Heartfelt Sounds (11 page)
“Let's get to it, then.” Hue calls as he slowly slides the door open, peeks his head out before beckoning me to come along.
I leave the rags there. The boys watch—their eyes wide. I hear someone curse as someone else holds back a laugh—a chuckle.
Hue and I enter a corridor of white walls, deep cherrywood panels bordering them as tall candelabras throw long shadows onto the dark wood. Hue takes a right, walking briskly, and I struggle to keep up with his long strides as he almost leaves me in the darkness of the corridor when he takes a sharp left—disappearing as the corridor stretches on and on before me. Straight into darkness. And—for a moment, the dim darkness taunts me. The shadows play like hawkish ghouls, and I'm seeing people. I'm seeing puppets play in their shadow world as I continue walking straight.
A hand
reaches
from the darkness from my left—grabs hold of my shoulder and I almost
shriek.
But Hue shushes me with a sharp
hiss
of air. “It's this way, okay?” he tells me, mismatched eyes slightly worried. “Don't get lost—if you need me to slow down just say so.”
“I'm sorry.” The words come with tears and I feel frustrated as my throat threatens to close.
“Badger's a bitch.” Hue shrugs, attempts a smile but fails. “Damn, you cry like a girl, Kokoros. Don't let the others see you do that.”
And I bite my tongue. I swallow my tears. I think to be like Akane and the willows—strong, yet ever-changing. But my throat continues to constrict—to tighten. “I never wanted to be here.” I tell him.
“Did any of us?” and he turns on his heel, continues down this new corridor at a slower pace but stays in front of me as I dry my tears. As he stops at an oval shaped archway and calmly knocks upon an oaken door. Presses his ear to it. Slides it open and it creaks.
“Damn—we forgot cleaning stuff. Stay here, alright? I'll be right back—,” and he turns away from the door—but stops. Turns back to me. “Go in there in case Badger comes back. He'll think you're cleaning and might leave you alone.”
I nod. I move to the door and press it open as he walks away—faster now. Almost at a jog.
I open it—light pours from two high windows down a creamy wall. The latrine room is large, with two rows of holes stamped into slightly raised wooden bars sitting opposite each other. The light barely reaches the raised bars as shadows dance in the darkness at the light the opened door creates.
When I close the door—a shadow moves. A voice
squeaks.
“You're—no one's supposed to be in here!” the voice struggles to deepen as I hear fabric shuffle and breeches rise up on a small silhouette. “I'll—I'll tell the nightwatchman! My friend's on tonight—and the latrines are supposed to be
free—”
the silhouette approaches me and I freeze.
“I-I'm the duty!” I whisper back as it approaches. “The nightwatchman picked me—so I've got to clean when my friend comes back!”
The figure freezes in the darkness. Shifts from his left foot to the other. “Do you…know me?”
I cock my head at the question. At the voice. “I don't know.” I answer truthfully. “I can't see you.”
A hear a neck
pop
as the man cracks his neck on one side. “Go into the moonlight.”
“Right here—just drop it—
right here!”
I hear Hue's voice and the figure stiffens.
“Who are you?”
“Kokoros.” I snap. “
You
go into the moonlight!”
“No—no you're not.
I know you.”
I back away. Press my back upon the door as I think—as footsteps approach from farther down the hallway and Hue comes closer.
“I don't know you!”
“Truly…?”
Silence. The figure pauses. I hear a sharp intake of breath as Hue's footsteps come closer—ever closer.
“In this bitter world, who can declare the difference between love and hate?”
The softly sung whisper makes me gasp. I plant my hands against the door as the voice floods into my ears. One of neutral affinity. One that could be molded and shaped to flow along to the songs of any singer—no matter her pitch. No matter her tone. A voice that bowed for others. A voice that strengthened and consoled.
“Hana.”
I hiss.
“Is that you?”
“Yes—yes, is that you—Naia?”
I hear Hue's footsteps pause as Hana approaches me.
Shadowed hands open and I'm speechless as she comes closer. As I catch the glint of her eyes in the darkness.
“Thank the Fates—I thought—”
When Hue's at the door, I find myself walking towards her.
“Whose out there?” Hana's voice changes. Deepens. Becomes more authoritative as I freeze.
“S-scullion—,”
“Peace, please.”
“One of my guys is in there, sir. Could he—,”
“Pea—”
But I'm flying at her—racing. Wanting her embrace—wanting to slap her across the face like Lore should have done that night Hana took the last piece of clothing I owned.
She threw you to the streets. Forced this misfortune upon you.
Hana…Althea..
If I had never left the Orthella…
If I had stayed there—stayed
home
—maybe…Akane…Chima—maybe they wouldn't all be…
I crash into her and she goes tumbling to the floor. Skids to a stop as I crawl towards her—my head a mess. An ache splitting my forehead in two as the brand upon my arm burns. Fury races through my blood—it's a howl that's deafening as it screams through my ears. My fingers feel numb—they twitch as I bring myself over her. As I straddle her from the waist and she slaps me. Cracks me hard across the face.
“What are you doing?”
My eyes burn.
“Do you know what I've suffered?”
I shake my head erratically as her eyes attempt to stare into mine—worried.
They become transfixed. Blank brown eyes blink—slowly. Too slow as my face
aches. “What? Will you beat me, Naia? For things I cannot control? Will you punish me? Bring down righteous wrath—am
I
to blame for what's befallen you? The world? Am I to blame because humanity is broken?”
I blink once. Twice. I curl my fingers around her throat—loosely. My grip limp and weak.
“You could have
saved me—,”
And light explodes onto my back as the door behind me is shoved open.
“Kokoros—Oboro?! Oh gods—,” Rushed footsteps—
And I bring my hands from her throat—grinding my teeth, my jaw aching from the slap as pain erupts behind my eyes. As the headache worsens and worsens—and red becomes my vision. Bright scarlet—I curl my fist.
“Get off—,”
Hue's voice as my first rises—soars towards her and she's just staring at it. Daring me to ram it into her eyeball and in moments, I'm seeing the flash of her hand. A small black purse—her worried face. Her sad, dejected, face as she ushers me off. Never wanting to do it. Never wanting to see me go.
My fist stops. Halfway. Almost there.
I could do it.
But will this free you? Will hurting her help you?
Or will it only hurt you further, Naia?
Is she truly to blame?
I
—I blink, my breathing unsteady.
Who truly killed them?
Who took them—Akane, Chima, Nyx and Shanti?
Who stole your sisters from you?
And I breathe—slow and controlled.
The Dawnlord.
He has stolen my sisters from me.
A man I have not even seen—only heard of. The man who invaded Felicity—forced thousands to join his ranks.
He
stole my sisters—my livelihood—my home.
Not this girl.
“Y-you helped me.” I murmur as hands curl around my shoulders. “You helped me—and I ought to be gracious for it.” Hue yanks at me and I shrug his fingers away. I heft myself up and offer Hana my hand. She takes it, grunting as she pushes herself to standing.
Hana glares behind me, staring squarely at Hue.
“Sir,” Hue comes to stand near me, a whole head taller than I am. “I'd like to apologize for my friend's poor manners tonight. But, please understand—he's a new conscript from Felicity, and—,”
“I deserved it.” Hana snaps, poking at the short collar of her tunic as she brushes dust from herself. “Be more mindful of your charges, scullion. The latrines are closed to the night shifts in the early morning hours. Did you forget that?”
Hue swallows as I am taken aback by her sudden change of tone—her voice reeks of regalia. Crawls with it.
“I apologize, sir, I—,”
“No matter.” she breathes, shoving past us as she finds the door. Throws a harrowing gaze over her shoulder. Leaves.
Hue rounds on me. “Do you know who that was?”
I open my mouth—but Hue's gone red in the face. Furious as he towers over me, peering down at me with a glare that's gone murderous. “That man
alone
has the power to make you a cook—a server—a minstrel or a watchman. And just as easily as he can push you up the chain of command—he can force you down. He can make you
lower
than a scullion—a
drudge—
even! He could force you up the road—put you in infantry, write you up as a criminal and put you in the stocks! Do you understand this, Kokoros? You've not only put yourself on the line here—but you've left me out to dry too! You've put us
all
in horrible danger!”
Hue shakes his head—sighs. “But, of course, it doesn't matter. Does it? Seems like nothing matters to you Felicity-types.” he brings a hand to his head and pulls it down his face. Mismatched eyes meet mine and I take a step back as he snarls. “You can clean this mess—
alone
.” When he leaves, it's like a draft has come in. A chill that makes me shiver when his footsteps disappear down the hall.
And I'm shrouded in darkness when the silence comes—alone with my thoughts. With what I've done.
…
I clean till the sun rises. Till Badger barges in and gives me a half-hearted thumbs up.
I'm not used to sleeping the day away, to waking up to waxing skies faded black. But when I spend the entire night scrubbing away a mess that always replaces itself come the following evening—I'm exhausted come the morning. When the sun rises and the kitchen's finally spotless, I hit my mat with thoughts of home—thoughts of sleep—and I black out; only for the routine to repeat itself again and again, night after night.
My palms are raw when an entire week has passed like this, my sleeping pattern destroyed. The moon becomes my new sun, as sweeping rays of golden light brings grogginess—while white light does the exact opposite. Wakes me up. Tells me it's time to work—to clean. And it's always the same mess—pink slime, overturned pestles, black rocks spilling from soot filled ovens again and again. Night after night. Nothing changes, and when three weeks pass by—fading into my memory, forgotten, like so many things I've tried to force away—I begin to wonder if I died all those weeks ago. When Akane tried to take me. I begin to wonder if the Fates have played a cruel joke on me—damning me to the four circles of the underworld—sticking me into a realm of monotony. Of the same thing done night after night.
But then, I remember the march here—the biting winds. The deaths. I remember the peach faced boy we threw into the river. I remember the
screams.
And I see Hana's face—shrouded in darkness, her eyes glinting in dim shadow as she attempts to hug me.
I choked her—I almost knocked her out.
And Hue hadn't forgiven me for it. Ignored me since the incident.
And Hana—she hasn't contacted me. Or punished me for what I almost did.
I swallow at the memory, my saliva sour. Tainted with guilt. It tastes
awful.
I'm cleaning the dark walls of a cauldron when I pause. My hand stuck to it's inky insides, my eyes staring at utter blackness.
“Ay, Kokoros?”
I blink. Place my left hand around the lip of the cauldron and hoist myself up.
Dusty hair looks back at me—Ken. He blinks eyes that could have been drawn with the careful curve of a brush. “You alright in there?” when I push myself from the side of the cauldron, I fall to the floor. Catch myself with a hand and force myself to stand.
As Hue lets out that high-pitched
screech
of a whistle and we freeze. We turn ourselves towards the door and stand at attention. I drop the rag in my right hand to the floor.
Boots
clack
and the door is whipped open. Hue reports—it's Badger, it's
always
Badger—and the yellow-eyed man leaves with a huff and a sigh.
Not badgering anyone tonight—
Hue's joke. It's always the same—and no one laughs. Ken and I exchange a glance and we both roll our eyes. I imagine everyone's doing it—even Hue. Who always seems
determined
to light the room up with jokes. With words and listless stories from home. But tonight, even Hue's staying quiet—getting the hint. Falling into this hole of depressing monotony we've all fallen into.
Things change when I can't fall asleep. One day, when the room's snoring under the noontime sun, I sit up. Hug my knees to my chest and listen. I let the sun pour over me. I feel the chill from the windows behind me—and I rock. Forward and back. Forward and back.
What have I done to deserve this?
I bite my lip. I think of Akane. Her welcome—her letting me stay at her home. That shelter. I think of Shanti—holding my broken zither, telling me my voice
did things
for her.
It always did things for people—for others.
But what could my songs do for me?
I look around the room. The scullions sleep—some tossing, some prostrate on their mats like corpses while others curl up like children.
What could my songs do for me?
I think of Yarne's song—
Stay,Fate—
she titled it. I think of the verses Lore and I pulled from it for our ceremony. I think of Hana's voice murmuring it's first line—carrying it on a breath of her wind.
Truly, it was our song. The Orthella's song. It brought us together and made us who we are.
It was the song I chose for my ceremony—for my coming out as a songstress all those months ago.
