Chapter Seventeen
Trick finally breaks the stunned silence.
“Well, that’s it. We’re doomed.”
He winks at me, and I laugh. We’ve mutually bemoaned our lack of any form of musical talent in the past, usually at festivals.
He says his singing is so off-pitch his Guild forbade him even to whistle in the Guildhall, and I told him what the Sister said about me.
We decided never to subject each other to our horrible voices and laughed about it, but I thought at the time that I wasn’t the only one feeling a little wistful.
My gaze meets Kaelen’s, but his eyes are hooded and his face closed. He must be regretting that kiss even more than I do, for reasons of his own.
“This isn’t a laughing matter,” Andras says icily, which sets me off again. I can’t help it, and maybe there’s a little hysteria in the mix, because Chitai suddenly walks over and smacks my back, which startles me to silence.
“Good for hiccups, too,” the warrior says, grinning at me. “Or to bring someone back from being strangled nearly to death.”
“Sure,” I say faintly, taking a subtle step away from her.
“There’s also a safe path through by using magic,” Kaelen says, watching Elianna. “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned it yet.”
She makes a dismissive gesture. “Rumors and folk tales, just like Soli’s ridiculous idea of singing the draugrs to sleep. And even if it were true, I’m too depleted from healing that ferryman to perform any major magic.”
This feels … wrong. Her Guild tattoos are so extensive she must be an extremely powerful sorcerer.
And she’s Air Touched, believed to be among the strongest in magic.
Why would that healing still affect her so much?
I try to remember if I’ve read anything on the subject, but Bern clears his throat, distracting me.
“Begging your pardon, Lady Elianna, but why is it ridiculous?” Bern’s earnest face looks troubled. “They’re restless spirits. I know my nan sang lullabies to the babies when they were restless, and it worked.”
“Yes. Babies. Human babies. Not restless spirits of the dead.” She rolls her eyes and refills her mug with tea from the steaming kettle.
“Spirits of the restless dead,” I mutter. “Not sure if it’s a distinction that makes a difference, but it’s always ‘spirits of the restless dead’ in the books.”
“Doesn’t seem to make much difference if it’s the spirits or the dead who’re restless,” Trick says, shrugging.
Everybody bombards me with questions.
“What song?”
“When do you sing it?”
“What does the song do?”
“Can you sing it?”
I answer them in order: “I don’t know what song.
The only lyrics I ever saw were in a bard’s warning to avoid the Barrows.
I don’t know when to sing it—when they attack, I assume.
The song is supposed to soothe them back into their graves.
And no, I definitely can’t be the one to sing it. I am no singer.”
“I’m sure—” Kaelen begins, but I cut him off.
“I’ve been told my voice is so bad, it would probably make the spirits of the restless dead even more restless,” I admit. “But we desperately need to retrieve the key, if we can even find it. Can you sing?”
He shakes his head. “What about you, Andras? The Sylvan are known for their musical ability, right?”
Andras shrugs. “I can sing if necessary. Is there anything else, Soli? Anything you forgot you forgot?”
It’s an odd question, but I see what he’s getting at. I try to turn around my thinking to come at the problem from the other side … and remember one more piece of wisdom, from Journeys through Myth in Altarra, either the second or third volume.
“Maybe? It’s not a big secret, though. Just a warning to never, ever enter the Barrows at night.”
“Easy enough, riverlanders,” Chitai announces, tossing a dagger into the air, catching it, and making it vanish. “We won’t go in at night. Why don’t you all get some sleep? We’ll leave at dawn so we can cross at midday, long before the first shadows of dusk.”
Neville stands. “Still on for first watch, Chitai?”
She grins at him. “Yes. Perhaps we can sing for each other and flip a coin to see who must serenade the draugrs.”
He chuckles. “Won’t be me, I’m afraid. I couldn’t carry a tune if I had a silk-lined basket.”
Chitai scans the rest of us. “You’re the one, then, Andras. Are there any Sylvan songs to soothe babies or the dead? The only songs I know are a battle song of the Dawn and a drinking song about a lusty woman, six bottles of wine, and—”
“I know that one, too,” Neville breaks in, his ruddy face flushing. “Maybe we won’t sing it in mixed company. Let’s go patrol.”
She and the sergeant ride off to check the trail behind us, and Bern, Trick, and Andras mount up to patrol the path we’ll travel in the morning.
I clean up from dinner, expecting Elianna and Kaelen to help, but when I look up, they’re standing by the wagon, engaged in what seems to be an intense conversation.
I shrug and do the work myself. Each job in a tribe is important, as Chitai says.
Besides, I wouldn’t mind a bit of quiet time to contemplate what happened with the wolves.
I pull the locket out from beneath my shirt, hesitant as always to touch it, then oddly reassured once I do.
This is my job, as I keep reminding myself when I feel less-than for not being able to patrol or start a fire easily—although I can start one now. It just takes a while.
This is my job. And it’s the most important thing I can do for this tribe, our company, and for the larger tribe, so to speak, of Pyrrh and all of Altarra.
I tuck the locket back under my shirt and set to work, trying not to watch Kaelen and Elianna.
If they want to tell me what they’re discussing, they will.
I hope.
“Soli!” Elianna hurries back to the fire, carrying a leather satchel. “I have something for you.”
I stow the last plate in its basket and stand, stretching.
“More poisons?”
“It’s right here,” she says distractedly, rummaging through papers in her bag. “Ah. Here we are. I’m so sorry I didn’t think to give you this before. There’s just been so much … Well. No excuse. Here.”
She hands me an oilcloth-covered tube tied with leather laces. I take it, tilting my head in silent question.
“It’s your certificate of indenture. I know we discussed this already, but we left the castle in such haste, and I haven’t thought to hand these over before now. But I’ve had them all this time, and now … well, now they’re yours.”
The fire swirls wildly, reds and oranges and even flickering blues sparkling before my eyes, and then I realize it’s not the fire swirling, it’s my knees weakening, my mind whirling.
I don’t know what to do, so I clutch the tube to my chest, holding it directly over the amulet that started this journey.
I try to speak, to thank her, to say something—anything—but my voice is trapped in my throat, and I can’t catch my breath. My eyes are burning like the fire. I hear gasping noises and realize I’m the one making them, but then suddenly he’s here, standing in front of me and pulling me close.
Kaelen.
Kaelen is holding me, and I can breathe again.
“Soli, you’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe. You’re worrying me,” he murmurs. Elianna says something, I don’t know what, then walks off toward the wagon. Kaelen and I are alone next to the fire, and I’m in his arms, and I’m free.
I’m free.
I pull away from him and rip open the tube’s laces, but then oh-so-carefully remove the sheet of heavy parchment inside and kneel next to the fire to read every word.
Every single word.
By order of King Pallan, Lord High Ruler of Pyrrh, be it Proclaimed:
The Person Solitude Grace, colloquially known as Soli Graymind, is here… released from her term of indenture and shall be a free citizen of Pyrrh from now until the end of her days. This grant is bestowed upon her for her great service to the kingdom and to all of Altarra.
Signed,
Pallan Rex
“He did it,” I breathe, finally able to speak. I feel the tears streaming down my face and hold the parchment away from any danger of a drop falling on it. “He really did it. I’m free, Kaelen. I’m finally free.”
He leans down to take my hand and helps me stand. “You should have been free always,” he says grimly, but I shake my head.
“No. Don’t spoil this moment with should-haves. For now, I can only focus on this wonderful gift.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve.
Kaelen grins, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and hands it to me. “Please. Allow me.”
I laugh and wipe my eyes and nose with the cloth, only afterward seeing the K monogram embroidered on one corner. “I’m afraid I got your fancy handkerchief dirty.”
He brushes my hair back from my face. “We’ll have to get one for you with an S, Solitude Grace. It’s a beautiful name.”
My face feels like it might crack in two from the huge smile I can’t control. “Thank you. My mother said the rare solitude she managed was her favorite thing in the world until she had me, and then I became
her moment of grace. So, Solitude—Soli—Grace.”
“Beautiful,” he repeats, his violet eyes intent on my face. “Almost as beautiful as you.”
I duck my head and focus on carefully re-rolling the parchment and placing it inside the waterproof tube.
My other prized possessions—the wooden snow leopard and the few precious pages from Captain Wynona Wavedancer and the Battle of the Krakens—fit in there, too, and I pad the top with my small leather pouch of parchment scraps.
Then I tuck the tube into the deep pocket on my pants leg, wanting it close so I can pull the proclamation out and read it over and over and over.
I’m free. Forever. From now until the end of my days.
My stomach twists at an unpleasant thought trying to slither its way to the forefront of my mind: The end of my days could come at any time.
It could have been today, if the wolves had been hungrier.
It could be tomorrow, when we enter the Barrows to find the first key.