The Language of Souls
by
Lena Goldfinch
One
SOLENA SAT ON her hands as old Korvanus droned on and on about verb tenses. Normally she sat in the front of the stone cathedral during Ancient Languages and Philosophies. The other students teased her about it, saying the prefect was going to engrave her name on that bench someday, but today...today, she sat in the back. The cool marble beneath her seemed harder and more uncomfortable than usual, and she kept glancing up through the soaring, stained-glass windows above her to track the path of the sun. When the good teacher finally raised his hand, gave a brief benediction, and dismissed the class—a thousand thanks!—she bolted from her seat. She grabbed Theta by the arm and dragged her friend outside into the bright sunshine, ignoring the startled glares of two younger boys who were scrambling for the door.
Solena led Theta down the narrow street, past rows of tall sandstone houses, all packed closely together and capped with cheerful red clay roofs. The walkway under her feet had been baking in the sun all day and the bricks were warm against the soles of her feet. They were also slightly gritty with sand, as was everything in the seaport city of Torrani. She had to slow down a little to squeeze through a group of stout grandmothers balancing baskets of white linens against their hips, but soon she and Theta were able to turn onto the path that veered downhill toward the beach. At the welcome sound of waves crashing against the shore, she sped up.
“I thought he’d never finish today,” Theta moaned, as she trotted along at Solena’s side.
“Forget that.” Solena tugged impatiently on her friend’s elbow. She glanced around to make sure the younger boys from class weren’t following them, intent on a prank. “What did he say?”
“He who?”
“You know who! Leopold. Did you ask him? Did he say I could go with him?”
“He says it’s too dangerous. And it is. You can’t climb the cliffs with him.”
“I can and I will.” Solena lifted her long white student’s robe and climbed onto the rocky ledge that surrounded the beach. She jumped down and sank ankle deep into the dry sand.
“Solena,” Theta protested. She slowly picked her way down the rocks. When she reached the bottom, she blew a coil of dark hair out of her face. “Men have died climbing the cliffs.”
“I’m not going to die.”
“But you could.” Theta stared at her with those big doe-like eyes of hers, the ones that made you want to apologize even when you hadn’t done anything wrong.
Solena lifted one shoulder, wishing she could tell Theta everything but knowing the truth would only make her friend more afraid. What she intended to do was far more dangerous than climbing the cliffs with Leopold. She needed wild tymia to cure her grandfather’s terrible cough. Without the tea she’d steeped from its dried leaves, his lungs would soon fail and his embers would die out completely. It was wrong to question death, Solena knew, but she had this terrible, nagging feeling that it wasn’t his time yet. And, selfishly, she wasn’t ready to let him go. He’d taken her in as a foundling, back when she was very young. She’d been a stranger to him then, but he’d adopted her as his own and saved her from a life of hunger and loneliness. She didn’t remember much of her childhood, but that was one thing she’d never forget. So, if he needed medicine—and he did, desperately—she’d do anything to get it for him.
Unfortunately, she knew of only one place to find wild tymia: Oden.
She shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare and looked past the gently rolling hills of the surrounding Torrani countryside. In the distance stood the harsh cliffs of the Pirellens and, beyond them, the tips of the icy blue mountains of Oden pierced the sky. Just looking at them gave her a little shiver of apprehension. It was a harsh land, home to a people who hated Torrani. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t afraid. Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid. But she owed her grandfather a debt of love, one she could never fully repay.
“I have to,” Solena said.
Theta sighed. “Fine. But you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
Solena thought of Leopold, Theta’s stubborn, over-muscled brother-in-law, and squared her shoulders.
“I will,” she said. Somehow she’d convince him. She had to. “And I’ll bring you back a token.”
“A token?” Theta snorted softly, but her eyes took on a slightly wistful gleam.
“I’ll find you a molten circlet, for a necklace. You’ll see.”
Her friend bit her bottom lip, clearly torn. Theta loved pretty things more than air or food. She had a deep fondness for full red roses, pink shells, and starry sunsets. She even wore ribbons woven through her hair; today they were a warm golden yellow, the color of Torrani. If someone found a circlet of molten rock it was considered a blessing. When given as a gift and worn on a cord around your neck, it was a symbol of friendship. Theta loved that sort of thing.
“You’ll see,” Solena promised. She frowned as she noticed Theta cradling her hand. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Theta stretched her fingers and winced. “I banged them on the rocks.”
Solena placed Theta’s fingers between her palms and quieted her mind. Soon the pain seeped into her. It tingled at first, then ran like a flame up her arm.
“Is it better?” she asked. The pain muddled her mind, just for a moment, but she had to blink away her blurred vision.
“Perfect. But, Solena, you didn’t ask. It’s the first rule. You didn’t ask for my blessing.” Though the admonishment was made in a slightly playful tone, Theta’s expression was serious.
“I didn’t think.”
“I know you mean well, but it’s the rule.”
“I’ve never understood that one, have you?” Solena asked. The ancient texts spoke of love...and caring for others. Someone was hurting; she had the gift to ease pain. What could be simpler?
“It’s to protect you.”
“I’m not the one who needs protecting,” she said, maybe a little too defensively, but only because she remembered Grandpeer brushing her gift aside, saying his pain was too much for her to bear. The memory brought a fresh sting of hurt and frustration.
“You don’t think.” Theta’s gaze was kind and concerned, not angry. “You just do. And that’s the problem.”
“You’re right.” Solena sighed. “I didn’t ask. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that! It’s...It’s just...sometimes...I think you care too much. I’m afraid it’s going to get you into trouble someday.”
Solena shrugged.
“About this trip with Leopold....” Theta gripped Solena’s fingers. “Please don’t go.”
Why did she have to say that? It was difficult enough without her best friend trying to talk her out of it.
“I have to.” Solena gently squeezed her friend’s hand and slipped free. She lifted her robe to her knees and hurried toward the docks, hoping she’d find Leopold still there.
The next day, Solena stood in clear aqua surf as warm as a bath. The waves slapped gently against her thighs as she looked through the water, searching for fish. She’d talked to Leopold yesterday and made him agree to take her with him, but was she really brave enough to go through with it? She might not make the climb. What if she wasn’t strong enough? And, even if she made it, she’d have to tell Leopold she was staying behind. He wouldn’t like that. Then she’d have to forage through the deep forests of Oden for an herb she might not be able to find. She could get attacked by a bear or a mountain lion, or some other hungry creature looking to make her its lunch. If she survived the wilderness and the frigid nights, she’d also have to slip through the trees like a mist to make sure she didn’t get caught. Trespassing on foreign soil could easily cost her h
er life.
All for an herb. An herb that could save her grandfather.
Can I really do it?
She scanned the ocean floor, digging her feet deeper into the heavy sand.
A silvery torpista darted by. With one quick flick of her wrist, Solena speared it clean through. She grinned in triumph, wishing the other problems in her life were so easily speared....
“Solena!”
She jumped at the sound of her name, recognizing the voice of her grandfather, calling from a distance. She quickly waded ashore and tossed the slick squirming fish into her basket, along with the one she’d caught earlier. They’d need at least one more to have enough for dinner, she thought as she stabbed her fishing spear into the sand. After quickly squeezing the water from her dripping hair, she threw her robe over her sharkskin tunic and ran to the familiar stooped figure on the beach.
“Solena,” he said, then began to cough. He bent over and braced himself against his knees as the fit shook his weakened frame.
Solena’s fingernails dug into her palms. She longed to take away his pain, but she couldn’t. Though she fought against it, she knew he’d been sick for too long. After so many years, her gift was simply not enough. It was a hard truth, one she hated to admit.
Looking into his dear wrinkled face, tanned to a walnut brown from many years in the sun, Solena felt a wrench in her chest. She remembered standing on his doorstep as a little girl, trembling so badly her teeth chattered. Her stomach had felt as empty as a change purse turned inside out. And Benito de Scipio, the Great Prophet of Torrani, had taken her in without question. He’d fed her and never once let her doubt she had a place in his heart. Who would have thought that one day she’d be the one taking care of him? How strange time was.
“You called, Grandpeer?” she prompted gently.
“Ah, Solena,” he said, pausing to wheeze a bit. “There is much to say. So many things I wish I could give you.”
“But you’ve already given me everyth—”
“No, child,” he said, brushing her words aside good-naturedly, “but if I could I would give you everything. I’d pave the pathways of your life with the smoothest river rocks. I’d scatter every pebble from under your feet.”
Solena worried her lip. He was talking like an old man who knew he was dying, like he’d given up hope. But he was Benito de Scipio, the Great Prophet of Torrani, the one all sought for wisdom. He couldn’t die. The people needed him. She needed him. If he died, yes, another prophet would rise up and lead the people, but she’d be left alone, with no one to call family. She had Theta, of course, but a friend wasn’t the same as family. One day, her friend would marry and start her own family. And though Solena was old enough to take care of herself, she knew deep inside that she needed Benito, if only for a little longer. She needed him so she wouldn’t be alone. If Theta loved pretty things, Solena knew her own weakness: she needed to be needed. She needed people in her life. And she couldn’t imagine life without her grandfather.
“You—” he said and brushed at his eyes. Surely he isn’t crying, she thought, watching anxiously as he fumbled with his finely-woven, white linen robe and pulled forth a short ceremonial blade.
“Grandpeer?” Solena glanced from the knife to his face, confused.
He closed his eyes briefly, as if seeking divine wisdom, which only made her more anxious. What did he need to do or say that was causing him so much trouble? He mumbled a few words under his breath, a passage from the ancient texts:
When the calling comes,
so comes the blessing,
though it may be at any hour.
This is truth
and none may resist it.
Solena swallowed uneasily.
“You’re a young woman now, granddaughter,” he continued in a louder, more confident voice, more like the prophet she knew. “And it’s time to heed your calling.” Straightening his robe, he pronounced, “I, Benito de Scipio, the Great Prophet, do charge thee, Solena of Torrani, to answer this call, to be a healer for your people—”
A healer?
“But I’m too young,” Solena blurted out, interrupting him. “Respectfully,” she added and dipped her head.
He waved aside her protest and her apology as well. “The day I opened my door and saw you on my doorstep, you were old enough to stand, weren’t you? That was many years ago. You’re at least eighteen by now, perhaps even nineteen. You’re old enough, child. And you’re ready.”
“But what about Nigel?” Solena said, thinking furiously. Though her skin was still damp and cool from the sea, she felt the fine mist of sweat on her forehead. “He’s been training to be a healer longer than I have. He has the touch too, but his gift is stronger. And he’s older, more skilled.”
“Nigel? That preening peacock? He’d make a better cloth merchant.”
“Grandpeer!” Solena let out a shocked little laugh, but what could she say? Nigel did like wearing the most obnoxious, brightly colored robes, and he did sort of strut around like a peacock.
Her grandfather was shaking his head. “No, Solena, you. Will you extend your gift to all who suffer? Will you accept your calling, my child?”
Solena couldn’t have answered if she’d wanted to. Her mouth was as dry as ash. A confusing mix of emotions swept through her—mostly doubt and uncertainty, but longing too. She’d always wanted to be a healer. She’d always wanted to use her gift for good. But she couldn’t picture herself in that role, not yet. Healers were important. They were revered by her people, and—and she just wasn’t ready. She wasn’t worthy.
“Solena?” He rested his gnarled hand on her shoulder and touched the tip of his blade to his chest. “Have you known this old prophet to proclaim falsely?”
She shook her head.
“To choose a course lightly?”
She shook her head again.
“To make a mistake?”
She looked into his twinkling eyes and her lips twitched in the smallest of smiles.
“No, I don’t take myself so seriously.” He smiled, his eyes lit with humor. “What is your answer?”
Above them on the hillsides, the sandstone houses of Torrani huddled together overlooking the sea. Solena fixed her eyes on her beloved city and said clearly, “Yes, I’ll accept this calling—and gladly.”
“And will you accept the mark?”
Solena hesitated one moment, unable to believe this was happening to her today of all days, then she dropped to one knee in the sand. “Do it quickly,” she said and pushed the sodden sleeve of her robe. She pressed her chin into her shoulder so she’d be able to watch as he made the mark on her upper arm.
Grandpeer was old and weak, but he wielded the blade with an expert hand, just barely skimming the sharpened tip over her skin. Though he was gentle and swift, the cut stung fiercely. Solena smothered a cry. She stared at the mark and grunted in surprise. An outstretched wing? Why had he given her the symbol of faith? Grandpeer was also frowning at the mark with a similar expression of surprise, as if someone else had made the mark and not he. She dug her chin more fiercely into her shoulder, watching as he quickly added a graceful open cup, the symbol for healing, the only symbol he should have made. He seemed strangely flustered when he finished, as if he too were disturbed by the strange mark he’d made.
Bending a little unsteadily, he snatched up a handful of sand and covered her cut. After removing the sand, he dropped to his knees facing the sea and lifted the bloodstained sand to the sky. “Guide your daughter in her task....” His voice wavered. “Grant her compassion and endless wisdom.”
He cast the sand into the sea.
“It is done,” he whispered. Sweat trickled down his face.
Solena rose to face him, her eyes burning. She clenched her jaw. Though the mark hurt, she refused to shed any tears.
Her grandfather began to cough. He coughed for so long she thought he’d never stop.
Solena watched him with growing concern. “You know Theta?” s
he blurted, needing to say what she had to say quickly, before she lost her courage. “Her sister, Athenea, is expecting soon and Leopold is leaving tomorrow to select the child’s votif. And...and I’m going with him.”
“What? You’re not going to climb the cliffs.” He’d stopped coughing, but was still rubbing anxiously at his chest as if it hurt to breathe. “It’s too dangerous. It’s a difficult journey even for the most robust of our men.”
What he said was true; she couldn’t argue. Leopold was a strong young man, which was clearly in his favor. Not only that, but he worked as a shipbuilder, toiling for long hours in the sun, so he had great stamina. Though Solena swam and fished long hours every day, being able to wield a fishing spear would hardly help her climb the steepest, most dangerous cliffs in the region.
“I’m going because I seek time in prayer, Grandpeer,” she said instead, knowing he couldn’t deny a religious calling.
“But surely you can pray here in Torrani,” he protested.
“I would pray upon the heights.”
“But why?”
“It’s a calling. Surely you understand?”
“Of course I understand a calling,” he said, frowning at her with a trace of consternation. “But it’s too dangerous. I forbid—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted quickly. “Please.” If he forbade her, she wouldn’t go against his wishes, and she needed rather desperately to leave before her courage failed.
“But, Solena....” He started in the reasonable, old-prophet tone he’d used on her so many times when she was a child. Just when she thought he was preparing to lecture her for the next hour, he stopped and rubbed again at his chest. He looked into her face as if looking for something, maybe to determine if she was old enough or brave enough, which she feared she probably wasn’t. She gazed back steadily, lifting her chin.
He finally sighed, clearly resigned, but not happy. “If you must go, then you must. How can I, of all people, argue with a calling?” A wry smile curved his lips.
The Language of Souls Page 1
