Ash had agreed. It had been hard to do anything else, with those red eyes boring into her own. Ash had agreed. She just hadn’t thought the agreeing would cost her so soon. “You need to rest,” Ash protested. “You cannot tell me that you’re fine, Lys.”
“I am well enough to watch,” Lysanthia said.
They stood a turn away from the Beast Hall. Lysanthia rested her arms on the windowsill. This window faced Koralis. The city was bathed in orange light. Ash joined her. There was space enough for two, if they stood close. Ash stood a half-step closer than even their gazing required.
She stared out at the city for a long moment. Koralis had impressed her, the first time she'd seen it from the road. Like a crown upon a head. The view from inside the crown was no worse. She did not know where the refusal came from, only that she had to voice it.
“What about Sol?” Ash tried protesting again. Lysanthia had deposited Sol, and told the bird to ‘not scare the others’ this time. The Inker had been reluctant to have her back. Ash suspected the woman just couldn’t refuse.
“I can feel her,” Lysanthia said. “And she can feel me. She knows this is for a good cause.”
Ash had nothing to say to that. She had never had a bonded creature before. The [Hero] class did not allow for such a thing. Ash had always thought it a good thing. A Hero’s life did not leave room for another that needed protecting. It was still a good thing, she told herself, though the thought ran hollower than it once might have.
“Fine,” Ash said. “But what if there’s nothing I want to take?”
“But there is something you want to take.” Ash paused and looked across at Lysanthia. “Before we left for that class,” Lysanthia continued. “I saw you check the day’s classes. One caught your eye, I am sure of it. I did not see which one it was, but perhaps it’s still running, or hasn’t started yet.”
“I didn’t think you were watching,” Ash murmured.
Lysanthia looked at her. The fading light caught the red of her eyes and made them burn. “Do you object?” She said, “You are a Hero, and Heroes are good at many things. Subterfuge is not among them.”
“No,” Ash said. “Suppose not.” She looked away. Hopefully the light would hide the color in her cheeks.
Ash pulled out her own wooden device. She channeled the barest of Essence, and the class presented itself. Ash didn’t need to check, but she did anyway. There had been only one class that had given her pause. One that had felt out of place at this Academy.
Resonant Musical Instruments.
Ronan had said he loved three things. There had been a fourth he never counted, but everyone knew. He had carried a lute with a cracked neck through three campaigns, and in the evenings he had played for them, badly, and sung worse. She had asked him once why he bothered. "Songs can say what words can’t,” he’d said.
She had wanted to learn, back then. She had never told anyone. It had been a small, foolish hope -that when the war was over, she might learn a few chords and play something for Orvyn. That a song might say what her words could not.
Ash turned the device around so Lysanthia could see. Lysanthia's gaze trailed over the words, and her lip did the thing it did when she found something beneath her. Ash braced for it. There would be a lecture about pointless human indulgences, about needing to use their time more wis-.
“Okay.”
Ash looked at her. “Okay?”
Lysanthia’s brow furrowed, just slightly. “I said I would attend whatever class you wished, did I not?”
“Yes but-”
“Then it is decided,” Lysanthia said simply. One of her hands reached out and grabbed onto Ash’s left arm, and then Ash was being half-led and half-dragged. “I do not see the purpose, but perhaps that is fine.”
Ash felt her chest tighten. A smile crept across her face. It was good that Lysanthia was in the lead, for it meant she could not see it. It took her making three right turns before Ash remembered: Lysanthia had many talents, but she had no sense of direction. Ash led the way after that.
Ash led them to a quiet section of the Academy. Some of the quiet was the late hour. The rest was distance from the mess hall. Ren had taken them here, on their first day. Ash had memorized everything Ren had mentioned, even the things that she could have perhaps done without.
Ash stopped them in front of perhaps the most simple looking door in the entire Academy. There were no carvings. No ornamentation at all, save for the silver handle. Light bled from the gap beneath it, so there was someone inside. There was no sound -surely this class should have had some sound. The only sound in the corridor was the grinding. It had been louder all the way here.
“We can go back,” Ash murmured. “We can always just come back another-”
“No,” Lysanthia folded her arms. Ash almost didn’t need to look to see that she had folded them. “We are here now.”
Ash opened her mouth to protest. It would do nothing, but her mouth opened anyway. Lysanthia unfolded her arms and opened the door. Warm light bathed the corridor. Along with it, came a sound. The sound was, if Ash had to find a single word for it, pompous. The beat was high, consistent, and energetic. A thumping that had all of the rhythm of soldiers at march. All of the self importance too.
There were fewer students inside than Ash had expected, though Ash could not have said how many she’d expected. Ash counted only five, sitting on the floor, arranged in a circle their numbers were too few to close. One of them drew Ash’s gaze. She felt Lysanthia stiffen next to her, no doubt having noticed him too.
His skin was a deep grey, the color of ash. Four horns framed his two heads, each of which bore a different expression. The left looked bored. The right had broken out into a wide grin. Ash remembered the name Ren had given him. Malachor. While sitting he was almost half again as tall as the next tallest student.
Ash looked away from him. Standing between all of the students was the Inker. She was a short, stocky woman with a hooked nose. The sound had trailed off, and now the woman spoke.
“Very good. Now that’s progress Malac! You need to listen, only when you listen will you be able to sing!”
The half-demon’s right head laughed, and with it, the right half of his body shook. Only the right half. “It is nothing. The song of my people cannot be contained by a mere trinket such as this. If you are pleased by this sound, Inker, then you will weep when you hear me play one of our tablas!” His voice was loud, even from where Ash stood. None of the other students flinched, which told Ash they were either used to it, or had long since been deafened by it.
“I’ve told you, if the day comes I would love t-” The Inker paused. She turned towards the door, and saw Ash and Lysanthia for the first time. With her gaze, came the gaze of the other students. Corin was among them. Ash had only just noticed him. The half-demon had caught the eye.
“Are you two here for-” The Inker paused, her head tilted. “You are the two Consecrated, yes? The ones who’ve made quite the stir these last few days. Am I mistaken?"
Ash was not sure how to answer that. Luckily, she did not have to. “Yes,” Lysanthia said. Her chin was raised, and her arms were folded. They had folded so quickly Ash had not seen the motion. “We have come for this Instrument class, as you call it.”
This only made the woman look more confused, not less. She stepped out of the almost circle and approached them. “This is Resonant Musical Instruments,” the woman said. “If you are here for Primal Tactics, that class ended half an hour ago.”
“I said we came here for this Instrument class,” Lysanthia said. “Is that not what this is?”
“Yes?” The woman looked from Lysanthia, to Ash, then back again. “Wait, are you two really here for-”
“We are,” Ash said. “If you’ll still have us. The schedule says this class has already been running for some time. Is it too late or….?”
“No, no!” The woman said hurriedly, already turning. “Please, join us. Come, come. Make room children. Make room for them.”
With the two of them, the almost complete circle became a full circle. Corin spoke up as soon as Ash had sat down. “I didn’t think I would see you two here,” He said. Then, he bowed. He bowed towards Ash first, and it was a low bow. He bowed towards Lysanthia second, and this time his face almost met the ground.
Lysanthia regarded the bow for a moment. "Raise your head," she said. "I did not ask for bows, and do not need them. It is unbecoming of you."
Corin raised his head. There was color in his cheeks, and his new Spark glowed a faint, steady green against his forearm.
Lysanthia's jaw worked. Ash watched her wrestle with something, and watched the something win. "Are you... well?" The question sounded stiff.
Corin nodded. He nodded so quickly Ash worried for his neck. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Do not call me that either." Lysanthia looked away. “It is unbecoming of you.” Ash bit down on her smile.
"SISTER!"
The voice filled the room. Malachor had risen, or half of him had tried to, before the other half refused, leaving him in an awkward crouch that he committed to as though it had been intentional. His right head was grinning wide enough to show teeth. His left head was glaring.
"I have seen you before, Sister!" the right head boomed. "In the eastern corridor! You walked past us with all the bearing of a thundercloud! It is pleasing to see you again!"
"It is not that pleasing," the left head said.
"It is immensely pleasing!” The right head said.
"She did not even greet us."
"She is greeting us now! Look at her! She is practically overflowing with greeting!"
Lysanthia was not overflowing with anything, unless confusion counted. Ash watched her gaze move over the half-demon, over the four horns, the two heads, and finally the two Crests on his massive forearms. One was an orange shield. The other was…a yellow shield. Two Crests, and both of them were shields.
"I am Malachor," the right head declared. "Of the Turndholde! You will not have heard of us, for we are not famous yet, but you will! And this-" he jerked a thumb at his own left head, "-is also Malachor, again of the Turnholde!"
"I am the same person," the left head said flatly. “Do not introduce us one by one. That makes no sense. What kind of impression are you leaving on our Sister?”
"He is the same person," the right head agreed, with enormous reluctance.
There had been demons like this Malachor in the past. Ash had slain many, and encountered more still. Every one of them, however many heads they'd worn, had still been one person. Malachor felt like two people trapped in one body. Lysanthia looked at her, and Ash saw the same confusion reflected in her gaze.
Lysanthia inclined her head by perhaps a single degree. "You may call me Lysanthia," she said. "You are loud. But you carry two Crests, so perhaps you have earned some of the loudness."
The right head laughed so hard the lanterns trembled. The left head sighed. Then, the demon gestured towards Ash. “And you, human. I am told you were rather impressive yourself! Perhaps someday you might even be as famous as I! What is your name?”
“Ash.”
The right head nodded seriously. The left head scowled.
"Now then," the Inker said, clapping her hands once. "It’s been a while since we’ve had some new faces so let me go over what we do here. My name is Noelle. Just call me Noelle. None of this ‘Inker Noelle’ or ‘Master Noelle’ business.” She looked at Ash first, and then Lysanthia. Ash was sure this was where Lysanthia would say something. She didn’t.
Noelle continued, “It’s no secret that most of this Academy believes my class is a waste of stone and lamplight." She said this almost cheerfully. That meant she had said it often. None of the students around Ash so much as twitched. "But if you’re here, then you’re smarter than all of ‘em combined. You must know what this class is-"
“We do not,” Lysanthia said. Sitting, they were of equal height. All of Lysanthia's extra inches lived in her legs “Explain.”
The Inker paused. She looked at Lysanthia as if perhaps she might sprout a second head of her own. Malachor laughed. One of his heads did, anyway. The woman nodded, stepped outside the circle. From a chest at the back of the room, she produced two instruments.
Ash did not know what she’d expected. Lutes had been common in her time. As had drums. What the woman held out were two smooth red ovals, one end carved out to make a hollow. She handed Ash one, and Lysanthia the other. Only Malachor still held one of his own, hidden until now in the bowl of his cupped hands.
“These are called Mark Sirens,” The Inker explained. "They are shaped from sensitive materials. If you’ve taken any of the forging classes, then you might understand what that term means.” The oval hummed in Ash’s hand. “The process is simple. You are going to channel Essence, and you are going to listen to what comes out.”
“Listen,” Lysanthia said. “That’s…that’s it?” And because that wasn’t enough, “What is the purpose of this?”
The woman smiled. Many of the other students shifted. Even Malachor’s boisterous half was quiet. “You will hear a song,” the woman said, her voice no more than a whisper. “Of what’s inside. What’s inside you, or maybe what’s inside the mark, though most agree they are similar, if not the same thing.”
Ash stared down at the thing. She had come here because she had assumed they would be playing an actual instrument, such as the ones that had been common in her time. She had wanted to play an actual instrument. This…this wasn’t what she’d had in mind, not by half.
“And what is the purpose of that?” Lysanthia pressed.
The Inker’s lips thinned, just slightly. “You know of Insight, correct? Of the conversation between mark and bearer?” She gestured. “Anything that attunes one to their mark is a good thing. So, I am sure you can see the benefit of listening to them?”
The woman was pacing now. She walked the inside of the circle as she spoke. "What is Insight, if not hearing yourself clearly? Now, do you see?"
Ash did see. She could tell that Lysanthia understood just as well. Understood, and was debating getting up and leaving. She looked across at Ash, and sat very still. Ash did not know whether to thank her or to apologize.
Noelle stopped in front of them. "The method is simple. You just channel your mark's Essence into the instrument and focus. Let the sound come, and do not be discouraged if no sound comes out," Noelle added. "A mark is a reflection of its bearer and the bearer is the reflection of the mark. Most people at Line have too little of themselves. Most Lines produce a single note. At Spark it's usually just a hum. That is normal. Even a single honest sound is worth a hundred dishonest songs. Here, you make your songs, and the others comment. Sometimes another might have the insight we ourselves do not wish to see. Everyone here has already sung their songs. We were just about to leave, but I think everyone would like to hear you two."
The others all nodded. Even Malachor’s surly head. Even Corin. No, especially Corin.
Ash looked down at the oval in her hands. Then she glanced sideways. Lysanthia sat with her spine straight, watching the proceedings with an expression Ash could not read. Was she bored? She had to be bored. She was only here because of a promise, and Ash had dragged her here, and the grinding under her ribs never stopped, and-
"Well?" Lysanthia said. "Go on, Ash. You first."
Ash blinked. "Me?"
"Yes. Do you wish for me to repeat myself?" The words were rough, but they carried no edge at all.
Ash took a breath. She cupped the instrument, closed her eyes, and reached for the Sever. All the direction she had was to channel Essence.
The first attempt produced nothing. The second produced a faint hiss. On the third, she stopped reaching for the Sever at all, and simply let it through. The sound came.
The sound was a single note, long and clean. It was the sound of a sword leaving its sheath. the sound of a soldier pointed forward, always forward. The sound of a drawn line, straight and narrow. Ash’s hands trembled before she’d thought to stop them. She stopped channeling entirely. She looked up.
Everyone had leaned in. Even the Inker. At some point, a hand had come to rest on her thigh. Lysanthia's. It squeezed, once.
“That was…a very pure sound. Lines usually don’t sound like that.” Malachor’s left head murmured.
"It seems she is impressive in her own way,” the right head said. Malachor's right hand came up across his chest. The gesture looked strange, until Ash realized he’d meant to cross his arms. The left head hadn’t agreed to the motion.
Ash looked to Lysanthia. Lysanthia was close. When had she leaned so close? “That was….” Her voice trailed. “That was not bad.” She said. It was a handful of words, poorly framed. They helped anyway.
Noelle spoke up, “That was a nice sound. I…truthfully I’m at somewhat of a loss. A single note shouldn’t be able to convey so much. Have so much….” The woman shook her head, as if she couldn’t find the word. Maybe she couldn’t. “But….”
“But?”
“You only used one Mark,” the Inker pointed. “You should use both.”
Ash looked down at her right arm. At the purple Spark. At the Veil. It hadn’t even occurred to her to use it, even now. What kind of sound would that make? It was going to be a hum, just a hum. A hum could still say too much. Lysanthia’s grip tightened. Ash sighed and took a deep breath. She reached for the Sever first.
The single note came again. It filled the chamber. It was the sound of a thousand unsheathings and sheathings. The sound of ten thousand swings made in the empty air. It was the sound of a chamber burning in every color -colors nobody had seen before, colors nobody had seen since, colors nobody would ever see again. It was the sound of a life lived at the edge of a blade. Ash heard the sound, and only just kept her hands from trembling.
Then, she reached for the Veil. The Veil answered. The Veil was just a hum, underneath the clean note. It was the hum of a shape not matching its reflection. The hum of flowers under snow. Of a whisper beneath a shout. The Sever was a blade polished to shining. The Veil was a blade that had only ever wanted to be something else. The two sounds fit, but only as a scar fits skin.
Ash opened her eyes. Everyone was staring at her. Corin's mouth was open. Both of Malachor's heads had gone silent. For once, they both had the same open-mouthed expression. Noelle had one hand pressed flat against her chest.
And Lysanthia was staring at her with an expression Ash had never seen on her face. Her lips were parted. Her eyes were very wide, and very red, and they did not look away. Ash felt heat crawl up her neck. She felt, suddenly, completely naked. She wanted the floor to open. She wanted to take it back. She wanted-
Lysanthia was the only one who spoke. "That sound was..." Lysanthia paused. Her voice was lower than usual. "Ade-" She stopped herself. "It was more than adequate." The hand had never left her thigh. Ash became aware of it all over again, and pointedly looked away.
The Inker wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm. "Well," she said, voice not entirely steady. "Well. That is- yes. Thank you, dear." She cleared her throat and turned. "And you? Will you play for us?"
Lysanthia looked at the second instrument. Ash almost expected her to refuse. Almost. Then, reluctantly, Lysanthia withdrew her hand from Ash's thigh and took the oval in both palms. She closed her eyes. Her Lines flared red and green to every eye in the room. Ash alone knew what burned beneath.
Ash expected two different notes, for two different Lines. For the first few seconds, she got them. Ash closed her eyes, and she wasn’t in the room at all. She was at the head of a horde a hundred thousand strong. A horde that drowned the world as surely as a tide drowns a shore. She was in front of a small flame, flickering in the wind, fed twig by twig. Ash knew that flame. She had built it.
Then the two notes reached for each other. And where they met, the grinding began. It was a low scrape, like two great stones turning against each other with no rest and no end. Ash knew that sound, knew it instantly, because she had heard it every night since Lysanthia made her core. She would hear it every night from here on. It was the sound of a wound laid bare.
The other students clutched at their ears. Corin did not. He sat with his hands pressed flat against his knees and his face gone the color of chalk. Malachor's two heads turned and looked at each other. Neither spoke. The Inker was reaching for the oval. Ash did not move at all.
The oval shuddered in Lysanthia's hands. Hairline cracks spidered across its surface. The grinding rose and the instrument shattered, its pieces falling into her lap and onto the stone with small, delicate sounds. The room was silent. Ash had watched her break the Arbiter the same way. Everything that tried to say what Lysanthia was, broke.
Lysanthia stared at the fragments in her open hands. Ash's heart was somewhere near her throat. Why did I bring her here? When the Inker had explained what this was, she should have feigned some excuse, and taken Lysanthia as far away from here as they could.
Lysanthia sighed. It was a small sound, almost thoughtful. "It seems," she said quietly, "there is something lacking in me."
That was wrong. There was nothing lacking in her. Ash had heard two whole songs, and the wound where they’d met. She wanted to say it. She wouldn’t, not here, not in front of everyone. She told herself she would, when she had the words to say it right.
The Inker nodded. The nod was shaky. "These- these things break, sometimes," she managed. "The material was likely flawed. I'll fetch another, some other-"
"There is no need." Lysanthia set the pieces down on the stone with care. Then she turned. Her eyes found Ash's. There was nothing broken in them at all.
"Well, Ash?" she said. "I would like to hear that sound again. If you would play it."
The room was very warm. Ash was certain it had not been this warm a moment ago. She looked down at the instrument in her own hands, then back up at Lysanthia. "...Okay," Ash said.
She closed her eyes, and let both of the marks through, and played. Perhaps this song could say what her words could not.
She did not know who she had played for, the first time. The second time, she knew.