Awaken

by Tanya Schofield

  The funeral procession for the murdered young noble had already begun, and the brothers joined the mourners as they traveled out of the city. Once they were over the wide bridge and into the graveyard, the two of them faded away unseen.

  3

  “Not now, Louis.” The Duke of Epidii kept his pale blue eyes fixed on his goblet when the manservant entered the room.

  “My Lord, it’s Chancellor Garen.”

  “I told you, I will see no one.” His forearm, burned to blisters while lighting the pyres in the Arena the day before, protested under the bandage when he clenched his fist. It should hurt, but Korith felt nothing. A father should not outlive his son.

  The soft sounds of weeping drifted out to him - Bethcelamin, already distant, slipped further away from him with every sob. He drained his heavily spiced wine in a single swallow, but the burn of the spirits touched him no more than the burn of his skin. “You’re still here.”

  “I’m sorry, my Lord. He … insists, my Lord.”

  Korith rubbed at his forehead. Thick brown hair fell over his fingers; he was in need of a haircut – and a shave. “Send him in then,” he said, his temper making the words louder than he intended. “With whiskey.”

  “Of course, my Lord. Immediately.”

  The Duke stood and closed the adjoining bedchamber door to quiet the sounds of his weeping wife. Louis had returned to announce his guest before Korith had taken his seat again.

  “Your Chancellor, my Lord.” Unacknowledged, Louis silently retreated.

  Garen placed the whiskey decanter on the sideboard, and poured Korith his drink. He clasped his Lord’s shoulder in greeting. “Duke.”

  “What brings you, Chancellor?” Korith sank into his chair, motioning for Garen to sit.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Garen said, his voice smooth and sincere. “Please, forgive my intrusion.”

  Korith took a deep swallow of the whiskey. “You rarely act without reason, Garen. Why are you here?”

  “The Dwellers, my Lord. They've been eliminated.”

  Jayden straightened. This, he thought. This was news. Garen had proven himself… again. “They're all dead?”

  “It seems so. The Hunter’s runner arrived only an hour ago. As expected, the Dwellers offered no resistance. Several Hunters remained behind as a precaution.”

  The Duke allowed himself a satisfied smile, and raised his goblet in a toast. “To the death of the witchchild, then.”

  Garen shifted in his seat, and a small frown touched his face.

  The Duke paused mid-swallow. “Chancellor?”

  “My Lord, we suspected the girl would look like Lady Bethcelamin, but—” Anger clouded Korith’s face. Garen continued. “No one fitting that description was accounted for.”

  “Her tainted offspring lives.”

  “As I said, men continue to search. There is nowhere she can hide from your Hunters, and Lothaedus himself leads them. She will not escape.”

  “Bah,” Duke Korith growled.

  “This is merely a delay, my Lord.”

  Korith dismissed his advisor and friend with a wave of his hand, rubbed once more at the ache in his forehead, and finished off his drink. His son and heir, dead. His wife, shattered by grief. Now this. To be so close and have the witchchild elude him - the injustice of it twisted behind his eyes, maddening.

  For now, though, it was Bethcelamin that needed looking after. Korith could manage his own grief, stay numb, and keep focus on his political journey. But he could not afford for his wife’s grief to interfere with his plans— any of them.

  Too much was at stake.

  4

  The pace Calder set for the two of them over the next five days was brutal, and the strain on Melody was immediately apparent. She was gripped by a fever that both dizzied and weakened her. It was not unfamiliar, such fevers had plagued her throughout her childhood, but there was simply no time to indulge it. Slowing was out of the question. They would reach Cabinsport soon, Calder told himself as he tried to ignore her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. She could rest there.

  Melody began showing improvement as they set out on their sixth day, and eventually, she began to sing. The wordless tune, quiet and curious, brought a surge of magic that seemed to shimmer in the air around them. Calder knew if he could sense it, others might, and they were too close to civilization to risk it.

  “Hush!” Calder’s voice was sharper than he meant, and the magic faded as Melody gasped and fell silent. He paused, turning to face her.

  Melody's red-gold eyes were confused and hurt. What did I do wrong?

  “Oh, Songbird.” Calder’s chest tightened, and he took a deep breath. “Goddess knows I should have explained this already… Melody, people can’t do what you do.” He took her hand, keeping them moving. Her skin was still hot. “I swore I would— I just— I thought there would be more time.” Calder fought with the words. “When you— what happens when— Your voice. People fear and hate what they don’t understand. Other people aren’t like you, so they can’t understand. Do you see?”

  Melody followed where she was led, numb. People? Everyone that mattered besides Calder – they were dead. That knowledge was an inescapable knot, heavy in her gut. The image of cold gray eyes over a concealing black mask haunted her, the memory of the blood and the bodies surged forward every time she closed her eyes.

  “I'll tell you more in Cabinsport, I swear. But please— “He broke off, holding back a thick tangle of vines with his staff so Melody could pass under. “You have to promise, Melody … promise me you won’t sing, or speak. It’s just not safe, please— promise me.”

  I promise. Her not-voice in his mind was small and sad.

  Fear rose up in him. “Oh Goddess, no,” he breathed. Melody thought nothing of communicating with thought, she had done it even as an infant, but here, in Korith’s lands? People would call it witchcraft, sorcery, evil— they’d call for her death.

  “Don’t do that either,” he insisted. “Not to anyone but me, not ever. You have to be careful with your magic.”

  Melody, confused, was shaken by his unfamiliar fear. What is … magic?

  Calder’s realization was cold. She didn’t know. Her power was as much a part of her as breathing. How could he teach her to not use it?

  “Magic is what you do,” Calder managed as they emerged from the trees. He could see Cabinsport across a stretch of open field. "We’re nearly there. I will think of something, I promise, but please, you must not do those things.”

  I won’t. Melody would have agreed to anything to keep the fear out of his voice.

  Calder led her onward, wanting nothing more than a room and a hot meal and time to think of a plan ... but his problems were just beginning. She stopped short. “Melody?”

  She was frozen in place, her eyes wide, her breath shallow. The distant sounds of people carried to them on the wind made her flinch. Her cheeks were crimson, her lips were white, and her whole body trembled.

  What is that? Terror hid behind the words she did not say.

  Calder took another deep breath. “Oh, Melody…” He deliberately stepped in front of her to block her view. Of course she was afraid. Melody had lived in the forest as a Dweller for her entire life. She had never seen anything like this. It was too much, too quickly— but he had no choice.

  “I know you’re scared,” he said, trying to sound soothing. “That’s a town. It’s like the Dweller Glade, only with buildings instead of trees.” He gently grasped her shoulders. “There is safety here, Melody. What follows us is far worse than anything in this town, so please, I’m begging you. Be strong. I will be with you. Please, will you endure this for me?”

  Melody’s bruised arm ached where he clasped it and she struggled to draw breath. Calder’s anxiety loomed like a thundercloud over her head, and the noise ahead made her eyes ache. Worse, it was her fault.

  The vision had hinted at the truth, but clarity had come the moment Calder seized her arm and dragge
d her away. It was obvious why he’d kept them running almost non-stop for days. Her. She was the reason her only family was dead, and why her old friend was fighting a panic that rivaled her own.

  Attilus nuzzled his cold nose into her hand and his breath huffed against her palm, reassuring in a simple animal way. She scratched behind the dog's ears, finally meeting Calder’s eyes. She swallowed hard, and nodded up at him.

  “I'll handle everything,” Calder told her. “You’ll be fine.”

  And she was fine, or at least mobile, until they reached the Inn. There she froze again, barely breathing, paralyzed by the bustle and noise that awaited them inside. Please, she begged, her eyes huge with fear. Please, no?

  “Be strong,” Calder whispered. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her inside.

  “No dogs,” a voice called out, and Calder motioned Atillus back out the door.

  “Stay out of trouble,” he said, keeping a smile on his face and walking Melody through the common room to the bar. She flinched against him with every sound, and the ranger prayed silently that she would not faint.

  “Hail, good lady.” Calder smiled to the plump woman pouring drinks. “I apologize for Atillus, we’ve travelled together so long I forget he’s a dog.”

  The innkeeper smiled.

  “We’ve need of food,” he continued, "and a room for tonight. Perhaps longer, if there is work about.”

  Longer? Melody’s trembling increased. He squeezed her shoulders in reassurance.

  “Of course, sir. We’ve more rooms yet, if your daughter would like her own?”

  Calder did not correct her assumption. A man and his child raised less suspicion than ... whatever they were. “One is fine, lady.”

  “Call me Irma.” She looked over at Melody, frowning. “You're so pale, dear, are you ill? Can I get you some water?”

  Melody leaned against Calder, dizzy. She could feel her cheeks, fever-hot once more in spite of the ice in her chest.

  “She cannot speak, lady. She is simply weary from our travels, but I appreciate your concern.” Calder laid some silver on the counter.

  Irma "tsk"ed sympathetically and swept the coins into her hand. “Poor dear,” she said. “Can she hear?”

  Calder nodded. “Perfectly, lady. A rest will set her right in no time. Do you know of any work here in Cabinsport … paying work?”

  “Aye,” she said, pocketing the silver and looking towards the kitchen. “It’s Tom you’ll speak to about that, though. My husband. He’ll meet you when we’re finished up with lunch.”

  “Of course, lady,” Calder agreed.

  “Irma, dear. You’ll be eating in your room, then?”

  “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

  A burst of laughter made Melody jump. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably, and she couldn’t tell if she was hungry, or about to be sick. Calder's arm around her shoulders was all that kept her upright.

  Irma swiped at the counter with a rag and set several mugs on a tray. “I’ll have it brought up, sir. You’re the third door on the right side of the hall, then.”

  Melody could not stop shaking as Calder guided her up the stairs to their room. The noise from below battered at her even after the door was closed, she felt as though there was no quiet anywhere. She missed the comfort of Attilus’ familiar bulk beside her.

  “Here, sit,” Calder said, leading her to the small bed under the tiny window. She did not resist. Her legs throbbed, her head ached, and she surprised herself when she let out a terrific yawn. “Sleep, Melody,” he said gently. “Rest. I can keep you safe here.” He hoped he was speaking the truth.

  Despite the noise and her fear, Melody was asleep in moments. Calder leaned the staff against the wall and sat down on his own bed with a sigh. He rested his elbows on his knees, looking over at Melody. The girl’s fevers, Gorlois had told him over the years, always meant her magic was getting stronger. The longer the heat, the stronger the magic. Eventually the fever would spike, and she would sleep like the dead— sometimes for days. When she woke … who knew what she’d be capable of?

  Even sick and feverish, she was a near mirror image of Solus. His chest tightened at the memory of his long-dead friend.

  “Give me strength, Solus,” he whispered. “I’ll need it.” He wanted little more than to fill his belly and rest his own weary legs, but Calder couldn’t relax yet.

  “I’m so sorry, little one,” he whispered, standing and covering Melody with the second blanket. He touched her forehead, frowning at the heat under his fingers. “I will return when I can.”

  He met Tom as the older man was limping up the stairs with their lunch. After a hushed explanation that Melody was resting, Calder followed the innkeeper to a table in the back section of the common room. They did not speak again until they were seated.

  “Irma tells me you need work, then?”

  Calder’s stomach rumbled loudly, but he stayed his hunger, keeping his eyes on Tom. Work came first. He didn’t have the funds to keep them running much longer. Melody’s best chance for survival was to hide where she would never go. Which meant towns, and inns, and crowds … and that meant money.

  “Aye. We'd be willing to help anywhere we can.”

  Tom motioned for Calder to eat, and the ranger didn’t need a second invitation. “Wife’s taken a shine to your girl,” the innkeeper said. “A bit skinny, though. Not sure she’s cut out for this.”

  Calder stopped chewing and raised a curious eyebrow. “This?”

  Tom leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Rats,” he mouthed, looking around to make sure he hadn’t been heard. “In the basement. Eating the grain right out of the sacks. The girls are too scared to go downstairs.” He rolled his eyes, but his face was serious.

  “I started digging out a new cellar a few months back. Business is good, I needed the room. Two weeks ago, I found a hole in the wall – no small hole, either. Looks like a basement on the other side, but there’s no one beside me to have a basement. I didn’t know what to make of it. After that is when the troubles started.”

  Calder finished the last of his meal. “You want us to check it out, then?”

  “Aye." Tom sat back in his seat. “I sprung my leg right after, I can’t even manage the stairs anymore.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Could we head down in the morning?" Calder asked. "My daughter should be recovered by then.”

  Tom took the tray and stood, looking over at his wife. “Of course, don’t rush. Had one of our own, you know. Lost her four summers ago. Only ten, she was.”

  Calder shook his head in sympathy. “I’m sorry, friend,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  Tom shrugged. “Time heals. Anyway, if you need anything, let us know.”

  Calder agreed, and went to the bar. “Lady— I mean, Irma, I have some business here in town. If my ... daughter comes downstairs, would you tell her I will be back by dinner? I don’t expect she’ll wake, though.”

  Irma nodded, smiling. “Of course, sir, happy to.”

  Calder thanked her, and headed out. Word could not have reached Cabinsport yet, but he had to be sure. He visited every corner of the small town with Attilus at his side, ensuring that Duke Korith’s soldiers had not yet tracked them here. When he was exhausted to where he could not continue, Calder allowed himself to hope that they would be safe for a while longer. After a quick supper, shared outside with Attilus, he went upstairs.

  Melody lay curled into a tight, shivering ball on the thin mattress, with only a corner of one blanket still covering her. The rest had slipped to the floor. She was restless with the fever, Calder knew, but if she could just get some sleep, it would fade. Whatever it meant for her power remained to be seen, but that was a matter for later.

  He replaced the blankets over her, tucking them under where he could. After a moment’s thought, he laid his cloak over her as well. He’d need to see about one for her, he thought. And boots— things she’d never needed in the
Dweller’s Glade.

  He stretched out on his cot and folded his arms under his head, listening to Melody’s breath. It gradually slowed and evened as she warmed, and he closed his eyes. With luck, he could get a few hours of real, honest rest as well.

  Calder?

  He blinked awake, disoriented. Small room. Sliver of light, tiny window. Pale girl, black braid ... Melody. The Dwellers. Cabinsport. It all flooded back, and he sat up, alert. He felt better for the sleep, though Melody looked less improved despite her fresh clothes and a scrubbed face. He had pushed her too hard, Calder thought. They were ahead of the Duke’s men, though. She may find rest here for a few days.

  “Good morning,” he said. “You must be hungry.” Her stomach rumbled in answer, and Calder smiled. “Breakfast it is, then. Then we’ve work to do, Songbird, if you’re up for it?”

  Work? She sent him tentative images of her, weaving.

  “Different,” Calder said. “This work is a bit more aggressive.”

  Melody frowned. She looked so much like Solus, he thought. After a moment, the ranger handed Melody the staff he had carried for the past sixteen years. “This belonged to—" he started, but stopped in mid-sentence. There was no time. “It’s yours now,” he said.

  The wood of the staff responded warmly to her touch, as if it, too, were awakening. Melody drew in a surprised breath. The staff felt alive, and aware, and somehow ... pleased. In her hand it felt like family. She wanted to become acquainted with it, trace her fingers over the carvings that recalled in her mind images from her father’s journal, but Calder was already opening the door.

  “Bring it with you,” he said.

  They ate breakfast in the common room, where Irma pressed Melody into eating porridge with apples and a thick slice of warm buttered bread. “You could use some meat on those bird bones,” the plump woman told her with a smile. “Used to tell my Alma that. Can’t be healthy if you don’t eat.”