“Up! Up! Get up! It’s time!”
What? Now?! Lyla rolled off the straw mat and stood up—too fast. Her legs wobbled and she stumbled into the wall of the hold. She was moving as fast as she could, but she could see from Zar’s face that it wasn’t fast enough. And that scared her.
Then, she heard it, a bellowing screech, dreadful and piercing to the bone, as high and sharp as a whistle, as low and long as a battle horn. More than hearing it, she could feel it vibrating though her flesh like thunder.
Lyla scrambled for her drum, snatching the leather strap and pulling the instrument from the ground with a violent jerk. She threw it over her shoulder and made for the stairs up to the deck, ignoring the jolt in the ship that made her stumble on the staircase, ignoring the yells from above. Zar followed behind her, calling out encouraging words, and halfway up to the deck, Lyla started beating the drum.
She was scared. Her hands were stiff, shaky. Of all the times she had played instruments, this seemed to be her worst performance, and Lyla knew it was because of her nerves. Focus, Lyla. Focus. She looked up to where the stairs met the deck, seeing the blue sky above, a dark form flying past it. Her heart raced then halted, bubbling like river rapids. She thought it might stop. Focus, Lyla. Find your rhythm.
She could hear the crew yelling up on deck, and there was terror in their voices. It frightened her even more, distracted her, until Lyla heard Zar calling at her back.
“Louder, Lyla! Play louder!”
Lyla obeyed, striking her drum harder until its bass drowned out the torment of the crew. She couldn’t hear them at all anymore, only the thumping and thudding of her drum, only the rhythm in her mind that she knew she must follow. And, of course, Leviathan’s screeching.
She tried to ignore the sound of the beast until she realized she simply couldn’t. So instead of trying to block it out she accepted it, she became aware of it without being ruled by it. She lived beside it and not in fear of it, where it seemed she was in her own world where nothing else existed, just her and the dragon.
It was her sounds and Leviathan’s sounds, not a harmony, not a togetherness, but a battle of mental fortitude, concentration of the will. To play her own sound while listening to another’s—while not being influenced by it— seemed the hardest and most fulfilling thing she had ever attempted. She closed her eyes, coming up to the final stairs, not wanting to see anything but to simply be lost in her own music.
Lyla walked onto the deck, eyes still closed, beating her drum like nothing else mattered in the world. And nothing else did. She didn’t think about what would happen if she failed. She didn’t consider the possibility that her arts might not work on the dragon. She didn’t consider much at all—nothing but the rhythm in her head which she channeled through her drum, ringing its tone over the sea.
She could hear Leviathan’s call, loud and in front of her. There was a great gust of wind as the sound grew so loud it seemed to be inches away. But Lyla’s drums hadn’t faltered, and in a brief moment of confidence, she dared to open her eyes.
The dragon was flying in at her, mouth open, gargling flames. Its eyes looked too old and evil to exist, its scales an ugly dark green hue. Its long ivory teeth were like sharp iron gates that protected a furnace, and sparks leapt from its throat. Lyla only saw it for a moment, never ceasing to beat her drum, spurred on by nothing more than the desire to live. If she kept playing, she still might die, but if she stopped playing, she most certainly would.
The dragon curved and flew upward, just missing her. It came so close she was almost struck by its tail, water flying from it and splashing her cheek. Lyla looked to the sky, ever beating her drum, watching the dragon make a loop in the air before swooping back down at them. But the dragon stopped its dive, like there was some force field or invisible barrier around the ship, and turned away and flew into the opposite direction. It was some ways off when it turned back to the vessel, but when it was about the same distance away as its last turnaround, it turned away again, this time flying high and screeching, and then crashing down into the waves and disappearing under the water.
Lyla kept beating her drum.
Crewmen looked around, some bowed over the rail gazing down at the water, others climbing up the mast for a better view. It had been several minutes when the water’s surface broke and a great burst of waves erupted near the stern. Leviathan flew from the sea, water reflecting over dark green wings like dew glistening over boughs of pine. There was no screech this time, no mouth full of fire, and no rapid flight. It flapped up over the ship without a sound, jaws calm and closed, and soared down in a half-circle around them. Then, it coasted off across the sea, just above the surface, its reflection showing over the waves, fading over the distant liquid horizon.
Every person on deck was still and silent, in fear, perhaps, suspense, or rather a quiet reverence to the force of nature they had all witnessed—and the girl who had seemingly tamed it.
Lyla finally stopped drumming. She was so worked up by adrenaline she could hear her heart in her ears, feel her pulse racing through every fiber of her being. She looked around and caught Zar’s gaze. The man was smiling at her, and he lifted his fist in the air and shouted a cheer.
“Lyla!” he called, “The Dragontamer!”
What followed was a harmony of voices, and while Lyla had heard the loveliest songs, being a student of music, she had never heard a sweeter sound than the chorus that echoed around her now.
“Dragontamer!” they called. “Dragontamer!”
Alyn had been there in front of the palace when Zar arrived—as if he somehow knew he was coming—and pulled him inside, shouting to anyone who was in sight to have food and wine brought to the great hall.
“Sit,” the prince beckoned, pulling out a chair before hopping into one right beside it. “Your plan, did it work? And where is this Tuskin I’ve heard so much about? How did you cross the sea?”
Zar gazed at his brother, a thing he would’ve thought to be silly before he had met the man and his family—that he could call another man brother whom he shared no blood with and hadn’t even known for a particularly long time. The man’s face looked young and wise, long dark hair swarming around it.
“I have much to tell you. So much, in fact, I hardly know where to start.”
“Start anywhere,” the prince urged, then shook his head as if he’d changed his mind. “How did you cross the sea? Any trouble from Leviathan?”
Zar laughed at the question, barely believing how he was about to respond. “No trouble at all. Nor will there ever be, ever again, I daresay.”
“Your meaning?” Alyn questioned, eyeing Zar, head aslant, wearing a hint of a smile.
Zar only chuckled.
“Your meaning?” the prince repeated, a playful warning in his tone, squinted eyes practically begging.
As much as Zar wanted to torture him further, he simply couldn’t. “Have you heard of charmers? I daresay it’s a very old art, nearly lost, even.”
Alyn gazed at Zar unblinking, his face a portrait of skepticism. “I think I’ve read of such a thing. They . . . persuade people to do things. Is that right?”
“Aye,” Zar answered. “They can persuade people—or beasts, as I’ve come to know quite personally.”
Alyn looked at Zar with demanding eyes, biting back a smile, like the anticipation was its own living thing and might spring from his face if he wasn’t told. “If you don’t tell me—”
“I met a traveler,” said Zar, “a Cyanan. A musician. A charmer.”
“How do you know she was a charmer?” Alyn asked, so intently he almost seemed angry.
“Because she charmed me.”
The prince relaxed and fell quiet, as if the answer had satisfied him.
“She put me to sleep with a song,” said Zar.
“But why?”
“She saw one of Tiomot’s wanted posters of my face on an inn door. She was fresh from Cyana—didn’t know the king was dead—didn’t
know much of anything, really.”
The prince’s eyes were squinted, and he peered at Zar as if contemplating a mystery. “Who was she?”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to know,” said Zar. “As intrigued as you are now, I was even more so, having her there right in front of me, feeling her power for myself. When I awoke from sleep, I convinced her to release me.”
“How?” the prince demanded.
“Well, by telling her the truth,” Zar answered. “I told her Tiomot was dead and she’d get no reward. I knew the girl wasn’t evil, probably just trying to make a few pieces of gold. And it worked. She released me, but as soon as she did we were set upon by one of Anza’s Condor. Yari Thorn, the deadly archer. She put two arrows in me. One in my leg, one in my shoulder. It pains me to this day.”
Prince Alyn gazed at Zar’s shoulder, as if even through his clothes he could see the wound. “We were taken prisoner,” Zar continued. “They held us at Snowstone, but I wasn’t of a mind to be held for long, and I know a thing or two about charmers from my old friend Ramla. I trained the girl.”
“You trained her?” Alyn asked, almost shouting. “How did you—”
“We practiced. It was just me and her in a cell, had all the time in the world, I daresay. I made her practice on me.”
The prince looked thoroughly invested. His eyes never left his brother’s, elbows propped on the banqueting table, face resting in his hands, leaning toward Zar.
“What did she practice?”
“Since she had already put the guard to sleep—did I mention that?”
“No!”
“She put the guard to sleep,” said Zar, “but the man fell too far away from the bars. Queen Anza came in, a book in her hands, reading from it. The book talked about charmers, talked about how they can sing a person to sleep. She told the guard to cut out the girl’s tongue if she sung again. So we—”
“What did you do?”
“Well I’m trying to tell you,” said Zar. “We knew we couldn’t try another song and that she had to charm simply by talking, a thing she admitted she’d tried before. We practiced it for days. It didn’t take long before the girl started talking me into things.”
“What things?” asked Alyn. “What kinds of things?”
“Anything. If I said I didn’t want to do something, she’d try to make me do it. I told her I didn’t want to talk about certain things—things I’ve only spoken to you about. She made me talk about them anyway.”
Alyn looked at Zar like he was one of the greatest wonders of the world. “And?”
“And the girl talked us to freedom,” said Zar, head shaking. He could still hardly believe it. In fact, if he hadn’t been there, he may not have. “She convinced the guard to set us free with nothing more than words. You should’ve seen it, brother. She practiced doing the same thing to animals—calming them: horses, dogs, whatever we could find.”
“And it worked on Leviathan?” the prince questioned, face distorted with awe.
Zar smiled at the man. “It worked on Leviathan.”
“Zar!” The voice broke from the entrance of the hall and nearly made Zar’s heart stutter. Even before he looked, he knew good and well who it was.
Rhea had acquired a new mount since Zar had been gone, a magnificent palomino mare, its lustrous golden hide accented by a mane and tail that was creamy white. Zar followed her up the knoll, its lush green grass speckled yellow, pink, and white from dandelions and clover flowers. He had acquired a new mount himself, a handsome bay that took direction so well he swore the horse could read his mind. He rode his bay up the hillock, positioning his horse so close to Rhea’s until the animals were nearly touching, and the folds of the princess’s loosely cut dress flapped over his thigh, taken in the wind. They both looked over the plain at the two figures riding in the distance, a buckskin and a pinto horse dancing side by side, a moving collage of white and brown and beige.
“Does he like her?” Zar asked, watching Lady Teree in the distance, maneuvering her pinto with undeniable finesse. Zar smiled as he thought about what Alyn had told him before he left, that he’d be journeying to the southern duchy of Numaya to court Teree, a girl he’d known when she was a girl. He had certainly done so, for when Zar returned she was already a guest at the palace.
Rhea looked at Zar for a moment, catching his eyes, before turning back to gaze down the plain. “It’s even more than that,” she said.
Under the late morning sun, Rhea’s eyes looked lighter to Zar than they ever had before, a pale, cedar brown, glistening with spirit. They always seemed to be shining, bursting with life, like there was some secret the girl knew and was holding back—a secret she never revealed—so that it ever showed in her eyes. She always had that look, though he had never seen her eyes as close and under as much light as they were now.
“Well,” said Zar, “best leave them to it.”
He turned to the west, guided his horse down the small hill, and spurred it to a canter as soon as the level ground returned. He was almost at a gallop, wondering if Rhea followed, hoping she did. He didn’t need to turn to look when he heard the thundering of hooves, and a stagger of golden fur shifted past him. The princess had accepted the challenge.
Zar had ridden with Rhea enough times to know that it’d be silly to give the girl a head start if he had any chance of keeping up. He didn’t let a second pass before he loosened up the reigns, shifted his weight forward, and gave his horse another nudge. His mount galloped after the other, fighting to stay by its side, stomping through a flurry of shredded grass and flower petals kicked up by their hooves. Rhea still had the lead, and every time Zar seemed to gain a few inches on her he lost it moments later, sinking back to his unchanging position beside the palomino’s rump.
The princess maintained her lead, and as if knowing she had won, she began to slow her mount, tightening her reigns while coaxing, “Whoa, whoa,” into the animal’s ear. Zar followed suit, slowing his horse as well. Then, Rhea showed him a face of mischief, slackened the reigns and nudged the animal back to speed. She curved to the south towards a cluster of trees where hills rose on each side giving shape to a glen. Zar smiled and followed. Where was she taking him now?
She always seemed to be taking him somewhere, on some adventure, showing him some marvel or curiosity, then complimenting the sight with wise and illuminating words that were just as captivating. This was her land, Zar knew, and she undoubtedly had countless things to show him, things Zar wanted to see more than anything, even if he didn’t know what they were. He loved the suspense, and he loved the adventure.
He also loved nature, a thing that should’ve been obvious but hadn’t really become apparent to him until now. Had he always, or was he just starting to now? Perhaps he had been in it so much he hadn’t really appreciated it. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to enjoy it peacefully in Krii where he was usually wanted, rarely sedentary, and almost always in a fight.
The plain sloped ahead, and Zar could see a river running into the glen. He followed Rhea closer to see a rocky cliff wall. There was a black, gaping hole with boulders resting in the shallows in front of it, moss hugged over the stones like green fur. The rocky aperture was the mouth of a cave, and the river flowed into it, disappearing into the darkness.
Rhea dismounted and looked at the river running into the earth. When Zar dismounted after her, she shuffled forward with a grin and grabbed at his waist.
“Do you want to go inside?” she asked, pulling Zar’s dagger from his belt. She pulled up the hem of her dress and stretched it taught, pushing the point of the dagger through the fabric and slicing off a strip of linen. “I’m going to make a torch. Can you start a fire here?”
14
The chamber was cool, the outside breeze blowing in, stirring up the smell of minerals and wet rock. Stalactites spiked down from the ceiling like stone icicles, and bats hung unmoving between them like little living statues.
Rhea’s face shone under the torchlight
, her hair pulled back and tied, shimmering ribbons decorated with braids.
“Follow me,” she said before turning back to lead the way.
The room tapered to a crevice in the corner, a fissure just wide enough for a single person to squeeze through. Rhea turned sideways, holding the torch over her shoulder, and slipped into the crack. Zar watched the torch float away as her body faded into shadow. When he could see the firelight had escaped the passage and was glowing in a new hollow beyond, Zar slipped into the fissure as well.
He came into the room to see Rhea looking around, turning slow circles while surveying the room, as if she were looking for something. Zar could see three openings in the chamber, not counting the narrow rift they had slipped through. They were large openings, like rocky oval doorways, which were no doubt passages to other rooms.
“I can never remember which one it is,” said the princess, her face an orange glow in the firelight. “We’ll have to put out the torch, then we’ll see the light.”
Zar barely had time to protest before the princess snuffed out the fire, dragging and rolling it over the ground until it smoldered. The torch she had made by wrapping a dry branch with linen cut from her dress was now nothing more than a smoking stick.
“Leviathan,” Zar finally got out. “We need that light.”
He heard the princess giggle. Then, she was by his side, her shoulder nudging his. “We don’t need fire when we have sun.”
She grabbed his hand. Rhea turned her body and Zar turned with her, pivoting to follow her movement, turning a slow circle about the room. Zar saw a faint light in what must’ve been one of the passage openings, a light grey cloud hovering amid utter blackness.
“There it is,” said Rhea, her voice almost a whisper. She made for the light, pulling Zar to follow after her.
They stumbled into the tunnel, grey air turning lighter and lighter the farther they crept in. Soon, Zar could see a room brightened by the unmistakable radiance of sunlight. In the chamber ahead, a beam of light shone down from the ceiling to the floor in a near perfect circle, as if it had been channeled by some mechanical means. The room was small, its center covered in light, with cave dust shimmering like a thin white mist among the rays of sun gleaming down.
Songs for the Sacred and the Soulless Page 10
