chagrined, when a sound catches my ear. It’s a high sound, but not like the screeching of an owl or the wailing of a nursling. It’s a flowing sound that evokes the image of a river or the wind streaming through the treetops—and yet still like no other sound I have ever heard.
I cannot stop myself from following the echoing noise. I track it through the thicket of trees until I come to the center of the grove.
There I see a young female, sitting against a strangely shaped tree. She cradles a large object on her knees, and strums the strings that stretch from its wide base up a long wooden neck. The object reminds me of the pictographs I often pass in themurals that cover the walls of the palace. It vaguely resembles a lyre—the great weapon the Traitor had used to deceive Hades all those centuries ago. But the object the girl holds does not seem like a weapon. Her picking and strumming the strings are what create the reverberating sound. I remove my sunglasses to be able to see her better in the shady grove, and I watch, curious, as she opens her mouth and starts to speak.
No, not quite speaking. Her voice sounds different from that. Her words are drawn out, ebbing and flowing at times and flitting at others, blending with the sounds that come from her strumming. It grows in intensity, swirling around the grove and washing over me. It pulls at me, evoking something I have not felt since I was in the presence of the Oracle: the feeling of wonder.
When the girl stops speaking and the sound dies away, a gasp slips out of my lips.
She stands, her abruptness making it clear that I have given myself away.
“Who’s there?” she asks. Her voice sounds different from before. Lower, but still appealing.
I know I should leave, but I can’t. I need to know what it was that she did with her voice. I want to know how.
She steps closer. The way she moves is almost as appealing as her voice. I feel energy swirling in my chest, growing stronger the closer she gets. I move in nearer to her. She does not see me yet, but she shivers.
I ask her what she’d done with her voice. I speak English, but I realize too late that I haven’t concealed my Underrealm accent.
I step closer to her, still cloaked in shadow.
She places her hand on her throat. “You mean my singing?”
“Singing.” I know that word; I have just never heard the soundthat it applies to. It has always been an abstract concept to me until now. “Is that what you call that?”
She’s angry at me. She thinks I am toying with her for my own enjoyment. She will leave if I don’t do something. I step out from my hiding spot in the dark.
She takes a step back, as if nervous. I don’t want her to go.
I try to reassure her as I come closer.
“I just wanted to know what that was you did with your voice. And with that.” I point at the object she holds. “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”
She gives me a confused look, and I wonder if she does not understand my question. I want to explain further, but I am distracted by her nearness. Energy pulses through my body, stronger than my heartbeat. The sunlight streaming through the canopy of the grove glints off her golden hair, and the curves of her body make my hands prickle with heat that is unlike what I normally experience before a surge of lightning. Her blue eyes, brighter than the mortal world’s sky, meet mine.
I stand still, letting her look at me. I can feel the fire swirling in my eyes. Finally, I blink, unable to bear the intensity.
“Are you real?” I ask her. I have heard stories of mystical creatures that can enchant men with their voices. It is one of the reasons this singing—music—is forbidden in my world. And she is unlike any mortal female who has ever been brought to my realm.
I have also heard stories of sprites that can create mirages.
I raise my hand toward her face, wanting to touch her to see if she
is
real, but I hesitate, not quite wanting to know the answer.
I cannot stop myself from following the echoing noise. I track it through the thicket of trees until I come to the center of the grove.
There I see a young female, sitting against a strangely shaped tree. She cradles a large object on her knees, and strums the strings that stretch from its wide base up a long wooden neck. The object reminds me of the pictographs I often pass in themurals that cover the walls of the palace. It vaguely resembles a lyre—the great weapon the Traitor had used to deceive Hades all those centuries ago. But the object the girl holds does not seem like a weapon. Her picking and strumming the strings are what create the reverberating sound. I remove my sunglasses to be able to see her better in the shady grove, and I watch, curious, as she opens her mouth and starts to speak.
No, not quite speaking. Her voice sounds different from that. Her words are drawn out, ebbing and flowing at times and flitting at others, blending with the sounds that come from her strumming. It grows in intensity, swirling around the grove and washing over me. It pulls at me, evoking something I have not felt since I was in the presence of the Oracle: the feeling of wonder.
When the girl stops speaking and the sound dies away, a gasp slips out of my lips.
She stands, her abruptness making it clear that I have given myself away.
“Who’s there?” she asks. Her voice sounds different from before. Lower, but still appealing.
I know I should leave, but I can’t. I need to know what it was that she did with her voice. I want to know how.
She steps closer. The way she moves is almost as appealing as her voice. I feel energy swirling in my chest, growing stronger the closer she gets. I move in nearer to her. She does not see me yet, but she shivers.
I ask her what she’d done with her voice. I speak English, but I realize too late that I haven’t concealed my Underrealm accent.
I step closer to her, still cloaked in shadow.
She places her hand on her throat. “You mean my singing?”
“Singing.” I know that word; I have just never heard the soundthat it applies to. It has always been an abstract concept to me until now. “Is that what you call that?”
She’s angry at me. She thinks I am toying with her for my own enjoyment. She will leave if I don’t do something. I step out from my hiding spot in the dark.
She takes a step back, as if nervous. I don’t want her to go.
I try to reassure her as I come closer.
“I just wanted to know what that was you did with your voice. And with that.” I point at the object she holds. “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”
She gives me a confused look, and I wonder if she does not understand my question. I want to explain further, but I am distracted by her nearness. Energy pulses through my body, stronger than my heartbeat. The sunlight streaming through the canopy of the grove glints off her golden hair, and the curves of her body make my hands prickle with heat that is unlike what I normally experience before a surge of lightning. Her blue eyes, brighter than the mortal world’s sky, meet mine.
I stand still, letting her look at me. I can feel the fire swirling in my eyes. Finally, I blink, unable to bear the intensity.
“Are you real?” I ask her. I have heard stories of mystical creatures that can enchant men with their voices. It is one of the reasons this singing—music—is forbidden in my world. And she is unlike any mortal female who has ever been brought to my realm.
I have also heard stories of sprites that can create mirages.
I raise my hand toward her face, wanting to touch her to see if she
is
real, but I hesitate, not quite wanting to know the answer.
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