PRAISE FOR E. J. MELLOW
“Lyrical, vibrant, imaginative. E. J. Mellow’s striking, original voice will draw you into a mesmerizing world.”
—Emma Raveling, author of the Ondine Quartet
“E. J. is one of those authors who deserve to be immortal just to continue writing mind-blowing novels for their readers.”
—Book Vogue
OTHER TITLES BY E. J. MELLOW
The Dreamland Series
The Dreamer
The Divide
The Destined
Stand-Alone Novel
The Animal under the Fur
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2021 by E. J. Mellow
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542026062
ISBN-10: 1542026067
Cover design by Micaela Alcaino
For Kelsey,
my songbird sister,
whose laughter and smile could
cure the world of its demons
CONTENTS
START READING
MAP
PROLOGUE
Sometime very much later
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SAMPLE: DANCE OF A BURNING SEA
PROLOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born last of three through ice, wind, and rain,
She tore into this world a siren song,
Some say with a gift, some a curse,
But none will care to remember for long
If you hear the songbird sing
If you hear the songbird sing
Silver tongued, silver haired, she sits waiting,
A comfortable moon in the dark,
But her quiet, her still, calm reflection,
Are lullabies to poison her mark
If you hear the songbird sing
If you hear the songbird sing
Her voice may sound sweet, sound lovely and kind,
But the resounding pain will be eternal,
So cover your ears, my dearest, if inching too near,
For her notes will bring mortals to fall
When you hear the songbird sing
When you hear the songbird sing
—A verse from Achak’s Mousai song
PROLOGUE
The little girls played in a puddle of blood. They didn’t realize it was blood, of course, nor did their nursemaid realize they had slipped from their rooms to find their way into the dungeons hidden under the palace. How would she? This part of the Thief Kingdom was chained and watched by so many doors and spells and beastly stone guardians that the Thief King himself would be hard pressed to enter unannounced. But such obstacles, when it came to curious children, were as easy to avoid as if they were maneuvering through a spider’s web—one only needed to be small enough to fly straight through.
So the three girls found their way into the bowels of nightmares, none the wiser of the threats lurking in the walls, peeking through cracks with salivating, toothy grins. Or if they were aware, none felt threatened enough to turn and retreat.
“Here.” Niya ran a bloody finger across her younger sister’s pale face, setting loose a spiral design around the baby’s plump cheeks. “Now you can speak.”
Larkyra, recently turned three, giggled.
“Speeeeak,” encouraged Niya. “Can you say that? Speeeeaaak.”
“If she could have, she would have,” said Arabessa, pressing her rouge palms across her ivory nightgown. She smiled at the new pattern along the bottom of her skirts. At seven, Arabessa was the oldest of the trio, her skin white porcelain against hair that spilled ink down her back.
“Oh, how pretty!” Niya held Larkyra’s pudgy little hand as they walked closer to Arabessa. “Do me next.”
Finding another ruby pool that seeped from under a locked steel door, Arabessa slapped her hands into the still liquid. The shadow of her reflection rippled away as she coated each finger.
“This color matches your hair,” Arabessa said as she drew red flowers onto Niya’s gown.
“Let’s paint Lark with it so she can match me too.”
So enthralled in their game, none of the girls noticed a particular creature who stood watching, unchained, in the shadows of the corridor. A creature with more deadly consequences at their fingertips than any of the beasts locked inside the cursed cells around them, yet the Thief King allowed them to roam free. Perhaps for moments such as these: to watch over those who could not yet watch out for themselves. Because though this being might have been created in darkness, their lives had always bridged one of light.
The little one is rather round, said the brother wordlessly to his sister. It was an easily accomplished feat, given that they were twins who shared one body, wrestling back and forth for space in one mind.
It is a baby. All babies are, replied the sister.
We were not.
That is because we were never a baby.
Well, if we had the chance to be, I can guarantee we would not have been round.
The twins had many names in many different places. But in Aadilor, they were known simply as Achak—ancient ones, the oldest beings this side of the Fade. Here they took on a single human form that shifted from brother to sister faster than crashing waves. Achak was taller than a normal mortal, with skin as black as the deepest part of the sea and violet eyes that spun with galaxies. Their body was beautiful, but like most pretty things in Aadilor, it often masked a fatal touch.
A delighted shriek brought Achak’s attention back to the sisters.
The girls stood in the center of a hall in the dungeon, where the path split four ways, leading to endless more complicated corridors. It was a dark, damp place with barely a torch to light the passageways. Which was why a young, joyous laugh in such surroundings might have been more disconcerting than tortured screams.
“How clever, Ara.” Niya bounced on her feet. “Lark looks much better painted in spots. What do you think?” She spoke to her younger sister, who sat at their feet, playing with an ash-white stick. “Do you like looking as fierce
as a cheetah?”
Bang. Bang. Bang. Larkyra hit the device on the stone floor, her white-blonde locks twinkling in the torchlight as she cooed in pleasure at the sound.
“That’s pretty,” said Arabessa, finishing up the last circle beside Larkyra’s ear. “Keep going, Lark. You can make the song of our painting ceremony.”
As if in response to her sister’s request, Larkyra continued smacking the stick, the rhythm echoing down the snaking corridors. Only Achak seemed to realize the instrument Larkyra held was in fact a rib bone.
These girls are most peculiar, thought the brother to his sister.
They are Johanna’s daughters. Peculiar is only the beginning of what they are.
A wave of sadness entered Achak’s chest as they thought of the girls’ mother, their dearest friend. But when one grew to be as old as them, such emotions held space and time less and less, and soon the melancholy was dashed away, a slip of a grain through a sandglass.
I like them, thought the brother.
As do I, agreed the sister.
Should we stop their ruckus before they wake the rest of the dungeon and a guardian comes?
I fear it is too late for that.
A putrid stench rushed through the hall, adding a thicker layer to the prison’s already-decaying aroma.
“That’s disgusting.” Arabessa waved her hand in front of her nose. “What dessert did you sneak after dinner, Niya?”
“That wasn’t me.” Niya tipped her chin back, offended. “I think Larkyra messed her diaper.”
The two girls looked down at their smiling little sister, who was still smacking the rib on the floor, before glancing back at one another.
“The last canary to sing gets the broken wing!” they shouted in unison.
“I said it first,” Niya was quick to announce. “You change her.”
“We said it at the same time.”
“If by ‘at the same time’ you mean I said it slightly quicker than—”
A roar vibrated down the cavern, knocking both sisters off-balance.
“What was that?” Niya turned in a circle, searching the multiple darkened halls.
“Whatever it was, it didn’t sound happy.” Arabessa crouched down to Larkyra, stilling her youngest sister’s hand. “Quiet, Lark. I think playtime is over.”
Larkyra turned wide blue eyes up to her sisters. Most children her age were already talking, but not since her scream at birth—which had changed all their lives—had she uttered more than a sound on a rare occasion. The girls had grown used to their younger sister’s silence, knowing that though she might not yet talk, she understood a great deal.
Another growl, followed by the slopping thud of a dozen heavy footfalls, echoed toward them; a beast broke through the shadows of a passageway to their left.
As one, the sisters gasped.
The monster was so large that its matted fur scratched along the rocky walls as it approached, its head forced to duck down. The best comparison was to a giant dirt-matted canine, except it had as many eyes as a spider and far more legs than a dog.
Said thick, hairy legs swung forward, ending with octopus-like tentacles. The combination made its movements seem frenzied, a swinging of hungry limbs, and with every step, the feelers suctioned to the corridor’s surface, cataloging the smells and flavors of what lay in its path. And if something did lie in the monster’s path, it was quickly removed with a squeezing pop before being thrown into razor-sharp teeth and swallowed.
A skylos lak was merely one of the prison’s many nefarious guardians, which bent knee to only one master—who was currently sitting on a throne in a different and faraway part of the palace.
Shall we intercede? asked the brother.
Achak now stood just a few paces from the girls, their body a cloud of smoke hovering between the stone wall and hallway.
Not yet, answered the sister.
The brother shifted uncomfortably, dominating their form for a moment. But there may not be a later to which that “yet” will apply, he pointed out.
There is always a later.
For us, perhaps, but for those like them—
Just then the beast seemed to sense the three little intruders, for it made a sound between a growl and a croon of delight as it picked up speed, its tentacles slapping forward in blurring motion.
“It’s hideous,” said Niya as Arabessa pulled Larkyra to her feet.
“Yes, and it also looks angry. Quick, take out the portal token.”
“I don’t think it will work down here,” said Niya, her eyes glued to the approaching beast.
“Sticks.” Arabessa turned in a semicircle. “This way!”
The sisters ran down a corridor, Achak following in the passing shadows as the occupants in the cells moaned and screamed, begging for their own quick deaths.
Though the children were racing for their lives, the skylos lak was a great many sizes larger and was quickly on their heels.
The sense of nearing fatality must have touched the girls, for a trail of orange began to seep from Niya’s hurried form, giving a metallic sting to the air.
Magic, thought Achak.
“Ara!” screamed Niya, chancing a look behind them as a drop of something wet from the beast’s tentacle hit her legs.
“I know! I know!” Arabessa pulled Larkyra forward. The child glanced back, getting a full view of what chased them, but did not cry or scream. She merely watched, with curious eyes, the monster that followed. “Sticks!” Arabessa cursed again, skidding to a halt before a large onyx wall—a dead end. “I thought this was the way we came.”
“It must have changed.” Niya swiveled. “What of our powers?”
“Yes, yes! Quickly!” shouted Arabessa as she began to bang on the walls, the sound echoing waves of purple magic that burst from her fists.
“I cannot get my flames to work!” growled Niya, flailing her hands in frantic circles as the beast tumbled closer.
There is still much they have to learn, thought the sister.
Indeed, replied the brother. But they need to be alive for such lessons. Would you say it is “yet” yet?
It is, said the sister.
But Achak had barely edged their feet forward when a high-pitched sound pierced the tunnel.
Larkyra had wiggled from behind her sisters to stand between them and the beast, sending a single world-shattering note from her mouth straight at the oncoming monster.
Both Niya and Arabessa crouched together, covering up their ears as honey-yellow tendrils of magic soared from Larkyra’s tiny lips, smacking against the guardian.
The skylos lak howled in agony, trying to back away, its sides ripping against the grating walls.
She was a sight to behold, such a tiny thing: innocent in a white gown, standing in this dark hall, forcing back the hulking monster. But Larkyra did not look at all doubtful in her abilities as her note kept streaming from her lips, higher in pitch until even the powerful Achak had to plug their ears as well.
The sound was simple but held a storybook of meaning. It was laced with despair, loss, and anger. Its essence was a sharp energy, a powerfully uncontained one. Achak could hardly imagine the pain one might feel if the sound were directed solely at them.
But they didn’t have to wonder for long, for in the next beat, the hall filled with sweat-dripping heat as the corridor shook and the beast roared its last; Larkyra’s hot yellow magic was cooking it from the inside out. The skylos lak exploded with a sickening splash, coating the walls and floor in black blood and guts. A severed tentacle landed with a plop in front of Niya and Arabessa. The girls jumped back, glancing from the limb to their baby sister.
Larkyra held her tiny hands in fists at her sides, her breath coming heavy and fast, as she stared at the space where the skylos lak had once been.
“Larkyra?” Arabessa cautiously stood. “That was—”
“Incredible!” Niya hopped over the tentacle to hug her sister. “Oh, I just knew you had magic i
n you. I kept telling Ara you must, didn’t I, Ara?”
“Are you hurt, Lark?” asked Arabessa, ignoring Niya.
“No,” came a melodious reply.
Arabessa and Niya both blinked.
“Did you just speak?” Niya twisted Larkyra to face her.
“Yes,” answered Larkyra.
“Oh!” Niya hugged her sister once more. “How wonderful!”
“Yes, wonderful . . . ,” said Arabessa, watching a string of intestines fall from the wall to the floor. “Why don’t we find our way home to celebrate?”
As they discussed which way might best lead them to their destination, Larkyra adding in one-word responses, to her sisters’ continuous delight, they once again failed to take note of the slight shift in energy along the far wall, where Achak had spun themselves invisible.
Children should not be here. A deep voice laden with a thousand others filled the ancient ones’ minds.
We know, my king.
Remove them. The Thief King’s order held no room for mistakes, especially when blackness began to block out Achak’s vision in a suffocating warning. The twins’ soul shivered.
Yes, my king.
He was merely a grain of an apparition from where he still sat on his throne, but Achak could sense the king’s energy shift to watch the three girls, holding longest on the youngest.
Her gift completes the trio, they offered.
The king’s power churned in response. Let us hope some good will come of it.
Then, as silently and quickly as his presence had filled Achak’s mind, he vanished, snapping the prison back into focus.
Achak took a deep breath.
Shall I? asked the brother.
Let me, said the sister, forcing herself to solidify their form as they finally stepped from the wall. Achak now stood barefoot in a deep-purple velvet gown, her head shaved, with delicate silver bracelets snaking up her arms.
“Who are you?” asked Niya, spotting Achak first.
“We are Achak, and we are here to take you home.”
“‘We’?” asked Arabessa.
“We,” replied Achak.
The brother quickly shifted forward, expanding his sister’s jewelry and dress to fit his muscular arms and revealing a thick beard.
All three girls blinked.
Song of the Forever Rains Page 1
