The Singer

Chapter Ten

Ava had spent a week being mentally poked and prodded by Orsala and physically beat up by Mala. Sure, Mala might have called it “training,” but Ava was fairly certain she was just working out some deep-seated resentment at Ava’s expense. The fact that Brooke, the twelve-year-old who looked like a fairy princess, was her training partner was just another blow to the ego.

“She wants us to do it again,” panted Brooke, tossing the short staff to Ava, who had collapsed on one of the benches that lined the barn where they practiced.

Mala was teaching them how to use the Irina short staff. It was hardly glamorous-looking, but according to Astrid, it was the traditional weapon for all Irina because it was so practical. Ava did see her point. The staff Mala had chosen for her was about the length and width of a broomstick, though it was much stronger because of spells that had been laid over it. She’d doubted how much damage the innocent-looking piece of wood could do until Mala had demonstrated by taking off the head of the training dummy.

“Again?”

“Yes.” Brooke didn’t look any more pleased than Ava. The days of training were even taking a toll on the child’s natural optimism.

Ava pushed to her feet and grabbed her staff, then walked with her partner to the center of the ring. Mala stared at them from the edge of the barn, making a clicking noise with her tongue to get Brooke’s attention. Once she had it, her hands formed a flurry of signs that Brooke took in, nodding while Mala spoke.

“Okay.” Brooke turned to her. “Mala says you need to practice your approaches. Focus on keeping your shoulders more…” She looked back toward Mala, who repeated herself with a sigh. “Oh. You’re kind of… showing me what you’re doing before you do it. Does that make sense?”

Ava glanced at Mala, who was rolling her eyes. “I think so.” She tried not to smile. “You want me to keep my shoulders looser?” she asked her trainer, and Mala nodded. “So I don’t let Brooke know what my attack is going to be?”

Mala gave her a thumbs-up and sat back down to watch them, clapping for them to start.

She tried to do what Mala had asked, but it was difficult. Her instinct was to lean into an attack, not keep her shoulders loose and fluid. Brooke seemed to take to the practice more easily, getting in more than one good strike to Ava’s side or knee. More than once, Ava was convinced that Brooke was going easy on her.

“Sorry,” the girl said with wince after she’d struck another blow, this time to the back of Ava’s thigh.

“No, don’t apologize.” She grunted, straightening up. “But seriously? How did you get so good?”

Brooke smiled. “When I was young, I played with sticks as often as dolls. I remember watching my mom and dad spar with staffs when I was little. Mom always had one around. Humans don’t even notice them. They think it’s a broom handle or a walking stick. Mom says it’s the best weapon in the world.”

There was a whistle and they turned their heads toward Mala, who shot off a few signs.

Brooke smiled again. “Mala agrees. She said that throughout history, Irina have used the short staff as a primary weapon because we could take one everywhere. They’re very easy to overlook.”

“And very effective.”

“Yep.” Brooke went back to her ready stance. “Don’t worry! You’ll get the hang of it.”

Ava took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, trying to remember to keep them loose. Ready. She was an Irina, after all. She’d get this. It was probably genetic or something. She lifted her staff in both hands and angled forward at her right shoulder like Mala had shown her. Brooke stood across from her in the same stance. Her face showed nothing. Ava shifted to the right, and Brooke leaned forward, just a little. Ava leaned with her right shoulder, deliberately hinting that she would strike from the right, only to have Brooke shift with lightning reflexes to the left, and then her staff circled down, hitting just below Ava’s left knee.

“Shit!” Ava hopped back, her previous plan of attack forgotten as the pain radiated down to her ankle and up her thigh. “Damn—oww! How did you—”

“Sorry, sorry! Your shoulders looked great, but then you did this thing with your leg and you shifted back, so I knew you were going to attack from the left, so I—”

“Yeah. Okay. Got it,” Ava groused, ignoring Mala, who was smiling wide and clutching her stomach. If the woman had been able to laugh, it would have filled the barn. “I know, all right? I’m completely transparent.”

“But your shoulders looked better!”

Great. A twelve-year-old was kicking her ass and trying to make her feel better about it.

“It’s fine, Brooke.” Ava glared at Mala. “Can we take a break now? I think I need to ice this leg.”

An unfamiliar voice sang from the door. “You’re never going to get better if you keep taking breaks.”

Ava turned to stare. The woman was tall and dark with olive skin and black hair that streamed down her back. Everything about her—from the black clothes to the wary expression—screamed “Danger!” Ava stepped in front of Brooke, but the girl shot out from behind her and rushed forward.

“Renata!”

“Ciao, bella mia,” the woman named Renata murmured, holding out her arms to the girl and enclosing her in an embrace. She looked up at Mala. “Who’s the new girl?”

Mala signed quickly, and Renata lifted one hand, signing back while still holding Brooke with her other arm.

“No,” Brooke said, clearly understanding the silent conversation. “She’s from Los Angeles. She was only visiting in Istanbul when Damien met her. She’s not Turkish.”

Renata said, “I was thinking Persian, actually. Welcome to Sarihöfn, Ava.”

“Thanks.” She lowered her staff and stepped forward. “Your name is Renata?”

“Yes.” Renata eyed Mala. “Are they done for today?”

Mala shrugged, then signed something that seemed to indicate Brooke could go, because Renata turned and started toward the door with the girl still curled under one arm.

“I’ll see you later, Ava.”

“Bye!” Brooke called.

Ava lifted her hand in a wave, then started toward the bench where she’d left her jacket, only to be stopped by a staff across the belly. Groaning, she lifted her eyes to Mala.

“Let me guess. I’m not done yet.”

The corner of Mala’s mouth lifted, and Ava didn’t need to understand signing to read her expression.

Not even close.

She wanted nothing more than a bath and a bed by the time she finally made it back to the cottage. Mala had drilled her for another three hours after Renata had shown up and taken off with Brooke. Luckily, Ava was picking up some signs from Mala and communication was starting to get better. And so, despite her reservations, were her attacks. Mala was a patient teacher and seemed to understand instinctively where and how Ava was struggling. By the end of the session, she was parrying with a fair amount of success instead of simply fending off blows. And, if she’d read Mala’s signs correctly, the next week they were going to add daggers.

Ava liked daggers.

“Wash up,” Damien called from the kitchen. “I’m fixing tea and I’ll make you a snack.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Then we’re going to a sing. There will be a dinner before at the house.” He glanced at her. “I’ll get you an ice pack, too. Do you need two?”

“A sing? What’s a sing?” She tried to sort through the barrage of information. “And yes. I probably need two.”

“I’ll get three. There’s hot water for your shower, but don’t take too long. I don’t want to be late.”

“What’s a sing, Damien?”

“It’s a ceremony. With singing.” Damien walked over and patted her head. “Hence, it’s called a sing.”

“You’re the only person I know who uses ‘hence’ in everyday conversation.”

“Aren’t you fortunate that you know me, then?” He waved toward the door, unusually chipper. “Go. I’ll get the tea going.”

“Why are you so happy?” Then it dawned on her. “Oh, this ‘sing’ is going to be at the main house, isn’t it? Sari’s house?”

“Yes.” A smile teased up the corner of his lip.

“And it’s like a party?”

“It is.”

“And you’re invited?”

“I am.”

“Ahhhhh.” Ava was smiling.

“What?”

“Damien’s making progress,” she sang.

“That’s enough.” He shoved her shoulder. “Go clean up. I don’t want to be late.”

“Mr. Cranky is gonna get some,” she sang some more, then ducked in her room after the kitchen towel smacked the back of her head. Ava slammed the door and yelled, “Maybe you won’t be Mr. Cranky after tonight!”

“You are childish and you stink. Take a shower, Ava.”

She gathered her things and went to the small bathroom, still smiling. Ignoring the tug in her heart. Ignoring the quick twist of pain at the thought of her friend’s happiness. Damien was a good friend. A good man. He deserved his happiness, even if she’d lost her own.

“I will not abandon you. I will not leave you. Ever.”

But you did leave me.

Would her heart ever stop bleeding?

She heard Damien banging cupboards in the kitchen, no doubt looking for the tea, which he could never seem to find. Maybe he would go to this party tonight and Sari would talk to him without scorn in her voice. Maybe they would make up. She could hope. The world didn’t stop just because she’d lost Malachi.

With that thought, Ava stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away her tears.

Ava didn’t know quite what to expect from the party that night. She tried to imagine, but she kept coming up blank. Her lessons with Orsala had been minimal. The old woman had focused on teaching Ava the magic to block the soul voices from her mind. It was a simple spell, designed for a child to be able to master. Orsala had helped Ava create a door in her mind, and for the first time in her life, that door was slammed shut.

It had been a revelation. Salvation. At first, the voices stopped all together, but the door cracked open after an hour or so as voices tried to push through a familiar hall. The next time she spoke the words, the door stayed closed a little longer. Then a little longer. The first day that she heard little to no voices at all, Ava had shown up at Orsala’s door, almost weeping with relief.

Since then, the spell had become a mantra. The voices never disappeared entirely around other people—Orsala said they weren’t meant to—but a quick recitation of the words was enough to shut the door so the whispers were only murmurs that came from a great distance. Her tension headaches disappeared. Her agitation lessened. Now when Damien took her hand and squeezed it, she felt happy and content. There wasn’t the desperate relief she’d once needed just to get through the day.

And for that she was grateful. Because though the weeks with Malachi had been a profound blessing, Ava knew she would probably never take another mate. Orsala had told her she might eventually find another partner. It was more than acceptable for Irin and Irina who had lost a mate to find love again. But Ava had a hard time imagining settling for anything less than what she and Malachi had once had, even if it had been brief. It was more than love. He was her soul mate. She didn’t want another.

And if she looked forward to sleep a little more than normal, well, that was understandable. There was comfort in dreaming of him, even if the waking reality tore her heart.

“Are you sure this shirt is acceptable?” Damien tugged at a brown shirt that brought out the color of his dark eyes. Ava had suggested it instead of the dull black button-down he’d been about to put on. They were walking to the main house, and Damien was as nervous as a teenager on his first date.

“Yes. Stop fussing.”

“I feel like I should have shaved.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Will you stop? The beard looks good. She likes it. Trust me.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you seriously not pick up on the ‘I want to lick you’ looks that woman sends your way every time you’re in the room?”

“I…” Damien blinked rapidly. “No. Mostly I’m trying to not irritate her.”

“You need to irritate her more, not less.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Sari’s a busy girl, and she’s filed you away under ‘things I’ll deal with later.’ You need to make her deal with you now. I’d suggest pissing her off. Like you said, she hates you the same way she loves you. The love is there, Damien. You guys just have to sort out your shit.”

He halted, forcing Ava to stop next to him when he held on to her arm. “I tried to rush her once. I tried to push past her grief before she was ready. And it caused more harm than good. I don’t want to do that again. I can be patient for her.”

Her heart warmed at his words. “I know you can. But you shouldn’t waste time. Trust me. You never know how much time you’ll get.”

Damien frowned and squeezed her hand. “I am sorry you didn’t have more time with Malachi.”

“I don’t… want to talk about that right now.” She couldn’t. Not if she wanted to get through this party without crying.

“I understand.” He started back up the path and deliberately changed the subject. “Are you curious what the sing will be?”

“I’m trying to release my expectations, or something like that. Whatever happens, happens.”

“You don’t want to know?”

“Nope. I’m getting my zen on.”

“Your ‘zen’?”

She could hear the smile in his voice even as they approached the house, which was lit up in every window, with more people spilling out in the garden. The fall air made their breath fog, and frost crunched under their feet. Soon, everyone told her, it would snow.

As they entered the house, calls came from every corner, and Ava pressed on the door Orsala had built with her, making sure it was shut. She closed her eyes, let the magic take root, and then she opened them. The women around her smiled in understanding. There were many she was beginning to recognize, but a lot of them still looked unfamiliar. There were also more Irin men than she’d seen before, standing in small groups or holding their mates. It was, quite obviously, a party. The smell of savory meat filled the air, and spices tempted her nose. Someone handed her a glass of what looked like cider, and she took a sip. It was delicious.

Damien nudged her shoulder. “Can I leave you with Astrid?”

Ava spotted her friend in the corner of the sitting room, waving. “Yep. Go find your woman and irritate her.”

“Wish me luck.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll need it.”

He disappeared into the crowd as Astrid approached.

“Come,” her friend said. “Let’s get you some food. People eat quickly, then we head over to the barn for the singing.”

“What—” She caught herself before she could ask for explanations. “No, don’t tell me.”

Astrid smiled. “You don’t want to know what it is?”

“Nope. I want to just… experience. If you have no expectations, you can’t be disappointed with reality.”

“Fair enough.”

They made their way to the kitchen, where more people were gathered. Mostly women, but again, a few scribes. One man, whom Ava vaguely recognized, held an Irina on his lap. She squinted when she noticed that he had no talesm on his neck.

“Wait.” She tugged on Astrid’s arm. “Is he…?”

“Human?” She nodded. “Yes. Orsala is not pleased with the relationship, but then, Cam does what she wants.”

“But how do they… you know?”

Astrid frowned. “Didn’t you say you had lovers before Malachi? Irin can’t touch human women, but we don’t have the same problem. Most human men just can’t handle our energy or intensity for prolonged periods of time. Johan doesn’t have that problem, apparently.”

“But aging? Won’t she stay young as he gets old?”

“Yes.” Astrid shrugged. “It’s her choice, Ava. And his.”

They pushed past the group gathered around the table and made their way to the food that was spread out on the counter. Soon her plate was piled with meat pies and sausages made in the haven, as well as roasted turnips and carrots. There was a soup made out of pumpkin that smelled like it was spiced with chilies. She and Astrid stood in a corner, eating their dinner and chatting with a few visitors whom Ava hadn’t met yet. As Orsala had warned her, most were very curious about the new girl. The crush of people was more than Ava was used to, and she sighed in relief when people started filtering out of the house and down to the barn.

Astrid and Ava followed the steady stream after they finished their food. By the time they entered the barn, it was half-full. The training equipment had been taken away, and benches filled the room, along with heaters to chase away the cold. At the front of the room, Orsala sat, along with Sari, Renata, and another older woman with a cap of silver-grey hair. Murmurs and laughter filled the air as everyone took seats on the benches.

“Do you want to sit near the front?”

“No.” She felt conspicuous enough.

“That’s fine.” Astrid found a spot near the back wall. It was cooler, as the air leaked in from cracks in the wall, but there were enough people and heaters that Ava wasn’t uncomfortable.

“How much of the Old Language do you understand?” Astrid asked.

“Not much. Just a few things, though I’ve heard it plenty, of course.”

Astrid’s eyes lit. “You might understand more after tonight. The songs might help your understanding.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just listen.”

After a few more minutes, everyone seemed to have arrived. Ava even spotted Damien across the barn, near the side door, standing by himself but staring at his mate. Ava also noticed Sari sneaking glances at him and trying to hide nerves.

“Hmm. Something definitely going on there.”

Astrid followed her eyes. “It’s about time.”

“Right?”

Orsala stood, and immediately everyone fell silent.

“We are here to celebrate a new sister among us and a sister returned home.” Orsala’s eyes met hers, but luckily she didn’t ask Ava to stand or single her out in any way. She continued, a smile spread across her face. “As is our custom, we welcome our sister Ava with the songs of our fathers. It is with our voices we remember, with our ears we understand. For our fathers gave us the gift of their songs, and it is our duty to sing them. It is our joy to remember. And as we create new life and preserve the safety of those under our care—” Orsala nodded to Sari. “We hold in our hearts and minds the stories of our past and the power they give us. For as we create and protect, we reflect the will of heaven on earth.”

Ava felt a chill travel down her spine. Goose bumps rose on her arms as the room seemed to fill with a humming noise. It wasn’t unlike the hum she’d heard on the first day approaching Sarihöfn. It was a low thrum that traveled along her skin and seemed to settle on the back of her neck. Then her mouth dropped open in surprise as she realized some of the hum came from her own throat.

She barely felt it, but it was there. And as her voice joined the others in the room, a single tone rang out, high and clear at the front of the room. Astrid gripped her right hand, and another woman reached for her left. Ava felt no urge to pull away. No discomfort. She realized the hum that had started in her throat had traveled down each arm and was linked with the same resonance coming from both Astrid and the woman to her left. The noise surged with life and magic. The air grew electric, snapping around her as she felt the hair on her arms rise.

Ava was one and part of everything in that moment. Tears came to her eyes as she watched the small older woman with the silver hair stand in front of the room, her arms lifting as her voice rose.

Then the Irina began to sing.

Some joined with the woman in front, others rang out at different times, harmonizing as they joined, until the room was filled with the tapestry of sound. She did not understand the words, only the clear purity of voice. Ava continued to hum, along with the women she held on to. But as she sang, she felt it. She was connected. She was one with the Irina in the room. Irina long passed. The ones who had been lost. Others still hiding in fear.

As the song continued, images washed across Ava’s mind. Gold and light. She closed her eyes and a twisting kind of rainbow filled her vision. When it faded away, she not only heard—she saw what the old woman sang.

The glory of the angels on the mortal plane. Songs of love and joy.

New life.

Sorrow.

Joy.

Purpose.

Flashes like the images in the book that Malachi had shown her, and behind it all, a chorus of voices rose and fell, filling the air with a magic that elevated her soul. Fed her heart. In that moment, there was no sadness. No heartache. She had not lost Malachi, for she would see him again. In the blink of an eye, they would be together as the angels welcomed them home.

Tears streaming down her face, she opened her eyes to look for the singers. All four women stood at the front of the room, and three of them glowed with gold light. Orsala, Sari, and the old woman’s mating marks shone in the candlelight. Renata’s face was lifted in song, a single circle of magic on her forehead. When Ava looked down, she saw her own arms glowing with Malachi’s marks, saw Astrid’s mating marks lit up as well.

All around the room, the magic swelled and rose, coursing over the company of Irina and their mates. Damien stood across the room, his dark eyes fixed on his mate, his talesm lit up like burning silver. For a moment, she saw their eyes meet.

There it was.

Tears fell down her face when she recognized it. It was the look she’d seen in the manuscript. The expression of perfect completion.

Then the image that Jaron had shown her rose again. The great circle in the sky. A sun twisted with gold and silver. Higher and higher it rose, and Ava realized in the back of her mind that her own voice rose with it. She closed her eyes as the sun faded away to stars. She rose to her feet as a million scattered points of light dotted the heavens, dancing in concert to a growing song.

Then a single voice rose above the others until it was all she could hear.

And Ava realized the voice was hers.