CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A Beginning Song

Despite their concerns about being tracked, Clark and Kiran brought Leta back to their home. It was full dark by now, and Leta was demoralized and starving. She should be worried about meeting a new group of people, but she just couldn’t seem to drum up that much emotion.

The door to “The Hole,” as the two men referred to it, looked much the same as the other doors that sprung up throughout the Ashbarrens. It was not as formal and well-kept as Edith’s place, but it was immediately evident upon entering The Hole that this was clever camouflage. There was a small entryway with the usual dirt floors and broken furniture, but beyond that was a proper building. Leta marveled at the planning and engineering that must have gone into The Hole’s construction. Dug into the earth, below the great city above, was a maze of rooms complete with floors, walls, and lights.

“How long did this all take?” asked Leta.

“In some ways years, in others, centuries.” The voice was a new one and female. Leta looked around the room to find her. The room they were in was like an oversized kitchen. There were workstations and cooking appliances along one wall and scattered round tables throughout the center of the room. The woman sat alone at one of these tables. She was around Leta’s age but had the coloring of someone from Jain rather than The Basti. Her hair was full and dark, like a mane around her face. Her skin was much darker than Leta’s, and her eyes were brown instead of blue. She wore a utilitarian outfit: a khaki button-down shirt and matching trousers rolled up above riding boots. Her feet were kicked up on the table, but she slammed them down at a stern look from Clark.

“Oops.” She smiled, not looking particularly apologetic. “Reina,” said the woman, with a nod towards Leta.

“Leta.”

At this, Reina stood and walked over until she was close enough to smell ash, soap, and an unfamiliar spice.

“I see you’ve resurrected a dead girl. How did you manage that?” She spoke to Kiran and Clark but didn’t take her eyes off Leta.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Kiran.

Reina tore her eyes from Leta to face Kiran. “You haven’t heard? The crown put out word today. Apparently, after days of search-and-rescue, they are very sorry to announce that both the former Queen Bonnelle and the former Princess Leta were found dead in the rubble left by the unfortunate, and wholely accidental, collapse of the Divine Sjlunroca.”

Leta’s eyes widened.

Reina continued, “Yeah, I didn’t believe it when I heard it, either. But to be fair, I couldn’t believe the fuckers blew up the Sjlunroca in the first place.”

“Excepting your infinite wisdom, of course, why didn’t you believe it?” asked Clark.

“You two were gone too long. And after they got to Pock, I could tell. The air lost some of its bite. I figured I’d also feel it if Leta were killed. Congratulations on surviving, by the way.”

“Thank you?” Leta couldn’t have said what she expected to find here, but it wasn’t a sarcastic know-it-all with a black sense of humor.

“Does she know anything?”

“Feel free to address me directly,” said Leta, biting off a nastier response. She wouldn’t be civil much longer if she didn’t get something to eat.

Reina rolled her eyes. “Do you know anything?”

“I’ve learned a thing or two in my twenty-three years.” Or was she twenty-two? It was getting hard to keep track.

Kiran intervened before things between the two women could escalate. “We’ve told her a little about what’s going on with the Rot, but we haven’t done any ability work yet. Baby steps.”

“Well, Westin should be returning today. He’ll want to meet her,” said Reina.

“I didn’t realize it had gotten so close to the end of the month. That’s good that he’ll be back,” said Kiran. He turned to Leta, “He’s one of our Cattoleiri scholars. He went up to the Jain, the site of the Descension, to collect some data. Very knowledgeable about ability and song.”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Reina, “I promised Rodin I’d help her cook dinner tonight.”

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“I hope you all like slow roast.” Leta turned to the sound of the voice. Coming through the door leading into the kitchen was the tallest woman she’d ever seen. She even had to duck a bit to get through the doorway. On top of being exceptionally tall, she was whisper-thin and moved like a praying mantis.

“Why hello, Rodin,” said Clark.

Kiran ran over to her and hugged her—he only came up to her chin despite being tall himself.

“Welcome back,” she said in a low, melodious voice. “I’m glad to see you are well. And furthermore, that you have brought us a new friend.” She nodded to Leta.

Leta smiled back, glad to have someone that wasn’t Reina in the room. This woman seemed infinitely more pleasant. She was older than Leta, maybe in her early fifth decade. Leta could feel every bone in her hand as they shook. Rodin patted the back of Leta’s hand and asked the group if they wanted something to drink while awaiting dinner. Everyone heartily agreed and sat around one of the round tables while Rodin set out a cold pitcher of water and rolls with butter. Leta could have cried tears of relief.

After they had each eaten enough rolls to thoroughly ruin their appetite for dinner (in Rodin’s opinion, anyway), the conversation finally began. Something about breaking bread together can solidify recent strangers as a group, and Leta could feel their futures intertwining. This was not something she would be able to just walk away from. When the end came, it would be painful.

The food was cooking on the stove, and the room was filling with the warm smell of hearty meat and vegetables. Rodin said nothing would be ready to be plated for another hour.

Reina swept her thick hair behind her. “Has she tried anything yet?” Her habit of speaking of Leta right in front of her was wearing on Leta’s nerves.

“Not yet,” said Clark. We thought it best not to draw any further attention. As far as I know, she hasn’t even seen any song performed.” He looked to Leta for confirmation; she shrugged.

“We could break out the bowl?” said Rodin. “Though, I believe Alden has it.”

“That’s a great idea!” said Kiran. “I’ll go find him.” He ran out of the room without any explanation. He returned several minutes later with another man in tow.

Alden was average in every way. He had an average build and was of average height. His hair was somewhere between brown and black, and his features looked like the sum total of all Umarans. He held himself stiffly and held an oversized brass object in his hands, which he informed Leta was called a “saxophone.” Kiran carried a wide, shallow bowl that he placed in the middle of their table. Alden sat down next to Leta.

“Hello. I’m Alden.” His tone was stiff, and something was missing in his gaze; it was like his eye contact was a bit off.

“Leta, pleasure.” She reached out her hand as if to shake his, but he just nodded at it.

Up close, the bowl, a “Divining Bowl,” as the others called it, was of indeterminate color. At some times, it appeared gold and other silver. Kiran produced another strange object, but this one was wooden with strings on it.

“Are we set?” asked Rodin.

After everyone nodded in the affirmative, she stood and turned out the lights, plunging them into darkness. She heard Kiran clear his throat and begin to play the stringed instrument in his hands. It had a full sound, not twangy or tinny. Leta could feel the music echo within her, and as he played, wisps of green and purple smoke began to rise from the bowl.

It was the opening to a song, and Kiran repeated the notes several times while the others got their bearings and were attuned to the rhythm. Then, he began to sing.

Kiran was a mild-mannered man, from what Leta could tell so far, but his voice pierced the darkness like a struck torch. He began to sing of new things and who he was from the very bottom of his lungs. She’d never heard someone sing so openly and was amazed at how the frankness of the sound moved her.

Rising from the bowl, the smoke gained substance, and something like a stage took shape. It was white and looked almost real enough to touch. The purple and green smoke still swirled around it and under it. After Kiran had sung a few lines, the others joined in to sing the chorus,

“I am waiting. Should I be waiting?

I am willing. Should I be willing?

I am hopeful. Should I be hopeful?

And all around me, is all around me.”

As they spun, a smoke dancer of the palest pink climbed out of the bowl and onto the table to follow the music, spinning and twisting impossibly on top of it. Rodin kept the rhythm with a series of beats on the table and sang in a deep and resonant voice with Clark beneath Kiran and Reina’s higher ones, seeming to hold their voices aloft.

Alden made no sound but held his saxophone to his chest and rocked softly back and forth to the music.

Leta became lost in the dancer’s movements and the music that had buried itself within her. Then, one dancer was joined by another—a lover, she thought. They completed each other so perfectly that she couldn’t imagine how she could have stood alone before. As the song continued, their voices and instruments ceased being individual things and turned into one sound, one feeling.

This was song. This was the thing Leta had been missing her entire life. During those minutes watching the dancers and sitting in the music, she felt whole for the first time in a long time—maybe the first time ever. She dreaded the moment the music would stop. Surely, the hole inside her would re-emerge and pull her apart.

The end did come, but it did not come quickly. First, Rodin slowed, stopped drumming, and withdrew her voice. The second dancer took his cue, bowed to his partner, and disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Then Clark and Reina quieted their singing, and the first dancer climbed off the table and dove into the bowl below. Finally, Kiran’s voice faded out, repeating over and over, “I am hopeful, I am light,” until only his instrument played. He strummed it another few seconds, but soon that was gone, too.

Rodin had walked over and turned the lights on again. The five people looked at Leta expectantly. She realized, with embarrassment, that she was weeping. Tears streamed from her face, freely trailing down her neck and pooling in the hollow at her throat.

“Thank you,” she said to the five expectant faces. She hastily wiped the tears away and cleared her throat. “That was very beautiful.”

And it was.

When Leta lay in bed later that night, her thoughts muddied by song and wine, she would feel all choices run away from her. She would stay, she would work to come into her abilities. She would join Kiran, fight the Rot, risk her life, anything just to perform song herself—for the chance to feel complete.