Page 22 of Sons of Sorrow
Not that I minded him sleeping there. I imagined Sylvain’s chest would be a very warm and comfy place to nap, indeed. But what if Sylvain rolled over and squished Satchel? I approached them on tiptoes, gingerly scooping Satchel up into my hands so I wouldn’t disturb him.
Satchel snorted, then punched at the air, kicked with one foot. “No,” he mumbled, lost in a nightmare. “Locke, the sewing machine. It’s trying to eat me.”
Very cute. Even cuter that I was supposed to be his dreamtime savior. I crept toward the corner we’d designated as his portion of the bedchambers, complete with all the furniture we’d found in his terrarium back in the bank vault. We brought the terrarium home, too, but the most important part was the bed.
I tucked him in, pulling the blanket up to his chest, extremely proud of how I’d accomplished it all without coming close to waking either of my boys up. Satchel mumbled something indistinct, stuck his thumb in his mouth, then rolled onto his side, falling into deeper slumber. Adorable.
I rubbed my eyes and stretched out my arms, barely suppressing a yawn. I tapped the side of my head, trying to think whether there was anything obvious we’d forgotten about.
Nope. Not really. We’d requested rations from the kitchen imps already, to be delivered by Cutler in the morning. My dagger, safe in its sheath, dangled from the leather belt I left draped over the back of my chair at the breakfast table.
I shrugged. We had ample time to check and double-check our equipment when we woke up. I shuffled toward the door leading out to the hallway, just to make sure it was locked for the night. But as I reached for the bolt, its metal nearly as cold as the autumn baubles, I heard something faint. Frightening. Familiar.
“The voice in the well,” I muttered, recognizing its eerie, distant call.
Just the sound of it should have kept me away, sent me straight under the covers. Instead I opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, drawn by the Wispwell’s siren song. I didn’t count the steps from our bedchambers all the way down to the courtyard, but even walking at a slow, tired shamble, it felt as if I’d never reached the Wispwood’s ground floor faster.
It looked exactly the same as it always did, the little wisps floating from the surface of the water, hovering up past the academy’s many floors as they found their way to the treetops, the very heights of the Canopy. The leaves of the trees in the courtyard rustled, as if disturbed by a quiet breeze. No whistle of wind, no low howl from a draft in a nearby window. I pricked up my ears, waiting for the wailing in the well.
There it was again. Something distant, so frustrating and faint that I could barely make it out, much less pinpoint what it was. It reminded me of the songs of the sky-whales from the Oriel of Water, eerie and beautiful. I stared at my reflection as it frowned back at me from the surface.
And then I noticed the face next to mine. Rather, the absence of one.
I yelped and sprang away, my hands flying to cover my mouth. Some might say I was being considerate, trying not to wake the rest of the castle even as I struggled not to actually crap my pants in terror. Very valiant. Very heroic.
“Oh. Headmaster Shivers.”
It was their cowl that I saw in the water, the embroidered edges of the cloth framing the void where their face should be. Shivers nodded at me in greeting. And then they spoke in greeting, too.
“And a pleasant evening to you, too, Lochlann Wilde.”
Gods, how did I forget that the headmaster could speak? Or that I could understand them, rather. I approached the Wispwell sheepishly, kneading the front of my arm as I focused on the water, playing it off like the headmaster’s sudden appearance hadn’t nearly frightened me out of my own skin.
I cleared my throat, running my fingers along the side of the Wispwell, the stones damp from water, slick with moss. “So, headmaster. What brings you to the courtyard this time of night?”
Headmaster Shivers gave a hoarse, throaty laugh. “Oh, don’t be so coy now, Wilde. You and I both know why we’re here. To listen to the song of the Wispwell.”
I pursed my lips and nodded, risking a glance into the darkness of the headmaster’s cowl. No features, only wisps of mist, or smoke.
“So you can hear it, too,” I said. “It doesn’t happen very often, does it? One of the last times I heard it was when half the castle was gathered right here in the courtyard.”
Half the castle wasn’t accurate, because it had been a full effort from the entire academy, all with the aim of bolstering the world’s defenses against the Withering. I only said ‘half’ because we couldn’t fit the entire faculty and student body in the plaza.
“We were working on the Tears of the Ocean,” I continued, reconstructing my memories, my mind straining to mimic the voice that I heard on that day. “We were enchanting the gems to help boost Wispwater production. I was looking into the well at the time and — oh. And you were there, too.”
Shivers nodded, their hands clasped together, their gloves embroidered intricately with swoops and swirls that resembled vines, and waves, and curls of mist. “I came then because I heard the Wispwell’s song, just as I hear it now. The other headmasters, they hear fragments of it from time to time, though not as clearly. And yet this mystery offers nothing but frustration. I hear, but I do not comprehend. Why, I’ve yet to comprehend why only you and I are privy to its sweetness.”
“Sweetness, yes. But sadness, too. I hate to sound so sentimental about it — about something neither of us can even understand. But doesn’t it wrench at you? Doesn’t it tug at your heart strings?” My eyes went wide as I processed what I’d just said. “Oh, no offense meant, headmaster. I don’t even know if you have a heart, and — well, I should really shut up, now.”
The headmaster laughed again, a rasping noise that didn’t actually sound all that unpleasant. They clapped me on the shoulder with one gloved hand. There was nothing in that robe, and yet the hand gripped me with all the strength of an average adult. That part. That part was much more unsettling.
“Don’t you worry, Lochlann Wilde. A heart, indeed. I’ve yet to determine that for myself. But I do agree. There is a melancholic quality to the song. And the voice itself eludes me. Not quite something aquatic, and yet not quite human, either. Does it not remind you of the airborne whales from the Oriel of Water?”
I snapped my fingers. “That was the exact first thing I thought of. Glad to know we’re on the same page.”
Headmaster Shivers paced around the edge of the well, moving several steps away from me. They gripped the stones on the rim, focusing on the water, as if examining the wisps and the ripples from another angle. They looked up at me, nodding.
“Yes, indeed. On the same page. You’ll tell me the very minute you learn anything new about the Wispwell, won’t you, Lochlann Wilde?”
