ASH WORRIES FOR his friend. While he waits for Finch on a quiet, deserted street, he thinks back to the fruit of the last meeting. Finch had given him the names of citizens who support overturning the ordinances. He had spread the word among them that Ash could be trusted, and the underground resistance group was resurrected.
The group is committed to peaceful methods. As impulsive as Ash is, he agrees that violence should be a last resort. But progress is slow, especially with most of Ash’s work happening during the dead of night. He needs to find a way to move freely. He needs to speak with his father. But the King is often away and ignores all requests for a meeting with his son. Regardless, a short time ago Ash had nearly despaired of finding anyone willing to join the resistance. Now, he has hope.
Finch has been compiling names of members of the army, both retired and active, who do not support the ordinances. To meet with them is too risky for Finch as a wanted man. Ash plans to meet with them himself. He has found members of the palace guard who are sympathetic to his cause. He is optimistic he will find the same within the army.
He twitches his fingers, eager to hold Finch’s list. They agreed to limit the number of names written on paper. Shorter lists mean more frequent meetings, but that danger outweighs that of a comprehensive list of potential allies ending up in the wrong hands.
Finch appears down the street at the same time that two policemen walk from the opposite direction. Ash fades back into the shadows provided by an unlit recessed wall. Finch sees the policemen and covers his head with his hood. The movement raises suspicion. The policemen draw their firearms and yell, “Stop.”
Finch pauses, and the policemen are closing the distance. Ash steps out into the street as they are about to pass him by.
“Hey, you, raise your hands.” One of the policemen levels his firearm at Ash, but the other looks intent on pursuing Finch down the alley. Ash raises his arms in the air, trying to look submissive.
As the second policeman moves around him to pursue Finch, Ash springs towards him, arms raised but foot extended, intending to trip him. The policeman’s reactions are quick, and he brings Ash down with him. His breath goes out with a painful whoosh as his body hits the cobblestoned street. He moves to wrap his arms around the policeman, intending to keep him close and avoid a bullet from his partner. The man is larger than he had realized, and moves like a cheetah, eluding Ash’s grasp and moving into a mount on top of him. Ash feels the consequences of his reluctance to harm the man as the policeman’s fist connects near his eye.
“I’m…” Ash begins. The connection of another fist to his face interrupts him. He gasps, “Prince…”
This time the first connects with his jaw, and Ash tastes blood in his mouth.
“Ash. I’m Prince Ash.”
His attacker’s partner puts a restraining hand on his shoulder. The man on top of him scrambles off, and Ash rolls to his side to rise. A booted foot pulls back and delivers a final kick to his rib cage. Ash groans in pain.
“What’d you do that for?” one of the policemen says.
“Just cause you’re a prince, don’t give you the right to attack anyone you please,” growls the other.
One of the two calls on his radio for reinforcements, and Ash cranes his head to look where Finch had stood. There is no sign of him.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR HEARS SISTER Nettle knock on her door. It is past midnight, but the knock is a summon for her clandestine cello lesson.
Cedar groans and rolls out of bed. Her mind was too busy listening for the knock to sleep earlier, and by the time she returns from the lesson, she will have only a few hours before she leaves for the hospital to read to Lily.
With heavy eyes, Cedar makes her way down the familiar halls to the basement. Sister Nettle has moved the bed and uncovered the trap door in the basement bedroom. She finds her way through the earthen maze without a map, and pulls the heavy door open. Sister Nettle is lighting the last of the candles.
“You are late,” she says, jutting out her chin.
Cedar ignores her. She takes the cello from the stand and settles in a chair.
“Scales first,” Sister Nettle orders.
Drills, drills, and more drills. Gone are the nights of meandering musical exploration with Ash. Sister Nettle demands more from Cedar’s fingers than they have to give.
“Hmm. I should have known this would be too much for you.” Sister Nettle blows out a candle.
Cedar raises her bow to the strings and begins. Sister Nettle will not have the satisfaction of seeing her break.
“Your bowing is horrendous, my dear.”
Cedar adjusts her arm and continues. Sister Nettle takes a chair, a good sign.
“Enough.”
Cedar lowers the bow. Sister Nettle looks through manuscripts of sheet music by the candlelight.
“This one. This is the one you made that pathetic attempt to play that first night.” Sister Nettle rises from her chair and places a music stand in front of Cedar. She places the sheet music there and returns to her seat.
Cedar stares at the music. She has not seen these notes on paper since her time with Ash.
“Play,” Sister Nettle barks.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR DOES NOT share her plan with anyone. Jasper had made her realize that knowledge of the stone is a risk to all who know. She has known all along that she would return for the stone. From her early days at the monastery, she had known what she wants to do with it.
She does not know what he meant by the power it has, but she does know the Governor has power and wealth enough to do what it is she plans to ask of him. All that is left is to find out if she can trust him to take the care that will be needed. For this, she will need to trust the Abbess.
Cedar and Calla are granted a day off from the hospital together. Calla goes to the hospital to be with her sister. Cedar stops by Mother Rosemary’s rooms. They are empty. She will check again later in the morning. Meanwhile, she heads to the basement. She has longed to spend time with the cello, without Sister Nettle.
Once through the maze, she studies the book of musical scales that Sister Nettle had shown her. Scales frustrate her when Sister Nettle demands that she play them. Without her hovering, these simple arrangements of notes fascinate her. Each one has its own quality, its own stories that wait to be told. She can hear their murmured longings to be released into their own song. Cedar longs to play their stories for them.
When she finishes the book of technical exercises she returns to the crates to look for music to play. She withdraws a tome titled, “History of Danbarah.” The books are meticulously organized by category. This book must have been put in this crate by mistake.
Cedar opens to the middle of the book. Every page is filled with musical notation. Different sections are given titles such as, “The Tilling of the Field,” and “The Marriage in the Poor Church.” She flips through the book. When she comes to a page, titled, “The Boy’s Song,” the notes dance about on the page.
Intrigued, she lays the book open on the music stand and takes up her cello. The notation is different from that which she is used to reading. She focuses on how to decipher it, on what might make sense. The shape of a song comes together in her mind. She takes her bow and plays the melody on the cello.
As the bow draws out the last notes, Cedar understands. Before her, are the stories of people who lived long ago, recorded in music, and she can understand every note of it as clearly as a story on a page.
“What does it say?”
Cedar’s head jerks up. Mother Rosemary stands in front of the thick wooden door. The candlelight casts shadows about. Cedar does not move, pulled between a desire to flee, and to stay.
“What does it say?” Mother Rosemary gestures to the music stand.
Cedar swallows. “Oh, um, it’s a story of a boy who cannot speak. He plays his flute everyday, and the music gives him hope that his life will mean something. Years later, he and the woman he loves banish an evil spirit who seeks to destroy all hope.”
Mother Rosemary takes a seat across from her. “How do they banish the evil spirit?”
“With a song.” Cedar says the words slowly, absorbing their meaning.
“It has been many years since anyone could translate that book,” Mother Rosemary murmurs. She looks at Cedar and says, “I had not thought to meet another in my life.”
Cedar adjusts her headdress, confused by Mother Rosemary’s words. She remembers her plan and the answers she needs. “Sister Nettle tells me you are close to the Governor of Sapphire City.”
Mother Rosemary brings a startled hand to her chest. She takes a moment before answering. “We knew one another, long ago. I have not seen him for many years now, but it is true that he – we – owe one another a great deal, even now.”
Cedar needs to know if she can trust him. First, she must trust the abbess. “I have the treasure he is looking for.”
Mother Rosemary raises her brows. This confession seems to unsettle the abbess less than Cedar’s comment about their relationship. The abbess waves her hand, gesturing for Cedar to tell her more. Cedar tells her the rest of the story, of how she found the stone. The abbess listens to her story with great interest. Last of all, Cedar tells her what she wishes to do with the stone. “I need to know if he can be trusted with my request. You must see why it is so important, that I be certain.”
Candlelight flickers around Mother Rosemary. “His aims are not the same as yours and mine. He has the expectations of many in power on his shoulders and will tread carefully to avoid any reprehension. But in this, in the request you would make of him, I am assured he will be a man of his word. Ask your request of him.”
It is enough for Cedar. It will have to be. There are no other options. Cedar rises from her seat, ready to leave.
“Sister Nettle, she has a life of regret. She seems to think that you will somehow atone for her failings.”
“What failings would those be?” Cedar says.
Mother Rosemary purses her lips. “It is her story to tell. Suffice it to say that when the time came for her to do what she could, she ran the other way, and many suffered for it.”
Cedar understands this. Since fleeing from the cabin, Cedar has lived with the growing premonition that some great act lies ahead of her. She is far from certain that she will not run.
“She lost the ability to read the stories in that book.” Mother Rosemary gestures to the history on the music stand. She rises and disappears into a dimly lit corner of the room. She returns with a large rectangular case. She lays it on the floor and opens it. The case is empty, except for a foam mold inside, shaped in the outline of a cello. More specifically, the unique outline of the cello Cedar is holding.
Cedar tightens her curled hand around the neck of the cello. Mother Rosemary reaches for the instrument, and Cedar hands it over without a word, though she feels a sharp jolt of loss.
Mother Rosemary lays the cello inside and slides the bow into a slot. She closes the instrument case and latches it.
“You will need this before you are done all you set out to do.” Mother Rosemary rises and extends the case out towards Cedar.
Cedar looks at the cello and back at the Abbess.
“Will you take it with you?”
“What of Sister Nettle? I had thought it was hers.”
“The cello belongs to Danbarrah.”
“Then yes,” Cedar says, reaching for the cello case. “I do not know much about Danbarrah’s old religion, the one you practice here, but it is my understanding that your prayers are somehow believed to…have some power.” Cedar stops, embarrassed in her ignorance.
“Much knowledge of our, shall we say, magic, faded long ago. We no longer think to ask for it. Regardless, even the water and the stones sing with the power of their master.”
“How will I access it?”
“Are you familiar with Danbarrah’s history? Or, as some call them, our myths?”
“Only a little. I was never told the stories as a child,” Cedar says.
“There is more to music than we realize. Especially for those who learn to crack open the secret stories that the music keeps. Those stories have power.”
“But how will the music help me?”
“I cannot know how it will help you. But I can tell you how to access it. You ask.” With these last words, the Abbess opens the heavy door and leaves Cedar alone in the flickering candlelight.
Cedar sits on the floor beside the cello case, her heart racing. Anticipation bubbles up from deep within. She stands on the edge of something bigger than herself. Much will be asked of her. She hopes to be ready for it.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR IS PULLED from her dreams by a distinctive knocking on the window of her room. The unique rhythm takes her back to when she had first come to the monastery that spring. She knows who is there.
Once outside, she approaches the figure in the shadows of the trees without hesitation.
Her first question is a name. “Ash?”
“His resistance activities were discovered. His father has placed him under house arrest until he agrees to…certain rules of conduct.”
Cedar shakes her head. “He won’t.”
Finch does not disagree. “He wants you to stay here. You will be safe.”
Cedar raises her chin. “Is safety the rule he governs himself by?”
A trace of a smile appears on his face. “No.”
“I’m going back to the cabin, where you found us. There is something I left behind.”
“I’ll take you.”
“No. They are searching for you. The closer you go to that cabin, the more danger you are in,” Cedar says.
“They are searching for you as well.”
“My punishment will be less severe than yours.”
“I knew the consequences I risked,” he says.
Cedar changes tactics. “I already owe you my life. Calla is my friend. I will not have her lose both of us. You may soon be all she has left.”
His face softens, but he does not agree.
Cedar pushes further. “Am I in the same danger as before?”
“Colt has been arrested.”
“Then I am assuming the worst they will do is arrest me as well.”
“King Orion, likely King Marcus as well, knows of the cello.”
“So they will deport me to Koshluk,” Cedar says, realization dawning. She is well acquainted with fear and feels it crowding her thoughts. She pushes it aside, reminding herself that she will be carrying a cello with her. If she is caught with an instrument, the result will be the same. Her risks have not increased because they assume the cello at the cabin was hers.
“It doesn’t matter, Finch. This is something I have to do. The object I need is buried away from the cabin. I know the forest well enough to stay hidden.” It is good that she is predisposed to silence. Finch is in no hurry to break it. Cedar is content to wait him out.
“The river crossing will be watched. I will help you find a way across, but I will not stop you from going on your own from there.”
“I can leave tomorrow night.”
“Good.”
“Calla will want to see you.”
Cedar sees more emotion pass over his face than she ever has.
“I have to leave now. Daylight carries too much risk.” He is too easily recognized in this place where he grew up.
He reaches into his coat and withdraws a pad of thickly folded paper. “For Calla. Ask her to come when you leave. I will see her then.”