Heartfelt Sounds (25 page)
Her throat rises a bit when she swallows and I take her silence as agreement.
Ran presses a hand to my opposite shoulder as we shove our way through a crowd of sweating bodies and hawking merchants with their high-pitched, ear splitting, voices. “And you're sure you know where this teller is, girl?”
“Yeah.” I shout to be heard over the noise. “But there's no promise he'll see us this early in the morning. We might have to wait.”
“Yes,
good
. We wait and let them realize what we've
stolen.
Let's not even
go
to Csilla—let's just waste time
here.”
“Look.” I look over my shoulder, meet his eyes and roll my own. “There's somethin' up with her voice, Ran. If she can't sing—there's no telling what you'll meet out there on the road. And
you know
how—
well connected
our birdie friend is.”
He bobs his head to the right. Rolls his eyes and finally nods his head. “Alright,
alright
.
Maybe
you're right.”
“I
know
I'm right.” I snap, turning my gaze towards the front. “Here's hoping he'll see us.”
Dirt chokes the air—forces me to bring a hand to my face as my opposite hand squeezes Naia's hand tighter. Buildings push on us from all sides—sturdy shops and workplaces carved from stone or chipped from yew wood. Signs hang everywhere, and the crowd is forced to push them away as they force themselves down the narrow street. We follow, the crowd pushing and pulling as some flow north while others flow south—towards the larger roads at our back. I'm forced to throw myself up against a wooden wall when a man cloaked all in black parts the mass of moving bodies with a brown cane. He's going the opposite way of the crowd and almost stomps on Naia and I as we dance away. I know something's wrong when he looks back—head hidden by a low hood. I know something's wrong—but ignore it as the air grows heavy.
When the stench of horse funk flogs everyone, I make a sharp right into an alleyway and throw my gaze over my shoulder to make sure Ran's still following.
The alleyway is a breath of fresh air that reeks of refuse. Rotten fruit mixed with dung and kitchen debris. I ignore the smells—somewhat used to it—as I bring Naia and Ran down a corridor of wood and dust that squashes us against each other. When I find a burgundy door carved with the emblem of a dragon trapped in a circular cage, I tap twice on it.
Naia presses her palm to the symbol. Looks at me and raises her eyebrows.
I smile back.
“Go away—whatever you're looking for—it's
not
here!”
I frown. “We want our fortunes told!” I slam my fist against the door. “And we aren't
leaving
until you we get a
good one!”
“You
inauspicious
brat!” comes the old man's voice. It is an old and entitled roar. The door swings out from under my palms and Naia jumps back as Ran grasps my shoulder—ready to shove me out of harm's way. “I only know
one
girl with such inane demands—
only one!”
The voice comes from the inside and I poke my head in.
“Vivek?”
It's dark inside. Dark and cold and somehow
wet.
“The one and only.” he responds. “Come in. Lock the door. You weren't followed, were you?”
I usher Naia and Ran in. Slam the door behind them and suddenly the parlor is lit with blue light that turns ferocious. It sits upon a round wooden table with four tall chairs, their backs curved and intricate. I blink and I hear Naia gasp when the old man shows himself—standing behind the table with long cards centered in one hand—nothing in the other. He invites us to sit.
We stand.
“Do you see what I've brought for you, Vivek?”
Blind old eyes stare at nothing. His free hand goes to the long knots of his gray beard as his other hand disappears beneath the long silky sleeves of his black robe. He pauses. Moves his gaze towards my voice and opens his arms wide. “Life—
and
death,” he murmurs. “airs through that door.” A chair appears behind him and he sits. “I invite all of you to listen and have a seat.”
I feel Ran's eyes on me.
“He's blind.”
I answer with a smirk. I approach the table and take a seat to Vivek's right. Ran and Naia follow suit, the girl taking the seat closest to me.
Vivek slaps his cards to the table. Shuffles them and looks at each of us pointedly. “History repeats itself.” he whispers—speaking more to himself than to us. “Who can deny that?”
Ran snorts, leans back in his chair and crosses his legs.
I hush Ran—shushing him curtly.
Vivek nods, places seven cards before himself in a circle and places his eighth and final card at the circle's heart. “If he has a mouth, let him speak.”
And Vivek listens. Ran scoffs. “Just get on with your party trick.”
“It's not a trick!” I snap, bringing my hands to the table as Naia lowers her head. “We need this before we go—it'll protect us! And hopefully—,” I swallow. I bring my gaze to Naia before finding Ran's face once more. “get
this one
her voice back.”
“And who is this, then?” Vivek reaches an old and gnarled hand out towards Naia. He opens his palm, bids her to place her hand within his own and she does. “
Another
vessel. Another means for the gods to reach us.” he murmurs, placing his other hand upon Naia's. Nodding his head. “You are not the first to seek my wisdom, Voice of the East. Another came, bearing your same predicament. A woman by the name of
Shanti.”
Shanti?
My
Shanti?
I open my mouth—yet no sound comes. Still, I am mute—my vocal chords tangled and decrepit. I stare into the old man's murky eyes for a sign—for some sort of freedom from this ailment. But none comes as he squeezes my hand. As Ran lets out a loud sigh from my left and Nyx leans in towards the table from my right.
Nothing comes, and my throat tightens with sour frustration.
Vivek lets go of my hand, spreads his hands out over the face down cards he has planted before us. They fan out in a circle—a kind of rounded star with a gleaming card face down in its center. Wrinkled hands hover above the circle, following the trail of cards until his hand halts over a card directly across from me. The head of the circle. He slaps his palm to it as we watch, Nyx steadily leaning forward more and more. He flips the card over.
It reveals a woman in white, caressed by the clouds. Her hands cover her nakedness, her arms crossing over her torso in a strong X as she lowers her head and closes her eyes. These are tarot cards, I realize. The magical cards of a fortune teller. Though Vivek is blind, he looks to the card as if he can read it. His lips move silently, murmuring the alien letters drawn in thick cursive at the bottom of the long and colorful card.
“The Mother.” he tells us, not looking up. Speaking more to the card than to us.
“
Aeathann.”
Nyx breathes beside me. “
The Mother of All.”
Vivek nods, bringing the card up. “Do you know who this is?” and he shoves the card into my face.
I bite my lip and shake my head.
Beside me, Ran groans. “A dead goddess, old man. She was one of the first gods to go—
if
the gods even
existed.”
he quickly adds.
“Aeathann. A titan—a tier above godhood, child.” he places the card towards his right, sliding it sideways. “But you are correct on one thing:
she did not exist.”
Nyx stiffens beside me. “
Vivek!”
she hisses.
I watch the old fortune teller shrug. “This is one of the many mysterious of life. If Aeathann and the titans didn't exist—the beings who created us, who also went on to create the lesser gods and the Fates who weave us into and out of being—then what created the
Fates?
From whence do mortals come?”
“The gods!” Nyx blurts, her hands grabbing the wooden lip of the table. “Of course—the
gods! Saying titans didn't exist!”
she spits, murmuring now. Whispering to herself.
“Blasphemy.”
Vivek chuckles. I bring my hands into my lap and watch his hands hover again, moving over the cards in a slow and careful dance. His hands move towards my right, now. His palm slaps to the table once more to pick up the next card in the circle. He flips it.
A black volcano cloaked in fire stares back. Angry orange embers erupt from its coal colored mouth. It represents Mount Chikere, the monstrous volcano that brought our islands into being. It exists in the far east, past the Vale and the Wish. Its black funnel rises high on Sorrel's most eastern peak—this much—
this much
I knew. Everything else is somewhat new to me. The titans, the cataclysm—Yarne only touched lightly on these subjects. As if they didn't really matter.
“The Cataclysm.” Vivek intones. Moves the card up for us to see. “The living volcano which created Sorrel with lava—it's lifeblood. Can you deny this, child?”
And Ran knows when he's being spoken to. I watch him cross his arms. “That much I believe.”
“But Aeathann asked the god in the volcano to help her create our islands! It was
her
divine intervention that pushed Mount Chikere to erupt!” Nyx's passion brings a fiery red to her cheeks as she hisses at poor Vivek.
I truly only knew of the Fates—of how they weave the destinies of mortals in their great heavenly tapestries. Many of the girls at the Orthella weren't taught much else, including me. I knew that a long time ago the gods died out—but I believed that the Fates had taken their places. I didn't know much else. And for a long time—it didn't truly matter to me. What the gods did in the heavens didn't affect me—until now. Until people began calling me the Voice of the East.
Vivek stacks the card atop the Aeathann titan. “Without Aeathann to command it, Mount Chikere answered to another deity. A goddess who brought things into being with a breath. A word.” Out of the seven cards which encircled the eighth, two have been misplaced. A semicircle of five cards surrounds the final card in the center, and Vivek moves on. He touches a card adjacent to the card in the center. He touches it and quickly flips it over.
“But before we come to her, we must be aware of another goddess. An equally powerful deity.”
I gasp—my body tenses in my chair.
Shanti—
I swallow. I murmur—I try to speak.
Purple eyes stare out into nothingness. It's like she's been entrapped inside this long and colorful card as black hair tinged with silver falls along her shoulder and her breasts like flowing sands of crystal. A gown carrying the clouds—carrying the sun and the moon—crowds around her. Hiding her nakedness, as she brings a hand over her right shoulder and holds up a palm with the other. It is flat. A single needle looped with thread floats by it.
Shanti.
“The Weaver of Worlds.” Vivek murmurs, his glassy eyes lively as they flit to Nyx.
“No—no, you're wrong.
She
has no sort of place in all of this!” Nyx cries.
Ran snorts, leaning back into his chair. “
Ha—
guess your lady bishops are wrong, huh,
devout?”
And Nyx freezes near me—her hands trembling. I bring my hand to her shoulder as Ran snickers beside me. I avoid her eyes, feeling her anger course through me as I squeeze her shoulder.
I feel her relax.
But Nyx still seethes. “The Weaver created mortals
without
souls—and therefore, without a way out of this world once we died! She didn't care about mortals—all
she
cared about was populating emptiness! She is
worse
than the—,”
“She followed the orders of the Great One—the Celestial Body—,” and in one smooth movement, Vivek slides the Weaver card atop the other discarded deities and moves to the fourth card in his vanishing circle. He presents it to us.
This one I can read.
Amidst a world of darkness, floats a bodiless spirit that transcends space and time. The creator of all things—the alpha and omega of our whole world—of Myrine in its entirety. The Celestial body floats above a spherical world as a white amalgam of glittering pastels. It is formless. Beautiful.
“As first daughter of the Great One, it fell to the Weaver to populate Myrine with flesh and blood creatures. When she failed to anoint us with souls—with a way of retreating to the Underworld once our bodies fell to ruin—,” Vivek stacks the card among the rest. He strikes at the third card in the half-circle. Moving quickly now, his fingers trembling. I watch his eyes flit towards the door as he moves his jaw from side to side.
I feel my blood quicken as Ran slams the legs of his chair to the floor.
“Time is running out.”
Vivek warns us as he flips the next card over. “And the Weaver created a great dragon to stand watch over our world. She created Heaven's Gate as a way for dying mortals to pass on to the next life—but this dragon stood as judge and executioner over those that wanted a way into the underworld.”
But the card shows an ashen woman wearing the sharp black beak of a raven atop her head. Sable feathers cover her, as she moves a hand over her chest and splays sharp talons attached to white fingers.
“And so, we cried out for help. For immortality. As the Weaver's dragon did away with many he did not see as worthy enough to pass on to the underworld, we called to the carrion crows and the Raven answered our cries.”
“
Vivek.”
Nyx touches my hand as Vivek moves the Raven card away and moves to his second to last card in the circle. “Vivek—we've stayed long enough. We came to—,”
“I know why you came!” Vivek snaps. “I've told you before—another came searching for answers. The Weaver came seeking this old crow's knowledge, and now the Voice sits before me.”
Vivek flips the second to last card over.
I see a demon. A skeleton draped in the skin of a human, the leathery hide barely covering his bones. He carries a simple triangular sword carved from sharp obsidian. His eyes are dark holes. Sockets.
Ran scoots his chair backwards. “You've wasted our time
long enough.”
he hisses, shooting a glare towards Nyx. “With this talk of dead gods and
pointless
history…”
