Sorrowfish

by Anne C Miles

  “Sorry, I never come here this late,” she said. Dane shimmered next to her, his face painted with concern.

  “It will be fine. We should have the place to ourselves. But I need to keep the lights off. Let’s go.”

  Dane nodded and motioned for her to proceed.

  Sara hefted the heavy door open and slipped inside, holding it for Dane. Earthy scents reached out and covered her like a blanket as soon as they entered, mixing with the perfume of the blooms. The vast greenhouse yawned, pitch black but for diffused starlight that trickled through the panels above. Light-blocking shades covered the walls. A utility light on the far side of the chamber cast a feeble glow above the flowers. Sara flipped on her flashlight. She pulled out her phone, checking the time. Three a.m. The early crew would come in at six. Hopefully none of them would notice a few missing goldenrod.

  Quickly, she skirted the edge of the chamber, getting her bearings. This pod held flowers, but the goldenrod were in an isolation compartment in one of the adjacent greenhouses. She gestured to the connecting door with her flashlight, outlining it with the beam. “This way.”

  “Lead on,” said Dane.

  Sara stopped, staring at him. “I heard you! You almost look solid.”

  He grinned at her, childlike with delight. “The flowers,” he said. “They have Virtue.”

  “Heck yeah, they do. Well, this makes things easier.”

  “There are many golden flowers here?”

  Sara nodded. “Tons, trust me. It’s okay.”

  Dane looked at her, mystified.

  Sara chuckled. “That means everything will be well. Okay means good.”

  “Okay,” said Dane, with a solemn expression.

  Sara laughed again. She punched his arm. “You know what? You’re all right. Okay. Let’s go, wizboy, before I decide to keep you.”

  They made their way through the next building and were halfway through the third pod when the next connecting door burst open, and Chantal Goddard spilled into the pod, laughing. Scott Black followed, mock-chasing her. Sara stopped, frozen in place. She hated herself for reacting, even as the sight of him made her pulse race.

  Maybe if she just stood still enough, they wouldn’t notice her.

  She crossed her arms, scowling. Chantal looked up and spotted Sara. Her smile morphed into a look of pure malicious satisfaction. A smirk. She’d looove to wipe it off her face.

  Chantal turned suddenly and fell into Scott’s arms, pulling him close. “I thought you said we’d be alone, baby,” she cooed. Her words slurred enough for Sara to get the picture. She was drunk. Scott looked from Chantal to Sara, to Dane, who was dressed like someone from a Renaissance Faire. His homespun linen shirt, breeches, and leather boots were definitely not frat boy garb. Huzzah.

  Scott’s smile faded, and his eyes darkened. He drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders, setting Chantal aside as if discarding her. He took a few steps toward them, glowering and ignoring Chantal’s protests.

  Sara almost felt sorry for Chantal. Humiliation flashed across the girl’s face before it settled into an icy mask.

  “That’s the jerk,” hissed Sara, drawing closer to Dane as if to protect him. “He can see you. I’ll handle this.”

  “You’re here late, ace,” said Scott. He kept his eyes on Dane, measuring him. Sara forced a cool smile. She was suddenly acutely aware of Dane’s scars and shaved head. But he looked much better. The bruises might have even faded.

  “My, but you have an impressive, foolish air,” Sara said, in a Southern drawl that dripped like molasses. She loved her movie quotes. “Actually, I’m up really early. Hans here doesn’t speak English well. Exchange student. I was giving him a Tank tour.”

  She was babbling again.

  Scott’s eyes narrowed. Chantal drew up next to him and slid an arm around his waist. “At three a.m.?”

  “Well it was this...or bring him in during work hours. This is more fun.” Sara smiled and went on the offensive. “What’s your excuse?”

  As if it wasn’t obvious, pathetic sickening man whore. “None of yooour business,” slurred Chantal. “Let’s gooo, Scott. Let the pathetic losers play with flowers. We got the we...” Scott cut Chantal off, turning her toward him roughly with a sharp look.

  He probably got all the girls drinking before he...wait. Not drinking. We...weed? Had he hidden marijuana here, with the hemp? No one would be that much of an idiot. Sara almost felt sorry for Chantal.

  Dane ignored them. He bowed gallantly, offering his arm to Sara like a blessing. “Milady, I am most anxious to view the golden blooms you spoke of.”

  Sara smiled up into Dane’s eyes and curled her arm under his. It was not really solid, but she could feel something there. Enough to fool Scott and Chantal. At that moment, she was just fervently grateful, however it had happened, the tall wizard was with her. And he didn’t want more than friendship. She could trust him. Somehow, he made her feel more solid. Sara grinned at the irony. This must be what it was like to have a big brother.

  Together, they left the greenhouse. The sounds of Chantal’s shrill fury with Scott faded as they passed through the door.

  Sara’s flashlight beam bounced merrily through aisles of plantings. The goldenrod compartment was at one end of the cavernous space. She yanked open the glass door. Behind her, Dane made a strangled sound. The edges of his form shimmered.

  “I feel...I feel strange,” he said.

  “Let’s get what we came for and get out of here,” said Sara. She pressed her lips together, worried. Hopefully they weren’t too late. She went to the first row of goldenrod and carefully plucked three blooms and waved them under Dane’s nose.

  One moment they were hurtling through the darkness, the carriage rumbling under their feet. Bell sang softly under her breath, a wordless tune, stroking Dane’s forehead. The next moment, Dane was gone. Bell gasped and sat up.

  “Trystan!”

  She yanked at Trystan’s sleeve, pointing at the empty seat.

  Trystan jumped, startled awake.

  “Dane vanished. He was here...I...I...” Bell’s eyes filled with tears. “What happened?”

  Trystan shook his head and leaned over, shaking Tabor’s knee. The baron slept, head back, snoring lustily. “Tabor. Wake up.”

  “Hmm?” Tabor’s eyes opened, and he sat up, instantly alert. He took in Bell and the seat where Dane should have been. “Where is Dane?”

  “He just disappeared,” said Bell.

  Tabor’s eyes narrowed. “The man is dewin. He was attacked by Shadowkin, but…he was also trying to save one of the fae. Sara. She vanished. He became unconscious. Those are the facts in hand. Now he has vanished?” He tapped his nose. “What does that tell you? Think.”

  Jax cleared his throat. The little gnome perched next to Tabor. He gingerly climbed down to sit beside Bell, holding her hand in his. “He’s not dead, love.”

  “How can you be sure?” Bell asked. Her breath caught. “Where is he?”

  Jax shook his fist. “If Dane were dead, his body would be here, not vanished. No, this is fae business, mark my words. Sara must have done something. She’s trying to help. Trystan saw a figure made of light. Hold on to that.”

  Bell nodded. She pulled her cloak and hood tight about her, burrowing into them like a child hiding under the covers.

  The carriage rumbled on.

  Golden light slipped from the flowers. It enveloped Dane, emanating from the blooms and encompassing his form. He shimmered as he had when she had first seen him in her bedroom. As the light surrounded him, he solidified. This time, he was truly solid. No wavy gaseous edges. No transparency at all. Bandages wrapped him, rough strips of linen that looked relatively clean. Sara reached out and touched his shoulder. Her fingers met the cloth of his tunic, rough homespun.

  “I’ve been grounded here,” Dane said.

  He thrust his arms out, examining the bandages with a grimace.

  “Are you well enough to go on?�
�� Sara asked. Now that he was fully here, she could see the extent of his injuries. His arms and hands had taken most of the damage. She glimpsed raw pink flesh as he partially unwrapped one. The places that received healing. She was sure of it. It must have been much, much worse.

  Dane smiled. “Trystan must have healed me. I will still need to have care, but it is enough, for now.”

  “Okay, because the next stop is the last one.”

  “The House of the Sign,” said Dane. “You said there is one in a park?”

  “Gazebo, yep. The park gazebo is too public, though. It’s close to a busy street. I’d rather not risk being stopped by the authorities. So we’ll have to find one that is more private.” She paused, trying to think of a third option. Any other option. Finally, she exhaled noisily in resignation. Best just do this. Get it over with.

  “You, sir, are in for a real treat. We’re going to my parent’s house. With any luck, we shall avoid my mother,” said Sara.

  Siles cursed, facing the pool. The scenes playing on the surface of these waters told a dangerous tale. The luthier and the bard, together. The Song destroying his servants. Worst of all, the fae and the sacrifice Danethor had made to save her. The few Shadowkin left to him would not be enough.

  This was the beginning of a Harmony Bond, something no cantor could ever hope to achieve. He knew where it would end. With a new majister, and it wasn’t him. He must stop this, or all his work would be set back centuries. The curse would be broken. The Majisterium would return. He couldn’t enter the city until the lightning struck. But when it did…

  Siles stalked inside and rang a bell. An acolyte appeared in the doorway. “Bring me children. Ten should do.”

  Siles found a tunebell, cut his finger and allowed his blood to drip onto it. He lifted the blossom, sang a line, and watched as it burst into flame. He Canted softly, insistently, letting his words rise into the darkness. Acolytes led ten small children into the courtyard. Each was chained, silent. Siles waved the acolytes away.

  He passed up and down the row of children, waving his tunebell over them. They did not respond. Each stared sightlessly, their stupor complete. Street urchins, some village waifs, taken during purification rites, these were fed, clothed, and cared for. But their minds had been overwhelmed long ago, all reason and will destroyed.

  Cattle. They did not even cry out as they died, one by one. As their innocent little souls poured from them, Siles kissed them on the mouth, inhaling their last breaths. They fueled his black song. The spell drifted over their blood, making it bubble on the tiles. Siles waved the tunebell and danced, feeding on their anguish.

  The blood transformed, becoming shadows. The shadows rose from the ground and pooled. The small bodies lay discarded as the shadows multiplied. Siles sang, his face streaked with blood. As the last child fell, he cut another finger and allowed his blood to fall on another blossom. He set it aflame, speaking the last black word. “Feed.”

  He gestured to the corpses. Some still breathed. They screamed as the newly formed Shadowkin descended.

  Hours later, a clattering of jackdaws filled the sky. They flew swiftly toward Siarad.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  DANE SWAYED, BUT steadied himself. “Your mother…she...”

  “She’s nine kinds of meddlesome, and...she’s a doctor. A healer. If I show up in her back yard with a man who needs to be in the hospital in the wee hours of the morning to perform an arcane ritual? Let’s just say both of us will be in trouble. A lot of trouble. But she should still be with my sister, both of them out of town. I just don’t know when she’ll be back.”

  They retraced their steps, walking slowly. “A healer might be welcome,” Dane said.

  Sara looked him up and down, assessing. Her brow furrowed. “Lean on me,” she said. “We’ll get you home.”

  Dane accepted her offer, draping one arm about her shoulders. “Sorry.”

  Sara shook her head. “Not a problem. You’ll be back where you belong soon.”

  “You’ll go with me,” said Dane. “The rite begins here, but ends there. You must be prepared.”

  Sara grunted as his full weight settled on her for a moment. Dane recovered, but Sara chewed her lip, worrying. How would she return home? She said nothing. One problem at a time. If she could get there, she could get back.

  They made their way through the other greenhouses, not seeing further sign of Scott and Chantal. As they lumbered together to her car, Sara was acutely aware of Dane’s shallow breathing. Sara glanced at him. His genial face held a placid expression, but Sara noticed a tightness around his eyes. He needed a doctor. She was of half a mind to take him to the emergency room.

  “We can go to a hospital,” Sara said. She opened the passenger door. “You could get your wounds looked at.”

  Dane frowned and shook his head. “The rite will send us to the Caprices. They will help me. We should continue. All will be well.”

  Sara pressed her lips together, silently disagreeing as she walked around the car. She knew better than to argue. Dane wasn’t going to cooperate with any delay. Honestly, she couldn’t blame him. Being in a strange world was unnerving, even if you just thought you were dreaming. He knows he isn’t.

  She dropped the goldenrod in the backseat, slid behind the wheel, and changed the subject. “When we get to my hou…my parents’ house, we’ll go around back. The gazebo...the House of the Sign...is in the backyard. We’ve got the arrowhead, but we’ll need a striker. A piece of steel. I’ve got a pocketknife in the glove box. It should work. So what’s the rest? We burn the goldenrod, then what?”

  Dane paused for a long moment. “Sara, I must petition the Storm King himself. He alone can form our bond.”

  “Cool. I think meeting him will be awesome,” Sara said.

  “No, you don’t understand. We’ll only see lightning if he answers.”

  Sara tilted her head. She could feel her eyes narrowing. “Lightning?”

  “Yes, if the Storm King hears our petition, lightning will answer us. It will transport us to Siarad.”

  “We’ll be struck by lightning?” Sara’s voice rose. “You sorta forgot to mention that part!”

  “I am explaining now,” said Dane. “You do not have to go on. We can try this...hospital. But without the Song, I will not last.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am dewin. I need the Song to live like a fish needs water. The longer I am here, away from the Song, the more weak I will become.”

  “But the flowers strengthen you?”

  “They do.”

  “Hm.” Sara couldn’t very well drag him into the Tank and just leave him there. He couldn’t stay on earth. There was no getting around it. But lightning? It was going to hit her? Them. Would she die here? Go to Dane’s world for good? It wasn’t exactly heaven. She slowed the car and pulled into a parking lot, letting the engine idle. The radio filled the silence with soft piano music.

  “I need a minute,” she said. Sara looked out the window. A light rain began, tapping on the car roof. Sara focused on her breathing, looking out at the empty streets.

  Sara imagined lightning. She’d been shocked before. It might not be that bad. Over quickly.

  She breathed.

  She looked at Dane, his arms and hands covered in bandages.

  My fault. My fault. If he hadn’t rushed in to save me from that swarm, would I have woken? Here? Would I have faded or just been consumed? Did it matter?

  She thought about Marilla. Peter. Her work. She could just go home. Take Dane to a hospital and go home. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t be a coward. The chymaera, Zonah. What was it she’d said? ‘We may act a coward or live only for pleasure.’ Nope. Not this time. She didn’t understand why all of this was happening, but she was in it. She was going to see it through.

  Sara opened her eyes and gave Dane a level look. “Okay, I’m scared to death. I don’t want to be hit by lightning. It’s really big on my list of bad ideas. But you
risked your life for me. I know it. I’m gonna do this, and I’m gonna do it afraid. All I ask is that if I die, you gotta find a way to tell Peter the truth of what happened. I need to know he’ll know.”

  Dane nodded, his eyes shining. “I will find a way. But you will not die, Sara. You will live. You will find your way back to Peter.”

  “You can’t be sure. But all of this defies science, so why not?” Her lips quirked in a grin, despite herself. She leaned over and opened the glove box, pulling out a pocketknife. She handed it to Dane. “You’ve got the arrowhead, right? The thunderstone.”

  Dane held it up for her to see.

  “Okay, so open the knife and use it as a striker. You know how?”

  He peered at the knife then unfolded it, laying the edge against the arrowhead. “Simple enough. We do make fire at home. We also cook and bathe.” Dane’s tone was dry, though his face remained impassive.

  Sara laughed. “Okay, wizboy. I just wanted to make sure. And what do we do if we perform this rite and nothing happens? You’ll go to a hospital? Get some help?”

  Dane said, “The Storm King will answer us.”

  “I don’t mean to be a skeptic. Dane, but magic isn’t exactly a thing here. I’m just covering my bases.”

  He looked at her blankly, waiting for her to explain.

  He had no idea what bases were. “I’m trying to plan for failure.”

  Dane’s eyes narrowed. “There is no planning for failure. The only way to fail is to quit. We will not.” He leaned back in his seat, eyes ahead, as if that settled the matter. Sara turned the key in the ignition and pulled back out into traffic. She muttered under her breath.

  “I guess we won’t fail then.”

  Dane laid a hand on her arm. Sara glanced over, her eyebrows raised. Dane’s expression was somber.