The Song of Loss

Chapter Ten - Lullaby and Goodnight

The woman was in her dreams again. A rabbit was curled in her lap, black fur shining in the soft candlelight. It shifted as if sensing Darcy watching and the third eye on its forehead opened.

Darcy sat up clutching the empty space on her chest where her saint's medal should have been. She felt only the fabric of the borrowed dress. Dried bits of what smelled like blood flaked off under her fingertips. It was almost impossible to properly see anything in the dim light. She couldn't even make out any of the faces of the other people crowded around her in the cramped cells.

There were dozens of them that she could see. Over the smell of dirt and grime and sweat, Darcy could smell the metallic tang of blood. It filled the air, threatening to overwhelm her. Blood was nothing new to anyone who hunted. This was beyond any amount Darcy had encountered. She tried to stand and discovered her sprained ankle.

"Damn stupid shoes," she muttered, kicking the offending heels as far away from herself as she could. Krea could yell at her about them later. A shiver of unease ran through her. She'd nearly forgotten why and where she was but it came crashing back. Along with it came the awareness that her flute was most definitely not with her.

Panic swam at the edges of her vision and urged her onto her feet. Fresh pain traveled up her leg but she ignored it this time. If no one was coming to find her then she was getting herself out. "I can unlock a door, how hard could it be?" she asked no one in particular.

"They're magically sealed," someone responded. A few other voices chimed in with the same information, including that there were wards on the doors outside of the cells and guards patrolling. In short, none of them were going anywhere.

"Lacy? Is that you?"

Darcy spun, grabbing the wall for support. A thin man was holding out a hand to her with wide hopeful eyes. She recognized him after a moment and stifled a gasp. "Tieran?" The last she'd seen of him had been his back as he left the Verosen Woods. The spindly shadow moving towards her was nothing like her memory, and it wasn't just because she'd only been as tall as his waist at the time.

"You're not... Darcy? No, no what are you doing here?" he cried, crushing her to his chest. His saint's medal banged into her cheek but it was the most comforting pain she'd felt.

"I think I'm meant to be rescuing everyone but the plan isn't going quite right," she admitted. Tears threatened to escape her tight control.

Tieran released his hold on her to see her more clearly. A patchy beard covered most of his lower face. "I have prayed for salvation every night, but this is the first time I've felt listened to," he whispered. His fingers clutched his saint's medal the same way Darcy was so used to doing.

"I'm hardly Nialdir's answer to your prayers," Darcy scoffed. "Just look at me." The borrowed fresh swished uselessly as she gestured to herself angrily. Her bare feet scuffed against the dirt caked floor.

Around her, the other captives had lowered their heads now that the newcomer was proving as helpless as them. Teiran pulled Darcy to sit by him. "Surely just having a familiar face is a blessing on its own," he said. As Darcy leaned against his side with her face in her hands, he wrapped an arm around her and began humming softly under his breath.

It wasn't anything splendid like Darcy had been playing over the last few days. There were no intricate ups and downs that she could weave her own music into. She recognized it as a lullaby her mother had picked up from the Famris. Darcy followed it easily, relaxing into the familiar tune.

All eyes in the room turned to her. That was when Darcy noted the golden strings that fell from the notes as they echoed around the small space. The strings wrapped around the captives' bodies like comforting caresses. One by one they relaxed and some closed their eyes as they fell into deep sleep. This was the blessing Krea had given her. This was how it worked.