Sorrowfish

by Anne C Miles

  Sara’s phone vibrated. I guess so. See ya in a few.

  “Okay, if we’re going to do this, we gotta go. I guess I won’t be able to hear you once we can’t hear music. Just make signs with your hands. I’ll figure them out.”

  Dane nodded. Sara hurried to her bathroom, splashed water on her face, and finger-combed her hair. She looked pale, exhausted. With a shrug, she pulled on her Chucks. When she emerged, Dane was hovering over her laptop. “Come on, wizboy.”

  Sara grabbed her jacket and purse, opened her bedroom door, and crept down the hall.

  Dane followed, silently. Sara slipped outside, shivering as the cold air hit her face. The snow had mostly melted, but the wind still had an icy bite.

  The street was quiet. Huge old trees with bony branches overhung the boulevard. The occasional sound of light traffic droned a block or two away. Sara walked quickly to her car, parked on the street in front of the stately Victorians. Her breath clouded as she slid into the driver’s seat. She opened the passenger door from the inside, waving Dane in. He eyed the car uncertainly but climbed inside.

  Sara held her breath, half afraid Dane would fall through the seat. He couldn’t touch anything, how can he ride with her? But he sat on the leather seats as naturally as if he were fully solid, inspecting the dashboard with a curious expression. He looked more solid too. Sara sighed, relieved, and started the engine.

  “This is a carriage?” asked Dane.

  “Yeah and why can I hear you? What’s changed?”

  “It is like the music. The Song pulses through this carriage. You cannot feel it?”

  Sara revved the engine, considering her car. The Karmann Ghia was vintage and very hard to find. She loved driving it…but magical? “I don’t get it, sorry.”

  “A fae created this carriage.”

  “So wait, I thought faisant make things. Art.”

  “This carriage is art.” He paused and settled back in his seat. “Fae make things as well. They may be moved by the Song, or they would not flash into my world.” He peered out the window. “Those are also carriages.”

  “We call them cars, but yes. We’re going to visit my friend Peter. He has an arrowhead.”

  Dane’s brow wrinkled.

  “A thunderstone. We can get one from him. They aren’t just lying around the city.”

  “What is the name of this city?”

  “Louisville. It’s named for a foreign king.”

  Dane nodded and waved at the houses and street lamps as they passed. “So many lights.”

  “Electric. They’ve only been common for about a hundred years or so. Before that we mostly used gas flames.” Sara was babbling. She was anxious and unsure how to face Peter. He was really hurt. She needed to make things right, not just show up and demand an arrowhead in the middle of the night. The problem was, she really had no idea how she felt. She had to figure it out in the next five minutes. It was hard to sort through with a wizard looming in the seat next to her.

  “Gas? Your words are strange. Where are we going?”

  Sara decided not to try to explain electricity. Discussing the scientific laws of the universe with her wizard friend from an alternate reality somehow just didn’t seem appropriate.

  “Just down the street. Peter’s a boy scout, literally. Was an Eagle Scout. He’ll have an arrowhead we can borrow. The problem is, we were supposed to go out Friday, and I blew him off, and now he thinks I have friend-zoned him.”

  Dane’s brow furrowed. “This…Peter is a woodsman? He wishes to court you?”

  Sara slowed for the stoplight, glancing at Dane, surprised. She didn’t answer. He was grasping her world much better than she had dealt with his. Of course, he was a wizard. But still.

  “Yes, court me. But I couldn’t go with him when he wanted to go courting. He was hurt and believes I do not care for him as more than a friend.”

  “I understand.”

  The light changed, and she continued down the street, past the university and the fraternity houses. Pete’s tiny duplex apartment was on the other side of the underpass. Not a great part of town. She pulled up in front of the cottage and turned off the engine, leaving the radio on.

  “I don’t know how long this will take. You’d better stay here,” she said.

  “If you do not return before I fade, may the Storm King guide you all your days, Sara.”

  Crap. Sara hesitated. She didn’t think of that. He was probably dying right now. “Ugh. I can’t stand it. If you fade, and I’m not here...” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. “Come on, you’re going with me. But no funny business. Just be quiet, and act like you’re not there. Because to him, you aren’t.”

  She reached across and opened the passenger door for him. “I’ll try to make this quick.”

  Sara mentally prepped for the conversation as they crossed the yard. Hi Pete. Allow me to introduce my buddy, the Invisible Man.

  God help me.

  Pete answered the door with tousled hair and a sleepy expression. He was wearing blue flannel plaid pajama pants and a gray Slashdot tee shirt. He stood back, waving Sara in.

  “Thanks for letting me come over, Pete. I know it’s really late. It couldn’t wait.”

  Pete’s apartment was on the first floor of the cottage, decorated in early American garage sale. He had plenty of plants and several pieces of art scattered around. Mostly gifts from her. A large painting from her impressionist phase hung in a place of honor over the mantel. The fireplace was bricked up, but still held a certain charm. Sara ducked her head and made a beeline for his overstuffed sectional couch. She sat, tucking her feet up under her, took a deep breath, and met his gaze. Dane stood in a corner, behind Peter. Sara did her best to ignore him. This was going to be hard enough as it was.

  “No big deal,” he said. “What’s up?” His voice was controlled. Unnatural. He was really upset.

  Sara shifted her weight and bit her lip. “I need an arrowhead. Do you have one?”

  Coward. Avoiding the real problem. She was such a coward. But she didn’t have to be, did she?

  Peter frowned and crossed his arms. He didn’t answer for a long moment. The silence stretched.

  “And I needed to tell you that you’re not friend-zoned, and I’m sorry.” She finally looked into his eyes. “I’m just going….”

  A short girl Sara didn’t know, clad only in an oversized white button-up shirt, slipped out of Peter’s bedroom. Long honey-blonde hair fell nearly to her waist, swaying as she walked down the hallway and into Peter’s kitchen. The girl ignored them. She emerged a minute later with a glass of water and walked back to Peter’s room, closing the door behind her.

  Sara couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Tears welled, threatening to spill. She swallowed, stood, and edged toward the door. She had to get out of there. “You’re not alone. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...this was a mistake.”

  Peter shrugged. “It’s no big deal, Sara. Really. You need the arrowhead for your piece?”

  Sara focused on Dane to steady herself. She could see through him, see the door. Was Dane more transparent? Was he fading?

  “Sort of.”

  “Okay, any particular kind?”

  “Bigger the better. Size matters,” said Sara, smiling weakly.

  Peter didn’t even take the obvious bait to make a stupid joke. He just went back to his room, returning with a four-inch greenish-black flint arrowhead. His fingers brushed hers as he handed it over. The small touch sent a shock up her arm. Sara looked into his eyes, searching. “I don’t need it back,” he said.

  She really screwed up.

  “You saved my life, you have no idea. Thanks.” She cleared her throat and backed toward the door. “I’ll get outta your hair.”

  “Yeah, okay, see ya later.”

  “Later.”

  Her tears didn’t start till she was halfway to the car. The handkerchief she found in her jacket pocket only made her cry more.

  Dane followed Sara to the h
orseless carriage, musing. So many things in this world were strange. The fae world. Their unfamiliar music, odd words, and marvelous tools, all these captivated him. Yet he recognized troubling things as well. Peter, Sara’s friend, had been angry with Sara. Sara had been shocked to see Peter’s doxie. Doxie the girl must have been, to show herself in such a state of undress, wearing only a tunic. But perhaps such was their custom? Dane had much to learn. Yet there was no mistaking Sara’s upset. She wiped her eyes when they were safely in the car. She had been crying. She turned the key to the carriage and music played once more.

  “You are upset,” he said.

  Sara fastened a harness over herself and looked up. She nodded, her lower lip trembled. “Peter is my best friend, and he wanted to be more...”

  “But he has a doxie,” Dane said.

  Sara tilted her head, puzzled.

  “A woman of low repute. She did not speak. Her dress was most improper.”

  Sara laughed. “A bimbo? No, no, no. He is free to be with anyone. She wasn’t a bimbo. Pete hasn’t done anything wrong. I blew him off. I was supposed to go out on a date with him. Go to dinner and a movie. Courting. But I stood him up. I didn’t go when I was supposed to and…I also kissed someone else, and I told him about it. He’s really hurt. He found someone else to...to court. It’s okay. I want him to be happy.”

  Dane shook his head slowly, not understanding. “You wish to be courted by this other man? The one you kissed? So why are you crying?”

  Sara shrugged and fixed her eyes on the road. She adjusted a mirror. The carriage began to move. “It’s complicated.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to find goldenrod. I work in a garden. There will be goldenrod. We can get some to use. It’s very late, but I have a key to get in the greenhouse. The other guy, the one I kissed? Scott? He works there, too. But he is a selfish jerk. Not a good person.”

  “Peter is a good person?”

  “One of the best.”

  “So why did you want to kiss the jerk? A jerk...is like a cantor?”

  Sara laughed again. “Definitely. Jerks are people who have no honor. That’s the general idea, someone who lies, someone you cannot trust.”

  A red light flashed ahead, and the carriage slowed.

  “Peter is too good for me,” Sara said softly. “He deserves someone perfect. I want a jerk…I don’t know why.”

  “You are not a jerk,” said Dane.

  Sara’s eyes widened as she glanced at him. Her breath caught. She looked back at the road. “I’m glad you think so. But you don’t know me very well.”

  “A jerk would not try to save me,” said Dane. “You are not a jerk. I trust you.”

  Sara didn’t answer. Dane noticed her lower lip trembling again and resolved to be silent. He looked out the window and watched the city roll by as chamber music washed over him. He had upset her even more. He’d never understand women.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  TRYSTAN HELD HIS lute at the ready, his sword sheathed on his back. The swarm of darkness had retreated into the forest, but it could emerge again at any time. He set the lute at his feet carefully and drew his sword in one motion, inspecting it. Pitted where he had struck the Shadowkin, it still held true. Forge blades dissolved as they were used against such enemies, but this one promised to bring him through at least one more battle.

  He never thought he’d face the Shadowborn here. Not like this. Not as a bard. Trystan was trained in battle, swordplay. Most of his life had centered around weapons, songsteel, and the Forge. Music and history were for him a refuge, not a blade to be wielded.

  With this lute, all that had changed. He’d known it before, but in this moment a prescience fell upon him, and he glimpsed all the battles to come. This war, his own personal war against the Shadowborn and the Wyrm began here. Now.

  He named the fear and let it wash over him.

  Trystan pictured a similar black cloud streaming into the mountains of his homeland, descending on its villages and cities. His brother Marcus. Essie. Disintegrating. He pushed the image away and sheathed his sword.

  Bell held Dane’s head, cradling it in her arms. She sang wordlessly, rocking back and forth. Dane looked for all the world as if he were sleeping. They had bandaged his arms, hands, and chest crudely, with strips of fabric ripped from Bell’s underskirts. The swarm had eaten into Dane’s skin and muscle. Trystan still had no idea how it all had happened.

  One minute Dane was singing, charging forward to defend Sara. The next she was gone. Dane was covered with crawling black death, no longer singing, but screaming. Trystan had sliced through the swarm, watching as they burst into flame where his Forge blade touched them. Light had flared into that impossible darkness, consuming it. Where the Forge flames covered Dane, they also cauterized his exposed wounds, the raw flesh. He didn’t so much bleed now as ooze.

  Dane should have been dead within seconds. Perhaps his Song shielded him? Probably shielded them both. Trystan should have been flayed. Now they had to find shelter. On this ridge, they were exposed. The Shadowkin could return at any time. They had planned to leave town in small groups of two or three. When Bell, Jax, and Gint had appeared, Trystan had sent Gint back to find Tabor, Zonah, and Bren and explain the situation. But they shouldn’t stay this close to the trees.

  “We need to leave,” said Jax, echoing Trystan’s thoughts.

  “Let’s get him closer to the road,” said Trystan. “If the swarm comes back, we will at least have a few more minutes to prepare a defense.”

  He carefully put his lute back in its case. “Milady, if you will?”

  Bell rose and took up his lute case while Trystan attended to Dane. He managed to wrestle the tall man to his feet, then hoisted him onto his shoulder. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and pointed himself toward the small bridge, just down the hill. He prayed the deathly shadows would not follow.

  A large carriage rumbled over the bridge, its silhouette menacing in the moonlight. It slowed and halted. A robed and hooded figure swung down from the driver’s seat and stood next to the road, waiting. Trystan squinted. “That had better be Tabor,” he said under his breath. He headed for the caroche. The driver hurried down the slope to help Trystan. As he came closer, Trystan could see the angular features of Brother Bren. Trystan set Dane on his feet with a grunt, coming up under his shoulder to support him while Bren hooked Dane’s other arm around his neck. Together they half dragged, half carried the luthier to the carriage and wrestled him inside, where Tabor waited. Trystan caught sight of Gint, dressed as a footman. The boy winked at Trystan and disappeared behind the carriage. Trystan shook his head, climbed in, and helped Tabor settle Dane.

  The door swung again. Bell and Jax clambered inside. Bren leaned in at the door. “I’m going to take the main route to Siarad,” he said, briefly. He closed the door as Bell fussed with Dane. Soon the carriage was moving.

  “Conclave carriage?” asked Trystan, raising an eyebrow.

  “They were most generous,” said Tabor, with a broad grin. “Especially for Cantor Bren and Cantor Burtyn.” He gestured to his own rich robes and chuckled. “We’ve given them strict orders to look in the wrong direction for their convicts. Zonah had a frank discussion with the trees. Did you know the chymaera talk to trees? They do.”

  Tabor’s droll expression sobered as he studied Dane, his brow knitting in worry. “What happened?”

  “Shadowkin. They swarmed Sara. Dane rushed to save her, singing. She disappeared, but he...” Trystan gestured to the bandages. “I did what I could, but my blade is nearly gone. If we meet another swarm, we shall not stand.”

  “They won’t attack this carriage,” said Tabor absently as he inspected the bandages. “We’ll have safe passage.”

  Dane’s breathing was shallow, his face pale. A light sheen covered his brow. Trystan touched the back of his hand to Dane’s forehead. Clammy.

  “Is there anything you can do?” asked
Bell.

  “Keep him comfortable and take him to the Caprices, milady,” said Tabor. “They have craft beyond our ken. We can use the Song, but our supply of tunebells is running low. We will only have a few minutes to play.”

  “Do it,” said Bell. “Whatever we can do, we must.” She nudged Trystan’s lute toward him.

  Tabor nodded and drew forth a small flute from his surcoat. Trystan wrestled his lute from its case. Trystan closed his eyes and slowed his breath, listening to his inner man. He inhaled the Essence of tunebell. The pungent odor filled the carriage when Tabor crushed it, and suddenly, the Song roared in Trystan’s mind. His fingers responded, playing a melody Trystan did not know, but heard clearly in his heart.

  Trystan played and the music swelled, Tabor’s flute playing descant. It was the Song. A Song of peace, of joy, of light. It covered all of them like a blanket, renewing their strength and loosening the tight knot of worry that clenched Trystan’s heart. He breathed easier, leaning into the music, and closed his eyes. He saw a figure, made of light. The figure gestured as if bestowing a blessing. It faded in a sparkling cascade.

  Trystan opened his eyes. Dane’s skin had knit together. Where before there had been bone or exposed sinew, there was now a thin layer of skin, bright pink and fresh. He was breathing easier and color had returned to his face. Trystan looked at Tabor, who nodded. The Song faded, and they let the melody end as one.

  “Will he wake?” Bell whispered. Trystan smiled and nodded with more confidence than he felt.

  “I saw...something. A person made of light. I think he will wake, milady.”

  Bell’s eyes widened. She nodded and stared out the window. Trystan fervently hoped he was right. He, too, stared out the window. The darkness beyond held no answers.

  “Storm King, keep us safe. Keep Dane safe,” she whispered.

  Sara fumbled with her key and flashlight. Her hands shook. Only the side entrance to the Tank was accessible after hours. The plants all needed at least six hours of darkness. Late night work was generally discouraged. The overhead fluorescents would draw unwanted questions if she turned them on. Her breath steamed in the cold. She tucked the flashlight under her arm and managed to insert the door key, holding her breath as it turned.