A Song for the Silent by Storm Lomax

A Song for the Silent by Storm Lomax

The greatest cleric ever known once cured the ills of every living thing within twenty miles, and none were sick for a full year thereafter.

The greatest necromancer ever known brought back a corpse for a full week, before the magic seeped from the flesh and the body turned cold once more.

No talent or skill can reclaim a soul from death­­­—it can only steal the briefest of borrowed breaths.

Valena knows this. Fifty years she has lived with the burden of her magic. The larger the form, the more her magic can take root, and the more time she can give them before it drains away again. She knows she cannot bring the flowers around her home back to life for longer than a few minutes, their forms spindly and barely taller than her ankles. She knows if they die, they die.

Still, she kneels before her bluebells and wills them to life. After days of tender care, of fighting off predatory plants crawling across the forest floor, of sheltering them from the trample of passing deer, still they wilt beneath her touch. Valena grits her teeth and hisses through the gaps.

Hands squeezed tight, she pours magic into her fists and brings them down hard against the soil. A shriek of frustration rips from her chest.

Helpless.

Slam.

Useless.

Slam. Slam.

Valena lives alone in the Whispering Wood, far from anyone else, and her anguish goes unheard. Instead, she’s taunted by an explosion of temporary life—dead flowers bloom around her, trampled grass reaches towards the tree canopy, and dried moss crawls across stone. Beautiful and futile. Her forehead touches the ground, tears gathering.

From the grass, something warm and soft shoots out and grabs her.

“By my bones!” Valena yelps.

Scrambling back, she stares at the body in the flowers.

No, not a body.

A person. Alive.

He stares back at Valena, eyes wide. He cannot be older than ten winters, his face round and smeared with soil. For a long moment, neither of them say anything. The trees creak, leaves whispering against each other. There is no wind.

And then irritation curdles in Valena’s stomach.

“What are you doing on my land?” she hisses.

She pushes herself up to one knee with effort, bones protesting. The boy stands before she can even gather her breath.

“Me?” he says with a level of indignation only a child can manage. “What did you do?”

His accent is strange, his voice light as a breeze and almost musical. Valena finally gets to her feet, and eyes the ring of flowers around her. The magic fading, they wilt with death.

“What I do is none of your business,” she sniffs. “You are the trespasser here, child.”

“I am not a trespasser,” he barks back. “I was dead.”

Oh.

Valena falls silent. Dread trickles down her spine like gutter water. She has tended to these flowers each day for years and found no body hidden amongst them. He can only have been here for a day, at most.

“You’re a necromancer, aren’t you?” the boy continues before Valena can gather her thoughts. “Why did you do this? Why did you bring me back?”

Valena swallows down the bitter guilt welling in her throat.

“I didn’t know you were there,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “We’re in the Whisper Wood, there is no one around for leagues. You should not be here.”

“Well, I am,” he fires back, crossing his arms in a way Valena suspects is distinctly mocking. “So what happens now?”

“You leave,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Go back wherever you came from. I live here alone on purpose, and I do not suffer visitors.”

“I do not suffer grumpy spinsters,” he says, and Valena wonders if there might be a cliff to throw him off. “But you’re the one who brought me back. At least tell me how to get to the nearest town.”

“You have a fine way of asking for favours,” Valena sneers. “What if this grumpy spinster does not wish to give you directions?”

The boy frowns at her and says, “You would leave me to die?”

“You will die either way,” Valena tells him simply, and a crinkle forms between his brows.

When he doesn’t retort, Valena sucks in a breath, wincing. He does not know the way of this magic. He does not know what awaits him.

“All magic has its limits, child, and mine is no different,” she says. Memories threaten to push themselves from their graves, but Valena stomps them back down again. “Whatever or whoever I bring back, does not stay back.”

The boy blinks, once, slowly. His arms fall to his sides. Valena looks askance, fixing her gaze on the dying flowers beneath her feet instead.

“The magic will fade, and you will return to death,” she says finally, refusing to allow guilt to creep into her voice.

This was an accident. The boy should not have been there. No, this was no fault of Valena’s, she is sure. But she cannot meet his eye.

The boy inhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

“When?” he asks. Without the fire in his voice, he sounds smaller.

“A week, at most,” Valena says truthfully.

Birdsong fills the air again. When Valena finally looks up, the boy has sunk to the ground, knees drawn up to his chest. She shakes her head.

“Well…” she says, and isn’t quite sure how to finish.

After several moments of brittle silence, when the boy does not move, she turns away. An apology sits at the back of her throat, but it’s fruitless. The ending is the same. Death cannot be overcome, and Valena knows this better than most.

With a tut and a sigh, she walks away.

She doesn’t make it more than ten steps before the muted thud of feet against grass follows her sprinting. She barely has time to turn before the boy screams, “Crone!” and leaps onto her back.

Valena screeches and nearly topples over under the force of him. He curls his wiry legs around her, heels digging into the soft of her stomach.

“You little shit!” she shrieks as he grabs at her hair.

“How dare you!” he roars back.

He thumps his fist against her head, rattling her teeth. Valena reaches around to claw at him and tries to regain her footing.

“Get off me!” She spins, hoping to throw him off, but he holds fast.

“You’re evil!”

The boy yanks her ear, stealing the last of her balance, and she tumbles to the side. They land hard, but the soft moss cushions the worst of their fall. Valena attempts to roll off to the side, but the boy grabs at her hair again, and a sharp pain laces across her scalp. She swats at him, spitting a flurry of curses, but he refuses to relent.

“You’re evil!” he repeats. “Evil!”

“I KNOW!” Valena screams so hard, her throat burns with the force of it. Birds scatter from the tree canopy.

The boy pauses, but his hand stays fisted in her hair. All the fury seeps from Valena, like a wilted flower, and she collapses back against the moss. They both lay there, chests heaving. Grass tickles the side of Valena’s neck and cheeks, but she has no energy to brush it away.

“I know what I am,” she chokes out. “And I know what I have done to you is a terrible thing. But I have done far worse to others, and I have nothing else I can give you. I have nothing.”

Valena sucks in a shuddering breath. The boy doesn’t respond but releases his grip on her hair.

“Leave,” she says. “Live out what borrowed time you have somewhere else.”

“No.”

His voice is small but even, and the resolve in it surprises Valena. She pushes herself up to sitting, bones aching, and looks at him. His dark eyes stare up at the canopy, red-ringed but clear as night.

“It was not a request,” she tells him with a frown. “You cannot stay here.”

“I know,” he says. “I want to go home.”

His voice shakes, but he clears his throat and continues on.

“If I’m to die in a week, I want to be with my parents.” He turns his gaze onto Valena. “You will take me there.”

Valena closes her eyes briefly, passing a hand over her forehead.

“Where is your home?” she asks.

“Halecrown.”

Valena heaves a sigh from the bottom of her soul. She knows of Halecrown, knows what it used to be.

“Child, that is two towns over. It will take us a week to reach it.”

“I know,” he says, and then quieter, “We should make it in time.”

Valena gets to her feet in careful stages. Her joints click and pop, and she groans with each movement. She has been tired for most of her life, but lately, she has felt something more than that. A deeper weariness, one that penetrates her bones. A week’s arduous travel will only mean discomfort and pain. Nothing good will come from this for her. She ought to say no, and send the boy on his way.

“My mother used to say,” he says from the ground, still lying on his back. “If you’ve left ashes behind, then planting something in its place is the least you could do.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She forces it back down, but something solidifies in her mind.

“A wise woman,” she says, before filling her lungs with air. “Tell me your name then, child.”

“Sable,” he says, climbing to his feet.

Valena eyes his scruff of black hair.

“Apt,” she replies.

“Is your name a secret?” he says. “Can I call you ‘crone’?”

“You can, but you will see stars for your trouble,” Valena says simply. “I’m Valena. You may call me that and nothing else.”

“I can call you anything I like. I’m dying.”

“And you will see your grave a lot quicker if you don’t hold your tongue,” Valena barks.

Sable squints at her mockingly.

“I already saw my grave, and then you stole me from it,” he says.

“Stole—!” Valena splutters.

“What do they call corpse thieves?”

Valena clenches her teeth, fixes a mirthless smile on her face.

“What do they call insolent little rats?” She taps a finger off her lips, pretending to think. “Oh, that’s right. They call them Sable.”

Sable glowers at her. Before she can flash him a smug smirk in response, he kicks her shin and she yelps instead.

“Oh, you brat.”

Valena grabs him by the scruff of his neck before he can flee. He turns and, quick as a whip, sinks his teeth into the flesh of her hand. Valena shrieks.

“Are you absolutely feral, child?”

Sable growls in response, snapping his teeth at her.

“Do not bite me again, you imp,” Valena snaps, shaking his collar. “And do not kick me either. Do you wish me to guide you or not?”

Sable grumbles, but stays where he is. Valena releases the scruff of his collar and, complaining under her breath, covers the bite mark with her other hand.

Valena was born with cleric magic, and she returned to it when she retired to the Whisper Wood. The familiar warmth spreads from her chest, over her shoulders and down her arms. Like dipping her skin in bathwater, not too hot and not too cold, magic flows. After a breath, the bite mark closes over and her skin is healed.

Sable watches her closely. With no appetite for questions, Valena strides off before he can open his mouth. After a moment, she hears him following after her, footsteps sullen.

And so begins the march of the necromancer and the doomed.

& & &

Oakmere is the only town in the Whisper Wood, and sits amongst the tree canopy rather than the ground. A series of houses built into the sides of broad tree trunks, connected by rope bridges weaving across and over each other. The climb up from the forest floor is enough to make Valena’s muscles scream, and she huffs with each step up the ladder.

She has been in the Whisper Wood for just shy of forty years, and rarely travels outside of her home. Clients come to her when they need healing, and the years of torpor make her bones feel like they’re cracking with each step.

Sable scurries ahead of her, not even out of breath.

“Curse the youth,” Valena heaves.

By the time she makes it to the platform above, her legs quiver beneath her. Sable stands at the balustrade, looking out at Oakmere nestled in the trees. Valena wobbles over to stand beside him, catching her breath.

“How long has this place been here?” he asks, voice hushed. Even he knows Oakmere is a quiet place.

“No one can say for certain,” Valena whispers back. “They say the Whisper Wood used to be a vast city, but the Rot turned the people into trees. And so it stands, a thousand years later, as a forest.”

Sable glances sideways up at her.

“The Rot made this forest?”

“So they say.” Valena shrugs.

“But the Rot happens to people who break a pact with the spirits,” Sable says with a frown. “Did the whole city break a pact?”

“Like I said, it’s only a legend,” Valena tells him. “But the trees do move, that much I can say for certain. It’s very easy for wandering little boys to get lost.”

Sable says nothing, his eyes fixed on Oakmere.

Glimmervores—small, glowing insects—hum around them. The Whisper Wood is home to many creatures, but glimmervores gather around Oakmere in their thousands, feeding off emotion. A few settle in a swirling halo around Sable, their lights moving from yellow to green to orange, and back again.

“What were you doing in the Whisper Wood?” Valena asks. “How did you get lost?”

Sable purses his lips.

“I was looking for a cleric,” he answers. “I found a necromancer instead.”

Valena narrows her eyes at him.

“You did find a cleric,” she says irritably, a red glimmervore hovering around her. “The best cleric. That’s all a necromancer is—a very, very good cleric.”

“Oh, yes, I feel extremely lucky,” Sable snarks. “What an honour to have been brought back just to die again. Thank you so much, best cleric in the land—ow!”

Sable rubs the spot on his forehead where Valena flicked him, and scowls up at her.

“You’re evil,” he spits, a haze of red light cast across his face. “I hate you.”

“Yes, we established,” Valena drawls, already walking away. “Hurry up if you want supper.”

They find a tavern selling woodland stew and nut loaf, and Sable eats until he can barely move from his seat. He lays back against the bench, one hand on his bloated stomach. A bag of their supplies, purchased at no small cost, sits beside Valena. Glimmervore lanterns sit in alcoves, casting soft green and blue light across the room. Evening falls, and a vibration rumbles through the floor. Sable shoots up.

“What was that?” he asks, alarmed.

“The silent bells,” Valena replies, nibbling her nut loaf. “The largest tree at the centre of Oakmere is wrapped in wool and cotton, and then struck with a hammer three times a day. Dawn, noon, and evening.” She gestures vaguely above her. “With no sky, time gets lost. This way, only one person need keep track of the hours, and ring the silent bells.”

Another bell ripples through the tavern. Sable looks down, eyes wide.

“Silent bells…” he murmurs.

The vibrations end, and those in the tavern stand and begin quietly filing out. Sable watches them.

“What’s happening now?” he asks. “Is it to do with the silent bells?”

“Yes.” Valena doesn’t elaborate, sipping her stew.

“Well, what is it?” Sable pushes. “The trees? Something to do with the trees?”

“Yes.”

“What about the trees? Valena, what about the trees?”

Valena sighs into the stew, patience wearing down like a whetstone.

“Your persistence is less a virtue, and more an affliction,” she grumbles before relenting. “It’s said the trees in the Whisper Wood remember what all others forget. So the people here take some time each evening to speak to the trees. Tell them about themselves and their loved ones, and so forth, so their souls are never forgotten.”

Sable inhales sharply, cheeks ruddy. Light glimmers in his eyes.

“Have you ever spoken to the trees?” he asks, leaning forward.

“No.”

“Well, why not?”

“That’s none of your business,” Valena prickles.

Sable is quiet for a moment. Valena savours it, closing her eyes and chewing on a mushroom. And then the quiet is interrupted by the screech of Sable’s chair as he stands.

“I’m going,” he declares.

“Don’t—”

He takes off before Valena can finish her sentence. Irritation bubbles beneath her skin, and she gets to her feet with no small amount of complaining.

Outside, the population of Oakmere crosses the platforms and bridges, finding a space around the tree trunks to kneel at. Valena spots a mess of dark hair weaving in and out of them, and follows with a groan.

Her bones creak almost as loud as the trees. The air is full of hushed voices as people take their places, palms and foreheads against bark. Sable kneels between two other children, copying their stance. A swarm of glimmervores circle around him in a delicate pink haze.

“… and she liked two cups of tea in the morning, so papa would have to make two pots,” he says, his voice mixing with the others. “And papa would hum when he worked, and mama would click her tongue when she was thinking.”

Valena stands behind him, listening. Something cold lodges itself in her stomach as Sable tells the trees everything he believes important about his parents. She waits, and listens.

“My best friend is the fastest runner in Halecrown, and his mama says he could probably outrun the wind,” Sable continues. If he notices Valena behind him, he ignores her. “He likes sour plums, and his favourite colour is yellow. And he lost his first tooth before me, because he’s faster at everything.”

The other children, finished with their talk, stand and leave. Sable continues.

“My teacher, she’s awfully strict. But she never treated me any different, so I think she’s nice. She, um… she has brown hair and…” Sable frowns, eyebrows furrowed. “I think she likes ash nuts because she always has some at her table.”

His voice splinters. A tear breaks loose, even as he squeezes his eyes shut. Valena watches it slide down the curve of his round cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know much about her to tell you.”

Most of the others have left, but Sable remains. Valena puts a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s more than enough,” she tells him, and tries to sand down the edges of her voice. “You don’t need to tell the trees everything.”

“Yes, I do!” Sable spits, shrugging her off. “You don’t understand because you’re alone. Go away.”

Valena withdraws her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Stubborn boy,” she mumbles.

“Crotchety old woman,” Sable mumbles back, turning away from her and back to the tree.

His lips move but he whispers too quietly for Valena to hear. She lingers for a moment, waiting for him to finish, but it becomes clear he’ll speak to the trees as long as he needs to. Valena inhales deeply, rubbing a sore spot at her hip.

Kneeling next to the giant tree, his shoulders hunched and his small hands pressed against the bark, Sable seems little more than a brittle stick. Just one child against something that’s stood for a thousand years.

Just one child.

Valena slowly gets to her knees beside him, grimacing at a sharp pain in her joints that’s bothered her for years. Leaning forward, she runs her papery palms over the sharp bark, and tilts her head towards it. There are many people who she could tell the tree about, many lives come and gone, and even more who she brought back again for only the briefest of time.

But it is one person who comes to the fore of her mind.

“My sister was called Elowen,” Valena says, voice cracked and spiderwebbed with strain.

She could tell the trees everything about her, because there was not a thing she did not know. Elowen never drank the last mouthful of her drink. She was allergic to pollen, but would lie in the meadow regardless. When a stranger touched her hair, she cut it all off the next day. She smiled with her entire soul. Her palms were rough and calloused when she smoothed Valena’s hair back, and she only ever sang when Valena couldn’t sleep.

And the day Elowen died was the day Valena learned necromancy.

“Valena?”

Valena’s eyes snap open at Sable’s voice. His eyes are wide and concerned, and it’s only when Valena touches her cheek that she realises her face is wet with tears. Horrified, she clambers to her feet. Sable stares up at her, and almost reaches out a hand before pulling back.

“Go to bed,” Valena tells him, hastily wiping her face. “Before we lose any more time.”

She doesn’t let him respond before she hurries off, and glimmervores as white as bone follow as she goes.

& & &

It takes half a day to leave the Whisper Wood, even knowing the path to take between the moving trees. The sky opens up as Valena and Sable step free of the treeline, and Valena flinches at the sudden light, shielding her eyes. Sable doesn’t turn away, but stares up at the sky through squinting eyes.

“It’s quieter out here,” he comments.

“The Whisper Wood is louder than it seems,” Valena agrees, stretching out her back with a groan. “The forest is alive, after all. Birdsong, moving trees, creatures hunting. It all makes a sound.”

She pauses, watching Sable. A strange curiosity crawls up her spine. Against her rational side, the side telling her not to get too involved, she succumbs to curiosity. What is the harm in one small question, she reasons.

“You prefer the quiet?” Valena asks.

Sable turns his face away from the sky and shakes his head.

“My home is made of songs,” he answers. “I preferred the sounds of the Whisper Wood. It wasn’t the same, but it was familiar.”

He sucks in a deep breath, hooking his thumbs through the straps of his bag. He looks up once more.

“But I missed the sky.”

The days to their next stop, Emberdeep, pass in relative quiet, broken by curious questions from Sable. He insists on knowing the ‘why’ of things—why are the fields barren, why does moss crawl over the ruins of an old town, why are there so many tombstones with no names. Valena ignores him, for the most part. Speaking and walking tire her quicker than usual, and means they need to take more rest breaks. But she doesn’t tell him the true answer to these questions is buried in the back of her mind, and she refuses to release it.

“A war ravaged these lands, long before you were born,” she tells him.

“By who?”

“Someone dead.” Valena says nothing more.

The air grows warmer, pressing in closer around them, as they approach Emberdeep. At the base of a looming volcano sits a mess of lava pits, bubbling threateningly. Sable stares at them, the red glowing in his eyes.

“What is it?” he asks, and Valena notes he does not seem surprised, only curious.

“It comes from the volcano,” she tells him. “Heat strong enough to turn rocks molten.”

“Melted rocks?” Sable blinks, the thoughts churning in his mind.

“I suppose it sounds rather remarkable, when you explain it.”

“Well, it is, isn’t it?” Sable looks up at her. “Remarkable?”

Valena casts a glance over the lava pits, as though seeing it for the first time.

“Yes,” she says, eyebrows peaking in surprise. “It is.”

“It reminds me of treacle,” Sable remarks, and Valena puffs out a laugh.

“Treacle that can melt your skin from your bones, certainly,” she says, turning away and tapping the ground with her foot. “Let’s get to Emberdeep before the sun sets.”

They venture to a nearby tower, keeping a careful distance from the lava pits. The tower is built from iron, a dull grey except for the gleam of blood red under the sun, characteristic of Emberdeep ore. A guard sits patiently, sword at his side.

“State your business,” he says in a thick Emberite accent, words running into each other.

Sable cocks his head, and says, “What?”

“We’re passing through,” Valena says, ignoring the boy. “On our way to Halecrown.”

“Hm.” The guard peers down at Sable. “You look familiar.”

Sable squints at him before turning to Valena.

“What’s he saying?”

“Not possible,” Valena tells the guard, stepping in front of Sable. “He’s my ward and has never visited before. We hail from Oakmere.”

The guard narrows his eyes, but Sable only stares innocently up at him. The guard relents, shrugging his shoulders.

“You may pass,” he says, and reaches out to grab hold of a thick rope.

With a few firm tugs down, the gate in the ground raises, revealing the hole beneath. A crude ladder is built into the rock, with smooth grooves from the ascent and descent of people over time. Sable peers down, eyeing it warily.

“It’s dark down there,” he whispers, tugging at Valena’s sleeve.

“Of course it is, it’s underground,” Valena scoffs. “But it’s safer than the lava pits, so in you go.”

Sable presses his lips into a thin line, distinctly displeased, but climbs down. Valena follows shortly after, groaning with each step. The descent is cloaked in velvety darkness, the air growing thicker. Steadily, the clang and clash of Emberdeep grows clearer, and the tunnel down ends in a wide cavern. Valena reaches the bottom with shaking legs and aching arms. Sable looks out at the town, chewing his bottom lip. His eyes glance skyward nervously.

Emberdeep is built in the depths of volcanic rock, a group of caverns held up by thick, rocky pillars. A river of lava snakes through the centre, with forges built on either side. A sulphur scent lingers in the air, mixed with sweat and metal.

Sable fidgets as Valena pauses to steady her breath. She eyes him, noting his lack of surprise at the town.

“The guard was right,” she says. “You have been here before.”

Sable scratches his arm absently.

“Well, I told you I was looking for a cleric,” he says before turning to her. “Can we leave quickly? Please? I don’t like it underground.”

“Were there no clerics in Halecrown?” Valena asks, brushing past his request. “Were you alone when you came here?”

“Yes,” Sable bites out.

“Hm.” Valena’s frown cuts deeper. “You’ve never told me why you were so far from home, alone.”

“You’ve never asked,” Sable snarls.

He hikes his bag higher up on his back and storms off. Valena hurries to chase after him, even as her knees and back protest.

“Well, I’m asking now,” she calls after him, weaving through the crowd. “Why were you alone? Why did your parents not come with you?”

“Go away,” Sable shouts back at her, shouldering his way through.

Valena tries to follow but her body slows, out of breath and aching. Sable forges on ahead.

“Damn it,” she puffs, hand on her chest. “Ash & Ale! Sable, meet me at the Ash & Ale!”

He ignores her, vanishing into the crowd. Valena stops, breathing hard, eyes fixed on the spot where he disappeared. The Emberites move around her, a symphony of shouted instructions and the clang of metal.

Valena thinks of Elowen, storming off into the long grass after an argument. She would always come back when the sun began to sink, would curl up behind Valena in her bed, and mumble an apology into her shoulder. Like a bubble forming in the lava, sometimes she just needed to burst.

Valena shakes her head, and hobbles to the Ash & Ale tavern.

& & &

Daylight means little to the people of Emberdeep, and the tavern remains busy even as sleep tugs at Valena’s eyelids. She isn’t sure what came over her earlier—the flurry of questions she fired at Sable fell from her lips before she could stop herself.

Valena knows the boy could ask the barkeep what room she paid for, but still, she’s reluctant to retire for the day just yet. She picks at her food and watches the door.

In a blink, Sable appears on the seat opposite her. He chews on the lava-baked tubers Valena ordered for herself. She sits up, rubbing her eyes.

“How long was I asleep?” she asks, stifling a yawn.

“Hours,” Sable says flatly.

The incense burning in an alcove tells her she’s been asleep mere minutes.

“Hm.” Valena nods at the tubers. “That was my supper.”

“You weren’t eating it.” Sable shrugs and takes another bite.

“It was still mine, child, and you should give it back.”

“I’ll starve then,” Sable declares, pushing the tubers away.

“Yes, do that,” Valena snaps, snatching the food.

She signals to the bar keep for more and directs them to Sable’s side of the table.

They eat in silence, neither one looking at the other. Questions burn in the back of Valena’s mind, but her stubbornness overrides all else. Besides, she reasons, there’s no point in understanding a doomed soul.

Valena’s food sticks in her throat at the thought. She swallows it down with effort.

The buzz of the tavern settles as a young man with a lute steps onto one of the tables. Unlike most people in Embderdeep, his skin is free from burns. A travelling bard.

He plucks at the strings, sending sweet notes through the air. Valena rolls her eyes, already irritated by the thought of how loud this performance will be. But Sable whips around to watch him, eyebrows raised and lips parted.

The bard starts his song, his voice low and earthy and with the whisper of a smile. The others clap their hands and stomp their feet in tandem as he plays.

“Music,” Sable breathes with veneration.

Valena’s eyes flick from the bard to the boy, watching him as his gaze is fixed on the lute-player.

My home is made of songs.

It has been decades since Valena last saw Halecrown, and it was not a musical place. She finds herself wondering what Sable’s home is like now, after forty years.

The bard does a skip on the table, clicking his heels together with a flourish as he sings, and Sable grins, clapping his hands in delight. Valena realises, with a start, she has never seen him smile before.

He’s missing two teeth, with the crown of a fresh adult tooth poking through the pink of his gum. His eyes scrunch, his cheeks go red, and a short joyful laugh rings from him. A face transformed by a smile.

Elowen, too, smiled with her entire being, head thrown back and mouth wide.

The force of the memory nearly knocks the wind clean from Valena’s lungs. On a long-dormant instance, she smiles back. Her cheeks ache, feeling like cracked clay.

The bard spots Sable singing and clapping. He hops over to the nearest table, and Sable bounces, burning with zeal.

“That’s it!” the bard calls, strumming his lute. “Louder!”

Sable jumps to his feet, arms spread wide in the air, and sings with his whole soul. It’s far from the sweetest voice Valena’s heard, and he gets almost all the words wrong, but by her bones, if it isn’t infectious. She claps her hands together softly, joining in with the beat. A strange warmth pools in her chest.

The bard plucks out a final note, and the tavern applauds. He ruffles Sable’s hair and hops down from the table, making his way straight to the bar. Sable sits back down, cheeks rosy and still grinning.

“Did you see me?” he asks, slightly breathless.

“Of course I did,” Valena chuckles. “You very nearly stole the spotlight.”

Sable beams, ears turning pink. Valena barks out a laugh.

“Prone to flattery, aren’t you?” she smirks. “You remind me of someone.”

Sable’s eyebrows shoot up, and he leans forward.

“Who?” he asks eagerly.

But as soon as Valena said the words, a stone formed in her stomach. She offers a hollow smile and shakes her head. Sable pouts, but before he can press her, a voice croons from the seat beside her.

“Well, aren’t you a fine lady.”

Valena jumps, snapping her head around to find a pallid man smiling widely at her.

“Excuse me?” she exclaims.

“Oooh,” Sable giggles from the other side of the table.

“You don’t happen to be married, do you?” the man pushes on confidently, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I… no, I’m not—”

“Well, it must be my lucky day then,” he says with a wink. “Can I assume you have a room paid for here?”

“You certainly may not,” Valena fumes, aghast. “By my bones, I’m here with a child. Get away from me, you back-alley toad.”

“Yeah, get away, you toad,” Sable pipes up, flicking ale at him.

Outnumbered, the man grumbles but slinks away nonetheless, as Valena glares at him.

“Well, I never,” she bristles. “How absolutely inappropriate.”

“I thought you liked him at first,” Sable quips with a smirk.

“You did not,” Valena scoffs.

“I did! Your cheeks went red, that means you were blushing.”

Horrified, Valena presses her palms against her cheeks. She finds them cold.

“You lying little rodent,” she mutters.

“Better than a toad—ah!” Sable shields himself as Valena snatches back her ale to flick it at him. His laughter rolls through the tavern.

& & &

They spend one night in Emberdeep. Sable snores softly on the bed beside Valena, but she finds her earlier exhaustion gone. Covers kicked off from the heat, she lies on her back and stares at the rocky ceiling. The warmth in her chest followed her all evening, through to ordering dessert for Sable and watching him dance with the bard during his next song. But now, listening to him sleep, all that’s left behind is a cold, hollow space.

Valena closes her eyes. She wills herself to sleep. But the only thing she can think of is the crown of an adult tooth poking through gum, the body of a boy preparing itself for a life it will never see.

& & &

Climbing out from the other end of Emberdeep proves to be more strenuous than the descent. Sable scurries up the ladder, eager for the open air again, but Valena takes the better part of an hour. She rests at the many juts of rock, back against stone as she tries to clear the spots from her vision. Sable watches her from the top, shouting down encouragement peppered with light insults about her age. Valena huffs back curses.

When she emerges, the early morning sun bleeds across the horizon. The air is crisper than Emberdeep but laced with the beginnings of the day’s heat. Valena rests on a flat rock, mopping at the sweat gathered across her hairline. Sable is some distance away, picking through volcanic rocks.

“What…” Valena sucks in a breath, heart slowing. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for rocks,” Sable calls back.

“Well, I can see that much.”

“Why did you ask then?” He squats down to examine a rock the size of his hand before tossing it back down.

“I meant why, Sable,” Valena sighs, exasperation welling.

A sly grin crawls across his face, but he doesn’t answer.

Valena, relieved for some quiet, sits and lets him continue. Sable picks up and throws away rocks with no apparent pattern.

Where the other side of Emberdeep was a close, humid heat, this side is just as hot but dry as ash. A gentle wind washes over Valena’s skin, and she tips her face back to enjoy it.

“Here,” Sable says, waddling over with a pile of rocks gathered in the hollow of his shirt. “Valena, watch this. Are you watching?”

“I’m watching,” Valena says, opening her eyes.

Sable places the rocks down in a pile before picking one up. He cocks his head as though listening. Valena frowns and strains to listen too, but there is little to hear.

A breeze trickles through, ruffling Sable’s hair, and he whips his hand in the air, holding up the rock.

A low whistle carries on the breeze, swelling and falling in time with the wind. It takes Valena a moment to realise the sound is the wind, caught in the small holes of the volcanic rock. Her eyebrows raise.

“Here’s another one. Listen,” Sable says with a gap-toothed grin, picking out another rock.

He cocks his head again, listening for the wind, before thrusting the rock in the air. This time, the whistle is high and hollow, like birdsong. Valena thinks of the birds around her home in the Whisper Wood, singing each morning.

“How do you know how to do that?” she asks as Sable picks through his rocks.

“Everyone knows in Halecrown,” he says with a shrug.

My home is made of songs.

Valena almost asks him again why he was alone in the Whisper Wood, but suspects she already knows the reason. She wonders what family, if any, she’s bringing him to.

“We must make haste,” she says eventually. “Halecrown is still two days away.”

And he only has two days left.

The unspoken words sit between them. Sable nods and dusts his hands, the set of his mouth firm. He hoists up his backpack and turns away.

“Wait.”

Valena bends with a groan and picks up the rock that sounded like birdsong. Sable watches her slip it into her pocket, head tilted.

“But there is no wind in the Whisper Wood,” he says. “You won’t hear the song.”

“I won’t need to,” Valena says simply. “I just need to remember it.”

Sable chews his lip, brow furrowed.

“Will you tell the trees?” he asks. “About the song I showed you?”

Will you tell the trees about me?

Will you make sure I’m not forgotten?

Valena’s shoulders ache, as though carrying a weight unseen. It has been there since she was eleven, since she saw her sister die a second time, and has grown with all the bodies raised and fallen since.

Now it threatens to crush her. Her chest tightens, and she breathes deep to loosen it.

“I will tell the trees,” she says, and the promise is understood.

Sable nods, once, and turns away.

They pass through the land, volcanic rock falling away to sun-scorched earth. The air grows drier. Valena’s lips crack, and her breathing turns to dry coughs. The sky is an infinite blue, the sun beating down like a fist.

The wind grows stronger, working as both a friend and an enemy. At times, it carries Valena along, pushing at her back encouragingly. Other times it works against her, forcing her head down and her feet to plant. Sable holds her elbow, steadying her, dark hair whipping around his face.

As the sun crawls across the sky, they find a small oasis amongst the cracked earth and take their rest in the shade of a leafy tree. In the distance, perched at the edge of the salt basin, the hazy silhouette of Halecrown looms.

“We’ll stop here for tonight,” Sable says, and Valena waves him off.

“Nonsense,” she scoffs. “Halecrown is mere hours away. I can make the trip, I just need to rest for a moment.”

“You need to rest for a night,” Sable argues. “You look more dead than me.”

A wheezing chuckle escapes her lips.

“Fine, fine,” she breathes, waving him off.

They settle into the shade, the blessed wind cooling their skin. They pass a water flask between them, and Valena lets her old bones relax.

“I don’t know how you stand this heat,” she says. “It’s worse than Embderdeep by far.”

“Emberdeep is worse. It’s… sticky,” Sable says, grimacing. “The air is nicer in Halecrown, and you get the whole sky.”

“If you say so.” Valena crosses her hands over her stomach, weariness seeping in.

“I do say so,” Sable insists, settling in next to her.

Silence blankets them, not uncomfortably so. Valena watches the leaves above them sway in the wind, and her eyes begin to close.

“Valena,” Sable says.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, halfway to sleep.

“I’m thirsty. Where’s the flask?”

“Over there… somewhere…”

Valena staves off sleep, yawning, as Sable sits up and reaches for the flask. When he picks it up, he finds it empty. Tipping it upside down, a trickle of water drips out. Sable stares at it for a long moment, unblinking, and then he stands and throws it as hard as he can. It lands some distance away with a dull scuff.

Valena squints, craning her neck to see where it landed.

“What was that for?” she asks.

Sable turns to her, face red, and screams.

He screams no words in particular, just an open-mouthed shriek from the soles of his feet through to his throat. His hands ball into tiny fists and tears stream down his cheeks, and he screams and he screams and he screams.

Valena watches him from the ground, wincing under the volume of it but not looking away. She has heard this scream before, from her own mouth, on her knees with fingers digging into the cold flesh of her sister as she shakes her and pours all the magic she has into her and begs her to wake up, wake up, just wake up, until acorns split into oaks and grass grows over her head, and no one within twenty miles catches an illness for a year afterwards.

So Valena lies there, and she waits. And she watches. And she says nothing.

But when Sable falls to his knees and sobs, she catches him gently and pulls him to her chest. She sings to him, because her sister sang to her and because Sable’s home is made of songs. She strokes his hair, because her sister stroked her hair and because Sable’s mother stroked his.

“Tomorrow we may both be dead, but today we are alive,” she whispers to him.

Sable grips her shirt in his fists and weeps into her neck. His tears carve a trail down her chest.

“You are alive,” she tells him. “You are alive.”

& & &

Valena wakes to the sun creeping over the horizon. Sable sleeps on her chest, and so she lays still until he rouses. A hollow pain sits in her stomach, like bones picked clean, but she offers him a smile as he sits up, rubbing his eyes.

“We should move quickly,” she says, sitting up with a wince. “We can make it to Halecrown before the morning grows too hot.”

Sable nods silently and gathers their things. They pass across the salt basin in relative quiet, only the howls of the wind growing louder. Halecrown perches on the edge of a cliff, and they begin their ascent up the beaten path. Valena can see the buildings, flat-roofed and bleached bone white under the sun.

The path is dry and littered with pebbles. Valena picks through them as Sable gently grips her arm, keeping her steady.

The low, keening cry of the wind weaves through them, ushers them upwards. But other gentler sounds mix in, like the birdsong stone Sable found. The closer they get to Halecrown, the louder the music grows, until the air is filled with a symphony of tender whistles and melodies.

Valena and Sable reach the summit of Halecrown, and she finds the source of the music.

“Oh,” she breathes softly.

Hagstones hang from wooden poles, catching the wind and turning it to song. Delicate glass and brass chimes dangle in front of homes, tinkling and dancing, threading notes through the gust. The wind sweeps through, constant, playing the town of Halecrown like a harp.

My home is made of songs.

Valena closes her eyes and listens, a thousand tunes playing in tandem. She knows this place, knows what it used to be. She stood here once, as a young woman. It was a great lake, home to a vast town who thrived off the land and the water. And when it was stolen from them, turned to a barren land by a vicious warlord, still they persisted. They took the bones of their town, and they made music.

Valena’s legs buckle beneath her.

“Valena!” Sable yelps, catching her.

He slots his shoulder under her arm, taking her weight.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, pain like a fist around her heart, knocking the breath from her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, my home isn’t far,” Sable says, propping her up. Worry is worn into his face. “Let me take you there, and you can rest.”

Valena can only nod.

Sable helps her hobble through the streets. The town is empty, the people hiding from the growing heat in the shelter of their homes. They cross over a small hill, and Sable’s home comes into view.

It’s built from the same bleached brick as the rest of the town, but two large trees reach through the roof, pushing through stone. They stand a verdant green, stark against the bone white of the town.

Valena swallows but says nothing.

She lets Sable guide her inside, the relief of the shade immediate. The two tree trunks stand side by side, their roots buried in the floor, tangled amongst tile and brick, tangled amongst each other. The trunks are knotted, as though open-mouthed in a scream. Their branches are woven together, clutching each other. Valena and Sable sit at the base, their backs against the bark.

Valena gathers her breath, but the pain in her chest remains.

“The Rot,” she says eventually. She reaches up behind her to brush her fingers against the trunk. “These are your parents.”

Sable doesn’t reply straight away. He draws his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his shins. The trees creak overhead.

“I was born sick,” Sable says quietly. “My heart is weak, and my lungs are small. The clerics told my parents I wouldn’t last two winters.”

He sucks in a splintered breath. “They made a pact with the spirits. Ten winters, that was all they would give me. Ten winters, and I would die.”

Valena’s heart clenches. Through the windows, songs of the wind drift past.

“On my tenth birthday, I fell sick again. My parents used all their coin on every healing potion and spell the clerics had. They refused to let me die. They refused the spirits.”

Fat tears spill from Sable’s eyes. Valena shuffles closer, until their shoulders press against each other. Like the roots of the trees, she weaves her fingers between his.

“When the Rot took them, my parents told me to go to the next town, to find a cleric who could heal my heart and lungs. But I got lost after Emberdeep.” His voice stutters. “I couldn’t f-find my way, a-and I felt so dizzy, my heart was going too f-fast…”

Valena wraps a shaky arm around him and pulls him tight into her side. Sable heaves deep, shuddering sobs into her shirt, soaking the fabric through.

“I don’t want to die, Valena,” he whispers. “Please, I don’t want to die. I’m scared.”

A crevice as deep as a canyon forms in Valena’s heart. Her eyes grow hot.

She wets her lips and says, “Remember your friend? The one who could outrun the wind?”

Sable sniffles and blinks up at her, a notch between his brows. Tears line his lashes. He nods.

“You said he would run ahead and you couldn’t keep up,” Valena says. “But it was alright, because he was just faster than you. And you would end up at the same place anyway.”

Valena holds him close and smooths his hair back. She keeps the tremble from her voice.

“That’s all it is, Sable,” she says. “You’re just faster than me. You’re going on ahead, like you have this whole trip, but we’ll meet again when I’ve caught up.”

Sable quietens.

“I’m just going on ahead,” he repeats in a hoarse whisper.

Valena hugs him tight, rests her cheek against the top of his head. And she stays that way, long after he goes limp in her arms.

& & &

It takes Valena until the sun sets to move the loose tiles and brick from the floor. It takes until the moon hangs high in the sky to dig the grave. It takes until the first seep of sunlight to bury Sable beneath his parents.

She sits beside the grave afterwards, smeared with soil and clay and sweat, muscles shrieking and bones creaking. She listens to the songs on the wind. In the hollow of the trees, she lets herself remember her sister and places her forehead against the bark.

In choked breaths, raw and uneven, Valena tells the trees about Elowen and Sable, and all the bodies—all the people—she brought back, only for them to fall again. She presses her lips against the bark, lets their lives spill from her throat.

For the first time, Valena tells the trees about them all.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Storm Lomax 2025