Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

  Winter sighed. “Alright. Let me find something warm. Are there clothes in these rooms?”

  “Yes. They are fully stocked.” Arentiss marched over to a wall panel and slid it sideways, revealing a closet.

  Winter put on pants and a shirt that were of a stretchy, insulating fabric. She then grabbed a coat and followed Arentiss through the dimly lit corridors. A door hushed open before them and a small, dark viewscreen filled the opposite wall.

  “This is one of two exploration vessels the facility has,” said Arentiss. “Very small, easy to miss in the sky.” Winter sat beside Arentiss at the control panel. A warm blue light lit the interior. “Hold tight, I’ve never driven this ship.”

  Winter gripped the two arm rests as the craft jerked forward.

  “May I ask you some questions about your farm rituals?” asked Arentiss.

  Winter frowned, her mind still drowsy. “Of course,” she said.

  “As I understand it, you are responsible for finding a wife for your brother.”

  “Yes,” said Winter, saddened at the thought. “Since our parents died, the duty was mine.” She paused, remembering her last conversation with Aven on the topic of finding a mate. He’d bought his farm, and she’d promised to find a match for him. She knew it was the only thing he’d needed besides a farm. A good woman to love and create a family with.

  The craft broke the surface of the water, and Arentiss leaned back in her chair, one hand on the guiding mechanism. “What qualities are you looking for in a match for Aven?”

  Winter sighed. “Does it matter right now? He’s gone.”

  “But he could come back,” said Arentiss.

  Winter stared forward tiredly. She didn’t understand why matching mattered at that moment.

  “Tell me,” continued Arentiss, “what qualities do you look for in a prospective mate?”

  “What does it matter to you?” said Winter, turning an impatient eye to Arentiss.

  “If you find me suitable, I would appreciate you choosing me for Aven’s mate.”

  Winter scowled and searched Arentiss’s face for a sign of humor. It felt like a cruel joke considering the circumstances.

  Arentiss’s eyes were cool and appraising, her lips set in their usual emotionless line.

  “I understand I might not be your ideal candidate,” continued Arentiss, “but I promise to work on any qualities in which I am deficient. I’ve come to love your brother.”

  Winter’s mouth fell open. “Love my brother? We’ve been here less than a month. You don’t even know him.”

  “I know him well enough,” said Arentiss. “Is that a requirement? That a prospective partner know him for an allotted amount of time before you choose them?”

  “Well, no,” said Winter. “I’m the one who needs to know the girl before I arrange the marriage.” Winter raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think you love my brother?”

  Arentiss paused for a moment, the light of the console casting a blue glow on her serious expression. “Aven is kind, altruistic, tender, modest, ethically-minded, faithful and loyal. He’s cautious and systematic, yet passionate when protecting those he loves. His most serious negative trait is that he can be obsessive in his devotion, which makes him dependant upon the stability of that which he is devoted to. This potential instability can cause him frustration that leads to negativity and depression. However, I find Aven’s strong points match harmoniously with my own psychological traits, and his weakness is offset by my stability. On my psych evaluation, I received the highest marks possible for both uniformity of thought and self-confidence.

  “But to return to more of your brother’s strengths that are congruent with my personality, he would be supportive in my stability, find peace in my uniformity, and take courage in my ability to reason, which manifests as self-confidence.”

  Winter said nothing for a moment, overwhelmed by the cascade of words pouring out of Arentiss’s mouth. She’d thought the girl was a bit odd from the beginning, but now…

  She shook her head as she scrutinized what Arentiss said. Eerily, it seemed to make sense. But how could Arentiss know all of this about her brother in a matter of weeks?

  “When did you discover this about Aven?” asked Winter.

  “I sensed the possibility we were a good match before our mission to retrieve you from Barron Rhaudius. Because of your situation with Pike, Karience gave the missionaries a brief sketch of your history and an outline of your psych files. Those were key in my seeing him as a potential match from the start. And besides that, I was greatly attracted to him. I eagerly spoke with him at breakfast the very next day after your arrival, hoping to find out if he thought me too old to pursue. If you remember his comment about my hands being like your mother’s on that first day, I was worried that would put an end to any possibility of…mmm…explosive passion between us. Well, by the end of our breakfast I was well relieved, and that is when I knew for certain we were a good match for marriage.”

  Explosive passion?

  Winter couldn’t help but smile at the phrase.

  “Alright,” said Winter. “As Aven’s matchmaker, I still would need his opinion on the matter of your marriage to him. It’s customary for both individuals to accept the match, at least, in my family it was.”

  “Oh,” said Arentiss. She made a quiet humming sound for just a moment, then said, “Since we cannot ask him, might my experiences with your brother convince you that he did have feelings for me?”

  “Experiences?” said Winter. “What do you mean?”

  “On several occasions your brother defended me in front of others who tried to make light of something I said. And perhaps more telling, your brother held my hand on several occasions, even stroking my—”

  “He held your hand? Stroking your what?”

  “Yes, he held my hand. And he stroked my fingers.”

  Winter shook her head. “He would have told me,” she said, feeling slightly betrayed by her brother, but also quite relieved about what had been stroked.

  Winter felt a floating sensation as she sensed they were descending. Arentiss leaned forward and squinted at the viewscreen. The stars and moon appeared to rise higher in the sky.

  “Perhaps he felt it wasn’t the right timing,” said Arentiss. “You haven’t been feeling well since your return from the portal. I think he might have been waiting for the right moment. Or, if my intuition serves me well, you have not been feeling well is really due to some serious matter that you find difficult to deal with. I only guess this because you seem well enough right now, but only last night, you weren’t well enough to join us for Aven’s housewarming.”

  At first Winter felt angry, but the flicker of anger was blown out as Arentiss’s cold calculations churned in Winter’s mind. Arentiss was more right than she could have guessed. Between Winter’s own inner wrestling with the Makers and the horrible visions she’d had of Aven and the vicious beast, she had made herself sick with doubts and fears, a fierce conversation ever raging in her head.

  The ship gave a slight shudder as it touched down. Outside the viewscreen, Winter saw the shape of a barn in the distance.

  “At the very least, I would be honored if you consider me as a candidate for Aven’s wife,” continued Arentiss, filling the silence. “I am eager to answer any questions that would help you come to a decision.” She rose from her chair. “Let’s have a look around, now. See if we can piece together what took place outside the barn.”

  Winter followed Arentiss outside, still reeling from all that had been said. The air was crisp and cold, but she felt warm in the clothing she’d chosen from the sea facility.

  A question came to Winter’s mind. It was not altogether serious, for it wasn’t really a qualification to marrying her brother so much as a means to see what the brainy up-worlder would say.

  “Can you cook well?” asked Winter.

  The quiet padding of their feet through the grass lingered satisfyingly in Winter’s ear.

&n
bsp; “I can’t say that I’ve ever tried,” said Arentiss. “But I know how important female meal-making is in your culture, and let me assure you, whatever I put my mind to, I—”

  A light suddenly glared into Winter’s eyes. She shielded her face, blocking the powerful beam.

  “Who’s out there?” shouted a harsh male voice. Then it came again, this time with warmth. “Arentiss? Winter?”

  “Lower your light!” called Arentiss. “You’re hurting our eyes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the voice, familiar now. Winter lowered her hand as the beam fell before a figure a short distance from the barn. Immediately Winter recognized him.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Rueik.

  Arentiss turned on a light of her own and Winter followed her as she approached Rueik. “I assume you are here for the same reason as Winter and I,” said Arentiss. “Did you find anything?”

  “A little, but it’s not much. I’ll show you.”

  He led them to the front of the barn. “There,” he shined his light. “You can see the tire tracks in the grass still. They stopped here. The problem is I don’t see any sign of a scuffle—I don’t know if I could in this hard dirt.” He shined his light on a small berm in a patch of worn grass. “This is the only scrape in the surface I’ve been able to find. It might be something.”

  “It’s not,” said Arentiss, squatting on her heels. She touched the ridge of clotted dirt. “Too old. More than a day at least.” She stood again and began to inspect the area herself.

  Winter noticed Rueik’s head turn to follow Arentiss. Winter stared at the ground where Rueik’s beam still hovered. The dirt and worn grass reminded her of the worn path leading from her old hovel to the road.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” said Rueik softly.

  Winter looked up at him, and in the rim of light that his lightstick created, she saw sympathy in his eyes and a marked reverence. She nodded but said nothing. She found words trite compared to how she felt inside. Silence was language enough.

  Rueik momentarily turned his eyes back to Arentiss, who was stooped at the threshold of the barn door, inspecting the ground. Then he looked back to Winter.

  “I see you brought your butterfly in your hair.”

  “Yes. Its name is Whisper.”

  “How is it Whisper doesn’t fly away?”

  Winter stiffened. “I have no answer to that question. Ever since I came by her, she’s been loyal to me. But recently she lost one of her wings. She’ll never fly again.”

  “How long have you had Whisper?”

  “Since I was nine.”

  “But you’re seventeen,” pressed Rueik with a strange smile, “How could a butterfly live that long?”

  Winter scowled at the ground. “How long do butterflies live?”

  “A year, at most,” said Rueik.

  “Perhaps this type is different than the butterflies on your world.”

  Rueik shrugged. “It’s possible,” he said, his eyes turning to Arentiss who was squatting midway inside the barn. “Or maybe your butterfly is more special than you know.” His head turned to her and his gaze was full of intent and concentration as he probed her face. “Come on, let’s see where Arentiss has gone to.” Rueik placed his hand lightly on Winter’s back, urging her forward.

  Winter led the way inside the barn, but Rueik’s hand remained steady against her, guiding. His touch was almost comforting, but it felt strange. Too insistent. Arentiss was on her knees beside a column of hay bales.

  “Find anything?” asked Rueik.

  “I see where you fought with Pike,” said Arentiss.

  “It’ll be light in another hour,” said Rueik. “Someone will be here soon. We should go.”

  Arentiss sighed. “It’s unfortunate the dirt outside is so compacted. Otherwise we might have observed more.”

  “Do you think Karience’s theory about Zoecara is possible?” he asked.

  Arentiss stood, wrinkled her nose. “Zoecara a Shadowman? It is possible.”

  “I think so too,” said Rueik, “even though it feels surreal. I kissed her. To think I might have kissed a Beast’s trained assassin.” He shuddered.

  Winter folded her arms across her chest. A Beast’s assassin? If she was going to continue to trust the Makers, as she had decided earlier in the quiet of her room, then her path led directly into the domain of a Beast. Perhaps Zoecara had played some part in her destiny…

  And the mercenaries, had they played a part as well?

  Let’s go,” said Winter, eager to return to her room and have the peace to think.

  HEARTH

  …as the latest report makes clear, the mountains surrounding Praelothia emanate a raw element that destroys our little beetle machines and prevents us from penetrating the temple itself. We named the element Divinidon in honor of the ever reclusive Divine King who rarely leaves the temple. Everything behind those oversized gates is a mystery. Few go in, and even fewer come out.

  I’ve personally questioned those few who are allowed to come and go into the temple and all are remarkably trained at obfuscating any interesting information that might be had. Danturas, the captain of the king’s armies, is impossible to leech a single tidbit from, and the young priests and priestesses, who come and go on occasion, have given little more.

  Four gates, each as large as the monstrous outer gate, section off the inner temple. Beyond that, I know nothing. It is puzzling and unnerving to know that the Cultivators before me could procure no further details. Does this not break faith with the charter? What goes on behind those gates?”

  -Transmission from Hezzat, Cultivator of Hearth, to Higelion, Magnus Empyrean of Sector 54

  CHAPTER 8

  MELUSCIA

  It was less than a half day’s ride to the small Tanri River that bordered the land between the Blue Mountain Realm and the Verdlands. Once past the river, it was not hard to find the markings of devastation upon the land. Fields burned, along with the homes that had housed the farmers and their hired hands. What had happened to the Verdlands farmers and their families, she could only guess.

  They had not traveled more than an hour beyond the Verdlands border before a horn sounded crudely in the distance. Kaolin raised his hand in the air, bringing their party to a halt.

  Meluscia rode her horse up beside her guide. “Is it King Feaor’s soldiers?”

  “Yes. They may mistake us for a raiding party.”

  “How do we convince them otherwise?”

  Anger flashed within the black pupils of Kaolin’s eyes. “We can dismount…that is the clearest message that we do not intend to fight. But I am not sure the Verdlands soldiers will care. They may only be out for blood.”

  A cloud of dust rose at the top of the road and then the first wave of the Verdlands horsemen traversed the hill. They poured down the road toward Meluscia’s party like a committee of vultures arriving at a feast. The Verdlands horsemen were at least twice their number, and the speed with which they charged hinted at their intent.

  “Do as you suggested, Kaolin,” said Meluscia. “Order your men to dismount. Keep my two maidservants mounted, as well as the group of prophets. That way they’ll see there are women, children and the elderly among us.”

  Kaolin spat and turned, shouting the commands.

  The riders were nearly upon them when Meluscia rode out from her party.

  “Are you mad?!” shouted Kaolin, but his voice was just distant noise as Meluscia raced out in front.

  She pulled on the reins, turning her horse to stand across the road. Her heart was pounding as she raised her hands in the air, palms open. The charging horsemen slowed at the last moment, several surrounding her, swords and spears flashing about in well-armored hands.

  A stout, handsome-faced man rode up before her. He had a short trimmed beard beneath passionate green eyes.

  “I am Solvig, nephew of the king and captain of the Vale Brigade. You are trespassing on the king’s farmland.” Solvig
jerked the reins of his horse and his red cloak flashed under the glare of sunlight. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t put to the sword every man in this party and take the women back to the king’s castle for questioning?”

  Meluscia’s neck burned at Solvig’s threat. The red-cloaked man appeared young for a leader. Perhaps five years older than herself. He trotted his horse away from her, moving swiftly toward her party, and as he did, she noticed that nearly every soldier who’d accompanied her had their hand on the grip of their sheathed sword, ready to draw and fight.

  “Who is your leader?” shouted Solvig.

  “I am,” called Kaolin.

  “No!” returned Meluscia. “It is I who has charge of this party. I am Meluscia, daughter of Trigon, Luminar of the Blue Mountain Realm.” She saw the concern on Kaolin’s face at her admission.

  Solvig strode his horse up to Meluscia’s. “The Luminar’s daughter? The beautiful jewel of the mountain realm? You have the red hair and fair complexion she is renowned for. If this is true, why have you come here?”

  She raised her chin up, keeping here eyes coolly fixed on his. “I come bringing an offer of peace to your king from my father.”

  He glanced at her party with a scowl. “Why the contingent of soldiers if this is a mission of peace?”

  Meluscia nodded at the man’s question. “I set out with only five, but ill circumstances have forced my small party to expand.” Meluscia met the eyes of the Verdlands captain and hid none of her concern. She said quietly, “There are grave threats living in both our kingdoms, and there are some who do not wish me to bring this delegation to your king. That is why I am in need of protection.”

  The man dismounted and stood before her. “If you speak the truth, my men and I will provide protection for your party of five. The rest of your group either turns back now, or faces the swords and spears of my men.”

  Meluscia turned and looked at her party. “Kaolin, come here.”

  Kaolin took a step forward, but two horsemen blocked his way.