Songs for the Sacred and the Soulless

by Kameron Williams

  “Aye, that’s obvious enough,” the woman answered.

  Zar’s left hand rubbed under his chin. “Then . . . why should we not believe it’s going that way?”

  Lyla squinted a bit at this, a ponderous look taking over much of her face until another look, one of slight annoyance, took control. “It’s a dragon, Zar. What’s stopping it from just flying off? Aye, it may have started this way, but that doesn’t mean it will continue.”

  “Aye, right you are,” Zar agreed. “But we are hoping it does. It’s called tracking—”

  “Aye, tracking!” a voice announced.

  It had rung out from the tree line, and Zar reached for his sword, but she’d already stepped out from the trees, bow and arrow pulled and at the ready. Yari Thorn.

  “It’s how I found you the first time,” said Yari, “and how I’ve found you again.”

  Zar pulled his hand away from his sword’s hilt poking up over his shoulder, raising both hands in front of him instead. “Aye, tracking. See, Lyla, it works. What would you have of us?”

  “Say nothing, Zar!” Yari spat. She held her bow so steady her body looked like a statue, clad meagerly in tight leather, eyes as cold and sharp as frozen daggers. “Say nothing! Don’t breathe, don’t blink—think of nothing except answering my questions! And you,” she continued, presumably addressing Lyla, but her eyes not moving from Zar for anyone to be sure, “you don’t move, either, or I’ll put an arrow through you faster than you can say a word! Far faster than you can sing a song!”

  No one moved an inch. They were three statues outside the woods.

  “Why did you really come to us?” asked Yari. “What was your involvement in the siege at Snowstone? Who are you truly?”

  Zar thought hard. He didn’t know how much Yari knew. If he told more lies and she knew it, she’d likely kill him. Still, if he told the truth, she’d likely kill him. Half-truths had worked for him before, and half-truths, Zar decided, would have to do again.

  “Everything I said about Stroan and Yuna was true.” He glanced at Lyla, the sight of her helping him with what he’d say next. It would make sense that I’d be with a Cyanan. “But the purpose was to seat Dandil on the throne.”

  Yari shook her head, a sour face showing through the dimness of the dawn. She didn’t look to care about any of it. “Anza’s death—whose doing was it?” The woman’s arm pulsed, pulling the arrow in her drawn bow back further until its tip rested over her knuckles, ready to fire. “No,” she said, “I don’t care. I only want the girl.” She pointed at Lyla. “Bind her and hand her over, or I’ll put this arrow through your throat.”

  Zar had no more plans, no hidden plots, no clever things to say. He only had his sword and Lyla beside him. But Yari could loose an arrow far swifter than Lyla could charm her, and the moment Zar drew his sword an arrow would find him as well. He could make a run for it, but Lyla would be at Yari’s mercy, and still, he’d likely get an arrow through his back. There were many things he could try, but only a fool would think any of them would work. And just for a moment, he thought about tying Lyla up and giving her to the Condor archer. At least, for now.

  It came suddenly, that terrible screech that had haunted the skies ever since Leviathan had left its blue, liquid abode. The three stood perfectly quiet, and a faint commotion echoed in the silence, seeming to ring from a place far in the distance where walls of cliffs rose by the sea.

  “I daresay there’s far bigger game to skin,” said Zar.

  Yari wore a face that said she was unconvinced, but Zar kept on talking.

  “Lyla is the only one who can stop the beast, and until it’s stopped, none of us are safe. We aim to kill it. Help us. If you still wish to take her as a captive when it’s all over, then so be it. This is everyone’s problem, and the solution is here, Lyla the Dragontamer.”

  Yari gazed down the plain, more sounds murmuring from those distant cliffs, her face making it clear she was at least considering it. Then, she smiled, making clicking noises with her mouth until a tawny-furred ram walked out from the woods and stood behind her.

  “You first. I’ll follow.”

  Zar and Lyla mounted their horses, exchanging nervous glances. They could try to ride off and lose Yari Thorn with the speed of their horses. In the woods, the Condor’s ram would be quicker, nimbler, moving around the trees in a way that no horse could. Here on an open plain, though, would they be able to get away?

  Zar had heard that rams often charged faster than horses, but they couldn’t keep up the speed for long. Maybe they could escape, somehow avoiding the arrows Yari would most certainly shoot at them. But to what end? Where would they run that Yari couldn’t follow?

  The woman moved as silent as a lifeless corpse and was obviously an excellent tracker. Both times she had found them they hadn’t noticed her presence until she wanted them to, and she could’ve killed them both times if she had chosen. Her skill with a bow was frightening, for besides the rumors, Zar had seen it firsthand during their siege of Snowstone Castle. Why make an enemy of the woman? It was clear all she wanted was a little gold in her pocket and a satisfying closure to the bizarre series of events that had knocked down her world in dramatic fashion. Why try to escape and risk an arrow through the back?

  Zar showed Lyla a calm smile of reassurance before calling back to Yari, “Something’s happening down by those cliffs! We’re going to pick up the pace a bit, but we’re not trying to escape, so don’t shoot us down.”

  “As you say!” Yari called. “I’ll be right on your heels.”

  Zar and Lyla led the way, their horses gaiting in a mild gallop, Yari riding her ram just behind Zar. The animal bolted in strong, swift hops, head high, wearing its great curls of horns like a crown. The commotion could now be heard as plain as day, shouts and screeching sounding so close to the cliffs they approached they all slowed their mounts, readying themselves. Zar drew his sword, and Yari, her bow; Lyla pulled out her little wooden flute and was already playing a tune.

  Cliffs rose in front of them, and the party circled around it to the east. They knew they had reached the place before they saw it, hearing heavy breaths, cries, the trampling of frantic feet, all so near it was as if they shared a room with it. It was the sound of struggle and fear and death, right around the bend, and although they had heard the signs long before seeing it, they still weren’t quite prepared for the sight of it.

  There were camels everywhere, crippled or dead, their riders just as unfortunate, some still mounted, others lying on the ground not far away. It was a heap of them, scattered and broken, the few that still drew breath crawling through the mess with the deftness of blind men. There were patches of fire everywhere, crisped corpses littered around them, and Leviathan stomping about, hissing and screeching, chasing a figure weaving in and out of its path. No, two figures.

  Tuskin. And Shahla!

  Zar rode in, charging at the dragon while a song from Lyla’s flute serenaded them. Tuskin threw himself to the ground as the creature spit fire at him, rolling to the side as soon as he hit the ground. Zar’s horse spooked from the flash of the fire and threw him off, but as soon as he struck the dirt he picked himself right back up, running for Leviathan, who had turned its attention to Shahla. The beast opened its mouth, gurgling fire, but Zar chopped at the dragon’s tail before it could breathe it, leaving a gash and ample blood running into the soil. Leviathan turned to him, its head a venomous swampy green, its eyes black orbs of ancient terror. Its mouth fell open, showing rows of teeth that Zar knew were about to tear off his face, but an arrow flew between them. Then another arrow. And another one.

  Lyla was coming closer, for as Zar watched the beast swallow arrows, he could hear the tune of the flute rise in volume as the song continued. Leviathan hissed and rushed after Yari, snatching her off her ram, her thigh in its jaws, slamming her onto the ground. It opened its jaws for another bite at her, but it stopped suddenly, looking up at Lyla. Its neck swayed a bit, almost in rhythm of t
he tune, and although it was a strange thing to think, the creature looked almost at peace.

  An arrow pierced the flesh under its jaw, for underneath Leviathan, a wounded Yari Thorn lay on her back, firing arrows up through its neck. The dragon hissed but didn’t move, and in an instant the Condor archer had pulled another shaft from over her shoulder and launched it up at the beast, on the inside of the dragon’s neck, just below the throat. Leviathan looked down at her, its right eye becoming a home for one of Yari’s arrow just as soon as it did. A second later, the left eye was filled, and as the creature hissed and screeched, Yari buried half a dozen shafts in its open mouth. It turned away, flailing, scampered about fifty paces away, and fell to the ground.

  Lyla ran to her horse, mounted, and took off without a word. Zar did the same and followed her. She rode for the east, the early morning sun shining just above the coast in the distance, as if it had risen from the water itself. She was on the beach when Zar caught up to her, no longer mounted and standing in front of the waves, playing a song on her flute.

  Zar dismounted and approached her, but he didn’t say a word. The song she played was too beautiful. It was one of those things that you appreciated, even if you didn’t understand it. It was as if every sound he had ever heard in nature was encapsulated in that song. It was the sound of birds in the morning, the howling of wolves at night, the ebb and flow of an ocean tide. And then, the waves parted, and a great sea turtle climbed onto the shore, its front arms, curved like fins, pulling it over the sand. It looked at Lyla, as if waiting for her, and it didn’t move.

  Lyla climbed onto its back, its broad shell looking large enough to carry three or four people her size. “I can’t live with what I’ve done,” she said. “Not here. Will you come with me?”

  Zar was stunned. “You know, Lyla, I can’t tell if you’re charming me or not. It’s terribly frightening, I daresay.”

  Lyla’s face looked as somber as a stone. “When I said I’d never charm you again, I meant it. This gift is also a curse to me, and since I can’t be rid of it, I should like to know how to control it—how to control myself.”

  “And you think I can help with this?”

  “You already have,” said Lyla, a bit of life showing on her face in the form of a soft, slight smile.

  Zar looked at Lyla, the morning sun in her hair, her curls of fire glistening like silk lace. He wanted to help this girl, but he also wanted to talk to Shahla—to make things right. And more difficult than the obligation of those two seemingly essential things was the fact that he could only do one.

  Worse still, there was no way to tell if he’d made the right choice as Lyla played her flute and the turtle scooted into the water.

  The sea wind blew from the surface of the depths, wrapping Zar in a cool, gusty curtain as he looked over the waves. It was more calming than any song Lyla had ever played.