Song of the Dead

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  Meredy reaches us, putting an arm around me for support. I slump against her, glad to take weight off my rapidly swelling leg.

  “What happens when this poison reaches my heart?” I gasp, wiping sweat off my brow. More sweat pools beneath my arms and trickles down my spine.

  “It won’t!” Meredy says firmly. “We both know Kasmira would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

  “Dragon’s poison isn’t fatal,” Azelie says soothingly, inspecting my leg while her uncle admonishes the dragon. “It just burns like you’ve swallowed fire for a few hours. But there’s a healer just down the road. I’ll go fetch him . . .”

  I’m ready to leave even before the kind young healer mends my leg as a favor to Azelie’s uncles, but I’m glad we stay for lunch in the house up the hill from the paddock. Watching Azelie and Halmar, I dip my bread in my soup, soaking up the extra broth. The two of them talk quietly, catching up on Azelie’s life in the city—Halmar worries about her, being only fifteen and already living on her own above a tailor’s shop—while Meredy talks in a low murmur with the resident beast master who’s just come in from cleaning the stables.

  I barely listen as they talk about bonding with their animals. I’m ready to get back to the city, away from things with too many teeth and fiery breath.

  But when I open the door to walk back to our cart and patiently waiting driver, who’s immersed in a book, the sight of a familiar pinkish-purple beast the size of a hound stops me from stepping out the door.

  “What’s Nipper doing here?” I ask Azelie over my shoulder, not daring to take my eyes from the beast’s long snout in case she’s thinking of using her teeth again.

  “Ooh, you’ve named her,” Azelie coos, completely missing the point. “I love it.”

  The dragon ambles forward, flaring the glistening purple webbing around her head and neck. I take a step back, retreating into the house. Her scales seem to turn more pink than purple as she hurries toward me. I reach for the door, about to slam it shut when Meredy stops me with a hand firmly placed over mine.

  “She likes you, Master Necromancer,” Meredy says slowly, apparently reading the dragon’s emotions with her Sight. “A lot. She’s afraid—probably that you’re leaving. I’m not entirely sure, but I think she wants to come with you.”

  I shake my head. “Oh, no. What in Vaia’s name makes you think we need another creature to look after?”

  But Meredy doesn’t appear to hear me as she looks thoughtfully toward Halmar. “I don’t suppose . . .” she begins.

  “She can accompany you,” Halmar says gently, giving us the first true smile I think we’ve seen from him. I’m surprised, but when he says, “Karthia and Sarral were once great allies. Perhaps Karthia has forgotten, but Sarral’s memory remains as sharp as ever,” I start to understand. “Normally,” he continues, “we’d never dream of letting a visitor leave with one of our babies, but . . .” He gazes solemnly between me and Meredy. “You’re no ordinary visitors, are you? You’re the first Karthian cartographers—no, the first Karthian ambassadors of King Wylding’s long reign!”

  He says it with such admiration that my insides squirm guiltily at our deception. I hate lying to someone who’s been so good to us, but we have to do what we can to keep Valoria’s rule a secret until she’s ready to tell the world herself.

  “Besides,” Halmar continues, unaware of the guilt now souring my mood, “we’ve tried to breed this particular dragon a couple times, but she wasn’t interested in a mate. We were planning to sell her to a farm nearby—”

  “As you should!” I agree, breathless, as Nipper rubs her scaly head against my legs. I’m just waiting for her teeth to come back out.

  “A female dragon’s bite can sometimes be a sign that she’s chosen a mate,” Halmar adds with a barely suppressed chuckle, now collecting the dirty lunch bowls. “I don’t think she’d be happy with the farmer now that she’s met you.”

  Taking a deep breath, I crouch face-to-face with the dragon, hoping I’m not about to be hit with a cloud of fire. “Go away,” I say firmly. “And I’m hopeless at taking care of anything more complicated than a daisy. The last person who followed me around died at the hands of a monster, so really, I’m doing you a favor. Now go.”

  The dragon rears back on its hind legs. I almost lose my footing in my haste to move out of its reach. The dragon lunges forward, laying its clawed front feet on either side of my neck. She flicks her forked tongue across my cheek.

  “I hate you,” I mutter. But as I stroke Nipper’s long nose, and find her scales surprisingly soft—more like fur than snakeskin—my resolve slips away. My love of all living creatures apparently extends even to ones that bite me by way of hello.

  “I’ll send word to the queen today and let her know this little one is under new ownership,” Halmar declares. “And we hope you’ll tell King Wylding where you got her, so that he might look upon Sarral with fondness, and perhaps . . . if it isn’t asking too much . . .” He meets my eyes as his voice breaks over his next words. “Perhaps this great gift will encourage him to consider sending aid to Sarral in honor of our old alliance, should our borders fall to the Ezorans.”

  When I answer, holding Halmar’s gaze, my words are heavy with the weight of a promise that’s the least I can do for people who have shown us so much kindness in a short time. “I’ll make sure the Wyldings know that Sarral would welcome an ally in Karthia once again.”

  “You promise?” Azelie asks, her eyes round with hope.

  “I give you my word,” I say, shaking her hand, then Halmar’s. This kingdom clearly needs allies if a few Ezoran warriors can destroy an entire Sarralan patrol.

  And if Karthia were in trouble again, I’d want the whole world to rush to its aid.

  VI

  Music fills the night air, a loud song with a fast, pulsing beat unlike anything I’ve heard in Karthia. Tired from our tour of the city, Meredy and I share a blanket on a hillside behind the healers’ house. On another blanket nearby, Azelie’s friends talk quietly while we wait for a fireworks show to start. Occasionally, one of us shivers in the sea breeze.

  “Any minute now,” Azelie whispers, casting an eager glance at the sky.

  I think she hopes the fireworks will drive news of the Ezorans’ latest attack from everyone’s minds, but I doubt all the wine in Karthia could do that. Not when it seems a war is brewing on Sarral’s doorstep.

  One of Azelie’s friends murmurs something too soft for me to hear over the music the Dead are playing, well aware that if we’re caught outdoors at night, we’ll be in trouble with the Queen’s Authority.

  Still, when Azelie showed up at the inn just before sundown, Meredy and I agreed we could hardly refuse her offer to see the Dead hold their Festival of Rella, the blue-eyed death goddess they share with the island of Lyris. After locking Lysander in Meredy’s room, and Nipper in mine, we snuck out.

  Azelie led us with confidence around the few living soldiers patrolling the streets, giving the impression she’s done this many times before. Our only light came from the stars as we climbed the hill to meet her friends. Clouds cloaked the nearly full moon, and still do, as we wait for the fireworks to begin.

  I gaze down the hill at a glimmer of blue visible only through gaps in an expanse of trees, my first glimpse of a gate to the Deadlands since arriving here. The glow calls to something deep inside me, and my feet itch to march into that light. Maybe the spirits would have some news from Karthia for me. I need to know what’s happening there.

  Funny. I was so desperate to escape it, yet with each day that passes, I crave word from Karthia more and more.

  Beside me, Meredy murmurs, “I wish they’d hurry up with the show. I don’t want to get Azelie in any trouble.”

  I frown, more worried about the Dead than Azelie. “Doesn’t this bother you?” I make a sweeping gesture toward the field below wher
e the Dead are preparing their festivities to the lively beat of drums and some other instrument I can’t name. “The living and the Dead, trying to ignore each other’s existence?”

  “Of course,” Meredy says at once. “But we just barely survived one battle . . . I don’t think we’re ready to start another. Besides, maybe the Dead here are happy. We haven’t exactly asked them.”

  “I guess you’re right.” But that doesn’t stop me wondering whether any semblance of equality here is an illusion, even though Karthia’s new stance on the Dead keeps them so far removed from the living that they can’t even enter our kingdom anymore. Of course, they have their own world where they can thrive. I’d just love to ask a Sarralan necromancer why they bother bringing the Dead back at all when they don’t seem to really want them around.

  The first firework soars into the air, startling me with a high-pitched whine. It explodes in a shower of red and gold sparks that loosely form the shape of a flower.

  Meredy leans forward as she admires the sight, pulling out a small silver flask from the bag she brought and handing it to me. “No questions,” she whispers, offering it to me. “Just drink this.”

  I tip the flask against my lips. The liquid inside tastes just like coffee beans, and I close my eyes as it lingers on my tongue.

  “I saw someone in the city drinking this earlier and thought you’d like to try it,” Meredy says, sounding pleased by my reaction. Suddenly, I have the urge to say all the things I’ve been holding back since we danced last night.

  “Meredy, I . . .” My heart clamors in my ears as she leans closer to hear above the noise of a second firework shooting skyward.

  She studies me as I hesitate. Tucking a thick strand of hair behind my ear, she grazes my cheek with her fingertips, and just like that I’m stunned into silence.

  “If you’re trying to thank me, don’t worry about it. I’m the one who should be thanking you,” she says firmly. “You keep saving my life, you try to do all the characters’ voices when we’re reading, just for me, and now you’ve shown me that dancing isn’t so bad. I’m beginning to think I’ll be forever in your debt.” She flashes a smile, and while I know she’s joking, I can’t return the gesture.

  Despite my mouth being dry as bone, I somehow get my tongue working. “Don’t worry. I’m not keeping score.” Deep breaths. “Meredy, I like you. I don’t even think like begins to cover it, but that’s what I want to find out.”

  This time, I smile, but her face is a blank canvas until splashes of blue, green, and gold wash over it from the fireworks. My smile fades, but my pride must be as broken as the rest of me, because I still continue, “I want you to know, I’m done fighting it—whatever this is between us. Ever since we lost Evander, everything I do feels like a battle. Getting up in the morning. Eating toast. Talking to people. But when I’m with you, I don’t have to wear my armor. Being around you is easy, and it makes me want so much more. Will you be my girlfriend?”

  She says nothing. Her eyes shine unnaturally bright as the moon peeks out from behind the clouds.

  “You don’t have to answer right now,” I add quickly, feeling sick and slightly shaky since the words have left my mouth. Maybe I asked her too soon. “I won’t wait forever—I don’t have forever—but I’m willing to wait an unreasonably long time when it comes to you.”

  Meredy turns away from the fireworks as bursts of color form the shape of a dragon. Now that her face is half in shadow, it’s unreadable. The way she likes.

  “Say something, please. Just let me know you heard me,” I urge her quietly, unnerved by her silence. “After last night, you can’t pretend you haven’t thought about us—”

  “Aren’t they something?” Azelie interrupts, leaning toward our blanket and gesturing skyward, seemingly oblivious to what’s taking place beside her. In a way, I welcome the interruption. I’m able to smooth my face into a mask of not caring.

  “So here’s the deal,” Azelie continues. “I have to go to Skria Flor—the capital—in a few days for a special flower they don’t sell at the markets here. I always get a better price when I go in person, so the healers send me every few moons, but given recent events . . .” Her grimace leaves no doubt as to what she means: the attack on Sarral’s border. “The boss is insisting I take someone with me. Do you two want to come? It’d be a good way to see more of the countryside . . . and I could use someone to talk to on the road,” she admits with a grin. “I promise, no matter what the boss says, I can rescue myself if there’s trouble.”

  I shake my head, trying to catch Meredy’s eye, but it’s not working. “Thanks, but I’m not in the mood for a trip.”

  “You should go,” Meredy says suddenly, without looking at me. “I’ll mind Nipper for you. There are some things I want to do here. Kasmira said the repairs are going to take several days yet, so you’ve got time.”

  I turn away from her, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. I thought I could be myself with her, but not wearing my armor only got me hurt again. Faking a smile as fireworks flash and sizzle overhead, I say, “Sure. It’ll be . . . fun.”

  Azelie whoops with delight, shifting over to our blanket and linking her arm through mine. “We’ll have the best time,” she promises. Something in her voice makes me think she overheard more than she initially let on, and I feel a rush of gratitude for the perpetually cheerful healer’s assistant. I need a little more happiness in my life.

  Besides, should there be trouble of any sort, I can protect Azelie with my blades—a small step toward repaying her and her uncles for my dragon companion. But it would be a start.

  With Meredy not willing to meet my eyes, the thought of going somewhere new with a girl I’ve only just met suddenly sounds wildly appealing.

  * * *

  * * *

  Three days later, as our cart nears the sprawling outskirts of the city of Skria Flor, Nipper—who insisted on coming—strains against the heavy leather collar attached to the lead in my hands. I pull hard on the lead, and Nipper sheepishly settles in my lap. When she cranes her neck up to study me, her eyes flash with different colors, as if concerned by the pain she sees in mine. She nudges my hand until I start petting her cool, scaly back. At least she gives me something to focus on besides Meredy.

  Given the way she’s been avoiding me ever since the fireworks show, I’m pretty sure our relationship ended before it even really started. Thanks to her silence and near-constant absence, I’ve been lying in bed alone every night at the boarding house in my tiny room, my hand between my legs as I think of her, trying to feel anything besides empty. I thought seeing the world would heal my mind as quickly as healers’ magic mends a broken bone, but all it’s done—all she’s done—is open new wounds and pick at old ones until they’re raw.

  Our cart hits a bump so hard it rattles my teeth, forcing my attention back to the road as it forks ahead of us. Instead of taking the wider, flatter path that leads into the city, Azelie steers us onto the narrower, overgrown path around it, heading north.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, leaning forward to study Azelie’s expression. But while she’s in the driver’s seat, it’s hard to see her face. “What about the market?”

  “We’ll head there shortly,” she promises. Her voice sounds different all of a sudden—older, and distant—and it sets me on edge. “This will only take an hour or so.”

  “Where are we going?” I touch my free hand to one of the daggers on my belt, seeking its silent reassurance. Or maybe I’m just in the mood for a fight—anything to take my mind off Meredy.

  “To see if the rumors are true,” she answers calmly. “To see what the Ezorans are truly capable of.”

  Neither of us utters another word as the scenery changes. The houses on the city’s outskirts are soon at our backs. We abandon them for wilder land where everything flanking the path is green and growing at first, but as we travel farther no
rth, the riot of color usually found in forests and meadows gives way to barren land. It’s as if someone has leached the color from every flower and tree, and even from the sky. When I run my fingers over a low-hanging branch and they come away coated in fine gray powder, I realize it’s ash. The Ezorans carelessly set fire to so much here, all they left is a memory of a place, an echo of the life that used to color this now-muted land.

  The road ends just after we crest a large hill. There’s a smaller footpath from here onward, leading down the hill into a valley where a great many soldiers—more armed men and women than I’ve ever seen—march in small groups toward what must be the kingdom’s northern border, hidden by more hills. Other soldiers remain in the valley, bustling in and out of tents that have been propped up amidst the blackened foundations of farmers’ cabins, perhaps tending to their wounded.

  Deeper gray stains the horizon as far as I can see. If I didn’t know it was morning, I wouldn’t be able to tell. Day and night don’t seem to exist in this place anymore.

  Azelie climbs down from the driver’s seat, and I follow her out of the cart with Nipper.

  She makes no movement toward the footpath—I doubt civilians are allowed to be as close as we are—but instead stands in silence looking down into the valley, her arms crossed, her hardened expression never wavering.

  “So many dead,” she whispers at last. “And all the poor flowers and orchards . . . who knows if they’ll recover?”

  Her words pull me back to another valley, one scarred by fire and blood, where Meredy and I witnessed the aftermath of a Shade attack.

  The devastation here is just as bad—perhaps worse, knowing who the culprits were. I expect senseless cruelty and violence from Shades, after all. That’s what monsters do. So when humans inflict just as much damage . . . I guess that makes them monsters, too. The grim sight before us proves the Ezorans are a force to be feared, to be met with blades. Not creatures to be reasoned with.