Page 36 of Awariye

Blinking, I could see that the larger flames were mostly in my astral vision, but even the physical flames were leaping out of their bowls and into the air. My body shook from the energy and panic threatened to overwhelm me as survival instinct kicked in and told me to run. Something was building on the planes just above us. When the power reached a terminus, it would come barreling down through whatever opening it could find. If Wren and I didn't want to be ripped to shreds, we had to find a way to safely funnel it through.

* * *

The pressure built till I couldn't take it anymore. "What do we do?"

"Sing, Awariye," Wren told me, still comforting the frightened dog. "See if the poem from theGolden Book of Viennathat I used last time works again. I don't know whether Bello needs to sleep for this to work. He slept through the whole thing last time, had no idea what was going on, and I wonder if he served to ground things while I nearly lost my senses."

Fear shot through me, not just that our lovers were charging now, but that such a strong force had shot through my friend's consciousness, knocking him out cold. That was dangerous; it risked his health and sanity. This couldn't keep happening, with every battle risking Wren again and again. At some point our luck would run out, and then it would be too late. We had to find a solution.

Bello finally calmed a bit, more than willing to gobble up the bread Wren gave him. The air felt too thick. Yet even with the doors wide open, it hadn't occurred to the dog to bolt.

Wren coaxed him up onto the padded bench and I regretted that our one sleeping spot would be covered in dog hair, but we had bigger priorities. For once Bello behaved and draped himself over Wren's lap.

Content that they were fine for the time being, I planted my feet, took a deep breath, projected up toward the heavens, and began to sing The Valley of the Black Pig by William Butler Yeats.

The dews drop slowly and dreams gather

Unknown spears suddenly hurtle before my dream-awakened eyes.

And then the clashes of fallen horsemen and the cries

Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears.

We who still labor by the cromlech on the shore.

The grey cairn on the hill

When day sinks drowned in dew.

Being weary of the world's empires

Bow down to you.

Master, of the still stars,

And of the flaming door.

I'd sung with all my strength, pouring my sole focus into the intentions behind the words written centuries ago, before our present dark age.

Indeed, my lungs expanded fully, and I did feel a tiny bit better. This was the potency of training to sing as a magical act that could reach up the planes, something humans normally could not do unless they trained their minds to achieve higher states of consciousness in the celestial spheres.

"Why does this poem work?" I asked. "We need to find which ones do and don't, have a list of backups in case there's a limit for any one of them."

When no reply came, I glanced at my friend and found Bello totally conked out, like he'd dropped into sleep out of nowhere. Wren leaned over him, petting the back of Bello's head and neck. Only after a long moment of the pressure building up again did he look up and blink, noticing I had stopped.

"Keep going," he urged, a hint of desperation in his tone. "Or do you want me to do it? I sang it a good hundred times before I passed out. I don't know how it worked, but it's slight enough that I had to keep going or it felt like my skull would explode."

The pressure built again, and fear threatened to overwhelm me. "I can keep singing it, but Wren, we need to take this chance to experiment. We've already confirmed that more than one person can do this: I can do it also, though we're both using our magical training."

Poor Wren's nod was slow and belated. Already I felt like I was losing him, that the sounds of battle ringing in his ears and the force pushing against our minds was affecting him, the burden far more upon him than on me, and as the pressure increased yet again, my head started pounding.

I took matters into my own hands and wracked my brain for ideas. "What if I sang the Lord's Prayer?"

Wren's eyes flew wide, and they seemed to clear. "No, Awariye! The Abrahamic god is jealous. What do you think would happen if you sang his hymns for someone else?"

"But what if the lanterns are aligned with the Christ of a Thousand Ages?" I challenged. "Then we'd have thousands of hymns and prayers we could use."

Wren shook his head adamantly. "The multitude of Christs or the God of the Muslims and Jews has had months to give me any such indication. I have not so much as dreamt of a cross or any Abrahamic symbolism since inheriting this post."

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