The Surah Stormsong Trilogy

by H. D. Gordon

  She wished she could wake from this nightmare, but felt somehow certain that the truth of it would carry into reality anyway.

  It was impossible to accept that two days ago she had shared tea with her sister and mother in the parlor of the castle, eating light pastries and gossiping about the events taking place in their world. Trouble was outside their door, the supernatural world at a state of great unrest, but being a privileged girl of thirteen, Surah didn’t even consider the possibility that the battle could reach her. She was a princess, and bad things weren’t supposed to happen to princesses.

  How wrong that had turned out to be.

  Bad things happened to everyone. People died, people grieved. She was young, but she knew this now. The Great War was reaping the blood that is sowed with all wars, and she was a fool to have thought it could not touch her, not her and her family. But it had. It hadn’t only touched her, but ripped out her soul by the feel of it.

  She heard the boy before she saw him, just a rustle in the grasses that surrounded the lake, and she jumped up from her seated position on the ground and removed the sais that were strapped across her back under her cloak in one swift motion. She had been given the weapons as a tenth birthday present, and already she was quite lethal with them, but her broken heart jumped into her throat anyhow as she spun on her heel and sought the source of the noise. She hoped it was just Syris or her father looking for her. Big trouble was still raining down on everyone, and she, the last Sorceress princess alive, had no business being out here alone. There were plenty of people who would see her death as a great victory.

  But it wasn’t Syris or Syrian, it was a boy who looked to be a couple of years older than her, maybe fifteen or so. If his clothes were any indication, he was of common blood. He was barefoot and dirty and dried blood stained his tattered shirt, which was probably two sizes too small for him, making his wiry muscles stand out in sharp contrast. His eyes were the jade of tropical ocean water, and they stared out of his pale face like gems in a dark cave.

  The two of them stared at each other in silence for a long time, Surah feeling a little bad about the richness of her cloak and jewelry, knowing just from the look on the boy’s face that he was hurting the same way she was, grieving someone—or maybe more than one someone—who had surely been stolen by this terrible war. She knew the look well. It had been on the faces of everyone she’d passed for the past week. Needless to say, times were bad, but by the looks of him, they were worse for some.

  How naïve she felt.

  He spoke first, and Surah found herself listening carefully to the way a slight twang rode his words, she had never heard such an accent before. “You plannin' on skewerin' sumthin with those?” he asked, eyeing the silver sais still clutched in her hands.

  Surah watched him closely, wishing she had mastered teleportation for what seemed like the billionth time, so that she could just take herself out of here. She didn’t think the boy meant her any harm, he was obviously just a common Sorcerer, not a spy for the Vampires or Fairies or any of the other races currently feuding over the Territories, but in the past two days the young princess had learned a very important lesson, one that she would carry with her for hundreds and hundreds of years.

  You couldn’t really trust anyone.

  She gave a slight shrug, held his gaze, which was somehow very penetrating. “I was thinking about it,” she said, hastily brushing the tears from her face that she just remembered were there.

  The boy approached the lake slowly, giving Surah a wide berth, his dirty hands raised at his sides, dark hair falling into his face. Then he plopped down on the shore of the lake and stared out over it. He settled his arms on his knees and put a hand over his chest were his heart was. “Alright,” he said. “Right here, then. Put er right here.” He looked at her now, his eyes burning with the same amount of grief Surah felt burning in her own soul. A piece of her broken heart went out to him then, even though she tried with all her might to call it back. She felt broken, but he was broken.

  “And don’t miss,” he added.

  She should have left him then, she knew very well she should have just left. Walked away. Instead she found herself replacing her weapons in the back of her cloak and taking a seat beside him on the ground, smoothing the expensive material out beneath her.

  “That’s a crazy answer,” she said, staring out at the lake along with him, seeming to drown in the pain that floated in the air.

  The boy laughed, a deep laugh for someone so young, but there was no humor in it. “Been a crazy week.”

  Surah nodded. She didn’t know this boy from Adam, but some feelings were just universal, and she found herself relating to him even though she knew she shouldn’t. Just by the looks of the two of them it was obvious she had no business talking to this boy. What would her father say? She just couldn’t find it in herself to care right now.

  “No shit,” she said, knowing her mother would have scolded her for such foul language, cringing a little as she always did when she let an inappropriate word slip.

  The boy tilted his head and looked at her. Surah stopped short the thought that despite the obvious sorrow painted there, he had a pleasant face. What did it matter if he had a pleasant face? It didn’t.

  The boy held a hand out to her, and Surah chastised herself for hesitating to shake it. Her gloves were a rich material that stained easily, and his hands were crusted with dirt, and what looked like dried blood was caked under his fingernails. She swallowed back her distaste and offered her hand, thinking it wasn’t his fault that he was not as fortunate as her, and to deny his touch would be just plain snobby.

  “Charlie,” he said.

  Surah gave him the best smile she could muster, which probably looked more like a grimace. She rolled the name around in her head, thinking that it had a nice, simple way to it. Charlie. Yeah, nice. Not that that mattered, either.

  “Surah,” she replied.

  Charlie looked at her from the corner of his eye now, studying her in a way that made her shift uneasily, struggling for that composure her mother was always talking about. Had, she corrected, what her mother had always talked about. Her throat tightened. “What?” she asked.

  “Surah…Stormsong?”

  For a second she couldn’t decide how to respond. Then she let out a heavy breath. What did it matter? “The one and only,” she said.

  He looked all around him now, no doubt searching for her escort. This annoyed Surah a little. She didn’t need a damn babysitter everywhere she went, no matter what her father thought. His next words annoyed her more.

  “You prob’ly shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s not safe.”

  Surah pushed out her chin, wishing he hadn’t seen her with the tears still on her face, not sure why she should care. “And you probably shouldn’t give me orders,” she said, and felt bad about it as soon as the words left her mouth.

  He smirked without humor. “Suit yourself.”

  Surah looked down at her gloves. She should have just left if she was going to be rude to him. She shouldn’t be taking out her emotions on this boy who was obviously in a bad position, a worse position than her even, and right now, her position sucked. It was too close to kicking a dog when it’s down. She felt bad about that mental comparison as well.

  She decided to drop the act, the mask she had been wearing over her face for the last week, and would wear for a very long time, though she didn’t know it yet. It felt like a weight sliding off her shoulders. She knew why she hadn’t left already, why she was still sitting beside this dirty common boy with the ocean-colored eyes and too-small clothes. Because he was feeling the same as she was, no matter how different their attires and social statuses were, and it was oddly comforting to see up close that she was not the only one hurting, even if the comfort did come with a good dose of guilt.

  “What happened?” she asked her voice soft and low, somehow almost conspiratorial. “Who did you lose?”

  The boy plucked a lo
ng grass from the earth beside him and stuck it between his teeth, still staring out over the lake as if the cure to what was ailing them and so many others hid there. His words came out in a choked whisper. “My mother and father,” he said.

  Surah was silent for a moment, staring at him and seeing her pain reflected on his face. She had to look away, and found herself staring off the way that he was, not seeing a single thing in front of her. She thought about her mother and sister and her eyes began to burn, the heartache seizing her in an iron fist.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, swiping at the single tear that managed to escape her eye and roll down her cheek. Then more were coming, hot and wet and awful, and then there was nothing she could do to stop the sobs that were wracking her chest.

  Charlie said nothing, just sat there watching the beautiful, heartbroken princess, feeling even more helpless as if such a thing were even possible now. He wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how when all he had left in this world was his brother, who was hardly old enough to be a man. She obviously still had her money and rich food and warm showers. He, on the other hand, had his mother’s blood on his shirt and his father’s wand tucked into his back pocket. But he wanted to comfort her all the same. It was somehow too tragically beautiful to watch her cry.

  He scooted over to her, moving cautiously, glancing all around to make sure they were alone. He stopped when he was only a foot away and awkwardly put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “It’s…uh…it’s going to be okay.”

  Surah uttered one last sob and peeked out between her fingers, looking at him. Then her hands dropped into her lap, revealing her pretty, tear-streaked face. She fell into an abrupt fit of giggles, her violet eyes glittering with moisture. Charlie looked at her like she was crazy for a long moment before bursting in laughter himself. And for what seemed like a long time, they both laughed. They laughed until their stomachs ached. It was painful laughter, but it was marginally better than just the pain.

  When Surah pulled her hood over her head and lay back in the grass, Charlie did the same, and they lay that way for a while, the giggles finally ceasing, staring up at the blue sky. Charlie broke the silence after quite a long time, as if he had been mustering the courage to speak again.

  “I’m sorry about Queen Suri and Lady Syra,” he said, hesitantly.

  Surah had to swallow twice before she could speak. Hearing the names cut at her heart like razors. “You heard about it,” she said.

  It was not a question, but he answered, “Course I did. Pretty sure the whole kingdom heard. Those that’re left, anyway.”

  Surah turned her head toward him, admiring his profile because she couldn’t help it. He really did have a nice face underneath all that dirt and grime. “Is it so bad out there?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer to this question. Her father had been adamant about keeping the conditions of his kingdom out of Surah’s ears so as not to worry her and instead had just stowed her away in a “safe place”, as if she could be more worried than she already was. No one would speak to her of what was really going on, and all that told her was that it had to be bad. Really bad. She supposed this was why she snuck out in the first place, why she was here, because she needed to see for herself.

  Charlie turned to look at her now, his gaze seeming to burn into hers stronger than the warm sun over their heads. “So many are dead,” he said, and then his eyes turned skyward again, as if that was all the explaining it needed.

  She supposed maybe it was.

  “Do you have other family?” she asked him, hoping his answer would be yes, and knowing she shouldn’t care either way.

  When he nodded, her heart rose a fraction, but his answer made it sink again. “A brother.”

  A moment or two passed in silence. Then she asked, “Is he old enough to look after you?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Guess he’ll have to be. Shit, guess we’ll both have to be.”

  Surah hid her amazement at his language. No one ever said such words around her. “Do you have somewhere to live?” she asked.

  Another shrug. “They burned our house down.”

  Surah’s hand came up to her mouth and she gasped before she could stop herself. She stared at him, composure vanished, if it had ever been there in the first place. “What will you do then? How will you…survive?”

  His eyes flicked to her, and Surah felt her cheeks heating up and found she couldn’t look at him. When she realized she was blushing, she couldn’t even begin to imagine why. It was highly inappropriate for multiple reasons.

  Charlie lifted his hands and propped them behind his head. “However I have to,” he answered.

  Surah couldn’t even begin to guess at what that meant. “Do you have money?” she asked.

  His chin tilted down as he looked at his attire. Then he quirked an eyebrow at her. “What do you think, Princess?”

  Surah nodded, feeling stupid for asking, feeling her cheeks go red again at his formal address. Her voice was hardly above a whisper when she spoke. “You can call me Surah,” she said, knowing she shouldn’t, and cursed in her head when more fresh tears began to burn her eyes. She was certain this pain would never leave.

  Charlie looked over at her. “Okay,” he said slowly, drawing the word out. “You gonna be okay, Surah?”

  She swiped at the tears on her face and gave a short, humorless laugh. “What do you think, Charlie?”

  He smiled then, and Surah thought that it was the first real smile she’d seen in days. It made her throat tight, and of course, more tears followed.

  Charlie scooted closer, careful not to touch her. “Please don’t cry,” he whispered.

  Surah’s words came out hitched and broken. “Why not?” she asked. “You said it yourself, so many are dead. Why shouldn’t I cry?”

  He was silent for so long that Surah thought he wasn’t going to answer, probably because there was no answer for this.

  Then he said, “Because I don’t think I can bear it.”

  Surah pulled herself into a seated position and stared down at him, searching his face for something and finding it there though she didn’t even know what it was she was looking for. All of a sudden she felt very much like she shouldn’t be here, though she didn’t really want to leave.

  “I should go,” she said.

  He nodded once. “Okay.”

  She hesitated, telling herself very sternly to get up and walk away. Lingering. “Are you and your brother going to be all right?”

  Another nod. “Sure.”

  Surah looked around, anxious to be out of there and yet still there. She lowered her voice back into the conspiratorial whisper. “Are you practiced in the Magics?”

  “I know what they taught me in school.” He smiled again. It was a sad smile, but somehow Surah thought it was sad for her, as if there was so much about life she would never know or understand, simply for who she was. Rather than making her take offense, it made her feel sad for her, too. Sad for them both.

  “Us common folk do go to school, by the way.”

  Surah stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Now there was composure for you. “Sure you do,” she said, earning a small chuckle from him. “What I mean is, are you equipped to take care of yourselves?”

  He raised his brows. “Sure. I’m plenty equipped. No need to worry bout me. Though I’m touched by yer concern.”

  The idea struck her out of nowhere, and though it raised a bright red flag with it, she reached into her cloak and pulled out her sister’s necklace, which held a piece of the White Stone. The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she found herself holding the necklace out to him. It was an identical match to the one she was wearing, a powerful thing that only very high ranking royals were given.

  Charlie sat up now, looking at her like she was crazy again.

  “Take it,” she said.

  He said nothing, just looked at the Stone and shook his head, his dark hair, which could use a cut, swishi
ng on his forehead.

  She grabbed his hand and closed his fingers around the necklace, feeling the warmth of his touch even through her gloves. “It can help you. You can use it to get food and clothes and hide if you need to. Please. Just take it.”

  He still looked reluctant, but he slid the chain around his neck after a few moments’ debate, tucking it under his shirt. “This could get me in big trouble if I’m caught, Surah,” he said.

  One side of her mouth lifted. “Then don’t get caught, Charlie.”

  “Will it make you feel better?”

  She thought about this a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess it will.”

  He nodded once, his jade-colored eyes staring into the violet of hers. “Alright, then. I’ll take it.”

  They both stood then, preparing to go their separate ways, knowing that whatever strange moment they had stolen was over. It was time to go.

  And that was when she snapped out of the dream, waking with sharp gasps as she sucked in air around the lump that seemed to be lodged in her throat. Sweat matted her hair to her forehead and her heart skipped a little when she came to the slow realization that she had been dreaming. She was still caught up in the emotions of that long ago day, feeling for several long moments as though it had all just happened, reliving the grief all over again.

  Then a little panic seized her as she felt around on the bed for Samson, who was always there when she woke up, and who wasn’t there now. It was too dark in the room to see, so she cast a Light Sphere in the air and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the glare. Her mouth opened to call out for her tiger, but his name jammed up in her mouth when she saw where he was.

  Well, it wasn’t so much where he was as what he was doing and who he was doing it to.

  The tiger stood over by the window, his head lowered and teeth bared in a silent growl, amber eyes glowing the dark room. And pinned between him and wall, holding himself impressively still, was Charlie Redmine.

  Surah’s first coherent thought was, Speak of the devil.