27

FAMILIAR VOICE

🙜

Ky awoke to the sound of her own wheezing. Hot pain rattled through her ribs, prickling her lungs and drying her mouth and nose.

Muffled songs of the living and the dead jabbered through the walls—whispers, taunts, accursed memories. She wished she could unravel each of them one by one, but for all her fevered fancies she knew full well it was beyond her skills to do so, or even to understand the brilliance of those minds which had woven them.

Many bent spells, most bent toward one end, and that end was to destroy.

Man magic.

It was different from her siren song: the clans of the deep breathed barbarity and chaos, but the enchantments that lingered here had been manifested with intricate patterns and a sense of order which baffled Ky.

This dark hovel she had found was even smaller than her forgotten friend’s nest beside the river. A few carved pieces of wood, probably meant for sitting on, were scattered about, and a large silvery panel in which she could see her own face cringing back at her.

She had turned it against the wall.

Her beauty had always brought her pleasure, but now she wished never to see her face again, smeared red with his blood. No doubt he had crawled away somewhere to die—

“Forget.”

Ky reached down to touch the sole of her left foot, and hissed. Still oozing. She had plucked out most of the shards, but they would not heal, no matter how she cajoled them. Something in the stagnant air, perhaps.

Snail-skin, the Book had called her.

It had not even the courtesy of choosing an ill-fitting taunt.

Yes.

She would always be a snail-skin.

Slimy, slinking, slithering thing. Lives only to feed and be satisfied… until it grows hungry once more. And then it will feed again. Always hungry. Forever feeding.

With a whispering sigh, she removed her fingers from her throbbing feet and resolved to think no more. It was finished. The Book had chased him away, and then she had—

Always hungry! screamed her own echo. Forever feeding!

Ky pressed shaking fingers to her temples, sticky with gore and sweat.

Soon she would wither into a desiccated husk, and join him among the mountain's dead; but to whichever realm of light and laughter his mortal soul had flown, hers could never follow. No, her essence would sink down, down, into the stone below, where she would dwell in darkness for the rest of eternity.

It was not the withering itself which terrified her, but the thought of the nothingness. Of perfect isolation. Yet whoever had dwelt in this nest before the mountain fell to ruin had been resigned—perhaps even pleased—to be alone.

The single bed and blanket in the corner, the handful of dusty shells, the ragged animal skin on the floor, and a few sparse necessities were a testament to simple living. The skin, she knew, was from a fluffy goat; a thousand years of dust-collecting had not entirely removed its scent. A slab of oak hung above the modest alcoves, human glyphs etched into it's polished surface.

She recognized a few from the door to the mountain and tried to string them together in her head, but soon abandoned that as a futile endeavor. There was no escape from her relentless remorse.

She could forget the mist on the water and the sun on her face.

She could forget the taste of fresh fish and the smell of salt.

But she could not forget him.

His ghost—a fleeting shadow in the corner—a half-spoken echo in the air—would not leave her in peace. Nor would the unforgiving stains which lingered in patches on her hands and arms. His song echoed distantly in the halls outside, like the warmth of a drifting memory, though she knew it could not be; knew what she had done in the darkness.

Ky closed her eyes and took a shallow breath.

She would remember his name just once more.

She would remember, to forget.

I will forget you, Ember.

THUMP.

Ky twitched and bared her fangs.

The thumping returned to rattle the door, louder and more insistent. There was no other entrance through which she might make her escape; nor could she run fast or far on wounded feet. Ember’s song was louder now, and she could hear the rapid rhythm of his pounding heart.

A muffled voice reached her ears.

"I know you're in there."

Pale golden light seeped through the crack at the bottom of the door, casting aside the darkness where it touched. One stray flicker fell over Ky's leg and she yanked it away, disturbed by the sudden light.

"Hullo?" asked the voice, less sure of itself than before.

The wooden latch creaked slightly, and lifted.

Ky shivered.

More tricks?

"It's Ember. I'm coming in. I'm not here to hurt you. You don't have to be afraid of me." The statements were quick, a rehearsed speech. Then, more boldly, "And I'm not afraid of you, either."

The door opened.

First a hand, somewhat scuffed around the knuckles, and then an arm as the door swung inward. Then his head came into view—Ember—as curly and bright-eyed as ever.

But there was something wrong with his face.

It was taught, and whitish, and the skin looked bruised and strangely thin—as if held together by strength of will alone. His eyes found her in the shadows.

They didn't meet her gaze, but rather traveled briefly across her face and glanced over the rest of the little room. The pale light of the stone—which he had cleverly attached to his belt with a bit of fraying rope—cast its rays across his whole figure. Then he stepped in firmly and shut the door with another thump.

The silence itself condemned her.

His shirt was stained a pinkish color and hung over his frame in miserable tatters instead of sheltering it. But he was not dead, and he was not a trick.

He smelled like Ember.

It would have to be a very wily spell indeed to impersonate his scent—any scent—well enough to fool Kyveli.

He stooped slightly, and now she could see that he had many things to weigh him down. Three leather straps spanned his chest, one of them belonging to a sword hilt that stuck up over his right shoulder, and other items had been strapped onto what seemed to be a bulky pack.

The pack hung over the sword, rendering it useless, but he gripped his familiar fishing spear in his right hand.

She opened her mouth to speak, but only managed a faint whistling breath; her lips cracked, and she swallowed loudly.

"Well, then," he said, as if they had only parted a moment ago, and he knelt before her on the sheepskin. He removed the glowing stone from his belt, set it between them on the floor, and then began to shed the rest of the items he had carted there. First he propped his fishing spear against the wall behind him—foolish, foolish—and then he removed the leather pack from his shoulders.

Odds and ends he had accumulated dangled from the straps and pockets, and among them Ky spotted two bundles of dried herbs and a flask. Her throat squeezed, a sticky noise of longing which made Ember glance up very suddenly; his hand shook on the leather strap.

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"Here—" He grabbed the flask, offering it to her somewhat unsteadily. "Be careful where you drink water here. I found some—"

Ky snatched it, bashing the cork off with the palm of her hand and tipping her chin back, a stream of water flooding out of the flask and filling her mouth.

A burst of cool wetness made her tremble and she let out a helpless cry of joy and relief at the touch of it—all her dreams had been of water, all her hopes and wishes, water, and here the man had returned from the dead and brought water with him! If she were in the grip of magic, caught in another dream, a song-trap, then here she would gladly stay. It could do as it wished with her, for it knew the two things she wanted above all else and had played her well.

Gasping, Ky shook the flask, flinging the remaining droplets over her bare face, arms, and legs and rubbing the coveted moisture into her dry, cracked skin.

"—I found some that was poisoned," Ember finished, looking rather bashful.

Ky froze, water dripping off the end of her nose.

Poisoned.

Revenge… that is why he comes… revenge…

"It's alright! This is from the kitchens," he explained quickly.

Kitchens?

"The poisoned water came out of a well and this was dripping down from… above, someplace. I don't know how to tell if it's safe, but I drank some and I haven't died.” He scoffed faintly. “Yet."

As the empty flask fell from her hands, Ember reached into one of the leather pockets for something small and glistening.

"Here," he offered again, holding it out to her.

Ky glowered, suspicion lingering.

"What is it?" she whispered, finally finding her voice.

Blinking, Ember set it on the ground in front of her. "It will make your pain go away."

The crystal appeared innocuous, but Ky would not be duped a second time.

"You know this?" she murmured, poking it with a claw. “You are certain?”

"Nothing is for certain here, is it?" He gave a short laugh that didn't sound mirthful in the least. "I mean, I'm not even certain—you're you."

He feinted forward slightly, and then withdrew.

They eyed one another for several moments before his gaze wandered back to the door.

The silence allowed her to hear a faint song…

Pleasing, gentle, soft.

The crystal.

Ky touched it—

Solace.

Gasping great draughts of air, she clutched it to her face, her chest, and then pressed her hands—brimming with swirling dust the color of the sea on a sunlit morning—to the pads of her feet. The searing anguish lifted from her body, as if a great fog had rolled away, and she could now see clearly what she had only thought she was seeing before.

She blinked several times as Ember's face came into view again, beyond the melting pain. He sat cross-legged on the goatskin, watching her intensely.

He did not smile.

Ky dropped her gaze and focused her attention on the glowing stone instead, plucking at the net which bound it and stroking her thumbs across the ridged surface. Its familiar song brought memories of hillsides, daylight, and dark-wooded trees.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Even as he spoke the words, Ky tightened her lips, clutching that pearl of knowledge unto herself. Clamped, unyielding. That pearl was not for Ember. It was a secret she herself did not fully understand; known only to one other amongst her kin—and his skull had been crushed, his body torn, and his entrails eaten by fishes long ago.

She indulged in a comforting hum…

A weary sigh shivered the air in front of her face as Ember settled into a comfortable position. She curled her lip in annoyance: he was prepared to wait her out.

"It wasn't just to open the door in the mountain, was it?"

The sleepy stone blinked.

She held it up to her nose, watching the misty glow twirl within.

"I think I deserve to know. Don't you?"

Ky blew on its golden surface, a fresh light warming their little nest.

"You can tell me anything, Ky. I'm not going to leave, I promise."

After some thought, she let the stone come to rest in her lap, cradling it in both hands. The light flickered for a moment, the dance slowing. "We should not be here. I wish we are going away from this place."

Darker, dimmer.

She closed her hands over it, unsettled.

"I found something that might help with that." Something clinked softly, and when Ky looked up she was surprised to see Ember digging through the pack. He pulled out a few mushy-looking fruits and rolled one across the floor to her. Ky snatched it and devoured it with hardly a second thought.

While she was still wiping the flavorful juice from her face, he threw something else at her.

It hit the ground with a dull rustle.

A little scroll.

Ky jerked against the wall.

"Why do you bring this here?" she accused stiffly.

"It—"

"Take it away!"

"Look here," Ember muttered impatiently. "This is our way out."

She eyed the scroll warily as he rolled it open on the floor, but there was no echo, no enchantment. A map rested beneath his dirty fingers, slightly tattered but legible.

He tapped the upper corner of the page and announced, "Another gate."

Ky leaned forward, interested in spite of herself. "I cannot read these runes."

"Have you seen a map before?" he inquired earnestly.

She offered him a sidelong stare.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ember shuffled around so that he was sitting almost next to her, and turned the map so that it was facing them properly. "Best I can make out… this is the gate where we came in. Vale Gate, I think it’s called. We're here—in Southall, I think—where all these little rooms are—so we’d have to travel from here to here."

He pointed as he spoke.

"The Sisters have been abandoned for hundreds of years, so I'm sure a few of these paths are impassable, but… if we keep to the middle of the map, we should find that other gate sooner or later. Right?"

Ky quietly drank in the ink with her eyes, committing every line and unfamiliar rune to memory.

"Ember," she said, allowing herself to enjoy the melody of that name—a melody which she had so recently resolved to forget. "That gate is far from us."

"So we simply start walking and see how long it takes!" He flattened his hand over the map, squinting down at it. "What other choice do we have? Unless you want to try getting out the way we came in, but your—she—it—that voice I heard in the woods, I mean—” He glanced up and down again, unusually bashful. “Well, wh-whatever that was—it might find us if we go back."

She winced, digging her claws into her knees. Yes. Here, at least, we are safe from the dangers outside this mountain.

"And if we are bespelled again? How then shall we fare?"

"Well," Ember said, more darkly than she had expected, "I don’t know. Why don't you start by telling me why you came here to begin with?"

And Ky knew at once that she had not heard the last of this.

"That has no meaning now," she coughed, looking away. "Think, Ember: we will meet more tricky magic, yes? What then?"

Ember tried to catch her gaze again. When it became clear that she would not answer him, he swore under his breath and scratched his head, fingers lost in a tangle of blonde curls.

"We won't be so easily taken in again. If we are…"

"We will tear each other apart."

He inhaled, worry flitting across his face, and reached back slightly with one hand.

Then he clenched his fist.

"I was going to say that if we are, it won't be in the same way. We must be more careful about what we touch or look at."

He waited for a response, and the lull gave Ky time to notice that the jabbering voices had softened. Rather than being drawn to Ember, they seemed repelled, or at the very least stifled by his presence. She was suddenly tempted to reach out and touch him, to assure herself of his materiality…

"There are too many songs here, Ember,” she whispered instead, chewing one of her claws anxiously. “Too many spells, and I cannot untangle them."

"I know," said Ember unexpectedly. "Will you come with me?"

Ky flinched.

The kindest thing to do would be to walk away, for his own sake.

But I am not kind, she sighed. I am very selfish.

She had her Ember again.

Her hunger was sated, for now.

Perhaps—

"If, after all of this, you still think of me as friend… then I can find no reasoning with which to disagree."

Ember stood, showing his teeth in a slivered grin. He retrieved his fishing spear and hefted it once, his other hand drifting upward to the gleaming hilt of the sword—though not in such a way as to draw it from its shell. A fingertip brushed the silver-bound pommel, and she wondered fleetingly if its touch reassured him.

His blue eyes glimmered. "You won't regret this."

But you will.

Ky smiled, the corners of her mouth pulling thin, and held out her hand.

Ember grasped it firmly.