Echoes of Silence

by Elana Johnson

  I threw myself into her arms, instantly wishing we’d bonded, that our voices could weave a protection spell. “I’ll protect you,” I whispered in her ear as we separated.

  Olive wiped her eyes, spun on her heel, and left me standing in the courtyard with trembling fingers.

  #

  After lunch, I stood on the balcony watching a ribbon of smoke lift over the southern mountains. Something in Umon was burning. I sang a detection melody, but I couldn’t extend the magic past the walls of the castle.

  I chanted a location poem, inserting Cris’s image into my mind, but the rebound returned blank and useless. I wasn’t sure if that meant he was in the darkest confines of the castle, or if the magic hadn’t worked because he’d gone beyond the gates. I’ll always come back to you, he’d said, and I held onto the hope that the song would rebound when it found Cris.

  The song did rebound an image of Mari, who I’d reassigned to the laundry facilities. With my dirty training clothes tucked into a bag, I went to find her.

  I moved toward the castle with ease. When people saw me, they stepped to the side and let me pass with a courteous nod and a quick smile. Several people offered to take my bag, and each time I assured them I wanted to go to the laundry myself.

  The main castle bustled with life. People wearing bright capes in various colors entered and exited the rooms along the perimeter of the great hall. Even inside, plants dominated the scenery with hanging vines dripping from the ceiling and potted trees guarding stairwells.

  I watched the activity, wishing I could blend in as seamlessly as I once did. But here, everyone knew me as the Princess, and everyone averted their eyes and paid their respects. A respect I hadn’t earned.

  “Have you seen the Prince?” I asked the next person who offered to take my laundry, a man wearing spectacles and sporting a blue cape.

  The man leaned closer. “Rumor has it that the Prince has gone mad.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I’ve also heard that his father has sequestered him.” The man leaned away and cast his eyes heavenward. “One hears many things inside these castle walls.”

  “Why would the High King sequester his son? And where?”

  “The Prince lived here for many years before anyone saw him. There are many places to hide one man.” The man’s voice took on an odd quality, almost like he was speaking underwater.

  I moved away from him and took a deep breath. With the distance, my head cleared. I blinked and when I opened my eyes again, the man in the blue cape had moved halfway across the wide hall.

  The magic here confused me. I uttered a protection spell to keep the dangerous energy out of my head and continued toward the laundry facilities.

  #

  “I need you to get me into his dinner,” I repeated. Mari stood before me, her arms folded and a thoughtful expression on her face. She’d refused me twice already. “Just for tonight. I’ll do whatever it takes to be there. Cook, clean, serve.” The thought of Olive and the High King alone together brought snakes to my stomach. I reached out and placed two fingers on her forearm. “Please. I—I will allow you to erase one of my memories.”

  She finally looked me in the eyes. “Oh? Which one?”

  “The one where I saw you sneaking out of my husband’s bedroom on our wedding night.”

  Her mouth rounded and she took a step back. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Nothing happened. I—I promise you, Echo. Nothing happened.”

  I regarded her coolly, still needing her assistance. “Perhaps you’d like to take the memory, so we don’t have it between us.”

  She narrowed her eyes for split-second. “What makes you think I can get you into his chambers for dinner?”

  She’d gotten Olive out of prison. I didn’t know how, but her actions testified that Mari had some measure of knowledge and power here. “Just the fact that you know where he dines speaks volumes.”

  She sighed, sinking her weight onto one leg and sticking out her hip. “We’ll have to do something to disguise your face.”

  Three hours later, my patience was razor-thin, as was Mari’s. She’d painted my face a deep bronze color, applied so much eye makeup my lids took longer to reopen after blinking, and had arranged and rearranged my hair half a dozen times.

  She wound a scarf around the bun and let the ends drape over my shoulders. “You’re doing clean up only,” Mari instructed. “You can be in the suite, but shouldn’t be seen until the High King leaves. Then you’ll have to stay and clean up after.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  Before our conversation continued, a knock sounded at the door. A severe-looking woman stood outside Mari’s room and barked at me to follow her to the High King’s chamber.

  I did so, trying to keep my eyes focused on the back of the woman’s head as we drew to the High King’s personal chambers. I hummed a low tune, hoping it would conceal my identity further from those who wouldn’t appreciate my pressence.

  “Stop that,” the woman said. “The High King will be able to detect you. He can sense a magician from ten kilometers.”

  “Ten kilometers?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Do you have a song to erase your magic? Because that’s what you will need in this case.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Pray he’s having an off day,” the woman said. “Even he has them, High King or not.”

  #

  The High King didn’t appear to be having an off day, though he paid me no mind when I slipped into his chambers and disappeared toward the food preparation area. His voice filled every crevice in the room; his laugh bounced around in my head until I thought I would never rid myself of it.

  Olive arrived a few minutes after me, and though I couldn’t see her, the wafting scent of perfume told me she’d gone to great lengths to make herself presentable for the occasion. Her delicate voice tinkled among the High King’s boisterous tone.

  They dined slowly, taking their time with salads, and soups, and small talk. Servers moved in and out of the prep area, but I stayed with the woman who had brought me, washed the salad plates as they returned, and waited for the end of the meal.

  I continually edged my way closer to the partitioning wall separating the prep area from the dining table. When I stood on the cusp of being seen, I could hear quite well as long as the High King wasn’t cackling and dishes weren’t clacking.

  “My son is anxious to stop me,” the High King said, but Olive’s answer and the High King’s response were wiped away by the return of soup bowls Mari sent clattering into the sink. I needed to wash them, but I stalled another moment at the corner.

  “—Grandmother said it could never be so.” Olive practically choked on the word Grandmother, and a surge of emotion made my breath burn in my throat.

  “Your grandmother dabbled in mere country magic,” the High King said. “I’ve seen your sister’s lessons.”

  “Echo knows a great deal of magic, Your Excellency,” Olive said. “And my grandmother was twice as powerful.”

  Someone jostled me at that moment, but the swell of pride I felt for my family ballooned inside. And to hear Olive defend me and speak softly about Grandmother made my chest constrict.

  “Echo.” Mari motioned to me urgently from the sink. I joined her and scrubbed the soup bowls as fast as possible.

  Dishes kept coming, and by the time I finished, I couldn’t hear echoes of conversation from the dining room. I wiped my hands on my apron and hurried to the partition. I caught sight of the tails of the High King’s suit as he disappeared down a hall.

  “Echo!”

  I ignored Mari’s whispered plea as I ran across the room. My heartbeat pulsed irregularly, and I didn’t dare breathe too deeply for fear someone would hear as I stole down the dark hall after the High King. The high pitch of Olive’s voice met my ears, and I followed it, turning left at the end of the hall.

  The moon cast clawing, silver light through a window. It b
eckoned me forward, though every instinct screamed at me to retreat. I hesitated, searching for Olive’s faint magic, cursing that I wasn’t Matu and couldn’t feel it.

  “What do you think?” the High King asked, and I turned right down another shadowed hallway. I desperately wanted to know why—and for what—the High King needed Olive’s reassurances.

  “I believe it will work,” the High King said, drawing my attention to the left this time. A doorway led to a dark room where oil lamps produced low light. I could just make out the tall form of the High King and the more delicate build of my sister. He reached toward her, and I sucked in a breath involuntarily.

  Nothing happened beyond a quick brush of his fingers against her arm. He gestured to something behind him and they moved further into the room, where darkness swallowed them.

  I waited a few seconds before I darted after them. The orange light felt strange, as if it shouldn’t be this color naturally. My stomach quivered with unease, and my feet stumbled over each other. I dared not sing a melody to call Castillo to my side, for fear the High King would sense my presence.

  Gas lamps suddenly flared to life, lighting the room Olive and the High King had entered. I crept to the door and peered in. I swallowed at the sight of two dozen magicians circling the room wearing their charcoal robes.

  The freaky light didn’t quite reach the center of the circle where Olive stood, her head held high. Despite her proud presence, she couldn’t completely erase the raw fear in her eyes.

  The world around me shrank and disappeared until all that existed was the guttering firelight painting the circle of magicians.

  A chant began, though I couldn’t tell which magician started it. One by one, voices joined the song, causing it to grow in pitch and volume. The magic stirred within me, my music longing to burst forth. High notes mingled with low ones. Harmonies and melodies intertwined with a precision I hadn’t witnessed before from the High King’s magicians. I closed my eyes, lost in the power of this magic.

  Beneath all that, the chant marched on, sucking power from the song and transforming it from beautiful to dangerous. That underlying vein of dark magic discolored the whole spell, and my eyes snapped open.

  “No,” I whispered. My gaze flew around the magicians in the circle, searching for the High King. I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t stand here and watch Olive, couldn’t seem to open my mouth and sing the notes to break this song-magic that would kill my sister.

  The magic rose and fell, the melody ebbed and flowed, the song silenced and crescendoed. Oake had not taught me the spell-songs that would rob others of their magic, drain them until they couldn’t breathe.

  Grandmother had told stories of corrupt magicians who did such things, though the ancients of Relina had forbidden it.

  “Why would anyone want to use magic to murder?” I’d asked.

  “Immortality,” she’d answered.

  I remembered the way my chest seized, the same way it was now. “But the magicians of Relina are immortal. Did they—? Have they—?”

  “They transfer their magic and intelligence to another body,” Grandmother explained. “Then their host body passes from this life as it normally would. They only transfer to a willing host. Never once have the ancients used wicked magic to achieve immortality.”

  As the spell-song continued, it drowned out my memories. Something Cris had said filled my mind. Father, I don’t care anymore. The price is too high. I don’t want to control the magic that way. It’s too dangerous.

  For one who was unable to control magic, such as Cris, this spell would allow him to siphon power from another and consume it as his own. One paid the price with their death; the other enjoyed the reward of prolonged life.

  My magic responded to the evil song surrounding me. That power called to me, sang for me, drew me in the same way Castillo had on the veranda. I sang for him to come, infusing the song with desperation so he would arrive quickly.

  Olive started to shake. Her eyes squeezed shut. She opened her mouth, and the note she produced sounded more like a screech than anything else.

  The High King stepped into the doorway, his eyes blazing with the orange light, his pupils vertical slits from the wickedness he infused within himself. The spell-songs he’d used to steal the lifeblood of others had transformed him.

  He smiled wide, revealing a mouthful of hungry teeth. “Hello, Echo.” My name in his voice sounded so wrong against the song still reverberating through the room.

  “This won’t work,” I cried over the sound of the magic.

  “Then stop it.” The High King threw his head back and laughed. He spread his arms wide, indicating his powerful magicians.

  I searched for the break in the music, the crack where I could insert my voice and shatter the spell. The bass line was as solid as a cement foundation, and I detected nothing in the melodic line either.

  Behind the smug form of the High King, Olive screamed. I tried to move past the High King to break the circle and stop the magic. The High King stepped in my path, impossibly tall and wide. “With your voice, Princess. My son claims you can reintroduce magic into the world without fear.” He raised his chin. “So use your voice.”

  It sounded like both a challenge and a threat. My throat felt too dry to speak, let alone sing. My eyes widened. My heart pumped impossibly fast. I felt wild and trapped, the same way I had just before killing Gibson. I swallowed, trying to reign in my panic and re-lace my control over the seedlings of wicked magic with which he’d infected me.

  “Stop it, Echo,” the High King taunted. He stepped to the side to reveal that Olive had fallen to her knees. She held her head in her hands, and convulsed. I glanced behind me, seeking any sign of Castillo. The hallways remained empty.

  I turned back to the circle before me, found the hairline crack in the middle register, and opened my mouth to prevent this influential, old magic from destroying my sister.

  I hesitated on the cusp of the note, feeling the wicked magic rush into me. It swirled with the dark power I’d been harboring since Gibson’s attack. I pushed the magic away, but it tangled, caught inside my eardrums. If I joined my voice to this wicked song-magic, there would be no return.

  I looked from my sister to the High King, furious. “You planned this.”

  “We all have our secrets.” He cackled again before joining his rich tenor voice to the spell-song, filling the empty spot and completing the melody that would sing Olive into the afterlife.

  Forty-Four

  The wicked magic within me strained to come out. I fought against it as the most powerful voice I’d heard since arriving at the High Castle pierced my defenses. The High King knew how to use his voice to achieve the most complicated melodies.

  I stood and watched, humming a protective spell to keep his evil magic at bay—and stop the magic spiraling through me from bursting out. But my song didn’t erase the sight of Olive writhing on the floor, or the sound of her screams as the wicked spell-song wove around her.

  “Curse that mouth,” I heard someone say in Cris’s voice, but this time it wasn’t because I’d said something I shouldn’t have. Instead, it was because I couldn’t use my voice at all.

  I searched for Cris among the magicians in the circle, but he wasn’t there. Castillo hadn’t arrived. No one was coming to help.

  I couldn’t watch my sister suffer for another second.

  I opened my mouth and sang. The discordant song surrounding me faltered under the influence of my golden spell-song of safety. Olive quieted in the center of the circle. The magician nearest me took the tiniest step backward, nearly breaking the circle. His eyes flickered to mine and held.

  I increased the tempo of the music, trying to insert my protective magic before the damning notes of the destructive song could sound.

  The magician steeled his gaze and kept his position, sending my safety song up into smoke. Tears pressed up my throat; Olive screamed again; somewhere, the High King laughed.

 
I began a chant Grandmother had sung to me while I suffered from the walking plague. It had eased the pain, chased away the fever, and wrapped me in comfort. My voice rose above the harmonies, swelled through the melody.

  The High King’s spell-song changed with the addition of the chant, and this time half a dozen magicians turned to look at me. No one broke the formation, but awe and fear shone on their faces.

  Sing!

  I couldn’t tell if the thought existed inside my own mind, or if the High King had shouted the instruction to his magicians.

  I sang, turning the chant into a refrain that wrapped around the rafters, circled through the wicked magic, looking for a way to save my sister. She stilled again, lifting her tear-filled eyes to mine.

  I reached for her at the same time she stretched her hand toward me. I knelt to extend my hand past the circle of magicians, but I still couldn’t reach her. Olive’s tears fell; she sat back.

  No, my mind shouted as I continued to sing. Don’t give up!

  If the High King killed her with his song, the years of her life would be added to his; his wicked way of reaching for immortality.

  Her mouth moved: I love you. Let me go.

  I couldn’t. I kept singing, though my chest felt too tight, my head too light. I must save her, save her, save her.

  Around me, the light dimmed. The multiple melodies wafting through the room melded and echoed in my head. Another voice joined the fray—Grandmother.

  I couldn’t make out the words, for she sang them in a language I hadn’t learned. I recognized the magic though—I’d felt it in my dream when I stepped onto the beach in Relina. I had felt it pulsing behind the locked door even as Grandmother cautioned me to find the key.

  Her magic ballooned into something huge, a power that filled the room until it centered on Olive. She sighed and sank back, a smile gracing her lips. The sight of her relaxing into death stole my breath and stalled my chant.

  The High King’s song continued; Grandmother’s magic faded; Olive’s chest rose and fell, rose . . . and fell one last time.