by Jason Letts
“Let’s just get out of here, OK? It won’t be too long until he realizes something has happened.”
Widget took the flashlight and led the way. In the darkness behind him, Mira felt a numbness come over her as her adrenaline faded and the stillness of the night took over.
“I’ve got to say I’m impressed with you, Ms. Ipswich. You’re really coming along, and things are looking better for you every day. Still, I almost had a cardiovascular episode when that light flicked on downstairs. Thought you’d blown it for sure. But somehow you made it through, and it was darn scrappy of you if I do say so myself.”
As she walked, Mira recalled how nice it had been to walk on the soft floor and sit down on the plush couch. Taking another step, she stubbed her toe on a rock, reawakening all of that pain. It made her wonder if she would ever know the comfort of home again.
“Did you know you can hear life? Not the sound of a beating heart, I mean the very essence sitting behind the controls. A link with the web of the universe joins all life together, and each one of us sends out a tiny signal to that place we came from. I can hear it. I can hear you growing. I can hear the miniscule explosions and reactions in your cells taking place a trillion times every second. Every singular function of your body makes a sound, and together they swoon like a symphony to assemble you into a mobile, devouring, self-conscious juggernaut.
“And with so many little parts holding up the medium parts propping up the big parts, it’s easy to see how painfully fragile the human orchestra is. What exactly is keeping everything working? How come nothing decides it needs to take a break? If anything goes even slightly out of tune, the consequences for the whole are catastrophic. This corporeal jamboree is both devastating in its efficiency and embarrassing in its frailty.
“That’s where you come in. The way you can hang on that thin line and bend it so drastically without snapping it is both wondrous and awe-inspiring. Those notes in your voice sew a thread of such delicate precision that the entire fabric transforms to your making without any awareness of what’s happened. It’s beautiful. It’s a single drop of dye that turns the river red. It’s the color of the filter between our minds and the world outside. It makes me wonder who is really in control, our emotions or ourselves.”
“Yes, Corey,” Roselyn agreed.
The young woman sat on the dirt floor in Corey’s underground lair. Her beautiful blonde curls had developed knots. Dirt wedged underneath her fingernails. Her eyes were closed, but she would have seen no better had they been open. She studied as a shadow in a vacuum of light because her mentor had power over sound. Corey’s voice surrounded her, and she could feel it trying to get in through her gritty skin. It fluctuated and changed in every conceivable way, as if the whole of humanity had assembled to bestow their wisdom upon her. The only common quality between the voices was the pressure that forced them deep into her mind.
He stood somewhere in a chamber of unknown length or width. A rag concealed his eyes and a scratchy cloak covered his body. Although Roselyn felt their space isolated her from the outside world entirely, she knew Corey still monitored the day’s business in the outpost above. His responsibilities as village elder did not cease even when he engaged in the instruction of his shadow.
“Roselyn, you must have noticed that whether you bring people to mindless fury or uncontrollable laughter your song never changes. Those same notes work as a vehicle to evoke whatever emotion you have in mind. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Corey,” Roselyn affirmed.
“Can you sing for me and cycle through the wheel of emotions like we’ve practiced?”
Taking his question as an order, she opened her mouth and began to sing. The pretty pattern of sounds carried through the air in all directions seeking anyone who might be in range to hear them. If emotions were colors, a rainbow sprang from her lips. Just as they’d practiced, she knew what would happen when Corey’s mind received the simple and sweet lullaby. His heart rate sped up and then slowed as a flicker of anger gave way to a dose of sorrow. A nervous tension restricted his breathing before a drowsy sensation freed it. Love and happiness wrapped him up and put his mind at ease.
“Where did you learn this lullaby?” Corey asked once she had finished her song.
“My mother sang it while she dried dishes and did the wash when I was young. My father and I lost her to an accident just after she brought me to my first day at the Academy when I was five. This song is my way of remembering her. Whatever it brings to anyone else, it always brings the same mix of melancholy, love, and wistfulness to me.”
“I remember that day,” Corey said. “Anyone who was there would have met the same fate she did. How easily carelessness translates into the loss of life. It was a black day for everyone in the village who knew her.”
“She always had such poise and grace. It’s something I try to emulate.”
“I think she would be very proud of you. The person you’ve grown up to be and the strength you possess has brought you a lot of attention. Everyone in our tiny outpost village has reason to believe you can help Mira Ipswich bring some calm to these turbulent times,” Corey said.
“Thank you.”
“Now, I’m not bringing our attention to the mechanics of this song just to stir bad memories. I think we’ve yet to bring it to the limits of what it can bear. If the song never changes, only the effect you determine in your mind, you ought to be able to splice it to draw forth different emotions at the same time. After all, the same sound can be sweet to one and sour to another.”
In the dark, Roselyn tried to wrap her head around the possibility. She put one hand to her throat and the other to her head, attempting to figure out the connection.
“I’ve gathered some special volunteers to help with this test,” Corey said before conveying an order to his assistant. “Natalie, send them in.”
They heard someone removing the stairway’s cover in Corey’s nearby personal room, and shortly footsteps descended down the metal ladder. Roselyn heard their hesitancy as the approaching pair negotiated the unfamiliar surroundings and the darkness. Hands fondled the walls on their way closer to Roselyn, who stood to prepare herself for the challenge they carried. The volunteers stood side by side a short distance in front of Roselyn, and Corey reiterated his instructions.
“When you find your way into their heads, you must pull them in opposite directions. Do not stop until you accomplish this. I believe your power can wax this way, and so must you.”
The enthusiasm of the volunteers startled her as she opened her mouth, and her heart stopped as she recognized their voices.
“Good luck, Roselyn,” Mary said.
“Good luck, Roselyn,” Chucky echoed.
“What? No! Why did you come here? Don’t you know how awful this will be for you? And I have no idea how this will even work out!” Roselyn stammered. She felt torn between a deep concern for what she would inflict on them and a sentimental joy at being with her friends again after so long, even if they were just voices in the dark.
“We wanted to help you,” Chucky said. “This isn’t anything for a friend.”
“I can tell this is something you can do, and all it’ll take is for you to believe,” said Mary, whose power allowed her to sense Roselyn’s gift when she relaxed her mind and listened to her heart. Roselyn remembered she once described it as watching a sunset. Its beauty would put a smile on Mary’s face from just a quick glance, but a prolonged stare would bring her to tears for all its grand majesty. Thinking of all the conflicting emotions she could produce, it seemed it should be possible for her to tease out two of them.
“They understand the position they are in. Do not delay any longer. Begin!”
“Yes, Corey,” Roselyn said.
The song flowed so naturally and easily from her lungs. The simple notes she had learned from her mother floated from her mouth and throat, needing no guidance to hit them. In her mind, she struggled to juggle fire and ice without losin
g one to the other. Absorbing herself in the sound of her voice, she searched for a feeling trapped inside, but only despair came through.
Gradually another sound slowly crept into the air amidst Roselyn’s melody. Taking in a few sharp breaths, Chucky and Mary succumbed to the troubling darkness dragging their mood into a pit of sadness. When they sniffled, tears welled up in their eyes and slipped down their cheeks. It wasn’t long before they wept openly like babies.
Pressure mounted within Roselyn as she heard them cry. It hurt her as she hurt them, and she grew anxious and agitated. Her voice faltered once and then twice. She became angry at herself. Ceasing her song to remedy her dry mouth, frustrated words replaced it.
“This isn’t going anywhere. I can’t do it! They’re suffering for nothing!”
“Do not stop. The only thing preventing you from doing this is your mind. Take control of your power and pull them apart!” Corey demanded.
Roselyn exhaled a stilted, tense breath. She tried to run her hand through her hair but it got caught on a snag. She began to sing again, trying to remain optimistic. When her friends began to cry, she remedied it with her mind. Soon they both found themselves giggling, chuckling, and then laughing outright at nothing at all.
Though their mood had changed, the pressure Roselyn felt in her head did not disappear. She still had no idea how to accomplish this trick, making the two of them feel something different through her song. Her outburst at Corey made her think of her mother, and how she would not have been so short-tempered.
As she sang, she prayed for help, something she did whenever she watched the wind sweeping through the trees or the clouds passing over the moon in the night’s sky. She remembered all those times she had called on her mother, and she kept those memories at the forefront of her mind. Soon her friends were crying again.
“But that’s not your mother you’re remembering. Can you see her?”
Corey’s words echoed in her head, drawing her to memories of her childhood and the moments they shared. Roselyn remembered trying on a hand-sewn dress her mother had made. She pictured her leading her out into the rain and smiling as she wiped the water from her face. Her mother existed in these fragments of thought, and they always brought her joy. Chucky and Mary echoed the laughter of the puddle-jumping scene in her mind.
“Isn’t there truth in both of these visions? Can’t you hold them together?” Corey whispered.
Roselyn struggled with the contradictions that ground together in her head. To have and to have lost, to hope to relive memories that will never be again, to remember a life and a death without letting one bleed into the other, she wrestled with them as the lullaby veered between hopeful and tragic. A distinct discomfort came with balancing the memories of her mother and the memories of remembering her.
She poured the paradox into her voice and let her vocal chords expose it to the open air. Her eyes had become red and the muscles furrowing her brow and cheeks were tired. It required an increasingly concentrated effort to hold her voice steady when everything else inside of her seemed so stressed. She felt something wet dribble onto her lip as she mouthed the harrowing notes.
While Chucky and Mary had been sobbing, unable to see the plight of the one who caused their tears, Chucky’s crying became more and more convulsive. He choked on short breaths as the emotion broke up his wailing. Tears streamed down Mary’s face, but Chucky snorted and burst into a snicker. His laughter simmered like a delightful tickle against Mary’s bawling. The pair turned to each other, noticing from beneath their displays of emotion that it was really working.
They both turned back quickly hearing a loud thud. Roselyn’s song stopped dead. Her knees had wobbled to the side and the rest of her had come crashing to the floor. In a flash, Chucky, Mary, and Corey all rushed to her.
“Roselyn, are you OK? Say something!”
“Natalie, get down here! We have an emergency.”
Mary and Chucky felt their way to her head, which lay limp on its side against the ground. By chance, Chucky’s finger grazed her lip and the warm fluid on it.
“It’s blood,” he observed, bringing his finger to his nose. “We’ve got to get her out of here.”
He lifted her body onto his shoulder, and Corey led him back to his chamber. Natalie had already opened the passageway above, and she pulled Roselyn up through to the next floor after Chucky rushed her over. In another moment, Natalie had run off for the healer while Chucky and Mary stood over Roselyn’s lifeless body.
Down in the cavern, the falling river water had turned into nothing more than an intangibly fine mist, Vern made his way back to the hanging walkways and tunnels of Darmen Underside one step at a time. He trudged upward, walking as if his feet were sinking into the mud with every step, keeping his arms fixed at his sides to hold him to the vertical rock wall.
At the command of his mentor, he had spent hours in complete darkness searching for the cavern’s bottom. Though he couldn’t have known how deeply he had traveled into the middle of the Earth, he could measure the distance by a growing fear of what else might be down there. It eventually got the best of him and convinced him to walk away while he still could. But in the silent depths, paranoia over what hid in the dark was just the beginning of the troubles in Vern’s mind.
He spent most of his journey mulling over something Westley had said. It gnawed at him and stoked his ire. He replayed the scene in his head endlessly, inserting a new retort each time, wishing he could have put the man in his place if he’d only thought of it. Westley had reclined in a cushioned chair resting his hand on his chin, and he observed, almost casually, “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you’ll be able to when you suddenly need it. It takes patience to practice your skills over and over until the heat of the moment doesn’t melt them away. You need to acquire that patience.”
Vern, who had been sweeping the floor, turned to Westley, dropped the broom, and said, “I’ve seen more tense moments than you ever will, and my power has never come up short.”
Or he would have said that, if it had occurred to him, he thought. He didn’t know if the first part was true, but he figured he could say it with enough conviction to make Westley think it might be. In reality, he had just mumbled something inconsequential to himself and continued sweeping. The comment dug at him, and he glared at his mentor with resentment later when he told him to walk down into the cavern as far as he could. It wasn’t that he was afraid of hard work, but repeating things over and over only wasted time.
Still walking upward, Vern turned his head so the falling water droplets wouldn’t land in his eyes. He wanted to wipe his face, but it would make him fall, further wasting his time. Although he could hear the water flowing over the edge above him, he couldn’t see it. Not even the starlight above was enough to make a dent in the darkness.
He should have said, “If I’m the lazy one, why am I sweeping your floor?” Vern couldn’t understand why Westley chose to complain about things when he had made so much progress. Where was the credit he deserved? Westley was lucky to have him as a shadow, he thought. It’s his own problem if he doesn’t know how to appreciate what he has.
Once Vern reached the bottom level of Darmen Underside, he climbed onto the wooden planks forming the walkway and took a moment to rest right side up. It was late, and Vern was tired, but he wasn’t finished picking over the tension in their relationship. Since all of the lights were out in the cavern, and no one else occupied any of the walkways, Vern could walk comfortably on the underside without bumping into anyone.
He began ducking into the tunnels leading from the cavern into the ground. The different hollows intersected and diverged, swerved and dipped. Because his hands were busy holding him upside down, he took careful steps forward to make sure he didn’t run into anything or the tunnel didn’t suddenly end.
Vern began to worry he would get lost and was about to turn around, when he saw a dim light in the distance. He pushed onward, curious why this ligh
t shined when all others had been extinguished. Coming still closer, he thought he heard voices and movement, which urged him to be discreet about his approach. He carefully kneeled down, crawling along the roof of the tunnel to get closer without being seen.
“That’s all I know,” one voice protested.
“Not good enough. That doesn’t help us at all,” a second voice responded.
“But that’s all I know,” the first voice repeated.
Vern snuck closer, peeking up from under a nook in the roof. He could see the back of their heads and the gray of their clothing. There must be at least thirty people crammed into this unfinished corner deep in the tunnel system’s lowest level. One of them held a lamp, and the light gave the people closest to Vern a luminous outline.
“Well, does anyone have anything?”
“I learned something,” a third voice chirped followed by a few rapid footsteps. “I heard my mentor talking to a guy from out of town. He said they’re battling to a standstill at the front, but they hope to take the offensive once all of the shadows arrive.”
“We know no one’s been making any progress at the front. We’ve known that for years! When the sun comes up, one side pushes forward. The sun goes down, and the other side pushes them back. What we need are more details about what strategy we’re using and what weapons we have in development. Does anyone know anything about that?” the second voice asked with marked frustration.
“I don’t really get the point of this,” a female voice interceded.
“How thick can you be? In just a few months we’re going to be fighting for our lives, and I’d rather not be figuring out everything I need to know when a mistake could kill me. Now it’s our responsibility to prepare ourselves the best we can while Neeko is shadowing outside of town. I can’t think of a better way to get ready than to dig up all of the information on what’s going on with the war and share it.”
“Yeah, but who put you in charge? Neeko won the Final Trial,” she said.