By the time everyone was finished staring at me, Nasrine had selected a thin flute from the wall. After a few tentative notes, she played a modest tune, something slightly beyond the beginner stage, only squelching a few times.
With the brief song complete, we clapped and whistled, to which she bowed amid nervous laughter.
"It's a wonder I could remember anything at all. I never had much time for music, as I was always in my father's workshops"—she gave me a meaningful glance—"tinkering with gears and pulleys, making contraptions that did nothing much more than amuse me. Now to make a device that would play music without human intervention, that would be a treat."
The light mood was a balm to the previous tension, an expert touch from Ben's hand. Music to sooth the savage soul. Though I felt guilty about Santiago's absence. My words had poisoned his presence for the rest of the group. I decided, then, that I would apologize and engineer his reintroduction into the group.
I had stepped towards the door when the expert plucking of strings filled the air. I thought our young William had found another instrument with which to entertain us, but to my surprise, found Morwen at the helm instead.
The lyre-shaped wooden instrument had the song-like quality of faint bells. Morwen created a backdrop of sound like falling water while summoning a joyful tune overtop. She opened her mouth to sing in a strong, confident voice, regaling us with a tale like no other:
"There were five drunken maidens
with a flagon of lygte
They drank from early morning
till the last bit of night
before they would give out
the five drunken maidens
shall pour another drought!
"Then in came a bouncing lass
She was as brisk as bloom
with no skirt for her ass
and make for her some room
she'd be worthy of some sass
before she could give out
the five drunken maidens
shall pour another drought!
"There was narcan and kapon
there was leeberts an' saere
and all sorts of dainties
no scarcities there
There was forty pints of alangé
they freely drank it out
The five drunken maidens
shall pour another drought!
"There came five raiders
of courage stout and strong
and offering to each maiden
a prick nine inches long
to which they declined
so they upped their accounts
and the five drunken maidens
shall pour another drought!
"They called for the counting
the reckoning for to pay
there's eight and forty séin
and make it no delay
Twas more than that had piece
before they would give out
and the five drunken maidens
shall pour another drought!
"As the lasses was a going home
they met their mother, hey
Where've you been dear daughters
on this long fell day
When the skies are a burnin'
while the stars have nothin to say
and the five drunken maidens
shall pour another drought!
"Where are your fine clothes
you had the other day
and likewise your fine theloros
that was so fine and gray
They were neither fine nor gray mother
so make no more noise
for the ranting roaring maidens
shall pour another drought!"
We applauded the song as Morwen treated us with a smile, though we hadn't understood all the words. But it seemed that raunchy drinking songs were the same no matter what the realm.
"We near our destination," said Morwen. "So you'd better get ready for what you're going to do. I don't want to tarry long near the shield."
William, Nasrine, and I were going to be making the journey. I would provide security while they tested their machine.
Back in my grandiose room, when I moved to gather my things, I found my traveling sack in a different location than it'd been before. I recalled sitting briefly on the bed with the sack on my right. The impression of my buttocks was still in the covering, but the sack was on the opposite side.
I dug through the sack and could find nothing missing, save a brass whistle that I'd brought that could have easily been misplaced back at the estate. I'd thought it a good messaging device if I was in a place like the Gallasid jungle again.
Somehow, I doubted that anyone would riffle through my things only to take a worthless whistle, so I decided that I'd misremembered both the placement of the sack and the existence of the whistle in it. Besides, the only person not in the music conservatory was Santiago, and he seemed the least likely of us to be a pilferer.
Unless, I decided, the theft had happened at a different time, and the whistle had been only a prize, much as the thief Jonas had kept souvenirs of his burglary on a notched shelf on his wall.
I need to keep William in mind as well since I knew nothing about him. But his youth seemed to suggest he hadn't had time for serious stratagems.
The likely culprit was Nasrine, since I'd already found her digging through my things once. What was she after? Why had she given me that strange look when she mentioned tinkering in her father's workshop? Did I even have anything worth knowing about, or information that was valuable?
The books of myth upon my table seemed to grow in my vision. Those were the only items that suggested interest. I'd made notes in them about the prophecies and my encounters thus far. Was that what they were after? Some hints or portends of the future? A fool's errand.
I had to return to the main room soon. We had a test to perform, but later, I would return and determine what notes I'd left and their value. Maybe that might help me figure out who had been in my things, for I feared whoever it was, was the same person who would murder us all in the snow.
Chapter Nine
The hut sat on a fallow field somewhere in western Saxony. The crops had been abandoned as the shield expanded. A thatch-roofed village lurked on the hill to our west, its chimneys absent of cooking fires.
"The air is dead," said William, after licking his finger and holding it above his head.
"The shield seems to be suppressing the weather," I said, holding my hand over my eyes to see through the glare. To the east, a shimmer filled the air, like a mirage that extended to the washed-out blue sky.
"We should get moving," said Nasrine, suppressing a shiver. "I feel like it's going to sweep over us at any moment."
"It doesn't move that fast, they say, and we've got a ways to go before we even reach the shield. This was as close as Morwen could get, due to its interference," I said.
Behind us, a push cart held a portable steam engine and a second device. The other was the invention of Nasrine and Djata made to break down the shield. Or at least, that was the idea. It looked like a cross between a printing press and a barbed wire fence.
William took the yoke at the front of the cart and started hauling it across the uneven ground. Nasrine and I pushed from the back. My boots dug into the soft soil. The farmers had tilled the land, but hadn't laid the seeds, leaving weeds to lay claim.
After a few hundred meters, I asked William if I could switch. The ache in my palm made pushing difficult because it extended to my elbow and sometimes made it twitch.
We made it to the shield by mid-morning. Standing near it tickled the hairs on the back of my neck until they were at attention.
"It makes my teeth hurt," said William.
Nasrine picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at the shield. The air exploded with tendrils of darkness where it hit, throwing the dirt back over us in tiny pieces that stuck in my hair.
She shrugged when I glared at her, spitting out t
he debris.
"Better to recognize the danger of getting too close."
The two inventors got to work on the device, first starting the portable steam engine, then adjusting the levers and loops. Nasrine unrolled a length of wire towards the shield, carefully leaving the end half a meter away.
When the engine was thundering apace, Nasrine motioned for us to move back about two meters. I watched with subdued interest. I doubted their invention would do anything more than create some sparks, but it was worth a try, and maybe some good would come out of it.
When Nasrine hit the lever with her palm, turning the device on, a fountain of lightning burst from the shield, showing sparks over us. Screams pierced the air. William fell into me, trying to dodge a shadowy tendril forking from the shield.
Nasrine scrambled on her hands and knees away from the cart. A heavy whine filled the air. I was sure the steam engine would explode.
A javelin of lightning flew towards Nasrine's unprotected back. I leapt forward to knock it out of the way with my sorcery, succeeding only in taking it in the arm.
The impact threw me to the ground. Rather than the unimaginable pain I had expected, I was filled with a sense of tranquility.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself standing somewhere I hadn't been the moment before.
I knelt in a shadowy realm—an inkblot version of reality. Shapes near me suggested the unmoving forms of Nasrine and William. A rectangular blotch near the shield indicated the cart.
Sound had been drained from this realm, except for dull thuds that echoed in the distance.
In the direction of the shield, a shape formed from the shadows, like a walker appearing on a heat-shimmered road. The figure was hooded, and its approach filled me with trepidation.
When I tried to draw on my sorcery, I found the well empty, almost nonexistent. Looking at my arm, I noticed a jagged green crack in my skin, originating in my palm and traveling up my forearm. It reached my elbow. Tiny fractures permeated its length.
A familiar voice emanated from the shadowy figure. "Kat."
My heart leapt with tangled emotion. "Catherine?"
The figure nodded.
"Why can't I see you?" I said, trying to move towards her.
The shadowy Catherine shook her hooded head. "No. Do not try to come to me."
"How is this possible?" I asked.
"We've no time. I've taken a terrible chance, a terrible price, but one that must be done," she said.
Her voice had always been so sweet to me, so full of life and vigor. It'd been one of her strengths, to project confidence into those she met so they went away imbued with her presence. The terror that threaded through her words shook me like nothing else.
"Can you at least tell me how it is you are alive?" I asked.
She gave a soft laugh, one of those that had been reserved for quiet times in her bed, away from the sharp ears of the nobility. It carried in it a self-depreciating tremor.
"I was offered a deal and I took it," she said. "I regret it now, but I despaired at the thought of no longer living, never seeing you again."
"My heart soars that you're alive. I don't know what bonds hold you, but I will cut them, break those chains and free you, so you can return to me," I said, delirious.
"Put those thoughts out of your mind," said Catherine. "I did not come here for that. I've already made my choices and must pay for them. That's why they wanted me. I'm a trap for you."
"But I know it now," I said, thinking of the bloody snow. "Together we can defeat it."
She shook her head softly, as if she were in pain. I wished I could see her face!
"That is their purpose, my purpose," she said. "Forget me now, forget me forever. It cannot happen, as sure as death."
"But you're alive?" I asked.
There was that laugh again, telling me that I didn't understand. Couldn't understand.
"Tell me, then. Tell me what you came to say, but I cannot promise that I won't try to free you," I said.
"Forget me," said Catherine. "I came to tell you to stay away from the realm of dreams. This is the trap that Veles has set for you. The shield, the war, everything."
"Why? Why me?" I asked.
"Do you really need to ask?"
"No," I said softly. "The prophecies."
"Whoever controls them, controls the fate of all realms," she said. "Once you took them from the Gamayun, you changed everything. Before, they were the sacred keepers, untouchable by the gods, or they would suffer the consequences."
"But because I cannot control them, they do not fear me," I said.
"You see it now," she replied. "You must stay away."
"But if we don't stop him, the shield will grow larger, and he'll win anyway," I said.
"A fate less worrisome than Veles achieving control over the prophecies. I would sooner kill you with my own hand than let him have you," she said, the threat unmistakable in her tone. That she would do it gave me pause. "But that's why I come to you now. So you can avoid the realm of dreams, avoid the trap. Go back to Philadelphia. Do anything but go forward."
I'd never really understood the weight of what I held in my head until this moment. The thought of killing myself was briefly considered, though I quickly dismissed it. I knew I couldn't go through with it, if only because I was an optimist. No matter how dark the night, the day would always come again.
"I'm sorry, Catherine," I said. "You know I can't do that."
She sighed heavily, a bit of madness threading through it in chuckling laughter. "You never could. I ruled the largest empire in the world, bent the nobility to my will, but I couldn't even make you wear a dress on my birthday."
The memory flashed a smile to my lips. "It was a dreadful dress. Those sleeves looked like they were made with discarded carpet, the peplum like a bowl of cherries had thrown up."
"I would have picked a different dress for you," she said.
"You had more important decisions on your table than what I was going to wear," I said.
Though I could not see her face through the shadows, I sensed a wistful smile lurking.
"It mattered to me," she said, then her shadowy hood turned slightly, as if she were hearing something from her side of the shield. "I must go, and so must you. Heed my words and do not tread in the realm of dreams."
As the shadows faded, I reached my hand towards her, wishing I could touch her one last time. "I miss you, my love."
The shadowy mirage faded, and I found myself in the pull cart, legs draped over the side, bumping along the rough ground with a pain in my neck.
"Who do you miss?" asked Nasrine, who was pushing the cart and studying me. Though I couldn't see him, I assumed William was pulling the cart.
"No one," I said quietly. Nasrine's frown told me she didn't believe me. "What happened?"
"When that bolt hit you, you fell to the ground, spasming. We dumped the steam engine and the device and have been hauling you back to the hut," said Nasrine.
"So it didn't work?" I asked.
"No," she said, "but we have some ideas that we're going to try when we get back to the Thornveld."
"That's a good idea," I said.
Yes, the Thornveld. Between Catherine's warning and the prophecy, I couldn't let them stay in the hut much longer. Doing so would put things one step closer to fulfilling it. I was afraid that things had already gone too far.
"You can let me out now," I said. "I'm well enough to walk, and this cart makes my neck hurt."
As I climbed out, I glanced behind us to where we'd left the shield. I thought I saw a shimmer a few dozen meters behind us.
"Do you see that?" I asked.
Nasrine and William both gazed into the east, cupping hands above eyes to block the glare.
"I thought I saw a glimmer of something, like a wave moving forward," said William.
"It looks like the shield moving this way, but we know it doesn't move that fast," said Nasrine.
As soon as she sa
id it, we all knew she was wrong. Moments later a stiff wind buffeted us, throwing hair in our faces. The shield was expanding, moving towards us at a quickening pace.
"Run!" I yelled.
We abandoned the cart and scrambled towards the hut on the edge of the field.
Chapter Ten
Morwen stood on the porch with her blond hair swirling around her face. The wind swallowed her words, but there was no need to speak, we understood the danger.
The hut was tipped forward on its yellow, segmented chicken legs. We scrambled onto the porch and into the waiting door.
Ben and Santiago were inside, watching the incoming shield. Dust billowed towards the hut on a shimmering wave.
Morwen stood in the center of the room, eyes rolled back in her head, hands splayed, arms outstretched. The view rotated wildly as the hut spun, then a ghostly portal appeared.
The hut lurched towards its escape, the portal growing larger in the window until faint geometric patterns, like Arabic rugs, could be seen in the white expanse. The left window showed the approaching shield. The dust had been stirred up so the shield looked dark brown at its base, like a bloated, flooded river filled with foam and trash.
The impact tipped the hut over. I tumbled into the cushions, smacking my shoulder on a brass pot that bounced in my way. The others screamed and shouted. The partitions folded and slid across the floor. We were flotsam in a tumbling wave.
It only went on for a few seconds, but it felt like hours, the terror of not knowing turning each second into a lifetime.
Like two steam trains hitting head-on, the impact was brief but destructive.
The hut was tilted on its side. The window was a blank wall, showing nothing, its magic redirected, or broken.
Most of us lay in a pile against the cushions, the shifted gravity keeping us pinned. Ben's elbow was in my gut. William's leg was tangled between mine. The others lay nearby in similar states of distress.
Only Morwen—in her bright green, low-necked silk gown, looking more like a singer on a stage than a powerful witch—was not affected by the hut's dislocation. Her feet were planted like roots in the middle of the floor, and though the hut was leaning at a difficult angle, she was not pulled onto us.
The Queen of Dreams (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 6) Page 6
