Before
As far as Song knew, the world was very small…
In the mornings, when the mistblooms brushed their lazy vines against her window and spread their leaves to catch the sun, she could look out from the highest tower of the House of Doors and see all of it spread out below her: the placid lagoon and the shedding trees and the steep, stone stairway down to the beach. And surrounding it all was the Endless Ocean — as wide and blue as a summer’s afternoon.
She had asked her Caretaker, Rael, about what lay across the Ocean many times. And many times Rael had answered:
“Nothing, of course. That’s what makes it endless.”
But Song was certain that couldn’t be true. For so long, she’d made maps of the Ocean, filling its expanse with the distant lands and strange peoples she’d read about in books. She even went so far as to model it out of paper and glue, figuring that the only way for the Ocean to truly be endless was for it to go in a wide circle, each of its edges curving to meet its partner on the opposite side — an infinite ring of sea and sky.
On the morning of her seventh birthday, Song woke from gloomy, desperate dreams to find storm clouds on the horizon. She threw open her window, taking in the harsh salt wind. To the north, the Ocean was dark, the fin of a whale cutting through the water. Song watched it disappear beneath the waves before she headed downstairs for breakfast.
Down the stairs from her tower room, into the main atrium of the house, storm-tinged sunlight lancing through the foyer far below. Down the wide stairways, past the library, the baths, down through five wandering stories of empty rooms to the kitchen.
Rael was usually up before her. But today, the kitchen, too, lay empty, the coals in the stove barely glowing. Song boiled three gull’s eggs and carved a platter of fruit, thinking to take them to her Caretaker’s forbidden study.
As she made her way from the kitchen, she heard Rael’s voice, imprinting one of her prisms, maybe, or revising her notes. Perhaps Rael wouldn’t want to be disturbed — she was always so secretive about her work and never let Song join her. Song considered leaving the tray outside the door so Rael could eat alone—
When another voice sounded from within.
The platter of food fell from Song’s hands with a wet crash. Half a heartbeat later, Rael stepped out from the forbidden study, followed by somebody else — a stranger.
The stranger was taller than Rael, and darker, with a face that was all angles, his hair pulled back from his forehead in dark, tight-curled locs. Where Rael was pale and golden-haired and fidgety, with eyes like pools of ink, the stranger was still and sure. And his eyes were blue.
Song stood frozen, staring at the man — was this a man? He must be — wondering where he could’ve come from. Never in her life had anyone other than Rael stepped foot in her House of Doors.
While Rael stood glaring at her from the study doorway, the stranger crossed the hall with two quick strides and knelt to help Song pick up the shattered plate. Together, they scooped up the remains of Rael’s ruined breakfast, piling everything onto the platter, and only once everything was cleared away did Song get over her shock enough to ask, silently, shaping the question with her fingers:
Are you the Pale King?
The stranger lifted his eyebrows at that. “Do I look like someone they’d call Pale Anything?” he said, voice booming. His laugher filled the hall to the rafters. “Besides, what do you know about the Pale King?”
He’s a monster that can travel everywhere through the shadows, hiding behind closet doors and lurking under your bed, signed Song gravely. She could think of no one else who might have appeared on her island with so little warning. And he’s always ready to set his beasts on you if you misbehave.
The stranger looked to Rael, who pursed her lips at Song in disapproval. “Are those the kind of stories Rael’s been telling you?” the stranger asked. At the girl’s nod, he shook his head, though he was still smiling. “I’ll have to have a word with her.”
Rael sighed and ducked back into the study.
“But no,” said the man. “I’m not the Pale King. My name is Lan, and I— well. Your mother was my sister. We’re… family.” He let the pronouncement settle between them, while Song studied his face, searching for what he meant by that word, family. “In any case,” the man pressed on, “what I was really hoping was that you’d show me your Chant.”
At that, Song frowned. She looked toward the door to the study, which remained closed. At the thought of Chanting, her mouth went dry, despite the temptation to let her voice free. Rael says I’m not supposed to, she signed. She says it’s dangerous.
The man, her mother’s brother — her uncle, though that word didn’t feel quite right for a stranger — nodded, reassuringly. “Rael’s right, of course. Chants can be very dangerous. But I’ve asked Rael quite nicely, and she says you have permission, just this one time, to show me.”
Song looked once again to the door, but if Rael had any objections, surely she wouldn’t have left her alone with Lan. She took the man’s hand and led him through the house’s passages, out through one of the lower doors to a place where the coconut palms bent low over the sea, a crowd of orchids sprouting from the cliffs and twisting their roots into the salted air.
Delicately, Song plucked one of the orchids from its perch. She held it lightly between her fingers, breathing in its scent. A deep inhale.
She Sang death.
At the touch of her voice, the orchid withered. Lan watched through pale eyes as the flower shrivelled to nothing, Song’s Words rippling through the sea-blown air. The other orchids nodding among the rocks began to droop. Their leaves blackened, and above, the coconut palms creaked with exhaustion—
enough, Said the man in a voice strong enough to quell storms.
Immediately, the power in the air stilled. Song blinked and looked up to find Lan staring at her, wide-eyed — though whether it was in fear or awe, she couldn’t tell.
Rael doesn’t like it, said Song at last, forming the words carefully in her hands once she had laid the dead orchid upon the rocks. She says my Chant is a curse.
“I can see why Rael might say that,” answered Lan with a sad twist of his lips. “But let me tell you a secret.” His voice was low and soft, and Song leaned forward to make sure she could hear every word. “This power you have, your Chant, your power over the Language — it’s not a curse. It is a gift.”
A gift? thought Song, frowning as she weighed the idea in her mind. Rael had never seen her Chant as anything but a danger — it was always risky for Song to use her voice, but especially when she was anxious, or sad, or scared. There was always the chance that it would come out… wrong. Dangerous.
Deadly.
But if Lan was scared, he showed no sign. Indeed, Song could almost convince herself she saw the hint of a smile on his lips as he pressed on: “But as with any gift, you must learn to use it properly. To control it.”
Song looked up at the man with dark skin and blue eyes — both so similar to her own. There was something comforting about him, something that made her feel as if she could say anything, and he’d understand. Most of all, though, he wasn’t afraid of her voice. He wasn’t afraid of her.
“Can you teach me?” she said at last. The question escaped her in a single hurried breath. It was suddenly all too obvious to her that Rael was unwilling — or unable. “Do you Chant?”
Lan grinned, as if he’d been waiting for her to ask. He offered his hand and gestured to a nearby outcropping of rock. “You want to see what I can Chant?” he asked.
They clambered onto the high rocks overlooking the Eastern Ocean. A gale blew in from the water, tinged with the sting of ocean salt. In front of them, stones plunged down into the waves. Lan leaned down to whisper a single word into her ear: “Watch.”
And turning back toward the Ocean, he sang.
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