Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

  It could be killed, and his plans destroyed.

  She stood, bow in hand, and walked steadily forward. As of yet, the Nightmares had not seen her. She loosed two arrows in quick succession, and skewered the two goatthroats through the eye, killing them instantly. One of them fell back onto the much larger razor arm. The freakish creature, half-clothed in rags held loosely by ropes, turned and saw her. The lips of its vermin-like mouth drew back, its snout wrinkling with skin. A warning squeal gargled from its throat, and the two remaining goatthroats jerked in startled alarm.

  Two more arrows and all four goatthroats lay still or twitching in the dirt. The razor arm looked at her with something like rage and fear. It backed away, waving the long serrated bone that protruded from its right elbow. Its other hand, a hairy rat paw, clawed the air as if trying to keep her at bay.

  Savarah continued to storm forward, attaching her bow to her quiver and drawing a knife. Her left shoulder ached horribly from the black tiger’s claw, but even so, she was not worried.

  The razor arm stopped, seeing the impossibility of escape. It hissed, then tried to speak with its rat-mouth. The only comprehensible words Savarah caught were, “away” and “rock.”

  It crouched as she approached, but even in a crouch it was a head above her. It’s skinny, malnourished legs bowed out like a spider’s. The serrated bone extending from its elbow was drawn back, ready to fly forward at her if she came any closer.

  “Isolaug will not give you sugars if you lose,” said Savarah, her words confusing the creature. She sprang forward, her knife meeting the razor arm’s thrust and glancing it harmlessly past her. Inside the creature’s guard, she plunged her knife into its right shoulder. The creature squealed in pain then its teeth came down at her. She lifted her forearm and it bit with all its strength.

  Its mouth struck the forged iron arm bracer beneath her cloak, and its rotting teeth exploded and sprayed.

  Savarah drew the knife out of the dazed creature’s shoulder and drove the small pommel of the end into the side of its stunted ear. The blow sent the creature backward onto the ground. It fumbled half conscious to right itself.

  She pounced on it, quickly using the rope that held its clothes to bind its serrated arm. Finished, she stood and observed her catch. It was a larger razor arm, but weak and frail from its trip across the desert. She needed to feed it well, strengthen its muscles, and hastily attend to the stab wound she’d given it. If she hoped to be back at the Hold by sundown tomorrow, she would need the creature to travel all night and day, and with speed.

  If the razor arm wasn’t strong and healthy, it would be useless to her. It could rest when she reached Hearth’s Scat, the volcanic spew plain covered in porous black rock.

  She waved a large piece of dried meat before its mouth. The sunken, half-human eyes looked at her. Slowly, it opened its mouth and drew the meat in with its bloodied gums.

  CHAPTER 18

  MELUSCIA

  Meluscia knocked on the wooden door of her sister’s room, hoping she had returned in the night from wherever it was she’d disappeared to. Meluscia was eager to see her unruly face—and to talk with her, especially now, after their last encounter over a week ago. She truly wanted to find out what had caused the change in her sister, but even more than that, she wanted to confide in her. The turmoil in her head was in desperate need of a listening ear.

  When there was no answer to her knocking, she opened the door and peered inside. The wall hook where Savarah hung her bow and quiver was empty. She was gone into the forest, and that meant there was no telling when she’d be back.

  Years ago, Meluscia’s mother and father had been forced to grow accustomed to Savarah’s strange tendency to disappear, and so had she. At first when her sister was only eleven and twelve, her father had sent search parties out, but they never found her. Days or weeks would pass and inevitably, Savarah would return from the forest in good health. When asked why she had gone and what she was doing, her answer was always the same. She was out hunting for her parents’ murderers. And her wild, abrasive nature left even her father inept at how to respond other than to set rules for her.

  But when it came to rules, Savarah could not be handled like a child, nor as a rational adult. She was a wild enigma with a will as hard as stone.

  In the end, Meluscia’s mother and father had simply let her loose, like an animal that couldn’t be fenced in.

  Meluscia stared at the piles of pelts upon the floor and the claws, hooves and antlers piled messily on every furnishing the room had.

  The memory of her and Savarah’s last conversation made her head simmer for more, but her curiosity and need for a listening ear would have to wait.

  She turned and left, descending the tower stairs, the shaft light dull from the dark thick clouds overhead. A light summer rain to wet the mountain and turn the rocks a regal grey. Wetness brought the beautiful colors out of every vein and mixed aggregate stone. She passed the darkened orifice at the bottom of the stairs without a glance, keeping a determined pace. Her heart churned with want and frustration, and a half dozen other chaotic emotions. She could hear Jonakin’s voice speaking faintly to her. “You’re alright…You have me…You don’t need anyone else…You don’t need the real thing.”

  The comfort felt hollow. Not because of the words alone, but because the words spoken by Jonakin’s rich voice were so clearly her own. She needed him to spring from someplace pure and genuine—to feel independent of her, as he normally did.

  Right now, he simply felt like a tool in her hand.

  She gritted her teeth and pushed away the feelings of loneliness and being unloved, focusing on her destination. Her father’s throne room. It was the time of day for citizens and officials to be heard, and she wanted to simply sit and listen as she often did. To learn, and to practice in her mind how she would respond to each person’s concern. But most of all, she wanted to be a stone in her father’s shoe. To remind him that she was still there. Still ready to rule.

  When she arrived, she humored Crocido with a polite smile and was about to whisk through the large wooden doors, when the man said, “If you’re looking for your father, he is in bed, terribly stiff with a fever. He was unable to walk, I’m afraid. Too sore. His long ride with the patrol caught up with him last night.”

  “Why are people being let in to the throne room?” asked Meluscia.

  “Trigon requested Valcere judge in his stead.”

  Meluscia felt the words like spit in her face.

  Her eyes met Crocido’s. She couldn’t hide the disillusionment she felt. It threatened to overwhelm her.

  “I’m sorry,” said Crocido.

  She turned to the doors and lightly pushed them open. There sat Valcere, on her father’s throne. The sunlight bleeding through the dark rain clouds created a soft, elegant brightness as it poured through the gemmed glass walls.

  Despite her every desire and hope, Valcere looked like a regal Luminary seated upon the large onyx throne, his long, flowing dark hair fell about his shoulders, matched only by his squared jaw that could either belong to a king or a rogue.

  Meluscia turned and left, the entry chamber suddenly taking on a foreignness. The Hold did not feel the same with another man on the throne. The servants and various courtiers that walked briskly through the torch lit corridors acknowledged her with courteous smiles when her eyes met theirs. How she loved the servants. How she wanted to come to know the courtiers who came to the Hold with their struggles. Everyone she saw moved with such purpose, but she felt disorientated. Uncertain of where she was going.

  Her mind was strangely blank. Numb. She found herself walking out upon the middle plateau, through the orchard, heading to the west most corner. She brushed her fingertips along the boulder that hid the Scriptorium, coming around its large bulk to the tree with the hidden lever. Quickly she made her way inside.

  Katlel sat hunched over a parchment, the crystals above him glowing with candlefire. The enchantment of t
he sacred place warmed her spirit ever so slightly. She took a long, cleansing breath, releasing a portion of the pain scourging her soul.

  Katlel’s high, nasal voice resounded in the small room. “My dear apprentice has been away from her studies too much of late. For what and for why?”

  His head remained pointed down at the book before him, but his eyes darted up at an uncomfortable angle to look at her.

  Meluscia ran a hand through her hair. “You can find the deeper meaning in an old text, can you not read a girl as see-through as crystal?”

  “Books are much easier to read than people. What is the matter? Clearly something is distracting you.”

  If she were to make a list of people to pour out her inner struggles to, Katlel would not be on it. History and scripture meanings, these she loved to talk with him about, but issues of life were, to him, insignificant trivialities in comparison to the epic histories and spiritual complexity found in the tomes of the Scriptorium.

  “I know you well enough,” said Meluscia. “I won’t pester you with all the profundity of a girl’s thoughts.”

  “Dear mercy!” said Katlel. “It’s that bad?”

  She breathed deep and nodded, annoyed by his response. He was attempting to be humorous, but it only confirmed her decision not to tell him anything.

  “I’ve come for books,” said Meluscia. “I wish to take them to study in privacy.”

  “Very well,” said Katlel. “Nothing like a book to cheer the soul. Just be sure to follow the rules.”

  “I needn’t be told every time.”

  She would never expose a book to sunlight! No, never!

  Meluscia took the fox fur pack and slung it over her shoulder, then gathered the titles as covertly as possible, even though she knew Katlel would see the empty spaces and identify exactly which books she’d taken. So be it. She didn’t care at present. If he wanted to know why she took the Book of Intimacy, she could make some scholarly excuse.

  Silently, she climbed the stairs to leave when Katlel’s nasal voice called her name, stopping her mid-step. “I don’t know what profundity is weighing on your mind. And far be it for me to be capable of saying anything helpful. I’m just an old cloistered bore who gets along better with thin slices of penned tree parchment than people. But still, I feel I must say something.” He paused awkwardly, his head pointed at her and away from the book below him. “Meluscia. If I were alive two hundred years from now, I could imagine myself reading about you, here in the Scriptorium, in one of these books of history. You may not think I see much, but I sense what’s motivating you. Don’t surrender your will. Keep fighting. That’s how so many of the great ones of history became who they are.”

  She stood there, awash in Katlel’s words. Despite the blow she’d just received having witnessed Valcere on her father’s throne, she felt a flicker of hope inside her rekindle.

  “Thank you,” said Meluscia. She nearly turned to leave, but paused. “Some of those great ones of history turned out to be disasters.”

  “There’s only so much you can do to control that. Rid that thought from your mind. Read the sacred writings of scripture. Draw from their insights. The Makers gave you a mind and the freedom to use it. Let the writings be as poetry on your lips. Mull them over again and again, and they will become a part of you. Doing so won’t promise success, but following them comes with the promise that you’ll do what is right.”

  Meluscia closed her eyes putting those words to memory. She would write them down as soon as she arrived at the place she now felt drawn to go.

  “Thank you,” said Meluscia finally, and slowly walked the last half of the stairs to the Scriptorium door.

  CHAPTER 19

  MELUSCIA

  The ambient hum of water rushing over stones met Meluscia the moment she slipped through the thick wooden doors of the old throne room. The view before her would have been majestic if not for the piles of pungent wooden bins full of fish, which were now being stored irreverently in the once renowned cavern. Beyond the bins was a vast open space, faint light streaking down through deep-bored holes in the mountain. Each shaft of light struck upon giant refractive sapphires of the darkest blue color, bathing the entire cavern in soft azure tones.

  Everything about the room was better than the present throne room. Not only was it far more humble, but it spoke more intimately of the Hold kingdom and its essence. The light was dimmer here than where Valcere now sat, acting on behalf of her father. The faint light was unnerving to most outsiders who dwelt not in mountains, but upon the sun kissed land of the Verdlands, or the foggy coast of the Sea Kingdoms. But most citizens of the Hold had eyes accustomed to dark, and the light in the old throne room was comfortable, beautiful; not so relentlessly bright as the present throne room. Also befitting the kingdom’s essence was the depth with which this cavern existed. It lay deep within the labyrinthine gut of the mountain, whereas the present throne room stood like a sun-touched crown upon the mountain’s head. The further down the tunnels one went, the cold began to gnaw at the bones. The Hold people were born into icy cribs, but unprepared outsiders were inevitably rubbing their crossed arms with pale, shaky hands. And there were also stories of travelers and dignitaries whose knees weakened and hearts grew faint at the thought of trying to find their way out of the mountain after visiting the Old Hall.

  Meluscia sat upon one of the long vacant stones beside the Emerald River, an underground waterway that roared faintly along, its echo dancing throughout the cavern. Down this far in the mountain, she normally wore a sleeved dress to tame the cold, but for now the icy breath against her bare arms felt refreshing.

  To her left, crates obstructed a portion of the river’s view. Back when the hall was in use, the river had negated any need for singers to drown out speech. All conversations with the Luminary were private but those which the Luminary wished heard by all. A water gate could be lowered where the river entered the cavern, allowing enough time of quiet for a speech, not too long winded, to be heard before the water rose to overflow the dam.

  Meluscia slung the bag of books from her shoulder and reached inside. Her fingers hesitated, then chose the source of strength they needed. The Chronicles of the Age of Primacy. A portion of the small tome detailing the rise and fall of Monaiella. She was young when she took power, and thrust immediately into war against Isolaug, enemy of all human kingdoms, the monster that never died.

  Isolaug’s spirit took many forms, for he could inhabit any animal he wanted, and through that creature, assault the mind and will of the one human he chose to entice. Usually a king or queen, or their heir.

  During the reign of Monaiella’s father, Isolaug wormed his way into the nomadic tribes that once ruled far to the east, south of the Star Garden Realm. A notorious war chief called Roth the Gasher had come under Isolaug’s power, and had united, under threat of death, the tribes of the southern hill lands. The Blue Mountain Hold was at that time a vast empire, stretching across the wastelands to the portal itself. But as history proved, whoever had control of the portal would never cease to have enemies. The portal meant power. The nomads, led by their inspelled war chief, overwhelmed the Hold’s forces at the portal city of Praelothia, wiping out half their numbers in two days, and killing the Hold’s Luminar. The portal city was surrounded and under siege when Monaiella took her dead father’s place as Luminess. She turned immediately to every friendly kingdom for help. When none answered her call to battle, she went to their bitter enemies, the Verdlands, and promised them the portal city if they would aid her in rescuing the entrapped citizens and soldiers that were under siege. Their king agreed and in a horrible battle, the portal city was saved and Roth the Gasher killed.

  The war chief was found with a small dog on his person, and some of the captured nomads claimed he was never without the animal. The dog was cut to pieces and Isolaug did not rear his head again for two hundred years.

  Meluscia scanned the infamous passage as she cradled the book between her
knees. Despite Monaiella saving more than fifty thousand citizens and soldiers from slaughter at Praelothia, and defeating Isolaug and the nomads, she was reviled after handing over the portal. She was eventually dethroned, and forced to flee into exile as anger spread over its loss. But as history bore out, ownership of the portal was a heavy burden. Insurrection within the Verdlands split its kingdom in two, forming a new power, the Star Garden Realm. They would protect the portal for millennia, only succumbing to the constant warfare in more recent history.

  As for Monaiella, the rest of her life was an unknown, but her decision continued to inspire Meluscia. She couldn’t help but find attraction in turning an enemy into an ally, giving away a prize in return for peace. It was a cost always worth considering.

  The distant sound of voices broke through her reverie. She turned and glanced at the throne room’s entrance. Two men led a team of four miniature mountain horses in through the door. No doubt, more fish from the Sea Kingdoms. Suddenly Meluscia caught sight of one of the men’s faces.

  Mica.

  “…Don’t deny it, she’s taken with you,” said the man opposite Mica. “Why else does she come and visit you every month…its your dreamy eyes that draws her.”

  Meluscia recognized the other man’s face as well. It was the stable hand, Augel. Without thought, she scooted into the shadows behind a crate of fish.

  The horse drawn cart creaked as it came to a stop. Mica and Augel began to unload a large barrel from the railing.

  “You have to admit she’s as sweet upon the eyes as a girl can be. Soft white skin, red lush hair that probably smells of perfume. She’d turn a man’s head even if she were dressed in maid’s trappings and not furs and gowns.”

  Mica grunted as he helped Augel set down the first barrel.

  “I’ll admit, she is exceptionally beautiful. She has an elegant face…and her blue eyes are especially striking.”