Page 7 of Runes To Rain
Fem looks over at me and says, “We will be downstairs in the ballroom if you wish to find us.” His tone is quiet and kind. When I look at him and nod, he rises as well and leaves.
I sit for several moments and have to admit that I shed a few tears, not hopeless tears, nor angry nor from pain. They seem to be from some emotion that I don’t quite know yet in my short life. Finally tiring of them, I wipe them from my face and explore, first this room, and then out into the rest of the house.
As I begin my exploration, I hear a sound rising through the floor. At first, it is noise only, and quiet at that, but slowly it turns into music. I begin to hear a voice singing, although it is too muted to make out the words. With curiosity building, I eventually find my way to the stairs down to the lower level. As I descend, the music grows louder and the words slowly become clear.
“I hear the knife pierce flesh and bone
And gasp as though it were my own”
The stairs continue into the darkness, and I travel down them slowly, lost in the music floating up from where the band plays without knowledge of their audience.
“The pain of flesh doesn’t bother me
It’s the pain of heart that’s broken free”
The music is fast-moving and rough. I don’t have names forthe instruments, even when I finally see them. Focusing on the sounds they make, I settle myself against the doorframe at the base of the stairs, unnoticed in the shadows.
“The cry that bursts out from my lips
Can any sound compare to this”
I rest there with eyes closed and lose myself in the threads of sound that, when mixed together, create this thing which is more than noise.
“A mix of horror and of pain
The worry that my love is slain”
Finally opening my eyes, I watch the band. Fem and Lent have their eyes closed, faces blank with concentration. Reem, who is singing, is looking at a scrap of paper pinned on one wall, while he plays one of the instruments, which is swung over his shoulder.
“I’m at her side fast as sunlight shaft
I wish I knew the healing craft”
For the first time since I arrived here, I think of the demon Malam. He gave me this life, and I feel I have much of his knowledge. I have memories that I know are not mine, of killing, fighting, and the use of weapons. I know proper courtesies and dancing and how to ride a fine horse fast through clogged streets. These aren’t just memories either. Somehow, I feel as though my body might know these things as well, and it feels as though I have a physical strength that isn’t entirely mine.
I also have an awareness within me of things I’m sure Malam wouldn't know. There is some intelligence in me that is not myown nor the demon’s. There are also instincts that seem like a map in my head, and while it’s spread out in front of me, the paths are as of yet not clearly marked.
“I press my hands to where blood rushes forth
Her body lying pointing north”
I wonder at my knowledge of angels and demons. I remember darkness and flight without wings. I’m aware of a great conflict between light and dark, and of the danger of the poisonous smog in the air. I feel the danger of the lack of green things as though it is a weapon poised over me. However, most of that knowledge seems useless to me as of yet.
“The sirens wail and scream in the night
An echo of my silent plight”
The Boys play their music, investing themselves in it, and I sit here at the foot of the stairs without anything clear to invest myself in.
PLANS AND DEATH
Iwake slowly from a deep sleep in the center of a strange bed. Slowly fighting my way out, I touch my feet to a cold floor and, gasping, dress myself quickly as the memory of how I arrived here returns to me.
Recollection of leaning against the wall, trying to figure out my place, and of music that slowly lulled me to sleep returns bit by bit. Finally, I vaguely remember that one of the boys, having discovered me asleep leaning against the wall on the stairs, carried me to my bed.
My stomach growls, and I think suddenly and unexpectedly of food. I stand to leave with the dining room clearly marked in my head. As I go to the door, though, I grasp how rumpled my appearance is, so I pause and turn back to the cupboards. I pull open the door, the clothing inside interests me not at all. Other than, as a way to be an appropriate guest who would certainly be welcomed to eat a grand, enormous meal.
I pull out a combination of an uneven short skirt, jacket, and another pair of long socks. As I dress, I eventually notice that the colors of the clothing seem to match those of this violent room. Finally dressed, I leave thinking only of breakfast.
