Song of the Dead

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  Snarling, it shambles onto the dirt path on all fours and turns to face us, blocking the way forward. Ribbons of drool hang thickly from its sharp mouth, and a rotten strip of flesh dangles from its cheek as it tosses its head and pierces our ears with a screech.

  Even Nipper seems to shrink away from the sound.

  I see these monstrosities all the time in my dreams, but nothing is as awful as the real thing. For one, there’s no stench of baking rubbish in my dreams. For another, I never seem to remember just how awful the sound of a Shade’s jaw clicking as it unhinges truly is. Or how dark the pits of its sightless eyes are as it seems to stare into my soul, toying with me, waiting for me to run or scream before making its move.

  Jax draws his sword, muscles tensing. I grab his free arm, my own aching in protest from where Nipper nearly dislocated my shoulder earlier. I can’t watch Jax die the same way Evander did. I can’t.

  “Wait!” I cry. “Let me try something first—damn!” I gasp as he breaks free of my hold. “Jax, no!”

  He sprints ahead, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the Shade, raising his sword. Apparently he was already too focused on the coming fight to process my words.

  If he gets any closer, Nipper won’t be able to use her fire breath. I hope Azelie was right when she said necromancers in Sarral use dragons to kill Shades.

  “Jax, get back!” I scream. “You have to trust me—get back!”

  It’s now or never.

  Jax feints to the right, then dives into the prickly hedges on his left.

  “Nipper, kill that thing!” I shout, dropping her lead and pointing at the Shade.

  The dragon flicks her tail with what I can only guess is eagerness. She opens her mouth wide, sucking in air.

  For a moment, nothing happens.

  Jax groans from the bushes.

  With a rumble more menacing than thunder, Nipper lunges forward, a cloud of mesmerizing blue-white fire erupting from her mouth. The Shade darts away at the same time, trying to throw itself into the bushes.

  It might be quicker than humans, but it’s not faster than fire.

  Howling, the Shade claws at its skeletal face and collapses beside the hedgerow, rolling across the path as its body pops and sizzles. The heat of the dragon’s flames must be more powerful than anything in the liquid fire potions we often carry, because it only takes a few blinks for the monster to be reduced to lumps of bones and a putrid dark liquid. Steam rises from the remains, the fire having burnt itself out. Nipper flicks her tongue at the puddle of Shade but quickly slithers away, apparently having no desire for a second taste.

  And once again, the grandest garden in the Deadlands is quiet. Just the way the spirits like it.

  “What was that you said about there not being Shades around here?” I ask as Jax crawls out of the rosebushes, scratched and bruised but really no worse for the wear. We exchange a shaky smile, and he accepts my help in standing.

  After each giving Nipper a quick but thorough belly scratch, her favorite, we hurry away from the stink of blackened Shade goo.

  “Good to know you still trust me,” I murmur to Jax as we resume the search for Karston.

  “Good to know there’s a better way to kill Shades than what we’ve been taught all these years,” Jax grunts, shaking his head as he studies Nipper. “Wonder what else King Wylding was keeping from us . . .”

  I nod, not really listening because every time I push aside a branch or peer over a hedge, I half expect to see Karston’s lifeless body sprawled in the grass. The Shade we just killed might have gotten to him before we did, and my muscles are tensed at the possibility. Or worse—what if we find Hadrien standing over our fallen companion, laughing?

  But when we circle back to the fountain at the garden’s center, Karston is sitting on its edge, swinging his legs and humming cheerfully as he takes in the sights, dutifully not tasting the flowing wine.

  “Where were you?” I demand, rushing to his side with Nipper and Jax in tow. Without waiting for an answer, I throw my arms around him, giddy with relief that he hasn’t become a pile of bones on my watch.

  “I got lost trying to follow you and Nipper,” Karston explains as I scrutinize him further. He looks completely unhurt, not even a scratch. “I guess I took a wrong turn somewhere. I passed this place”—he pats the fountain—“a couple times while I was looking for you, so I decided to sit here and wait for you to find me. I didn’t mind.” He flashes me a warm smile, the kind that makes my lips twitch upward of their own accord. I have to admit, he’s charming when he’s excited about something. “I knew you’d come, and besides, it’s amazing down here. Even more beautiful than I’d been told. Why . . . ?” His gaze darkens. “Something happened to you, didn’t it?” He looks from me to Jax, his brows knitting in concern.

  “Come on.” I grab Karston’s hand, pulling him down from his fountain perch. “You’re holding on to me the whole way back. I’ll explain while we walk.”

  The gentle pulse of a gate draws me toward home, toward the living world, but I pause to look sternly between Karston and Jax. “And no one—I mean it, no one—is going into the Deadlands by themselves again. Ever. Understand?”

  Karston promises right away. I knew I could count on him. He might not make a bad partner someday, especially after managing to survive the Deadlands alone on his first visit.

  But Jax’s long pause before agreeing doesn’t convince me.

  XVI

  Kasmira and her crew don’t show up for the morning’s training session.

  Maybe they had a late night in the city. After all, the Festival of Oranges was last night, although Valoria didn’t throw a party at the palace to celebrate—she’s too busy preparing notes for her second talk with Devran. Or maybe Kasmira lost patience with the way the trainees’ injuries still outnumber their victories. I’m barely hanging on to what little patience I have left myself. The only ones who seem to be making any notable progress are Meredy’s archers, and even that isn’t saying much—just that they’ve stopped hurting themselves and have started aiming toward the proper targets.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pay Kasmira a visit. I’m worried about her hand, and maybe I can convince her to let Danial take a look at it.

  As I hurry through the city toward the harbor where the Paradise is anchored, I notice several shops whose insides are dark, their signs hung and doors barred. It’s enough to make me pause. After all, it’s midmorning, a popular time to do business. And although the day is a little overcast, the wind a touch too biting, that’s never been enough to keep people from going about their daily errands.

  When I get to the docks, I’m relieved to find the Paradise swaying gently in the dark water as usual. But my pulse quickens when I don’t spot any sign of any life on board.

  I run up the gangway, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat at a sudden sense of wrongness. But before my boots touch the deck, Kasmira cries out in a choked voice, “Sparrow—stay back!”

  She appears from the darkness of the stairwell, leaning against a side wall for support. There’s a faint sheen of sweat coating her brow, and she shivers violently as she regards me. But what twists my insides into a hopelessly tangled knot is the coughing fit that suddenly grips her, rattling her chest until a blob of something thick and black leaves her lips.

  That’s where the black fever gets its name. Not from the fever itself, but the black gunk it creates deep in a person’s lungs.

  A few years ago, Jax barely survived it.

  More often than not, it kills its victims—usually within a few days, but sometimes over a slow and painful process of weeks if the person is strong enough to fight it. Since no healer can cure it without dying themselves, and it’s highly contagious, the sick are left to their own devices.

  The black fever strikes every winter, and though this is early in the season, it’s not
unheard of. As it runs its course, it sweeps through the whole of Karthia, a dark time that used to keep us necromancers busy raising more Dead. Now that raisings are banned, this is bound to be the most tragic fever season in centuries.

  Staring at Kasmira, I’m flooded with cold, but I somehow remember to cover my nose and mouth with my shirt. After watching Jax suffer with the fever, I never want to experience it firsthand.

  “This can’t be happening to you,” I grit out, my throat tightening as Kasmira’s coughing fit continues. “Not to any of you. Is anyone—have you lost anyone yet?”

  Kasmira shakes her head. When she can, between coughs, she croaks, “Matter of time. Now do me a favor and get the blazes out of here.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Kasmira and her crew aren’t the first to fall ill, but before the week is up the boatswain is the first to die, shortly followed by Dvora.

  When the black fever rages, no one holds funerals for fear of spreading more sickness, so I don’t get to say goodbye or properly mourn her passing. The bodies of black fever victims are collected and buried without ceremony, though sometimes the process takes days, especially when the masked guards charged with carrying out the grim task are already exhausted and spread thin.

  Corpses pile up in the Ashes, dumped outside of homes not out of anger, but desperation to save those fighting for their lives inside.

  Valoria is hardly to be seen except occasionally at mealtimes; she’s constantly in meetings with her council and the palace healers. I’ve practically learned her schedule in my effort to see her, an effort that has yet to pay off.

  Every day, when she receives the latest news over breakfast before her meetings, she asks the young messenger tonelessly, “Who died this time?” and listens, dry-eyed but shaking, to a list of names. The number of ravens she gets increases each day as the black fever begins to take hold outside of Grenwyr City, too, with scattered cases reported in villages from one of Karthia’s coasts to the other.

  The volunteer soldiers remain in the city, but since Valoria forbids all visitors from entering the palace to protect us while the fever rages, morning practices are temporarily suspended. So is patrolling the cemeteries for signs of Shade-baiters, and so is Valoria’s next meeting with the rebel leader, Devran, though she writes him a long letter and frets when she doesn’t hear back right away. She was so sure he’d love her suggestion of appointing citizens to her council to help approve new changes to the city.

  There’s not much to do now but sit and wait, and I’ve never been good at sitting still.

  King Wylding used to throw even more parties than usual when the fever arrived, trying to keep people drunkenly distracted, but Valoria has decided against her council’s wishes that there will be no festivals until the danger has passed in order to combat the spread of sickness. As a result, young nobles—Valoria’s kin and those descended from long-dead friends of King Wylding—are more restless than usual, so they throw their own dances in the palace’s roomier common spaces and drink late into the night.

  Meredy and I try attending one, but neither of us has any fun, especially not after receiving the news that Elibeth has taken ill with the fever recently. We’re much more comfortable passing the time in our room, though when we’re there, all we do is obsess over each other’s every sneeze and cough.

  “This is kind of nice, in a way. Training being canceled,” I mutter, flopping down in the middle of our shared bed, still in my party dress. “I mean, I know how important it is, but . . . we’ve been so busy ever since we got back to Karthia. I missed seeing you in the light, and right beside me, not all the way across the training grounds.” I reach out a hand, beckoning Meredy to sit beside me.

  She doesn’t notice, too busy pacing the room. I frown. We could be making the most of the time we have to spend together, and instead, she’s restless as a caged animal.

  “Meredy, what’s on your mind?” I ask a little louder, hoping to draw her gaze.

  “Oh!” She blinks at me, apparently startled. “I’m worried about Elibeth. She’s never had the strongest constitution . . .”

  Of course. She’s afraid for her sister, and here I am being a selfish jerk.

  “I hope to Vaia the fever doesn’t linger as long as usual,” I say firmly, hopping off the bed and going to Meredy to put my arms around her. “I’ve had enough of death to last lifetimes already. We both have.”

  “I hope so, too,” Meredy says softly. “Though whether the fever stays around or not, I don’t think Vaia will have anything to do with it.” When I shoot her a questioning look, her cheeks flush. “I don’t think Vaia exists, or ever existed, for that matter,” she explains. “I mean, I’d like to believe there’s some powerful being looking out for all of us, but . . . if there really were a being as powerful as that, why wouldn’t they stop the black fever from killing anyone in the first place? Why would they have allowed Hadrien to make monsters?”

  I shake my head, unable to answer her. I don’t usually think about Vaia as anything more than a vague idea, or ancient history. Definitely not as a part of our world. I shiver and rub my arms. What Meredy said makes sense. Too much sense, if I’m being honest. After all, it wasn’t Vaia that stopped Hadrien. It was me. Still, I have to hope she’s wrong, because if there was ever a time to have an all-powerful being on our side, it’s now.

  “At least we have Valoria,” I say aloud. “With her brain, I bet she could outsmart Vaia. She’ll think of some way to stop the fever. I’m sure of it.”

  Meredy smiles, absently rubbing her palms together. She winces slightly, her hands no doubt still sore from recent archery practices. “You should tell her that, not me. I think she needs her friends right now, only . . .”

  I nod. Meredy doesn’t need to finish her sentence for me to understand. Valoria has never been the best at asking for help when she needs it. It’s up to us to go to her.

  I motion for Meredy to follow me.

  “It’s deadly late,” she says, looking at me curiously as she pulls on a robe. “Where are we going at this hour?”

  “To the kitchens.” I smile as I shut our door, leaving Nipper and Lysander slumbering inside. I’m pleased with my own brilliance for once. “Then we’re going up to Valoria’s tower for some mandatory fun.”

  Meredy tilts her head in a way that’s almost catlike, distracting me into wanting to kiss her before we’ve even started our mission. “Can fun ever be mandatory?” she asks.

  “It is tonight. And violators will be punished severely.”

  Giggling, Meredy says near my ear, “Then don’t make breaking the rules sound so fun.”

  Supplies in hand—a grapefruit chess pie, Valoria’s favorite, and two bottles of the elderflower wine Meredy and I love—we ascend the stairs to Valoria’s tall, lonely tower with the blessing of several guards who recognize us.

  As I expected, there’s light escaping from under her door.

  Meredy knocks, and when Valoria’s voice tells us to enter, we walk into a riot of colors, of drawings, diagrams, and heaps of wires and gears on workbenches.

  I push aside the folded canvas top of an air balloon, something I’ve seen in this room before, to set down our offerings of wine and pie. Cursing, I realize I forgot to bring glasses.

  Valoria, who has her back to us, raises her head at the sound but doesn’t turn.

  “I could fix all this, you know,” she says wearily, by way of greeting. She’s gazing down at a tiny, perfect model of Grenwyr City. “If I had more time to work on my Dream City and actually start changing some things, the black fever wouldn’t have room to take hold the way it does now.”

  “There are a lot of things I wish I could fix, too,” I tell her, though I know understanding can’t ease her guilt. Taking her arms, I gently pull her away from the Dream City, and Meredy raises her chin so we can look into our friend’s shadowed
eyes.

  “You saved me more than once when I was sick,” I tell Valoria, my voice growing more unsteady by the moment. “And now I want to help you.”

  “I do, too,” Meredy agrees. She and Valoria went through a lot together in curing me of the calming potions that I couldn’t stop drinking after we lost Evander.

  “I’m not sick, though.” Valoria’s gaze hardens. “And just because you feel you have some debt to repay doesn’t mean—”

  “That’s not why we want to help you,” I cut in. Remembering something she said to me when she tried to drag me from my bed, not that long ago, I add, “It’s because that’s what friends do.”

  Pulling off her glasses to wipe them on the sleeve of her gown—an old habit—she frowns at me and snaps, “Now you’re using my own words against me? Great.”

  But her expression softens, and she allows Meredy and me to each take one of her hands and lead her over to the workbench where I set the wine and the pie. Grabbing our picnic supplies, the three of us sink down under the workbench like it’s our hideaway.

  We eat pie with our fingers, share wine from one bottle, then the next, and gossip about how various palace residents must be spending the time waiting for the fever to pass. We talk about everything from ideas for new hairstyles—even trying a few out on Meredy with hilarious results—to what gifts we most want this year for the Festival of Giving. We nearly render Valoria speechless by asking her about how she liked training for hand-to-hand combat with Jax, and she makes us giggle and give each other a private sort of smile when she asks what living together is like.

  As we laugh at Valoria’s story about one of her meaner cousins accidentally flashing everyone in the throne room recently, she lowers the bottle of wine she was finishing. Her eyes brighter than usual, she says, “I needed this more than I realized. Needed to unwind, I mean.” She lets her head fall onto my shoulder and says in a small voice so unlike her own, “Don’t ever run off again.” She toys with a leather bracelet on Meredy’s wrist, one I bought her in Sarral, adding, “I can’t do this without you. Not that I need help. That’s not it.”