The Harpy's Song (Ëlamár Series Book 1)

by Logan Joss

  ‘You could let me out of these shackles—I’ve got a really annoying itch between my shoulder blades. Oh, and the key to the armory, if you’re feeling generous.’

  Sklõff ignored her. ‘In that case, we shall begin.’ He reached into the chest and produced a glass apothecary jar filled with writhing, translucent worms. He held it out for Mèlli to see. ‘Are you familiar with fecqui worms?’

  The color drained from her face.

  ‘Ah, I see from your expression that you are. Ravenous little creatures. Did you know that they have two sets of jaws?’ He removed one from the jar and dangled it playfully above her wrist. ‘The outer jaw, once attached to your flesh, will never let go.’

  Mèlli gritted her teeth against the pain as it bit into her skin.

  ‘The inner jaw burrows in and latches onto a vein where it will feed on your blood until it grows to many times its size.’ He pulled out another and placed it on Mèlli’s ankle. ‘But that’s not the worst of it. You see, the inner jaw also releases a poison that causes paralysis. So, once you’ve been bitten, there’s nothing you can do to escape.’ He laughed cruelly. ‘Of course, you don’t have to worry about that.’

  Sklõff continued to add the worms onto Mèlli’s limbs. Her breathing became ragged, as pain like burning fire spread up her arms and legs.

  ‘But the worst thing, as I see you’ve discovered, is the pain. It’s a slow process as it spreads through your body. It will never stop, you know, it will just get worse and worse. I discovered this method myself—it’s incredibly effective.’

  ‘Your mother must be so proud,’ Mèlli said through gritted teeth as her eyes filled with tears.

  Sklõff emptied the last of the jar onto Mèlli’s legs. ‘You can stop this at any time you know. I can remove them and the pain will vanish. Just tell me what I need to know.’

  Mèlli turned her head away as she started to sob uncontrollably. ‘It’s nice of you to introduce me to your family, you parasite.’

  Sklõff was enraged. He grabbed her hair, pulled her head around and forced her to look at the creatures that were feeding on her. Through clouds of agony, she watched with a sense of detachment as their squirming bodies turned red from their meal of blood.

  ‘Just tell me what I need to know and the pain will stop,’ Sklõff growled.

  Through gritted teeth, Mèlli said, ‘I’ll never tell you anything.’

  Furious, Sklõff squeezed one of the creatures. Mèlli screamed at the excruciating pain. ‘Please, please stop, no more. I’ll tell you what you want to know. I’ll tell you everything.’

  ‘Good. At last.’ He released the fecqui worm and stepped back. ‘I knew you would break.’

  At the click of his fingers, the gnarly crewman came scurrying back in, holding a parchment and quill.

  ‘Start with your mother’s journal,’ Sklõff said. ‘Tell me what she learned.’

  Mèlli managed a wry smile. ‘It says, “Sklõff is a snorting lullock who can’t belt his own pants”.’

  With a howl of rage, he lunged at Mèlli and ripped one of the worms from her arm, leaving behind a deep puncture wound that oozed blood. ‘You stupid girl! These things will kill you if they’re not removed soon.’

  ‘Then I’ll gladly die.’

  His body fizzing with anger, Sklõff hit Mèlli hard across her head, knocking her out cold. Turning to his crewman, he barked, ‘Remove the worms and bandage her wounds. If she dies, so do you.’ He stormed out.

  Mèlli opened her eyes slowly and looked around. She was lying on a bed in a small, bright room. The creaking, groaning sounds of the galleon had gone and instead the distant drone of a city drifted in through the open window. Feeling a gentle touch on her arm, she turned to see her wounds being dressed by a plump middle-aged woman with a maid’s uniform and a kind smile. Mèlli stiffened with surprise. ‘Where am I?’

  The maid looked over her shoulder and got up to close the door. ‘You’re in Sklõff’s villa in Aÿena,’ she said in a hushed voice.

  Mèlli’s heart sank. She had hoped for a moment that this was the afterlife. ‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ she said, swinging her legs off the bed and standing up too quickly. The maid steadied her but Mèlli pushed her away and made for the door.

  ‘No, wait,’ the woman said, grabbing her arm. ‘You can’t just walk out of here.’

  ‘Get off me, I’ll do what I want.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. I’m trying to help you.’

  ‘Help me? Why would you do that?’

  ‘There’s no time to explain.’

  ‘Why should I trust you?’

  The door burst open and two burly men entered, almost knocking Mèlli over. The maid pulled her aside and stepped in front of her.

  ‘Need to take the girl,’ one of the men grunted.

  ‘The master instructed me to re-dress her wounds,’ the maid said.

  ‘They look dressed well enough to me. Besides, master’s orders.’

  ‘But I was to wait with her until this afternoon.’

  ‘Take it up with the master.’ The men pushed her aside and grabbed Mèlli, bundling her out of the door.

  ‘Wait!’ the maid called after them. ‘I need to give her some medicine. You wouldn’t want anything to happen before the master has finished with her.’

  The men looked at each other and shrugged. ‘Make it quick.’

  She ushered Mèlli back into the room and gave her a pill.

  ‘What’s this?’ Mèlli whispered.

  ‘Just take it,’ the maid urged, pouring her some water. ‘It will help.’

  Mèlli took the pill without further question.

  The two burly guards bundled their prisoner through the villa and across an open courtyard to a large outbuilding with shuttered windows. Shafts of light illuminated the dim interior, which was filled with the earthy smell of vegetables and dried grains. Mèlli didn’t like the look of it—she knew that once the door was closed behind her there would be nowhere to go. With a swift movement, she ducked beneath the guard’s arm in a last-ditch attempt to escape but managed no more than a single stride before she was grabbed from behind by her collar. As she was pulled backward through the doorway, she caught a glimpse of the maid watching helplessly from an upstairs window. Inside, she was pushed roughly towards a spiral staircase that led downwards into the darkness.

  ‘Get down there you little scrub.’

  ‘When I get out of here you’ll be the second person I kill!’ Mèlli spat as she stumbled down the narrow steps. The guard clipped her around the back of the head and the two men laughed callously at her gall.

  On the floor below, they passed through a large room lit by firestone lanterns and filled with neat rows of wooden wine racks. The door at the end led to a cured meat store, heavy with the sweet aroma of spices, where Sklõff awaited them.

  ‘Take a good look around, child. This is the last place you’ll ever see,’ he said without humor. His charismatic tone had vanished and all that remained was cold and perfunctory. He instructed the guards to tie her to a table that stood towards one end of the room and was used for the preparation of meats. It was stained with blood and laced with the pungent smell of death.

  ‘This is Záiloa,’ Sklõff said, as a small mouse-like man stepped out of the shadows. ‘Despite his appearance, he is extremely persuasive. Before long you’ll be telling him everything you know.’ Even this brought not the slightest smile to Sklõff’s face.

  ‘Thank you. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, please leave me to do my work.’ Záiloa’s voice was mild but ominous, like a predator grooming its prey.

  The guards left but Sklõff remained where he was.

  ‘I’m sorry, but everyone must leave,’ Záiloa continued, looking pointedly at Sklõff.

  ‘No, I must be here for this.’

  ‘I require complete concentration for my work and you are a distraction. Now, if you don’t mind.’

  Reluctantly, Sklõff left. ‘I’ll be waiting
out here. Call me as soon as she reveals anything,’ he said as he closed the door behind him.

  Mèlli pulled at her restraints as Záiloa's eyes turned to meet hers. ‘I can assure you they are secure,’ he said. ‘Resisting will only cause you unnecessary pain.’

  ‘What? Before you start cutting bits off me?’ Mèlli said, fearing what he was going to do.

  ‘Oh no, child, you’ve got it all wrong. I am not a butcher.’ He started to hang three large jars filled with colored liquids from meat hooks in the ceiling. ‘I am a practitioner of alchemy. These potions have been carefully crafted and accurately measured to induce a state of complete submission.’

  Mèlli struggled harder.

  ‘You will be compelled to answer truthfully any question put to you.’ He took pieces of tubing that fed into a long needle and connected them to the three jars. ‘I must apologize, this will hurt a bit,’ he said as he plunged the needle into a vein in her arm. He adjusted a valve on the neck of each bottle and the liquids began to flow down the tubing into her body. ‘You will start to feel the effects almost immediately, but do not be fearful—there will be no pain.’

  Mèlli felt a cold, spreading sensation as the liquids flowed up her arm. Her mind started to clear and untangle until she could see every individual thought laid out before her like stars in the night sky. All her tension and fear dissolved into a perfect state of calm and clarity. ‘I’m going to see Trevor…’ she murmured.

  ‘Interesting. And where is this Trevor?’

  ‘He’s dead. Again. He’s with the stars and that’s where I’m going…’

  The alchemist adjusted one of the valves. ‘Perhaps a bit too much of this one. That’s better. I think we are ready to begin.’ He cleared his throat and started his questioning.

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Chamèlliar.’

  ‘Where are your parents?’

  ‘They’re with the stars too.’ Mèlli could hear the questions but they seemed to be coming from a long way off. All she could see was the beautiful stars. There was no pain. For the first time, she was at peace with her memories.

  ‘Where are your mother’s journal and the map box?’

  ‘Trevor’s got them.’

  The sound of a smashing bottle came from the room outside, as Sklõff realized his mistake.

  ‘Where were you traveling?’ Záiloa continued.

  ‘Far north. Borr…’ Mèlli felt her mind drifting further. The voice was becoming more distant, more irrelevant.

  ‘North? Borreós? Why were you traveling there?’

  ‘Tears…’

  This answer seemed to make no sense, so he repeated the question. ‘Why were you traveling to Borreós?’

  ‘A dragon…in the north.’

  ‘What was the purpose of your journey?’

  ‘Dragon in the north.’ Mèlli was floating in the stars now. They were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. ‘Dragon…north…dragon…’

  Sklõff burst in.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Záiloa said. ‘I have no idea why she went so quickly. And she is too far gone now. There is no more I can do with her.’

  ‘No matter, I’ve got what I need.’

  ‘You have?’ He looked confused. ‘That made sense to you?’

  ‘The Qilling.’ Sklõff sounded triumphant. ‘I know where I have to go now. You can finish the job.’

  Záiloa adjusted the valves. ‘It will not take much time and she will pass on quietly.’

  Sklõff gave Mèlli one last look as she lay there, helpless and doomed to die. His feelings of relief and victory were mixed with an unexpected sense of loss. She had been a worthy adversary.

  31

  Aÿena

  TREVOR LET OUT an ear-piercing shriek as he and Gráfan plunged towards the ground. Suddenly, the valley beneath him winked out of existence. There was nothing. Only a flat, dimensionless white space. He felt his stomach being pulled into his mouth, although there was no discernible sense of movement.

  And then they were out.

  The warm, fragrant morning air of the western continent greeted them as they emerged above the sea in a bank of fog. Gráfan swooped low and flew above the waves for a short distance, to land on a peninsula above high, rocky cliffs.

  ‘We were fortunate to arrive in fog—I have brought you closer to the city than I had thought I would be able,’ Gráfan said.

  Trevor clung to her mane for a moment before sliding down to stand, somewhat shakily, on the damp grass. ‘Where are we?’ he asked, looking around at the thick fog.

  ‘We are in Aànemoy, of course,’ Gráfan chuckled. ‘Aÿena is just a short walk from here.’

  Trevor punched the air with a whoop of excitement. ‘You teleported us! That is totally amazing! I can’t wait to tell Mèlli.’ His heart sunk at this thought, as the reality of the situation dawned on him. He still needed to find her.

  Gráfan felt Trevor’s fear. ‘Do not write the ending to your story before it has happened,’ she offered.

  Trevor was filled with doubt. ‘But what if I can’t find her? What if she’s dead?’

  ‘What if the sun did not rise?’ Gráfan said. ‘What if the world did not turn? These are not things within our control. All you can do is follow the path set out before you.’

  ‘But I’m scared.’

  Gráfan touched a huge paw onto his shoulder. ‘Trevor Pondsbury, you have had the courage to come this far. Let your heart guide you. Now go. Find your friend.’

  Trevor gave Gráfan an awkward hug and thanked her for her help.

  ‘Remember your promise to me,’ she said.

  Trevor nodded solemnly and began to follow a narrow track cut through the grass.

  ‘That way,’ Gráfan said with a smile, gesturing the opposite way along the path. ‘Keep the cliffs to your right.’

  With a nervous smile and a shrug of his shoulders, he turned and walked in the direction she had indicated.

  There is always hope, he heard her say as the fog closed in, hiding her from sight. And remember, those who focus too closely on the path ahead may miss the true purpose of the journey.

  Trevor had to watch his step as he made his way along the worn track that followed the cliff edge. He could hear the distant roar of the waves crashing against rocks far below, but the sea was hidden from sight by the thick blanket of fog. He hugged himself against the chill, moist air that penetrated his tattered tunic.

  Eventually, the fog started to thin and Trevor saw the outline of the coast dropping away before him to reveal a bowl which looked like a vast volcanic caldera. Lit by the bright morning sunshine, a city started to appear through the mist before him like a mirage. Its gleaming, whitewashed houses rose from the ocean in sweeping tiers, their roofs crisp and clean in hues of red, orange and umber.

  He rounded a rocky outcrop and the suburbs of the city were suddenly upon him. He was on a quiet street of small, closely-knit buildings that led him steeply downhill until he came out onto a crossroads. Not knowing which way to go, he hesitated and looked around. A larger road swept downhill to his left towards the main city and ahead of him was a bridge that led across a broad chasm between two cliff faces. He thought it better to head into the city so was just about to start walking down the road when something in the air caught his eye—the red firesilk sails of a galleon. This was a smaller vessel quite unlike the Harpy’s Song. It had only two masts and its hull was the glowing amber color of well-polished teak. He stopped and watched as it passed by, crossing to the far side of the bridge and flying low over the buildings and trees before disappearing out of sight as it descended. It must be going to a harbordrome, Trevor thought and hurried after it across the bridge.

  On the other side, the buildings were large and opulent, an indication of the power wielded within their walls. Despite the early hour, this part of the city was already bustling with activity. Statuesque people with chiseled features strode about their business with an air of importance. They were al
l dressed well, in outfits resembling suits with long, flowing tails, in various shades of blue. Hats seemed to be the fashion here with both men and women—small, flat ones to match the color of their suits. Their owners looked down their noses at Trevor as he passed by, but no-one had time to give him a second glance.

  As he made his way through the streets, he was momentarily cast into shadow as another galleon passed overhead. He weaved through the streets trying to follow it until he came out onto an open quayside. Ahead of him, beyond a tall metal fence, he could see the masts of hundreds of galleons moored in neat rows, stretching into the distance in either direction for as far as he could see. He ran to the fence and pressed his face against the railings. It was a magnificent sight. The first level of galleons was moored on jetties slightly below street level, so that on the closest vessels only the masts could be seen—a sea of red furled sails. He walked along, watching the activity of the harbordrome. The vessel that had just landed was being guided into its berth by a man waving colored flags; others stood by to tie off the mooring lines. Nearby vessels were being loaded and unloaded, with official-looking men darting between them carrying ledgers and scribbling busily. Other galleons were having repairs carried out prior to their departure—workers hung from the rigging replacing blocks and tackle, while others painted, sprayed and scrubbed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, a familiar form drew his attention. The unmistakable sleek black hull of the Harpy’s Song stood in pride of place on its private moorings. Trevor ran towards it, past the harbordromemaster’s office and further along the railings until he came to a locked gate. Desperate to get in, he grabbed it and shook hard, trying to dislodge the bolt. Clanging noises echoed across the harbordrome.

  ‘Excuse me. Can I help you?’ came the sound of a voice beside him.

  Trevor didn’t hear above the noise he was making, until a tap on the shoulder made him stop. A tall, thin man with a neat mustache and a large, beaked nose peered down at him.