Spirit Song

by M C Dwyer

  At midnight, the band struck up a waltz and Luce found herself approached by a man she did not recognize. His hair was powdered thickly, the white a stark contrast to his otherwise jet-black ensemble. His black velvet coat had feathered epaulets, and his mask protruded in a bird’s beak.

  Luce could hear the whispers as he swept her a courtly bow and held out his hand for the dance: “What a beautiful couple!” “Black raven and white sea foam!”

  It was only when the man straightened that Luce recognized the dancing fires in his eyes.

  “Pyrdred,” she whispered softly, suddenly afraid.

  “Little Sib,” he returned; it was what he always called her—an acknowledgement of relation and nothing more.

  Too numb to respond, she let him pick up her unresisting hand and draw her into the dance.

  She stumbled blindly through the first steps until her feet found the rhythm and moved without direction from her. Her gaze was transfixed, and, try as she might, she could not pull away.

  As for Pyrdred, he smiled down at her, a cruel, twisted travesty of a smile that made her heart shrivel in fear.

  Eventually, the dance ended, and he released her with a lingering kiss on her hand.

  She shuddered and was glad when he vanished soon after. Her enjoyment of the ball was ruined, however, and somehow the next day felt heavy and oppressive, too.

  That night the alarm spread through the castle: the king was ill.

  For no reason Luce could think of, her thoughts turned to Pyrdred. She went to visit her father but was barred entrance.

  “He must not be disturbed,” they told her firmly. “He needs his rest.”

  “I won’t disturb him,” Luce said, whispering to show her sincerity. “I just want to see him.”

  The doctor hurried forward. “Until we know if it’s contagious, it’s better if you keep away,” he said, not unkindly.

  Luce looked past him and saw Pyrdred’s shape in the shadows and bit her tongue on her protest that Pyrdred was allowed in. “Very well,” she said, and turned away.

  That night, she crept to the wall of her chamber, carefully lifted the stone that hid the hidden latch, and slipped into one of the secret corridors of the castle. She’d been delighted to discover these as a child; she hadn’t known then she’d need them to see her own father.

  Gliding along the dusty passages on silent feet, she paused occasionally at the peepholes to check for guards and servants. Seizing an opportunity, she slipped across the hall and into another of the passageways that riddled the castle walls. This particular passage led almost directly to the king’s quarters; she just had to pass the final hallway.

  Luce waited at the hidden door for nearly an hour before she saw her chance. Slipping out of the walls and carefully pulling the door shut behind her, she crept to the king’s room and slid inside.

  The room was empty save for the king, and she dashed across and knelt by his bed. His skin burned when she picked up his hand, though it seemed to cool slightly as she held it to her cheek. The king stirred restlessly, and his eyelids fluttered.

  “Papa?” Luce whispered. “It’s me.”

  The hand she held squeezed slightly, but then the door behind Luce opened with an ominous creak.

  “What are you doing here?” Pyrdred asked in a furious hiss. He stepped up to Luce and pulled her away.

  The king moaned softly, and Luce lunged back to grab his hand.

  “You’re killing him,” Pyrdred said, giving her a hard look.

  Luce knew that wasn’t true but couldn’t find the words to explain. Her touch eased his fever somehow.

  Pyrdred looked down at the king, and his brows pulled down in a frown. “Get away from him,” he said, and pulled her away again. “Guards!” he shouted, and there was a sudden clamor from outside the room. “Guards!”

  Luce tried to reach the king’s hand again but was caught by Pyrdred’s too-warm arm across her shoulders. She gasped as she recognized the feeling of fire. “You’re hurting him!”

  Looking down at her, he sneered slightly as the guards burst in. “Take the princess,” he said, his face suddenly radiating concern. “She’s disturbing the king’s rest.”

  The guards looked doubtfully at the quiet princess, but when they took her arms to lead her from the room, she went wild.

  “No! Stop! He’s killing him! I have to save him!”

  She was no match for the guards, and shortly afterwards found herself locked in her room. Prowling the perimeter of the room and thinking, she tried to decide what she should do. As long as Pyrdred was there, she had no hope of reaching the king, and when she went through the secret passage, she found every exit patrolled by guards as though they knew the exits were there. Perhaps they did.

  Returning to her room, she continued to pace, losing hope as the night went on and pausing occasionally to wipe tears from her eyes.

  Shortly after dawn, the bells tolled solemnly, and Luce collapsed to the floor in despair. “Papa,” she sobbed.

  As there was still fear of the fever spreading, the funeral pyre was held that very evening, and Pyrdred was crowned king. Luce attended both the funeral and the coronation in a state of numbness that could not be penetrated even by Pyrdred’s menacing glare.

  That night, Luce returned to her room and simply sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. She tried to process the fact that her father was gone beyond all reach. What could she do? She could go find her mother, she thought suddenly. While her mother had done nothing to stop Pyrdred while she’d lived in the castle, surely she would do something now?

  Luce sprang to her feet and moved to the door, only to find that it had been locked. She tugged on the handle impatiently, and then turned to the secret panel.

  Even as she reached for the latch, it swung open to reveal a form that froze her very marrow.

  “Hello, Little Sib,” he said, his lips curling in a cruel smile. He pushed the door shut behind him, and the snick of the latch seemed to boom like the surf on the cliffs. Or perhaps that was simply the pounding of her heart.

  He advanced slowly, stalking her like a cat, and she moved back jerkily, one step at a time.

  Her voice didn’t seem to work at first, but after a few moments, she managed to say, “What do you want?”

  One side of his smile twisted even higher, turning it into a sneer. “Why, nothing much. Just you.”

  Her heart stuttered. “What do you mean?” she said. It wasn’t as if he loved her; while that would still be bad, at least it would explain his actions.

  Pyrdred’s forward movement stopped for a moment, and he looked at her with something approaching surprise. “Why, you’re a high order water spirit. Your grandparents are Haeron and the West Wind. If your power was combined with my fire spirit, I would be unstoppable.” At Luce’s look of confusion, he added, “First, though, you’re going to have to bear our son.”

  The blood drained from Luce’s face, and her knees collapsed, dropping her on the floor. He knelt in front of her and caressed her cheek. “If you promise not to scream, I might even try not to hurt you.”

  Luce trembled and bit her lip, thinking furiously. The door was locked, and the secret passage took a moment to open—a moment Pyrdred was unlikely to give her. What else could she do? The barest hint of a breeze stirred her hair and brushed her cheek, and a faint whisper reached her ears.

  My light, my joy.

  She closed her eyes. The spirits. Her mother had told her that the spirits of water, air, and earth would come to her aid if needed. But how to call?

  While she hesitated, Pyrdred’s hand had moved lower and settled around the base of her throat.

  “Up,” he said, squeezing lightly.

  Luce whimpered but managed to stand.

  He pushed her back until the bed took her out at the knees, then climbed on top of her. She struggled, thrashing and kicking and mentally screaming for anyone—or anything—who could hear her to come to her aid.

&nbs
p; Pyrdred’s hand on her throat tightened, and her struggles subsided as her air was depleted. Tears squeezed from her eyes, and she silently cursed her mother and father for leaving her, and all the spirits for refusing to answer. As black spots swam across her vision, the first ghostly strains of music reached her ears. Maybe her curses had been premature.

  The hand on her throat loosened, and Luce sucked in great gasps of air. Her room had become the center of a hurricane as wind spirits suddenly burst through the windows and whipped the air into a frenzy. Pyrdred was swatting at them as if they were flies, and they found they could not touch him. Turning away, they shrieked at the night, and the world went briefly mad.

  When the dust had settled, Luce found herself surrounded by rubble with no sign of her brother. She stumbled to her feet and began picking her way dazedly through the destruction. The spirits had left no stone on top of another; the castle and the city beyond were flattened. The darkness hid the details, and after Luce tripped over something and realized it was someone’s legs, she was grateful.

  Dawn found her stumbling along the cliffs, her hands and feet bloody from her trip through the ruined city. She was debating whether she should make her way down to the beach or just leap and hope for the best when the monk found her.

  “Great spirits of earth, my child,” he said, staring at her. “What happened to you?”

  Luce tried to speak but found her voice was ruined. She put her hand to her throat and winced at the bruises. She eventually settled for shaking her head and shrugging.

  “Well, I can see you need help,” he said. “My name is Ezran. I belong to the Brotherhood of Fire. Why don’t you come with me?”

  Since Luce didn’t have any better ideas, she agreed.

  She stayed with the Brotherhood for a week before she realized it was no good.

  “You remind me of my brother,” she explained in a rasping whisper, the best she could manage. “I don’t wish to remember that night, but when I close my eyes, it’s all I can see. I wish to be free.”

  After some discussion, the brothers called her forward.

  “We believe your brother is still alive,” Ezran said. “If you leave us, we won’t be able to hide your power, and it’s possible your brother will find you.”

  Luce shut her eyes and swayed.

  “We have a proposal for you. We can give you a talisman of fire. It will block your memories, and it will disguise you as well. It should keep you safe until we find your brother and deal with him.”

  “Yes, please,” she whispered, her heart clenching in fear as the memories threatened to rise up again. “I want to forget, if only for a little while.”

  “Stare into the fire, child; this will hurt a great deal…”

  When Nepenthe opened his eyes, he didn’t know who he was, or why he was surrounded by monks. They explained as well as they could, cautioned him about the weaknesses of the ring, and told him to return as soon as he heard that Pyrdred had been dealt with. It would then be safe to reveal Nepenthe’s true identity, and perhaps he would be strong enough to deal with the memories, as well.

  And so Nepenthe set out into the world to hide in plain sight, taking on odd jobs and doing whatever he could to stay hidden. Except as the seasons passed, no word reached him from the Brotherhood of Fire, and he forgot what he was hiding and why. Until one day a group of bandits made the mistake of taking on an Aileron of Alain, and Nepenthe’s life changed forever.

  Chapter 37

  Luce’s restored memories slotted into place in her mind, bridging the gap seamlessly between past and present. She gasped as time resumed and she surged to her feet, healing her torn and bloody ear with a mere thought.

  “Pyrdred,” she said, “you killed Papa. You attacked me. You killed Orin and the Brotherhood of Fire.” Anger blazed in her veins, and the storm overhead responded with a crack of thunder.

  “Oh ho,” Pyrdred said, raising one brow mockingly. “The little witch has found some spirit in the past few years.” He gave a twisted smile. “Much good may it do you.”

  Luce found that she was trembling slightly but was surprised to discover it wasn’t fear so much as nerves. She pulled her silver sword from its scabbard and raised it before her. Her mind was leaping like a startled rabbit, but her muscles had slid her automatically into one of the forms.

  Even as Pyrdred raised an eyebrow at her, Luce saw Aidan, Jahan, and Taela slip into view. From Pyrdred’s glance behind her, she assumed Barth and Mae had shown up, too.

  “Well, now,” Pyrdred drawled, “it takes six of you for one of me? That hardly seems fair.”

  Luce realized that he was not wearing a sword and was momentarily at a loss. While she didn’t feel good about killing him outright, there was no way they could take him back to Alain. He’d surely escape before they made it even halfway there.

  Pyrdred grinned. “Your move, Little Sib.”

  After a moment of hurried thought, she said, “Surrender to us, and return to Alain to stand trial.”

  “I’m afraid I have to refuse,” he said, and Luce saw his eyes turn orange and slit pupiled even as he began to grow and stretch.

  “Back,” she cried. “Get back!”

  The six of them retreated quickly as Pyrdred morphed before their wondering eyes into a giant salamander. His skin was orange and coruscated with fire, and he filled the entire ruined courtyard. He hissed at them, and his tongue shot out lightning fast. Luce rolled to the side even as it split the rock behind her, the crack mingling with a crash of thunder.

  “How is that possible?” Mae cried, backing away from the giant form and shouting to be heard over the storm. She’d drawn her sword at some point, too.

  “I don’t know,” Luce returned. “But it’s not good.”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement,” Barth said from somewhere close behind her. The salamander’s tongue shot out again, forcing Luce to dodge once more.

  “Aidan! Fight it!” Jahan shouted.

  Luce looked in sudden fear to where Aidan crouched, clutching his head. “Aidan!” she screamed.

  He looked up, torment clearly written on his face, then ran at one of the salamander’s legs. He was absorbed instantly and was gone.

  This hit Luce with an almost physical blow, but she clutched the pain close and ran at the salamander’s nearest leg, swinging her sword.

  Her companions did likewise, hacking at the legs, the belly, the tail—whatever came within reach. After a moment she cried, “This isn’t working!”

  Their swords cut the salamander’s flesh, but it parted like flame and came back together apparently unharmed. The same could not be said for them. The salamander’s tail caught Barth across the chest and knocked him backward. He landed with a grunt and cradled a blistered and blackened arm to his chest.

  Luce scrambled over to him and laid her hand on the burn, drawing out the heat and soothing it with her water. And then blinked as she suddenly remembered Nox’s words.

  “Jahan! Taela!” she called. “Everyone, brace yourselves—I’m going to call a storm!”

  The last two times she’d summoned a storm she’d done it accidentally. The first time she’d called out of desperation; the second time she’d called unwittingly. This time, she was fully aware of the water in her blood and used this to call out to the spirits of air, earth, and water.

  Brothers and sisters, she called, lend me your aid.

  Reaching out as she’d never reached before, she called to the sylphs in the air, the sprites, the undines, the gnomes. She called out to anyone who was listening, and they all said, YES.

  The wind kicked up in a gale as sylphs poured into the courtyard. The earth rumbled as gnomes tunneled upwards, and then the sea answered in a mighty roar that drowned out the storm. Rising up over the cliffs in a tidal wave, it crashed onto the ruined city and then kept coming.

  Luce heard Mae swear and asked the sea to pick up her friends and deposit them safely outside the city. This prompted a few more oaths
, but she ignored them and turned back to the salamander.

  The giant fire spirit was hard pressed, but like before, the other three elements did not seem to be having much effect. The salamander steamed and hissed when the water struck, but did not diminish. Luce only had one more idea.

  “To me, to me!” she cried, and the spirits responded. Dropping her body like a cloak, Luce the spirit linked arms with her brethren and poured into the salamander’s mouth. The salamander choked and coughed, but was no match for the combined power of the air, earth, and water. They continued to pour in.

  The fire was scorching, and Luce was glad she had no physical body here to burn. The damage to her spirit was bad enough, and she could only hope that the power of Pyrdred was extinguished before she was burnt away completely.

  Slowly, slowly, the flames went out, and Nepenthe looked around in interest. Here inside the salamander were flaming torches. There was Ezran, held to the salamander like a candle flame to a candle. She pinched him free, and he faded with a sigh. There were the other Brothers, unnamed but remembered. They’d given her safety and space to heal. She pinched each one free and the salamander diminished that much more.

  The world was a hellish one of steam and fire, but the water seemed to be winning. And here in the center were two more bright flames, the brightest ones yet.

  One was a form she knew well, and since it still held desperately to its fleshly form, she pinched it off even more carefully and pushed it out of the salamander’s mind. With Aidan taken care of, she turned to Pyrdred.

  “Brother,” she said, and he turned. He was much diminished, too; the sapping of his power had stolen much of his menace.

  “Luce,” he said, saying her name for perhaps the first time in their lives. There was anger there, but it was more like a shadow.

  Suddenly moved to something like pity, Luce stayed her hand.

  “What are you waiting for?” Pyrdred said. “I’m a monster. Kill me.”