The brass chain struck at Wes like it was possessed by Spryne himself, smashing through his chest with Frida’s long-dead malice. If he had still had a heart, the chain would have pulverized it instantly.
But Wes could no longer be killed by such means. Instead, he was skewered, dangling off the writhing chain like a grotesque pendant on a giant necklace. Frantically, Wes sang, trying to soothe Frida’s steelsong, but of course, no metal could hear his ghostly voice.
None but me.
Wes wailed, grieving the easy friendship with brass that had once been his birthright. It had been as easy as breathing for him. It had been as much a part of him as his flesh, and now all of it had burned away.
He could not even cry, for his tear ducts were gone. All he could do was scream his despair in a frequency that remained foreign and unnatural to him.
Mandorias covered his ears, overwhelmed by the haunting horror of what he and not the metal could hear.
Yethyr heard it too, but he did not shirk away from despair so easily. “Wesed! You have to carve the notation into the chain itself.”
“No!” Wes cried. “I won’t mutilate her work!”
“Even as it mutilates you?”
Kettir loosed an arrow, and it bounced harmlessly off the song-enforced brass.
Yethyr opened his mouth to speak death before remembering that they fought something that never lived and so could never die.
His powers were useless.
Or perhaps not. He had no power over the chain, but Wes was a different story.
He seized Wes’ composition and changed it, condensed it, and snared the chain in a fist made of Wes’ bones. He slammed the skeleton into the chain-coiled tree and held it there. The chain was held with it, trapped on the tree that had been its resting place.
“Do you want me to blow it off the mountain?” Nisari asked
“Not yet,” Yethyr said through gritted teeth. The chain writhed angrily, trying to lash at anything it could reach, but it was stuck on Wes, and by Yethyr’s will, Wes could not be moved.
“Wesed, you have to neutralize it.”
“I don’t know how,” Wes’ voice came from the bones holding the chain at bay.
“Yes, you do.” Yethyr reformed Wes’ right arm. “Take the etching tool I know you have and carve into the brass. The chain nearest to you is being held steady.”
“Yeah. By me!”
“It was you who told me to be more creative with bone!” Yethyr cried defensively. “Now be more creative with metal.”
“I don’t know how to translate what I sing.”
Yethyr tried to ignore the urgency wrought by the chain’s constant murder attempts and said patiently, “I’ll help you.”
Oh, no. Wes learning deathsong was one thing, but Wes learning how to change the steelsong of his colleagues was a direct threat to me. He was an apprentice of Daened and a quick learner. Once he started, I had little doubt he would be able to change me with enough time, perhaps strip me of my defenses against Yethyr, perhaps destroy me utterly altogether.
I could not allow that.
I began to sing in Frida’s voice. The metal could not hear me, of course, but Wes could, Yethyr could, and they both paused to hear me. I sang with Frida’s magnificence and her cruelty. She had always been a vicious and possessive artist. Wes and I both knew what her opinion on tampering with something of hers would have been.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
I sang of that opinion, and Wes wailed again. “Don’t mock her, Bonesong.”
I put a touch of contempt into my voice, and my message to him was clear: Then don’t mock her either.
“I can’t do it. I can’t do that to Frida’s work.”
Yethyr had heard me, but he did not understand, could not understand. He lacked the context to comprehend what Wes heard in my music.
“If you don't, Nisari will blow it off the mountain.”
I could see Yethyr’s plan. He intended to seize this opportunity of desperation and force Wesed into a position where he had to write in steelsong. He held back the rest of the party from helping, waiting for Wes to make the only option open to him.
I had to ensure there was another option. I had to soothe the chain myself.
But how?
Just like Wes, metal could not hear me. Then again, neither could men, most of the time, and yet I could always communicate if they were touching me.
It stood to reason that I could communicate with metal if I was touching it. I urged Yethyr to swing me at the chain, but he rejected the false thought.
“I don’t want to damage it, Bonesong,” he hissed to me.
I didn’t either; I just wanted to talk to my brass brother before Wes was forced to deface it.
I couldn’t explain that to Yethyr, of course, which meant I had to force his hand. My hold over the Prince wasn’t strong enough to move his body when he was opposed to it. That meant bringing the chain to him.
Fine.
Resolve welled up in me. Yethyr had been teaching deathsong principles this whole journey, but Wes hadn’t been the only one paying attention.
I sang again, this time imitating Yethyr’s composition. The only thing holding back the chain was Wes’ bones, and the only thing holding Wes was that improvised composition.
Yethyr had never done something like this before. Unlike his music to move bones in human ways, he probably had no frame of reference for what this fist made from Wes’ bones was supposed to sound like.
And if that was the case, he might not notice if I added a note or two.
I fell in sync with him; I fell so in sync it was difficult to know where my voice ended and his choir began. I let that choir hide me, bury me in the music, and then, ever so slightly, I changed my imitation.
It was not much, just a couple of notes out of tune. A desynchronization so small it sounded accidental, random even, and yet it was just enough to make Yethyr’s grip on Wes stutter.
The chain shot out in that momentary weakness, striking toward the Prince with the precision of one of Kettir’s arrows.
As soon as Yethyr had the instinct to draw me, I was in his hand. I parried the brass chain, and there was the marvelous clang of steelsong.
I was so much stronger than it, the poor thing. I had to hold back my strength so I would not shatter it in one blow. Instead, Frida’s voice rippled out from me and into it, singing a lullaby of calming, a lullaby of compliance, a lullaby of—
Too soon, the chain and I glanced off each other. My lullaby went on, but I needed direct contact for the chain to hear me. It attacked again, and I parried, our touch still too brief. Not even Frida could have sung a whole lullaby in a second.
I focused. I would need to sing it piecemeal, then, note by note, for as long as it took.
It came again and again, and I parried, again and again. With each touch, I sang a single note in Frida’s voice and the chain recognized her voice still, even after so long ago.
A desperate creation and its dead maker, united again for fractions of a moment with every touch of brass against my steel. Every note in Frida’s voice, the chain echoed back. The mountaintops rang with the beauty of their reunion.
Yethyr and Mandorias could hear my deathsong side of the duet. Only Wes and I could rejoice in the full wonder of it, deathsong and steelsong echoing each other in perfect harmony.
A simple, fragmented duet.
The chain fell to Yethyr’s feet, docile and content and I felt like a liar. Moments passed. I waited for the chain to see through my deception and lunge again. I almost wanted it too. It felt wrong for a steel brother of mine to not recognize me for what I was.
But of course, I was cursed to be the only smart one in our family. The chain did not move again. Everyone sighed in relief.
“Can someone stop attacking us for a few minutes!” Mandorias cried
“I think we’re not being attacked enough,” Nisari insisted. She watched a reformed Wes eagerly collect the now tranquil chain and scowled. “You should have let me blow that demon-cursed thing off the mountain.”
Yethyr ignored her. He was staring down at me, and too late did I realize my mistake. I could command other metals with my touch. Now, Yethyr knew I could control other metals with my touch. Through me, he could almost steelsing. Through me, Daened’s legacy was his for the taking.
A dozen schemes immediately unfurled in Yethyr’s mind, and I was at the center of all of them.
I did not find that comforting.
Thank you so much for reading! What did you think? I love comments and often respond to them. If you want to support me and read ahead, you know where to go.
**schedule** is 6 am PDT on Fridays. See you guys then!
What is more of a threat to Bonesong?
