Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

Aven put his arm around her and tucked her close beside him. “We can buy you a farm. Right next to mine. Then we would be neighbors.”

  Winter wondered if her destiny would allow such a thing. She doubted it, but now was not the time to voice this.

  “Your mate would find me intolerable,” tapped Winter.

  Aven seemed lost for a moment in the distant crashing waves.

  “Whoever we choose for each other,” tapped Aven, “they’ll have to understand us.”

  “Our fingertalk?”

  “That, but also our different ways. You have an easy task in that. But how can I find a mate for a wanderer-girl like you?”

  Winter saddened at the thought. “Maybe I was meant to walk this life alone.”

  Aven was quiet, as if considering the possibility.

  “Don’t lose hope,” said Aven, “At the very least, I will be waiting for you when you return from your missions.” He bent and drew a heart in the dirt, then looked up at her, smiled and laughed lightly. “With the wife you’ve chosen for me, of course, and our children. Lots of children.”

  “What if I can’t find another Harvest?”

  The moment Winter said her name, she wished she could take it back. But to her surprise, the humor in Aven’s eyes didn’t fade away. Was he…healing?

  Still, Winter whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  Aven squeezed her hand. “Don’t be. I can’t hold on to her forever.”

  “I’ll find you a good mate. I promise.”

  Aven met her eyes.

  “There’s something I have to tell you. About Pike.”

  “What?”

  “Something Rueik told me,” whispered Aven. “It involves Zoecara. I think we should be careful around her.”

  Winter looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll tell you what Rueik said, then we can figure out what we want to do.”

  HEARTH

  Happiness is like the sunlight, warm and delightful, yet often hidden by night or cloud, roof or canopy. But sorrows are like shadows, one can always find them, even when the sun is shining.

  -Her Reflections, Cebrene, stone etching at Noean, Verdlands, rock five.

  CHAPTER 25

  SAVARAH

  Savarah grimaced as she applied a wet concoction of fungi, ground bark, and canker ivy to her left shoulder. Carefully, she bandaged the healing mixture against her wound.

  Her companions lay still, where they slept upon the ground on mats. Sunlight bathed the weary sleepers, having finally crested the looming mountain peaks that had shadowed them until mid morning. Five hours was enough rest.

  Her fever had broken just before midnight, as they rode. Still, she had pushed them onward. Until the early morning hours.

  Now, Savarah roused each of them. Having all but collapsed where they dismounted last night, they had only to untie their horses and their party was on the move again. Their destination was Tilmar by evening, where they could eat a warm meal and sleep in warm beds when they reached the lumber town.

  As they rode, they ate breakfast from their packs. She glanced back and saw the weariness in their eyes. The sunlight would rouse them, give them enough heat to warm their faces and dry off the dampness that clung to their clothing.

  Savarah’s thoughts drifted toward the Verdlands. To the killings she would perform there. And to the diviner. The boy who was a Tongue for the gods. Before she’d killed Orum, he’d mentioned the boy, and how two of Isolaug’s spies had tried to kill him.

  Might the Tongue give her some talisman or word of power for her mission? If Isolaug wanted the diviner dead, then it seemed plausible the diviner—and the gods—might wish the same for Isolaug.

  She turned her head toward Meluscia. “What do you know of diviners?” asked Savarah.

  “They were humans like us, to whom the Makers gave powerful gifts. The histories are full of them. Many of the sacred texts were written by their hand.”

  “The gods have the power to destroy the Beasts, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me,” said Savarah. “What is the purpose behind the struggle between man and Beast? Is our world a proving ground for the gods?”

  Meluscia brought her horse beside Savarah’s. “Katlel would be better suited to answer you on that. But, from what I’ve read, our world was never a proving ground. Monaiella taught me to see the world as a womb made by the gods for mankind. A womb where we can grow and become more beautiful creatures than ever before.”

  “A womb is a safe space,” said Savarah. “Hearth is as violent as the innards of a volcano. Tell me how this doesn’t fit a proving ground more than a womb?”

  “No, you’re right, it is not safe. I’m not sure I can answer you…but there’s an old manuscript in the Scriptorium that comes to mind. Very old. It says humans were to be like rocks swallowed by an oyster…

  “‘…slowly refined through a million fleeting pains and aches, slowly transformed into magnificent pearls, fully formed for the plucking of Arubaton, but the Great Travesty took the slowness away. Now the ache is too much. And the pain does not leave, but lingers on. It is too much, too fast.’”

  Savarah hid a smile. The impassioned tone of Meluscia’s recitation sounded ridiculous in Savarah’s ears. “Who is Arubaton? And what is the Great Travesty?”

  Meluscia stared for a moment, looking at Savarah, yet looking past her. “No one knows for certain, but Katlel believes Arubaton is the name given to all Makers, as if coalesced into one being. It is a good interpretation but from very limited sources. But as to the Great Travesty, the truth of that has been lost, its only foggy reference found in a very old kelp scroll.”

  Savarah scowled at Meluscia. She preferred a proving ground, not a womb or an oyster. For if it were a fight to prove oneself, her mission to kill the gods’ enemies might put her in good stead. Perhaps Meluscia was wrong about this point.

  “Is that a quote from a diviner?” asked Savarah.

  “No, it is from Sculquid, a Sea King from the Age of Primacy. He and only one other had access to the remnant of writings of the first humans on Hearth, though most were lost when Sculquid sailed off to search for his father, captured by Isolaug, but he was never seen again.”

  Savarah rode the rest of the journey in silence. She had to stop the party three times to let Bezmerenna, Praseme, and Meluscia squat a piss in the woods. And then Terling fell asleep at the reins and broke a finger tumbling from his horse. Belen was the only capable traveler, young, strong, able to hold his urine.

  The smoke from Tilmar’s ironworks finally appeared in the sky, and hung like a sick cloud high above the forest. For the others, it promised food, warmth, and dry beds. For Savarah, the black billowing fumes carried the promise of her next encounter. The last spy of the Blue Mountain Hold. She had to find Harcor and stuff him full of arrows.

  When they neared Tilmar, Savarah took her leave of the party, telling Meluscia she had to see a certain man about the road to the Verdlands and find out if there might be a quicker path.

  As soon as she parted from the company, she tied her horse in the woods and ran on foot to where Harcor’s farmhouse lay outside the village of Tilmar. The sun had set when she neared the home, faint smoke issued from the chimney. A light shone through a window at the back of the house. Savarah lingered on the outskirts of the woods, watching, waiting.

  Darkness enveloped the farmhouse as the last crimson glow of light faded to black. Savarah darted forward, an arrow fitted to her newly strung bow. She moved to the back of the house and peered in at an angle through the lit window. Inside, was an older woman with graying hair, seated at a chair, two candles burning beside her on a wall shelf. A knife was in her hand and she was sharpening it with a flat grey stone, but her eyes never moved from their place on the wall.

  This was Harcor’s blind wife, whom he’d wedded years ago, when he was a young spy. But where was Harcor? Perhaps he was in town for some reason.

  Normally, she
would have relished finding a place to hide and lie in wait, but that required staying awake, and she was nearing her limits of deprivation. Especially with her injury.

  Her shoulder wound needed fresh wrapping, the ever-present pain having grown worse today. It was draining her strength and energy. The fever might yet return if she didn’t rest. Her body was demanding she give it sleep. She was pushing herself for this last kill.

  Her hope for putting a prompt end to Harcor, and sleeping in a comfortable bed for the night, was quickly fading. She was about to turn to find a place to wait it out when the slight stink of body odor caught her off guard.

  The twang of a bowstring sounded behind her. She barely had time to twitch.

  The arrow slammed her up against the wood siding of the house, her voice wretched a scream into the cold night air. Disorientated, she stared down at her chest. A metal arrowhead wet with her own blood glistened in the light of the window, the embedded shaft protruding from her right breast. Savarah’s instincts focused on her own weapon. She tried to lift her bow and turn, but a hand crushed down on her shoulder.

  Another scream tore from her lips, and then she felt herself lifted from the ground.

  Blackness swarmed over her as the hand on her shoulder squeezed like a vice on her wound. Something hard slammed the back of her head.

  She felt as if her eyes were falling from her head.

  Falling…falling.

  CHAPTER 26

  MELUSCIA

  Meluscia laid her head against Mayor Brucite’s satin pillows and pulled the warm blankets up to her nose. She had made sure the others had found beds after their meal. The Mayor had been more than hospitable, arranging for their entire party to sleep at his mansion in the middle of town. Meluscia half-heartedly thought of her plan to sleep and dine at a commoner’s home. But not tonight. She had little stamina for anything but putting food in her stomach and finding the nearest bed.

  Outside her window, she could see the moonlit rooftops of the town from her second story room. Where was Savarah? Meluscia had informed the Mayor that her sister might arrive later in the night, but Meluscia hoped Savarah had already found food and a bed somewhere. If Savarah didn’t rest her wounded body, she was going to kill herself. Meluscia couldn’t fathom how her sister managed that first night’s ride in the cold downpour with a bandaged shoulder and fever. It seemed inhuman.

  Sleep beckoned Meluscia, but before she closed her eyes, a large black raven came to her window. It was strange, for it appeared to be looking inside her room. Reason reminded her she was exhausted and probably just delirious. The bird had likely only come there to get out of the rain.

  She closed her eyes, and the bird followed her into the darkness of her dreams. It was the largest raven she’d ever seen. When it took flight, it swept toward her, catching her up in its talons and taking her far to the west, over the land of the Sea Kingdoms finally releasing her atop a tall sea cliff. Below, waves crashed in thundering peals against large black rocks, spraying foam and salty water against the cliff wall.

  Praseme was there with her.

  “Look down there,” said Meluscia, pointing to the dark rocks below. “Isn’t it powerful?”

  Praseme walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Mica will never know, came a voice in Melusccia’s head. She came behind Praseme, and gently pushed her. Praseme’s body turned as it fell free from the cliff, her eyes stared sadly up at Meluscia. Then her body met the water below, and the foam and waves swallowed her, pulling her down deep into the belly of the dark ocean waters.

  The crow grasped her again and flew her to the Hold. Mica came up beside Meluscia and she put her arms around him. He was grieved, because he knew Praseme was gone forever, but Meluscia didn’t mind his emotions, for she was certain her own warmth could heal his wounds.

  But then the crow seized her arm, and shook her, and she was torn from Mica’s presence.

  Meluscia opened her eyes and sat up in bed, breathing hard.

  A candle bobbed in the darkness, illuminating two disembodied faces.

  “Sorry to awaken you,” said Mayor Brucite, his knobby features coming into focus through the blur of sleep. The other face beside him was an old black-haired servant woman from his household.

  “It is two hours until cock’s crow,” continued the Mayor, “and your sister Savarah has not returned. I thought you should be told. Do you believe she is in trouble?”

  “No,” said Meluscia slowly, distracted by the dream she’d just woken from. “Do not worry about her. She is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

  “Very well,” he said. “I apologize for waking you.”

  Meluscia nodded, and the Mayor and his servant quietly left.

  She laid back down, but her thoughts churned furiously over the dream she’d just had. When she embraced him in the dream, it had felt so real. Like the way he held her when she’d pulled him close into the shadows of the dark passageway of the Hold. He had wanted to stay and not pull away. She had sensed it.

  In desperation, she sat up and threw the blankets off her bed. She was tired, but nothing could calm her. She left the bed and wrapped herself in a gown.

  What would it feel like to give in again? To let her body decide her actions? To do what her desires willed?

  She needed some fresh air to still her mind, and she needed company. The Mayor had a tower in the middle of his mansion house that she’d spotted when their party first arrived. The tower was no more than four or five stories high. It would be a beautiful place to stare out and think. To talk.

  She lit a candle that had been left at her bedside and let her feet guide her. “Who would be more enjoyable company than Praseme?” said a voice in her head. “She’s so easy to talk to.”

  Quietly she found her way to the room where Belen, Terling, and Bezmerenna slept. And there was Praseme, beneath one of the room’s windows, moonlight touching her sleeping form.

  Meluscia put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. Praseme’s eyes opened slowly.

  “Come,” said Meluscia. “I need your company.”

  Praseme rose swift and quiet, and donned a wool garment for warmth. She followed Meluscia through the dark halls, the candle lighting their path.

  “I need some night air to think,” said Meluscia. “Looking out at the stars always does me good.”

  “Yes,” said Praseme. “I do the same some nights. When my husband is away with the patrol. Is something worrying you, My Lady?”

  Meluscia came to a small staircase. “Yes, I am full of thoughts,” said Meluscia, her feet guiding her up the staircase. “Tell me, what would you do if there was something that could bring you great joy and peace, but an obstacle blocked your way?”

  “Well…I suppose I would try to remove the obstacle,” said Praseme as she climbed the stairs behind her.

  “Yes,” said Meluscia. “But what if removing the obstacle is a hard thing—something you’ve never done before, and it…scares you?”

  “You must find courage,” said Praseme. “You have to dare yourself to be bold, even if it seems daunting. Even if you are afraid of failing.”

  The stairs ended at a small open space, where a large bell hung from wooden beams. Meluscia walked to the stone wall and looked out into the stars. The night air smelled fresh and cool. She noted the stone wall reached up to her waist. It was not very tall. Below was a stone walking path that ran through a small courtyard

  “You sound like you’ve been brave yourself,” said Meluscia. “Like you’ve taken risks.”

  Praseme’s sudden laughter irritated Meluscia. It was so oblivious and happy.

  “Yes, there was a time when I had to be brave,” said Praseme, joining her at the wall. “When I first met my husband. Of course, your difficulties are probably far greater than mine, being about kingdom politics or some other weighty issue.”

  Meluscia stared down at the stones below. “Go on, tell me about when you first met your husband.”

&nbs
p; Praseme sighed. “He wasn’t a stable master when I first saw him but I felt as if I were only a young girl and he a man. He was so handsome, and his eyes always made my heart turn to frosting, all sweet and airy.” Praseme paused. Meluscia saw her white teeth in the moonlight as a grin interrupted her story, but she quickly went on. “When I brought him his food from the kitchen, he always said kind things to me. Just little things. Like when I braided my hair different, he always noticed and told me he liked it. Or he’d say things about the way I served food. He said I smiled, and never looked bored or unhappy. He made me feel…appreciated.”

  Meluscia closed her eyes. Praseme was so completely in love, and why shouldn’t she be? Mica adored her. Meluscia had seen it with her own eyes. And as much as Meluscia hated to say it, she understood why he did. Praseme’s spirit was so charmingly uplifting.

  “One day, I simply took a deep breath and asked him if I might court him. I had for years wished our customs had it the other way around, like the Sea Kingdoms, where the man asks the woman for courtship. But, then, I realized the Makers had given women a great blessing at the Hold! I would then have had to do so much waiting, and for a man I might not love. Or, the gods forbid, I’d have to flirt to entice a man! Instead, I had the chance to go out and seize what I wanted.

  “So I asked him. And, well, you can guess the rest of the story.”

  Meluscia leaned forward, over the rail, breathing deep. Her heart was no longer numb. It had been hard as rock but Praseme’s voice and soul had melted it down into molten flesh. It pulsed with dark and hateful emotions, but the object of her disgust was new.

  Praseme reached out and put her hand on Meluscia’s back, then stepped close beside her. “You’re crying. What’s the matter, My Lady?”

  Meluscia glared at her. “My heart is sick,” she whispered fiercely. “Push me over this wall, Praseme. End this wretched life.”

  Praseme’s eyes went wide. “My Lady!” she exclaimed, “Do not think these things!”

  “If you knew what I’ve done,” said Meluscia, “you would do it gladly.”