Volinette's Song

by Martin Hengst

  Glancing at Baris told her that he wasn’t fairing their voluntary exile much better. His teeth were chattering and he looked as if he might freeze solid at any moment. He wore only a plain tunic. Volinette had offered him her cloak, but he’d brushed her off with an indignant eye. He was fine, he swore. He didn’t need her mothering him.

  “I’m f-f-f-f-ine!” he snapped.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Volinette retorted. “And besides, if you can’t say the word without stuttering, then you’re not fine.”

  Baris launched himself off the breakwater, dropping with a certain boyish grace and landing on the balls of his feet. He extended his hand to Volinette with grave courtesy. She gave him an appraising look before she took his hand and dropped into the fine black sand below.

  “What are we doing, Baris? I know that look in your eye. We don’t need any more trouble right now. We’ve got trouble in droves.”

  “You worry too much,” he said before dragging her along the wall. “We won’t get in trouble, trust me.”

  Volinette had some choice words to say on that score, but she held her tongue. In truth, Baris was one of the few people she could count on to always put her wellbeing before his own. Well, if not before, at least alongside. He was a good friend. Volinette didn’t know many, any actually, people who would have burst into the Head Master’s office and declared her innocence. It was an act of either incredible bravery or incredible stupidity. Though she’d never tell him so, Volinette figured that it was probably equal parts of each.

  They were both glad to reach the stone cobbles that made up Blackbeach’s main streets and avenues. Trekking through the sand on the beach was exhausting, and the abrasive particles got everywhere and took forever to get rid of. They leaned on each other, taking turns knocking the worst of the sand from their breeches and from inside their boots.

  “Where are we going?” Volinette asked, only to find her request again fall on deaf ears.

  Baris led her through the alleys and back streets of Blackbeach as if he’d mapped them himself. “Just one quick stop first,” he’d said, dragging her down a narrow fissure between two buildings that she wouldn’t have gone down in broad daylight, much less this overcast day. And at night? Forget it. No chance.

  Refuse was ankle deep, and more than once Volinette spied the beady eyes of a hungry rat appraising her before turning tail and fleeing out of sight.

  “Gee, Baris, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

  “Grow a sense of adventure, Volinette. It’s not like I’m leading you into the Warrens.”

  Volinette opened her mouth to reply and found that she had nothing witty to say. The last time she’d embraced her adventurous side, she’d ended up in the custody of the Grand Inquisitor and fighting for her future with the Head Master of the Six Orders. She closed her mouth and said nothing, following Baris in silence.

  The door the boy stopped in front of was black with age. The iron banding that held the wood together was rusted lace. It looked as if a strong knock would bring the whole thing down, but that’s exactly what Baris did. A moment later, the door opened a crack and a dirty face peered out. Eyes that reminded her of the rats darted from Baris to Volinette and back to Baris.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need one bag,” Baris said, rummaging around in the front pocket of his breeches.

  “Hold on.”

  The door closed and Volinette gave Baris a sharp look.

  “I thought you said we weren’t doing anything that would get us in trouble.”

  “Would you trust me?” he asked, looking pained. “Just a little? Sheesh.”

  A moment later, the door was opened a crack and a grubby hand thrust out. Baris dropped the Half-Crown coin he’d dug from his pocket in the dirty palm, which disappeared as if by magic. It reappeared with a small leather pouch, which Baris caught deftly as it dropped. The door snapped shut and they heard the sound of a heavy bar being dropped.

  “What was that all about?” Volinette was feeling less and less comfortable about this adventure by the minute.

  “Trust, remember? Come on.”

  It was hard for Volinette to trust anyone, but she decided that if there was anyone in Blackbeach who was unlikely to sell her out, it’d be Baris. After all, his record was exemplary when it came to standing by her side. She decided that it was okay to trust him and try to enjoy herself. After all, he wasn’t Janessa.

  More winding through hidden roads and back alleys led them somewhere Volinette recognized. They’d entered the courtyard of the Great Library through an almost hidden gate that she’d never noticed. The entry was so overgrown with hanging moss and ivy that it was almost like parting a curtain to gain access to the courtyard proper.

  “See?” Baris asked with some exasperation. “Nowhere that you’re going to get in trouble. Will you relax now?”

  Volinette felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She ducked her head, unable to meet his challenging eyes. He was right, she knew, but it didn’t feel good to be called out on it. Tears that she’d been fighting for days sprang to her eyes. She didn’t cry, but the tears still made their escape down her cheeks.

  “Aw, jeez. C’mon, Volinette.” Baris shifted from one foot to the other. “Don’t cry, I didn’t mean it. I know it’s been right shit the last couple days, but it’ll be alright.”

  Awkward as it was, Volinette appreciated the pat on her shoulder that Baris managed to produce. It was hardly a natural action for him, but at least he was trying to make things better, which is what he always did. If nothing else, he always tried to make it better. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hands and looked up at him, even managing to summon a tentative smile.

  “There you go!” he exclaimed, brightening. “Trust me, it’ll be okay. Especially when you see what I’ve got to show you.” He dangled the leather pouch in her line of sight. “C’mon…we need to go. Before he leaves.”

  “Before who leaves?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The Great Library always reminded Volinette of a sacred temple. Though she hadn’t been to many clerical services when she’d been traveling with the family, there were the customary Spring Solstice and Yuletide rituals that most people in the Imperium attended. That same sort of hushed reverence is what Volinette felt when she walked into the towering stacks of volumes older than she was by hundreds or thousands of years.

  Volinette took a deep breath, relishing in the smell of old paper and parchment. That was the smell of time’s passage, a hundred-thousand lifetimes worth of knowledge and emotion frozen in time. Waiting, ready to be called upon at any moment, just by picking up the tome and flipping through the pages.

  Baris groaned and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her past the reference desk at the front of the ground floor and toward a staircase in the corner that curved skyward as far as the eye could see. They trudged up the stairs. Every time Volinette thought they’d finally reached their destination, they climbed ever upward.

  They disembarked on the highest level of the library, and Baris led her down a narrow hall to a narrower door that looked older than the one they’d seen in the alley. He knocked once, a gentle rap of his knuckles, and then twisted the knob, pushing it open. Resigned to see this madness through to the end, Volinette followed.

  The small office was unremarkable, save for the vast and impressive piles of paper, parchment, and writing implements that crowded every surface. Tall shelves were festooned in paper. Small cabinets seemed bursting with the stuff. A wide desk, standard issue for Quintessentialists in the Orders, was nearly buried under it.

  Behind the desk, a wizened old man was nestled in a chair. His head was thrown back as far as his thin neck would allow. The snores that issued from his open mouth were at least twice as big as the man they came from. Baris shot Volinette an impish grin and rapped on the desk, hard, with his knuckles.

  “What? Who?”

  “Good afternoon, Master Archivist Jotun,” Bar
is said loudly.

  “No need to shout, you young scamp. I may be ancient, but there’s nothing wrong with these.” He tugged at the loose lobes below his ears so hard that for a moment, Volinette thought they might stretch like hot taffy. “Who is this that you’ve brought into my domain?”

  Baris pushed the door shut with one hand and dumped a pile of paper onto the floor from a chair with the other. He plopped down in the newly vacant seat.

  “This is Volinette.”

  “Oh?” Jotun’s eyebrow went up, as if tugged by an invisible string. “I’ve heard about you, young one. You’re the one with the voice like an angel.” Volinette felt herself blush again as the archivist continued, “Angel or not, you lot aren’t supposed to be here.”

  Her stomach flipped, and Baris held up a finger to forestall her panic.

  “I’m sure you can make an exception, Master Jotun.” Baris leaned forward in his chair, dropping the leather pouch on the desk and leaning back. The grin that spread across his face was infectious, and soon Volinette found that she was smiling, too.

  “Hmph.” That was all the Master Archivist said as he retrieved the offering. Fingers gnarled with more years than Volinette’s entire family combined tugged at the silk thread that closed the pouch. She had to fight the urge to offer her assistance, almost sure that it would do nothing other than offend the old man.

  At length, Jotun worked the neck of the pouch open and reached inside. He plucked a translucent yellow sphere about the size of a marble from the bag and held it up to the light. He turned it this way and that, admiring the myriad of small crystals that dotted its surface. Volinette had just begun to wonder what kind of stone it was when the old man popped it in his mouth and made an almost feline sound of delight.

  “Deralt’s?” the old man asked around the obstruction in his mouth. Baris nodded.

  “Yes, Sir. Best lemon drops in the city.”

  Jotun nodded, slurping loudly.

  “I taught you well, boy,” he said, tucking the drop into his cheek, making it bulge. “So having been due and properly bribed, what do you want, scamp?”

  “Can I take Volinette up in the tower?”

  “Hmm,” Jotun considered the request, weighing the pouch in his hand. “Seems your payment is a little light, youngster.”

  Baris’s face fell. Volinette felt bad for him. This was clearly a well-rehearsed battle of wits. Somehow, Baris had been outsmarted.

  “It’s the same as every other time,” Baris groused.

  “Aye lad, but those times, you didn’t bring your friend.”

  Volinette plunged her hands into her pockets, sensing an opportunity. “Please, Sir, perhaps I have something that can entice you…”

  “Aye and you do, girl, but you won’t find it in your pockets.” Jotun leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion and gave her a wink. “Sing me a song, and we’ll call it even.”

  Volinette looked from Baris to Jotun, then back to Baris. He shrugged, but he was grinning from ear to ear. The little gremlin had known this was going to happen. He’d put her on the spot, knowing full well what the price of admission to his little show would be. She wanted to grab him by the neck and shake him.

  “I, uh,” Volinette struggled to adapt. “What should I sing?”

  “Anything you like, dear,” Jotun replied, using his finger to conduct an imaginary band.

  She hugged herself, trying to think of what she could perform that would meet with the old man’s approval. The black sand still stuck to her cloak was harsh against her fingers. Inspiration struck and she opened her mouth to sing.

  What came out was an old, but popular, ballad from the fishing villages where her family would often stop to perform. It was the tale of a widow lamenting the loss of her husband to the ravenous sea and throwing herself into the waves.

  Dear sea, sweet sea, how could you take my love from me?

  Days and nights, for weeks and weeks, my love came to you, far from me.

  Taking from thy heaving bosom, offering back his love and life.

  Now you’ve taken him forever, betrayal cuts through me like a knife.

  I cannot, will not, live without him, my life, my love, your trophy claimed.

  I commend myself now unto you, with his spirit, I will remain.

  As the last notes of the song died away, Volinette was surprised to see the Master Archivist dabbing at the corners of his eyes. Even more unexpected was the look of appreciation Baris turned on her. His mouth hung open, as if he was unable to credit what he’d heard.

  “How do you do that?” Baris finally asked, managing to regain his composure.

  “Do what?”

  “Make it sound like you’re singing with a host of angels?”

  “Oh stop,” she snapped at him. She didn’t need his embellishments embarrassing her in front of Master Jotun. “I just sing. It’s nothing special.”

  “On that score, dear girl, you are most decidedly wrong,” Master Jotun said, getting to his shaky feet. “You are very special, indeed. Young Baris, I am indebted to you for bringing this girl to my attention. I suspect this will not be the last I hear of her.”

  “So we can go to the tower?”

  “Aye lad,” Jotun said with another wink. “I’d say you’d paid the admission in full. Come along. You know the drill.”

  Baris bounded to his feet and crossed the room to where Jotun was standing before a massive bookcase. Lending his young shoulder to Jotun’s guidance, they pushed the furniture out of the way, revealing a tiny door behind it. Jotun took a key from his pocket and turned it in a little lock. The door sprang open.

  “You know the rules, Baris. Half an hour, no more.”

  “Yes, Master Jotun, thank you.” Baris crouched down and stepped through the tiny door, turning back to Volinette. He beckoned to her urgently. “Come on! We don’t have much time.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I don’t understand what you hope to gather from this investigation,” Olin said, rifling through a drawer of clothes. He picked up a few items, subjected them to a cursory inspection, and dropped them back, closing the drawer with a sigh.

  “Which is why I am Grand Inquisitor, and you took the Fourth Level Inquisitor trials three times before you passed.”

  “Now listen here—”

  “No,” Adamon interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You listen. We already suspect that Volinette is innocent of these crimes. We likewise suspect that Janessa, the daughter of two highly ranked Masters on the High Council, is guilty of stealing an artifact of immeasurable power. An artifact, I might add, that we have yet to recover.

  “I intend to have every shred of evidence possible to possess before we take the girl into custody and return to the Head Master. Am I making myself plain?”

  “What does it matter?” Olin shot back. “Why not censure them both and be done with it.”

  “And that is why you failed the trials. Sometimes the blade of justice should be a healer’s blade, not the dull bludgeon of, well, whatever you are.” Adamon’s eyes lost the far-away, glassy look that indicated a mage split between the realms of the physical world and the Quintessential Sphere. “There’s nothing to find here. To the other rooms.”

  The dormitory being empty assisted in their investigation. The apprentices were supposed to be in class, but Adamon doubted if Janessa and her ilk would have bothered with something as petty as class on the day after stealing the Prism of Transcendental. He would check with Master Casto later, but he suspected he already knew the answer to his inquiry.

  Though Olin’s mood was sour, no doubt due to Adamon’s near constant needling, the man knew how to perform a thorough physical search. As a team, they made quick work of search the rooms of Volinette, Syble, Nixi, and Halsie. No trace of the Prism, either physical or ethereal, existed in any of their rooms. A short walk down the hall led them to the larger room that served as Janessa’s quarters. The preferential assignment of room was, without question, att
ributable to the girl’s parents.

  Adamon could feel it before they even entered the room. The tingle of power that danced just over the surface of his skin, moving like an insect with a hundred thousand legs with a feather light touch. They’d find what they were looking for in Janessa’s room. He was sure of it.

  Olin entered first. He went stiff as the residual power of the Prism washed over him. He shook it off and moved further in. Adamon followed. He didn’t even need to consult the living memory of the Quintessential Sphere. There was no doubt that the Prism had been here, but wasn’t any longer.

  Adamon slipped into sphere sight, cringing at the jumbled mass of mangled memories that confronted him. Whoever had tampered with the ethereal evidence in the Hall of Wonders had performed the same spellcraft here. Although the living memory of the Quintessential Sphere would reassert itself over time, it was a slow process. Adamon didn’t want to wait.

  Closing his eyes, he blocked out the intrusions of the physical world. He focused instead on the Quintessential Sphere and the wounds that had been inflicted on it. His fingers plucked at the edges of the memories like a phantasmal harp. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Olin complaining that they didn’t have time for this. Adamon shut him out, ignoring everything but the progress he was making setting things to rights within the sphere.

  Each healed wound weakened the cohesive power of the spell used to scramble the memories, making each successive pass easier and faster. In less time than he would have imagined, Adamon had reconstructed the memories that Janessa had tried to obscure with her clumsy command of the Quintessential Sphere. It was Janessa who had tampered with the living memory of the sphere, and it was Janessa who had stolen the Prism and hid it here in her room, in the chest by the foot of her bed. Adamon opened his eyes, snapping back to the here and now, and facing Olin’s impatient gaze.

  “The Prism was here, but isn’t any longer,” Adamon said.