Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

  “Let him through!” commanded Solvig.

  Kaolin made his way beside Meluscia.

  Her guide looked with dark eyes upon the Verdlands captain, then turned to Meluscia. “My Lady?”

  “I have agreed to this man’s terms. You and the other soldiers are to return home. I will go to the king under the care of the Verdlands men.”

  Kaolin’s eyes narrowed as they turned to the red-cloaked man. “Know this, My Lady. Captain Solvig has our countrymen’s blood staining his sword. If we were not so out numbered, I’d refuse to let you go with him.”

  Solvig had just opened his mouth to rejoin Kaolin’s insult when Meluscia snapped, “That’s enough Kaolin! I will trust the captain with my safe passage. Is it not true that our men’s swords have blood stains as well?”

  Kaolin looked surprised at Meluscia, but his surprise quickly turned to anger. He spun around, facing their small contingent of soldiers.

  “We return to Tilmar,” called out Kaolin. “The Luminar’s daughter has agreed to travel under the loving care of King Feaor’s men.”

  Tension vibrated in the air. Kaolin strode back to his horse and mounted it. The other soldiers followed his lead. Slowly they turned back on the road.

  None of the twenty men looked back.

  “You said you set out with five companions,” said Solvig. “I count ten remaining.”

  Meluscia glanced at the band of prophets. “There are five prophets who joined us on our travels. They wish to come with us. I do not know why—but I know this, they speak the words of the gods.”

  Solvig seemed to be surveying the remaining group. “You spoke of blood on the swords of your own soldiers’ blades. I respect you for that. Because of those words, I’ll trust that you speak the truth. And as far as prophets go, I am not one to tamper with the will of the gods.”

  Solvig clenched his teeth and whistled. “We escort these ten to the king,” he shouted to his horsemen. “They are a peace delegation sent from the Hold. There are some who wish to prevent them from reaching the castle of our king. We shall protect them with our lives.”

  Hope stirred like a fierce wind in Meluscia’s heart. She’d given this captain a view of her heart—a heart that saw the good and the tragic on both sides of the border, and the captain had valued what she’d given.

  She breathed deep as Praseme fell in beside her and their new escorts led them down the path.

  “Such bravery and confidence!” said Praseme. “How did you come by those qualities?”

  Meluscia shook her head. “Only by my incessant desire to become who I want to be. We have good desires, and bad, and they drive us to be brave, or foolish.” Meluscia stared at the mane of her horse bouncing regally as it kept a swift pace. “Please, Praseme, I need some quiet to think. Tonight, I’d like to talk privately with you. I have something urgent to tell you—but not now.”

  Praseme’s brows angled with concern. “Of course, My Lady.”

  --

  That evening the loud laughter of soldiers filled the small roadside barrack. Solvig sat beside Meluscia, on a rough-hewn wood bench with his fellow riders. It had surprised her when he set her at the head of the long table in what she assumed was his own chair. A soft velvet cushion padded the seat, and the back was high with a small amount of ornamentation carved into the wood.

  A goat-skin bag of wine was passed to Meluscia. Tonight, more than any other, she was tempted to fill her cup to the brim. Quickly, she poured herself just a mouthful and passed the bottle to Solvig.

  She saw that he did not pour himself a cup.

  “Is the captain of the Vale Brigade holding out for stronger drink?” she asked.

  Solvig’s demeanor softened. “I do not drink.”

  “Why is that?” asked Meluscia.

  “My mother was a drunk. Abstinence is my revenge—even as she lies dead in her grave.”

  Meluscia nodded. “Do you believe in forgiveness?”

  “Only when I drink,” said Solvig, and winked at her.

  Meluscia stared down at her cup of wine and the little pool of red at its base.

  It was time.

  She drew back her cup, swallowed, then stood from the table.

  “Going somewhere?” questioned Solvig. “The garlic squash and roast pepper will be here soon.”

  “I have to talk with one of my maidservants outside. Please take no offense. It is an urgent matter between us.”

  “As you wish,” said Solvig, a slight disappointment in his tone. “At the very least, you must be back for the quail.”

  Meluscia humored him with a smile that disappeared as soon as her head turned to look down the bench row where she’d seen Praseme sitting between Terling and Bezmerenna. She found her again, but this time Praseme was talking with Jauphenna, who had managed to squeeze in beside Terling.

  Meluscia came behind Praseme and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Would you come with me a moment?”

  “Of course, My Lady.”

  The moon was a sliver outside the barracks, which stood beside a small stream. The fields surrounding the barracks were filled with fruit trees. It was all a reminder of the abundance of food that the Verdlands enjoyed, as was the rich two-course meal that no soldier at the Hold would be privy to.

  “Did you hear what they’re serving us for dinner?” asked Praseme.

  “Yes, it all sounds good,” said Meluscia, stopping beside the stream under the shadow of an apricot tree. “What were you and Jauphenna talking about?”

  “Dessert,” said Praseme. “Have you heard? Plum pie!”

  Meluscia fought her emotions and faced Praseme, who was looking out over the stream at the rows of orchards on the opposite side.

  “I’ve heard the flower of the orange fruits are absolutely intoxicating,” continued Praseme, her voice so unsuspecting of what was to come. “The flowers, I am told, rival the scent of roses.”

  Meluscia barely registered what Praseme said. Tears filled her eyes, flowing down her face. “I have wronged you, Praseme.”

  “What do mean?” asked Praseme, jarred from her whimsy as she studied Meluscia’s face.

  “I have…” Meluscia faltered for a lack of words. She strained for something that would not cut Praseme’s heart, but it was impossible.

  “I have…pursued your husband the last few months. It was wrong, I know that now. I’ve known it all along, but…” Meluscia faltered. “But I’m a wretch,” she sobbed.

  “Mica? You’ve pursued Mica?” Praseme’s voice lost its lightness, her face etched with concern.

  “Yes,” said Meluscia. She fought to phrase the darkest admission in her mind.

  Praseme’s eyes, even in the dim sliver of moonlight, were marred with confusion. “Why? You could pursue any unmarried man in the Hold, any man in the entire Kingdom if you wanted. But, I thought you wanted to be Luminess? To take your father’s throne.”

  Meluscia snorted derisively. “I wanted the throne, but my loneliness haunted me. I craved affection, a loving touch. Praseme, I was consumed. I let my desires take control of me. I was pursuing the throne in the open, but secretly I could not escape my hunger for the love of a man—and it was your…it was Mica I fixated on.”

  Praseme’s right hand came up to wipe at her eyes. “Did you ever…voice your desire to my husband?”

  Hands seemed to wrap themselves around Meluscia’s throat. Her tongue swelled. There were no more barriers now. Meluscia parted her lips, waiting for her tongue to loose its horrible words.

  “Yes. I surprised your husband as he walked down a dark passageway at the hold. I tried to entice him. I wanted him to kiss me. But let me assure you, he did not respond as I’d hoped. He was faithful to you, Praseme. He left me standing there.”

  Meluscia ran her palms down the length of her dress. “But…I didn’t stop. At night, in my mind, I planned out ways to get what I wanted…I even dreamt of your death. I allowed myself thoughts of taking your life.” Meluscia shook her head. “When I
had you bake all those muffins, it was only a guise to make sure you were gone. I came to your bedroom. I knew the scent of your favorite perfume and I put it on. In the dark, I…slipped into your bed. I pretended I was you…he didn’t know. He was half-asleep. He thought it was you.”

  “He…he made love to you, not me.”

  Praseme stared at Meluscia in silence, mouth open, her expression numb.

  Then Praseme stepped forward and her fist flew at Meluscia’s face. The blow sent Meluscia stumbling sideways, the left side of her face screaming in pain. Her knees went wobbly, and she collapsed onto her back in the grass. The stars faded in and out as her head spun.

  With all her will, Meluscia fought the dizziness. Finally, she was able to look upon Praseme. “I’m sorry. I was…I’m sorry.”

  Praseme groaned long and loud. She stood there, fisted hands dimly silhouetted in pale light. Meluscia reached a hand up to the painful throbbing on her face. The slight touch made her wince.

  “You’re worse than that old craven Luminess, Kayia!” Praseme screamed, her voice raw. “At least she didn’t sleep with another woman’s husband!”

  Meluscia embraced the insult.

  “I thought you would lead us!” Praseme howled. She bent down and scooped something from the ground. A rock. It was clenched in her fist. Another fearsome growl poured from her throat and she turned from Meluscia and threw the rock into the trees.

  Praseme stood still, silent but for her heavy breathing. Meluscia’s head steadied, the stars above ceasing to spin.

  “Why did you tell me this?” questioned Praseme. “No one knew what you did. You could have kept it a secret.”

  Slowly Meluscia sat up in the grass. “The prophet Jauphenna gave me a word from the Makers. She told me to confess my transgression. I didn’t want to, for I knew it would hurt you, but in Jauphenna’s words was a warning from the Makers. If I did not confess, our mission to King Feaor would fail.”

  Praseme turned her head toward the barracks. “So your confession was more a matter of convenience than heartfelt.”

  “Not at all!” cried Meluscia scrambling to her knees. She reached out and caught Praseme’s dress to keep her from leaving. Praseme twisted away from Meluscia’s grip.

  “Please,” said Meluscia in a panic. “Last night, when we went up to the mayor’s bell tower, my heart was changed—”

  “Changed? How?” questioned Praseme.

  “I had envied you for so long. Made you into an enemy in my mind. But last night, it was as if that dark enchantment came undone. My envy, and jealousy—the caricature I made of you in my mind, it all fell apart.”

  Meluscia stood, shakily, facing the girl whose fist had sent her to the ground. The left side of her face throbbed and her eye ached horribly. She tried not to concentrate on the pain and finish what she wanted to say. “Your heart is good and full of joy, Praseme. Your reward is the life you have. You are a far better woman than I.”

  Praseme turned toward the stream, away from Meluscia. “You were a hero to me, Meluscia,” said Praseme. “You treated all of us so well—all the servants in the Hold loved you. You made us feel valued. You were of high position, yet you used your power differently.” Praseme turned her head, the side of her face lit dimly by the moon. “When I thought of your name, I felt pride and hope. But now you’ve done this…this despicable thing!” Praseme turned again to face the river.

  “There’s one last thing I have to tell you,” said Meluscia, almost in a whisper. She realized she was just as frightened of this last admission as the first. How would it affect Praseme? “The small boy with the band of prophets, he had a word for me as well.”

  Meluscia hesitated, desperate again to find the right words. But none came.

  “I am with child,” said Meluscia.

  Praseme posture went rigid, her back turned to Meluscia. The horrible silence between them was filled by the droning gurgle of the stream. Then, suddenly, Praseme fell to her knees and began to weep.

  Meluscia wanted to rush to her, but knew her touch would be poison.

  “You should return home,” said Meluscia. “I’ll have Belen and Bezmerenna accompany you. I see no reason why Solvig wouldn’t spare a few men to see you safely to our realm’s borders.”

  After a moment Praseme stood. She stepped close to Meluscia, hands folded across her chest.

  “You’ve bled me dry this night,” said Praseme, her body shaking. She opened her mouth, as if to say more, then shook her head and strode past Meluscia, back toward the barracks.

  Alone, Meluscia walked to the bank of the stream. The rippling water reflected the night sky in distorted but beautiful flecks of light. She stepped out on a large, angled rock and knelt. If the moon were full, she’d be able to see her own reflection. As a child, she would imagine being a star, as if it were a happy, living thing, and would lie out on her balcony for hours imagining herself shining, radiant.

  She didn’t feel that way this evening. Tonight she was the dark-webbed void that lay between the luminous stars.

  And yet, looking at the stars now through older eyes, she did feel the distant hope of light within herself, distorted as it was in a rippling wake of her own making. There was still hope.

  Good still lived in her, she knew.

  And the bruise throbbing on her face felt very much like the start of healing.

  CHAPTER 9

  WILUIT

  Wiluit placed more twigs and a branch on the small fire. It crackled lightly, flaring as the fire found something new to consume. Overhead, a lone ash tree stood at the edge of the orchard. It was far enough away from the road to suit Wiluit.

  “That quail was so delicious,” said Jauphenna, “And the wine,” she said, sighing, “the Makers be praised!”

  Wiluit spied Jauphenna reaching into her cloak.

  “Look what I retrieved for us,” she grinned, holding out a wineskin. Jauphenna raised it to her mouth but Wiluit reached out and grabbed it from her hands.

  Wiluit smiled good-naturedly. “Truly, the Makers blessed us with wine and other drink, but they are to be enjoyed with restraint.”

  Jauphenna stuck out her lower lip. “I’ve not had too much. I can drink as much as you or any man.”

  “You’re at your limit,” said Wiluit firmly.

  “It’s too tingly,” said Shauwby, sitting atop Seethus’s knees as he always did. “I don’t like wine. The orange juice was much tastier.”

  Wiluit rubbed Shauwby’s back. He noticed the boy’s Cherah lopping about in the grass behind Shauwby, as if it were grazing. Though Wiluit could see the Cherah, he knew little about them beyond the gifts they gave. His own Cherah was a little insect-like creature that he rarely took notice of. Most of the time, he didn’t know where it was, for Cherah did not physically touch the world. Even it crawled along his skin, he could not feel it, but very now and again, he would catch sight of it.

  Jauphenna had two Cherah, both small and furry. One with a tail that would occasionally spin the spirit creature up into the air only to stop and then float back to the earth like a dandelion. The other just scampered about her feet, like a rat.

  None of the Cherah had eyes or anything like a face.

  The fire flickered hypnotically as they all stared in silence for a time. It wasn’t too long before Seethus began humming some long-forgotten tune and Shauwby curled up against the old man, his head resting at the crook of Seethus’s boney shoulder.

  Before long, only Wiluit and Jauphenna sat awake, the embers of their dead fire painting the surroundings in a dark orange glow.

  “Did you get a good look at her eye?” asked Jauphenna. “I wish I could have been there to see that whoring princess take a hit from her servant. I’d give up almost anything.”

  Wiluit sat still as a stone, letting Jauphenna’s harsh words linger in the air. He remembered Meluscia’s entrance back into the barracks. How Captain Solvig swore to punish the offender. Meluscia responded to the captain’s offer in a hushed
reply that Wiluit had barely heard. I deserved it, she had said. The mood had shifted in the barracks after that, growing more somber.

  Wiluit finally spoke over the crackle of fire, “We all have made mistakes. We all have regrets.”

  “Not like that girl!” said Jauphenna, as if Wiluit had just compared a murderer to a petty thief.

  “Your lack of compassion is your greatest weakness, Jauphenna.”

  Wiluit’s words seemed to bite Jauphenna like a snake. She nearly jumped from the stone she sat upon, glaring at him with wounded eyes.

  “The Makers made you a prophet,” continued Wiluit. “You dole out judgment and warnings easily enough, but when someone turns from their transgression, why do you mock them? The Luminar’s daughter confessed as a result of your words, and you ridicule her for it? Seems to me you need a word of warning for yourself, lest you wallow in your self-righteousness.”

  Jauphenna harrumphed, and walked briskly out of the small circle lit by the fire.

  Wiluit frowned. He’d been harsh. Perhaps too harsh. But those words had been long in the making. Jauphenna’s gift was not used often, but when it was, she could become full of judgment and derision. He would have to lift her up in the next week. Find the right words to restore her, for he knew how easily she could become insecure about herself. He felt so lost shepherding a young woman like Jauphenna. What she needed was an older woman, a mother-figure or a grandmother.

  Wiluit felt the tug of weariness. He laid down his mat and drew his blanket from his pack. He was about to lie down when an impression came upon him, jolting his head up. It was urgent and it was precise.

  Someone was near the barracks.

  And this person wanted the Luminar’s daughter dead.

  Quickly Wiluit scooped up Shauwby’s sleeping form where he lay beside Seethus and wrapped a blanket around him. He held the boy in his arms, making off through the orchards toward the barracks. Wiluit carried no weapons, and yet, he carried the greatest weapon of all.

  Carrying this boy, he might as well have had the entire army of the Verdlands cradled in his arms.

  “Where are we going?” yawned Shauwby.