Page 56 of Song of the Dawn
Instead of contradicting her, I picked up the violin. The wood was a dark hue, immaculate under the sunlight, and the strings were a tangled mess. A whisper came to me as I stood there, holding the instrument, and then a pulse, a beat, a vibration. Closing my eyes, I leaned into the feel of the wood. It came alive under my fingers. The wind caressed my branches, and the leaves shivered in song. My roots dug down, deep into the ground, sucking up the moisture, feeding myself on sweet waters. Crisp, cold air danced around me, pure and fragrant but unable to penetrate my layers. I was the tree, still alive, still living, and full of deep magic.
Letting go, I spun to Mila, eyes wide. “Where? Where did your grandfather get this?”
Mila’s eyes darted from the violin, back to me. “I don’t know. Why?”
Twisting the nobs on the neck of the violin, I released the tension of the strings so I could remove them. “Sit,” I instructed Mila. “I will tell you a story.”
Tentatively, she took a seat at the workbench while I restrung the violin.
“Giselle told you the tales of the four seasons and the gods who brought them forth, playing on their instruments.”
“Yes,” Mila said, caution and hidden concern in the undertone of her words.
Could it be true? “Old legends are full of myth for a reason, to obscure revelation from those who don’t believe or are unwilling to do the work to unveil the truth for themselves. It is said that when the gods discovered the humans were ungrateful for their gifts, they cursed the land and left, leaving the humans to toil and work and grind endlessly. But some tales say, in order to keep the world from falling into disgrace and to keep the seasons flowing seamlessly from one into the other, the gods left their instruments behind. When they did so, the music kept playing, but the instruments, without a player, could not remain the same. They rotted and moldered away, sinking into the ground, becoming one with the world, and then something magical happened. Something impossible. The instruments turned into seeds and grew into majestic trees, old trees, with roots that crisscrossed between the natural barrier of the known world and other worlds’. Blessed by the gods, the trees grew strong and tall and powerful, yet they were obscured, hidden, and only the few and faithful could find them. When they did, they took the gifts of the trees, offerings of branches and leaves, and brought them back. People developed many uses for them. Some put them over their doors as beacons of protection, and others used them as wards, but those who had tokens from the sacred trees gained blessings from the gods. They grew in wealth and health and wisdom, and they became the ones others looked up to, until they were persecuted for their knowledge. Where there is good, there is often evil, and they were hunted, tortured for knowledge of the trees, where they grew, and how to find them. But no matter how explicit the instructions, none could find the sacred trees. Some said the gods hid them from those who wanted to use the wood for corrupt purposes. But those who were blessed found other ways to share the wealth of the trees, and they passed the gifts from generation to generation, keeping them secret and safe.”
Mila gasped, pressing a hand to her heart. “You think my violin is made from the wood of a sacred tree?”
“I don’t think; I know it is.” I gauged her reaction as her expression changed from awe to shock.
Drumming her fingers on the table, she asked, “What does it mean?”
“That you had magic all along.” I wanted to deny the coincidence, but when I thought back, I recalled being drawn to the symphony hall for some unexplainable reason, as if the music had called me. Magic. “That night in the symphony hall, while you waited for your turn to audition, did you practice?”
Mila searched my face. “Of course. I had to warm up my fingers, and then I waited.”
Unable to meet her searching eyes, I turned my attention back to the violin, tightening the last string. I badly wanted to play it, to hear what it would sound like under my fingers. But I was the one who cursed others with my song, who called the darkness forth with my music. I was not worthy to play. It belonged to her and only her. This was why I’d found her. This was why her music had called to me, because something deep inside me had recognized the magic.
“Ezra? What is it?” Her voice wobbled, edged with fear and uncertainty.
“I want to hide you away, lock you up so the sorceress will never catch a whiff of your presence. But perhaps this violin will be enough. I don’t know the power of the gods, nor what magic is imbued here, but I feel it coursing like a river. I told you once about my sense, my ability to feel, and the power within this violin I’ve never felt before. We go tonight, and we will play the song of the dawn, summon the demon, and send it through the portal back to her. But Mila, the moment the demon is gone, the portal must be closed. I do not trust the sorceress. If anything, she’ll find a way to change the terms, to keep me. You’ll have to play, quick and accurate, like never before.”
Her lips tightened into a firm line, and her eyes blazed with determination as she met my gaze. “Ezra, I’m ready.”
I squared my shoulders. We were going to do this, but gods, her determination just made me want to kiss her one last time.
Mila
Ezra’s story stayed with me as we awoke at midnight, dressing in warm woolen clothes and taking up our violins. I followed him down the twisting stairs while he held the lantern high. Even its small yellow flame could not dispel the terror in my heart as shadows flickered. Any one of them could be a horned, red-eyed devil rising from the depths to torment us. But we were so close. With the coming of the dawn, Ezra’s punishment would end, the barrier would be sealed, and we’d be free to live and love. Together.
“We have to take the tunnel. It’s not safe outside after dark,” Ezra explained.
“What tunnel?” I asked as we stood on the first floor. My heart skipped, for the statues were menacing after dark, as though they might awaken and become an army of destructive monsters.
“There are underground tunnels that connect the inn and this tower.” Kneeling on the floor, he removed a rug to reveal a trapdoor. With deft fingers, he unlocked it and pulled it open. “It is old and leads to a shrine in the forest, near to the waterfall and the cave. It’s the quickest, safest passage.”
Not trusting my voice, I nodded and followed Ezra into the musty, earthy tunnel. My skin crawled the moment my feet reached the floor, and I wanted to spin around, climb the ladder, and rush back upstairs where it was warm, it was cozy, and nothing would harm us. Gripping the case of my grandfather’s violin tighter, I took shallow breaths to stay my panic.
“Hold on to me,” Ezra encouraged. “And be careful of the roots. Sometimes they might graze your head, frightening if you don’t know they are there.”
“Okay,” I whispered, squeezing a fistful of his shirt in my hands, grateful for his presence.
The gloom inside the tunnel was complete, and we moved, our feet brushing against loose dirt. Clinging to Ezra, I tried not to think about the rats and beetles that took up residence in such dark places, or what other supernatural beings might lurk nearby. Banishing thoughts of the cellar and the slurping creature within, I focused on taking one step at a time, keeping my eyes on the light Ezra held.
The path seemed to go on forever, up and down, curving into the forest, until Ezra came to a halt in front of a ladder. Passing the lantern to me, he went up, lifted the trapdoor, and returned. “Be on guard,” he whispered.
One hand on the small of my back, he guided me up into a moldering hut. “Ginger?” he called, holding up the lantern.
It wasn’t the only pool of light in the hut, for another was by a doorway, and slowly a shape formed, revealing Ginger. I gawked. She was dressed in black, blending in with the night, her short hair tucked behind her ears. Her outfit was formfitting, accenting her athletic body, but it was the weapons in her belt that gave me pause. A sword, a short knife, and another strapped to her leg. In one hand, she carried a bow, with a quiver on her back. I swallowed hard. Ginger looked as if she was going to battle.
