Heartfelt Sounds (23 page)

“No. Not if she plans to raise a god. No.” Aroha grunts from his desk. “Show me what you've brought.”

Naia—I'm so sorry.
I swallow. I approach him with the emblem in my hand. The heavy thing makes my wrist cry.
But I know you'll understand.

I slap the emblem to his desk and Aroha reaches out to grasp it. To hold it in both of his hands and stare into the angry red eyes of the curling dragon. “You've done well.” he tells me, placing the thing to his desk. “I'll see what the others can make of it.”

“And the girl in the cells?”

Aroha sighs. Steeples calloused fingers and stares at the wall. “The one that came with
her?”

“The songstress—Naia. She's the one who gave it to me—
willingly.”

He muses on the word, tapping his fingertips against themselves as he sits back and breathes. “You should go, Nyx. This frees you.” he decides. Nods his head towards the emblem. “The Vale is right through Csilla. I'll help you get passage—,”

“I can't.” I shake my head. “Now that she's here—I can't.” I swallow.
I could do this at least.
I hope.
I could do this one thing—make it up to her.
“If you're making me go—I'm taking her with me—,”

“And what do you owe this girl?” Aroha doesn't look at me, just stares at the wall. At his shadow in the candlelight. “Her and the Lady Diviner are together in this, Nyx. Your friend in the cells—she is the Lady Diviner's
catalyst.”

I shudder at the word. “I know who she is—and she'd
never
help that woman—,”

“Perhaps. But out of necessity?” Aroha shakes his head. “When it comes to protecting others, we are all apt to change who we are to do what is necessary. To do what we
must
to defend the ones we love.” He turns his head towards me and for a moment I meet his gaze. Earthy eyes search mine. There's no pity there, just sorrow. Like he's lost too much. “I am afraid that your friend must suffer from this fate.”

But who could she be protecting? Stuck in those cells—why would she help this witch murder millions for the lives of a few?

Why would she become their
catalyst?

“Maybe she doesn't know—,”

Aroha holds up a hand, palm flat and facing me. “You're letting your ideals loose again, Nyx. Your friend has already chosen her side, it is time you chose as well. Can't you smell it? Change is on the wind and it's fused with blood. Lord Emyr was never meant to die—he was in the prime of his life before she left. He spoke out against the Dawnlord just as the Vale did before it relented. He wanted to make the Wish into it's own territory—free of marshals and emperors, but
she
wanted something different. And the moment our Lady Diviner leaves to scrap with this Dawnlord in Felicity, Lord Emyr passes. The mantle falls to his son, who is not
ready
to don the title of 'Lord'. The people of the Wish hate him and our Lady Diviner only feeds this hate with her 'black birds'.”

Black birds.

We've heard so little about them—but the few facts we've gathered is enough to make everyone think twice about defying the witch.

They're immortal, people say. They feel no pain, possess no emotion.

All of the gods died long ago—yet they still sacrifice to one. They worship the dark god. The mother of the Void and overseer of the Underworld. A dead deity who somehow
speaks
to them.

They follow a creature simply called the Nightingale.

I shiver.
I need to leave this place—start fresh. Start new. But most of all—I need to forget. Forget what
she's
done to me and thousands of others.

I need to forget.

I move my gaze to the floor. I clench my jaw. “When can I leave?”

“Now, if you wish.”

I'm sorry, Naia—I'm
so
sorry.

Leaving again? Running away—again?

“I'm not an idealist.” I tell Aroha. He chuckles deeply. I cross my arms. “I'm a thief. A spy—but never—
never
have I been an idealist. The world has gone to shit, most of you say. But you know what I say?” I lean towards him—boring my eyes into his own. He looks on, neither inching away nor moving his gaze. His eyes are unfaltering. “I say, the world's always been
shit.
It just took a little bit of war and a little bit of change to make people like
you
realize that.” I turn on my heel, heading for the door. When I reach it, I pause.

“You're not leaving, then?”

I lower my head. Raise it, and move my gaze over my shoulder. “I'm taking her with me.”

The room bubbles with his laughter when I leave. When I slam the door behind me, he's still going. Chuckling like I've said something funny.

“Good luck.”
he snickers darkly.

…

I descend into the old remnants of the servant's quarters, rushing down decrepit stone steps with a torch in my hand and a horrible idea on my mind. When I make it to a wooden door I
know
should be locked—I press on it. Pull at the iron handle and it springs open.

I know—I know what I can do.

The nasty stink of mildew and unwashed bodies hits me like a punch to the gut when I'm at the final step. I spit, washing my mouth of it as I hold the torch far out in front of me. The whole place is dark—no windows were cut into the walls here. No candlelight fluttered—nothing. I bring the torchlight to my feet and as I step down. I move around a slick puddle of freshly spilt red that makes me gag. The stench here is terrifying—I was one of the few, one of the unlucky, who retained my vision and sense of smell. While the rest had gone blind because of the witch's experiments—felt urges for meat. Raw flesh. My stomach squeezes at the smell as I fan the torch out around me—letting the place get a bit of light.

I hear a collective hiss and stop at a writhing pile of collected bodies. Naked. Limbs missing—blood
everywhere.
Corpses, I correct myself. This was their meal.

“Listen up!”

I hear scratching upon the floor. There's a hissing and wind slaps me from my right side. A girl goes running past me and attempts to sniff at me. I hear her mouth crack as it hinges open and I fling the flame towards her. She's a hunched little thing dressed all in rags. Black eyes close immediately once they look at the flame. She backs away into the dark.

“The witch changed you! Changed
us!
And I'm telling you all that there's something we can do about it. I'm telling you—,”

There's a chuckle from behind me, marked in creeping shadows as I sense three bodies surround me.

“Daywalker?” the chuckler hisses. “We've told you before—these are
our
halls when the sun sets.”

Red hair shimmies down thin shoulders and it glitters in the torchlight as she approaches it. She looks somewhat human—a lot like me. Except,
she
couldn't stand the sun—and she hisses at the fire when she's too close. She hisses—but refuses to back away from it. “What if I told you this whole
fortress
could be yours? Lord Emyr is
dead.”

And the creatures gasp. They go silent, their leader brings her hands to her mouth. “And the woman who did this to us?”

“The witch.”
one of the creatures hisses.

“Curse the Lady Diviner!”

There's a snarl that's uttered from somewhere far off—a response to her name and title—
witch.

“Weakened.” I lie. “Without Lord Emyr she is
vulnerable.
There are so many of you—the fortress is in disarray without it's lord. Without Lord Emyr—,”

“But he has a son!” the leader hisses.

“Wind caller—the wind caller—,”
a voice screeches behind me.

“He'll kill us. He'll kill us all!”

I shake my head at that—hardening my eyes as I lie. “I have a secret hidden in the cellars—,”

“In the place where she changed us?”

I swallow at the hiss—at the sudden silence.

“Yes.”

The girls erupt into an angry storm of hisses—and I'm forced to wave my torch around like a wand—trying to calm them. Trying to make them concentrate on me.

“Listen!”
I scream. “Just
listen! Alright!
You could have this fortress—kill the witch and have this whole
city
for all I care, but we need to get my
secret.”

“And go to the cellars?” the leader shakes her head. “No, no, no—we cannot. We cannot go
there.”

I'm losing them. I'm losing them—shit.

But my eyes widen. I smile. “She is the last of us. Down in those cellars—another poor girl the
witch
has tested on. But, unlike us, she's got this special power. She can control people—call them to us like some sort of siren…imagine how many you'd be able to feed with
that
kind of power. No one would ever starve or go hungry, because the humans would just
come to us.
You wouldn't have to hide down here anymore and wait for some overseer to bring you your meal—it would just
come to you.”

The woman muses, scrunches up her face as she thinks. She crosses bony arms over her torso. “And the fortress—you're saying…we could take it?”

“Kill the witch!”

“Yes—take her!”

I nod. “And
so much more—
you could take the
Wish.”

Gray eyes stare into mine. She licks dry lips and uncrosses her arms only to curl her sharp fingers at her sides. “Then my girls are yours.” she murmurs. “Guide us to your secret.”

40. Naia

Akane grasps my hand tightly—always looking back. Constantly throwing her gaze over her shoulder to make sure I'm still there. To make sure I'm still following.

“…the…nightingale…” she wheezes as she tugs me through the dark and narrow corridor of stone. “…is not…your
friend.”
she pauses. Whips her head around and takes both of my hands in her's. I shrink back at the touch—but the wetness of her eyes stops me. They seem more lively—more focused and colorful than the eyes of someone who should be dead.

She seems afraid.

“Lore?” I ask—breaking the silence.

Her eyes seem to shiver. She nods her head. “She is not…your
friend.”
Akane takes in a sudden breath—she blinks. Her eyes rolling back before they latch back on to me. “
Lore…
you call her…
Lore—
she is
not—,”

Galloping footsteps rush above us, stomping out a rhythm that shakes me. That makes both of us tremble as it rushes above us. A quake reverberates through the ceiling, the violent tremor forcing a shower of pebbles and dust to fall upon us like a thick and heavy rain.

“I've known Lore my whole life.” I find myself saying, my gaze falling to my hands. “Lore has changed—I'll admit that.
Tremendously.
But—she isn't my friend?” I shake my head at that. “Akane—I have
hope.”

Her lips wrench into a painful smile as she squeezes my hands harder. “That is why…I will
always
love…you.”

I watch Akane turn her head back to the front, she's listening for the steps. Listening as they dissipate. “Do you…remember—I said…I said that I'd protect you…”

And we're walking now, feeling the walls out in the darkness. The door to my cell stays open, a ragged mouth of forgotten wood lit by bright moonlight. White pours through the open door behind me, slithers up the corridor and stops halfway. We are shrouded in darkness as we move forward. As Akane brings me towards the stairwell in an attempt to free me from this prison.

I nod—but cannot speak as I press my lips together.

But my mind has other ways of making me speak: “You killed Chima—Shanti. Nyx got away but you—,”

“I…apologize.” she sighs, wheezes and shambles towards a rounded archway in the darkness. “I…was afraid…but no longer.”

We find the steps as a high-pitched scream ripples through the air, the sound coming from upstairs. The scream melting into a moan as voices
roar
out their cry—a cry that rattles my bones and makes me clench my jaw.

“Tonight…is
their
night…” Akane murmurs as she tugs me. As she forces me to swallow my fear and follow her up the steps. “Calanthe studied…she worked and…
spoke
with
the…dead ones…—
,” Akane swivels her head around, meets my gaze and slightly lowers her head. “—she found
you
because
they
…needed you as…as
catalyst.”

“They needed me as a
tool.”
I snap. Akane slowly turns her head around. Nods.

“…Calanthe is her…
tool…
you are
more.”
Akane shakes her head then, her gaze falling to the stairs. “So…
much
more.”

These stairs curve and spiral up. It's like we're walking the outer edges of a tower as we listen to the sounds of people running. Of creatures panting. Something
screams
with high-pitched laughter and I feel both of us tense at the noise. Akane murmurs to herself as we continue up—it's always the same phrase. The same verse.
Tonight is their night. Tonight is their night. Tonight is their night.
Over and over as if she's broken. It brings her strength. With every short utterance, she's pulling me harder—moving faster up the stairs as the screams become more violent—more hungry. More desperate and primal as something snarls with a
screech
and goes running as a man howls prayers to the Fates. It sounds like a miniature battle up there—and that's where Akane's bringing me to as the sounds get louder. As a horrible stench assaults my nose and it smells of human waste. Of blood and panic stricken flesh that's been torn asunder.

Akane edges her way up with her back to the wall and I do the same as the carnage becomes a blood curdling
roar
in my ears that feels close. Heat storms through the adjacent hall—feet running, voices
screaming
. And I shiver—I freeze as I hear Nyx's voice uttered among the screams and feel the urge to sprint—to save her from whatever is happening. But as the stairway peters out and Akane stops with her back to the wall, I spot Nyx running—grinning. She's a flash—a grinning girl with blood crazed eyes—and she's gone. Akane tightens her grip on my wrist.