Song of the Forever Rains by E.J. Mellow

CHAPTER SEVEN

Darius was not happy. In fact, he was close to livid, and for a man who kept his emotions smooth as a placid lake, he was not enjoying this change in temperament. Growing up with his stepfather, a man who lived to incite Darius, he’d found that remaining perfectly calm through all manner of horror was the only way he retained any sort of control in his life.

He needed to get out of here.

“Will ya be staying for the party?” asked his guide as he led Darius through one of the many dark corridors of the castle. Though Darius couldn’t see any guards, he felt the inky walls watching as they moved.

“No,” replied Darius.

“But you’ve been invited.”

“How did you—never mind. Of course you would know.” He glowered at the bent-over man. A few oily strands of hair escaped the folds of his gray-wrapped head, and not for the first time Darius wondered what his guide hid under all that cloth.

“Nothing ya’d care to remember seeing.” The senseer answered Darius’s thoughts.

“Stop doing that.”

“Then stop thinking so loudly.”

“Shall I ponder in whispers then?”

“Whispers are just as loud as screams.”

“I would argue, sir, they are not.”

“Inside here they are.” The man tapped a long fingernail against his skull.

Darius let out an annoyed sigh but kept quiet. His patience for riddles had run thin.

The Thief King had proved useless, remaining a cold, silent cloud of smoke as Darius had pleaded his case. He knew it had been risky, coming here to face the creature whose reputation and lore had been more than validated when Darius had stepped into that throne room. If it weren’t for the years of living with his own demon, standing still while his stepfather cut him down with his poisonous words—he was never clean enough, was never smart enough, ate like a commoner, was an utter bore of a companion—Darius would surely have crumbled in the presence of this one. Instead he’d kept his spine straight as he’d all but begged for help from the man he knew had the power to give it.

His lands had to be saved, his people freed from the oppressive and neglectful decisions of his stepfather. Lachlan had suffered enough, was on the brink of full and utter collapse. Darius had tried and was still trying to fix things where he could—mending sails, providing what food he could sneak from their kitchen, postponing tax collection as long as possible—but he was only one man, and the Lachlan people, though destitute, still were many. Anytime Darius went to confront his stepfather on the matter, gathering all his courage, he quickly found it reduced to ash in Hayzar’s presence. Darius would suddenly be without words, frozen and shamefully terrified as a consuming blackness overtook him.

The scars along Darius’s skin began to burn at the cloudy memories, and he shook himself free of them.

Darius was desperate and had thought his predicament would make him the perfect prey for the king. He was a sliver away from giving up his own soul for aid, for anything that could heal Lachlan, but it didn’t seem to matter. And Darius had thought the solution would be an easy one—surely the Thief King would see that there was just one man, one person to be rid of to end Lachlan’s suffering. But no, the Thief King had merely told Darius he would think on his troubles, and if he decided to help in regard to Lachlan, Darius would eventually know.

What nonsense answer was that?

After all Darius had paid and risked, sneaking away from his stepfather to find this place . . .

Money that could have gone to his people . . .

And if help did come from the Thief King, how much would it cost? And could he afford it? Would Darius have a chance to know before the bargain was cemented? And what if no aid came at all? What then?

When he’d asked this, the creature wrapped in smoke had merely demanded Darius’s retreat, repeating that his decision of indecision was made, and told him to enjoy the celebrations soon to take place in the palace.

Maddening.

“It’s just through here.” The crooked man pointed down a jagged tunnel to their left, which seemed to be roughly carved from the palace’s midnight rock.

“What is?” asked Darius, attempting to push down his bubbling fury from tonight’s outcome.

“Where ya’ve been invited.”

“I said I wasn’t going.”

“But ya will.”

Darius gave a humorless laugh. “Oh, will I? And shall you be the one to drag me there?”

The senseer shook his head. “Ya will go willingly.”

“Listen.” Darius rubbed one of his throbbing temples with his gloved hand. “I’m very tired, past starved, sick of wearing this mask, and, as annoyed as I am to admit it, on the brink of a breakdown. All I want is to be shown back to Jabari.”

“What ya seek ya will find down here. No one leaves a performance of the Mousai dissatisfied.”

“The Mousai?”

“They will feed yer hunger and ease yer aches.”

“Are they the palace’s apothecary?”

A smoky laugh reverberated out of his guide. “Some might say so.”

Darius looked down the long tunnel to the faint light at the end, listening to the hum of noise echoing out.

“Ya might never be here again.” The bent creature took a step toward the sound. “Don’t ya want to see some wonder before traveling home to all that rain?”

How the man knew Lachlan was under a constant storm cloud or that Darius even hailed from there, he found himself no longer caring. If the man was trying to lure him, he was succeeding.

“Why do I feel like this is more for your pleasure than for mine?” asked Darius, resigned to follow the man.

“Because yer clever despite first impressions.”

“What a glowing compliment. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were beginning to like me.”

“I like ya enough to advise ya not to eat anything given for free and only drink after they perform.”

“Excuse me?”

But any answer disappeared as Darius was shown through a rocky entrance into a massive domed cave filled to the brim with strange, fantastic figures.

The smell hit him first—layers upon layers of perfume and a rich, earthy odor only produced by a packed throng of people.

Then the sound—yelling, moaning, and laughter mixed.

Then the scene—debauchery. Every inch.

At least a dozen stone balconies rimmed the den’s height, leading up to a circular oculus, where a glimpse of the starry-glowworm night shone through. Creatures half-dressed, fully clothed, short, tall, angled, straight, hissing, barking, and with a number of other sounds and shapes Darius could hardly describe moved in a wave around him and spilled from the many floors towering above. Some stood, clutching plates piled high with meats and steamed vegetables, as they watched others throw punches, wrestling to gain the favor of a pretty creature. Others, already seeming to have won, groped, touched, and kissed their prizes, who moaned in return, more than pleased with the attention.

While certain body parts Darius wished were covered swayed free, all faces were obscured, keeping anonymity intact. Large goblets were snatched up from trays held by gold-painted beings, and a massive banquet was displayed along the curve of one wall. Nearby, couches and chaise longues were draped with more guests, tangled together or greedily taking in the proceedings. The lighting was dim, though bright enough for stretching shadows to paint the vivid scene.

Darius couldn’t decide if he should retch at the sights and grunts or find a parchment to hastily write it all down. Here was the legendary Thief Kingdom, the place only spoken of in whispers.

Yet wide eyed though he was behind his mask, being amid such depravity didn’t feel like he would have expected. For as debased as most of it was, an air of utter acceptance swam through the room, as if all actions here were safe and desired, and all pleasures, pains, and secret lusts would not be judged. The freedom of this realization sent a vibration through Darius that frightened him. How much of his life, his true emotions, did he hold back, chained down and quiet? What would it be like to live free from worry, from the shadow of Hayzar or the guilt that constantly clawed in his gut as he watched his lands being bled dry? What would it be like to give another pain for once? Just once—

“Careful, my boy.” The senseer’s voice cut through his haze. “I suggest for this visit, ya look but don’t touch, hmm?”

“I don’t want to be here,” said Darius, though he found he couldn’t bring himself to retreat.

“Come.” The man pulled on Darius’s cloak. “Let’s get some food in ya.”

Reaching the table, his guide gathered up a plate of steamed rice, glistening smoked ribs, and a glob of something that looked horrid but smelled divine. “Here.” He pushed the plate into Darius’s hands.

“What of the price?”

“You pay me.” A deep voice turned their attention to a figure leaning against the table. Their brow was covered in crimson cloth, little slits revealing completely black eyes. They were bald and shirtless, with swirls of red paint marking their chalk-white body. The designs trailed across every inch before disappearing under their red silk skirt. When they smiled, only six teeth were revealed. “Hello, old friend.” They glanced down to Darius’s companion. “It’s been too long since you’ve dined with us.”

“I haven’t been hungry for what ya’ve been serving.”

The disguised red figure laughed, a high pitch of delight. “I almost forgot your charms. But who have you brought us tonight?” They turned their reflective gaze on Darius. “A piglet looking to squeal?”

“Never mind him,” said the crouched man. “What do we owe?”

“The usual.” Black eyes raked the length of Darius. “A kiss.”

Darius lifted his brows. “For a plate of food?”

“Aye.” Their toothy grin grew wider.

“Well, you’re certainly confident in your cooking.”

The person painted red clapped their hands with a giggle. “Oh, he’ll fit in nicely.”

With the aroma of the food wafting through Darius’s mask, his stomach growled in hunger. At this point he didn’t care who he needed to kiss to eat. “Let’s do this then, shall we?” Darius stepped forward, but the painted figure steadied him with a hand to his chest.

“As flattered as I am by your eagerness, my child . . .” Their fingers performed an exploratory graze over Darius’s abdomen. “It is he”—they looked down at the senseer—“whom I wish to kiss.”

Though the man was a walking mummy from head to foot, Darius could have sworn he felt his guide blush beneath the wrap.

“Come here, my pet,” cooed the red figure. “Nothing else will satisfy the debt.”

“And ya wonder why I stay away for so long.”

“Oh, posh.” His admirer waved an amused hand. “You were too ready to ask what you owed.” Dropping to their knees, they caressed the senseer’s cloth-covered cheek before parting a bit of fabric to reveal charred black lips. “Beautiful,” they whispered before pressing their mouth to the guide’s.

It was over in the quickest grain’s fall, but Darius couldn’t help noticing how his guide swayed forward, as if wishing it to last much longer.

The red figure stood with a smile, fixing the senseer’s gauze back in place. “Do not hesitate to refill your plate.” They spoke to Darius while still looking at his companion. “I will be here all night to collect.”

And with that, the red figure turned to address the new line of hungry guests.

“Are you two—?”

“I have not pried into yer life.” The senseer cut Darius off as they squeezed their way to an empty spot along a far wall. “I expect the favor to be returned.”

“Fair enough.” Darius shifted his mask so he could take a bite of food. He all but groaned. It could have been discarded slop, and it still would have satisfied.

“Eat fast, boy,” instructed his guide. “They will be here soon.”

“Who?”

“The Mousai.”

What is so special about these Mousai?thought Darius, annoyed.

“Can you not eat while they are in the room?” asked Darius.

A soft chuckle came from the man. “You can certainly try, but it will be difficult with your hands in chains.”

“I beg your pardon?” Darius frowned down at the man.

Just then a hush fell over the room as the candelabras that lined the vaulted cave dimmed, and a spotlight shone on a figure five balconies up.

She was beautiful, a tall statue of a creature, her skin as dark as a moonless night, with a shaved head and long, graceful neck. A light-gray dress wrapped the expanse of her lithe body, while silver bands snaked up her delicate arms to a face she left uncovered. Clever violet eyes raked over the audience below. She might have looked no older than four and twenty, but even Darius could tell that years were not how she measured her time. Her overwhelming pulse of energy seemed to stretch out, like heat from the sun, warming all below despite the distance. But the sensation held a tingling warning to keep one’s distance, for the sun also had the power to burn. Darius shivered through the sensation, knowing this meant one thing—she was a creature not of this world, and an ancient one at that.

“Welcome, my sweets.” Her sultry voice carried through the cave. “Our king has been generous to us this evening, has he not?”

A quick burst of cheers filled the cavern.

“And his gifts continue,” the woman went on. “But before we can share them, we ask you to take the usual precautions.”

“Precautions?” whispered Darius to his guide, unease seeping through him.

The senseer merely shushed him as the woman’s purple eyes danced over the crowd as she continued. “Those gifted with what the lost gods left can stay where they are, but those that do not possess any drops of magic are invited to take leave now or, if bold enough to stay, will find a bench with restraints toward the back. None shall bear witness to the Mousai’s performance without these measures. Now come, my darlings.” She raised her hands wide. “Find your places, for the creatures you’ve come to see are here!”

The room exploded with chatter, a moving wave as the crowd split into those who had the gifts and those who did not. Darius was swept to the side by a mass of guards, his plate of food clattering to the ground. He yelled out for them to stop, his heartbeat like bombs going off in his chest as unknown hands roughly pushed him onto a bench. But in the next blink he was seated and chained to the wall with a dozen more men and women. His breathing came out in gasps as he searched the room for his guide. But there was no creature Darius recognized. He peered at others beside him. The only slip of reprieve was to find none as panicked as he. In fact, what mouths were uncovered, smiled wide in anticipation. How did the guards know they all were without magic? That he didn’t want to leave, like the woman had suggested some do? But before Darius could question any further or fight the restraints, darkness descended upon the chamber.

And not just any darkness—a consuming void, as if Darius’s eyes had been plucked from his head.

Panic flooded his veins moments before a beam of light shone on the room’s cavernous entrance, the audience now gathered around in a crowded semicircle. Darius squinted into the inky black just as a group of shadowy figures appeared. A new hush settled over the room, one charged with impatient hope, and Darius leaned forward, his chains rattling, as he watched three crouched assistants in beastly costumes of braided fur pull a platform forward. Atop were three statue-like figures draped, cinched, and sewn into the most elaborate costumes Darius had ever seen.

The tallest, in the center, wore a massive headdress made of spread raven wings. A black shawl covered her face, and onyx gems were sewn over her eyes and cheeks, leaving bare her full, purple lips and ash-white painted chin. Her gown was like liquid ink with swatches of deep violet woven into the material. She stood poised with her hands covered in black skintight gloves, bound together in more dark silk, leaving her incapable of moving the smallest finger.

The second was the shortest of the trio, her costume like a fiery rose before bloom, the soft material pooling around her ankles before spilling over the podium. Shaded swaths of orange and black gracefully wrapped the entirety of her hourglass body, keeping her tied in place, limbs contained. Her face was covered in intricate creamy lace patterned with feathers, while her hair was tucked into the shroud, leaving a long veil of more pearly plumage draped down her back.

The last was the most shocking; her face was completely covered by a studded mask of black pearls. A giant bow made of obsidian and deep-blue feathers rested atop her head, while her thin figure was draped from head to toe in a sheer ebony gauze, the most desirable parts hidden by onyx plumes that spiraled around her form.

Any other skin exposed on the trio was decorated in intricate swirls of black-and-white paint, leaving their true skin tones a mystery.

They looked like frozen birds spun of nightmares and paradise.

While the women remained perfectly still, the same three assistants stepped forward to unclip the tall one’s hands, laying an elegant violin in her arms. For the girl wrapped in orange, they loosened her silk shackles from the podium, and for the third, they unlatched the bottom part of her pearl mask, revealing full lips, painted black and set against more patterns painted along her chin. Her eyes remained covered.

Darius’s heart leaped in his chest. Never before had he witnessed such art, such dark beauty, and he was both terrified of and desperate for whatever was to happen next.

Slowly, like a gentle wind lifting a petal, the woman with the violin moved it into position; the room’s occupants took in a collective breath right before she dragged her bow over the strings.

The world collapsed around Darius as the haunting tune flowed over his body. So simple, that one chord, but it seeped into his mind and consumed all thought but the trio in front of him. Clamping his teeth to hold back a moan, Darius listened helplessly as she pulled out another chord and then another until he was dizzy with the sounds she created. Her graceful arms moved as if not bound by gravity, her fingers fluttering over the neck of her child.

For that was how this creature held the instrument, as though it were her most precious possession, the love of her life, and it responded in kind.

Darius wanted to cry out to the enchantress, to beg her to stop while pleading for her never to cease, but before he could utter a word, the second woman, wrapped in orange, began to move. Her gown blossomed as she fell into the rhythm the other created. She danced a trance around the violinist as the train of her gown fluttered like wings while her hips seemed to catch the notes and send them spinning. The material of her dress floated up, twirling and swirling around her, a tornado of beauty and passion.

Darius’s skin burned at the sight, at this spell of pure, pulsing energy, and he wasn’t the only one suffering, for a whimper came from his left, then his right. He was about to check on his neighbors but stopped when the third performer, her eyes still covered, opened her mouth and—

By the Obasi Sea.

Devastation eternal.

Darius’s soul was snatched from his body and shredded to ribbons. A single note, just one, was enough to ruin him. His eyes, ears, nose, mouth—all of him was flooded with the melody she poured from her soul, and right when Darius was convinced he would drown in it, she split the note in two, then three, as if she held a dozen voices inside. She filled the chamber with her destructive harmony, allowing it to soar up and out of the opening in the ceiling.

He was reduced to pinpricks of energy that circled greedily, needing, wanting, searching for the space where he could become one with that voice. It was a song that held no language but still spoke of desires deeply hidden, of yearnings and births and deaths. The three picked up their pace, seeming to know exactly what each needed to carry her to the next note, turn, and chord.

It was too much.

Too everything.

They were sirens on a rocky island, surrounded by crashing waves, daring all to join them, and Darius would have willingly, just as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His last memories were of a dark cavern filled with a rush of pressing bodies and hedonistic dancing.

“Boy.” A stinging slap fell across Darius’s cheek. “Boy, open yer eyes. That’s it. Keep ’em open now.”

Blinking back to life, Darius found the gauze-covered senseer hovering in front of him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Ya passed out.”

“Passed out . . .” Darius’s mouth felt like dust as he peered around the space, taking in a scene that looked very similar to when he’d first entered the domed cave. Except now he was slouched against the bench he’d been forced onto, skin burning. With a wince, he sat up, looking down at the red flesh where his wrists had been rubbed raw from the chains, the cuffs at his legs digging into his leather trousers; he must have pulled viciously against his restraints. His breath puffed quickly, but not fast enough to ease his burning lungs, as the room continued to spin. What had happened to the music? The singing?

An aching loss filled Darius’s chest.

He needed it. Needed to hear, see, feel it all again, or he surely would die. Only that voice, that music, and the sway of those hips could ever cure him of this feeling. Darius was desperate for them, mad for them. He needed—

“Drink this.”

A cup was forced against his lips, and cool, sweet liquid ran down his throat.

Darius’s muscles relaxed with each swallow until the fire inside him had dulled to a flicker and his head had cleared.

Heaving a relieved sigh, Darius peered into the violet eyes of the woman who had spoken earlier, from the balcony. She crouched before him now, goblet in hand, and if he’d thought her beautiful from afar, she was overwhelmingly opulent up close. Skin as smooth and glossy as black marble, sharp cheekbones, and white teeth that appeared to glow with her clever grin. The irises of her eyes pulsed as if they held tiny stars; Darius could have sworn she peered through him, as if she could see more than just what lay behind his mask.

“What are you?” he found himself asking.

“Here they call us Achak,” she said as her voice dropped and her features swam from a woman’s into a man’s.

Darius blinked.

By the lost gods. What was in that drink?

A new face looked at him now, just as dark and alluring, but with a thick beard and wider nose and mouth, those same violet eyes still swirling.

He winked at Darius before remolding back into the woman.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” muttered Darius, leaning forward, annoyed to see he was still chained down.

“My brother usually does that to people,” said Achak before giving Darius’s restraints a tap, making them fall open. “He’s always been the ugly one.”

“I’d back up, love.” The senseer spoke beside them. “He looks a bit pasty. I wouldn’t want yer dress to get splotched on.”

“He’ll be fine,” she said, placing a calming hand to Darius’s knee. “Won’t you?”

“I . . . yes, I will.” Darius moved his mask from his face just enough to wipe away the sweat sliding down his cheeks. He wanted to tear the blasted thing off.

“I think it’s time you took our friend home.” Achak spoke to the guide, standing to her full height.

Home.

“No, not yet.” Darius stood, too, testing his balance. For as horrid as he’d felt a moment ago, he was quickly recovering. His eyes scanned the pulsing cave, passing over creature after creature in the hopes of glimpsing just one. Though three made up the Mousai, he couldn’t help how his soul had split and welded back together on hearing that voice. He would never actually approach her. No, he merely needed reassurance that she was real, alive, adding to the splendor that was Aadilor.

“What you seek you will not find tonight.”

Achak’s layered voice twisted in Darius’s ear, and he started, finding the ancient one had moved closer.

“Are you a senseer too?” asked Darius, a sharp edge to his tone. Were his thoughts ever again to be his own?

“Follow your guide home, my child.” Achak placed the cup she held onto a passing tray. “Rest. You’ve learned and seen much tonight.”

“I may have learned and seen much,” said Darius. “But none of it was what I came to find.”

“Are you sure?” asked Achak, her features shifting from woman to man again. “Answers come in many forms,” said the new sibling in a heavy voice. He smiled gently, almost with pity, before he and his sister, as one, melted into the chaotic crowd.

Darius frowned. Yes, he thought, more than sure. For though this trip might have enlightened him to many things, none had given him the answer he desired most.

How to get rid of his stepfather.