The Singer

by Elizabeth Hunter

  As they entered the house, calls came from every corner, and Ava pressed on the door Orsala had built with her, making sure it was shut. She closed her eyes, let the magic take root, and then she opened them. The women around her smiled in understanding. There were many she was beginning to recognize, but a lot of them still looked unfamiliar. There were also more Irin men than she’d seen before, standing in small groups or holding their mates. It was, quite obviously, a party. The smell of savory meat filled the air, and spices tempted her nose. Someone handed her a glass of what looked like cider, and she took a sip. It was delicious.

  Damien nudged her shoulder. “Can I leave you with Astrid?”

  Ava spotted her friend in the corner of the sitting room, waving. “Yep. Go find your woman and irritate her.”

  “Wish me luck.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll need it.”

  He disappeared into the crowd as Astrid approached.

  “Come,” her friend said. “Let’s get you some food. People eat quickly, then we head over to the barn for the singing.”

  “What—” She caught herself before she could ask for explanations. “No, don’t tell me.”

  Astrid smiled. “You don’t want to know what it is?”

  “Nope. I want to just… experience. If you have no expectations, you can’t be disappointed with reality.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They made their way to the kitchen, where more people were gathered. Mostly women, but again, a few scribes. One man, whom Ava vaguely recognized, held an Irina on his lap. She squinted when she noticed that he had no talesm on his neck.

  “Wait.” She tugged on Astrid’s arm. “Is he…?”

  “Human?” She nodded. “Yes. Orsala is not pleased with the relationship, but then, Cam does what she wants.”

  “But how do they… you know?”

  Astrid frowned. “Didn’t you say you had lovers before Malachi? Irin can’t touch human women, but we don’t have the same problem. Most human men just can’t handle our energy or intensity for prolonged periods of time. Johan doesn’t have that problem, apparently.”

  “But aging? Won’t she stay young as he gets old?”

  “Yes.” Astrid shrugged. “It’s her choice, Ava. And his.”

  They pushed past the group gathered around the table and made their way to the food that was spread out on the counter. Soon her plate was piled with meat pies and sausages made in the haven, as well as roasted turnips and carrots. There was a soup made out of pumpkin that smelled like it was spiced with chilies. She and Astrid stood in a corner, eating their dinner and chatting with a few visitors whom Ava hadn’t met yet. As Orsala had warned her, most were very curious about the new girl. The crush of people was more than Ava was used to, and she sighed in relief when people started filtering out of the house and down to the barn.

  Astrid and Ava followed the steady stream after they finished their food. By the time they entered the barn, it was half-full. The training equipment had been taken away, and benches filled the room, along with heaters to chase away the cold. At the front of the room, Orsala sat, along with Sari, Renata, and another older woman with a cap of silver-grey hair. Murmurs and laughter filled the air as everyone took seats on the benches.

  “Do you want to sit near the front?”

  “No.” She felt conspicuous enough.

  “That’s fine.” Astrid found a spot near the back wall. It was cooler, as the air leaked in from cracks in the wall, but there were enough people and heaters that Ava wasn’t uncomfortable.

  “How much of the Old Language do you understand?” Astrid asked.

  “Not much. Just a few things, though I’ve heard it plenty, of course.”

  Astrid’s eyes lit. “You might understand more after tonight. The songs might help your understanding.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just listen.”

  After a few more minutes, everyone seemed to have arrived. Ava even spotted Damien across the barn, near the side door, standing by himself but staring at his mate. Ava also noticed Sari sneaking glances at him and trying to hide nerves.

  “Hmm. Something definitely going on there.”

  Astrid followed her eyes. “It’s about time.”

  “Right?”

  Orsala stood, and immediately everyone fell silent.

  “We are here to celebrate a new sister among us and a sister returned home.” Orsala’s eyes met hers, but luckily she didn’t ask Ava to stand or single her out in any way. She continued, a smile spread across her face. “As is our custom, we welcome our sister Ava with the songs of our fathers. It is with our voices we remember, with our ears we understand. For our fathers gave us the gift of their songs, and it is our duty to sing them. It is our joy to remember. And as we create new life and preserve the safety of those under our care—” Orsala nodded to Sari. “We hold in our hearts and minds the stories of our past and the power they give us. For as we create and protect, we reflect the will of heaven on earth.”

  Ava felt a chill travel down her spine. Goose bumps rose on her arms as the room seemed to fill with a humming noise. It wasn’t unlike the hum she’d heard on the first day approaching Sarihöfn. It was a low thrum that traveled along her skin and seemed to settle on the back of her neck. Then her mouth dropped open in surprise as she realized some of the hum came from her own throat.

  She barely felt it, but it was there. And as her voice joined the others in the room, a single tone rang out, high and clear at the front of the room. Astrid gripped her right hand, and another woman reached for her left. Ava felt no urge to pull away. No discomfort. She realized the hum that had started in her throat had traveled down each arm and was linked with the same resonance coming from both Astrid and the woman to her left. The noise surged with life and magic. The air grew electric, snapping around her as she felt the hair on her arms rise.

  Ava was one and part of everything in that moment. Tears came to her eyes as she watched the small older woman with the silver hair stand in front of the room, her arms lifting as her voice rose.

  Then the Irina began to sing.

  Some joined with the woman in front, others rang out at different times, harmonizing as they joined, until the room was filled with the tapestry of sound. She did not understand the words, only the clear purity of voice. Ava continued to hum, along with the women she held on to. But as she sang, she felt it. She was connected. She was one with the Irina in the room. Irina long passed. The ones who had been lost. Others still hiding in fear.

  As the song continued, images washed across Ava’s mind. Gold and light. She closed her eyes and a twisting kind of rainbow filled her vision. When it faded away, she not only heard—she saw what the old woman sang.

  The glory of the angels on the mortal plane. Songs of love and joy.

  New life.

  Sorrow.

  Joy.

  Purpose.

  Flashes like the images in the book that Malachi had shown her, and behind it all, a chorus of voices rose and fell, filling the air with a magic that elevated her soul. Fed her heart. In that moment, there was no sadness. No heartache. She had not lost Malachi, for she would see him again. In the blink of an eye, they would be together as the angels welcomed them home.

  Tears streaming down her face, she opened her eyes to look for the singers. All four women stood at the front of the room, and three of them glowed with gold light. Orsala, Sari, and the old woman’s mating marks shone in the candlelight. Renata’s face was lifted in song, a single circle of magic on her forehead. When Ava looked down, she saw her own arms glowing with Malachi’s marks, saw Astrid’s mating marks lit up as well.

  All around the room, the magic swelled and rose, coursing over the company of Irina and their mates. Damien stood across the room, his dark eyes fixed on his mate, his talesm lit up like burning silver. For a moment, she saw their eyes meet.

  There it was.

  Tears fell down her face when she reco
gnized it. It was the look she’d seen in the manuscript. The expression of perfect completion.

  Then the image that Jaron had shown her rose again. The great circle in the sky. A sun twisted with gold and silver. Higher and higher it rose, and Ava realized in the back of her mind that her own voice rose with it. She closed her eyes as the sun faded away to stars. She rose to her feet as a million scattered points of light dotted the heavens, dancing in concert to a growing song.

  Then a single voice rose above the others until it was all she could hear.

  And Ava realized the voice was hers.

  III.

  At the edge of the valley, Jaron watched. Opening his mind’s eye, he saw the circle of voices as the daughters of the Forgiven lifted their song. And in his frozen soul, he heard the chorus of angels, calling out in joy as the heavens rang. A gold sea, as calm and clear as a mountain lake. His heart swelled with longing. For peace. For purpose. For home.

  Then Jaron heard her. Her voice was different. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t. It lifted over the others as she sang powerfully of the vision he had sent her. It was a song of longing and strength. It was, to the ears of the Fallen, a song of hope.

  Jaron closed his eyes and allowed his heart to join the song he had given her.

  Barak appeared beside him.

  “Can he see her here?” the grey-haired angel asked, always alert to danger.

  “Normally he can see her everywhere, as I can. But I cloaked the valley when I knew she would be coming. She’s safe. For now.”

  The two stood silently in the darkness as the magic rose in waves, flowing over the land. Elsewhere, the trees had lost their leaves. The ground was harder and the wind more bitter. The haven the daughters of the Forgiven had created was as gentle a place as the harsh Earth could be. When the snow finally fell, it would lie soft on the ground.

  “If he sees your fingerprints here, he will know.”

  “He will.”

  There was silence between them until Barak heard the words that Jaron had not spoken.

  “You have distracted him in some way.”

  “I have.”

  “With the scribe?”

  Jaron shrugged. “I was not expecting to have an ally as convenient as him. Even an unwitting one.”

  “You call him your ally?”

  “He is my ally as long as I can use him.”

  The Fallen narrowed his eyes. “The scribe is no ally of mine.”

  “We both believe it was her magic that rent heaven, brother. It was her magic that brought him back.”

  “So?”

  “She tore the fabric of heaven with her magic, brother.”

  Barak was silent.

  “There must be a reason. And if her magic needed his, then we will use him. Perhaps there are possibilities we have not considered.”

  Barak crossed his great arms, covered with the raised talesm of their kind. “He is our ally for as long as he proves useful, and no longer.”

  Jaron shrugged. “Of course.”

  Then the two Fallen turned their eyes back toward the Irina song and watched the sunrise.

  Chapter Eleven

  He saw her as soon as he opened his eyes. She was waiting at the edge of the trees with a glorious smile spread across her face.

  “You’re happy,” he said.

  “Supremely.”

  He walked toward her through the mist, and she wrapped her arms around him. He lifted her and swung her around, her joy spreading into his own soul. She nestled her face in his neck, and he could feel her smiling against his skin.

  “I understand now,” she said.

  “Understand what?”

  “That you’re not gone. Not really.”

  “Of course not,” he said, smiling. “I’m right here.”

  “No, in the other place. When I’m not with you. Even there, you’re not really gone.”

  Something tickled the back of his mind. There was something he needed to tell her. Something he desperately needed to share, but it drifted away like the mist that hovered over the ground. Her happiness took over his body, and he laughed.

  “I miss this, though,” she said more softly. “In the other place. I miss this.”

  “Miss what?”

  “Being near you. I miss your smile. Your laugh.”

  “You could always make me laugh,” he said. “Even when things were bad, you made me laugh.”

  “I’m glad.”

  The joy was dimming; he sensed it. Felt it, as if her soul and his were knit together. He didn’t want that. He set her down and held her face in his hands as his lips touched her skin with light, teasing kisses. Soon she was smiling again.

  “I can sing now,” she said, almost shyly. “I’m learning.”

  “Show me.”

  She blushed. “I don’t know…”

  “Please?” He sat down on the mossy ground, leaning his back against a tree and pulling her down to straddle his lap. They were face-to-face. He liked this. Her eyes met his, and she couldn’t hide what she felt. She never could if he could see her eyes. Not anymore. Once, she’d hidden from him, but he had conquered her fears. Conquered the shadows that had haunted her. He could sense them again, hovering in the corner of his vision.

  “Sing to me,” he whispered. “Reshon. My soul. Show me your secrets.”

  She began, halting at first. Her eyes flickered away from his, and he pulled her closer. She laid her head on his shoulder, but he didn’t mind. She could hide in him if it made her brave. She still sang, her voice growing as she wove a story for him. She sang of lonely stars across a black sky. Of a great circle divided. Souls reached toward each other but slipped away. And as she sang, he could see it, see the circle in his mind. He saw the sun and moon rising as one, and the stars beat against the sky.

  Then her song changed, and his heart ached. There were no words, only a barely audible whisper of longing that spread along his skin. The vision in his mind changed, and he saw them in another place and another time.

  “You’re so beautiful. Please, Ava…”

  Ava.

  She smiled and hid under the sheet as he turned the lens on her. “No! No pictures of me.”

  “Just a few. It’s only fair. You’re constantly taking pictures of me. Don’t deny it,” he said when she started to protest. “I catch you all the time. I just don’t say anything about it.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Do you need to take pictures of me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I don’t mind.”

  Ava, he mouthed silently.

  He opened his eyes and looked down at the woman in his arms, brushing her hair to the side. Her skin was glowing with the mating marks he’d placed there. His arms wrapped around her back as her song drifted into a soft hum. He felt it, spreading over his body, and as he held her, he saw the silver talesm start to glow on his wrist. Then a faint shimmer began on the bare skin above the talesm he’d inked.

  The marks crawled and spread, as if an invisible hand wrote upon him.

  “Ava,” he said, his arms tightening.

  “Hmm?” She stopped humming, looked up, and the spell was broken. “What did you call me?”

  “Your name.”

  She closed her eyes, a frown between her eyebrows, then they relaxed and she smiled again.

  “Oh,” she said. “Of course. I didn’t remember until you called me.”

  “Like you called me.”

  “I did?”

  “You told me to come back to you. So I did.”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes. “You did.” Her hand lifted to his cheek. “You’re here. You’ll always be here.”

  “Reshon—”

  “Kiss me, love.”

  He could deny her nothing. His mouth touched hers and she clung to him, deepening the kiss as she pressed her body to his.

  “I want to stay here,” she murmured against his lips. “Forever.”

  “We can’t.” There was that tickling
at the back of his mind again. He needed to tell her. Needed…

  “I need you,” she said. His body responded to the grip of her hands on his shoulders. And then all he thought of was her.

  When Malachi opened his eyes, he was staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling of the scribe house in Budapest. He blinked to clear his eyes. The dream still lingered in his mind; he could taste her on his lips. Just then, flickers of the dream came back to him, and he lifted his arm.

  They were still there. On his left arm were the spells he’d inked. But below them, faint shadows of other, older spells lay like smudges beneath his skin.

  “Ava,” he whispered. “What did you do?”

  There was no doubt in his mind anymore. The dreams were not dreams. He was reaching her somehow. On some plane they were linked, even though she thought he was dead. How was it possible?

  A knock sounded on the heavy door to his room.

  “Are you awake?” It was Rhys.

  Malachi cleared his throat. “I am.”

  “Come down for coffee. They’ve made breakfast.”

  He could smell it. The spicy scent of peppers and sausages drifted in the air. His stomach growled and he sat up.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Hurry if you want to eat. Don’t forget, Max may not be here, but Leo is.”

  Malachi dressed quickly, grateful that the weather had turned cold enough that long sleeves would not be questioned. He didn’t know what to make of the talesm that had bloomed on his arm, and he didn’t want to try to explain them. As far as he knew, none of the scribes in the house were mated. The house watcher, Phillip, had lost his promised Irina in the Rending, according to Rhys, and the other scribes in the house were young.

  Phillip, Rhys had also explained, would need to know what happened to Malachi. According to his friends, Malachi and Phillip had been brothers in the Berlin house years ago. There was too much history for Malachi to pretend to be who he was. Luckily, Rhys also said Phillip was trustworthy.