A Death of Music

by A. A. Chamberlynn

  Roy, her father, towered over her.

  But Roy was dead. She had killed him herself. Right after he’d shot Penelope’s horse, and killed their mother. He couldn’t be here.

  Yet he was.

  Her whole body quivered. She didn’t dare look him in the eyes. She didn’t dare do anything that would be deemed a challenge, a threat. And as she focused intently on the ground, she caught a glimpse of white cloth. A nightgown. Her nightgown. One she’d worn as a young girl.

  She remembered this night.

  She’d been seven. Roy had told her to put her doll away, that it was time for bed. She’d looked up at him, and said, softly and simply, “No.”

  It was the first time he hit her. His reaction had been lightning fast. He’d crossed the room in a blur and struck her before she could even blink. After that, she’d never said no again. Not ever.

  It had mostly saved her from his hand. Mostly. There had still been times when he’d fallen into a foul mood, mostly if he’d been drinking, but sometimes for no reason she could fathom. She tried to stay out of his way when that happened. But sometimes, no matter how well you behaved, he’d get angry anyway.

  “Have anything else you want to say to me?” he screamed.

  She cowered on the floor.

  “I asked you a question, Dynah!”

  “N-no, sir,” she whimpered.

  “That’s what I thought,” he snarled. “Be a good girl, and this won’t happen again.”

  And she’d become a good girl. The best girl. Always on top of her schoolwork. Always scrubbed up for dinner. Always wearing the perfect outfit to please her father. And then, when she was older, to please other men. The prettiest. The best rider. Rodeo Princess, and then, Rodeo Queen. Well, nearly. It had been within her grasp. Everything orchestrated just as she’d planned it. Her whole life, carefully controlled. Well within the lines.

  Another memory swooped in, this time of her father yelling at her mother and Penelope. And then another, and another. Roy was everywhere, all around her, her past overlapping like waves. Angry because she’d gotten too dirty in the barn. Angry because she’d fallen off her horse in front of the neighbors. Angry because someone in town had commented on Penelope’s skin color and it disgraced the family.

  She realized abruptly that she no longer had a grip on Felicity’s hand.

  It was this absence of sensation that brought her back to the present moment. Roy wasn’t really here. She was far, far beneath the earth in the lair of Spider Woman. In another world where Roy didn’t exist. Magic scented the air, a taste of honey and coals. It wasn’t her magic, nor was it one of the other Riders. Which meant that it was Spider Woman’s magic.

  Dynah turned her head, looking past the many Roys which yelled and struck out, trying to catch sight of the others. She saw only darkness beyond the rapid-fire memories. Where had Felicity gone? And Willow and Penelope? She realized with a shudder that her sister was probably experiencing memories far worse than her own.

  And then, as the thought crossed her mind, her consciousness somehow bridged with theirs. Penelope was indeed caught in a loop of awful memories. They didn’t all involve Roy. Many involved the townsfolk of Hawk’s Hollow. The many humilities she’d endured because of her Navajo heritage. The whispers, the stares, and on occasion, the open taunts when her parents weren’t around.

  Little in’jun girl. Heathen. Red-skinned demon.

  There were so many memories. Hundreds of them, all the same. Treated like dirt because she wasn’t white. People acting like she was sub-human. Dynah had never known how bad it truly was for her sister. She’d born it all quietly, because to complain was to incite Roy’s wrath.

  Willow’s loop consisted of treatment of a different sort. Growing up without a father. Hearing the things people said about her and her mother. Constant beratement for her precocious personality. Too bossy, too loud, too boyish, too much entirely. Know your place. Act like a lady. That’s only for the boys.

  And finally, she felt Felicity. One figure dominated her memories, like Roy had in Dynah’s own. A tall woman with a gold cross around her neck and lace up to her throat. Ever-present white gloves. A smile in public that turned to a scowl whenever no one looked on, paired with a whip-lash tongue. A constant string of beratements, a pilgrimage to a land of perfection that could never be reached. Nothing that Felicity did was ever quite right. She always fell short of expectation.

  So she, like Dynah, had become as good a girl as she could be. Except, unlike Dynah, the residents of Hawk’s Hollow had not embraced her. They had not set her up on a pedestal, worshipped her, praised her every move. Despite her beauty and her musical talent and her devout church attendance, she’d been shunned by nearly everyone. Just because she was black.

  Whereas her sister had gone within in the face of such discrimination, stayed out of the way, tried not to draw attention, Felicity had been forced into the spotlight by her mother. Striving to always do her very best, to prove that she was just as good as everyone else. But she was denied at every turn. Dynah felt it all through her connection to Felicity. The constant yearning, the constant shame.

  And then, abruptly, she saw her own face in Felicity’s memories. The flame-haired beauty who had everything she’d ever wanted. Who walked through every door that was slammed in Felicity’s own face. She felt the admiration, and the envy. Dynah was everything that Felicity desired and could never have.

  It felt like a punch in the gut, so strong that she doubled over.

  Dynah closed her eyes, trying to shut out the memories. Hers, and everyone else’s. Even without seeing them, she could hear them, a symphony of torment. She was powerless to stop it, just as she’d been powerless to stop Roy all those years.

  And then came the rage. It had always been there, deep down, since that first time he’d struck her. She’d just done a great job of hiding it. Even from herself. It was what connected them, the four Riders. But hers was all the greater because she’d suppressed it for so many years. She’d pretended her life was perfect, that she had everything she wanted, had everyone wrapped around her finger. She’d done such a good job of hiding her anger, she’d even hidden it from herself.

  It surged now, like the lightning that had struck them that fateful day at the arena. White-hot and more pure than anything she’d felt in her whole life. It consumed everything, even the blackness around her. The dark turned to light, so stunning it hurt her eyes.

  “No more!” she screamed, and it wasn’t a scream of desperation, but a scream of power. A command.

  The white faded away and darkness swirled back in, but it wasn’t the absolute black of before. It was dim, yes, but Dynah could make out her surroundings. She stood in a small cavern lit by a handful of flickering red candles. Felicity stood a couple of feet to her left, Willow and Penelope on her right.

  And someone stood directly in front of them, not ten paces away.

  Chapter Ten

  Willow

  Spider Woman did not look like a spider, at least not when you looked at her directly. She appeared perfectly ordinary, a middle-aged woman with cinnamon skin and black hair that hung in thick swaths down each side of her face. A patterned brown dress covered her body. As Willow focused on the white threads that formed the design, she saw sudden flashes of a spider hanging from a web, large and fat on magic and creation.

  The woman folded herself into a seated position on the ground, a woven red rug beneath her. She gestured at them with long, spindly fingers, and Willow once again caught a glimpse of something that was not a woman at all.

  “Be seated.” Her voice was deep but sharp, like a cold winter’s night.

  Willow found herself sitting without commanding her own limbs. The other three Riders sat alongside her, all in a row. Her magic as a Rider felt dormant within her, asleep. She hadn’t realized how dominant that power and consciousness had been until it was gone. She was still War, but Willow had resurfaced from someplace deep inside. It was an
unnerving feeling, both her sudden decline in power, and the realization that the part of her that was her had been shoved aside this whole time.

  “How did you do that?” Willow asked, teeth gritted.

  The goddess raised both eyebrows. “Make you sit, or make you see visions of your past? You are not the only ones with power here.”

  Penelope opened her mouth to speak but fell silent a moment later with a flick of Spider Woman’s hand.

  “I know who you are, and I know why you’re here.” The woman peered at each of them in turn. Her irises were a pale shade of corn silk yellow. “I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do with you. For now, you will listen.”

  A wind stirred the candles, which seemed unnatural this far beneath the ground. But then, this wasn’t exactly the earth plane. Willow watched the red wax drip down the surface of the rocks they sat on. The last two days felt like a dream.

  “The visions were necessary for me to see your past. To see each of you. Because the power and the knowledge you’ve been given is not you. You were drunk with it. Lost so far within yourselves that you’d nearly forgotten where you came from. And yet—” she paused, cast that pale gaze over them again, “Not so far lost that you went blindly along with the angels’ plan for you. You are stronger than they thought you were.” Spider Woman snorted. “They are an arrogant bunch.”

  She got up and began to circle them, hands clasped behind her back.

  “They won’t be able to see you here. My realm is shrouded from all eyes. It’s risky, double crossing them. Your chances of survival are next to nothing.” Another snort. “I may save you the trouble and kill you now.”

  Willow tensed and attempted to rise but found herself glued in place. Cobwebs suddenly covered her body, wound so tightly she could barely breath. The others struggled against the same bonds.

  The goddess glanced at them and chuckled in a way that was not reassuring in the least. “But if I kill you now, the remaining seals will be broken, and the human world will end. Though that will likely happen anyway—I’m still not entirely sure you won’t stand by and watch the whole world burn. The anger within you is so strong. Plus, you’ll be hunted by the angels when they discover your deceit. That may dissuade you to drop this altruistic plan. It’s really incredibly foolish, what you’re doing.”

  She paused in her pacing and turned to look at them.

  “But someone must put Heaven in its place.”

  Willow decided she’d heard quite enough. She wasn’t just going to sit here and await sentencing. She had power, too, after all, even if diminished at the moment. She realized, however, that she didn’t know how to summon her magic. It had never been intentional. It was purely instinctual, sourcing from the part of her that was a Rider, and that part had faded to the back of her mind.

  “You already ruptured the first four seals when you claimed your power as Riders. If you find the three remaining seals, and they’re hidden in a place Heaven cannot ever reach them, it will put an end to their constant posturing. It’s like they think they have dominion over the entire earth plane.”

  She let out a short bark of laughter, but her eyes flashed, and a pulse of power shook the room. Willow went still and quit fighting against her bonds. She reached out for her magic, tentatively. Could she find it without her rage?

  “No one enters my realm without my permission,” Spider Woman said. “Which means that if I decide to let you live, the seals can be hidden here.”

  The woman stopped and looked down at them.

  “But before I decide, you must undertake a trial to prove your worth.”

  A figure appeared at the goddess’s side. It was less that he arrived suddenly, but rather as if he’d been there the whole time and was now unveiled.

  Atsa.

  Beside Willow, Penelope’s eyes went wide.

  “Within my labyrinth is an artifact that will take you to the demon Sassafras, who knows the location of the seals,” Spider Woman said. “Find it if you can. And be quick about it. The longer this one—” she waved a hand at Atsa— “Stays within my realm, the less able he is to return to your own. I’d say you have about an hour before it’s too late. After that, he’ll no longer be of your world. He’ll be of mine.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Penelope

  Penelope felt a swell of horror within her as she locked eyes with Atsa. This was exactly what she had feared would happen.

  “How could you do this?” she shrieked at the goddess. “To one of your own worshippers? To one of the Navajo?”

  Spider Woman arched a brow. “I did not do this. He wandered into my realm of his own accord.”

  Penelope’s gaze swung back to Atsa.

  He nodded. “It’s true. I followed you here.”

  “I told you. To stay. With the horses.” Penelope ground the words between her teeth. She could feel burning hot tears stabbing at the corners of her eyes.

  “You see?” Spider Woman said. “A willing sacrifice; do not turn your anger on me. And I suggest you quit arguing. Time’s a wasting.”

  The goddess waved her hand, and an hourglass appeared in the air above them. It did not contain sand, but tiny drops of dew. They began to drip from the top half of the glass to the bottom.

  “Your trial begins.”

  Their spiderweb bonds dissipated in curls of mist, and the Riders got to their feet. Penelope turned in a circle, surveying the cavern. There was one path in and one path out. One of the tunnels was the one they’d traveled down to reach the goddess’s lair. The other was unknown.

  “We need to split up,” Penelope said. “Willow, you’re with me.”

  Willow nodded, as did Dynah and Felicity. Penelope led the way to the path at the back of the cavern, opposite the way they’d come in. The other two Riders headed down the other. As they left the underground room, Penelope cast one last look at Atsa, who met her gaze bravely. Her chest clenched so tightly she could barely draw breath.

  Darkness quickly swallowed them as they left the flickering light behind. Penelope could smell dirt and bones. She could hear the dripping of the hourglass, though she shouldn’t have been able to at this distance. She could taste the stale quality of the air. But she couldn’t see a damn thing, and they weren’t going to be able to find anything in conditions like this.

  She stopped walking, causing Willow to collide with her from behind.

  “What are you doing?”

  “These tunnels are too extensive to search in an hour,” Penelope said. “Spider Woman knows this. We have to use our magic.”

  “The obvious problem being that since our walk down memory lane, our powers are a bit dormant. Even if they weren’t, I’m not sure how our particular skillsets are going to help in this situation,” Willow said. “I start fights and you poison things.”

  Penelope shook her head. “As Riders, we have vast power. We must be able to channel it in a different way.”

  “I tried when we were tied up back there. I couldn’t tap into anything.”

  “It’s anger that fuels the powers of the Riders. So, we have to tap into another emotion to summon a different type of response.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Opposite of anger, I suppose.”

  “Happiness?” Willow’s tone dripped with derision. “Are we going to smile our way to the artifact?”

  “Joy, hope…it’s what summoned Beziel. It’s what kept our powers in control after the Apocalypse started.”

  Willow’s lack of a quippy response told Penelope she was on to something. She pressed on. “The angels thought they could use us as puppets. That’s what was supposed to happen. But we remembered we have a choice. And we reflected on the things we love about humanity, instead of all the terrible things that have happened in our lives. It saved us.”

  “Okay.” Willow shrugged. “I guess we can try it. What do you want to focus on?”

  Penelope didn’t have to think on it long. There hadn’t been to
o many things that she could always count on in her life. “My horse. And our friendship.”

  Willow was silent for so long that Penelope thought she’d changed her mind. When she spoke, her voice was froggy. “Horses. Us. Got it.”

  Penelope clasped Willow’s left hand with her right and closed her eyes. She thought back to her earliest memory of them together. It was after church one day. Some of the children were playing in the field by the chapel. She’d been four, maybe. Tentatively, she’d waded through the tall grass. She remembered the way the sun had glinted off the green blades, how it made the flowers sparkle like jewels.

  When she’d reached the other kids, a half dozen of them, they’d turned to look at the newcomer. They stopped to stare at her dark skin and black hair. A couple of the older children elbowed each other and whispered things behind their hands. She couldn’t hear what they said, though she caught the words blood and father. And then they’d all turned and walked away. When she’d tried to follow, one of the children said, “You can’t play with us. You’re different.”

  As she’d stood there in the field, too confused to understand what it all meant, she’d heard footsteps behind her. She’d turned to see a girl with hair like the sun, eyes like the grass.

  “They don’t play with me either,” the girl said. “I guess your daddy is missing, too?”

  Penelope nodded slowly.

  The other girl thrust out her hand. “I’m Willow.”

  “I’m Penelope.”

  The memory swirled and another replaced it.

  The two of them in the Hawk’s Hollow school yard a few years later, Willow punching Jimmy Blackburn in the face after he led a group of kids in throwing rocks and sticks at Penelope.

  When they were ten, and Penelope challenged and beat Carson Anders in a horse race after he said that Willow was a lowlife outlaw like her father.

  Thirteen years, when Penelope got her period for the first time and fled to Willow’s house where Lyla helped her learn about being a woman.