“Fascinating. So, you’ve mostly been around human couples. You’ve seen how they interact. How would you describe—” Mary started and touched her belly. “What is the longest marriage with which you are familiar?”
“I don’t know. Don was always so busy, or away. I didn’t get out to make a lot of friends. I guess my seamstress was married a long time.”
“Did she talk about her marriage?”
“Sure, whenever I asked. She didn’t talk much.”
“You were a duchess in WaterCrescent?”
“Duchess of Augusta, which includes WaterCrescent, so yes, I guess so.”
“Some people might find that intimidating.”
“But I’m a siren.”
“Did she know any other sirens?”
“Well, I was really the only one there—I mean that stayed in the keep all the time.”
“If she didn’t know other sirens, then she may not know to implicitly trust you. Did it get lonely there?”
“Yeah, I just thought that’s how things are. I like it better here, though. Not just the Sanctuary, but the whole city. I guess I like the Mercy’s, too. Not Mercy so much, but the garden … the bed—it’s all so nice. I guess even the cave.”
“You mean cave in Kalafels?”
“Yes, it was hard, and cold, but … somehow it was, in a way, fun.”
“Tell me about the cave.”
Rapture did.
“Has Don been away from your side since the rescue?”
“No—I mean, to hunt and stuff, but not really. Oh, well he was captured by Talon. And a little while I was in Xandria. But other than that, not really.”
Mary waved Rapture closer. “Tell me about him. What is it you miss the most right now?”
“Well the touching, of course. Then just the whole interaction.”
“You mean like the dancing and meals?”
“Yeah. But also, the thinking—planning stuff.”
Mary nodded slowly. “Planning? So like when you’re going to see his family.”
“More like where we’re going to go next to get stuff done. Do we need to go to Raykez or Krafer’s? Stuff like that.”
“You enjoy working alongside him? Struggling to accomplish something?”
“Sort of, but I guess even more, it’s waking up and feeling the warmth and pressure against me—the scent.”
“Waking up to look into those blue moons.”
“I didn’t know you’d met Don.”
“Briefly, a few times. I’ve had occasion to make rounds in the political circles of WaterCrescent, before the war.”
Vivian returned with Yvette, a Marigold. Vivian gave a packet of gum to Mary.
Yvette studied a painting on the wall. “I always loved this.”
Rapture moved closer to see it clearly. It was a portrait of a man. He was mostly bald. His beard and long mustache were gray. He had dark, bushy eyebrows and two earrings in his left ear. “Is that Wescott? It looks like he’s reaching out at you.”
Yvette said, “It’s called thomplayou. I’ve seen other works, but this one is awesome.”
Vivian said, “I think it looks more amumorphic. See how his hand reaching at you looks bigger than his head?”
Mary said, “Anamorphic and trompe-‘oeil are the same style. They mean that the artist uses perspective scaling and shadowing to make the work appear to have depth. The difference is that one is the vardal name. In vernacular, ‘anamorphic’ often refers to projection toward the viewer while ‘Trompe-l’oeil’ is used for projection away. Typically, a trompe-l’oeil painting may cover a wall or ceiling to make a room appear bigger.”
Rapture said, “Oh, is that like an exonym?”
“Not quite, sweet sister. An exonym refers to a feature that is uniquely local. The concept of three-dimensional art is universal.”
Another wall hanging pictured a woman with bleached hair on a white horse with two horns. She reached down to another woman with dark hair and eyes. The dark woman knelt on the ground and reached up. Rapture pointed. “What is that one?”
Vivian said, “An advertisement poster for Vengeance Mirror. It is an opera. It’s going to be awesome if they ever finish it. It’s the sequel to Baptism of Stains.”
Rapture said, “Baptism of Stains … I’ve heard of that.”
Vivian said, “It’s the biggest and best opera ever—my favorite.”
Yvette said, “But Vengeance Mirror is going to rock.”
Mary said, “Likely, Vengeance Mirror will eclipse all records set by Baptism. It is superior in technical and artistic depth and breadth. It could very well reshape our understanding of symphonic opera.”
Rapture asked, “When will it be finished?”
Vivian shrugged. “Who knows?”
Yvette said, “It’s written, but they’re still casting parts and quibbling over money. They’re having to design a new stringed instrument and build a bunch of new props.”
“And the pit choir is ridiculous. They’ll need a new stage just to hold them all. And it calls for eleven siren chairs.” Vivian guffawed. “Can you believe that?”
“Anyway, it starts where the Baptism of Stains leaves off, with the Banshee’s Vengeance Aura.” Yvette held out her arms and crouched, as if sneaking. “She’s wandering the streets of Raykez during a storm.
Guilt takes flight from Fallen’s blight
Seeking shelter from my form
Moving silently through the streets,
I hunt them; they are mine
“After hunting for a time, she enters the White Heart missionary, where she had been staying. She spends time viewing some of the chapel’s paintings, and she ponders a course of action. Then she goes on to the burning at Silent Hands. That’s a couple of hours before midnight.
“The second act is the Pale Siren trying to figure out what happened.” Yvette marched up to Mary authoritatively. “She goes around interrogating the people and tracking things. Oh, we need a tenor for this.”
Vivian said, “Don’t look at me. Rap, can you do tenor?”
“I can, but don’t really like to. I don’t know the words, anyway.”
Yvette said, “Oh, it’s really easy. We’ll just do a line or two to give the feel.”
Vivian said, “What about if we do alto and coloratura soprano—move everything up an octave?”
“Well, our coloratura is somewhat out of sorts.” Yvette rolled her eyes toward Sister Mary.
Sister Mary said, “Sorry. There’s probably another Xandrian still up. Perhaps Zepharine.”
Rapture said, “Well, I could do it.” The others looked at her. “But I still don’t know the words so I guess not.”
Yvette said, “Really?
“Really what?”
“You can really sing tenor and full range coloratura—Xandrian coloratura, the full octave shift?”
“Well, mezzo is my best range.”
Vivian said, “She had formal training—at a human school.”
Yvette still looked perplexed. “Yeah, but still, I didn’t know a Godiva could do that. So … Dee seven, half notes, no problem—modal register?”
Rapture shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I just did some at Mackenzie’s.”
Yvette said, “I want to hear this. Here, I’ll sing your part once then you can repeat with me and go coloratura when you want.
Stronger than you know
I will crush the greatest demons
And cast radiance upon shadows that remain
Yvette sung the stanza a few times.
Rapture sang with her then sang it Xandrian coloratura.
Yvette clasped her hands over her heart, her expression now wistful. “Wow, Rap. That was incredible. Hugh. The second act starts at midnight. The Pale Siren goes to the White Heart mission and studies the paintings for clues. She reads the psychic aura from one of them.” Yvette laid her palm on the post
er and closed her eyes as if to concentrate. “The Siren finds the White Heart Priest flayed and imagines what happened there.
I feel the flow, the hallowed pain
Like fiery serpent spitting flame
The act ends when the Siren realizes what the Banshee is about to do and races to stop her.” Yvette moved quickly at Vivian.
Vivian said, “Then the chorus is repeated allegretto. It is in sirenic. There is a phonetic translation included in the manuscript. I don’t have it memorized, but it is really bombastic. The rest of the script is in human, so I guess the point of the sirenic chorus is to give it that extra ….”
Yvette asked, “Passion?”
Vivian said, “Drama. It seems like White Heart had some courageous plans for this symphony. I heard they were even going to try recording it on a receptacle. Anyway, act three is the fight between the two.”
Vivian and Yvette pretended to spar.
“It is difficult with all of the singing in rounds and dissonance. After the Siren defeats the Banshee, it goes into a closing scene.” Vivian lay down on the floor. “It is so long and agonizing. Some call it a separate movement or act. They named it Transcendence. Basically, the Pale Siren reveals that they are sisters. Then the Banshee cries and laments her life, finding peace.
Don’t leave me in disgrace
The sins of man are all I ever known
Only your sirenic tears can heal my wounds so deep
“Then the chorus repeats a bunch of times with small variations. Finally, the Banshee succumbs to the realization of her smallness. The last stanza is from inside Banshee’s fading mind:
Take me home
Before First Love faded
Before Baptism of Stains jaded
Chapter 48
Talon’s Lair
Visor pulled the reigns.
The horses whinnied and stopped, along with the carriage they pulled.
Rapture sat beside him, nervous but glowing and beautiful as always.
Talon’s watermill looked just as Cespenar had shown them.
Burke’s reconnaissance had proven helpful in completing missing details.
Talon’s thugs approached the wagon. “Let’s see what you brought.”
Visor pulled back a curtain to reveal a cage that contained a bound and disheveled Ranie, along with a bound female alfanar. The girls cowered together in a corner opposite a vicious Burke, who was attached to a cage bar by a collar and short chain.
Rapture’s bodyguard rode on top of the cage.
Two men were chained and walking behind the cage-wagon. They were associates of Ranie, additional prizes for Talon.
The thug asked, “And the next one?”
A second wagon trailed Visor’s. Athian and Evan sat on the front bench.
Visor said, “He is my lead minstrel. She’s my head chef.” The wagon was full of cooking gear and instruments. Other people walked and rode behind—his tracker, his medic, an assistant cook and some musicians.
Two additional thugs met them just down the road. They escorted the wagons into a covered parking and assembly area just outside the watermill.
Talon’s vampire questioned a few of Visor’s entourage and reported to a lead thug. “All truthful, and consistent enough. They are here to trade prisoners for a cut of the reward, and information on the location of the Catalyst.”
The party started. Food was served. Evan and her helpers were liberal with the ale and expensive spirits. The band played, letting some of Talon’s musically inclined henchmen join them.
Talon sat at the head table along with his vampire, difference siren, and other lieutenants.
The ogres sat in the back of the room, stuffing themselves.
Visor intermittently monitored Talon’s guards on the balconies. They disappeared from view one at a time, quietly. When they were gone, Visor had Rapture change songs and fill the room with libido-stoking pheromones.
Visor signaled Ranie, which set off a prescribed chain of events.
Visor signed to his unseen ninja to take position near the vampire and Talon.
Visor’s mistrals danced to center stage, along with Rapture. Her dress fell to the floor. Many eyes were drawn to the stage.
An ogre wailed and writhed. An arrow stuck out of his rounded gut.
Visor pulled Rapture to her knees, using his body and wooden stage props to shield her. Visor’s minstrels formed a defensive perimeter around Rapture.
Ranie’s alfanar fired another arrow into the same ogre.
The ogre stopped moving.
Evan distributed weapons from hidden compartments within the wagons. Evan’s crew protected Ranie’s alfanar and another sniper, who stood on the wagons, giving them good line of site to Talon’s troops.
Talon and his lieutenants organized a unit and moved to attack Visor’s minstrels. Talon’s difference siren loosed an ear-blasting wail.
Rapture screamed a sonic cancellation.
A blur of shadow and metal appeared among Talon’s group.
Talon’s unit screamed and fell as Sorana cut them to pieces. The route was on as thugs scampered out of doorways and windows.
A woman with a half of a face appeared and hovered over the melee. Her clothing was plain, dull gray, and tattered. Skin covered about half of her skeletal body, the rest being covered by a shiny metal decorated with intricate gold designs and tiny lights. It emitted a horrific, multi-frequency wail that stopped Visor’s heart and caused the watermill to crumble and collapse.
A number of large stones fell on Visor. As he lay trapped, Visor looked up at what he knew to be the Mortal Banshee—not with awe or anger, but only with pity.
A feminine rider on a two-horned horse flew into view, carrying a shining lance. The Pale Siren pierced the Mortal Banshee through the heart.
The Banshee screamed. The Banshee and the Pale Siren reached for each other and blended together in a swirl of light, eventually fading into the cosmic sea of the night sky.
***************
Wow! That was certainly a vivid and … organized dream. Visor took a moment to convince himself that he was really in Ranie’s guestroom and that they had not attacked Talon’s watermill. He tried to concentrate, but the details faded as his body became very aware of Sorana’s figure curled up next to him, so small and perfect. One of her hands was touching his cheek. He propped himself up on an elbow and shook his head.
Sorana shimmied under him. “Melt into me.”
A time later, screaming snapped him out of a haze. It was Evan. “Cold-natured—that’s bullshit! If you’re cutting again, Ima kick your ass!”
That was from the next door room. More arguing between Evan and Ranie ensued. He held still, wishing he couldn’t hear. A door slammed and a woman was left crying.
Visor asked, “Which one is that?”
Sorana wrote in Vardal-somata on his back, I don’t know.
“I have to go check. It might be Evan.”
Go.
Visor put on a robe and pushed open the already-cracked door of the next room. It made noise and the woman stopped crying. It was Ranie. Crap. He spoke apologetically. “I had this sudden thought about the Quenton rescue, but it can wait.”
Ranie stared at her lap. “And you thought to ask me?”
“Well, I heard voices and thought since people were up anyway …”
“Yeah.” She made a disgusted sigh and shook her head.
“Do you want to wait until morning?”
Ranie did not look at him. “What does it matter? You’ll do what you want anyway.”
Visor wanted to leave, but didn’t. He sat on the bed, leaving a space between them. “I need something that will make Talon want to meet.”
Ranie let out a big sigh. “He is a bounty hunter. The biggest bounties nowadays involve the Dodelige.”
“So we need to make him think we have infor
mation, or access to a member.”
“Or we could have actual custody of a member.”
“And you know one?”
“The Dodelige is not as dead as is commonly thought.” She rubbed her thigh absently.
“Ranie, I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Well, I’m sorry you are this upset now.”
“What? Do you think it’s about you?”
“No—well, I wouldn’t know. It’s just … if there’s anything I can do—”
Ranie became animated. “Oh! Anything you can do? Really!”
“Evan is my sister, and you’re her friend. I know you are upset at me, but I—”
Ranie leaned close to his face and sneered. “I’m not upset at you!” She let out a long, gentle sigh. “Evan and I—she worries about me.”
“Does she need to?”
“Probably, and sometimes I worry about her. Her headaches in the morning … sometimes, it seems like she is a different person ....” She shook her head. “Did you know that there is no measureable difference in intelligence quotients between men and women?”
“I guess I don’t feel like I have enough information to comment.”
“I do. That’s what I do for Finnur. I’m the specialist in psychology of women. My area of focus is how men and women differ in their application of empathy and logic in social dynamics. That requires me to explore intelligence. And I’ve found that if you use regression analysis to correct for race and education, the measured difference in intelligence is not statistically meaningful.”
“Okay. Well, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever known. I will grant you that.”
Ranie pursed her lips and looked away. “I’m acutely aware of that. I know what I am, and what I am not.”
“What are you not?”
“Do you think intelligence—analytical acuity—is a good thing in a woman?”
“Well, yeah. Intelligence is a strong predictor of success—the strongest, once a society reaches a critical mass of population, and the corresponding development of technological and social sophistication.”
“I see. So that’s why you’re with Rap?”
“Well, she learns things differently than we do. She’s a siren.”
“Oh, come on, Donnie. Even for a Godiva, she’s slow.”
“Well, how do you measure—it doesn’t matter anyway; we are bound.”
Mortal Banshee Page 23