Songbird

by Colleen Helme

  The king stood proudly and the hall quieted before he spoke. “This is the moment we have all been waiting for. Our celebration would not be complete without hearing from my beautiful Songbird.” He took her unresisting hand, and led her to a raised platform as though she were an honored guest. From where he sat, Bran heard the king’s soft-spoken threat. “Do not fail me.”

  An expectant hush filled the hall. For the first time, Bran detected a flicker of emotion behind her cool exterior. Was it anger or defiance? As quick as it came, it was gone, and her face returned to the schooled blankness that made her seem remote and cold. The silence lengthened uncomfortably before she tilted her chin at a determined slant. As she took a deep breath, Bran caught the gleam of wildness in her eyes, and his stomach clenched with sudden apprehension.

  The first few notes took him by surprise. They were light and clear, shinning like sparkling water under the sun, and carrying an underlying tone of reverence. The tones conjured golden images of light, and bound to the intensity of her voice, created a feeling of wonder and awe. As the beautiful tones rose in volume, the air became drenched with glittering light. Swirling around her, the light shifted in color and size, growing and changing with the music.

  He could only describe this display as fireworks bursting with color and then trailing away into sparkling diamonds of light. The beauty took his breath away, and it seemed as if the entire hall was enclosed with torrents of golden light.

  The steady light grew, and he watched with amazement as it fell down from above and encircled his body, even becoming the air he breathed. Incredibly, his skin and clothes took on a golden hue. As he tried to understand what was happening, the tones grew in intensity and lifted his soul to another sphere beyond his wildest imaginings.

  Time slowed, and almost stopped. Then the moment passed and he could breathe again. His senses reeled like he had just been taken for a wild ride. As he gathered his wits, a low echo filled the hall, soothing his nerves. The melody and harmonies changed, whispering of tranquility and peace.

  Within this blanket of warmth, his defenses fell away, one by one. An air of complacency relaxed his breathing and peace surrounded him. He vaguely sensed his vulnerability, but couldn’t do anything about it, nor did he want to. Even the air he breathed seemed laden with calming hues of green and blue.

  All at once, the tones changed into a twisting dissonance, sending his blood racing with distress. Bran instinctively covered his ears along with everyone else in the room. Startled cries of pain from the crowd joined the dissonance, cutting into him like nails.

  The Songbird’s beautiful face twisted with her own pain as she forced out the notes and struggled to stand upright. Fighting obvious agony, she continued to sing, and the notes rose in a crescendo that swirled in the air around the king. Bands of dark light descended over him and tightened in a vise.

  King Thesald came to his feet with a strangled gasp and clutched at his chest. Her song continued, but the effort sent her to her knees. Then with a pop, the kundar around her neck flared a bright orange-red, cutting off her voice and leaving the room abruptly silent.

  Moaning, the Songbird fell to the floor, clutching her stomach and writhing in pain. Her fall jolted everyone into action. As the king slumped, the guards nearest him, caught his arms and led him to his seat.

  Chancellor Turner jumped to his feet. He motioned a few guards to his side and stood over the Songbird’s still form. “You will be severely punished for this,” he said, his teeth clenched in anger. “Take her away.”

  As the guards hauled her to her feet and dragged her down the hall, Bran held his breath. Her pale face haunted him with abject defeat, as if she didn’t care whether she lived or died. The change from the blankness she carried before unsettled him.

  If he ever doubted her humanity, it was erased by the passion of her song, and the desperate act he had just witnessed. Her song touched him deeply, and now her pain became his own. True, she had hurt the king, but he understood her desire for freedom.

  The attendants surrounding the king dispersed, leaving him sitting upright in his chair. The king mopped his brow and took a long drink of wine before motioning to Chancellor Turner, who held up his hands to quiet the whispering crowd.

  “I apologize for this small inconvenience,” he began. “As you can see, King Thesald is unharmed and would like the festivities to continue. Please understand that every once in a while, the Songbird tries to hurt the king. Do not be alarmed. It is her nature and the true nature of all Kalorians. Thankfully, because of the kundar, she only ends up hurting herself.”

  He signaled, and a group of musicians and dancers came forward. With this diversion, the tension dissipated from the hall and Bran relaxed into his chair. He was stunned by what the Songbird had done, but felt that it was more than defiance spurring her on.

  From the defeat on her face, he almost believed it was a death wish. Could he blame her? In her place, he would do all in his power to gain his freedom, or die trying. Her song haunted him, and he couldn’t seem to forget the flowing beauty that had surrounded him, nor the dissonant pain.

  He also believed that the king had suffered. She’d hurt him. Even now his face was pale and pinched. What would her punishment be? What they would do to her worried him, but she must have felt the price was worth it.

  Coming from Braemar, Bran had only heard stories about the things that happened in the Old Country. Power and magic existed on this side of the wall, but not on his. The West had technological advances that made this society seem primitive, but there was no magic where he came from.

  That was one of the reasons he had decided to become a diplomat. Magic fascinated him. But now, everything had changed. Two months ago, strange things began happening on his side of the wall. Things only explained by magic.

  His country may be more advanced in some ways, but they were no match against magic. With the way things were going, his superiors believed that King Thesald was making plans to invade Braemar. So the stand that Thesald took against magic didn’t make sense.

  If Thesald wanted to win a battle against Braemar, all he had to do was use the Kalorians and their magic. Maybe King Thesald didn’t have as much control over them as he tried to show. That would explain why he had wiped out most of them, or collared them like the Songbird.

  But there was much more to this. Two months ago, an informant had led Bran to a thief who bragged about an elixir that he claimed gave people magic. He said it gave a man extra strength, along with the ability to disappear, or disarm an opponent with the flick of a wrist, among other things. The informant called the potion ‘sym’ and explained that it wore off after a few hours.

  Bran sighed at the implications of an elixir that could give magical power. The demand for something like that could be huge. In the wrong hands, it could cause all sorts of trouble. If the king had enough for his army, they would be nearly impossible to defeat.

  His informant claimed the elixir came from the Old Country, but before Bran could find out more, the thief had disappeared. Now it was Bran’s job to find the origin of the elixir, which led him straight to the Songbird. He believed her magic was the key to this riddle. She was the only Kalorian he knew of, and his only hope of finding others like her.

  He glanced around his table, noting that the people conversed in low tones. Most of them were affiliated with the king and his minions, but Bran didn’t know all of the connections. Although subdued, they seemed to have recovered from the experience.

  “I have never heard the Songbird before,” Bran said. “It was incredible. Does she have a name or is she only known as the Songbird?”

  The man next to him shrugged before answering. “Her name is Teya.”

  “Hmm…that’s an unusual name, but then, she’s an unusual creature.” Bran furrowed his brows. “Chancellor Turner said she would be punished. What do they usually do to her?”

  The woman across from him narrowed her eyes. “That’s a good ques
tion,” she answered. “He doesn’t beat her, I know that much.”

  Another man shook his head. “This is all wrong. If the king treated her as a beloved pet with special privileges, he’d gain her loyalty and never have to worry about the scene she displayed tonight. I’ve told him so myself, many times. If she were mine, I’d treat her differently, and she would never turn on me.”

  “So you say.” The woman broke in. “But her kind are different. They don’t think like we do. Didn’t you notice that strange light in her eyes? She doesn’t seem quite right to me, almost unfeeling, and inhuman.”

  “Of course she’s human,” the man scoffed. “That’s just an old tale to keep people afraid of her, so the king doesn’t have to worry about someone trying to steal her away.”

  This made sense to Bran, but since Chancellor Turner had made the same remark, it could be more than a rumor. How far was the king willing to go to keep his Songbird safe? Spreading a few lies certainly wouldn’t hurt, and she’d seemed human enough to him.

  “It’s certain you’ve had your eye on her for some time now,” the woman said with disdain. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

  The man shot her a venomous sneer. “Keep your warnings to yourself. I’m not a fool. Besides, I’m more interested in other matters.” He turned his attention to Bran. “So, Ambassador Havil, what do you think of all this?”

  Bran’s lips twisted into an easy smile. “It’s quite remarkable. I never believed in magic before she sang. Now I’m still wondering if it’s real.”

  “Makes you wonder what she could do without that thing around her neck, doesn’t it?”

  “Stop baiting him, Max,” the woman beside him said. “It’s not fair to our guest.” To Bran she added, “This is a running debate between Chancellor Turner and Max that has gone on for years. We all know what would happen without the kundar. She’d kill every last one of us.”

  Max rolled his eyes but was saved from replying by a servant who requested that they all move to the other end of the hall where King Thesald waited to lead Queen Agnus in the first steps of a dance.

  Bran made his way casually to the far end of the hall, closer to the doors for his escape. He glanced at the people surrounding him. Those not dancing enjoyed the entertainment while drinks and trays of sweet confections were served. He chose a round cookie dusted in powdered sugar and decided it had the right amount of nuts to be convincing. He glanced at his watch.

  “Fine evening isn’t it?” He asked the plump, pretty woman standing beside him. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ambassador Havil from Braemar.”

  The woman smiled with pleasure, more than happy to make his acquaintance, especially with the attention he lavished on her. They spoke for several minutes, and he checked his watch again. It was time. After taking a deep breath, he took a bite of the cookie.

  Immediately, his throat began to swell. It wasn’t too bad, but he acted the part, grabbing at his throat like he was choking. His breath began to wheeze in and out, and the woman quickly patted his back with wide-eyed concern.

  “Ambassador! Is something wrong?”

  “Can’t…breathe.” He took hold of her arm. “I need…my…assistant.” He allowed her to lead him out of the hall and into the corridor where he collapsed onto a cushioned chair.

  He’d chosen the woman well, for she quickly took charge of the situation, shouting for help, and sending for Bran’s assistant. Jax arrived right on cue, and exclaimed that Bran was having an allergic reaction to something he ate. Jax fished through his pockets and produced a syringe, explaining that it would help Bran breathe. After administering the medicine, Bran’s wheezing quieted and he was able to sit up.

  “Thank you for your help,” he told the woman, still a little breathless. “It probably saved my life.”

  She dabbed at the beads of perspiration on his forehead with her handkerchief. “Oh, it was nothing. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  Chancellor Turner appeared at her elbow. “What happened here?”

  “Oh, it was terrible!” the woman exclaimed. “Ambassador Havil had an allergic reaction to something he ate and nearly died! He couldn’t breathe. It was frightful.”

  “Can I get you anything?” Chancellor Turner asked Bran.

  “No thank you,” Bran rasped. “But I think…I’d better go home…where I can recover.” He coughed and then closed his eyes in distress before glancing up. “My assistant will see to my needs. Please give my regrets to the king and queen.”

  “Very well,” Turner agreed, concerned. “I’ll have your carriage brought round.”

  Jax helped Bran to his feet and he swayed before catching his balance. Then he bowed over the woman’s hand and whispered. “Thanks again, my lady.”

  She smiled sweetly and gave him her handkerchief. “Take it. You look like you need it. I’ve got plenty of others.”

  He inclined his head. “Goodnight, then.” He bowed to Turner as he passed. “Chancellor.”

  As they ambled to the waiting carriage, Bran leaned against Jax, knowing Turner watched. Once inside, Bran fell back against the cushioned seats, mopping his brow with the handkerchief. Jax climbed in beside him and closed the door before turning a baleful eye on Bran.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? That was real! Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  Bran shook his head, knowing he’d overdone it. With his swollen throat and dry mouth he could hardly swallow. “Is there any water in here?”

  Jax mumbled in exasperation and rummaged beneath the seat to pull out a flask. Bran drained the water to the last drop and his throat opened up, allowing him to breathe easier. “Thanks. I guess I miss-judged the amount of nuts. At least Turner was a witness so he won’t suspect anything.” Jax didn’t answer, so Bran continued. “Hey, I’m fine now. You can stop scowling.”

  Bran took a deep breath and gave silent thanks that the medicine worked so well. He’d probably pushed it too far, but having it real only made it that much better. No one would suspect the truth.

  The carriage slowed to a crawl. “That’s our signal.”

  Jax cracked open the door and waited until the carriage rounded the corner before stepping out. Bran followed and they both crouched beneath an overgrown bush. A moment later, he and Jax scrambled to the other side and cut through the yard to a side street.

  “I’ll keep an eye on the carriage to make sure it gets past the guards at the wall,” Jax said. “I’ll meet you at the house in a minute.”

  Bran nodded, watching him go, then turned down an alley and pushed through the opening in a fence to a small, enclosed yard. The covered walk and secluded doorway were the main reasons he had picked this house. He could easily go in and out without being seen. At least tonight had gone off without a hitch. By this time tomorrow, he’d know if the weeks of careful planning had worked. If they didn’t, he’d probably be dead.

  ****

  The guards allowed Teya to change her clothes before they marched her down to the cellar and forced her into the ‘box.’ Her claustrophobia was King Thesald’s greatest weapon against her, making it the perfect punishment. It galled her that he was the cause of it in the first place, and now he used it against her whenever he wished.

  Once inside the confined space, she took a calming breath, but it had little effect. Her stomach cramped with pain and sweat popped out on her brow. With no light, the walls closed in around her. If she didn’t gain control in the next minute, she’d start screaming, and the pain from the kundar would hurt so bad, she’d pass out.

  She clamped her eyes shut, and tried to think of something besides the closeness of the walls and the sound of her tight breathing. She envisioned the meadow of her youth, with the canopy of trees swaying gently in the breeze. Here, the green grass smelled like sweet hay. A small waterfall echoed on the rocks behind her and then flowed into a pool of crystal clear water.

  She was ten years old the last time she’d been there, but the peace of the
meadow had never been forgotten. It soothed her and softened the hard edge of her prison. She tried to picture her parent’s and grandmother’s faces, along with her older brother Hewson, but their images had blurred with time.

  Profound sorrow lanced through her heart. Ten years had passed since then. Ten long years since the king’s men had captured her and carried her in a box, like an animal.

  In her mind, she opened the box and stepped out, then poured all her anger, sorrow and hate inside. The box shrank until it was small enough to fit in her pocket. She would keep it there until the right time. In her pocket, these feelings couldn’t destroy her. Humming softly to herself, she relaxed and fell into a fitful sleep.

  ****

  Keys jangled as the guard unlocked the door to her prison early the next morning. Relief to finally escape this hell sent tears to her eyes. She’d shifted her position in the cramped quarters as much as possible, but her legs and back were so stiff she could hardly move.

  The guard’s face twisted with guilt and shame for what had been done to her, but he masked it with gruffness, refusing to look her in the eyes. “Time to get out. I’ll escort you to your room.”

  Teya swallowed the lump in her throat and dried her tears. She knew this guard, and although his manners were harsh, he had a good heart.

  “Please,” she said. “I can’t seem to get up. Can you give me a hand?”

  Her request startled him, and he finally looked her in the face. His features softened. With a quick nod, he clasped her outstretched hand and pulled her to her feet. She swayed for a moment, and he steadied her until the dizziness passed. His kindness opened a crack in her heart and tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Lady,” the guard said. “Please don’t cry.”

  Teya understood the unspoken plea. He put himself in danger to help her. By the king’s command, no one was allowed to assist her in any way unless he ordered it. This guard could be stripped of his rank if someone reported him. The king had spread the lie that she wasn’t quite human to keep her isolated. So far, it had worked well.