloak in the room for all the good it’s doing me.

  This is hopeless. The wind fights me with each step forward. Not that I’m going anywhere until I know Kasmira is all right, that she has things under control.

  As thunder claps, I completely lose my footing. I clutch at the nothingness around me and land hard on my back. It takes a moment to suck air back into my lungs. A passing sailor—Dvora, I realize as I blink against the gale—hauls me to my feet.

  “Looking for the captain? She’s that way!” The sea-hardened first mate points straight ahead, toward the mainmast, and beyond it, curtains of gray. Whatever I can or can’t see, I’m sure Dvora knows what she’s talking about.

  When I turn to ask her how Kas is holding up so far, she’s already disappeared. I guess our captain must be safe for now. With my arms out for balance, I edge slowly forward, shuffling my feet like a child taking her first steps.

  “What’s this?” Kasmira appears from behind the mast, gliding lithely over the slick boards like she’s been doing this all her life. She probably has. “No one’s drowning any sparrows on my watch.” With a hand on my back to steady me, she leads me to the partially covered threshold of a door leading belowdecks, where she’s been working her magic.

  Once we’re settled on the damp floor, I throw my arms around her. “I was so worried.”

  “You don’t say.” Kasmira pushes her dark braids over her shoulders and grins wryly, but the expression doesn’t mask her pain. “I’m trying to get us out of here, Sparrow, but I’ve never seen a storm like this. When I checked last, the skies were clear. These clouds sprang up out of nowhere—and now they seem to be everywhere.”

  Kasmira tilts her head skyward. She gazes up until only the whites of her deep gray eyes are showing, and I know she’s using her Sight to peer above the clouds. “This storm looks endless.”

  I shiver. “That makes no sense, Kas.”

  “I know.” She blinks at me as if coming out of a daze, then pulls something from her pocket. A compass, its needle spinning wildly, never settling. “But we’re getting close to Sarral, or we should be, anyway. Our best bet is to push through it at this point.”

  Familiar panic crawls across my skin as I study the thunderheads crowding over our ship. I wish there were something I could do to see us safely to shore, but this is Kasmira’s fight, not mine. I command the dead. She commands the sky.

  I grip her forearms. “Tell me what to do. I want to help.”

  Kasmira smiles softly, running a finger down my cheek. “Thanks, Sparrow.” She settles herself deeper under the shelter of the staircase’s entryway. “Keep an eye on the crew for me. I’ll need all my focus to blow this storm back to wherever it came from.”

  She sounds hollow, like a shadow of herself. “Kas, you’re scaring—”

  “I’ll find a way to beat this,” she continues, raising her voice over me and the wind. “I will. But if the only way to save my crew is to give myself to this storm, then you can help by telling my mothers how much I love them. Daddy, too, the next time he’s visiting. Tell them . . .” She pauses, her voice wavering at the mention of the big, close-knit family I’ve always envied. “Tell them I wasn’t afraid.”

  I hold her hand for a moment after she closes her eyes. “Be careful, danger queen. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

  I can’t bring myself to join the crew like Kasmira asked, even though she’s already slipped off to wherever her mind goes when she uses her magic. Above the clouds, most likely. Instead, I keep vigil at her side and watch her work. I’ll make sure that I never have to report the worst to Kasmira’s family.

  She raises her right hand above her head, fingers drawn together, then drops it sharply. The winds quiet, but the ship still rocks with the force of heavy rain and waves, and thunder echoes across the swollen sea.

  Kasmira brings her hands together, palms touching, the tops of her fingers level with her collarbone, then slowly draws them apart.

  The rain softens, but lightning forks the sky. I hope she tackles that next.

  Tucking my arms into my sodden cloak, I wish I could do something more than watch and wait as she groans under the strain of working her magic. In all the time I’ve known her, she’s never attempted to do more than change the winds, or push away a little rain, and even that takes its toll on her after a while.

  Blood trickles from her nose as the sky slowly begins to lighten, revealing the pale golden glow of early morning. Maybe only seconds are passing, but it feels like minute after minute is dragging by without Kasmira opening her eyes. I’m no good at waiting, no good at relying on someone else for rescue. The last time I felt this powerless, Evander was dangling limply in a Shade’s claws.

  After the rains have calmed, I peek out of our shelter, glancing up toward the quarterdeck. Dvora waves to me from the helm as she steers us toward a ribbon of calmer sea—the most beautiful sight.

  “You’re doing well, Kas,” I whisper. “I think you can stop now.”

  Yet Kasmira continues to work, flinging her right arm out, then her left, shoving the darkest clouds to our backs. The last drops of rain vanish, but the bleeding from her nose worsens. My heart sinks despite her victory over the storm.

  “Land ahea
d!” cries one of the younger sailors.

  I tear my gaze from my friend to find a gray shadow looming on the horizon, far bigger than the outline of any island, and for a ridiculous, heart-swooping moment I think we’ve somehow steered ourselves back to Karthia. But as we speed closer, I suspect we’ve reached our intended destination.

  Four people stand on a distant pink-sand shore, their outlines shimmering thanks to their water-resistant robes, similar to the ones Karthian weather workers wear but with different belts and adornments. The mages—as I suppose they must be weather workers, too—move their hands in an intricate dance, making gestures that echo Kasmira’s, and anger flares deep in the pit of my stomach as I realize what they’re doing.

  They’re fueling the storm. Perhaps they even made it, trying to keep us from their shore by turning wind and water against us. Maybe they’re protecting gems or gold. Maybe they have a ruler who hates visitors as much as King Wylding did. Or maybe they just like killing. No matter the reason, they’d better hope their storm is enough to keep them well out of my reach.

  Lightning cracks open the clearing sky, striking the Paradise’s foremast and splitting it in two. Sailors scramble out of the way, shouting obscenities and covering their heads as heavy chunks of wood crash against the deck, some tearing holes in the boards where they land.

  We’re lucky everything is so damp, or we’d have a fire to deal with, too.

  The ship lists to the left, still moving forward, but not entirely under Dvora’s control anymore. Her curses fill the charged air.

  I grab Kasmira’s shoulder and shake her. “Kas, your ship is falling apart. Your ship!” She always says she could never love a person as much as she loves this creaky old ship, with its many hidden compartments and the leaks it’s always springing. “We have to stop these people the old-fashioned way—with our blades—or we won’t have the Paradise to get us out of here.” I shake her harder. “Death be damned! Kas, snap out of it!”

  Kasmira doesn’t open her eyes, but a faint line appears between her brows. She makes another hand gesture, likely trying to counter whatever the other weather workers are summoning in the clouds.

  Meredy dashes up from the cabin at last, fully dressed but hastily so, her eyes widening as she spots the wreckage on deck. Lysander looms over her, rearing back on his hind legs to snarl at the unfamiliar mages.

  “Let’s get this mess out of everyone’s way!” Meredy calls to him. The grizzly lowers himself to all fours and starts hauling large pieces of the shattered mast by clutching them between his powerful jaws.

  Meredy directs him, and in the process, a flicker of fear crosses her face as her gaze passes over Kasmira. Or perhaps she’s looking at something beyond Kas’s makeshift shelter, wondering why we’re still sailing toward shore when the people there are bent on killing us. She shakes her head, regaining focus, and grabs one end of the largest piece of split mast while Lysander takes the other.

  The ship’s course veers wildly, but Dvora still fights to guide us toward shore.

  I hope she knows what she’s getting us into.

  One of the weather workers shouts up the beach to his companions. “Stand down! Don’t you see, they’re not—they’re not from Ezora. We made a mistake. Stand down!”

  My body stays tensed, waiting to see if the other mages will follow orders. I’ve never heard of Ezora, and I wonder if these people have ever heard of Karthia. They speak our language—the tavern keeper in Lyris called it a common tongue, after all—so it won’t be hard for me to tell these people what a big mistake they’ve made when we get to shore.

  They seem to realize that now, too, but the ship is drawing so near that I’m tempted to flail my way up the beach and start punching the mages on it. Then I won’t just be some girl on a ship—I’ll be the girl with the fists everyone should be afraid of.

  The three other mages drop their hands as their leader’s command registers, whispering among themselves and casting curious looks at our ship.

  My shoulders relax, just barely. There’s still Kasmira to worry about. I tighten my hold on her and study her face for signs of recognition. “Come on, Kas. I need to know you’re all right. They aren’t trying to kill us anymore.”

  The blood pouring from her nose thickens, spilling over her lips. She’s pushing the storm farther out to sea.

  Suddenly, Kasmira slumps on her side and starts to twitch, her head banging against the deck before I can catch her.

  “No! Kas—I need help over here!”

  Feeling utterly useless, I brush her braids away from her face, knowing, thanks to Danial’s constant prattle about healing techniques, that something as simple as moving her head might lead to more harm than good. I just hope Dvora has enough healing skill to magic Kasmira’s brain back to a place where it’s not attacking the rest of her.

  Dvora comes running at my cry, followed by Meredy. They drop to their knees beside us, Dvora immediately using her Sight to look deeper than her captain’s skin and assess the damage inside. She places a hand on Kasmira’s forehead, frowning in concentration.

  “There’s nothing you or any of the rest of us could have done,” Meredy murmurs, correctly reading my stricken expression. “The storm had to be dealt with, and no one on this ship has gray-eyed Sight but Kasmira.” She glances darkly at the shore. “Lysander and I have some things to say to those mages, though. I bet you do, too, Odessa.”

  “Nothing I want to say to them involves using actual words. I like this place even less than Lyris so far,” I grumble. I don’t miss the unspoken apology in her using my name, but I don’t have time to appreciate it as I follow her gaze back to the pink-tinged shore.

  There, standing so far down the beach from the rest of the group that I hadn’t noticed her before, is a fifth weather worker. The lone mage raises her hands to the dawn sky, her fingers curling with effort. She didn’t hear the message about standing down, then.

  Meredy and I leap to our feet. “Stop!” she yells, frantically waving her arms.

  I wave, too, calling something far less polite.

  A bolt of lightning arcs over the ship in the rosy-gold dawn sky, this time striking the yards holding the sails along the mainmast—right above where Meredy and I are standing. As they start to fall, I realize the mast itself is broken. And leaning in our direction.

  I have to get Meredy out of its path.

  Shouts rise up from the deck, from shore, but all the noise fades to a whisper as I use the instant before the mast’s descent to shove Meredy to safety.

  I try to move with her, but the weight of the split mast crashes into me, stealing my breath. All sound is drowned out by a sudden ringing in my ears, and something wet coats my face, but I can’t wipe it away no matter how hard I try to coax my arm and fingers into working. Agony twists my body in ways I didn’t know it could move.

  The ringing softens enough for me to hear Meredy swallowing a sob. Thank the stars she’s alive. And, hopefully, unhurt.

  I try to tell her I’ll be all right, that everyone should look after Kasmira first, then try to ask if someone could spare a moment to move the fallen mast. Preferably Lysander. All that comes out is an incoherent mumble. I make up a funny remark about how bards in Karthia will soon be competing to write the best ballad about the girl who survived Shades and a mad king only to be defeated by a piece of wood, but the words get lost somewhere in the swirling black that swallows me whole.

  IV

  Bright light teases the edges of my eyelids, urging me toward wakefulness.

  Blinking into the glow of late afternoon from a bed beside a wide window, I lean forward to peer outside, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The room I’m in overlooks a bustling street from at least one floor above ground. Men and women wearing outfits of bold-colored silks emerge from an apothecary, sunlight glinting off potion glasses in their baskets, and for the briefest mome
nt I feel a faint and familiar yearning. Other people hurry up and down the road carrying bread, fruit, or flowers. A girl sits on an overturned basket in the shadow of an herb-seller’s stall, plucking the strings of a small and handsome painted instrument I don’t recognize. Red blossoms thrive between shop rows, their broad petals stretching toward the sun. I don’t see anyone in a cloak, which means it must be warmer here than the weather we left behind in Karthia.

  The sound of giggling drifts up from the road. Nose to the glass, I search for its source: a tiny child watching a wooden cart full of straw roll by. An older woman, her hair wrapped in a glittering red scarf, has the driver’s seat. She waves to the child, then flicks the reins of—

  My head throbs, white-hot all over.

  I look hastily away, taking deep breaths. But when I look back, the cart is still there, though a little farther down the street. Instead of the usual horse or mule, the woman is driving a creature right out of the story Meredy told me: a dark blue-black lizard with a long snout and even longer tail, roughly the size of one of the king’s beloved hunting hounds. It leaves a trail of talon marks in the street’s red stone paving as it walks, but soon it can go no farther as more children flock to greet it.

  Meredy has to see this. Kasmira, too. They’ll tell me whether I’m dreaming.

  As I turn to look for them, I suddenly remember: Kasmira’s in danger. All that blood on her face, the way she was convulsing, a bolt of lightning forming in the clear morning sky . . . and there was something about a heavy piece of wood, too.

  Guess that explains why my head feels like somebody used it for sparring practice.

  But my pain immediately fades to background noise as I think of Kasmira. Nothing matters until I know she’s all right, and the rest of the crew, too. I need to know we’ve all reached this mysterious land of huge lizards together.

  There’s a pale silk screen around my bed, but if I lean back far enough on my pillows, I can see most of the room. I sweep my gaze hopefully over white walls adorned with paintings of seascapes and flowers, a blue-and-gold patterned tile floor, and palm fronds in red clay pots scattered throughout the neat rows of beds in this large room. All the beds around mine are screen-less and empty.