by Rule, Adi
The Felix’s tail swished. A dark shape moved beneath her branch, making its way laboriously through the snow. The creature wasn’t looking up. She could have dropped onto its shoulders and killed it with her jaws before it knew she was there.
But she was surprised to recognize the creature as human. She had watched humans from the sky, she remembered.
They were sometimes … interesting. And she had known nothing but waiting and devouring for so long.
The Felix jumped from the branch and landed in front of the man, her massive body crushing the hard crust on the night snow. She watched him gasp, freeze, and turn from her before realizing running was pointless. Then he turned back.
That was slightly interesting. Most creatures ran.
“I have never seen anything like you,” the man said, shaking. The Felix took a step toward him, and he covered his face with his forearms. “You look like a cat, but you—you are not a cat.”
This was something the Felix had heard from many creatures, in their own languages. The man continued to speak. “I have come here because I am ill.” She could smell the decay on him already. “Hunters say a great, terrible beast guards this forest.” He lowered his arms. “But I have built a church. I believe we can bring goodness here. And I wanted to tell you before I die.”
The man stood, still shaking with cold or fear. The Felix took another step closer and looked into his eyes.
She bristled in surprise. There was the brilliant galaxy she had missed for so long. In this man’s eyes, she saw the boundless, swirling reaches of his soul. She saw his pain and disease, his hope, his uncertainty. A sleeping part of her mind stirred from where it lay curled around her memories of home. For a moment, she was mesmerized.
Then it passed.
She tore out his throat.
Twelve
BY THE LIGHT OF HER TIFFANY LAMP with the dragonfly motif, Sing reads a sappy novel about orphans. The orphans wear raggy clothes and have open sores and eat rats and never, ever have to go to the opera with their fathers.
When she has inadvertently read the same paragraph three times (the orphans tell one another everything will be okay), she puts the book down and turns over. In the safety of the warm room, she thinks about the audition. She sang the vocalise adequately. She shaped the lines and formed the vowels as best she could. Her father told her that, no matter what, she would be one of the top sopranos at the conservatory, even as a first-year.
She just has to hope that’s true. She did get accepted after only one audition, quickly—the letter came within three weeks. And she made a splash at her old public school, winning the talent show and the Arts Advancement Scholarship. And hadn’t her father been telling her she would be great like her mother? That he could tell? If only she would learn?
You hear the breath continue after the vowel, Sing? She does that well.
You see how she moves her hands?
You see the spine there? Even when she is reclining?
You hear the sparkles on that B flat? How it spins?
Yes, she heard. Yes, she saw. And yes, she can do all of it. Why, then, is something always missing?
She buries her face in her pillow, remembering the eyes in the president’s office. Daysmoor’s unsettling gaze. The Maestro’s barely concealed dislike. More than dislike.
Why does he hate her? Sometimes it seems as if the more people loved her mother, the more they hate Sing. They will especially hate it if Sing performs Angelique.
But she starts to read over the libretto again, and the familiar, safe feeling returns. The voices and costumes are as clear in her mind as they were when she was five, sitting in that theater yet existing elsewhere. She is alive and protected.
Sing closes her eyes and hums the first aria, starting low and choppy, suddenly soaring up into a heartbreakingly beautiful phrase about how the stars watch over the fields. She shivers as she remembers hearing it for the first time.
Will she ever get to sing it? Will she be cast as Angelique? At Stone Hill, after Osiris and Seth, Maestra Collins told her—and her father—she thought Sing could handle a bigger role. Is that true? She knows she has come further in two years than most people do in ten. But does anyone ever go from First Priestess to Angelique in three months?
She pictures herself, as she has done a thousand times, in that white, ruffly dress. Only now, the stage she imagines is a real one—the warm, paint-scented stage in the Woolly Theater, hung with velvet curtains so rich and heavy, they would crush a person if they fell. She imagines staring out, nothing visible except the shimmering spikes of bright light reaching down into the black void of the auditorium. And behind her, the world of Angelique. A world of love and honor and courage, held together by beautiful music. She tosses her blond ringlets and smiles, and the music comes, clear and strong and fierce.
Angelique is her secret. It is the hope that has kept her struggling for the last two years, through lessons and repertoire and soirees that were all just a little too difficult for her to do well. The hope that someday, she would sing this role; that she would be Angelique. Queen of that perfect world.
If her father knew the conservatory had chosen to stage it this semester, she wouldn’t be here. He would have pulled her out of high school next semester instead. But through some whim of fate, she is here.
Voices float in from outside her yellow pine door. Students are heading to the lobby to wait for the lists to be posted by the midnight deadline. Sing closes the score. Maybe she should wait downstairs with the others. Maybe Jenny and Marta will be there.
“Back later, Woolly,” she says to the battered gray lamb whose button eyes stare at her from the bed. She puts on her slippers, ties her red silk bathrobe, and tucks the score under one arm.
Downstairs, the moon-faced lobby clock says nine thirty and already the ugly maroon couch and most of the chairs are occupied.
Three girls Sing saw at the Welcome Gathering stop talking as she enters, then begin whispering after she has passed them. She hears, “Sing!” and then stifled giggles. She turns, but as she expected, none of the girls are looking at her. They appear deeply entrenched in their own conversation. “I like to sing,” one of them says. The other two laugh and snort.
I shouldn’t have turned around. They wanted to see if I’d react to the word.
She finds one of the last available stuffed chairs and tries to read. But she hears her name over and over, murmured, whispered, thought. Does everyone here know who she is? Are they all talking about her? That could have been a furtive glance from the stocky boy in the corner, huddled with his friend. That could have been her name coming from a group of heavily made-up girls over by a potted plant. Or it could have been her imagination.
Every few minutes, she looks for a figure crossing the quad from Hector Hall. But all is dark except for light pooling in front of windows.
In front of her, the windows look out onto the moonlit lawn behind the dormitory. She gazes past the silhouette of an impressive maple tree and into the forest, separated from the conservatory by a tall wooden fence. When he finds himself in the dark forest … Sing wants to throw open the window, dive through, rush headlong into the cold arms of those shivering black trees.
What about this forest unnerves her father? And what, inexplicably, draws her to it? The spiky pines and jutting cliffs that drift away up the mountainside divulge nothing. But perhaps, she thinks, the woods and mountains north of Dunhammond don’t need to flaunt their secrets. Perhaps they—and the conservatory—are so steeped in wild magic that trying to see it out a window is like using a dowsing rod at the bottom of a lake.
Thirteen
Angelique
An Opera in Three Acts
Libretto by Jean-Paul Quinault
Music by François Durand
CHARACTERS
Angelique, a milkmaid
Soprano
M. Boncoeur, her father
Baritone
Silvain, a shepherd
> Baritone
Count Bavarde/Prince Elbert
Tenor
Queen of the Tree Maidens
Soprano
A villager
Tenor
The Felix, a great beast
Mute
Villagers, Huntsmen, Tree Maidens
Overture.
ACT I.
A village.
No. 1, Chorus.
The quaint inhabitants of a quaint village describe how much they love farming.
No. 2, Aria & Chorus.
M. Boncoeur, who loves farming more than anyone else, tells about the light of his life—his beautiful daughter, Angelique. The villagers agree that Angelique is kind, innocent, and good.
No. 3, Recitative & Aria.
Enter Angelique, carrying a pail of milk and greeting everyone. She tells of the virtues of hard work.
No. 4, Recitative & Chorus.
Silvain, a shepherd, enters and tells the villagers he has seen the track of the Felix—a fearsome, great beast. The villagers become alarmed and wonder what to do.
No. 5, Trio.
M. Boncoeur says they should go to Prince Elbert for help, but Silvain says he will go and kill the beast himself as soon as he grabs his hunting knife. Angelique begs Silvain not to go.
No. 6, Aria.
Silvain tells Angelique he would die to protect her and runs off into the woods to hunt down the Felix.
No. 7, Finale.
Angelique, M. Boncoeur, and the villagers hope Prince Elbert will be able to help them.
ACT II.
The deep woods.
No. 8, Chorus.
A hunting party has killed a great stag and is bringing it home for a feast. Their leader, Count Bavarde, enjoys hunting quite a lot and everyone agrees he’s very good at it.
No. 9, Recitative & Duet.
Silvain enters and is accosted by Count Bavarde. These are Prince Elbert’s woods, and poachers are to be hanged. Silvain insists he’s hunting the dreaded Felix, but Bavarde and his men don’t believe him. Count Bavarde insists Silvain is a poacher and should be hanged. Silvain bemoans his fate.
No. 10, Chorus & Trio.
A bevy of Tree Maidens appears, scolding Count Bavarde. They bring with them Angelique, whom they have found lost in the woods. Angelique says she has come in search of Silvain and now pleads for his life. Count Bavarde comments on how pretty she is. Silvain says the woods are dangerous and that Angelique should go home.
No. 11, Recitative & Aria.
Angelique asks Count Bavarde to let her speak to Prince Elbert. Surely he will understand. Angelique thinks Prince Elbert must be very handsome and noble.
No. 12, Recitative & Aria.
The Queen of the Tree Maidens arrives and chastises Count Bavarde, demanding he release Silvain and reveal his true identity.
No. 13, Finale.
The Count agrees and tells everyone he is really Prince Elbert, enjoying a hunt with his friends without the pressures of his royal title. Everyone thinks it was a clever disguise.
ACT III.
The village—night.
No. 14, Recitative & Aria.
Prince Elbert has come alone to find Angelique. He realizes he has everything he wants in the world except her.
No. 15, Recitative & Duet.
Angelique hears his lament and agrees to marry him if he rids her village of the Felix, which she has just seen prowling near the sheep. Prince Elbert agrees.
No. 16, Chorus.
The villagers hear the cries of the sheep—the Felix is approaching.
No. 17, Duet & Chorus.
Angelique and Prince Elbert bid each other a tearful good-bye. The villagers are heartbroken that Angelique is heartbroken.
No. 18, Aria.
Angelique worries for her love, Prince Elbert.
No. 19, Recitative & Chorus.
A villager returns with news that Prince Elbert has been badly wounded by the Felix and will surely die. Angelique despairs as the villagers grieve for her.
No. 20, Aria, Interlude, & Recitative.
Silvain vows to kill the beast that has caused Angelique sorrow. He and the Felix battle. The Felix defeats Silvain but has looked into his eyes and seen his despair. The beast spares his life and grants him one wish. Silvain chooses to wish Prince Elbert healed for the sake of Angelique.
No. 21, Trio.
The Felix disappears for good, and Prince Elbert miraculously recovers. Angelique thanks Silvain but realizes he is mortally wounded—he has chosen her happiness over his own life. Silvain dies.
No. 22, Finale.
Everyone briefly feels bad about Silvain and then cheers for the happy couple, Angelique and her prince.
Fourteen
“TOUT EST À MOI SAUF VOUS!” Ryan sings. “I have everything but you!” Angelique hears his lament and agrees to marry him if he rids her village of the Felix. Prince Elbert, handsome in his navy-blue uniform with gold piping and white buttons, takes Lori’s hand. She is dazzling in a white shepherdess costume, complete with a graceful crook adorned with a pink bow. Prince Ryan and Lori hope they will be together in some bright future.
Sing wakes as the score tips forward onto her face. It is just past eleven. Students doze on the couch, chairs, and floor. Someone has turned on the gas flames in the fake fireplace, and a boy and girl play checkers in its glow.
Marta and Jenny, perched on a coffee table, flip through a magazine whose cover is all hot pink, sun yellow, and bold block lettering.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Jenny says casually. “I was going to poke you in a minute to stop you snoring.”
Sing opens her mouth, but Marta pats her shoulder and laughs. “Don’t listen to her.”
Jenny makes loud snoring noises, ignoring the annoyed glances, and Sing laughs.
The door opens, letting in cold air. Eyes open, spines straighten, checkers and books and magazines are forgotten. A gray robe and faint, piney scent swish past Sing’s chair as an apprentice crosses the lobby—Daysmoor. He posts sheets of paper to the bulletin board, long fingers delicately pressing the thumbtacks.
“The lists!” Jenny shakes Sing’s leg. Everyone in the lobby hurries to the board. Scowling, the apprentice pushes his way out of the crowd and heads back to the door.
Sing hesitates, but then, inhaling deeply, she rises. It’s difficult to see the tiny names beyond everyone’s bobbing heads, but she hears Jenny say, “Oh! I got Orchestra Two!”
“See anything?” Sing asks Marta, whose height gives her an advantage.
“Um—looks like I got Concert Choir—and you, too.”
“Great.” Sing tries to sound enthusiastic. Everyone makes Concert Choir. “What about, um, Opera Workshop? See anything there?”
“Let’s see.” Marta cranes her neck. “Wow! Oh, my God!”
“What? What?” Sing’s heart jumps.
Marta turns around. “I got the Queen of the Tree Maidens!”
“Oh!” Sing tries to smile. “Great!”
“You know, that’s so weird, because I was just reading about tree maidens—there’s different ones, but dryads are the most famous—in Mythical Beings You Should Know. It should help me prepare for the role, you think?”
“Um, sure.”
Sing notices Daysmoor, arms crossed, leaning against the wall by the door. His face is turned away, and for a moment she studies his dark, angular form. There is something strange about him, something lonely—maybe deeper than loneliness, as though he is a creature from another world. She doesn’t realize she is staring until Marta’s voice cuts through the chatter.
“Sing, you’re Angelique!”
Her heart stops, then kicks on again at twice its normal rate. “Really?” she says quietly. Did everyone hear? What do they think?
The dispersing students don’t glance her way. Only Daysmoor has turned his unreadable face in her direction. Can he hear her heart beating all the way over there? He pushes himself off the wall with his shoulders and leav
es without a word.
“Oh, wait,” Marta goes on, unaware of Sing’s heart. “It says ‘us’ beside it—I think that means ‘understudy.’”
“Oh.” Sing steps back. The crowd is thin now, and she can see it, too. S. da Navelli: Angelique, soprano (us). And just above it, L. Pinkerton: Angelique, soprano. “Oh. Well, that’s cool.”
Only it isn’t cool. It would be better to be in some other group than to have to learn and rehearse the role of her dreams and never get to perform it.
It would be better to just leave.
Fifteen
THE FELIX, WHEN SHE REMEMBERED space at all, remembered it as unforgiving. Everything about space was relentless—the emptiness, the brightness, the coldness, the silence. But the mountain was different. It could be treacherous one moment and a sanctuary the next.
That rainy summer, the forest was slick and muddy. The Felix spent most of her time in a shallow cave near the summit, staring out at the gray days. Her thoughts, when they came, were simple—noticing the color of a mushroom, smelling new leaves, wondering if the rustle in the bushes below was something big enough to eat. The concepts of brother, mother, and home were all but lost to her now, but her despair remained, chaining her to the earth.
A pack of wolves adopted most of the mountain as their territory, and the Felix anticipated their infrequent passing with interest. It was a large pack, even after she had eaten two or three of them, and the way they hunted together fascinated her.
One wet morning, she was watching them lying in the shelter of branches below the cave. Large rocks and vegetation hid her bluff, but through the leaves, she could see the long gray bodies among the stones. They had chosen to rest in this rocky depression, comfort outweighing the difficulty their slender legs must have had scrambling down. A cub was playing, climbing over and around the rocks at the bottom of the bluff, snapping at insects. Every now and then, when he scrambled too far, one of the adults would bring him back with a sound or a tug.