by Allen Snell
Scattered between the larger stores were specialty geonode shops. You could buy everything you need to light your house, keep you warm, tell the time, talk to a friend in town, or simply goof around on a levipad. Garen’s disdain for their pointlessness made him feel old. Idrian pointed to a small shop with a much smaller window at eye-level. There were no colorful displays to catch his eye. A single wooden box was propped open. As they walked closer, Garen heard the faint plucking of strings.
Idrian breathed a pleasant sigh. “Looks like he’s still in business.”
A sign hung above the window. In blue paint on the board it read “Sound in the Stone.” Idrian opened the door, and they were immersed. The once faint sounds were thick enough to swim in. A harmony he couldn’t begin to distinguish wove itself around him. Garen heard dozens of stringed instruments playing together, forming one beautiful song. Some were deep and powerful. Others danced through the air like a leaf dropped from a mountain.
Garen first assumed they were coming from a variety of music boxes in the store. He stepped in and noticed how utterly bare the shelves were. The sound filled the space around him, but the more he listened, the more it seemed to come from one source. The timing of each string was perfect. One elaborate melody would end and another immediately began.
“Welcome, welcome travelers! You’ve come to the right place.” An elderly, heavy-set man emerged from behind the counter. He leaned against his cane. His voice was low and carried well over the music.
Garen looked to the wall of shelves, all empty except for the dust they were collecting. “Not to buy things, apparently. Were you robbed?” Garen asked.
The store owner limped over to sole music box on display. The lid was about the size of his palm, and he tilted it half-way closed. As he did, the music quieted to a much softer level.
The clerk chuckled and coughed until his throat was clear. “No, no my boy. I’m afraid we’re just waiting on our next delivery. Our supplier is…” he paused, clearly frustrated, but maintained his welcoming smile, “…fickle. But I do have one of our Kingscraft pieces still available, this lovely item right here.” Egan picked up the wooden box and displayed the bottom. An elaborate “K” was burned into the wood. “It’s guaranteed for another hundred days of playing time. The stronger tones often continue for another hundred after that.”
Garen turned around to the one shelf not completely empty. A large sign proclaimed “Hear Exciting New Works! All Russyx Locals!” His instincts told him to leave it alone. He ignored common sense and cracked the lid on a small box. The noise that came out was barely human. It sounded like a cat wrestling an angry goose. He slammed the lid shut.
“What was that?” Garen asked, trying to physically scrape the sounds from his ears.
“I think Benit fancies himself a singer. He’s a personal friend, though, so I can’t give it the fiery rest it deserves. I think you’d much prefer the Kingscraft beauty. I saw the way it resonated with you. Makes you feel light as a feather, doesn’t it?”
“My apologies, Egan,” Idrian stepped next to Garen. “We’re here on a different sort of business. I doubt you’d remember, but years ago I sought you out in hopes of recording a certain history.”
Egan’s focus shifted away from Garen and his face lit up. “Master Idrian, how could I forget—” the portly man peered beyond them to make sure no one else was inside, “—a fellow Spellsword! You’ll forgive my secrecy, but I found life to be much calmer once I stopped trying to draw a crowd with my own exploits. Not that anyone would believe it looking at me now.” Egan was indeed an unlikely warrior in his present state. He was barely thin enough to fit through the door and leaned on the cane for every step he took. Even still, he moved as he needed.
“I wouldn’t begrudge you the privacy, but I hope you don’t mind sharing openly with us.”
Egan chuckled to himself again. It was an infectious laugh that didn’t need a reason or a good joke to let itself free. “You were quite thorough collecting my stories on our last visit. I hope I have something left to give.”
Idrian nodded. “That is the same hope that brought us here. Can you tell us what you remember about how Karna Clay separated the spirits from Nereus?”
Egan kept his smile intact, but his eyes showed weariness. “Well, I wasn’t there when it happened. I can tell you Nereus wasn’t happy to give the Wind Spirit up.” Egan shrugged. “But she did it somehow. I asked her about it once or twice, but she tended to keep information like that to herself. She’d tell me that I wouldn’t understand, which was probably true. But I know that’s not what you need to hear if you came all this way to ask me that question.”
“You are perceptive, as ever. We find ourselves in a similar predicament,” Idrian said.
Egan’s signs of worry began to overtake the forced smile. “I’d hate to see that happen again. Nereus wasn’t a pleasant fellow, but he had a good heart. Finding out he murdered men while they begged for mercy hurt us in a deep way. Tell me…tell me it’s not the boy?”
“No,” Idrian shook his head. “Just one spirit at home in this one. You’re probably aware that Elic’s grandson Drake has been serving as the Wind Spellsword for some time. Recently, he acquired Earth as well. I’ve brought our esteemed Light Spellsword, Garen Renyld, to learn all we can. As fate would have it, you’re looking at Karna’s grandson.”
“Ho,” Egan reeled. The surprise Garen expected, but a troubled dilemma weighed on Egan after that passed. “You’re really…her grandson?”
Garen didn’t know what to say except to smile and nod.
“And you have no idea how else to draw the spirits apart?” Egan asked. He hobbled back to a stool by the counter and took a much-needed seat.
“None at all,” Idrian said.
Egan glanced between the floor and Garen enough times to raise suspicions. “She’s going to kill me for this.”
Garen looked to Idrian, unsure what to make of it. He seemed equally lost. “Who is?” Garen asked.
“Just my only source of livelihood. The crafter of these music boxes. And the person who swore me to secrecy.”
Garen didn’t know where to begin, and Idrian wasn’t showing signs of epiphany, either. “Can this musician help us?” Idrian asked.
“If anyone can, it’s her. The ‘K’ on the box doesn’t stand for Kingscraft. It’s the creator’s name.”
Idrian’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Do you mean to tell us…?”
Egan nodded and looked up at the ceiling. “She’s alive as ever. If you can persuade her to forgive me for this, I can tell you where to find Karna.”
Chapter 16
Egan’s directions led them far out of the city and into the hills near the Te’ens. They traveled by levitrans until spotting a lone cabin. They landed at the base of the hill and stepped out. Before Garen could take his first step, a beam of light grazed his shoulder. It ripped a gash in the tunic and drew a thin line of blood.
Garen dropped prone and hid against the side of the levitrans. “Hold on! We’re not trespassers!”
A worn, scratchy voice shouted from an open window. “Seems you don’t know the definition of that word.”
“Alright, what I meant was that we’re not here to hurt you. It’s your grandson.”
“I’m well aware who you are. That’s why you’re bleeding from your shoulder and not your chest. Now, turn around and go back home.”
Idrian shouted from the other side of the levitrans. “Master Karna, you must give us a chance to ex—”
“I’ve got even less patience for a nosy little historian.” She spat the words with venom. “The past is past. No one wants to remember it but you. Now, you’ve brought in my family to try unearthing what belongs in the dirt.”
“That’s not it,” Garen shouted back. “You’re the only person who can help us.”
“Just proof you need to learn how to help yourself.”
Garen took a step forward on the grassy hill. The ground
shook as a crack in the dirt split in front of him.
“I mean it,” Karna shouted. “No one enters my home. Not you, not your intrusive friend, and definitely not that wretched creature in your soul.”
“If you know that much,” Garen said, stepping across the line, “then you know you can’t exactly stop me.”
“You embarrass yourself. What is it about having a Light Spirit that makes a person so blind? Still, the choice is yours, reckless child.”
Garen took a breath and whispered, “It really is, Grandma.”
He filtered in enough light from the cabin to know exactly what space he was dealing with. He darted up the hill in spurts of light. With each step, the ground erupted in front of him. Blazes of fire surrounded him. Each time, he transferred himself into a state of light and sailed cleanly around it. Or through it. With the last push, he passed through the open window in light-state and reformed standing in the center of her spacious one-room cabin. The light through the windows gave him a good look at her. Garen was stunned at how much she resembled his mother. She was a tad shorter, petite, and had close-set eyes above a thin nose. Unlike his mother, those eyes were full of rage.
Garen tried to calm her. “Okay, if you’ll just give us a moment, we can—”
She swept a hand above her head and balled her fist. He heard no sounds of the windows shutting, but the light in the cabin disappeared entirely. Garen waved his hand in front of his face to confirm he couldn’t see it. Before he could try to relight the room, a blunt force struck him square in the chest. The blow lifted him off his feet. He landed hard against uneven shapes. Wood cracked beneath him, and he heard strings ring out and deaden. A hollow piece rattled against the ground.
Garen scrambled to his feet. He reached up to toss an orb of light in the air. It formed with enough time to watch his grandmother sweep her hand again and put out the light. Without warning, ice-cold water washed over him, disorienting him in the darkness more than he anticipated. Before he knew it, he was falling. He couldn’t even tell which way. His face met the beams of the floor with a thud.
Karna walked closer to him. “Don’t think you’re the first overconfident Light Spellsword I’ve had to bring low.”
Garen pushed up from the ground, but stayed on his palms, muscles tensed with disgust. The complete disregard she had for him and their family was sickening. She was a secret better kept than shared. His hatred for her swelled into words he hated just as much. “If you think that’s something to brag about, you clearly don’t know how I got this spirit.”
An unexpected pause followed. Garen felt a tickle between his eyes, which grew into a burning, rippling tremor. The sensation knocked him flat on his face. He knew what it felt like to step into someone else’s memories. He remembered the eerie chill of opening that door. Now, he understood the equal jitters of being the door. Of being opened.
She forced his memories to wander back to that day. He tried to block it out, to think of anything else, but it didn’t matter. She stole visions of his past all along the way until reaching his childhood home. They watched the final memories of his mother. She taunted Garen to spar, smiling under blue skies in the grassy field. She hit him. And his untrained, subconscious state struck back. The piercing beam of light killed her.
The light returned to the room. He glanced up in time to see Karna collapse. Garen stepped toward her, but he felt far too conflicted to rush to her aid. She was barely breathing, her skin paler than he remembered. She had to be horrified by what she saw, but this was more than emotional shock. He knelt over her.
“Didn’t know that…,” she said slowly. The last syllable stayed on her tongue, like she was lost in thought or drifting to sleep. Garen had no clue what was wrong with her. He could speed up her body’s healing, but this didn’t seem physical. Her body relaxed. His thoughts took him back to the only other way he’d helped his family. The way he’d restored his father. Garen took the jump past her eyes, her mind, and her memories. He found the hollowed center of her, the very depth of her soul.
Just like when he discovered his father’s soul, Garen felt the dryness of hers. But instead of chaos and screaming from the trapped spirit, it felt withered and empty. He had a guess to what was killing her. He didn’t understand why that last fraction of depth kept a person alive, but he knew she couldn’t live without it. He’d fixed it once before. Even if he couldn’t describe how, that had been enough.
Garen relied on those same instincts. He transferred his depth directly into her soul, a sensation no less strange the second time. It was like trying to pay something for nothing, to give some part of himself away. He felt the depth leave him. It overflowed like rain on desert soil. The look of peacefulness on her face contorted into a pained fit of coughing. He still couldn’t tell if she was about to attack him again. He waited anxiously until she calmed.
As her breathing grew normal, Karna sat up straight. Despite her age, there were no groans or unease in the movement. She looked at Garen like he’d sprouted a dozen heads. “What…in the soulless city…were you doing?”
“I thought,” Garen lost his words. “Weren’t you dying?”
Her bewilderment turned into annoyance. “I drew deeper than I should have. Saw things I didn’t want to. But no, I was not dying. Did you just depth donate?”
“Um, I guess you could call it that. I thought I needed to. I’m sor—”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t say it. You’re carrying far too much shame as it is. That’s not why I asked you to leave.”
A loud knock came from the cabin door.
Karna glared. “That’s why I asked you to leave. Egan might be dead to me now, but at least he had the courage to relay and tell me you were coming.”
“You should let Idrian in,” Garen suggested. “He’s a good person.”
“I don’t let people in my cabin, let alone good people.”
“Then how am I here?” Garen fired back. It felt nice to have someone who argued the same way as him.
“I didn’t let you in. If your friend would like to jump in through the window, embarrass himself fighting an old woman, and pretend he’s saving my life by intruding into my soul, well, he’s welcome to try.”
Garen sat in stillness for a moment and considered his options. The knock sounded a second time. Garen chuckled. “Sorry, Idrian. I think we need to sort this out ourselves.”
Idrian’s sigh was audible through the door. “Okay.” There were no mumbled complaints or protest, only footsteps away from the house. Garen ran outside to offer a deeper apology, but Idrian gave an understanding nod. He got into the levitrans and flew southward in a silvery blur.
* * * * *
Karna hosted with surprising decency once the death threats had passed. She brewed a pot of tea and tidied up the mess.
“Do I want to know how valuable of an instrument I landed on?” Garen asked.
Karna didn’t look his direction as she swept wood scraps out the door. “You really don’t, at least not what these idiots would have paid for that lute. But I wasn’t planning on selling it, and I’ll enjoy carving another. Consider nothing lost.”
Garen strolled around the large open room and tried counting the number of stringed instruments leaning against walls or hanging from them. She had everything from hollowed bowls taut with hideskin to every shape and size of harp imaginable. Rather than inspect them closer, his eyes were drawn to the cache of raw geonode ore in the corner.
“You’ve got a serious workshop going. Do you mine the ore, too?”
Karna shook her head. “I don’t do any work I don’t want to. Crafting these beauties is worth it. Chasing the perfect harmony is worth it. I only sell music boxes to that traitorous bubble of a man so I can afford to keep doing it.”
“You can’t hate Egan for this,” Garen said. He was distracted by the tiniest harp he’d ever seen. “He thought telling us was for everyone’s good.” Karna’s scowl stayed firm, and Garen stepped away fr
om the instrument. “Which I guess was wrong. Good for everyone minus you.”
Karna set the broom aside and poured a cup of tea for both of them. “Done caring about everyone, both for my sake and theirs. We’re sharing this space because you convinced me to care about you. If you’ve got favors to ask, don’t imagine you can convince me any further than that.”
Garen stopped his casual stroll and gave her his full attention. “Alright, you don’t waste time, do you?”
She sat next to the heating geonode mounted in the center of the room. She sipped at one cup and set the other on the floor opposite the heater. “Not around other people. Wasting time is a private game, not a public one.”
Garen took a seat and a sip. He gulped down half of the bitter liquid, foolishly trying to wash out the taste with more of itself. Karna seemed displeased.
Garen set it aside and tried to consider how to share what he knew. He hadn’t exactly prepared a speech. He didn’t imagine he’d need one. And now that he did, he couldn’t just say she should train him for the good of the Spellswords, or the kingdom, or anyone else. Why did he want to help Drake? The question gave him plenty of pause, and Karna did not rush him for an answer. She continued sipping her tea while Garen searched his own interests.
“I have a friend named Drake,” he started.
“He sounds like he might be part of everyone,” she said. “Who, you’ll remember, I don’t care about.”
“Hold on,” Garen said, “because you will. I’ve risked my life to save his, and he’s always risked his to save mine. And when someone does that for you, you don’t stop and think why you should help them. You just do. That’s how your daughter raised me.”
“Nice touch with the ‘your daughter’ at the end, but I’m not buying it. Remember, I’ve been inside your head. I know you think you’re awfully persuasive, but I’m an old mountain and you’re not yet a river. Besides, it’s the truth I’m interested in. You’re not giving me it. You think you are. I’m almost touched at the surface-level compassion for your friend. But it’s something a lot more compelling that brought you all the way out here.”