Asunder

by Tanya Schofield

  “Calder!” Melody stood and tried to step towards him in one movement, but between the dog and her too-long skirt, she instead pitched forward. The ranger bit back a hiss of pain as his back and side screamed in protest when he caught her.

  “I’m so sorry,” Melody said carefully, regaining her balance. “Did I hurt you?”

  Calder shook his head. “Not you, songbird,” he said, pulling her into a gentle hug. “It’s nothing.”

  Melody stepped out of the circle of his arms after a moment, and placed her hand on his side, exactly where the memory of his stay with Korith lingered on. “Here,” she said, frowning. “I can feel it…” She pulled the power to herself, humming out of habit, unconcerned with whether or not she should. Her friend was hurt.

  Calder had felt her magic before, but it was never like this, never this much. Could the others feel it? He glanced around, but no one seemed to notice. Cool numbness flowed over and through the persistent ache. In moments, the old pain had disappeared.

  “Better?” She smiled at him.

  “It’s perfect,” he replied. “I—” Calder could not put into words how relieved he was to see her. She was as familiar as her father, but so … different. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you as well, my friend.” Melody looked over his shoulder at the others gathered. Most of them she did not recognize, but that one up front, standing at the head of a long wooden table, his arm hanging limp at his side …

  “Rhodoban?” Melody, incredulous, stepped around Calder. She remembered an arrow … an eternity ago, in Foley. “But I saw you … you fell.”

  Rhodoban stepped forward, reaching for her with his good arm. “I got up,” he said simply. “I’m glad you’re awake.” His grin was infectious, and she threw her arms around him, sniffling back tears of relief. He returned the hug somewhat awkwardly.

  “Oh, your arm,” she said, stepping back and wiping her cheeks. “Does it hurt?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t feel anything,” he said. “Senna took a look at it, but this isn’t her specialty. Besides, too much time has passed.”

  Melody was not paying attention. She summoned her power and brought her hands up to rest on the limp ruins of his shoulder. It was beyond ruined, she realized, beginning to hum under her breath. She had never tried to repair old wounds before, wounds that had already healed incorrectly on their own, but she knew she could.

  Use the magic, the other Melody had told her in the dream. You don’t have to destroy things to get Semaj’s attention, just get it, and keep it. Melody closed her eyes, letting the magic tell her the best way to proceed. She pulled more of it around her and through her, sending it into the torn, scarred joint.

  Rhodoban felt his shoulder go numb, but it was a different lack of feeling than normal. Then it went warm. The warmth was pleasant, he thought— but only for a moment. His eyes opened wider as warm changed to hot, and hot changed to very hot, and then it became almost unbearable. There was perspiration on his forehead by the time Melody’s haunting tune faded into silence.

  Jovan stepped forward, ready to catch her. Experience had taught him that using so much magic would surely take a toll on her - but she seemed unaffected. If anything, her color was better, and she stood straighter.

  Rhodoban lifted his arm, rotating the shoulder with an incredulous smile, marveling at the movement and the sensations he hadn’t felt in so long. “You are a miracle,” he told her. “Thank you.”

  Melody grinned. The power was still reverberating inside her, sending shivers down her spine. That had been … incredible. “I’m so glad to help,” she replied. She meant it. Rhodoban had been right when he talked about magic being a knife that wanted to be used, and the difference between cutting bread or killing others. The power in her could do both - she had done both - but the choice was hers. She didn’t have to fear the magic, only direct it.

  “Miss?” The boy that pushed past several men to get her attention was alarmingly pale, and stumbled against the table.

  “Nathen?” Rhodoban seemed surprised. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

  The boy clutched the edge of the table, breathing deeply. “You’re a Healer, Miss?” he asked, searching her face hopefully.

  “I am,” Melody said. She frowned, sensing a hurt in him that was both familiar and frightening. “Show me.”

  When Nathen turned and lifted his tunic, the others gasped. Several men took steps back, away from the sight. There was a single cut just under the boy’s ribs, but from its raw, glistening center extended a network of black lines that encircled his chest, his waist and disappeared under his trousers.

  “Oh, Nathen,” Rhodoban said. “When?”

  “Before we found her,” Nathen said, struggling to breathe against the tight web of lines. “The thing with the red eyes, it wanted Steel. It slapped me out of the way, and …”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Calder asked.

  The boy looked over at Jovan. “He’d have killed me,” Nathen said, his voice plaintive. “Or made me do it, like Jensar.”

  Jovan shook his head. “There’s no cure, Nathen, there was nothing—”

  Melody held up a hand, silencing him. “I can do it,” she said, certain she was right. Back on the island when the infection was in her, there was nothing she could do. It was beyond her, then - but it wasn’t now. She smiled at Nathen, trying to reassure him.

  Every eye in the room was on her when she began to sing this time, but she ignored them. The infection was His, she thought, and if she could remove it from this boy, then surely she could remove Semaj himself, as Dream-Melody insisted she must.

  Melody sent the magic into the center of the wound, and Nathen’s eyes went wide. He gasped as every creeping black tendril of pain clenched down in protest, and had to cling to Rhodoban’s arm to keep his feet. The power followed each line that spread across his skin, tingling like lightning, the hair on his arms standing up in response. She energized each part of the wound, tracing it in flickering blue and pouring more power into it, as much as it could hold, and more.

  Without warning, Melody stopped the song mid-note, cutting off the magic in a bright flash that even the gathered crowd could see. Nathen doubled over in pain, but when he stood up, it was clear the wound was gone. Thin scars wrapped around his body where the black lines had been, but the seeping central cut had disappeared. The others stared, and a ripple of impressed applause ran through them.

  Nathen touched his stomach, tracing the scars with an expression of wonder. “I’m alive,” he breathed, looking at Melody, then Jovan. “You did it.”

  “I’m glad you’re all right,” she said. The magic was still shimmering in the air around her, and she couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to use it like this, to help.

  “Food’s coming, step aside!” The female voice that rang over the sounds of the still-muttering crowd was clear and slightly familiar to Melody, and once the others were sitting she thought she recognized the face as well. Honey colored hair, pale blue aura of magic— it had to be Senna. The man at her side with a slightly darker aura, carrying the platter of steaming meat … that was Aggravain.

  Senna met Melody’s eyes across the long table, and beamed a bright smile as she walked around to get closer.

  “You’re Senna?” Melody extended a hand to the beautiful woman approaching. “I’m told you kept me alive. Thank you.”

  “I am, and you’re welcome. It’s Melody now, not Nia, as I understand?” she asked. Before Melody could nod, Senna was glowering up at Jovan. “That one was told to inform me when you woke, not drag you down into this mob first thing. Are you hungry? Of course you are. Sit, you need the rest.”

  As soon as she understood what the woman had said, Melody took her seat. Why must everyone speak in such a rush, she wondered, the words always racing to the finish? “I lied about my name,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know who I could trust.” She spoke deliberately, but her voice was tired, faltering.
“Thank you for the dress, as well.”

  Senna evicted one of Jovan’s companions from the chair beside Melody and sat down, heaping a bowl with thick stew and chunks of bread before setting it in front of the tiny girl. “Was nothing,” she said. “Now eat. You’ve got a week’s worth of broth to make up for.”

  Melody picked up her spoon without needing to be told twice. Her stomach was rumbling so loudly she was certain everyone in the room had noticed.

  Senna looked up over Melody’s shoulder. “You look like a vulture, Jovan. She’s safe. Sit. Eat something.”

  Jovan moved a chair in on Melody’s other side and sat down, digging into the meal. He kept his leg pressed against hers, reassuring her - and perhaps himself - that he was there, they were together, he wouldn’t leave her again.

  When she had eaten her fill of the stew - too little for Senna’s liking, but truly, she was overfull – Melody looked around the table. The men were still eating, glancing at her sideways, never directly, and whispering to each other around mouthfuls of meat and stew.

  Aggravain sat at the opposite end of the long table, staring at her, his face unreadable. Calder was feeding Attilus under the table behind Senna, who was pretending not to notice, and Rhodoban was still flexing his healed shoulder with amazement on his face.

  Melody did not like being the center of attention, but neither did she know how to escape. Senna caught the look on Melody’s face, if not her thoughts, and stood, reaching for the girl’s almost empty bowl.

  “Will you join me in the kitchen, Melody?” she asked.

  Jovan put down his spoon and stood when Melody did. “What’s wrong?”

  Senna laughed. “Easy, there. We’re not going far. She’s been sick, remember? I’m a Healer. Let me check on her.”

  Melody smiled and squeezed Jovan’s hand before following Senna into the kitchen, grateful for the reprieve.

  “Thank you,” she said again, pausing to lean on the counter.

  Senna guided her to the bed, pressing her to sit. “You’ve been through a lot,” she said. “I’m sure you’re exhausted. That was no ordinary fever.”

  Melody nodded. “I’ve had them my whole life, but it was much worse.” She looked at the twisted, scarred skin on her arm. “Was it because of the bite?”

  Senna took a deep breath, sitting on the stool in front of her. “The simple answer is yes, though there is nothing simple about it.”

  Melody touched the healed wound, remembering the rainy glade, and what had been there— who had been there. “Aggravain,” she said slowly. “He changed. There was a beast, but it was … him?”

  “Yes.” Senna let out a sigh of relief that the girl already knew. “He’s— he’s a werewolf,” she said, the word still not comfortable on her lips. “He didn’t mean to hurt you,” she continued. “He meant to protect you. He couldn’t stand the thought that he might have cursed you.”

  Melody blinked, not understanding. “What is a … werewolf?”

  Senna stared. “You don’t— You’ve never heard the tales? Stories of men who become beasts with the swell of the moon, stories told to frighten children into behaving?”

  “No.” Confusion was plain on Melody’s pale, tired face.

  Senna didn’t try to explain. “Most people have,” she said. “They’re just stories, but Aggravain is real. He said the bite and the fever could have made you … like him.”

  There was a pause before Melody responded. “The fever is gone, though.”

  “Yes,” Senna agreed. “I just don’t know what that means. Whether you’re fully cured, whether you aren’t and will transform into a monstrous wolf when the moon is next full … or what any of that means for the baby you carry.”

  Melody didn’t say anything, she just fingered the pendant at her neck, slowly sliding it along the chain. Back and forth, back and forth.

  “Are you all right?” Senna asked. “I know, the idea of werewolves is…”

  “The… what?” Melody finally met Senna’s eyes, and her shock was evident. “I’m pregnant?”

  Senna’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t know,” she realized. “Oh Goddess, I’m sorry. Once I saw Jovan with you, I assumed— It will be all right,” she promised, wanting to relieve the panic she saw rising in Melody’s eyes. “I’m a midwife, that’s where my Healing is strongest. Whatever happens, I’ll help you.”

  Melody was dizzy again, and fought to keep down the stew she’d eaten. She took several deep breaths, keeping her eyes focused on the floor beneath her feet. Her fingers clenched and unclenched on the woven blanket.

  “I’ll get you a wet cloth,” Senna said, heading for the back door. “The well is right out here. Just breathe.”

  Melody was still reeling, trying to accept what the Healer had told her. She was … carrying. Her. With child. She remembered her foster mother, all rounded curves as her foster sister grew in her belly, and then her cries – no, screams - as that sister was brought into the world. Close behind, unbidden but always present, came the memory of them dead. Mother, sister, friends, Elders - bodies strewn about her forest home like so many windblown branches.

  Senna returned and pressed a cold wet cloth into Melody’s hand, guiding it to her forehead. “You’ll be fine,” she assured the stunned redhead. “Try not to worry. Take as long as you need, I’ll go see to the others.”

  Melody couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She was not completely ignorant of the ways of the world; she understood the progression of nature. She remembered the night she had spent with Jovan an eternity ago, before ... everything. Well did she remember that night, but she also knew something that Senna did not. Whatever her feelings for Jovan, he had not been the only one to plant seed in her that night.

  Her stomach churned as she remembered Garen - his presence in her mind, his insistent clutching, the terror and shame and panic she had felt— Her hands were shaking as she wiped at the hot salty tears flooding her cheeks. The child inside her could not be his, it simply couldn’t.

  Oh, but it could.

  The stew she had managed to swallow earlier threatened to return the way it came, and she had to stumble out the back door and be sick.

  35

  Jovan returned the squeeze of Melody’s fingers, and watched her disappear into the kitchen with Senna before turning to the men at the table.

  “As soon as she’s recovered,” he said, “we’ll head to Estfall. If anyone is going to fight off what’s happening, it’s Duke Thordike. We need to be ready, and so does he. The Lich King is returned, he has taken physical form.”

  “Says who?” Aggravain looked at the others. “Some undead rising, some giant bugs - that’s one thing, but the Five made sure Semaj couldn’t come back.”

  “Melody felt it happen,” Jovan replied. “I felt it through her.”

  Aggravain snorted. “She was unconscious.”

  Jovan glared at him. “I don’t expect you to understand—”

  “Don’t underestimate this girl, friend.” Calder spoke before Jovan could. “She’s more powerful than you think.”

  “She beat whatever you did to her,” Jovan snapped. “If anyone was going to know, it would be her.”

  “So Thordike’s your plan, then?” Aggravain was enjoying Jovan’s agitation.

  “Yes. Getting to him and building an army is our best hope, Aggravain. If you want to fight Semaj alone, that’s on you.”

  Rhodoban cleared his throat. “Thordike’s forces will help, my friend,” he said, “and we can help him - but Melody is the real hope. The only hope.”

  Calder nodded his agreement. “That’s why we found her, wasn’t it? Why we’re here? She’s the only one with the power to defeat Semaj.”

  “Wars are won with soldiers,” Jovan insisted. “Whatever power Melody commands may help, along with Rhodoban’s magic, and my sword, and all of you. But the true fight is a physical one.”

  “Not against Semaj,” Rhodoban said. “I’m sorry, but I know his story. We all s
hould. It was not swords that ended the Lich King’s reign, it was magic. More magic than the world had ever seen or has since. Until her.”

  Jovan sighed. “I can’t ask her to do more,” he said. “I won’t. She’s been through enough.”

  “I know,” Calder said. “You want to keep her safe. I wanted the same thing - it nearly got her killed. Her father knew this day would come,” the ranger added. “He believed she was the only hope we’d have, and I believe him. She was destined for this, Steel.”

  “Jovan,” he corrected the ranger. “I’m done hiding. I know you think—”

  “Well, whatever you call yourself,” Aggravain interrupted, “you bring that girl anywhere near Estfall and you’re asking for trouble.” He was leaned back in his chair, picking at his fingernails. “She might do more harm than good.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Jovan felt a slow building of panic and fear - but it was not his own.

  “Surviving the fever’s only part of it,” Aggravain said. “No one has ever resisted the curse.”

  One of the older men spoke up. “Werewolves aren’t real, though. They’re just made-up stories.”

  Aggravain turned to fix him with a serious stare, the same one he’d given Senna. “You want to find out?”

  “Tyren, you fought and killed dead men on the way here,” Howe said. “It’s a little late to worry about what’s real or not.”

  “She beat it,” Jovan insisted. “I was with her, I felt it.” He looked up, and saw Senna coming out of the kitchen. “The fever’s gone,” he said. “Melody’s fine.”

  But was she? Senna didn’t seem upset, just busy, but through their connection he sensed Melody starting to panic in earnest.

  “Fever or not, there’s a good chance in three weeks she’ll—”