Page 55 of The Song Rising

He offered a mocking bow before he left. My stomach flurried, but only his mollisher followed him. I pressed on.

“It’s time to tell other voyants in this country about the Mime Order’s cause. Here and now, we are going to conduct a séance and send a message to the voyants of Britain. It’s going to multiply and spread through the æther like the branches of a tree, as far as we can send it. At the end, they will see . . .this.”

I motioned to a section of wall, where Eliza had painted our call to arms.

THEY CAN DETECT FOUR ORDERS NOW.

HOW LONG BEFORE THEY SEE US ALL?

WE NEED EVERYONE, OR EVERYONE LOSES.

NO SAFE PLACE. NO SURRENDER.

The black moth flew beneath it.

At that moment, Warden emerged from the shadows and came to stand beside me, towering above them all. Spring-heel’d Jack let out a nervous snicker.

“Form a circle,” Warden said, “and join hands.”

Spluttered protests and hoots of laughter followed this command. “I’m not holdingherhand,” somebody said, making the nearest mime-queen look wounded.

“By all means,” he said, “stand beside a person whose hands offend you less.”

Maria took a candle from her pocket. I attached my oxygen mask. Painfully, like children cajoled into playing together, the Unnatural Assembly shambled into what could arguably be described as a circle. Some grasped each other’s hands with casual ease; others were almost hysterical at the thought of touching their neighbor. As Nick and Eliza joined the ring, Warden reached for my hand.

Our fingers interlocked. My pulse flickered through my hands, in my neck, at the crease of my elbow. Worn leather pressed against my palm, soft between my knuckles and beside my inner wrist. Nick took my other hand, while Tom took Warden’s. The ring was closed.

The Unnatural Assembly stood in silence together, waiting for the æther to open around them.

I had never thought to see this in my lifetime.

Warden murmured in Gloss. The candle grew brighter. Spirits were drawn into the ring, where they basked in an unbroken chain of auras. Nick and Maria had already dosed themselves with salvia; both were swaying on their feet.

“Tom,” Warden said, “the message. Hold it in your mind.”

Tom squinted at the graffiti, mouthing the words. Close by, Maria’s head rolled forward, but she kept hold of the hands on either side of her. Warden’s aura shifted.

“Now, Paige.”

My spirit jumped, into his dreamscape.

I had been here before. The path was familiar, through the red velvet drapes and over the ashes to his sunlit zone, where I joined his dream-form beside the amaranth in the bell jar. He was already gazing at the smoke that was gathering, storm-like, in his mind.

I had never been inside him while he was using his gift. His hand took mine, echoing our position outside the dreamscape. And now that no one else could hear, I gave him a message.

“Meet me at midnight, on the lower deck.”

His dream-form nodded.

The golden cord vibrated with a force that was almost violent, pulled like a tightrope by our proximity in a single dreamscape. Gradually, the smoke began to twist and form shapes. Memories.

He is searching for her in the forest, buried to his ankles in snow, holding up a lantern from their father’s storehouse.This was Nick’s memory. I couldn’t explain how I knew. I was seeing through his eyes, feeling as he must have felt, but still an observer.Eight sets of footprints snake between the trees, veering away from the path. The sound of his heart fills his ears like a drum.

A new memory, someone else’s.The gun must have been heavy at first, but now it is as much a part of her arm as a muscle. She releases it only to ransack the other woman’s pockets. Blood cascades down her chin and soaks the neckline of her shirt. Her hands never shake when she searches a corpse, but this one is different. This one is Roza.

“Stoyan!”

Her hands sift through wet tissue and fabric and bone, picking out two precious, blood-slick bullets. One she must save for herself, one for Hristo.

---