Sorrowfish

by Anne C Miles

  The office door flew open, and the high cantor swept into the room. Behind him, Bren followed, with Zonah, the chymaera. Tabor drew himself up with his most regal expression, eyes narrowed, and addressed Bren, his tone made of ice.

  “Where have you been?”

  Bren blinked.

  Play along man, Tabor implored, silently.

  The cantor looked from Bren to Tabor, uncertain.

  Bren folded his hands and bowed his head in submission. “We tracked the bard, Your Grace. I apologize for riding ahead.”

  Tabor nodded, briefly. His eyes flicked to the priest. “You must be the local cantor…I see you have received our message. Have you seen the blackguard?” He held out his hand, presenting his ring to be kissed. The cantor stepped forward and kissed it, perfunctorily.

  “I…we…have one of his companions being questioned, your eminence,” said the cantor, covering his confusion.

  Zonah strode forward, presenting herself to Tabor. Her catlike grace made each movement a dance. Her sapphire eyes glittered. “The trees whisper of the bards passing. They move north, milord,” she said.

  “Find them.” His terse reply cracked the air, whiplike.

  Zonah half bowed from the waist and loped from the room without looking back.

  “I require your carriage. My horse is dead,“ said Tabor. “I have ordered it to be made ready. You will take all resources available. Search the northern road and forest. Spare no one.”

  “The village…it must be purified, Your Grace.”

  “All available. Immediately. He must be found. Am I understood?”

  The cantor choked, purple creeping up his neck to suffuse his narrow face. His eyes were defiant as he answered. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Tabor returned the man’s gaze steadily. He said nothing. His silence chilled the air between them.

  The cantor lowered his eyes.

  “Now!” said Tabor. The cantor jumped and turned, hurrying to obey. Tabor heard him shouting orders as he rushed out the door.

  “You saw Sara?” Tabor asked Bren, breaking into a grin.

  Bren nodded, “We shall rendezvous with her and the others, beyond the meadow to the south.”

  “While the good cantor searches north. Not my finest work, but it will do. Come, let’s dance the shadows, my friend.”

  The coach was waiting for them. Tabor shook his head at the acolyte perched in the driver’s seat. “No. Brother Bren will drive.” The boy frowned but clambered down, handing over the reins. Tabor winked at Bren before climbing into the coach. He lifted the seat cushion and opened the strongbox, retrieving the wine. The carriage jolted, moving toward the road. Tabor settled back in the deep cushions and sighed. “Not my finest work, but not bad.“

  He took a swig of wine. “Not bad at all.“

  CHAPTER FORTY

  SARA STARED UP at the ceiling, cursing silently. Tears streamed down her face. “Really? Really?” She felt like screaming.

  She replayed the scene in her mind, over and over. Dane running toward her. The black cloud reaching to envelop him. They strip flesh from bone. She shuddered. They didn’t get her because she faded away somehow. Dane couldn’t do that. Could he?

  Jane tapped on the door and opened it, poking her head in. “You okay?”

  “Come in,” said Sara, wiping her eyes with her red flannel pillowcase. She sat up and tapped her bedside lamp, waving Jane forward. “What time is it?”

  “A little past midnight, I just got home,” Jane said. She made a face. “I’m glad you’re here. I checked a couple minutes ago and didn’t see you. I thought you were still at your studio.”

  Sara shook her head. “I’ve been home all night,” she said.

  Jane’s brow wrinkled. “Your sketchbook is on the couch, but you weren’t here when I got in. I promise.”

  “Hm,” said Sara. “Maybe I was sleepwalking?” She had proof! Finally! She could hardly contain the feeling exploding inside her. A mixture of wonder, overwhelm, anxiety and joy, followed by panic. They strip flesh from bone. Dane. I have to go back. I have to help him somehow.

  “I was in the living room. You didn’t walk past me.” Jane settled on the edge of the bed, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve been crying. What’s going on, Sara?”

  Sara blinked, taken aback at the sudden intensity of the question. Jane was her upbeat, cheerful friend. The one who balanced her sarcasm and anxiety. Her serious tone was unnerving. No way she would believe her if she explained. She couldn’t blame her. But she couldn’t explain. There wasn’t time. She had to go back. She had to help Dane if she could. He couldn’t die.

  But Jane was just getting started. She took a deep breath, as if getting ready to jump into deep water, and continued.

  “I mean we’ve barely talked these past few weeks. You’re doing a lot of things I’ve seen you do since we were kids, and it’s killing me to watch. I’m done ignoring it all. Back in high school, you weren’t hurting my brother. Blowing off Pete...kissing a guy you barely know? That’s not who you want to be, I know that. But it’s what you’ve done before when anyone tries to get close. Remember the way you pined over Corey Simpson in high school? And Michael, who was a really great guy, you just froze him out. There’s a pattern here.” She held up one hand as Sara sputtered.

  “Hear me out. I could go on, and you know it. The stakes are a lot higher now. It’s not like you’re just dodging homework anymore. You haven’t been able to finish your final project for your graduation. When you do make headway, you destroy it. And instead of facing this stuff? You’re drinking? You sorta pulled together for a while, but it’s like Marilla went into a coma, and you went into a tailspin. I can’t just sit by and do nothing. Now you’re disappearing? Losing time? Seriously. What’s really going on?”

  “I don’t really know,” said Sara. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her head felt full of white noise. She fought the urge to get up and run away. Far away. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

  Behind Jane, a shadow formed.

  A tall shadow.

  Sara felt all the blood drain from her face. She gasped but kept herself from screaming.

  Jane’s expression softened. “I’m not coming down on you. I’m just worried, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, I know. Hey...Jane?”

  “Yes?”

  Sara struggled to keep her voice natural. “Do you see anything weird over there?”

  Jane stood and moved toward the door. She walked right through the shadow. “Uh...no, all normal. Okay, you’re half asleep, and I just totally unloaded. I’m sorry. Really. I love you. It’s late. Just think about it, okay? We can talk in the morning. But if you want to talk things through, I’m here. I want to help.”

  “Thanks, Jane,” Sara said, mechanically. She tracked the shadow as Jane shut the door behind her. It flickered and coalesced, hanging in the air, a ghost. Transparent. A tall young man who had recently shaved his head shimmered, grinning. He looked like the loser in a bar fight, with half-healed bruises and nasty scars. He approached her bedside table, silently, palms out.

  Dane. Oh my god he’s dead, and he’s gonna haunt me.

  Dane reached for the lamp. But instead of turning off, it only flickered. His hands passed right through it.

  “Can you hear me?” whispered Sara.

  He looked at her and nodded.

  Sara eyed the door. The last thing she needed was for Jane catch her talking to herself. She rolled over and reached for her clock radio, sliding the toggle to On. Violin music blared. She winced and turned the volume down. She drew her knees up under her chin and studied Dane. Was he a ghost? He had to be a ghost.

  His lips were moving, but no sound issued forth. Sara would have sworn he was trying to lip sync, if the music hadn’t been completely instrumental.

  The song ended and a new one began. A concerto by Paganini filled the room. It swelled, surrounding her and filling her with peace. Abruptly, she could hear Dane. It was
as if someone had toggled a mute button.

  “...your world?”

  Sara blinked. “Come again? I couldn’t hear you.”

  “I said, are we in your world?”

  “Yes, this is my bedroom. We need to be quiet or we will disturb my roommate.” Sara bobbed her head toward the door.

  “The other girl? I saw her. She walked through me.” Dane waved his hands, staring at them.

  Sara cleared her throat. There was no good way to ask this. “Are you dead?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Dane, smiling. “I have become fae to you.”

  “But the Shadowkin covered you. I saw. You didn’t even hesitate, just charged them, knowing the risks.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you did that. I’m so not worth it.”

  “I had to save you. And I did. I sent you home,” said Dane, gesturing around the room. “You are worth it, Sara. You’re special…even if you don’t see it.”

  “The Shadowkin blanketed you.” Sara’s eyes filled with tears. “They strip flesh from bone. Are you sure you’re still alive? Is this normal? To come here?”

  “Trystan. He had a songsteel blade. When they swarmed me, he was a madman, shouting, ‘Ealltæw blōd sylfum Pelegor.’ Wherever his blade touched them, the shadows burst into flame. I blinked, and...”

  “And you woke up here?”

  Dane nodded.

  “So you really don’t know what happened. Do you think you’ll go back?”

  “I must. I…”

  The radio song ended, and the station cut to a commercial. Dane’s lips kept moving, but Sara couldn’t hear him at all. Her forehead puckered.

  “I can’t hear you. Gimme a sec.”

  Sara tuned the radio to a new station. John Lennon sang “Imagine.” Sara motioned for Dane to continue speaking. “Try again.”

  “That box is marvelous. Is there someone within?” He bent to examine it, peering expectantly. “A fair-ee? And your glowlight!” He twisted to look under the red lampshade.

  “No fairies. Focus.” Sara gulped. “So, is this normal? For you to be here?”

  Dane shook his head. “It has never happened to me. I have heard of it happening, but only...”

  He cleared his throat and began again.

  “Trystan has his lute. He may use it and heal me. I just have to wait. If I die instead, when I pass, I shall pass from here. Either way, I will fade.” He paused for a moment, his features contorting with emotion, and added, “I may have used the Song in the wrong way, somehow. I don’t really know.”

  “No, you didn’t, and you cannot die! Not like this. Is there anything we can do? Think,” said Sara.

  Dane’s eyes glowed, too large in his pale face. “We can try to bond,” he said. “It would change...strengthen me. Strengthen both of us.”

  “What kind of bond? Like blood brothers?” Sara asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “The bond forms between fae and dewin with an ancient rite. The rite calls for travel to your world, when mentioned. A harmony bond. It changes both of us forever.”

  “Changes us how?”

  “I would become a majister, not just dewin. You would be faisant, not just fae. Bound to me. We would share our strengths. Other than this, the scroll was vague. This bond was common in ages past, before the war.”

  Sara frowned. “Sounds like marriage. What does bond mean?”

  “Greater ability with the Song, beyond that I cannot say. I only know the rite because it was passed down, along with the Lorica’s refrain. It is not a marriage,” he said. His face reddened. “Such things are Dissonance. Forbidden, like wedding a sister. In fact, I do not know of any bond occurring with a woman. But the Storm King has brought us here.”

  He talked faster, changing the subject.

  “There is a golden flower, prized for love and healing. It is like the tunebell, but grows only in your world. Its Virtue is strong. We bring one to a House of the Sign with a thunderstone. We use the stone to burn the flower. When the smoke rises, we call upon the Storm King to bind us together in the Song.”

  Dane looked triumphant, like what he had just said was a simple recipe. Sara swallowed her frustration.

  “How will this get you home?” asked Sara.

  “The binding ritual itself should transport us both to the tower of Anach, in Siarad. The rite is completed there. Parts of it must occur in each world.”

  Sara leaned forward and crossed her arms. “Should transport us? I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Yes. when the Storm King answers our call, we finish the rite in the tower of Anach. Otherwise, I will just fade.” He fell silent. The pause lasted a long moment. Sara could see he was wrestling with something. “You asked if there was anything we could do. You don’t have to try this. We can wait. Trystan may be able to heal me.”

  “Has Trystan healed before? Do you know?” Sara asked. Dane’s bleak expression spoke volumes. It was a long shot. If the Shadowkin destroyed his flesh...

  She took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to bond with me? You don’t know me.”

  Dane smiled. “I know enough, trust me.”

  Trust me.

  She thought about Brother Bren, the way Dane had defended him. She did trust him. “Okay, so a house of the Sign? Any idea what that is?”

  “The Sign is an eight-sided figure.” Dane bent to pick up the pencil and notebook on Sara’s desk. His hands passed right through them. The music on the radio faded, and Neil Diamond began to sing. Dane’s voice cut off again, silenced. Sara leapt to turn the channel. She paused on a country station and gestured for Dane to speak. He obliged, but Sara heard nothing. She moved the dial, muttering about fussy-choosy-persnickety magic. The next station was playing Jars of Clay’s “Liquid.” Dane’s voice came blasting through as if he had been shouting.

  “...you draw one?”

  Sara picked up the notebook, opened it to a blank page, and drew an octagon. “Like that?”

  Dane nodded.

  “Okay, got it. An eight-sided house? A gazebo works, that’s simple enough. There’s one at a park in the Highlands. Heck, there’s one at my parents’ place.”

  Sara walked over to the clamshell iBook on her desk. She opened it and checked to make sure it was connected to the ’net, sat down and signed into AOL. She typed into the search box—thunderstone. Sara clicked on the first result and read aloud.

  “Flint arrowheads and axes turned up by farmer’s plows were considered to have fallen from the sky from lightning strikes, caused when gods fought in heaven. They were often thought to be heavenly arrows and are called thunderstones.

  “I know I saw the word somewhere…Joe’s!” Sara said, triumphant. She grinned and held up her hand for a high-five.

  Dane tracked her hand with his eyes, expectant.

  He had no idea what she was doing.

  Sara dropped her hand. “They’re arrowheads. Flint. Flint sparks and makes fire, I get it now. I don’t have any arrowheads myself, but I know someone who does. Now...a golden flower?”

  She typed the term into the search box and read the results. “A Chinese herb...But it isn’t known for love and healing.”

  She cleared the search and entered yellow flower, scanning the results.

  “Daisy, dandelion, rose, goldenrod...” Sara smacked her forehead. “Of course. Goldenrod. The state flower. I even saw background on it at work this week. It totally fits. It must be the one. It’s perfect. I know where we can find some, too.”

  Dane did not respond. She looked up and found him staring at her laptop quizzically, his mouth moving as he asked questions she could not hear. Annie Lenox was playing on the radio. Sara sighed and got up to change the station back to classical, Beethoven.

  “Why does it do that? Only let me hear you when certain music is playing? Do you know?”

  “The Song weaves around us at all times, yet not all music is filled with the Song.”

  “We don’t have magic here.”

  Dan
e pointed at the radio. “This is not magical?”

  “No, invisible waves go through the air from one place to another carrying the music...”

  Sara stopped.

  “Fine. It’s magic. But not the way you think of magic. Magic isn’t made from music or even connected to music. There’s no Storm King here.”

  “The Storm King exists in all places,” said Dane, patiently, as if he were explaining something to a child.

  Sara opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it. Yesterday, if someone had told her there were other worlds, she would have argued. There was a lot she thought she knew that simply ain’t so.

  She checked the time. Almost one a.m.

  One a.m. and Pete was mad at her.

  One a.m., Pete was mad at her, and she needed to ask him for an arrowhead so she could perform a ritual.

  Tricky.

  She grabbed her phone and typed out a text.

  Hey, you awake? I need to see you. Really bad.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  THE REPLY CAME quickly. Sara exhaled a sigh of relief. Pete was still awake. If he had been asleep, there would have been no chance of finding an arrowhead tonight.

  Okay. You coming over now?

  She tapped out her answer. If it’s okay, that would be great.

  Sara glanced at Dane. He was standing over an art magazine she’d left open, his eyes wide with wonder. The page was open to a print of The Kiss by Gustav Klimt.

  “It’s a magazine. Like a book, but we throw them away when we are finished reading them. They tell us news, stories. They teach us. The pictures and text are produced by a machine instead of being drawn by hand. Same with the books,” she said, pointing to the bookshelf next to her desk. “It isn’t magic.”

  Dane shot her a doubtful expression and walked over to the bookshelf. His hand drifted up and traced a few of the spines.