by Lisa Daniels
“I have reason to believe it may be your daughter, Karris, Tarken,” Elise said, knowing she stepped upon dangerous grounds. Accusing a lord's daughter might not be the best decision she had made. Her legs trembled slightly as she pushed on with the statement, certain to experience his wrath at any moment.
Curses, she was so cowardly. Even now, with the power of her song protecting her, she still feared the lash and heat of scathing words.
“You accuse my daughter?” Tarken’s eyes almost popped out. Brann gave Elise a warning sign, but she continued anyway. He appeared seconds from exploding.
“I think I know why, sir. I think… she’s jealous.”
There was a moment’s pause.
“Jealous?” Tarken bubbled the word, as if the absurdity of it tainted the air.
“Yes, sir. She… seems desperate to please you. To get your attention. She sings, she does what you ask, she tries to be by your side. But with me, she feels as if she has been displaced. You devote more attention to me than to your daughter, at least in her eyes, and it’s getting to the point where she feels the only way she can get you back is to kill me. I think. Sir,” Elise added. She licked her lips nervously. Tarken still stood with that tight, coiled menace in him.
“I...” Lord Tarken began to form a sentence, the fury still evident.
“It makes sense,” Brann stepped in, making sure Tarken didn’t have a chance to spill out his wrath. Brann's gray eyes crackled earnestly. “I’ve been noticing this behaviour in your child for a while. I’ve seen it before. She wants your attention.”
Brann still held the pie as he defended Elise, and he discreetly placed it down.
A tingling, rushing heat went through Elise at the notion of Brann sticking up for her. Something also bottled up in her throat, adding the strange impulse to cry. She suppressed it.
Even as Tarken seemed to struggle with this concept, words for a song began forming in Elise’s mind. Inspired by the situation, the words knocked at her skull, demanding to be let out.
It burns me, this jealousy/It hurts me you never see/I long for you, I need you/I love you, you never knew/My heart’s a stone I’m all alone/I’m left to sit this empty throne…
She blinked into awareness as she saw Tarken take a deep, shuddering breath. The song of Karris seemed to echo there in Elise’s head, and she clenched her hands tight. Not wanting to get into that spoiled brat’s head.
“Yes. I am aware of my child's... dissatisfaction. I will… I will need to have words with her.”
“Don’t be angry at her,” Elise said. Although she didn’t care if Karris got screamed at – it would make more complications for her in the long run, if Lord Tarken brought his ire down. She knew that Lord Tarken would always favor his daughter in the end.
No sense aggravating that daughter any further.
“Yes…” Tarken seemed so distracted. What was wrong with him? All the rage in his body had been leached out somehow. “Come to my office later, human. I would hear you sing. I will go and speak to my daughter now.”
Brann and Elise nodded curtly to him. When he disappeared, Brann whirled on Elise. He flung his hands in the air.
“I'm honestly astonished that you’re still standing there and breathing right now,” he said. “He would normally execute people for even daring to implicate his family. No matter how dirty their souls are.” He shook his head, half exasperated and admiring of her at the same time. “There’s something special about you, Elise. I feel it.”
Elise gave him a nervous smile. Her legs still threatened to collapse underneath her. She wanted to sit down, relieved at the outcome. “I was so scared! But I felt that it had to be said. Not just who did it, but why. I hate that girl, but I think I understand her.” Elise did. She really did. Curse this perspective.
Brann stepped closer until he towered above Elise. She squinted up at his rugged, red-bearded face, a faint flush creeping over her cheeks. How had she ever thought that scar pattern of his looked intimidating? How did she ever think he wasn't attractive? An unexpected warmth flooded her body. Why did her heart do this frantic lurching thing whenever she focused on him a little too long? Yes, okay, he might be attractive, but it embarrassed her to think he saw it and understood her growing desire for him. She covered herself up, did everything in her power to not be an object of desire. She just hadn't counted on her own reactions when seeing his semi-naked body.
She fought to get these chaotic feelings under control.
“Lord Tarken has been acting differently in recent days,” Brann said to her. He wore a gentle smile, though his eyes took on a hard edge. “Ever since you came, in fact. Anyone who has had close, prolonged contact with you is acting differently. Don’t you wonder why that is?”
Sudden fear bloomed in Elise’s heart. No, she didn’t. She shook her head, hoping the fear hadn’t spilled onto her face. She didn't know how to conceal emotions once they slipped out past her guard.
She knew he hinted at the magic he suspected in her.
Brann leaned close and whispered in a shivering, delicious way to her ear, “Don’t worry. I won’t betray you. I have a special concern in keeping you alive.” He then cupped her at the bottom of her chin. “Someone with as angelic features and a voice like yours would be a tragic loss to the world.”
Elise blushed crimson, but it didn’t shake off her spike of fear at his observation of her song. “Why do you say you won’t betray me? There’s nothing wrong with what I do, is there?”
“We’ve already discussed this, Elise. Here. Let me tell you a little secret. Do you remember your friend, Isera?”
Elise’s heart almost stopped in shock. Out of all the things he could have said – she never expected that. She gaped at him. “You know her?”
“Know?” Brann smiled. “I should certainly hope so. I was one of the ones who helped her escape.” He seemed to enjoy her utter astonishment.
“You? But… why…?”
Again, he leaned close to whisper, “Your friend knew how to cast magic. She knew how to conjure flames from her hands.”
Flames.
The burn marks upon the bed, with Isera’s name. The odd burn mark Elise had seen all across Isera’s former bedroom. Isera’s conviction that magic was returning.
It all makes sense. No wonder Isera acted so adamant. She was the prime example of it. And she must have suspected magic in Elise as well.
How strange.
“Your friend was in danger. If they had discovered her magic, it's pretty much an instant execution, no questions asked. Regardless of her loyalty to them before. Magic is the one thing that sets the wyrms into a frenzy. I contacted a friend who I know tries to help people like her. And she escaped. She is safe.”
Safe? The relief quickly gave way to disappointment and indignation. “But… why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked, and I never found a need to say. I also doubted you would be so inclined to trust me. The reason why I say this now is because I’m certain you, too, have magic. I no longer just suspect it.”
Fear pulsed stronger in Elise’s blood now. Her heart pounded against her skin. No. Impossible. Even though she suspected as well, hoped, wondered how her voice contained so much emotion for others…
She thought harder about her singing, past all the conceptions she'd wired around it. Before, she only saw what she expected to see. But there was power in her voice, that strange, welling sensation which seemed to come from a different place than her physical body.
“I never thought…” Elise gave a helpless shrug, wanting to believe, scared of everyone being wrong. “I just sing. I’ve always been able to sing.”
“And I think you should keep singing. I don’t think anyone else will guess that you have a power. But listen to me. If I suspect you are in grave danger, I will try to make arrangements to get you out. And if you’re not… I think you should continue singing. I have a good feeling about your magic.” He smiled then, before giving her a
hug. The hug surprised her, and her arms fell limp, not responding to the gesture. He locked gazes with her again. “Never stop singing, little angel.” He touched her cheek, and went to deposit the pie.
She stood there for a moment in silence, her heart pounding. Unsure what to do next.
Was he right?
Was it magic?
Chapter Five
She dreamed of soaring through the sky on Brann's back. Although Elise didn't know what his form looked like, she pictured a huge red drake, the same red as his beard flapping enormous wings. She imagined clutching at the joints of his shoulders, yet instead of flying over some vibrant world, they flew through the dark tunnels of the caves. Canaries trilled their song, and candles sputtered as Brann flew past them. The tunnel gradually grew smaller, but so did they, shrinking until they slipped through a gap the size of a pinhole.
Inside the pinhole, they saw black and bone and twitching gray. They flew and flew, each wing flap sending out a cloud of pink dust from Brann and Elise. The dust covered the gray and turned it flesh-colored. They continued coloring the black and gray until they burst out of a wyrm's mouth, and the wyrm started singing as well.
Waking up, Elise rubbed her eyes, wondering what on earth she had a dream like that for. She sang for Tarken again, and she noticed the calming effect it had on him. Was it her voice that calmed him, or was it the magic Brann claimed she had?
It left her strangely cold, because if her singing was not the result of years of practise, but just something she inherited because of magic, then her whole life mustn’t have been real. Whatever talent she believed she possessed amounted to nothing. It was fake.
However... the songs I sang to energize myself, they really worked. I gained energy. The songs of sadness. I really made people sad. I can influence moods – magic or not. But what use is that, really?
She stared at the marks in the room, thinking about her friend. Wondering how Isera might have felt when she first discovered her magic. Wondering how fear must have consumed her, knowing that everyone around would seek to execute her if they found out.
Maybe some of these burns were accidents. A first-time mage panicking when something shot out of her fingers. But this – and Elise pressed her fingers against where her friend had carved her name – this was deliberate. There were other writings, too, but Elise didn’t understand them. She’d never been taught to read – she only knew Isera’s name and her own.
Elise didn’t mind the singing having something extra to it when she considered it longer, even though some kind of guilt teased into her that she wasn't genuine, not really. Whilst others sang from years of practise, Elise sang because she cheated.
Her ability wasn't fair.
Didn't stop her from using it, though. Didn't make sense to refuse an advantage, just because she knew where it came from.
When no one looked her way one morning, she left the premises without being challenged by the wyrm guards. Either they didn't notice her, or saw her as a favored pet to be left alone. Either way, it enabled Elise to venture all the way to the mining village.
She stared at the decrepit mud huts, the worn-down beer hall, and grubby little children under the age of five playing around the premises. Somehow, it didn’t feel like home at all. Was it ever her home?
Speaking of home... she walked down a pebbled “street” and passed what used to be where she slept, and already saw the evidence of someone else living there. Of course, she had been away for quite some time, but seeing this detached Elise further. She saw the screwed up stems of dreamleaves as well. The new occupant liked to use hallucinogens to escape the cruel reality of his or her own life. She almost smelled the strong, ash-like odor of the leaves from within. She saw scattered, ragged clothes, and a small patch with shoots sticking out of the soil – probably trying to grow their own food... or more dreamleaf.
She detected a faint whiff of burnt wheat from the windowsill, where stubbed-out filters lay. The spot where Elise once etched in her name by the windowsill had been scratched out.
I let Isera visit me here. She never said anything about how horrible it was, compared to where she came from.
Maybe Elise never knew what home was. She didn’t bother approaching the mines, in case the wyrms there made her work. Nobody there she wanted to speak to anyway.
How like a foreign world it all was. The darkness of the mines, the pervading lungdust that seeped into her body – all of it drifted away from her, untouchable.
I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in the mansion, either. A breeze ruffled past, and she shivered. She made her way back to the mansion, again uncontested by the guards. The dark suffocation of the mines pulled upon her – again the canaries, yellow and forlorn in their cages. Again the sweating, bruised humans slamming their pickaxes into rock, and wheelbarrows with chunks of diamond in them if anyone struck lucky. Not to mention the humiliating searches after each shift, just in case someone tried to sneak away with a tiny diamond.
Some managed all the same. And used those diamonds to trade with passing travelers who likely ripped them off in every possible way, since no one truly knew the value of what they mined. Not even Elise.
Some of the servants looked at her as she passed, and a chill went through her heart. Any one of them could be assassins like that cook, unwitting or deliberate. Any one of them who developed a dislike to her might find an excuse to poison or attack her in a quiet corridor. She went into her room and curled up with Ratty, listless, not knowing what she wanted to do. Even the work in the mines before had been a distraction of sorts. She was so busy working that she didn’t need to worry so much about doing anything.
The lethargy bit into her. Wouldn't it be nice just to not do anything? Wouldn't it be just great?
All this striving for something, this surviving... it just got so exhausting.
She didn't want to keep it up. And what use for a magic that allowed her to sing well if that was all it did? Singing couldn't change the world. People suffered anyway. Didn't matter what happened.
Presently, she heard a knock on the door. Leaving Ratty upon the pillow, she went and answered, to see Brann standing outside. She took in his purposeful stance, the confidence in his body. He took in her ragged, disheveled appearance. Likely she smelled as well, since she hadn't fully washed for almost two days, always finding something else to distract her.
I should have a bath. Now.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
“You look like you're in need of some tough love. I’m going to conduct another training session shortly if you want to join. Speaking of which, you know, I have a big fight tomorrow. One that might get me into bigger leagues if I win.” He grinned proudly, but when his announcement failed to lift her mood, he hesitated, the smile dying on his lips. “Elise? What’s wrong?”
Many things wrong bubbled into her head, but only one came out. “I’m just tired. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Ah. May I come in?”
Elise nodded, and he stepped past, his eyes locked on Ratty, who looked a lot cleaner than from the hut. Elise washed Ratty thoroughly within a few days of moving, wanting him to smell as fresh as the linen she lay in.
“I see you’re taking good care of your little toy. Is it helping you?”
“A little. Better than without.” Elise sighed, examining the drake, wondering what he meant to her. Someone who knew who she was, who didn’t want to see her suffer under the wyrms. A person who knew and helped Isera. A person who didn’t say anything about it for so long. Someone kind, but who fought, meaning there was some violence in his heart.
Who was he? What was the song in his soul? Everyone had a song specific to them.
“You must be scared,” he eventually said, his gray eyes grave. He scratched at his blond hair. “And you shouldn't be. I’m sorry for that.”
“Oh, I’m always scared. Every day could be the last,” Elise replied flatly. “It just seems so pointless at time
s. I don’t see how the humans in the mines can experience any better. I don’t see how any humans can be better. Even here, where we’re dressed cleaner and eat healthier, it’s still like a game. How do we avoid that wyrm? How can we aggravate them the least? How do we get through the day without wanting to end it all?”
Brann sucked at his teeth, eyebrows rising. The scar on the left side of his jaw pinched in slightly. A small spike of fear went through Elise. She’d told him too much. Far too much. He didn't need to know the inner workings of her mind.
Then again, he already knew too much, even without her saying anything. She went to scoop up Ratty as a comforter, just needing something to hold. She clutched Ratty’s frayed limb in her right hand.
“That’s because the world is broken,” Brann said, startling Elise. “Even the wyrms know somewhere that it’s true. They know they have something missing. Don’t you think it’s odd just how hateful they are all the time?”
Elise didn’t, honestly. She just thought they were born in hate, soaked themselves in it and grew up spreading such emotions around, so she said nothing.
Brann continued with his explanation. “Humans, for all their miseries, have a balance of emotions at least. Any of them can be noble if you give them the right circumstances. It’s the same with drakes. But with wyrms, Elise, their emotions are out of balance. They hate too easily. They always go to the extreme end of whatever they're feeling. And they don’t really know how to love. Even Karris – who you say loves her father – doesn’t, really. She loves attention. And her father – he loves status, craves it, which is why he has me around and you around. We are his meal tickets.” He paced in her room, hands clasped behind his back. The words stirred curiosity, helping to tug Elise out of her stupor. “That’s the thing, Elise. They’re missing something. Something in the soul.” He took one hand to tap his chest. He stared at her expectantly. Waiting to see if she gleaned understanding from his insight.
“I don’t think missing something is a valid excuse to keep treating people like this,” Elise said.
“No. Perhaps not. People will be cruel regardless.” Brann nodded. “But I do think it’s too extreme with the wyrms. I can quite honestly say I’ve never met one that I’ve liked much at all. I can tolerate some, though. Obviously.”
