Page 10 of Lured By the Dus
His song sweet yet sinister
Hellbent on revenge
His people to avenge
Beware your last breath
For his flute sings death
A warning. I frowned and as I turned the page, a letter fell out. Tucking the book under my arm, I unfolded the sheet, greeted by the familiar sight of Aunt Matzie’s handwriting.
If you are reading this,he has returned. He goes by many names: Piper. Devil of Dowler. His legendary power contained in a magical flute. Tales have spread about him, forming into legends, outlandish and buried in myth, but within these pages, you’ll find a collection of truths gathered from the ancient books of knowledge. I’ve put this together in hopes that whoever finds this might read it, discover his weakness, and find a way to save us.
7Tanith
In the beginning, the Creator designed the celestial and the mundane…
Those were the first words of the book, and I continued to read, drawn into an account of the creation of the world and the gifting of talents to the four divines. At its very core, creation involved the vibration of sound, what we called music. Each divine used a relic to carry sound for them, a sort of buffer against the extraordinary power of raw magic. As time passed, people lost their faith in the Creator and the divines. They followed their own way, forgetting about magic and power, and soon those unique abilities became rare and coveted. But there were those who did not forget. They sought those with magic, rounded them up, and kept them as slaves to grow cities and empires and demolish their enemies.
* * *
At some pointI must have fallen asleep, for a light woke me. I was still in my dress and dusty cloak, sprawled across the bed. My thick, black curls cushioned my head, and when I opened my eyes, blinking blearily, lazy, amber eyes gazed back at me. A shudder went down my spine, making me tremble from head to foot. I’d forgotten about my delicious, albeit dangerous, husband.
He leaned against the doorframe, making no move to come in further. I detected no malice in his gaze, but that meant nothing. He kept his expression blank, his assessing gaze roving over me. I studied him back, taking in the fall of his fox-red hair, smooth and straight, yet his ears still stuck out, reminding me he wasn’t human. His shirt was clean, white with ruffled sleeves and a plunging v that displayed his smooth chest. It must be his style, I decided, but his trousers fit today, clinging to his slim body. My face went warm when I saw his bare feet, a reminder that I was in his home.
“Join me for breakfast on the patio,” he invited, lips curling as if in jest.
With that, he slipped away, the edge of his shadow fading into the adjoining room. Heart pounding, I snatched up the journal, which lay by my hand. Had he seen it? How careless I’d been to fall asleep without hiding the book. What if he’d grown curious, picked it up, and my aunt’s note had fallen out? Now I understood her actions. She’d seen me enter, must have recognized the Piper—although I could not imagine how she knew who he was—and guessed he’d take me as a hostage.
Stumbling out of bed, I tossed off the cloak, my eyes skating across the room for a place to hide the book. At last, I tucked it under one of the pillows. It was a pathetic hiding place, but I wasn’t sure what else to do, and my dress had no pockets. It would be odd to wear my cloak again, and the Piper had already searched it once. He’d likely do so again if inspired.
Leaving my untamable curls wild, I made my way to the vanity, which held a basin of water, a washcloth, and a towel. I freshened up as much as I dared, unwilling to strip when the door stood open, but the Piper did not return.
I put on a blue dress, hopelessly wrinkled since I’d left the clothes folded at the foot of the bed. A morning without a maid was odd, but I’d get used to it. With another peek at the door, to ensure he wasn’t watching, I reached for the dagger and held it up. Fitting it around my waist would be asking for the Piper to take it, but hiding it under my clothes meant access would not be easy. Still, carrying the dagger was better than not having it. At last, I settled on my thigh, tying it so the dagger was on the outside. I’d have to hitch my skirts almost to my waist to get it, but at least I had a weapon.
My room appeared gloomier in daylight—a lair of mystery—and I glanced at the embers glowing in the fireplace. Had there truly been a gargoyle last night? He appeared like a statue now, eyes closed in stone. With a shrug, I took a deep breath and walked out of the room to confront the Piper.
As I’d guessed, his bedroom adjoined mine. His bed, despite being much bigger than mine, was swallowed by the massive room, with its accents of crimson velvet, white lace, and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There was a desk covered in books and scrolls, chairs by the fire, a couch in front of the bed, and a bookshelf with an odd assortment of trinkets on it.
Floor to ceiling windows took up one wall, most of them covered with crimson curtains. The door to the balcony stood open, and golden sunlight lured me out, a cloudless day with a gentle breeze.
The Piper sat in a chair, sipping tea and appearing far more elegant than I would have assumed possible. I sat down across from him, stomach rumbling as I eyed the generous spread. This was richer than my uncle’s palace, and a wry grin covered my face. “Do you cook?” I asked, determined to get along with him.
His mouth twitched as if he were trying to hold back a laugh. “I have servants.”
Spreading a cloth napkin in my lap, I picked up my cup, brimming with what smelled like a peppermint brew. “I haven’t seen any.”
“So last night, the fire lit itself?”
I almost dropped my cup, eyes widening. “The gargoyle?”
“Ask and he will do his best to please you,” the Piper said matter-of-factly, as if everyone had gargoyles for servants.
“Oh.” I lost my breath for a moment. “Does he talk? Have a name?”
“My servants are mute. After all, they are made of stone.” He chuckled, then leaned across the table to fill his plate. “Help yourself.”
I stared at him, rendered mute with surprise. There was something less devilish and more chivalrous about him in the daylight. Emboldened, I reached for a cinnamon cake and regarded him. Before I lost my courage, I plunged into my next question. “You call yourself the Piper, but do you have a name?”
