Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  ‘You can’t go, Serena. You’ll never get past the Watch.’

  The corner of her lip curled.

  Chapter Five

  His feet sank into the Royal Garden’s grass. Tranquil pond water shimmered beneath the hazy glow of ignium lamps, soft fire dancing on the surface of the water. He looked on as couples waltzed in the street, conducted by some kind of phantom music. Other couples were content to lie on the ground, embracing one another and gazing up at the sky, waiting for the stars to emerge. A chorus lilted through the air from nightingales perched in the tall, thin lilac trees that lined the road to Old Town Square.

  ‘Corporal Tyson Gallows of the Royal Dalthean Army.’ The words sounded alien to him. Aerulus above. If he wasn’t careful he’d make a career out of this.

  He slipped the silver pocket watch from his crisp, dark blue uniform: It was after nine in the evening. She was late. Nothing unusual there, then. Tyson smiled, wondering what excuse she would bring him this time. Maybe a group of kids in the street sequestered her to join in their games (again)? Or did she stumble upon a troupe of magicians, unable to resist the call for a volunteer (again)? That was one of the things he loved most about her—her effortless confidence, spontaneity.

  The watch disappeared into his breast pocket. His shirt and tie threatened to choke him, but he wouldn’t loosen them. Not tonight.

  Airships filled the sky, coming in over the harbours, loaded with goods to trade for ignicite. He liked the noise they made and the trails they spun in the sky.

  Tyson stared at the ripples in the pond, thinking about what he was going to say.

  He glanced at the time again: An entire minute had passed.

  Gods, he was nervous. He patted his other pocket, heart lurching in panic at the absence of anything inside. He almost collapsed with relief at discovering the ring in his inside pocket. Sweet Eiro. Losing that would have been disastrous.

  ‘No it wouldn’t,’ he said out loud, sweeping his gaze to the sun as it descended westward. ‘She’d laugh for days.’

  He’d gone through the scenario in his head a million times, trying to find ways to engineer the perfect moment—which turned out to be about as likely as Buzz Fitangus cleaning himself up, seeing a dentist and becoming King of the Realm. He’d flirted with the idea of proposing during the next Fair of Sorelios, getting onstage at some game with her, masses gathered to witness it. But no doubt he’d screw it up, say the wrong thing—or be rejected outright in front of a thousand spectators.

  He stopped mid-pace. Gods. The thought hadn’t occurred before.

  What if she says no?

  Shit. Maybe it was better not to do it all. He could go home, think, plan…

  ‘No,’ he muttered to himself. ‘There’ll always be an excuse not to do it.’ He thought of the morning’s edition of the Viator, and the article that pushed him to make up his mind—more reports of Idari aggression, sweeping through villages in the Sanctecano Isles like wildfire. Horizon Bridge—the incomplete path between the west and the eastern continent of Idaris—had been destroyed. Dalthea’s flagship, the Enlighten had been obliterated. The war had started, and Gallows had volunteered. Having a sea between Sera and the Idari was a comforting thought.

  Marching off to war was only half as scary as the thought of proposing.

  Darkness descended upon him—the cool skin of Sera’s gentle fingers wrapping around his eyes. ‘You’ve had a haircut,’ came her voice.

  Gallows laughed. Gods, it had felt like years since he’d laughed. ‘To go with my new job.’

  She spun him around by the shoulders, her hug powerful considering the size of her. Gentle and powerful, calm yet passionate—he relished every contrast. Her smile lit up the entire Old Town Square. She pulled his face down towards her and kissed him.

  ‘You’re doing the right thing, Ty. I’ll worry about you non-stop, but you’re doing the right thing. Also, you’re better looking with short hair. Can’t believe it took twenty-five years for that revelation.’

  His heart leapt.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she continued. Her eyes glinted like stars. ‘I got caught up helping the new clerk—she misplaced a Junior Councillor’s itinerary, and so of course the world ended. She’s convinced she’ll be let go but I calmed her down. Apricot wine may have played a role.’

  ‘Oh, I think I can forgive you.’ He ran his finger across her cheek, brushing away a strand of her glossy brown hair. ‘Gods, Sera, you’ve no idea how good it is to see you.’ She wore a long denim skirt with a splash of ruby red rose petals flourishing over one side. Her slender, tanned arms shone from her sleeveless white shirt, adorned with elegant silver jewellery.

  He looked into her yellow-brown eyes. He once told her they glimmered like gold dust, a fact she liked to embarrass him with every other day.

  Uneasiness bubbled in his belly, like losing his balance for a second. A strange sadness crept over him, there and gone within a moment like a breath in winter. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed her. Was it really only a few hours since they were last together?

  ‘How very sweet, Corporal Gallows,’ said Sera. ‘So, might one enquire what you have up your immaculately pressed sleeve to celebrate your new promotion, or am I to be kept in suspense? Is it a surprise? Are we eating at Lisandra’s? Cocktails and dancing in The Laguna Lounge? Wait! The Carney Company is holding residence at the Prima Cento, performing Captain Crimsonwing and the Sky Pirate’s Daughter!’

  He scratched the back of his head out of nervous habit. ‘Uh, none of the above.’

  ‘Pity.’ She winked at him. ‘I’m sure the book’s better anyway.’

  There was something about the way she stood, how she carried herself at that moment. The sunset was at her back, a mischievous glint in her eye… This was the moment.

  ‘Sera, you are so beautiful.’ Gallows’ eyes moistened. Strange. He’d never cried in front of her before. All of his senses flared for an instant, a panic rising from his stomach, screaming at him to grab her and run and never let go. It was all he could do to keep from succumbing to the impulse.

  ‘I love you,’ he said. It felt like it was the first time he’d ever told her.

  She clasped her hands behind her back and took a step closer to him so that she brushed his chest. ‘Then why did you call me here, Tyson?’

  She knows.

  ‘Sera…’ He bent down and got onto one knee. As he did so, he noticed the birdsong vanish from the air. The wind halted as well, as though the world held its breath.

  ‘Sera. When we met, I wasn’t much more than a scruffy slack-witted kid from Dustwynd who got into more scrapes, fights and ass-kickings than I want to remember. I mean, I of course realise the Gods gifted me with these rugged good looks, legendary bedroom skills and a humble sensibility to coast through life with…’ He looked up at her, expecting to see her smile. She didn’t. ‘Uh, anyway. The only ambition I had was to get out and see the world, explore…

  ‘But I was wrong, Sera. I should have been seeking you. Seeing the world doesn’t mean a thing if you’re not by my side.’

  He felt the eyes of everyone else in the Town Square on him. Tyson couldn’t see them all, but he sensed that their faces had suddenly grown pale and lifeless, like boutique mannequins. The blood rushed through his veins, heart pummelling his chest. Something was wrong.

  ‘You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You… You’re my best friend, and my soulmate. Seraphine Luvandis—will you marry me?’

  The full moon beamed down at them standing there, washing the Old Town Square in an inky silver-blue. An icy gust sheared Gallows’ skin, snuffing the light and heat from the ignium lamps.

  ‘Ty,’ she said. Her skin was as thin and pale as paper—like their lifeless audience. He found his body trembling, but not from the chill. Words formed then dissolved in his throat. She caressed his face with her hand, its touch absent of any warmth.

  He struggled to his feet, feeling an immense weight pr
ess on him.

  ‘What… What’s wrong?’ he stammered. Moonlight spilled away, and the whole sky turned black.

  ‘Everything,’ she said. ‘Our plans… Our future…’ The skin on her face cracked and peeled.

  ‘I…’

  ‘Did you believe in it?’

  The foul smell of rancid, burning meat invaded his senses, cloying at his eyes, seizing his throat. ‘Sera…’

  ‘You lost me, Tyson.’ Her voice hissed. ‘The day you sailed away.’ Flames sparked from her flesh, soft and gentle at first, like the reflection of the ignium lamps on the pond.

  ‘Don’t say that!’ He wanted to say more, so much more. Fire draped around her in waves. Their spectators, silent and still, melted away into the blackness.

  ‘Gods, Sera! Sera!’ Her skin charred and crackled as the fire spread. He grabbed at her, frantic, but his fingers grasped only air.

  ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘No! NO!’

  She reached out a hand to touch his face. Flames danced on her fingertips. ‘I’m gone, Tyson.’

  ‘SERA!’

  The life burned out of her in front of his streaming eyes, until she was nothing more than embers carried in the wind.

  ‘Sera!’

  Gallows’ bed sheets clung to his skin. His whole body weighed down as though an anvil sat atop his chest. Sleep often left him feeling drained rather than refreshed.

  He dragged the bedside drawer open, dug around, and pulled his old pocket watch out. The passage of years had stolen its sheen.

  ‘Was out longer than usual,’ he mumbled. He was used to sleep coming in bursts and bouts like this, the way it had ever since he languished in Nidra’s prison cell. Every night the dream came to him, but tonight it was more vivid. Major Fallon, telling Sheva he had information on Sera. Funny, how pushing something to the back of your mind only meant it crept up later on. Part of Gallows was tempted to march to the garrison just to smack Fallon in the mouth. But Sera wouldn’t want me to use her as an excuse.

  The dream was bad enough, but it wasn’t the worst of it—the real horror came from the knowing—the almost imperceptible knowing that ran through him like a thin thread, unfurling beneath the surface of his mind, weaving an invisible but unshakable truth—something’s wrong, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  And always the dread escalated, that strange sensation of fear mingling with hope—the hope that maybe this time it’ll be different, that maybe this time his hands will reach out and grab her, and they’ll run, run for as long as it takes, run forever.

  He wiped the sweat from his brow and spilled out from his bed and into the shower cubicle. The pipes shuddered and spat lukewarm streams over him. Not much time before the funeral service at the Raincatchers’ Guild.

  And he had a liaison to keep.

  A trail of brown, fetid liquid crawled down the wall from a hole in the corner of the ceiling. She stared at its descent in the large, cracked mirror. Was it water, sullied and brown from the grime in the pipes? Or blood from the floor above, seeping down and mingling with the filth this place was pregnant with?

  Her eyes fixed on her reflection. She straightened her back and kept her face still as the makeup brush glided across her skin. Her dark eyes were as tired as the rest of her. The burden of the other girls relying on her took its toll, the whole place choked with fear following the brutal beating of one of the new ones. What little power she had in this place was seeping through her fingers.

  She untied her coal black hair and stood, watching as it cascaded over her exposed shoulder, stark against her pale skin.

  She stood straight and examined herself, adjusting her dress, a dark blue garment with one side decorated in floral patterns, like the Phadrosi fashion. Uncomfortable as all hell, but it looks good. The lines in her face had become more apparent. She practiced a smile, long perfected. The key was to make one’s eyes look happy too; a genuine smile illuminated the entire face—a false one was little more than a rictus grin.

  A knock came at her door.

  ‘Veronica,’ the girl whispered when the door squealed open. She was young and pretty with rosy cheeks. She’d be comely and sweet, but for the red welt on the side of her face.

  ‘Come inside,’ she said, beckoning the sobbing girl to sit on the large bed. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  She said nothing, choosing instead to stare at the floor and fuss with her dirty nightdress.

  ‘Here,’ said Veronica, wrapping a dressing gown around her. ‘Are you okay?’

  The girl didn’t respond.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Veronica continued. ‘I know that seems like little consolation, but…’ She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Veronica kneeled in front of her, using a slender finger to tilt the girl’s face up. Gods. Barely seventeen. Must have come here straight from the orphanage. ‘Tell me your name.’

  The girl’s dry lips parted and she whispered, ‘Nora.’

  ‘Nora. A lovely name. Do you know what it means?’

  Nora shook her head.

  ‘It means “flower” in Old Dalthean. This land was once renowned for its flowers, you see. Many girls were named after them.’ She thumbed a tear away from Nora’s face. ‘Use a healing salve. It’ll sting, but only at first.’

  ‘I… I don’t want to do this. I made a mistake. I, I can’t.’

  ‘Nora, little flower. It feels bad now, but I promise, it… It gets better. I need to ask… Did he pay you?’

  Nora shook her head again.

  ‘Damn it.’ Veronica shook her head. ‘All right, it’s… all right.’

  ‘Will he hurt me?’

  ‘The man you saw? I’ll see to it that he doesn’t. There are specialist Courtesans who will provide him with the service he enjoys.’

  ‘I don’t mean him. I mean…’

  Veronica stood. Zoven. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But only if he finds out. I can help, but in future you must get the money before anything happens.’

  Nora sobbed, louder this time. ‘What will he do to me?’

  Veronica sidled towards her bureau and opened the top drawer. She lifted the false bottom and clasped a bundle of paper aerons.

  ‘Nothing, provided you don’t tell him. Take this.’

  Nora took the money from Veronica without protest.

  ‘Tell him you were paid. Don’t tell anyone I gave you this. This is your first and last mistake, Nora. I won’t always be here to help you, and you can’t expect any of the others to. We watch each other’s backs but we can’t bail you out every time.’

  ‘But I don’t want to do this! I, I…’ Nora held her face in her hands, her unkempt straw-coloured hair bobbing back and forth as she cried.

  ‘Did you sign a contract?’

  ‘Y-yes… He was nice, said I’d have water rations, food… He made it sound like I’d be taken care of, that most of the time we wouldn’t have to… I’d never slept with a man before today.’

  The familiar anguish thrummed in Veronica’s stomach, thrashing like waves over rocks. She’d seen how Farro Zoven could turn on the charm.

  She wanted so much to hold her, to comfort her and offer a way out—but there was none. ‘You don’t have a choice now, Nora.’

  ‘But-’

  ‘You don’t have a choice. If you try to leave, he’ll kill you. Slowly. Brutally. He’ll leave your carcass out in the middle of the street, there for everyone to see and pass you by, with enough life left in you to know how alone you truly are. And that’s after he spends days having his way with you, and letting his lieutenants pass you around, taking turns. You only have your sisters now. You’ll wake up every day. You’ll clean yourself as best you can. You’ll bring men to your room and you will please them and you will get paid for it. And in ten years’ time, you can leave.’

  The colour in Nora’s cheeks had faded to nothing. ‘Gods above, I don’t want him to touch me.’

  ‘None of us do. But if he does choose to touch you, it’s better
he doesn’t do so with his fists. Come. Stand up.’

  ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘help me.’

  ‘Get up.’ Veronica’s voice came harder.

  ‘…help me…’

  ‘I am helping you.’

  ‘Aerulus…’

  ‘No, the Gods don’t listen to us, we help each other. Get up.’ Veronica pulled Nora from the bed. Almost no weight to her. She drew the younger girl to the door and pushed her out. ‘Go to the shower block down the hall. You’ll need one of your water tokens. Get changed, use the healing cream, and rest. You’re working again later. I’ll give you to one of our regulars if I can, someone who won’t hurt you.’

  ‘No, please, I, I can’t, I-’

  Veronica slammed the door.

  She swept her gaze around her room: The double bed in her room, always clean and adorned in finery. The changing screen with its cherry blossom artwork. The mirror, perfumes and makeup, even the mechanical clock. Gifts, Zoven had called them on the day he promoted her to Madam. Shackles, all of them.

  More footsteps sounded outside her door. She had tuned the other noises out a long time ago—the exaggerated moans of pleasure and stiff, gruff grunts, and the screams, though they were relatively fewer these days, at least when Zoven wasn’t around, but the footsteps… That was a noise which persisted. Slow going up, fast coming down.

  Nora would learn to do the same: Tune everything out, go through the motions, switch herself off, grow numb to it all. Dozens of girls worked here, and even more out in the streets of Scab End and Dustwynd. She clasped the locket chained around her neck and glimpsed the photo inside of her baby.

  The table clock on her bureau told her it was time for her first appointment of the evening.

  One more year. One more year and I’ll be free, and we’ll be together.

  She glided across the sandy cobbles. The retreating copper flare of the sun bowed towards the horizon, slashing pinkish-red scars into the flesh of the darkening sky. The night invaded, but still Veronica’s parasol concealed her face. It didn’t do to run into an unsuspecting customer while he traipsed about town with his wife and children.