Sorrowfish

by Anne C Miles

  The dwarf looked into his eyes, searching.

  “There is a package on my ship bound for Baehnt. You must ensure it gets delivered. Promise me. No matter what else happens, I need you to promise. The Thundering Wave. It leaves in the morning and should get there within the week. Find a man named Trystan in Baehnt and tell him what has transpired. Make sure he gets the package. It should be given whether I am there or not. But this is very important,” he said. “It might be all right, I might make it back to the ship, but if I do not...”

  Bellin’s eyes hardened with resolve. “You will get back to your ship lad, I promise you that. And we will speak of these matters further. Now is not the time.” Firmly, he repeated, “Now is not the time—”

  “There may never be another time. The songlines can be restored, and so can the Tree. Do not put any trust in the Conclave if you love life. But your Gisle fellow was wrong, too. The Tree matters, it all does. You’re part of this now, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Find Trystan, he’s a bard.” He took the acorn from his pocket and pressed it into the dwarf’s hand.

  Bellin’s eyes widened. He accepted the seed, a small enough choice. He put it in his belt pouch.

  “My deema is Pezzik. Give this acorn to Trystan. Tell him to give it to her. She will understand. That’s all I can say.” He gestured toward the priests. “Tell the cantors everything they ask of you, except these things. They should let you go.” Dane hoped it was true. It was all he had.

  He started running for the Tree and its rift. An acolyte pointed, shouting for him to stop. Dane ignored him, aiming straight for the Tree, which was still wondrously free of all enveloping mists.

  Dane zigzagged away from the paths, deliberately avoiding them. He was dewin, a songline would have no ill effect on him whatsoever. Other than making me lose all sense of propriety. But that was hardly worrisome now. If he could reach the channel, he could float downstream to safety. There were too many acolytes, at least ten of them. Maybe twelve. Maybe more. One rather athletic man would be on him quickly, and Dane wasn’t sure he could fend him off.

  Dane saw the Tree’s smooth white bark. Thick roots emerged from the ground like fish surfacing from the deep. The ground near them was bone white, as if the earth itself had been leached, drained. The pattern reminded Dane of lightning in the sky. Songlines. Can the others see them? He saw other things too. Fae flickered everywhere. The chimes of the Song floated through the air, faint and continuous. They reminded him of the tunebells at home. He stopped, looking back at his pursuers. Dane nodded once to himself and vanished into thin air.

  Brother Flyn seemed to have remembered Bellin and Birgir finally and spoke in his earnest, effusive tones. “Can’t be sure of your safety until all has been examined. Most unusual, most unusual. Of course we need you to return with us and share what you saw and heard with the high cantor. He will have many questions—”

  “The boy has gone mad. He wants me to go to Baehnt with an acorn.” He pointed to Dane’s retreating figure. Flyn jumped, seeing the mad dash. He hurried after him, muttering, “Oh no! That won’t do at all.” He shouted for his brethren to stop Dane. Every acolyte gave chase, though they all kept to the marked paths.

  Bellin, Harald, and Birgir watched as if it were a festival play, dumbfounded. There was no accounting for the boy’s behavior.

  “I thought he had a knack, had no idea the Tree would drive him mad,” murmured Bellin, rueful.

  “You cannot blame yourself,” answered Harald. “You did not know.”

  “They’ll put him right when they catch him,” added Birgir, crossing his arms. “You’ll see he will be right as—”

  Dane suddenly vanished. They all gaped, as one, and fell into stunned silence.

  “He will be tortured for any information he has. Purification, they call it. They will twist his soul and use him for their purposes,” said a low voice, growling behind them. “If he is caught. Your fate will not be better, now he has confirmed what he is. Therefore, we must go.” N’khum stepped forward. “You must follow me and do exactly as I say if you wish to live.”

  Harald sputtered. “We’re representatives of the Forge! No one would dare harm us. We’re known to be here, sent by Tenkor himself.”

  N’khum regarded Harald and the others with sorrow. “You have brought dewin to the World Tree, the first in over half a millennium, and he is not mad, but trained. He has healed the Tree more than any. They will not rest until they have wrung every last ounce of knowledge from you. You will be discarded like old bones lest others understand the truth of their treachery and lies.”

  He pointed at Brother Bren, who was approaching, a group of acolytes in his wake. “Do you wish to live? Choose.”

  Bellin decided. “Lead on, Child of the Morning.”

  N’khum said, “You’ll have to ride.” He spoke a single word, like an eagle’s cry. The chymaera’s body stretched, growing in bulk and height. His distinctive garb seemed to flow as well, becoming a sling around his torso as N’khum assumed his true form. His face distorted and nose elongated, becoming a beak. Only the eyes remained the same. N’khum’s hands curled into claws, sporting talons, while his hindquarters lengthened and rippled into massively powerful feline legs. N’khum bent and faced the Forgemen, extending one massive foreclaw, his meaning clear.

  Harald wasted no time, clambering up and grabbing the silken wrappings. The gryphon was large, big enough for two men and a dwarf to ride upon. They ignored the shouting acolytes and slid their arms under the silk, barely seated before N’khum was beating the brethren back with his enormous wings. They rose into the air. Behind them, the World Tree soared, white and red and impossibly green with new growth. They circled it once, twice, and disappeared into the clouds.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “PETE? IT’S ME. Yeah. They already moved Marilla. I can’t believe it.” Sara sat in her car, staring into the distance. She was in shock. Of course she had called Peter. “I drove straight here, but she’s gone. I won’t be able to see her without a fourteen-hour drive. She’ll be living with strangers. Why?” she yelled into her phone, beating the steering wheel. “Why would they do this?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know, Sara, I really don’t.”

  “I’ll tell you why,” Sara said. “If there’s a problem, we don’t deal with it. We hide it, lock it up, cover it up, put it away. We don’t talk about it. We sweep it under the rug and forget about it. That’s how my parents deal with problems. All problems. And they think I’m selfish? They just rug swept my sister!”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I guess find a lawyer and fight it,” said Sara. “I don’t have a lot of money, but I do have a little in savings. I don’t know what else to do. Move there? Move to South Carolina?”

  “Are you headed home?”

  “No, I was going to do an emergency session with Carol, Dr. Sherman. Sometimes she gives really good advice. I’ve got to run over and talk to Polly today, too, and let her know why I missed Practicum. I’m going to need an extension on my project. I’m already on thin ice because I’ve been late with other pieces.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Peter said, “Do you want to just watch TV tonight? I’ll bring pizza. I figure you won’t feel much like going out.”

  Oh God. Our date.

  “Honestly, Pete, I just want to go to bed early. There’s no one I’d rather hang out with. I need some alone time. I may go to the studio and work a little, but I need to figure things out.”

  “That’s cool. I understand. Just...promise me you aren’t leaving.”

  Sara sat back in her seat and ran her hand through her hair. “What?”

  “You said you might move. South Carolina. I know you, Sara. You’ll take off, hit the road, and go find Rilla. Don’t do it. Wait. If you need to road trip to see her, I’ll go with you. Don’t leave. If you have to go, take me with you, okay?”

  “Okay,” said Sara.

 
“You promise?”

  “I promise,” said Sara.

  “Okay then,” said Peter. “I don’t want to push you, Sara. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

  Peter’s relief came through over the phone. “I’ll be okay, I won’t do anything rash. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

  Sara sank into the plush chair in Dr. Carol’s office. All of a sudden, she felt completely drained. As she waited for Dr. Carol, she inspected the room. It was a bright space filled with overstuffed furniture and wall-to-wall bookshelves. Photos of Dr. Carol’s family hung on one wall, next to her diplomas. A framed poster proclaimed

  He calms the storm

  Bongo drums rested in a corner, silent. Sculptures and artwork from all over the world rounded out the decor.

  The door opened, and Dr. Carol pushed through, squinting at a clipboard through her rectangular black readers. She looked up, saw Sara, and smiled warmly. “How are you, Sara?”

  “I know we weren’t on the schedule for today, Dr. Carol, thanks for fitting me in. I didn’t know what else to do. I need to talk to someone.”

  “Of course. I’m here for you. You know that. How can I help?”

  Dr. Carol sat in the chair across from Sara, concern painting her face.

  “They moved Marilla,” Sara said.

  “Who did?”

  “My parents. My mother and father. They moved her to a less expensive facility on the coast. As if they don’t have enough money to support her. They do.” Sara stood and began pacing. “I won’t be able to see her now without a fourteen-hour drive.” Sara whirled. “Can I get a lawyer and fight this? Do you know?”

  “What does an ideal outcome look like for you?”

  Sara frowned. “What? You mean what do I want to happen?”

  “Yes,” said Dr. Carol, taking off her glasses. “If Marilla doesn’t wake up, what’s the best outcome?”

  “For me to be where I can see her, read to her, help her,” Sara said. “I need to be close to her. She’s my twin. We’ve always been together. I need to help her get well. She has to get better. I can’t face the world without her.”

  It was her fault Marilla was in the coma. She had to save her. She couldn’t face the world without Rilla.

  She froze. She finally saw it.

  She was using Rilla. She was hiding from her own stuff, all her issues, and using her twin sister to do it.

  Dr. Carol’s eyes were full of sympathy and unspoken answers. She waited.

  “Oh God. Am I being selfish? Is it selfish to want to keep her here?”

  “Not necessarily. You might be right, believing she needs to be close. She shouldn’t be left alone. I can’t argue with that. But it’s really important you realize…that even if she wakes, she may very well need special care for some time. As I understand it, your mother reviewed all the facilities in the country to find the best for Marilla’s condition. And she’s given notice at the hospital. She quit. Did you know that?”

  Dr. Carol’s practice was in the same hospital her mother was a department head at, University Hospital; she and Sara’s mother were colleagues.

  “My mother quit?” Sara’s voice rose to an unbelieving squeak. She would never quit. She worked on holidays, missed our games growing up. They had a series of nannies. Who had a nanny in Kentucky? Or rather, au pair. “You’re telling me she quit? Just quit?”

  Sara sat down.

  “Your mother is going to South Carolina,” Carol said. “She’s going with Marilla. There’s a hyperthermia treatment this facility does for coma patients. No one else does it as well. It might wake her, and they’re going to try. She was afraid to talk to you about it because she thought you’d insist on going. She wants you to graduate. She called me this morning, worried. Your mom gave me permission to share these things with you if I needed to. Apparently you had a stressful lunch this week.”

  Sara gave Dr. Carol a flat look. “Stressful is an understatement. She acted totally normal and never mentioned moving Marilla. I had to find out from Dad. It was underhanded. It was dishonest.”

  Carol nodded. “I think you’re completely justified, feeling betrayed and angry about this decision, not being consulted. But I also think your mother might not be the monster you believe she is. Or perhaps she has changed.”

  Sara didn’t know what to think. She just felt numb. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  Dr. Carol leaned forward, looking in Sara’s eyes. “I think she tried and just shut down. From what I gather, she is in terrible pain.”

  Dr. Carol leaned back, tapping her pencil against her clipboard. “The biggest gift we can give anyone, ever, is forgiveness. Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes we react selfishly because we are hurting. Not because the intent is to harm. Even parents are just human. They hurt too.

  “You’ve been processing a lot of anger, but don’t remain in that anger. It’s important to identify how you feel and to name it. But you have to make choices and decide what to do with your feelings. You don’t have to be ruled by them. You can make choices, in spite of how you feel. Think about it, okay?”

  Sara nodded again. “How do I stop being afraid?”

  Dr. Carol’s smile was warm. “None of us ever really stops being afraid. We just learn how to cope with fear as we mature. Courage means doing what you must, even when you’re afraid.”

  Sara drove to the School of Art mechanically. She pulled into the parking lot and walked toward Polly’s office, her eyes red from weeping. She didn’t know what was right anymore. She was still angry, but she now was angry with herself, too. She pushed away the real reason.

  Maybe she should just leave. She could go to South Carolina and stay with Mom.

  But if Mom was going, Marilla wouldn’t be alone. And she needed to graduate. She really didn’t want to live alone with Mom.

  The truth was, as much as she hated to admit, she was scared of this semester. She was scared of graduating, of being finished with school and plunging into the real world work force. She was scared of never finding a job in her field. She was scared of never making it as a real artist. She was scared of Peter. She didn’t deserve any of it. She was scared of...

  Sara’s litany of cowardice came to an abrupt halt. A blue Mazda RX-7 was parked, its motor idling, in front of the Material Arts building. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickened her pace. Scott was waiting for her?

  She was just about to call out to him when Chantal Goddard came skipping down the steps. Sara stopped, watching as Chantal cooed. She ran to the car and jumped into the passenger’s seat. Chantal and Scott kissed.

  She stood there, dumbfounded, as they drove away.

  Chantal Goddard had a boyfriend. Chantal was kissing Scott. Scott was...no. Yes.

  Scott Black was Chantal Goddard’s boyfriend.

  Sara swiveled, headed back to her car, and drove home. She ran up the stairs, threw her keys on the table, and went straight to her room. She dove into bed and pulled the duvet up over her head. She needed to not think. She couldn’t deal with all of this.

  It began to rain outside. The droplets rattled at her window as the wind blew. She lay there, thoughts whirling, listening to the storm until fitful sleep drew her under.

  Dane filled with relief as he watched the gryphon carry his friends away. The chymaera were mysterious, unpredictable. However, it seemed in this case, N’khum was friendly. He pondered this as he watched the Conclave monks and acolytes. They congregated near the Tree, pointing and talking among themselves, appearing shocked. The one called Flyn took over, giving instructions Dane could not hear. The acolytes began to search for him systematically, following the safe marked paths.

  Dane stood perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. The glamour he had thrown up shielded him from sight, but this was no carefully prepared enchantment he had cast. Desperate, Dane had seen his peril and improvised. Now he was hidden, but there was no way to know how long it would last. He didn’t know if he could move, either.

 
; He decided to wait and trust in the Song. Whatever he had done, it had been in the shadow of the World Tree, and the Storm King had somehow given him favor. He would not panic, he would watch. His moment would come.

  Two acolytes passed close to him, speaking in low tones. Tunebells chimed softly, and suddenly it was as if Dane was standing next to them. He heard them clearly. One acolyte was round, his pudgy face gleaming with sweat. The other was taller and had large ears that protruded on both sides of his bald head like wings.

  “...immensely powerful, unlike anything they have ever seen, even with the dewin they have held at the Hermitage.” The fat acolyte gestured to the Tree, its inner surface.

  “The Tree has certainly changed. We need to question this dewin and find out how he did it, his intent. Was he trying to set the Wyrm free? We must find those Forgemen. When the king gets wind of what happened here, there will be panic at court. There is no hiding it. The first boat to pass through the rift will carry the tale.”

  “We cannot enter an Aerie uninvited,” said the fat man. “Not even Cantor Siles would attempt that. If the Wyn took the Forgemen there, they are lost to us. No. Our masters will be kept busy explaining this to noble houses for months, calming fears.”

  The taller man’s ears nearly wagged. “Why would this Wyn risk so much? You forget, Siles can cut the Aeries off from the Song whenever he wishes.” He nodded to the surrounding ground, indicating the songlines.

  “I don’t think he will do so, no matter how much this Wyn has betrayed us. Whether he likes it or not, we need the chymaera as much as they need us.”

  The fat man sighed and continued down the path, and the conversation passed out of range. Dane was tempted to follow but decided to remain where he was. He mulled over what he had heard while he waited for nightfall.