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emony padded up the stairs and was gasping for breath when she reached the door of the rooms she shared with Mog and Xue Xue. Once inside she raced to his bedroom, wondering if he was well enough to help her. She knew her plan would work. No one would have to get hurt, least of all Zhou.
Signs of Xue Xue’s presence littered the floor of the sitting room. A pair of wooden dolls and their dresses were scattered over the carpet and low table where they often took meals. The two of them constructed doll clothes from scraps of cloth they begged from the servants. The little girl had surprised Lemony with her resilience, agreeing to attend lessons during the day with the orphans. It was a relief that the child seemed eager to be with others her own age. Hopefully she would not mind staying there for a few days while Lemony was away.
She tapped on the door to Mog’s bedchamber, cracking it open when he rumbled a greeting. The room was sparsely furnished but for a simple bed, Mog’s battered traveling chest and the curtains fluttering in the damp breeze that oozed through the open window. He had only moved in with her a few days before at her insistence. The thought of him living alone was inconceivable.
“Hullo, Lemmy,” he said, flashing a broad smile. He was beginning to look more as she remembered him, but his face was still gaunt and his skin had not recovered its sun-warmed hue. He was smartly dressed in an embroidered jacket of emerald silk drawn over a vest with form-fitting green velvet trousers, all of which hung loosely on his less substantial frame. That he was sprawled out on the bed reading was a sign that he was still feeling weak and in need of rest. Perhaps this was not a good idea after all. And what was she thinking? Xue Xue would not want to be left alone.
“Hello, Mog,” she said, smiling back, “How are you feeling today?”
“Better, Lemmy darlin’. Why’re yeh out o’ breath, lass?”
“Oh, no good reason. I’ll let you alone. You need your rest.”
Mog furled his ginger brow suspiciously, then clambered to his feet, his lanky form towering over her. One of his big hands landed on her shoulder and an unexpected surge of emotion caused her to weep and curl against his side, her face buried in his belly.
“Lemmy, darlin’, why so sad?” he murmured, his hands drawing her in, warm and protective. He was her best friend in all the world, but she loved Zhou as well and the thought of losing either of them was unbearable.
“I was just… just thinking of that story you told about the lady of the sea and the piper.”
Mog chuckled softly.
“I don’ recall t’was a sad tale, Lemmy.”
“No but,…” she hesitated. Now that she was talking to him she realized how mad her idea sounded, “Nevermind. It was a dumb idea.”
Mog held her for a while, saying nothing while she wept. Ever since Ama and Joseph it was as if her joy and hope were missing. There were glimmers of it, and then there were moments like this when everything seemed futile and ridiculous. Zhou was a demon hunter. It was his fate. Demon hunters were not strangers to the possibility of a swift and unpleasant death. She knew that. If only there was something she could do to help.
“Do you think that story was true?” Lemony asked after a while. Mog chuckled.
“O’ course t’was, or at leas’ at heart.”
“Do you think you could charm the lady of the sea?”
Mog hesitated. His ribs tensed for laughter but he remained silent upon realizing she was sincere.
“Lemmy, darlin’, I have a charmin’ way about me, to be sure, but th’ sea is not one I’d court.”
“Zhou is going to bind Aramathxes to find Pen and it’s dangerous and I thought maybe you could ask her nicely and she’d like your music and then no one would have to get hurt because she’s a lady of the sea and you’re a piper and…”
“Woah, Lem,” he interjected, cutting off her tearful chatter, “It’s jus’ a story.”
“But you said it was true.”
Mog sighed and knelt now so that he could meet her eyes. As big as he was, his touch was gentle and he dried her tears with a kerchief and handed it to her to blow her nose.
“I know ye love Zhou n’ Pen, darling. I would help if I could.”
“Would you at least try?”
His face was grim and sad but he said nothing for a time, only laid a hand along side her face and gazed into her eyes.
“Alrigh’,” he said, “Jus’ fer yeh, but I can’t promise anythin’.”
She threw herself against him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she showered his brow with kisses.
“Soon as I kin see agin,” he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder.
When she released him, he rose stiffly and went to his chest, drawing out a brass-edged box and opening it with something approaching reverence. She watched him assemble his pipes with the same delicacy as he might handle a child. Still the expression on his face was strained and it was obvious he was only going through with this for her benefit. When he was done, he rose from the edge of the bed once more and nodded.
The two of them walked down to the dock as he twiddled with the pipes, tuning them until the drones had the sweetness of a summer wind. She realized he had not played since their return. Even after she had brought his tin whistle to him in the infirmary he had not made music. Now that she thought about it, he had also declined to join the singing and dancing in the evenings, preferring to stay inside and sleep. She glanced back at him and saw that his hands were trembling with emotion. He had not faced what had been done to him.
“We don’t have to do this,” she said, stopping several paces from the dock as they neared the last steps at the base of the hill, “Let’s go home.”
“Nah, I reckon it’ll be good fer me.”
She wanted to ask him why it was so painful and what she could do to help him.
“I haven’t done th’ songs o’ mournin’ fer me brother,” Mog said quietly, “I jus’ haven’t been ready.”
“Let’s do that, then.”
And Lemony felt horrible for never considering how Mog had felt when he had received the news of Belenus’ death. No one cared, there was still too much animosity and other concerns. She urged Mog to sit down at the very end of the pier facing west onto the open sea. The sleek corsair boat bobbed and swayed slowly beside them tied up against the dock like a restless steed. They were alone as the hottest time of day approached.
Appropriately, she thought, it was the place of Grenth where the sun set on the world as surely as it set on every living soul in time. The sky was a perfect shade of turquoise streaked with soft pink clouds near the horizon and reflected in the shallow choppy waves. It was a good place to say good bye.
“Aramathxes, if you’re listening, you don’t hurt Zhou and you make sure Pen comes home,” Lemony said.
“Ye’d make a mighty demon hunter,” Mog chuckled sadly, his blue eyes a match for the tossing waves.
“Well, I thought we could at least ask her nicely. Maybe she’d be willing to help instead of being bound.”
“Aye,” Mog said gravely, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
“I know, dumb idea.”
Lemony blushed and stared at her feet dangling some places over the open water.
“Aramathxes, since th’ lass insists, I give ye a song in exchange fer yer aid.”
And with that he nudged the bellows under his elbow and the warm harmonic drone of the pipes commenced. He closed his eyes and was lost in song, his fingers dancing gracefully over the stops as he played a sweet sad aire. He did not sing, only let the music carry him to the depths of grief as he mourned for his brother.
Lemony watched him, admiring his rugged beauty as he was transfixed by the ecstasy of art and anguish. This song was unlike the ones he played for the dances, it was solemn and slow like the fall of twilight. Tears rolled down his cheeks but he made no sound as the pipes spoke for him, the chords aching with longing for something he could never change.
She never saw Aramathxes arrive, and Mog, so absorbed by his grief and music, did not acknowledge her. The sea spirit perched on the edge of the dock beside Lemony, a kindred spirit drawn to the music, a style of music for which she had once been named.
“I will serve,” Threnody said when the drone of the pipes faded away to be replaced by the lap of waves, “for the cost of a song.”
Mog nearly dropped his pipes into the water and scrambled to maintain his grip on them while Lemony made a startled squeak. The salty coolness of the spirit chilled her as she edged closer to Mog. Aramathxes gazed upon her sadly, her sea green eyes bright and curious as her white hair curled and fluttered in the wind.
“I have come, and yet you fear me,” Threnody said, “I am no longer corrupted.”
“Hello?” Lemony mumbled, still caught off-guard.
“M’lady,” Mog coughed, nodding respectfully.
“D…Do you know where Pendaran is?” Lemony blurted.
“Yes, child. I always know, for I love him and wish him no ill.”
“And… and you’ll help us find Pen if Mog plays songs for you?”
Aramathxes gazed upon Lemony thoughtfully, then laughed like the warbling of birds.
“Yes, I will.”
“But you won’t do anything mean,” Lemony said firmly, “because Zhou will be there and he’s a demon hunter!”
“I will do no ill,” Threnody replied gently.
“Good,” Lemony said, pleased with herself, “I’ll go tell Zhou and Mog can give you another song.”
“Wha…” Mog coughed, still at a loss for words, his eyes round as he continued to stare at Threnody.
“Very well,” Aramathxes replied as Lemony rose and padded away. She edged closer to Mog, “Play for me.”
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