Sorrowfish

by Anne C Miles

  Jax popped out from his perch and landed on both feet in front of Bren. “If you don’t go and get her now, things will go very, very badly.”

  Bren didn’t even look surprised to see the gnome. He scrambled to his feet and threw the door open, running after Sara. Dane poked his head out after him. He watched Bren disappear around the corner before he closed the door. “She’s halfway down the hall,” he said. “You might be able to explain so she will listen. She asked about you.”

  Jax stroked his beard, his brow furrowing. “Fae can be unpredictable, dangerous when first grounded. I’ll go help. But prepare to run, to leave. We might have no choice. At least now we know how we’ll escape.”

  Dane arched a brow.

  Jax pointed to the floor, the knot pattern. “Sara can help. I’ve seen her kind before. She’s a stone rider.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “A WHAT?” ASKED Dane.

  But Jax was already gone.

  Dane paced, running his hand over his itchy scalp stubble. He waited, more fatigued by the moment. Dane strained to hear through the door, but the only sound was the soft rustle of his robes, the huffing of his own breath. He settled on his pallet to wait, upright and cross-legged, and closed his eyes. Perhaps he’d hear the Song. Stars, he had no idea what he was doing.

  The cell door flew open.

  “So my dreaming is your reality?” Sara said as she followed Jax inside.

  Jax stomped over to Dane’s pallet and plopped down with a sigh. “I don’t know what your reality might be, but aye, this one is mine. It’s real, lass.”

  Bren stepped into the doorway behind them, interrupting. “I regret I need to leave. The next bell is nearly upon us. I must ensure you were not seen. Do nothing to escape until I return. We must move carefully.” With that, he was gone. The bar clanged as he locked the door.

  “Do you actually trust him?” Jax said.

  “I do. It’s possible he is laying a trap for us, but my heart tells me otherwise. Perhaps he is merely sorrowfish.”

  Jax froze and peered, one bushy eyebrow arched. “Sorrowfish? Perhaps the healing affected your mind. You’re speaking nonsense. Bell did that, as well.”

  Jax waved a hand in front of his face, Dane brushed the gnome’s hand aside, laughing. “I’m fine Jax. Sorrowfish is a word from the Lorica. It’s in a refrain. The Lorica always speaks to the heart of things, things too deep for words. When I was a boy, I asked Pa what it meant. He said not all people who did terrible things were evil. Most were selfish or believed lies, and some were just sorrowfish. Acting from pain. He showed me a damaged tree, how a knot formed where the wound occurred. He said people were like that. They grow but become broken when hurt. So they hurt others.”

  Sara’s eyebrows shot up. Jax shook his head, obviously not convinced.

  “He showed me a pearl. He said as a person healed, the wound could be used instead to create something beautiful. Like dust inside an oyster makes a pearl. Pa said that it depended on the person. They can choose. I have to give Bren a chance to show us his choices.”

  Jax snorted and scuffed the floor. “I will still plan for betrayal, best not to hope for good when you are dealing with cantors.”

  Sara sat and waited, silent, her head cocked like a bird. Dane wondered what she was thinking. She looked so ordinary despite her strange gray clothing, a plain shapeless hooded tunic with long sleeves and unadorned breeches of the same color.

  “What’s a stone rider, Jax?”

  “All the fae I have ever known—and mind you, I have only met a few—had a gift. Your greatfather, Petros, he worked with a fae who fashioned stone as well as any chymaera. A stone rider, he was called. That one could walk through stone like a gnome,” Jax said.

  Sara blinked. “A fae?” she asked.

  “Fae,” said Dane. “One of the Lost Ones, though why your people are referred to as lost, I don’t know. To us you are ghostly. You flicker like flames. Stories told to children say your kind play tricks on families or cause trouble, but those same stories claim you have great power.”

  Sara snorted. “I’m a fairy?”

  Jax raised one bushy eyebrow. “I do not know this word fairy. Your words are strange. You can make amazing things. ’Tis a great gift.”

  “Fairy is the name for the creatures you’re describing,” said Sara. “But they have pointy ears and wings. They’re little.” She held her hands up, two inches apart, demonstrating. “I’m not a fairy.”

  Dane swelled with questions. Sara had seemed so knowing, but mysterious, when he had encountered her before. The Song sang to him whenever she appeared. She must have answers. “Why are all fae I’ve seen your size? I’ve seen you many times. Do you speak with the Storm King? Can you help us to escape? Can you truly work with stone? Do you know a fae-ree? Could a fae-ree help us?”

  Sara’s laugh bounced off the walls like a trapped bird.

  “I don’t know any fairies! Why can’t you escape, Mister Wizard? Aren’t you strong enough to get past this door?” Sara stood, her sarcasm biting as she dusted her hands. “I don’t know your Storm King, and I have no idea if I can help you. I work with clay, not stone. I sculpt, I think. It’s all fuzzy. I can’t remember.”

  Dane hesitated, thinking. He upset her. But what if she was only trying to trick him? But. The Storm King chose her to guide him. He must have.

  “I’ve been taught many things but have never really tried them. My mistakes can hurt people,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor at his feet. He forced himself to meet Sara’s gaze. “I will do all I can; I mean that. I sought you out of all the fae to help me because I believe in you. I trust you. I’m just trying to find the right path. Truly? No. I might not be strong enough. I have no idea what will happen if I use the Song. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of killing everyone and destroying this building. I might kill the Tree and doom the world.”

  “Oh. Well then, I feel you.” Sara slumped. “Fairies aren’t real, they’re only in stories. I don’t have any idea what you see when you see…fae, no frame of reference. Everything I know about myself and home is fading away. Like a dream. I can’t grasp it, can’t hang on. It was all in my mind when I woke here. Now?” She shook her head. “I’m fuzzy. It’s scary.”

  Jax stood, walked over to Sara and took her hand. He turned it over and pointed to her left index finger. “I see no fur. Your hands are the hands of one who crafts. Clean, but skin that’s rough and dry. Your fingernails are too short and clay is under this one.” Jax eyed Sara, his expression grave. “The Storm King Dane speaks of, His Song brought you to us. Trust. There is a reason He chose you. You can face what lies ahead. Don’t be afraid.”

  “We’ll help you get home somehow, I promise,” said Dane.

  “I just don’t know what home even is. I remember a fireplace, writing in a notebook, statues…” she shook her head. “That’s it. And I have no idea what you expect me to do or how sculpting can help us escape. Why are we in a prison cell?”

  Dane’s eyes drooped, and he forced them open. The healing had taken its toll. He shook himself, trying to focus. “Can you show her, Jax? It might save time.” His voice sounded weak in his own ears. “Keep inside the walls or up high, you won’t be seen. I must rest.”

  Jax stood and nodded. “I’ll be back. You rest and heal.”

  Sara knocked on the dressed stone wall. “This looks pretty solid.”

  Jax laughed. “And it wasn’t solid an hour ago? You walked through the same wall as if parting a curtain. And ’tis how you must see it, lass. Gnomes look at stone but believe it has a thickness of air. We breathe and step through. You can do it as well. Fix it in your mind, hold on to me, and step through.”

  Sara sighed, grumbling under her breath and pushed at the wall. This time, her hand passed through. She jerked her hand out, staring at it. “It feels like pudding.”

  “So it does. Now if we need to climb, just think of the stone as solid under your hand, so you can push against it to cl
imb. I’ll take you to the Watchers.”

  Dane watched as they slipped into the thick stone wall before allowing himself to drop into an exhausted sleep.

  Sara followed Jax into the thick stone walls, clutching his surcoat to reassure herself that he was there. Sorrowfish. The word bounced around her mind. She struggled to grasp the idea. It felt important. People aren’t always selfish, sometimes they are sorrowfish.

  Soon she forgot all but the feel of Jax’s rough woolen surcoat under her fingers. She supposed the wall’s interior would be dark, but as her eyes adjusted, it gradually grew translucent like vellum, with a soft white glow. Sara focused on the gnome’s cap. The cone rotated, boring through the stone to the next open space. They climbed and slipped easily through several floors of the building before coming upon the roof. Jax led Sara up, emerging on a flat, narrow terrace. It overlooked a formal garden courtyard.

  Sara’s mind reeled as she took in the view. The building was an abbey. Or a castle. She wasn’t sure. It seemed like both, huge, with steep vaulting and decorative scrollwork. The glimpses she’d had of the interior put her in mind of ancient cathedrals.

  Jax pointed to the curtain walls surrounding the compound. “See the Watchers?”

  “The grotesques? The statues?” Sara squinted. It was dark, but she could clearly see a silhouette with large wings. “Why do you call them Watchers?”

  Slowly, the figure turned its head so its profile was outlined against the starry sky. Sara’s pulse quickened. “It moves,” she whispered.

  “Aye, and it shares what it sees. They show the Conclave cantors. The monks. The same monks captured Dane’s sweetheart, Bell, used her to bait Dane and imprison him. The Conclave Chapterhouse, that’s where we are, lass. We need to escape before they hurt Bell or Dane further.”

  “You think I can get us out?”

  “I know you can, lass. It’s just a matter of telling the Watchers to fly. If you can master one, they will all obey. I knew a stone rider once, long ago, name of Odranoel. He made a Speaker dance, sing, and fly. He commanded an army of stone soldiers and rode a magnificent marble stallion. You can do amazing things, but you’ll need to practice. I cannot help you there.”

  Sara stood watching the horizon, the forest beyond the walls. This is crazy.

  “All right, let’s go have a chat with a Watcher.”

  Jax turned. “Stay close.”

  Sara hurried to follow as the gnome made his way to the base of a vaulted arch and climbed over. In dreams, even the strangest things made sense. She was just going to keep moving. This is an amazing dream.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  SARA GRUNTED, PULLING herself up and over the stone vaulting. Jax waited on the other side. He pointed to a winged lion perched on the edge of the roof, motionless. The figure crouched on top of the parapet. Its head stretched forward as if readying to dive. It spread its wings.

  Sara stared. She looked out past it, gulping at the sight of the ground far below. The sky was paling over the forest, pink striations streaking the horizon. Dane needed help. She had to try. She took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered.

  Sara released Jax’s hand, climbed onto the parapet and sat, dangling her legs over the edge. The ground yawned below, and she quickly looked up, focusing on the Watcher. Easily eight feet tall when standing, it towered over her, massive. Its stone head swiveled to regard her with obsidian eyes. Its wings rippled in surprise.

  Sara reached out, touching one massive foreleg. The stone ruffled where her fingers trailed as if she had disturbed oil on water. She met the Watcher’s gaze, looking for answers. Who are you?

  In her mind’s eye, she saw a serpentine head asking her the same question. It flashed orange, menacing, and was gone. In their stead, the obsidian eyes of the grotesque reflected the morning sunlight. She drew her hand back, startled by the vision.

  “Identify yourself,” the lion rumbled. Sound issued forth, but Sara saw no mouth movement. Only the head swung from side to side.

  She stood, reaching for the creature’s eyes, touching them quickly before it could turn away. “The eyes are the window to the soul. Live. Fly like an eagle,” she half sang, half whispered, willing its eyes to fill with awareness and intelligence. She brushed them with the tips of her fingers, sketching in stone. Light sparked from her hand and rippled to its eyes, down its muscular body. The creature transformed in a flash, no longer made of stone but of lightning. One massive paw lifted, swiping to push her away.

  “No!” Sara cried.

  And she was sailing through the sky, screaming as she plummeted to the courtyard below.

  The lion launched itself from the parapet, following, its jaws agape. It roared. Huge claws stretched forward and snagged her sweatpants. Sara gasped as her leg blazed with pain. The big cat clamped down on her foot but did not bite through. Sara was lifted, carried by her feet. She could hear shouts of dismay and running feet as monks in the courtyard below reacted to the spectacle.

  They hung in the air, the lion’s huge wings flapping in place. She dangled, upside down. “Put me down!” she yelled. The lion started to open its mouth, and she added, “Slow and gentle, careful, back on the roof!” She pictured in her mind what she wanted, unsure if it would help. Dear God, help me drive this thing, she prayed, crossing herself and shutting her eyes. If the grotesque dropped her, she didn’t want to see what came next. Suddenly, she was rising. Her feet were released. She tumbled onto the flat roof. Sara opened her eyes. Jax was leaning over her, worry reddening his nose. “Are you hurt? We have to run now.”

  She sat up. The lion sat, perched on the roof like a house cat waiting for a meal. Its wings fluttered, its inner light fading. It stilled.

  “They saw us.”

  “Aye, but we can hide if we go now. We can fly, that’s the important thing,” said Jax.

  Sara scrambled to her feet, wincing. Her sweats were torn, and blood oozed from deep scratches. She pointed to the parapet. “Go back, as you were, but sleep. Speak to no one.”

  The lion launched itself off the roof, hovering in the air. Suddenly its eyes closed, and the lightning form reverted to stone. It fell immediately, crashing to the earth with shattering impact. Stunned, Sara rushed to look just as the creature exploded in a cloud of dust and rubble. She gasped, finding it hard to breathe.

  The truth ripped the breath from her. “I’m really not dreaming,” she whispered. Her heart was pounding. I can’t do this. I ruin everything.

  “You’re really not dreaming,” Jax said. “Sara, we have to go, now. They’re coming.”

  He grabbed her hand and dragged her into the outer stone wall, diving into it and pulling her down into the womblike embrace beyond. She followed, flailing, but allowed herself to be dragged under.

  Bren paced through the cloisters, outwardly calm. It was time for readings from the main lectionary. No one was excused from this most important service of the day. His stomach churned as he wrestled with implications.

  Siles had lied, Modric had lied, and worst of all, a cyntae had lied. He didn’t know how. None of those things were possible. A dispensation could not be given to a cyntae. The cyntae worked dispensations. They were incapable of untruth. True, Modric and Siles might be granted dispensations for small lies on rare occasions. But the sheer volume and complexity of all their deceptions were staggering. Dane was proof of it, his healing of the Tree, his knowledge of sacred mysteries. Most of all, he could ground fae. He wielded the Song in purity.

  There were ripples to consider. All who worked with the Song, believing lies, would add to its Dissonance. Each instance over time would make the Song more unstable, unusable, causing destruction, sickness. The truth was plain. It explained the crop failings, the illnesses, the growing effects of Dissonance he knew were occurring. Was it possible there was an explanation, some saving grace?

  Bren entered the Quiet Room with his head bowed, his hands clasped. Silently, he slid into the seat reserved for him as a que
stioner. He stilled his breathing and waited for the Canting to begin.

  White-robed acolytes joined the black-robed cantors, all spilling into the central octagonal nave. Surrounded by sacred tunebells and giant delphiniums, the devout faced the candle-filled altar.

  Siles, the high cantor, took his place in front of the altar as the final bell sounded and Matins began.

  The cantors sang.

  Hear us, Cyntae bright,

  And have mercy,

  Because we have sinned against Thee.

  Bren only mouthed the words, unable to sing them. He felt sick. What he had once known as familiar and true was forever tarnished.

  The voices rose and fell together in unison as the simple melody was repeated. The pattern raised echoes that formed a harmony and counter-melody from the surrounding walls, the sacred flora, and the cloisters that lined the room. Antiphony rose in the vaulted, almost windowless space.

  As their voices blended with the echoes and the chiming flora, the rich scent from the flowers blanketed the worshipers. Bren imagined dancing sparks flickering among the blossoms. Fragments of childhood fae stories came to mind. Longing stirred deep in his soul.

  Creatures of hope

  Corner stones,

  Giving us the arc of salvation,

  Guarding the gates of heaven,

  Wash away all our

  Own desires.

  We beseech Thee, Cyntae bright,

  In your great majesty:

  Calmly forgive

  Our crimes and deliver us forever.

  The Wyrm rages,

  Ever bound, ever chained;

  Breathing Dissonance and Fire