by Lena Coakley
“No!” Ryder argued. “We’ve got to fight or there won’t be a village to go to.” A crack of thunder split the air, making him start. “What in Aata . . . ?” There were no thunderstorms in winter.
He looked up at the sky again and saw that the chilling clouds were thick and bloodstained—a deep red turning to black. They seemed to be gathering right over Lilla’s head.
“What is she doing?”
Falpian stared at Lilla in alarm. “There were a lot of spells written in the caves—who knows what she can do?”
Crying out, Ryder struggled to his feet. “Give me a sword, a stick, anything—she’s got to be stopped.”
“Hold still!” Skyla ordered. She bent over Ryder’s leg and began to tie up his wound with the sash of her reds, leaving the knife protruding from his thigh.
“Think, Ryder,” Falpian said, taking hold of his arm to keep him from falling. “Back at Stonehouse, I could have stopped your heart with just a humming stone—she could kill you a hundred ways before you get to that island. We’ve got to sing.”
Ryder shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t know how we even did it the first time. It was some kind of . . . accident.”
“Why do you deny it?” Falpian was shouting now, his face close up to Ryder’s. “You’re a singer. Do you know how rare this is?”
“I said, hold still!” Skyla yelled. She yanked the two ends of her makeshift bandage into a knot and stood up. Both Ryder and Falpian winced in pain.
“I don’t want to be a singer!” Ryder snapped. “And I don’t want to be your brother under the skin or whatever it is. I didn’t ask for this.”
“Do you think I asked to have some Witchlander oaf for my talat-sa?” Falpian said. He gripped his own thigh in the same place where Ryder was wounded. “The nephew of Lilla the Blood-Smeared, of all people? I could have killed you just now! I betrayed my people when I didn’t.”
“That reminds me,” Ryder said. He swung his fist at Falpian, but the blow only glanced off the Baen’s jaw.
“Arhh!” Falpian clutched his face. “What was that for? I said I didn’t betray you!”
“I know how close you came.”
“Are the two of you out of your minds?” Skyla shrieked, coming between them.
“Just give me a sword and I’ll run her through,” Ryder insisted. “I’ll die out there. I’ll get my spine snapped by one of her monsters. I don’t care! Just give me a sword!”
Falpian lowered his voice, and his face softened. “A sword is not the weapon the God has given you.”
“The Goddess,” Skyla corrected. “But he’s right.” She reached for her brother’s cheek. “Ryder, Lilla thinks your gift was wasted because you never learned to throw the bones. She should know better—she’s seen the tomb of Aayse—but she doesn’t. She’s not expecting you to be able to sing, and she’s certainly not expecting Falpian to join you. It’s the only weapon we’ve got. But we’re running out of time!”
Ryder looked to the churning red-black sky and suddenly felt afraid. Even if he did sing, how could his voice penetrate that horrible screeching music that was pouring out of Lilla’s mouth? I can’t do it, he thought. But what he said was, “Yes. All right. Let’s try.”
He told Skyla to take Visser and make their way to safety inside the caves.
“I won’t leave you,” Skyla started.
“Get Pima,” Ryder begged her. “Make sure Pima’s safe. Visser will know the way.”
Skyla gave him one last look, then ran to Visser and pulled her to her feet. When Ryder finally saw them disappear into the rocks, he nodded at Falpian, and together they crept toward the edge of the lake.
“As soon as she hears us singing, she’ll know we’re a threat,” Falpian warned. “She’ll try to kill us where we stand.”
“Wonderful.”
Ryder leaned against a tree, trying to ignore the pain. He wasn’t aware of the precise moment when he started to sing, only knew that his voice followed Falpian’s into song as if on its own. Pictures from his own life and his friend’s began to swim before him: Mabis and Farien, Pima and the Baen girls from his dreams. Falpian was by his side, lips moving. Still, their song was blotted out by Lilla’s.
A thick snow was swirling down now from the clouds above Lilla’s head. Falpian gripped his arm, and Ryder knew they had to sing hard or die. He didn’t try to ignore his pain anymore, but felt it instead, sang it into his song.
The world came into sharp focus, and Ryder’s vision expanded like a bubble, encompassing more and more. He could see the fish sleeping under the lake. He could see the seeds sleeping under the snow. The world hummed with music, was made of music, just as the Baen believed. Every rock and tree on the mountain was bleeding song. This is what I am, isn’t it? Ryder thought. I’m not a farmer. I’m not a sailor. I am this. He felt his song grow stronger, and Lilla’s head snapped up.
Go for Lilla first. Falpian’s thoughts were clear, and Ryder understood their logic; they should attack Lilla first, and then worry about the gormy men. But Falpian didn’t have a little sister in the caves, small and vulnerable, wondering why her family had abandoned her. Ryder could see the creatures now. He saw the whole mountain from high above. It would be easy. The monsters were meant to obey a singer’s orders. Come here, he commanded. Come back.
Something struck his body like a blow, and he was thrown backward. Ryder rolled over onto the ground, fighting for air, his singing stopped. Lilla faced them now from the security of her tiny island. The snow in front of her was whirling down, whirling down, but it never seemed to reach the ground. Ryder tried to take a breath and sing again, but something had stopped his throat; there were cold fingers around his heart, squeezing.
Falpian was still singing, but his song was much different now. Ryder could see him running from spot to spot, trying a note and moving on. Ryder thought he understood. The little island was the best place to sing from, but it wasn’t the only place. Ryder clutched at the ache in his chest. He tried to haul himself, but he could barely move now.
Suddenly a sharp sound came ricocheting off the cliffs, and Lilla fell to her knees as if pushed. Falpian had found the right spot. The pressure in Ryder’s chest subsided and he breathed deeply, the cold air like needles in his lungs. He crawled toward Falpian, leaving a trail of smeared blood on the ice. The next thing he knew, Falpian was pulling him to his feet.
“What can we do?” Ryder cried. “She’s too strong!”
“Sing!”
Ryder took a breath and tried, but his voice was barely a whimper. Despite the frigid air, sweat streamed down his face. Lilla was up and singing again. The sounds were vile, an abomination. Suddenly Ryder knew what she was doing.
“Does that look like . . . ,” he began, pointing at the column of snow that towered above them. They watched in horror as it twisted and bulged. Two long strands detached themselves from the body, and far above them, the top of the column resolved itself into a blank and pitiless face. The other creatures were tiny by comparison. They were not gormy men. No. This was his mother’s nightmare. This. This was the Gormy Man.
The creature stretched out its long arms to the air. It tightened one rough fist, then another, as if to test its newborn body. Behind it Lilla collapsed, folding into the snow—her spell was finished. Suddenly Ryder felt himself moving, sliding out toward the great creature. Desperately he clawed the ice with his fingers, but couldn’t get a hold. He grabbed Falpian’s arm, but his friend was moving too. The creature was attracting them, pulling them near as if it were a magnet and they were flakes of iron.
“Watch out!” Ryder called.
A great tree by the side of the lake had uprooted itself and went careening over the ice toward the creature, dirt trailing behind its huge root. Ryder and Falpian dove out of the way. The thing reached out to it, and the tree became a part of its great snow arm. All around the lake, the tops of trees were bending toward it, quivering with attraction. Snow and debris came hurtling from a
ll sides. Impossibly, the Gormy Man was getting even bigger.
“Look!” Falpian said. At the other side of the lake, the smaller gormy men were returning, emerging from the trees.
“It’s no use,” Ryder said. “We can’t fight them all.” A log was sticking up out of the ice, and he grabbed hold of it. Falpian held his hand in a tight grip, but Ryder could feel his glove starting to pull off.
“No,” Falpian said. “They’re here because you called them. We can command them. We can use the smaller ones to fight . . . that!”
Aata’s vow, Ryder thought. He couldn’t sing again, couldn’t. He glanced at his leg—it was dark with blood. But when Falpian started, he took a deep breath. As he began, the thought that he might not live through the day came rushing toward him. He was dying. Life was coming out a hole in his leg. Somehow this gave him the strength he needed, because there was no need to hold anything back. It would all be over soon. He would be over soon.
How full of magic they were. He and Falpian could stand now, their voices stronger than the beast’s attraction. They stood side by side, willing the smaller creatures at the Gormy Man. Easily it swept them aside and came toward the singers. The great tree that was its arm swung down, cracking the ice, but Falpian pulled Ryder aside just in time. More gormy men emerged from the woods, the last of them now, and Ryder and Falpian willed them to the battle. The Gormy Man sent them flying into the trees. They came apart like children’s snowmen, but they re-formed, swelling up out of the ground to attack again.
Ryder turned his attention to the giant itself, thinking that perhaps he could control it as he did the smaller ones. Die, he commanded as he sang. Die. You are gone. You are nothing. You are not.
For a moment he thought he saw its body waver, but the creature was too strong. Lilla had poured every drop of hate she had inside it—twenty years of anger, twenty years of guilt and madness in the dark. This thing had her cunning, somehow; it had part of her intelligence. Ryder felt it as he sang and was horrified.
The Gormy Man swept out its arms, and the smaller creatures were drawn in. Their bodies flew toward it and came apart on impact. Then they were gone, incorporated into its immense body. Ryder was sure he saw the thing smile and cock its head exactly as Lilla would have done. It took a step toward him, and the ground shuddered. Still singing, Falpian and Ryder backed away. We’ll be dead in moments, Ryder thought.
Go stand in the river. Why was Falpian thinking that?
Go stand in the river. It wasn’t Falpian. It was his mother, his mother’s voice. And then Ryder remembered. He’d stood in the river with Dassen, and the creatures couldn’t follow.
Water, Ryder thought, willing Falpian to understand. They should focus their energy on the ice, not the creature; they must start the river flowing again. On the mountain they had used wind to blow the bits of the creatures away, but water should work as well. They shared a glance, and their songs changed at exactly the same time.
Crack! A fissure traveled out across the lake, splitting the ice between the creature’s legs. We can’t go to the shore, Ryder thought to Falpian. If we do, it will follow. He and Falpian backed away, moving toward the place where the lake narrowed to river.
With a mighty booming sound, part of the waterfall collapsed, raining splinters of crystal onto the lake and ripping a dark hole in the ice. The creature lurched backward. Ryder and Falpian pressed their advantage, willing the ice to shatter.
Ryder saw Lilla stand up, seeming dazed. She stared at the black water that spurted over the falls and into the widening crevice. Great groaning sounds were traveling out across the lake and down the river. With a thundering crack the rest of the waterfall came crashing down, spewing great chunks of ice. Lilla fell to the ground again as the colossal Gormy Man stumbled back.
“No!” she wailed.
The Gormy Man slipped backward into the water. Ryder saw its arms flailing, its huge arms churning the water. Lilla screamed with rage. The creature went under, and when it came up again it had lost half its size. For the first time, Ryder heard it make a sound—a painful keening like the crying of a child. When it went under again, it didn’t come back up.
Ryder started to limp toward the echo site. Neither he nor Falpian were singing now, but their song seemed to go on without them, reverberating back and forth over the cliffs and across the valley.
“Get off the ice!” Falpian screamed behind him. “It’s breaking up!”
Every step sent pain jolting through Ryder’s body, but he saw that Lilla was staggering toward the rocky island, and he wasn’t going to wait to see if she had any other spells she wanted to try. He reached down and yanked the dagger from his leg. For a moment the world went white before his eyes. He used every bit of his strength to cling to consciousness and kept going, holding the bloody dagger out in front of him.
At that moment the lake made a sound like the lowing of a huge animal. Underneath Ryder’s feet, the ice started to shift. He fell, dropping the knife. The next thing he knew he was in the water. He was in the water, and it was cold, fatally cold.
Ryder came up gasping and saw that Lilla was in the water too, but she was far away, flailing her arms. He saw her go under.
At the edge of the lake, a dog was barking loudly. Ryder tried to call for Falpian, but the cold had stolen his breath. He slipped under the water, remembering that he had had a dream of drowning once.
His pain was receding. The light was receding. He was sinking and all was quiet. Beautifully quiet. This is true too, he thought, this deep silence. The witches are right about that.
We live between the two great silences: the silence that existed before the world began, and the silence that waits for us at the end of all things. They are the fabric the Goddess used to make the world.
He wondered how the world could be both sides of a coin at the same time: silence and song. He’d have to ask the Goddess about that. When he was dead. It wouldn’t be long now. Ryder could see the Goddess swimming toward him with powerful strokes.
The Goddess certainly is ugly, he thought. She looks like a big, wet dog.
CHAPTER 27
RAIKEN’S FARM
Ryder opened his eyes and smiled, burrowing further into thick, warm blankets. He was alive. The air was sweet with the smell of dried hicca stalks that were the stuffing for his bed—or rather, the stuffing for the large burlap sack that was serving for a bed. The dog didn’t seem to understand that the sack was just big enough for one. All through the night he had gone from Falpian to Ryder, flopping down lovingly on one or the other, unable to choose between them. Now he lay crushed next to Ryder, half on the sack and half off, with his belly to the air and his legs splayed. His broken tooth gave his face a lopsided look.
Ryder pulled his arm out from under the covers to rub Bo’s belly. “Good dog,” he said. “Good boy.”
He heard the front door of the tavern close quietly and sat up. There were no windows in Dassen’s storage room, but through a crack in the plank wall, Ryder could glimpse the tavern keeper’s heavy shape, making his way to the barn. It was just before dawn, but Dassen was going out already—searching for Mabis, as he did every day. Ryder felt a twinge of guilt; he should be going too.
“Something I should know about you and my mother?” Ryder had asked the day before.
“Well, your Fa was your Fa, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dassen had answered. The idea that he wasn’t hadn’t even occurred to Ryder, but he hid his surprise at the comment. “No,” Dassen continued, “it’s just the old story, hardly worth telling. Two best friends love the same wild girl. She picks the one, and that’s that.”
In the tavern courtyard, Ryder heard the jingling of a harness as Dassen led his pack pony to the road. The truth was, Ryder didn’t want to go with him. He was afraid of what they’d find. But he told himself that Dassen wouldn’t have let him come in any case—Ryder wasn’t well enough yet.
Gingerly he lifted his covers and looked down at his thig
h. The day before, Dassen had allowed him to take the bandage off. It was an ugly scar—twisted and puckered with the stitches still in. Dassen had sewed him up with waxy string while Ryder lay on one of the tavern tables, but he barely remembered that—thank the Goddess.
On the other side of the storage room, Falpian slept. Their minds were so close now that it was hard to stay awake while Falpian dreamed. Ryder yawned.
And then he was by the sea again, sitting near a great rock with Bo at his side.
“Falpian dreams of this place a lot,” Ryder said, but the dog only looked out onto the water. The two little girls had come to wade again, wearing blue to mourn their brother. Their long hair was unbound now and black as dye. Where the ends of their hair touched the water, they left black stains on the sea.
From out of the sea came a head, then a face, then the body of a man. He looked in every way like Falpian, the same slender frame, the same pale skin, the same black eyes. His clothes were perfectly dry.
“You’re not Falpian,” said Ryder.
The man came to sit next to him on the beach, and Bo lifted his chin for him to scratch, as if they knew each other.
“This is where I drowned,” he said. “They never found my boat.”
Ryder nodded. The sea breeze blew through his hair. “People say that as long as you remember someone, they’re still alive.”
“It’s a lie.”
“I know.”
The man looked out toward the waves. “Falpian will never know if he is remembering me correctly, or if he’s just making me up. And he’ll never know if I drowned on purpose, if I drowned myself because I knew we weren’t talat-sa.”
“Did you?”
The man shrugged. “There’s no way to tell. I’m not Farien. This isn’t Bo. We’re just ideas that Falpian has. I am a memory, and every day I fade.”
A white seabird flashed by, and Ryder turned away for a moment. When he turned back, he was alone but for the dog. He felt a hollowed-out sadness inside his chest, but he didn’t know if the feeling belonged to him or to Falpian.
