SONG of EMBER

50

A CROWN OF WEEPING STARS

PART IV

🙜

"Maker’s Breath! I thought it was another snake.”

Ember stood in the middle of the hallway, rubbing chills from his arms as he examined the ropey object which had tripped him in the dark. It appeared to be dull green in coloration, sprouting tiny leaves, winding along a bend in the corridor.

From beyond it drifted a soft ruddy glow.

As he advanced, more vines could be seen, and the leaves grew broad. The vines themselves shimmered faintly—and elegant flowers opened their lilac throats with a dull rustle as he passed.

“Are they… friendly?” he inquired, concerned.

Ky hummed in question, shifting the bundle of clothing beneath her arm—they had recently located what Ember guessed had once been servant quarters, and he had rifled through muted fabrics until he encountered a sturdy cream-colored tunic and a pair of new trousers. There were no women's clothing or anything of a boyish fit, and the sirena had stubbornly taken nothing for herself.

“They seem so.”

The bloom shrank away from her reaching claws, and—when she touched it—crumpled into dust. She glanced up at him, and then quickly ducked her head, shrugging one shoulder. But Ember hardly noticed; his eyes were already drifting to a broad stone door. It had partially crumbled away, and behind it wound a mass of tangled, twisted greenery. Over the passing years, the vines had eroded the barrier, and freed themselves to bloom wherever they wished.

And the light which glowed through the leafy tendrils was too warm and inviting to ignore.

“I’m going to look inside,” he decided suddenly.

Ky shrugged, and he sensed her annoyance.

Is she still upset about the dress?

It seemed a strange grievance, but he couldn't be bothered about that now. As he stepped over what remained of the door, he found to his delight that the curtain of plants gave way easily beneath his touch, curling up toward the ceiling or shifting to either side of the door with soft creaks and dry rustles.

The lingering scent of cedarwood swirled through the room with the faint puff of dust and pollen his footsteps raised, illuminated by a few streaks of reddish light—the dying rays of a summer sunset. The afterglow crept through a broad crack which ran the length of the cavern wall, smattering the threadbare rugs upon the floor.

His heart thrilled within him and he rushed past the trailing vines.

Upon closer inspection, the crevice was too precipitous and too far up the mountainside for either of them to safely crawl through it and descend to the bottom—he shuddered at the thought of attempting it. Still, it was broad enough to sit on…

And just wide enough for him to lean out and get a good look at the surrounding landscape. A breath of fresh, pine-scented air tousled his matted curls and he inhaled deeply, basking in the faded sunshine.

From here he could see the tops of the trees.

Tears filled his eyes, welling up from someplace unfamiliar as he observed the endless forest spread below. He put out a hand to catch the light between the webbing of his fingers. It looked much the same as his parting glimpse of the Sister’s Footstool, but these woods blanketed a much steeper incline and seemed even darker, if possible…

No, more desolate.

Foreboding.

Most of the woods nearby appeared to be new growth, but the tallest pines which clung to the steep hillside were twisted and scarred, their branches bare and stony. Beyond that, far, far below, he could see a line where the trees were thinner, and a road might once have wound through the woods. And further still, across the road, the faintest shimmer of a lake.

Ember wasn’t sure if it were the sight or sudden breeze which made him shiver.

Directly below his perch, metal glinted against the rocks. From this distance it resembled the haft of a broken sword, and a few rusted fragments of armor. He swallowed hard, imagining what must have driven the man to make such a leap.

A startled cry came from behind him.

He whipped around, heart pounding.

Ky stood in the middle of the crumbling doorway, pale face twisted in a look of abject terror.

“Leaving?” she hissed—a whispering shriek.

Her black eyes shimmered, moving imperceptibly between him and the open fissure.

“I-it’s… a long way down, from here,” he managed weakly, stepping aside. “Want to see?”

She tensed. “See what?”

“The forest.”

Her shoulders relaxed, but the apprehension lingered. “No. I am seeing many trees before.”

He thumped his chest as his heart skipped a few beats.

“Of course…”

As she eyed the ledge warily, Ember allowed himself a more thorough glance about the room. In one corner rested a floor-length mirror, and he turned away as the sound of shattering glass echoed in his mind.

The lush leaves and twigs appeared to have been sourced from four twisted poles which might once have been bedposts. Though half the cloth drapery was bleached from years of sunlight, the rest appeared eerily untouched for having been exposed to the elements; another breeze swept off the ledge and rattled a few dead leaves which clung stubbornly to the older branches.

An abandoned sparrow’s nest rested at one corner, perhaps from the previous summer, and he now noticed bird droppings on the rugs and the window-ledge.

But at the foot of the bed he glimpsed something that looked like a wooden box; over the passing years the bedposts had grown roots and branches well over it. He brushed them aside, and as before, they moved easily beneath his touch.

It was not locked.

He unlatched it with a gentle creak and lifted the lid.

At first it appeared to be empty, but then his calloused fingers chanced upon a bit of woolen fabric.

"Hullo… what’s this?”

He said it only to capture Ky’s attention; he sensed she was aware of this ploy, but she peered through the vines for a better look.

It was a simple fitted shift the color of damp stone, with a square neckline and a hem of reasonable length: constructed for everyday wear, not a pretentious display of riches. Beneath it lay outer garments fashioned of the same material—a cloak or a robe of some sort—which he left where it had been folded.

“Well made and practical," he assured her wryly, handing her the garment.

Ky accepted it without a word, passing him the tunic and trousers in turn. Then she set about unfastening the laces. Her nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed, but an offer of assistance might be taken as an insult in this unflattering mood, so he left her to unravel the mysteries of the garment.

He had not even finished tugging the tunic over his head when soft footsteps echoed in the hall behind him, followed by a wordless exclamation.

Ember glanced over his shoulder to see Ky spin a full circle amidst the carpet of greenery, swaying from side to side and swishing the hem of the dress around her legs. It fell halfway below her knees, and she had rolled the snug sleeves past the crooks of her elbows. It wasn't a perfect fit, but her change in aspect was refreshing, and the unexpected sight tugged a grin from him.

She dimpled and grasped the loose folds of the skirt, fabric bunching under her tight grip. "Does this please Ember?"

A deceptively simple question.

Was she inquiring after the practicality and fit of the dress, or whether she pleased him?

Perhaps both?

Her smile ebbed as he hesitated.

"Um—"

A fey being captured by the domesticity of mortal attire was, indeed, strangely captivating: it tamed the wildest parts of her, and yet she somehow seemed more foreign than ever before. As he worked his jaw in a silent struggle for words, her eyes sparkled again.

“Are you pleased?” he said uncertainly.

She whistled a few contented notes and smoothed her hands across the fabric, flattening the creases which the shapely garment had acquired from being folded and forgotten. He touched the soft hem of his own dusty tunic, and then held out an arm, heart pounding. It's only a change of clothes. Though the dress hugged her figure, it was hardly as scant as Bren’s jerkin and trousers or Ember’s tattered shirt had been.

Nonetheless, there was something demure and illusory about it.

She tossed her head, long black hair glistening in the light of the flowers, and the scents of rose oil and forest musk drifted across the hall. Then she took his arm in both damp hands and matched her steps to his, her earlier disappointment entirely forgotten.

❧

The crashing mists awaited their return, now shot through with moonglow and scattered shadows. Faint stars watched over the craggy mountain, visible where the falls cascaded down from the heights.

Ky appeared transfixed by the splashing spray—she untied the flask from his pack, gulping at it, and patted some of the water onto the lingering sores around her neck; then she flattened herself along the stony step and stretched out her arm over the stair until the water flowed over her wrist, filling the empty container.

Ember watched in silent consternation, baffled by her lack of fear.

She swiped a lock of hair from her brow, sitting cross-legged in her damp dress and smudging the mist across her face. Then she took a long gulping drink, handing the flask to Ember. Her eyes appeared larger and darker than usual.

He took the flask, and slimy fingers brushed his knuckles.

“Goodnight, Ky,” he said softly.

To his surprise, the stone-light flickered and dimmed at the sound of his voice; it was the first time it had acknowledged him in any way. The moonlight refracting through the spray was just enough by which to see the shapes of the guardian pillars and the quiet shadow of the sirena.

“Good night,” Ky sighed, turning the words over with a somber thoughtfulness.

Her absent humming floated into silence, and the stone grew colder in his hands.

But he could not put out of his mind the vision of that sad, fair face, and her crown of weeping stars, looking out over the waterfall for an endless age; and he felt her staring down from above, even as he wandered through the forest of his dreams.