It was a warm evening, and from the pinkish tinge piercing the fog, Mika imagined the sun had just begun to dip toward the horizon. But down on the lowest mid-tier level of Crestfall Branch, the mists were thick enough to shield her from its sting. Their own illumination was entirely painless now. Even soothing.
“Just one more,” said Mika, wiping the sweat from her brow with a sleeve. “Surely, there’s time for at least one more.”
“No,” said Retga. “We’ve still got Stonesong work to do.”
Mika twisted her lips, glancing at the hunters and guardians of the thrall as they tended to their wounds and shredded clothing, and considered. They’d done most of the hard work, it was true…and a few had suffered through the blight in the process, however briefly. Even if attempting to teach them the Stonesong was futile, it would give them a chance to recuperate…and it’d prove her willingness to at least try to train them.
“Very well,” said Mika, sliding off of Ixo’s back. She supposed here was as good a place as any. It was a mostly open space, soft with moss and new growth. Water pooled in depressions in the spongey ground, tinged lavender and blush by clouds of tiny blossom jellies. Their fourth and final quarry of the day still lingered nearby. Now that she’d cured it, the huge turtle spewed glimmering spores from its shell instead of toxic bile.
Mushrooms of at least five different varieties sprang from the dusted ground—all of them edible, or so Mika supposed. The orcs ate them like candy, and so did the stag beast she’d come to think of as Mr. Legs. She’d been both fascinated and relieved to find that, although she’d forged a connection with all of the blight beasts she’d cured, none of them were so clingy as the first. She didn’t think she could manage that many large animals following her around.
As she climbed up to perch on a round-topped stone, the thrall’s many eyes turned to her.
“Who wants to try ?” she called, gesturing to Ixos. “We can practice basic levitation first.” Humming a command, she cut off the construct’s Link—something she didn’t often do. She was so used to the thread of connection between them that she really only noticed it in its absence.
Some of the orcs were watching her, others seemingly eyeing the rock she was standing on. Still more murmured amongst themselves. Perhaps a lecture to begin with, then.
“This construct is Linked to me,” she said. “Which means it can continue responding to previous commands even if I stop vocalizing, so long as I will it. It can also sense my wants and needs to some degree, allowing for easier control. But constructs and people can only have one Link, and the Linked construct’s power may not exceed their own, lest the construct overwhelm them.”
The orcs had quieted, all of them listening with rapt attention—a few occasionally bending to pick another mushroom.
“But as none of you are Linked to my construct nor can be, you will have to use more complex songs to control it, and you will have to Sing continuously.”
Or at least, you would, if you could…but you can’t.
“Nevertheless, the Song for levitation is fairly basic. It is also, traditionally, the first Song we teach our children to test whether or not they’ve any ability. So. Who would like to try?”
This time, she had a volunteer. Uthur stepped forward.
Of course. The possibility must mean more to him than any of them. But he’d been strange toward her since the previous night, and quiet—his jaw hard-set every time he looked at her. And after the pathetic display she’d put on for them all, she couldn’t be sure she blamed him.
In some hidden-away part of herself she’d hoped he’d soften to her after curing more blight beasts. She’d been disappointed.
“V-very good,” said Mika. “Now, without focusing on the construct for the moment, just try to match me as closely as you can.”
She Sang, and he echoed the melody back to her, low notes rising, falling slightly, and rising again in near-perfect pitch. Three times he matched her, and by the third he was Singing it as though he’d known the tune from the cradle. A barb of pity jabbed at her heart, the sourness of shame welling up again to meet it.
If only it could actually work for him.
Catching herself in such a sinful thought, Mika drove her sharpest tooth into her lip.
“Now, focus your attention into the construct. Not on it, but in it. And as you Sing again, imagine the notes piercing through, embedding themselves in the crystal.”
Uthur took a deep breath, and again he Sang. But of course, Ixos remained—inert and unmoving—upon the ground. Mika was about to say something to console the orc. But as her lips came open a cry of surprise flew from them instead, for the ground had begun to shake beneath her feet. No, not the ground. It was the stone on which she stood, shuddering and vibrating and then lifting beneath her. She fell forward, bracing herself on hands and knees, and saw that beneath the layers of moss, mushrooms, and tiny wildflowers, crystal etchings had glowed to life.
It was a construct. In the Rend. Leagues and leagues from the entrance of any Ulvari cavern she knew of.
Without skipping a beat, Uthur circled back to the Song’s beginning, and the construct hovered in place just above the ground. All the others howled in approval. And then he stopped, and the thing dropped heavily down again. Mika’s chin knocked hard against the stone on impact, pain jolting through her jaw as the onlookers roared on.
But Uthur just stood there, and Mika saw echoed in his expression a fraction of her own shock. Just beneath it, though, she thought she caught a glimmer of triumph. He watched her expectantly, awaiting her reaction or further instruction. But she could find no words.
This…this can’t be.
Only the Ulvari could Stonesing. It was their goddess-given blessing, theirs and only theirs. And it had never mattered that they couldn’t Greensing or Stormsing, because they and only they had the greatest Song of all. A gift in their blood.
In our blood.
She looked up at the orcs of the thrall, the orcs who had worn her blood and given her theirs. If I changed as a result of that…is it so strange to think they may have been changed by me as well? At least if that were the case, there would be some truth to her teachings. But if not…if the orcs had had the ability all along, only hidden away and lost…what more might not be true?
Does…does this mean I might be able to learn different Songs now, too?
“Princess Mikanasha?” Uthur took a step forward, and his expression—though still guarded—betrayed some concern. “Are you alright?”
“I…” what can I say? “What is this construct doing here? How do you have this? Did you…did your people take it from mine?”
Uthur’s eyes went wide. “What? No. Of course not.”
“Then how?”
“I—you truly don’t know?”
“I know this construct is Ulvari made,” said Mika. “I know…I know there was a time when our people were at war. Long ago.”
Uthur’s expression grew troubled. Retga scowled.
“History lesson later,” she barked. “Training now. You!” She jabbed a claw at Durg. “You try next.”
His meaty hands twisting together fretfully, Durg shuffled forward. For a few heartbeats, Mika just stared, mind somehow racing and blank all at once.
Pull it together, said that Other Voice, the voice that had earned her trust. And just do what you need to do.
Sliding off the construct and stepping away from it, she saw the features which had been hidden before…tucked beneath the overgrown shell. There was a beaked head with big gemstone eyes, and thick, trunk-like legs with stone scaling. Another turtle.
Pushing absolutely everything else to the back of her mind, Mika resumed her lessons. In the process, and to her astonishment, she found that Durg was a Stonesinger, too. And Threl. And a hunter named Ishrid. And an especially enormous guardian whom the others all called Mouse, though Mika was reasonably sure that wasn’t his real name.
When all of her students had given it their best go, Retga declared them done for the day. The overall mood as they made their way home was jubilant, and Mika wished desperately that she could share in it. But none of the orcs seemed to pay her any mind, and even Threl was keeping to himself. Pushing Ixos to greater speeds as they crossed an arching bridge, Mika snatched at his sleeve.
“Hey Threl,” she said in a hush, drawing in close so he could hear her. “Is Uthur, er…is everyone angry with me?”
The elf glanced at her.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “They all saw how you freaked out when you got the markings. At first everyone thought maybe you were hurt, but then you weren’t. It was kinda funny for a bit after that, but…” he shrugged, trailing off. “I guess that wore off after a while.”
Mika’s ears flattened against her hair. “But I…I just…”
“And did you even ever thank His Majesty?” Threl cut across her. “Do you understand what he sacrificed for you?”
“I—“ Mika sputtered, fell briefly back before pushing Ixos to catch up again. “You all kidnapped me! I don’t have to be grateful for anything. And he didn’t do it just for me. He needs me. He—”
“I thought we saved you,” said Threl. When she said nothing, he went on, voice hushed. “If we don’t win the Rite of Gold, that’s it for him.” His eyes flashed forward to the prince in question, up at the head of their party with Retga. “Whoever the next kings are, they’ll fear him, and they’ll do something about it.”
All of the defenses and justifications that had risen to the back of her throat evaporated, unsaid, as the elf’s words sank in.
Mika let Threl outpace her after that, falling back to hover beside Mr. Legs as he ambled along at the back of the group.
I…I probably should thank him, she resolved at last. Even if he didn’t do it purely for me. It would be good diplomacy, in any case.
But what if they really did take those constructs from my people?
Nearing the last leg of their journey back, they reentered a particularly dark stretch of forest which the orcs called the Inkmire. Mika hadn’t had to ask why. The trees there were the strangest she’d ever seen, with densely tangled roots that rose above the ground to form great basins about their trunks. And within the basins, a black liquid pooled…with here and there brittle bones jutting up from the void-like ooze. Just as disturbingly, the trees seemed to breathe—their rubbery trunks speckled with hundreds of tiny perforations which issued a rhythmic, airy hum.
But it was the scent which was most distracting, that drew her out of herself, made her forget almost everything. Just as it had her first time through it. She passed one tree’s pool and scented deep-fried dropfish, her absolute favorite. Another smelled of shadowwort in full bloom, and another of sun-on-stone and leather.
“Mmm,” moaned Durg just ahead of her on the elevated walkway as they passed the same pool. “Grilled amagara.”
“I’m getting more of a toasted koanut sort of smell,” said Ishgrid.
Mika’s ears pricked as something moved in the branches overhead. It sounded big. She was far behind the others, now, and no one else seemed to have heard it. But before she could give it much thought, her attention was snatched away by the overpowering aroma of the next pool. She couldn’t decide what it smelled like, exactly. Only that it reminded her of perfectly ripe fruit, of opal mushrooms and candied caterpillars. Her mouth begin to water. But as she was edging toward the railing to get a better whiff, there was another rustling sound from overhead.
A body dropped from above, the wooden planks of the walkway shrieking and splintering beneath its weight. Mika tumbled back, heart beating at her ribcage as the thing bore down on her, blocking her off from the rest of the thrall. Vomit surged up her throat as her mind struggled to make sense of what she saw. It was no natural beast, that was certain. Its skin was hairless, mottled gray and black. It had a thrashing boney tail and numerous long, spindly limbs…each one ending in a five-fingered hand. The most distinctive and monstrous thing about it, though, was what it lacked—most notably, a head.
Mr. Legs brandished his antlers and Sang at the thing as she bolted behind him for protection. Tree branches came down to beat at the beast. Orcin voices joined the first. Vines shot down to twist about its limbs and blades of wind gathered to slash it through. Humming to Ixos, Mika shot at the beast—but the sizzling holes left in its flesh seemed not to bother it at all. The thing was indifferent to pain. It wrenched itself sideways in the grip of the vines, snapping some of them and avoiding the blades of wind.
The front end of its body terminated in an open ribcage. The bones flared wide, stretching its hairless skin and displaying the empty cradle of its insides, lined in glistening red flesh.
And then it screamed. A sound like thousands of shards of glass driving through her eardrums and directly into her brain. A sound that left her deafened save for the piercing, grating ringing noise that came in its wake. The light earplugs she wore—that they all wore—muffled it, but not enough.
The flailing vines and branches faltered, and many fell away. Fresh blades of wind flickered and slowed. No one could hear properly, and their Songs suffered for it. The orcs all had their blasting weapons, which Mika had since learned were called rifles, but with her in harm’s way, they weren’t willing to use them.
Past Mr. Legs and over the thrashing tail of the monster, Mika caught the briefest glimpse of Retga, her jaws dropping wide in a roar as she drew her short swords and charged. But now that it was freed, the thing was whip-fast. It surged forward, shoving Mr. Legs violently sideways, coming straight and specifically for Mika. She screamed—though she couldn’t hear it—whirling Ixos around to rush in the opposite direction. But a shadow overtook her, and flesh-filmed bones came down all around her, and then everything was dark.
