Heart of Farellah: Book 1

by Brindi Quinn

  ~

  An hour later, I stood in Miss Danice’s bedroom, examining my reflection in her floor-length obsidian mirror. She was proud to be one of the only people in Farellah that owned such a rare artifact. It had been passed down from her grandfather, who’d received if from a traveling trader from some place called the ‘Crystallands’. None of the travelers passing through Farellah in my lifetime had carried such relics, and I wondered if such things were even yet being produced. Still, the fact that there were people out there with the resources and knowledge capable of creating something as impressive as a full-length mirror, made me even more curious about the outside world.

  The outside world . . .

  I sighed.

  This mirror was proof of the wondrous things out there, yet sometimes it seemed like the people of Farellah had intentionally oystered themselves in. Why was it that nothing ever changed in the city of songstresses? Why was it that no one ever ventured beyond its border? No one else in the village seemed to mind.

  “You look lush, peach.” Miss Danice’s voice cooed behind me. “The color is fabulous on you. Simply exquisite!”

  The purification gown I’d decided on was lavender. Miss Danice thought wearing it would make my black eyes look ‘simply striking’. It fit me well, but I’d been hoping for something to make me look a little more . . . mature. People had been asking all week if I was really approaching my second decade. I’d always hated looking so young, but it was another of those things Mother said I’d be grateful for someday.

  “Thank you,” I faked a gracious smile.

  But in actuality, her praise did little to comfort me. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate it; rather, I didn’t entirely agree with her fashion sense, as she usually wore some sort of live bird in her hair as an accessory, switching them out each day to match her outfits. She had mastered a song that allowed her to control them using mist, putting them into a dazed stupor for hours on end so that they would behave. I considered it false imprisonment more so than creative expression.

  “No bird today?” I asked, searching her hair.

  She patted her head. “Not yet, dear. I’m saving it for the ceremony.”

  She stared absentmindedly at her hair in the mirror for a moment in silence, and I used the rare opportunity to ask the question I’d been waiting to ask all day.

  “Miss Danice, if I may? What sort of song do you think I’ll have?”

  “Now, peach, you know I can’t tell you that. You’ll just have to be patient, you eager little thing you. I just love your enthusiasm!”

  Enthusiasm. Right.

  She put her hands on my shoulders and sighed a sigh of contentment. “I am vastly proud of you, Aura Rosh. How you’ve grown. Now then, is there anything I’ve forgotten to tell you? Let me think . . . nope!” She guffawed dramatically at her own joke.

  I faked another smile. My stomach was now in tighter knots than it had ever been.

  “Well then, off you go. You look enchanting. I’ll see you at the beach at dusk. Don’t be nervous, peach. You’ll do wonderfully!” With that she prodded me to the front door.

  “I guess I’ll head home, then.”

  I started to leave but paused next to the rose drapes when my eyes fell on a framed sketch of Miss Danice and me together during the early stages of my apprenticeship. It depicted the first time she’d shown me how to produce a breeze via song. I’d been impressed and astounded with the spell, eager to learn more, and she’d taken my hand and willingly led me on through the lyrics. Even back then she’d diligently practiced with me.

  I’ve been really quite fortunate, especially when you consider the others.

  Laria Lynn’s songstress had been a cranky old woman named Ambra Cudstroff, who hated the youngest generation of songstresses because her own granddaughter hadn’t qualified for apprenticeship. I’d heard countless stories of the horrors of training under someone like that. Mostly, Laria had been made to babysit Ambra’s farm of turtles and hadn’t really learned anything useful.

  My apprenticeship, on the other hand, had been entirely pleasant, for aside from her overly- lavish vocabulary and misguided fashion sense, Miss Danice was a perfectly likeable person. Her knowledge of the Songs of Old rivaled no other’s, and even though she was one of the most accomplished songstresses in Farellah, she’d allowed me to take up much of her time for the past several years. Everything I knew about being a songstress had come from her. No matter how nervous I was for the Rite, it was only with her help that I’d made it thus far. I hoped I wouldn’t disappoint her.

  “Miss Danice, thank you for . . .” – I didn’t know where to start – “well, for everything, I guess.”

  I looked up at her, and she was also staring at the sketch. It took a moment for her to answer, and when she did, she didn’t lift her stare. “I should be the one thanking you,” she said, for once her tone subdued. “You don’t know how special you are.”

  The praise caught me off guard. “Special?”

  “You’ll understand someday.” A vacancy crossed her stare.

  I started to ask her to elaborate, but she immediately snapped out of whatever thoughts the sketch had brought her and once again spoke before I could get out a word.

  “Anyway, enough of that. Your parents are waiting for you!” she said, flinging her hand towards the door and entirely dismissing the topic.

  How strange.

  But I shrugged it off and gave her one final hug as an apprentice before leaving her to decide which bird she would wear to the ceremony.

  ~

  Just ignore the gawking. This’ll all be over soon.

  Dusk had come far too quickly. The beach I’d always found a calming place, scattered with vibrant shells and grotesque snarls of driftwood that were somehow beautiful in their own way; but tonight the peaceful shore was something much more terror-invoking. It was the place where the Rite of Discovery lay in wait.

  As was custom, my parents accompanied me. They served only as escorts for the night, but I was treating them more so as guards, struggling to hide behind them as we moved along the sand.

  My mother was a thin, willowy woman with full lips, both lovely and mysterious. She had silky black hair that flowed loosely around her frail face when she walked, making her look like some raven goddess. At least I knew that it was her beauty the townspeople would be drawn to first, and there was even a chance their gazes would never make it past her on their way to me. This would surely reduce the number of eyes on me at any given time . . . right?

  At least I could hope.

  As a retired songstress, Mother had attended many Rites in her life, and her presence made me feel more at ease than I had all day, not only as a guard, but as a landmark, reminding me that I wasn’t actually lost in the sea of chaos that went along with the Rite.

  I clung to her, even though I wasn’t actually touching her.

  “You aren’t still nervous, are you? Isn’t it better now that we’re here?” she asked. Her voice was melodic, as always.

  “Uh . . .”

  “But why, Aura? You look so beautiful, and I know you’re prepared. It’ll be all right. Believe me. Father and I can’t wait to hear your song.”

  My father nodded silently in agreement. He was a quiet fisherman, much more at peace with the fish he caught than in the presence of people, and although he’d agreed with my mother’s statement, I got the impression he didn’t actually care to hear my song at all. Such ceremonial things certainly didn’t interest the shy man, and I didn’t blame him. Fishing sounded more appealing to me at the moment too.

  Poor Father. His own anxiety was apparent as he looked shiftily around the beach. The moonlight made his gray hair shine to a silver that almost matched mine, though it was only a trick of the light.

  “I only wish Illuma were here to see you,” said Mother, a hint of pain in her voice.

  That pain made my stomach twist around itself.

  Even after all these years, it still hu
rts.

  Illuma was my older sister – or rather, she had been. She’d disappeared a decade earlier, just before we were to start our songstress training together. My parents, along with everyone else in the village, believed she’d drowned and passed through the Mistlands into the afterlife, but I’d never been as accepting of her fate as everyone else; she hadn’t even liked swimming. I’d always hoped that she was still alive and would return someday, but that dream was fading more and more with each new Mooncoming.

  But I still await your return, Illuma.

  If anyone would have enjoyed the Rite, it would’ve been her. The one that thrived from this sort of attention was Illuma, not me. And why not? She’d been uniquely beautiful even as a child, with deep violet hair, and light gray eyes that weren’t milky or dull but that shined like the moon. Her absence was apparent now more than ever as I realized that she would have been standing next to me in that moment, wishing me good fortune in her singsong voice.

  I miss you, Sister.

  Mother read my face. “Aurie Pie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t look so sad. Just know that Illuma is watching you from beyond the Mistlands.” She patted my arm. Beyond the Mistlands? I wondered if it were true. And even if it was, I wanted my sister alive, not dead.

  We arrived at the beachside hut with only moments remaining until the gong would sound, signaling the beginning of the Rite. Mother bade me good luck and gave my hand a squeeze before she and Father joined the rest of the villagers, who were slowly trickling into their respective places on the beach.

  Miss Danice had decided on a blue twitfoot to draw out the slate in her blouse. It looked content enough perched within her bun, but I wouldn’t be convinced so easily. She gave me a thumbs-up. I smiled weakly, still feeling sorry for the bird.

  I scanned the crowd for Kantú but couldn’t find her through the mesh of faces. There was Mayor Berfield with his mother, Marbeck Berfield; Laria Lynn, looking uneasy in a tan bonnet; Parnold Rekrap, the blacksmith . . . but still no Kantú.

  Where are you hiding, my batty squirrel?

  I searched, but it really didn’t bother me all that much. She was probably sleeping in my stead out in the meadow. That was fine. Better that only one of us had to endure this.

  Bong! Bong! Bong! All at once, the gong sounded and the crowd hushed. The hush wasn’t so bad, but when they all turned and looked in my direction expectantly . . .

  My stomach dropped, but I straightened up, trying to force confidence into myself.

  Here we go.

  I made my way out of the hut and into the salty night air, purification gown billowing around my bare ankles. I was shaking, even though the air held no chill. With the voices of the other songstresses surrounding me, I walked through the cool sand to the water’s edge.

  Though I had attended only two other Rites of Discovery, I knew their words by heart.

  In Farellah those marked as songstresses were trained from the first day of apprenticeship to memorize the sacred Songs of Old; something I’d also done, of course, but much to Miss Danice’s chagrin, I still found it hard to keep them all straight. The songs of the Rite were different, however, for though I had learned hundreds of songs – songs for festivals, for births, for mealtime – there were none I loved more than those of the Rite, and learning them had always come easily for even a lower-than-average songstress-in-training like me. They were hauntingly mysterious, and I often found myself humming them when I was alone, even though we weren’t supposed to use them on non-Rite days.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the village priestesses. They looked oddly tribal, performing the steps their ancestors had performed for hundreds of years. Each of them had a wand adorned with bells, a chimbree, which they waved through the air with precision and grace, retelling the story of the Rite. According to legend, tonight they were not only priestesses; they were something celestial. The firelight illuminated them, turning them into angels of the night.

  While they danced, I found myself seduced by the warm breeze off of the coast that gently swept past my cheeks and tangled my hair. The rhythmic and rough chimbree shaking surprisingly helped to put me at ease, if only a little. At least I wasn’t the center of attention for now. I waited at the edge of the beach, feet immersed, swaying to the music.

  All at once it stopped; the opening act had ended. It was almost time.

  I can do this. I can do this.

  I told myself I could, but in reality, I wasn’t so sure. I tried to keep from slouching into a protective cower. Even with Father’s genes, I wasn’t usually this timid and cowardly, but it was all too much. So many people were there to see, and so many people would see me should I happen to fail.

  No! I can’t think like that!

  Mayor Berfield stepped forward. He was a tall, balding man with an oversized mustache that curled over the side of his mouth and dangled well past his chin. I’d always found him hard to take seriously. Now was no exception.

  “Who speaks for this girl?” he asked, and his voice seemed to echo even in the openness of the beach.

  “We do,” said my parents in unison.

  “And who can attest to her knowledge of the Songs of Old?”

  “I can!” came Miss Danice’s eager reply.

  “Are you ready, Aura Telmacha Rosh?”

  Am I?

  This was all happening so much faster than I’d anticipated, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, determined that my voice at least remain calm. I was surprised at how well it worked. Inside, I was anything but steady, yet my body straightened up as I stared at him, almost on its own. Maybe I had inherited some of my mother’s strength after all.

  “Then let us begin.”

  At his command, the songstresses lined up behind me and started to sing – a myriad of confident larks belting in unison. Was I really qualified to join their numbers?

  Yes, of course you are! But it was hard to say if I was telling myself the truth. I tried to stay poised while the larks continued their intimidating chant until, too quickly, it was time for me to join them.

  I searched my memory, grateful that that part of me had decided to work tonight. But would my voice? You can do this! I opened my mouth, and once again some internal force came through:

  “The time is passing, moon is waking,

  Heart is formed to song be taking.

  Sisters of Farellah, a new song is opened,

  The moon is waking!”

  That was it. That was all I had to do. The crowd fell silent, and I stared out across the water, holding my breath. There was one dreadful millisecond when nothing happened, but then a bright blue light shot out of the water and hovered above me a moment before skipping down the coast and zooming into the Cave of Discovery.

  I was astonished.

  It worked?

  The light was a good sign; it meant that I wasn’t a dud or anything and that my song had the intention of being released that night.

  It really worked!

  The heavy anxiety I’d carried all day melted away and was replaced by pure, sweet relief. I wasn’t a failure. My song was alive inside of me, and I would become a real songstress soon. It had all been worth it.

  “It’s time,” Mayor Berfield’s voice rang through the silence.

  That’s right. It wasn’t over yet.

  “Make your way to the sacred place, songstress-to-be!”

  Nodding, I took a deep breath and started down the beach.

  With each step, the waves licked my feet, seemingly trying to tug me into the ocean with every retreat. I’d never been allowed this close to the cave before, and the nearer I got, the more ominous it looked. I shivered and diverted my eyes, instead glancing over my right shoulder at the water – a usually tranquil sight that was now black and treacherous. Finding no comfort there, I quickly shifted my gaze back to the cave. It seemed less actively malicious. The townsfolk waited behind me, and even though it mean
t retreating into the darkness, I was relieved that I would soon be out of their sight.

  After a few more steps, I paused at the entrance of the cave, unsure of what was to come. Was my sense of unease part of the Rite of Discovery, or was there validity to my unrest? Either way, I had no choice but to enter the mouth.

  I continued into the damp, musty cave, stumbling over wet, moss-covered rocks as I walked. Eventually the sounds of the village died out, giving way to utter silence. Still, I proceeded further and further into the darkness. I wished desperately that I had been allowed to take a lantern in with me, but as Miss Danice had so clearly stated, part of the Rite of Discovery was finding your way through the darkness – a clichéd concept that I found more of a hindrance than a perseverance-builder.

  I trekked on through the cave, growing bitterer towards the Rite with each drop of cave water that trickled down my forehead. My eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness but not enough for me to make out much. After several minutes, an earthy scent filled the air, and my thoughts turned to speculation about the song I was soon to discover.

  I’d waited a frustratingly long time to find out what type of song I’d have, and I’d tried everything I could think of to get some clue, though none had come. I hoped it would be something mysterious, perhaps something similar the songs of the Rite, but more than anything, I hoped this would all be over soon. If only I could skip tonight and tomorrow – that dreaded day when I’d have to perform my song for everyone.

  Let’s just get this over with, and then we can worry about tomorrow.

  The impending event made me feel faint.

  I wandered on aimlessly awhile longer, growing more and more uneasy with each step deeper, until the sound of falling rubble caught my attention, stopping me in my tracks.

  Please don’t be a bat, I pleaded silently, bracing myself for whatever sort of attack a bat might attempt.

  The rubble tumbled a bit more and then was quiet.