Sorrowfish

by Anne C Miles

  “Sara, you must stop trampling your blooms.”

  Maybe the swarm affected Dane’s sanity? There was that whole dewin-can-go-bonkers issue. She rolled her eyes and said, “Dane. The plants at the tank are on platforms. I don’t step on them.”

  Dane laughed, a good-natured chuckle. “I’m not speaking of real plants. It’s an expression.”

  “Okay, explain.”

  “When you plant a garden, do you expect blooms the next day?”

  Sara sniffed. “No.”

  “When sprouts shoot up, do you become angry? Do you complain there is no rose?”

  Sara shook her head. She changed lanes, keeping her eyes on the road, but listened.

  “Yet you do this with your life. You love Peter, it’s plain to see. Love takes time to flower. You have made mistakes? So has he. If you forgive, you can start again. Don’t give up. Give it time and light. Talk to him. The jerk? He was a worm-faced dissonant lackwit with a harpy companion. But you saw your mistake. You want to right it. You are growing. The final fruit, the outcome, will be good. The Storm King may not answer us in the way we wish. But he is no liar. Do not step on the blooms in your life or despair if you do not have what you wish. Leave room for sprouts to grow. Leave room for the Storm King’s aid.

  “I am afraid I will not be enough. I have never been very good with the Song. I could not save my parents. But I have been growing, getting better. I cast a glamour. I grounded you. I have to trust Him, trust I will grow and try.”

  Sara didn’t respond right away. She mulled it over. “The problem is, my head and my heart don’t match. I know Peter is good for me, he’s everything I want, really. I want to love him. Part of me does love him. But the person who makes my blood sing is the dissonant lackwit. I run away from Peter and am drawn to Scott. Like a magnet. Why? I hate myself for it.”

  Dane shook his head. “To the starving, what is bitter tastes sweet. You mistake sparks for seeds. Sparks consume. Seeds stir, grow, and live.”

  Sara sighed. “Maybe. Anyhow, thanks. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad too. The proverb isn’t mine, though.”

  “No?”

  Dane shook his head. “Pezzik. my deema. It’s a gnome proverb. a good one.”

  “You miss her?”

  “More every day.”

  Sara pulled into the daycare down the street. Its parking lot was empty. As she leaned into the back seat to pick up the discarded goldenrod, she said, “The house is just up the road. I don’t want to wake my mother. She shouldn’t be home, but I’m not taking any chances. We walk from here.”

  Together they headed for the road, walking on the narrow shoulder until they reached the driveway. “Okay, the gazebo is around back. Just stay quiet.”

  Sara checked her phone. 4:32 flashed from the display. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered. Sara squared her shoulders and turned down the driveway. It wound up the hill, making a circle in front of the two-story brick home. She slipped around the side of the house to the gate, opening it silently. She held a finger to her lips and waited for Dane to pass through before stepping into the manicured backyard. The walkway was fieldstone and led to the patio, but beyond, near the back of the lot, a white gazebo stood, dripping gingerbread details. Flower beds surrounded it, bare now but for dark periwinkle and rosebush skeletons. Sara smiled when she saw the fairy lights dangling from the cupola. They lined the inside of the gazebo. Our playhouse. Her eyes misted suddenly, remembering happy childhood days with Marilla. She blinked them back.

  Focus. It was time to call down lightning and return to an alternate universe.

  The portable firepit in the center of the structure was clean. Sara rifled through the deck box and found plastic baggies full of dryer lint, like gray cotton candy. “Dad’s favorite kindling,” she said, holding it up. She knelt and made a nest in the firepit, laying the goldenrod on top.

  Dane watched, eyes twinkling. “You remind me of a bird.”

  “Ha ha, tweet, tweet,” she said with a grin. “You ready to do this?”

  Dane’s smile faded, and his eyes shadowed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”

  “You’re going to be great. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Uh…” said Dane. He shrugged. “You’re right. Stand opposite me. Once I start, just follow my lead. Can you do that?”

  Sara nodded, gulping. Her hands felt dry. Itchy. She fidgeted.

  Dane laid the knife on the edge of the firepit. He held the arrowhead up over his head with both hands and tilted his head back.

  Dane focused on the rite, the melody he heard underneath. Dread weighed heavily in the pit of his stomach. One false move, one wrong note, this could go badly. Very badly.

  He looked at Sara, her face lit by the fire. She was so brave. Doing it afraid. If she could, he could. He rejected the dread.

  The words poured forth.

  Lord of All, we ask for rescue.

  As you were stricken for us, I strike this stone.

  Lord of All, we ask for solace.

  As you were stricken for us, I strike this stone.

  Lord of All, we ask for harmony.

  As you were stricken for us, I strike this stone.

  Lord of All, we ask for your bond.

  As you were stricken for us, I strike this stone.

  Lord of All, we seek transformation.

  As you were stricken for us, I strike this stone.

  We trust in you. Hear us now.

  Dane looked at Sara. He pleaded with her in his heart, unable to stop and instruct her. Join me.

  “Hear us now,” she repeated.

  He knelt and struck the flint with the knife. Small sparks scattered to the kindling below. Thoughts rose, unbidden. Maybe I am not strong enough to do this? Only a handful have done it, and they were... Dane stopped and closed his eyes. He breathed. No. It was not his strength he trusted. He trusted the Song.

  “Knit us together. Bind us in love. Forge us in mercy. Shape us in truth. Make of us tools for your hands. Wield us for your purpose!”

  Nothing happened. Dane blinked.

  The Essences Pezzik sent. Of course. Dane pulled the small bottle from the pouch at his belt and unstoppered it. A delicious aroma wafted over the flowers. He struck the stone again. Sparks dropped onto the kindling, this time catching. Small flames licked the tinder.

  “Use us for your purpose,” Sara repeated.

  “Make us One for your glory!”

  Sara burned. Blue flames licked the flowers, sending tendrils of smoke into the dawn light. But it was Sara’s arms, hands, her face, absorbing heat. In the firepit, smoke gathered, forming shapes. Butterflies? A bird warbled. The sky lightened, chasing long shadows.

  Through the rails of the gazebo, Sara saw her father’s tall form open the back door. He stood on the deck, watching. Sara gasped.

  Dane stuck the flint another blow. A bright light, the brightest she had ever known seared her. Roaring. Bells chiming. Dane. Ozone. Her fingers curled around Dane’s arm automatically.

  She tumbled with him, in space, surrounded by stars.

  The stars were singing, a song without words. Sara’s heart leapt in her throat. She choked.

  The stars went black.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  DANE TUMBLED WITH Sara, floating in the impossible deep, before coming to rest on a wide platform. It hung, unmoving, overlooking the galaxy. Sara crumpled to the floor of the platform, lifeless. Dane checked her, choking down panic. She wasn’t breathing. Did he miss something, fail somehow? Would she live?

  The platform shifted. One moment they were in a fairly open region, and the next, they were hanging in front of a star. It filled Dane’s vision, huge and too bright. He threw up his arm to protect his eyes, wondering why felt no heat. They shifted again before a cry could escape his lips. This time, they stopped in front of a moon. The platform began to descend gently.

  The platform came to rest on the surface of the moon. U
nlike the earth’s moon, which Dane had glimpsed the night before, this moon sparkled. No, it dazzled. Huge crystals jutted into the air, rising from a sparkling blanket. They covered the landscape like a sea of diamonds. This was his moon. The Storm King’s eye.

  The platform moved, skimming over the surface. It maneuvered around a set of large crystals and dropped into a fissure, diving deep. The descent continued, deep into the core of the moon. Dane held Sara and huddled, crouching. He covered his face with one hand, willing himself not to throw up. “Storm King, help me,” he whispered, desperate. Lightning had struck Sara. Perhaps she was not strong enough. She was so afraid and so brave. He should never have tried this.

  Dane risked opening his eyes as the platform slowed and shuddered to a stop. Starlight penetrated into the fissure high above them, revealing sheer cliff walls. A cavern stretched before them, illuminated by a soft glow. Strange moss covered the stones and walls. It emitted a greenish glow. A stream burbled on one side of the cave.

  In the center of the stream, on a small island, a tall being made of lightning waited.

  Come.

  Dane gently laid Sara on the platform. Her face was pale in the unearthly glow. He stood and slowly faced the Storm King. His heart thumped in his chest. His voice was small in his own ears. “She breathes not, Master. Is she dead?”

  The Storm King’s expression softened with compassion. “What is the true question of your heart, Dane?”

  Dane gulped. He knows me. The question came out in a rush.

  “Did I kill her?”

  “Can you decide who lives and dies, Danethor Thomas Whitley? Have you the power of unmaking? Or even the power of death? You have not failed Me. When you fall, I am not so small I cannot lift you or even carry you. She lives. You, too, shall live. Let go of your fear.”

  You have not failed Me. The words shimmered, hanging in the air, borne by their own light. He wasn’t just speaking of Sara. In that instant the weight lifted. Tears pricked his eyes and streamed down his face.

  The Storm King approached the platform and held his hand over Sara, making a fist. Light emanated from him, flowing over her still form. A few drops of glowing liquid fell from his hand and slid down her temple. It left behind a trail of red, staining her cheek before it faded, like water seeping into sand. His blood.

  The Storm King pointed at Sara. “Rise, beloved.”

  Sara’s eyes opened. She gasped and sat upright.

  Sara blinked and looked around in wonder. “I’m alive. It worked!”

  They were in the bottom of a tall, round tower on a marble floor, alone. The edges of a silvered octagon inlay and delicate patterns of silver and copper reflected sunlight, drifting down from above. A spiral staircase wound up the sides of the round chamber, enclosed by a wall with a carved handrail. Stone arches topped the railing. No roof enclosed the structure. Just a disc of blue sky hung above them.

  A floating figure drifted into the chamber.

  Dane’s breath caught. “It’s a Caprice,” he said. “We are in Siarad.”

  Sara noticed Dane’s bandages were gone, his skin looked fresh, uncut, unscarred, unbruised.

  It had worked. Dane was healed. Holy cow. Was it over?

  Evidently not.

  The hood of the Caprice’s robe fell back, and Sara could see the form had no head. It was as if an invisible man were wearing robes. The Caprice herded them toward the staircase. Before they could obey, the chamber darkened. A cloud of darkness, a swarm, blotted out the sky, dropping toward them. The Caprice lifted his hand in a warding gesture. The shadow parted like water, flowing to the sides of the octagon. It roiled and pooled again, coalescing into a tall black pillar. The pillar writhed and gathered into the form of a huge black dragon. The dragon opened its mouth and spoke with a human voice, using words Sara did not understand.

  The dragon’s voice was as gentle as a lamb being led to slaughter. It was as patient as the grave. The dragon began advancing on them, Canting. Its eyes glowed red with an eerie whirling light.

  “Get behind me,” said Dane.

  Sara watched the dragon. It was covered in gleaming black scales. Its sharp claws scraped the marble floor with an excruciating screech. She took a step back, not quite behind Dane, considering her options. This was no dream. She could not wake up safe in her bed.

  But other things were also true. She was a stonerider. Dane stood next to her. I am not alone.

  The dragon inhaled sharply, and a stream of fire blasted the Caprice. His robes flamed instantly, flaring, and fell to the floor in ashes. Dane paled, but held his ground. There was nowhere to run. Sara saw him close his eyes for the space of three breaths. He was listening. Dane opened his eyes and squared his shoulders, facing the dragon. His face set in a grim mask as he began a song of his own. A bright tune, it silvered the air and drowned the dragon’s Cant.

  Three swords appeared. They whirled, wielded by invisible hands. They danced, thrusting and slicing from different directions. The swords moved quickly, flashing. The dragon drew himself up and began Canting again. His song felt dark, a wailing minor. It sent a shiver up Sara’s spine.

  The swords shattered.

  But the dragon was bleeding. Black ooze shimmered on its underbelly.

  “Dane, don’t back off. You’ve got this. You can do it,” shouted Sara. She looked at the walls of the tower, at the stone. She knelt and examined the marble, and the dragon, focusing on the floor where the dragon stood, just outside the octagon. She pictured the stone becoming soft mud and softly sang a tune now playing in her mind. It was some crazy mix-tape track Jane had made her listen to months ago. It had to be the Song. She’d only heard this once, and she knew the words?

  Somehow it didn’t matter. She changed the words to make them apply to the dragon.

  “Sink into the underground,” she sang.

  The dragon began to sink. Marble covered its feet quickly. He roared, thrashed, and dissolved once more into a cloud of darkness, reforming on the other side of the chamber.

  Why didn’t he attack them as a swarm?

  As soon as the question occurred to her, she knew. As if a voice had answered, she knew. The octagon. The swarm couldn’t pass the silvered pattern. The dragon could, but the swarm could not. If she could trap it inside the octagon, he would not be able to dissolve and reform.

  “Stay inside the Sign!” yelled Sara. She took a deep breath and ran toward the dragon. It stepped forward to meet her, to blast her into oblivion with fire.

  It stepped into the octagon.

  She sang again, picturing the marble below the dragon’s feet covered and bound. “Sink into the underground.”

  Once again the dragon’s feet sank. This time, it sank inside the Sign. Sara saw the dragon’s eyes widen as it kept sinking. In a panic, it spouted flame, scorching the stone walls before turning on her.

  But Dane was there, singing. His voice lifted above the roaring flame, a tuneless song of peace and hope and life and joy. Sara nearly wept to hear it. The music enveloped them both and gave her peace. It was the Song. The true Song.

  The dragon’s flame dissipated harmlessly as if it had struck a wall.

  Dane advanced, still singing.

  The dragon sang a counter-melody, full of screeches and popping. Dane kept singing. As he drew closer to the dragon, it burst into flame. The dragon howled. Held as it was by the Sign, it could do nothing to save itself. It flapped enormous wings, sending gusts throughout the chamber. Dane knelt, buffeted, but kept singing. Sara watched, uncertain. The dragon inhaled again ready to scorch Dane.

  NO!

  Sara’s heart nearly stopped. She was shaking, angry and impotent.

  A melody began to play in Sara’s heart. Sara opened her mouth and joined Dane, singing the tune in her mind. She didn’t comprehend the words, but she sang them with all her strength. Her voice complemented Dane’s baritone, soaring above it. Their song wove together in perfect harmony.

  Flames shot up from the dragon
’s hide and swept through his form in a rush, consuming him.

  When only ashes hung in the air, Dane stopped. He turned around, a huge smile on his face. “That was amazing. Unbelievable. We did it.”

  “You were awesome,” said Sara. “Really, I think you saved my life.”

  From the stairwell, another Caprice emerged, hovering toward them. It gestured urgently, motioning toward the stairs.

  “Let’s do this,” said Dane.

  Sara followed him, her heart still racing from the excitement of the battle. As Dane climbed the steps and disappeared around the spiral, the Caprice floated in front of Sara, blocking her path forward. One empty sleeve of its robe raised in front of her. Its silent message was clear.

  Sara’s mouth twisted, and she pushed at the sleeve to move it out of her way. If this was the end of their bonding rite, she should be with Dane.

  The Caprice shook its headless head.

  “So I stay here?”

  The Caprice shook its head again. It drew back, allowing her to climb the steps. She couldn’t see Dane.

  Sara took the stairs two at a time. In the distance, a bell chimed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  THE MOMENT DANE stepped on the stairs, he could hear a joyous melody surging in his heart. He stopped on the step to listen to it. The Song dwindled. It surged again as he took another step upward.

  “I guess they want me to get up these stairs,” he muttered. He glanced back, to see if Sara had followed. The Caprice was blocking her path forward. The music grew louder, more strident.

  He had to go on alone.

  He continued and came upon a landing. The carved figure of a huge man sat on a golden throne, swathed in carved ermine, a circlet upon his brow. All unnecessary, His expression alone shone with nobility. His left side was made from white marble, the other side, obsidian. A book lay open on a small table at his right hand.

  Dane picked it up and began to read aloud.

  “It was given to the Elders, the cyntae, first of the Creator’s children, to join him in His work. Eight sang. The greatest was Domini the Wise.”