by H. D. Gordon
It was such a heavy, defeating thought.
“What’re we gonna do, Princess?” Charlie asked.
Surah bit her lip, her eyebrows furrowed now with worry. “I don’t know, Mr. Redmine,” she said. “I seem to be drawing a blank.”
“You must know something, some memory that, I don’t know, can fuel this thing.”
She stared at him a moment, at the strong line of his jaw. She shook her head slowly. “If I do, it won’t come to me right now. I have to think. I don’t suppose you have anything that can do it?”
Charlie was silent for a long time, his jade eyes going deep in thought.
“You do?” she asked, her heart leaping with hope.
His shoulders lifted once in a small shrug. “I have to think.”
“We don’t have much time.”
“I know.”
Surah sighed and swallowed, wishing she could run her arm across her damp forehead. “Alright,” she said. “We may as well get started, because Gods know how long this is going to take. Pour the powder on my wrists and then place your hands on mine. We’ll both just have to concentrate. Say whatever words come to you that you associate with love. I’ll do the same.” She glanced at the softening daylight beyond the waterfall. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
He did as she asked, popping the cork out of the vial and sprinkling the silver substance over her wrists, where it caught and hung in the black smoke that was holding her in place, like stars dusted over a dark sky. His large, warm hand closed over her numb fingers, which had gone from pulsing heat to terribly cold. His touch soothed her some, even through her thick gloves, and she found herself catching her breath.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Sure.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a moment of staring at her beautiful face, he did the same, his heart racing in his chest, his body practically humming with tension. This was never going to work in time.
They tried. And tried and tried. He said things that he remembered his mother telling him, sweet things that he still cherished after all these years. He thought of his brother, of the times Michael had saved him from something when they were younger, but thoughts of Michael were ironically unhelpful. She reached back in her mind and recalled the brunches she used to have with Syra and her mother, of the times they’d shared tea and secrets. She thought of Samson, of how he would always call her “love” or “honey” or “sweetheart” when they were alone, of how he would lick her wounds when she was injured.
But nothing worked. The chains remained as immovable as ever. She wouldn’t have thought such a task would be so hard, but then she supposed that it really would be for most anyone. Who, when faced with this situation, with the clock practically ticking between their ears, could think of words that meant so much to them that they could set them free? It was a lot harder than one would think.
Twenty minutes passed. They were both sweating heavily now. Then thirty minutes. Surah was starting to get a headache behind her closed eyes. Charlie’s hands were growing moist. Then forty minutes, and at last, Surah opened her eyes, releasing a heavy breath.
“It’s useless,” she said, and didn’t even care that her voice sounded uncharacteristically small.
Charlie’s eyes opened and he looked at her. She was looking down at her hands, her face blank of any expression at all. Before he could stop himself, he reached a hand up and placed it under her chin, gently tilting her face up to look at him. She offered no protest.
“No,” he said. “It ain’t. We just gotta keep tryin'. It’ll work. It has to.”
She shook her head, fighting back more tears. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does.”
She cleared her throat. “Why is that?”
“It just does.”
Surah looked down at her hands again, clearly not believing him. Charlie sighed at looked around, not sure what he was searching for. His eyes fell on his old wood guitar, where it rested against the wall. His mind leapt with realization at the same time that his heart sunk with it. He stood up slowly, ignoring the princess’s raised eyebrows, and went over to where the guitar sat, picking it up and adjusting the strap around his neck. He knew what he had to do, and he had a gut feeling it would work, too. But he wished there was another way. He wished like hell there was another way. If he did this there would be no more hiding, the mask would have to fall free. His soul would have to be bared.
She stared at him. He stared back. Then he settled back down in front of her, the guitar across his lap. He would do it. He had to. She needed him to.
She watched him as his fingers settled over the strings, his hands moving the guitar into position. “You have an idea?” she asked.
He nodded, swallowed. “Yep.”
“A song?” she asked, and smiled, that hope flooding back into her violet eyes. “You know a song that speaks about love? What song is it?”
“You’ve never heard it before.”
“I know a lot of songs.”
“Not this one.”
“How do you know?”
He hesitated, and when his eyes met hers, she saw something there that she couldn’t quite pin down. “Because,” he said, “I wrote it and I’ve never played it for anyone before.”
Her smile grew. This might actually work. “What’s it called?”
Again, he hesitated. “It doesn’t have a name,” he said.
For some reason, Surah thought this was a lie, and that was because it was. The song did have a name, but Charlie had never spoken it out loud, and he never would, not that it would matter after he played it. After he played it, she would know.
Surah waited silently. Charlie pulled his eyes away, looking down at the instrument in his lap. He’d played the song countless times before, on long nights in his cabin when sleep wouldn’t find him. He knew the chords and words perfectly, and riding the rhythm was as easy as breathing to him, but this time was different. This time, his fingers felt stiff over the strings and his voice felt tight in his throat.
“Just play it,” she said gently. “It’s worth a shot.”
Charlie nodded, still staring at the strings. Then he took a deep breath and began to play. His fingers began to strum the strings slowly, releasing a gentle melody. Then they moved a little faster, not much, but a little, the chords taking on a soft rhythm that made goose bumps pop up along her arms. Before he even began to sing the words, Surah could tell this was a love song. Just the soft, sweet notes said it was.
Then Charlie began to sing, his deep voice a perfect pitch that accompanied the melody. More goose bumps worked their way across her neck, and she found herself watching his lips move as he sang the words. She listened. She had a feeling that when Charlie Redmine picked up his guitar and played a song, anyone within hearing distance stopped and listened. But it was just the two of them in the small, slowly darkening cave. Just them and the music and his deep, country voice. A humble, beautiful drawl.
The words were simple, lovely. Perfect.
I can imagine
What my father would say
He’s been gone a long time
But he never went away
He wasn’t the kind of man
Who minced words or spared hearts
He would prob’ly tell me
Our paths are too apart
That it’s a cruel world
Not to love that girl
He’d say, son, you might as well shoot at the stars
Cuz the thing you aim to hit is just too far
And there’s no way that you can’t see
That there’s no way this can be
And saying this to you is really hard
But boy, you may as well be shooting at the stars
The world seemed to have fallen away. Surah could no longer feel the pain in her wrists, the ache in her back. She could no longer hear the clock ticking between her ears. All she could hear was Charlie. His deep voice and sweet song and th
e beating of her heart. He continued to play, filling up the cave with the soft music, filling up the world with it.
And though a fool I may be
That girl could never be in love with me
I can’t seem to get her off my heart
Lovin’ her was written in the stars.
The tempo picked up again here, his fingers strumming the strings with rapid movements, dancing over them. Surah felt her own pulse quicken, her throat go tight, a taut little knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Then the music slowed again, coming to an end, and Charlie’s voice was so quiet as he sang the final words that she had to strain to hear. She didn’t realize it, but she was leaning forward.
But there’s no way that I can’t see
That there’s no way this can be
And though on nights like this it’s really hard…
…Lovin’ her was written in the stars.
Surah’s hammering heart stopped and seemed to stay so. Her breath halted in her throat. Charlie’s fingers stroked the strings slowly, then settled. The last chord hung in the air for a bit, as if she could reach out her hand and touch it, and then silence fell around them. She stared at Charlie and was surprised to find that he was not looking up at her. His eyes were downcast, a direct opposite to his usual direct stare, and she wondered if his cheeks were slightly red under his dark facial hair. There was no way to know.
No way to know, but she did, didn’t she? She could feel it. She could hear it whispered on the notes that had faded away and yet seemed to still be lingering in her ears. She could see it on his face, in the jade of his eyes that would no longer meet her own. Perhaps it was presumptuous of her, perhaps she was completely off the mark, but she didn’t think so. She thought the song just might belong to her, despite the fact that she had no real reason to believe this. Just a feeling.
She had no idea just how right she was.
She wanted to ask him, but found she didn’t have the nerve. How arrogant would that sound? She couldn’t just say, hey, you wrote that for me, didn’t you? No, she couldn’t say that. She wouldn’t say that. She opened her mouth to say it.
For whatever reason, she had to know.
But she didn’t get the chance, because in front of her, Charlie’s eyes widened, and she followed his gaze to see what had made them do so. While listening to his song she had completely forgotten about the restraints around her wrists. She had forgotten about everything, the whole situation, and now that the music had stopped, it all came back with crushing clarity.
And she also couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
The black smoke holding her in place was loosening. The relief was instant, though pain still coursed through her fingers. She watched as the Black Magic receded and folded into itself, then disappeared altogether. She wiggled her fingers. It took more effort than it should have. There were angry, red rings around her wrists, like bloody bracelets. She could feel the blood slowly beginning to course back through her fingers, and it felt wonderful and awful at the same time.
She was free.
Without thinking, she threw her arms around Charlie’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug, breathing in the fresh scent of him, absorbing his heat. Slowly, his strong arms came up and held her even tighter, their bodies pressed close together, his chest warm and solid against hers.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his neck, thinking she should pull away. Lingering.
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Anytime.”
“Well, isn’t this just precious?” said a voice beside them.
Charlie and Surah broke apart instantly, hearts leaping in their chests, eyes going wide like children who have just been caught doing something naughty. They saw him at the same time, saw the Black Stone weighing heavily around his neck and the murderous glint in his jade eyes.
Black Heart had returned.
The heels of his boots clicked as he stepped forward, his dark cloak rippling like something alive as he moved. His pale hands came up and slipped the hood back from his head, revealing his dark, slicked-back hair. He was smiling, but there was only malice behind it, making it an oddly terrifying expression. The antithesis of a smile.
Black Heart clucked his tongue, cold eyes flicking back and forth between Charlie and Surah, who were now on their feet, postures stiff. His eyes settled on Charlie and he shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Charlie Boy,” he said. “Extremely disappointed.”
CHAPTER 43
Silence hung between them for what seemed to Surah to be an incredibly long moment. It was as though time itself had paused, as if everything in the universe hung suspended in space. Waiting.
Then, Charlie said, “I guess that makes two of us, brother.”
Surah’s head jerked toward Charlie, her mind momentarily unable to process coherent thoughts. Charlie Redmine was staring levelly at his brother.
Black Heart shook his head again, his hand coming up and rubbing his jaw. Surah realized this must be a habit for both men, except it was somehow attractive when Charlie did it. “What am I supposed to do with you now, Charlie Boy? You haven’t left me many choices.”
Charlie’s voice answered smooth and calm. “There are plenty of choices.”
Surah stood perfectly still, saying nothing. Black Heart looked at her, and she tilted her chin up and held his gaze. He laughed. “Still so proud, are we?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
Surah held her ground, but to her surprise, Charlie moved between her and his brother. His voice sounded more serious than she’d ever heard it when he spoke. “Leave her alone, Michael,” he said.
The anger that flashed behind Black Heart’s eyes was so intense that Charlie thought he could feel it burning his skin, but he didn’t step back. He’d made a promise to the princess. He had no intention of letting Michael hurt her again. But the Black Stone, which seemed to be pulsing a dark, squirming energy into the air, was going to make that promise hard to keep.
Black Heart’s eyes fixed on Surah over Charlie’s shoulder. His lips were tight when he spoke. “Move aside, little brother.”
Charlie folded his arms over his chest. “I’m ‘fraid I can’t do that.”
Black Heart’s eyes flicked back to him. “Fine, have it your way.”
His hand whipped to the side, and Charlie was lifted from his feet and slammed into the rock wall of the cavern, as if one of the Gods had reached down and slapped him aside. Black Heart’s hand was raised, holding Charlie in place without even touching him.
Surah was already in motion.
She moved so fast that Black Heart’s one moment of forgetting her was enough. She rushed forward, the sais that had been tucked under her cloak already clutched in her hands, which were still in pain from the restraints. She dropped to the ground and swept her leg around, knocking Black Heart hard in the legs and sending him down to his knees. She raised her weapons, preparing to send them through his neck. She thrust them forward.
But Black Heart was no longer distracted, and before the sharp points of the sais could hit their mark, she was tossed into the air in the same way Charlie had been, scooped up and thrown aside by dark Magic, her body becoming weightless. Then she slammed into the stone wall hard on her left side, knocking her head against it and seeing stars. Pain shot down her body in a hot rush. Black Heart held her pinned to the wall, almost crushing her with the force of the Black Stone’s power.
She couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. This was it then, she was going to die. The thought made a terribly silent terror boil inside her.
Black Heart was sweating, the Stone around his neck heavy and pulsing heat. The thing was fueled by hate and anger, and Black Heart had plenty of that to spare. But it still was not easy using so much power. He was getting better at it, and soon he would be unstoppable.
He held them both to the walls, like flies caught in a spider’s web. His boots clicked as he approached Surah. “I know what to do, little brother,” he said, th
e smile returning to his face as he looked over his shoulder at Charlie. The look in his eyes made Charlie’s heart go cold in his chest.
It hurt to talk, took great effort, the force under which he was being held was so cumbersome, but Charlie said, “Let her go, Michael.”
Black Heart laughed, and Surah could do nothing but stare at the dark Sorcerer in terror. “Oh, I think not, Charlie Boy,” he said. His head tilted as his eyes fell back on Surah. “I think I will make you watch her die. Cure you of this…unhealthy obsession once and for all.”
Charlie tried to yell, but Black Heart flicked his wrist and Charlie felt an invisible hand slap over his mouth, cutting off his words. Black Heart moved to stand in front of Surah. Smiling. “I’ll give your regards to your father,” he said. “Perhaps you two will meet in the heavens.”
Surah shook her head. “No, we won’t,” she said.
Black Heart’s head tilted again, his eyes dark and amused and murderous. “Why is that, Princess?”
Surah met his stare, held it. “Because I’ll be waiting for you in hell.”
Black Heart laughed, deep and bellowing, his wide shoulders shaking. Then his laughter cut off abruptly, as if by a switch, and his hand came up and clenched into a fist. Surah felt a crushing weight drop on her throat, cutting off her air completely. Her eyes bugged out of her sockets, and her vision went black for a second before returning in a blurry haze. Her muscles jerked, but remained plastered to the wall. Her brain began screaming for oxygen. Didn’t find any.
Black Heart leaned in close, the look on his face pure joy. “In death you will finally learn how to hold your tongue,” he said, and tightened his fist further still. Now the world outside Surah’s eyes went black and stayed black, and she knew she was only moments from slipping away, no matter how hard she tried to cling to the surface.
