Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

  The spirit of a seer will attach to you. It will be a blessing and a curse, but never forget, it is a gift, and it will save more than it will kill.

  The words seared into her mind, like wood touched by a pen of smoldering iron.

  Do not leave me, she pleaded, sensing the warm fire of the Maker’s presence departing her flesh and bones.

  Though I go, I will be present. We are on the other side of everyplace, so that you are never unseen or unheard by us. The Faraway is closer than your next breath. That is where we live.

  And it was with that last word that she felt the side of her face burst in warmth, as if the Maker’s hand had cupped her cheek. When she opened her eyes, sunlight was pouring down through the trees. Fluttering down in the shafts of light was the blue butterfly.

  As the warmth of that powerful memory faded, Winter stood on the boulder staring out at the forest. The woods and rocks surrounding her regained more of their splendor, and the clouded sky above held promise of a calling so large she could not fathom it. On her shoulders were heroes, and under her feet was the life of a Beast.

  She trusted she would discover what that meant.

  One thing she promised herself; to somehow discern how to use her gift and avert the next dire vision, whatever it be. She would act on every trivial vision she had and learn from them. If she could save a bird from a toad, it would be a step toward fulfilling her deeper purposes. Those that Leaf had spoken of. Her destiny.

  Winter picked up the summons beside her and took one last glance at the sky.

  You made me a seer. Now make me see what to do.

  CHAPTER 11

  AVEN

  The footfalls on the ground above grew louder. Aven waited for his sister's welcome face to peer over the lip of the hole. Before Winter had risen that morning, a horseman found him repairing a trellis in the vineyard and threw the summons at his feet. The message was simple and open-ended.

  Baron Rhaudius requests the presence of:

  Winter, the farmer, daughter of Amethyst,

  and Aven, the farmer, son of Lynx,

  at the hour of nightfall this evening.

  He had placed the summons on the supper table for Winter to find, then left. The rest of the morning was spent where he now sat, in Harvest’s hovel. Only six months ago he had stumbled from the Baron’s fortress back to this very place to find wisps of smoke and ash rising from the hole.

  He’d lain on the lip and finally fell into tormented sleep. At daybreak he had spotted the bodies inside. All had turned to charred bones in the inferno of the root fire.

  The last position of each person in that hovel still came to Aven some nights; one skeleton embracing another. His heart was a mountain of flesh and stone. When the softer part clawed itself free he would lie flat on the ground and imagine Harvest, or his mother and father, as if they were alive, and experience all over again the pain of their loss. But eventually the hardness would bury the tears, like a rockslide, hiding away the raw living thing lying beneath and then he would simply hate himself for what he did. For going out that night and not listening to Winter.

  For good or for bad, to tell is to change the future. By telling, we may bring it to pass.

  Winter should never have told him. Her visions and warnings had stirred up so much fear inside him, how could he have stayed home that night?

  Sometimes he dreamt of sneaking into Winter’s room and taking her tiny blue-winged pet outside, crushing it in his hands, and then hiding the remains under a rock. He hated the sight of it nestled in her hair, or clinging to her face as she went about the house, or how she would bring it to the marketplace in a glass jar. The insect never left her presence.

  Why she continued to trust the Makers, he did not fathom. Any being who created a world as cruel as Loam deserved hatred, not devotion.

  Pebbles fell from the lip of earth overhanging Aven’s shaded alcove inside the scorched hovel. The face that appeared was not Winter’s. Large, bearded, it teetered over the edge and then quickly spotted him. It was Grey Bear, the tallest man in Plot Eight. His height and broad shoulders were of a size that demanded instant respect. But it was Bear’s undefeatable inner strength and his huge, toothy grin that Aven had come to value. Even now, Aven found himself smiling as Bear grinned heartily at him from above.

  “I found him,” Bear finally shouted. “Right where you said he’d be.”

  Aven guessed who Grey Bear was calling to. The one was never without the other. Bear slid over the rim of the hovel and lowered himself to the floor.

  Then a shadow above leapt, and its substance, nimble and shapely, was caught in Grey Bear’s large hands. He lowered his mate, Rabbit, to the floor, then kissed the top of her head. Rabbit took in the burnt surroundings with serious eyes.

  Grey Bear held up a piece of parchment. “Did you and Winter get one of these?”

  Aven stood, then took the stiff paper and read it. It was not identical to his and Winter’s. This was a summons to the marketplace for tomorrow morning.

  “Did you not receive one?” asked Grey Bear.

  “Yes, Winter and I did,” said Aven. “But ours is a call for us to go to the fortress this nightfall.”

  Grey Bear whispered something to Rabbit, and she turned and scaled the hovel’s wall, stopping at the top to look about. After a quick glance around, she nodded to her mate, but stayed where she was.

  “There’s no telling what this is about,” said Grey Bear. “I talked to a dozen farmers this morning. Foxjoy, Old Stump. They all received a paper.” Bear placed his hand on his. “Your options are simple. Go to the fortress tonight; discover for good or bad, your fates. That…or you run.”

  Aven shook his head. “We’re going.”

  “You’re willing to trust the Baron?”

  Trust wasn’t the right word. Aven knew Grey Bear’s concern was different from his own. Grey Bear’s status among the farmers had risen in recent years, fueled even more by the deaths that took place here, in this home. His height, strong build, and powerful voice commanded the farmers’ attention, and he was not quiet about his feelings toward Baron Rhaudius.

  Aven, on the other hand, had remained silent about the deaths. Inside, he harbored bitterness toward Rhaudius. His stranglehold on the farmers’ lives. His sharp cruelty. But he had no desire to share these feelings. Sometimes, it concerned him how little he felt. There was no fight inside anymore. He’d lived the last six months working with his hands, sweating as his father had, but unlike his father, his passion for freedom didn’t exist. Or if it did, it existed beneath a smoldering heap of ashes. He was alive. Winter was alive. He could be content in that.

  Bear’s question of trusting the Baron still hung in the air when Rabbit climbed down from her perch.

  “Winter’s coming.”

  His sister descended quickly into the hovel. He embraced her the moment she jumped free of the wall. The butterfly was nested in her hair. Good. He hated when it obscured her face. Aven searched Winter’s eyes, hoping not to catch concern in them over the summons. He knew she was still receiving visions, no matter how she tried to hide her curse. He preferred not to know the details, but he couldn’t help the urge to read her, to feel out if she knew something more about the summons—whether for good or bad.

  Quickly he pressed his hand flat against hers, callous to callous, and tapped his fingers lightly against hers. Each segment of a finger, and bulge of the palm represented a letter. Quick and exact, he tapped out a message.

  “Have you been kissing trees again? You have a twig in your hair.”

  She smirked and tapped methodically, “If you would hurry and find me a mate, I would not have to practice on the forest.”

  “What are you two smiling about?” asked Rabbit.

  “They’re telling secrets through their fingers again,” said Grey Bear. “Winter, have you read the summons you and Aven received?”

  “I have.”

  “Did you know your brother has decided to answ
er it?”

  “If the Baron wants to kill us,” said Winter, “he would have sent Rose and the garrison, not a summons.”

  Grey Bear held the impenetrable expression of a boulder. Rabbit came around in front of him and tucked herself in his arms, resting her head back against his chest. Bear's face softened. His arms came down around her like a pair of protective wings.

  “We’re worried,” Rabbit said. “Bear’s spoken his feelings to the other farmers. If word has gotten back to Rhaudius, it could go bad for us tomorrow morning. Whatever it is he has planned can’t be good.”

  Bear’s eyes were the only part of him that remained soft. “I have no regret in what I’ve said. And I will say what I think of the man to his face. I’m not afraid of dying, so long as I die free. You and Winter hide yourselves away, and I do not judge you for this, but there is a rebellion growing in the Baron’s farmland. We are tired of being treated like animals. Tomorrow, the Baron may find his neck in the arms of a noose. He doesn’t realize the power we have. Many farmers are ready to take up arms, and if my voice can rouse the rest to action this day, tomorrow will be a day of reckoning.”

  The words sank deep into Aven, stirring his fears. Between the summons and Grey Bear’s words, the future had never felt so uncertain for him and his sister.

  “Your thoughts,” tapped Aven.

  “I go where you go,” tapped Winter.

  “Certain?”

  “Certain.”

  “Winter and I will answer the summons. We will not fight.”

  Bear ran his hands through Rabbit’s hair. “Rabbit and I have talked. We will not bear our children into slavery. They will not see us handing over our crops to the Baron’s soldiers for cheap food. Nor will they hear of how their father and mother hunkered down in shame and fear and kissed the Baron’s oiled feet.”

  Rabbit slipped out of Grey Bear’s arms and returned to her lookout spot atop the hovel.

  “Do what you think is best,” said Aven. “We all have our fears. You fear to see your family live under another’s control; I fear to see my family die under mine. As long as I have the freedom to have a family…that is enough for me.”

  Bear crossed his arms, but his hearty smile returned with power. “Aven, you have a healthy, tempering effect on me.” His big hand found Aven’s shoulder and squeezed it uncomfortably hard. “You are dear to me, friend. You show me another way of seeing.”

  Aven reached up and took hold of Bear’s shoulder with the strongest grip he could manage.

  When Rabbit and Bear left, Aven noticed Winter’s eyes fall to the corner of the room where their mother and father had been found.

  “We must be strong,” she tapped into his hand. “We’ll face this together.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “I wish there was a way for you to know a Maker as I have.”

  Aven frowned. Was she so blinded by her love of the gods that she didn’t see his disgust every time she mentioned their name? He released his anger through a long, calming breath.

  “Why?” said Aven. “You want me to split my devotion between you and some shadow spirits?”

  “Is that how you see it?” her voice was pained, “that I’m dividing my loyalty between you and the Makers? You are my brother, my family. I will always love you as such.”

  Aven was silent. Hearing the words she spoke made him feel weak, like he was too small to handle her devotion to the gods.

  “The Makers aren’t worthy of our trust. I shouldn’t have to be arguing this. Look where we’re standing! In the ashes of Mother and Father. Of Harvest, and Gar, and Sky.”

  Winter tugged her hand from his and turned away. He suddenly felt disgusted at himself.

  Slowly Winter turned back to face him. There was no anger in her eyes, but there was sadness. “Aven, I just want you to have someone to turn to if we are ever pulled apart. If you ever find yourself alone. I want you to have someone. That’s all. The Maker told me that the Faraway is closer than our next breath. We’re always seen and heard by them. That is a comfort to me, and I want it to be a comfort to you if you ever need it.”

  Aven pushed away the harsh words he could have said in response. Winter was only trying to comfort him in her own way—and herself. It was clear, then, that she’d had a vision foreshadowing something dark.

  He took Winter’s hands again.

  “Whatever you see. Ask the Makers to make it right. Ask them to take it away.”

  “I have,” she said quietly. “You already know that.”

  _____

  WINTER

  We will not bear our children into slavery.

  Grey Bear’s words resounded in Winter’s soul. Sharp like a blade, stirring her to act. Aven’s hand in hers was a comfort as they walked back to their hovel in silence. The forest floor crunched lightly beneath their feet. She couldn’t tear her thoughts from the passionate words spoken by Grey Bear.

  Every year children were born as slaves to the Baron, inheriting their parents’ debts and the cruel contract. She and Aven were such. Only youths. The Baron’s farmland was all they knew.

  And that was only one of many grievous wrongs. The farmland was like a pen, and the farmers were sheep trapped inside. They did the Baron’s work, made the Baron his wealth, and any children born were simply added to his flock. But why should she stand by and allow the cycle to continue…especially when she had been chosen by the Makers to…to do what? Crush a Beast? Was that a metaphor for the Baron?

  A powerful tugging drew her heart toward the rebel farmers and their cause. They fought for justice. And that aligned with her forepromised destiny.

  Only a month ago, while out in the fields picking sape, she’d been asked by Rabbit to help relay messages to specific farmers on her plot. She’d only hesitated a moment before agreeing. But that was all she’d done, for it felt safe enough. She’d never gone to one of their covert meetings, for that was the very thing that had gotten her parents killed.

  But with the summons that morning, the need to act on Leaf’s promise felt more pressing than ever. If she was going to be used as a vessel of justice by the Makers, what was stopping her from doing so now?

  Only one barrier came to mind.

  Aven.

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

  He thought there were no secrets between them, other than her holding her tongue about the visions. But Aven knew nothing about her role as an occasional messenger for the rebellion. She despised having to keep secrets from him, but he would be furious if he found out.

  Even more so…if he knew what she was thinking of doing now…

  She squeezed Aven’s hand as they approached the flat stump that held the door to their hovel. He looked at her, and she saw etched on his face the deep concern about the summons. Fear of what might transpire tonight, within the walls of the Baron’s fortress.

  He did not see what lay beneath the reassuring smile that turned up the corners of her lips.

  Today, she would rest on Leaf’s promise. She would be a girl of action.

  CHAPTER 12

  WINTER

  It was one of the few times Winter found herself uneasy while walking through the woods. The discomfort was heightened by the fact that she had lied to Aven about where she was going. He couldn’t know because he wouldn’t understand.

  But somehow, Aven’s not knowing made her more nervous. She was certain there were no watchers following her, but she knew they ventured out to these remote places on occasion, into the wooded glens and hills between farm plots. There were fourteen plots, and she had explored most of these in-between places. And on more than a few occasions, she had been quietly weaving a root bracelet or flowered tiara in the crook of a boulder when she’d seen one of the Baron’s watchers trod through the forest undergrowth. Where the watcher had been traveling to, or from, she could only guess at.

  Winter glanced over the grass and leaves along a meadows edge, searching for the small bird she had seen in the vision,
determined to save it from the toad who would devour it. But that was not all she was seeking out.

  She knew somehow she was to leave this cursed farmland, and follow her god-spoken destiny. And if that meant revolting against Baron Rhaudius, who’d stolen her family from her, she had no qualms with it.

  A bird’s warble sounded from a dense thicket of trees ahead. It was a strange, unfamiliar bird call. Winter stopped and scanned the forest on her left.

  The warble sounded again, but this time Winter caught movement. A hand waving.

  She hurried forward, seeing Rabbit’s friendly face protruding from an opening in the dense stand of trees.

  “You made it, Winter,” came Rabbit’s quiet voice.

  Winter slipped into the shadowed tangle of trees. Rabbit’s brown, freckled face glowed with a line of sunlight that had managed to find a hole through the layers of leaves overhead. She had the most lovely big eyes, and if Winter didn’t know her as she did, it would have been difficult to see the warrior that lay inside. A girl willing to risk everything for the farmers’ cause.

  “Where is Grey Bear?” asked Winter.

  “He couldn’t make it. We’re taking no more risks than we must, and that means he and I mustn’t be seen together in the woods. He told me to give you this though.”

  Rabbit reached out and embraced Winter. It was a rather painful hug, as Rabbit seemed to be mimicking Grey Bear’s strength. Rabbit drew back and gave a soft laugh. “Thank you. For coming here. I can’t imagine what you’ve suffered because of the Baron and his Watch. It’s for you and Aven, and for Violet and Coriander’s family, and all the other families who’ve lost loved ones that I have dedicated myself to working against the Baron.” Rabbits large eyes bore into her own. She could feel Rabbit’s anger and passion, and its intensity stirred at Winter’s emotions, uniting the two of them.

  “Once the summons is served tomorrow,” said Rabbit, “then we’ll know how the Baron plans to maneuver. And I swear to you, it may be the last move he ever makes. My mate and I, and many others won’t hesitate in delivering his sentence.”