The Partisan Chronicles [Dystopia | Supernatural | Mystery]

Rhian

It was a terrible trip.

Mostly.

First of all, fancy clothes aren't nice enough looking to make up for how uncomfortable they are. It's all a bloody hoax. Second of all, we had to stop around a hundred times so I could have a wee. On the bright side, the company was decent. Almost all my favourite people in one place, and a few others, I guess. We rotated wagons so everybody had a chance to chat with each other, and most of us had taken turns driving by the end. That was all right.

Other than ourselves, we'd packed our weapons and various bits and bobs in case things went sideways on the road.

But actually: nothing happened.

Along the way, we stopped a number of times to give the horses what horses need. At around the halfway point, we pulled into Oskari for a night at the Widow's Peak.

Ultimately, that night meant sleeping in creative ways on account of the clothes and the hair. Not to mention, with how busy the inn was, we all had to share a room. To put it into perspective, the only people who couldn't come with us were Marta, Elijah and Peter. Teeth stayed home, too. The Creepy Lass was occupied elsewhere. Point is: there were a lot of people.

In the morning, afore the villagers were awake, we gathered for breakfast downstairs.

"Why didn't we just get dressed here in the first place?" I asked.

"Because that would have been the sensible thing to do, Sinclair, and what do we know about attending symphonies? We outfit, and we go. It just so happens, this time our outfits are somewhere in the neighbourhood of a thousand notes worth of uncomfortable fashion from The Steel Needle." Strauss took a bite of his oats.

"Also, half of us could have run," I continued. "Caught up with the rest of you there."

Sebastian patted my back. "But where's the fun in that, Rhian Sinclair? Are you not enjoying your first taste of an extended family trip? Are these not the very experiences we fight for the freedom to have?"

I had a look around the table. Everybody did look nice, even if a bit blotchy. The lads in black suits with green neckties, except Sebastian who wore white and gold. The lasses all in the same emerald dresses. Most of them were smiling. Almost everybody looked relaxed, even if a bit tired.

"He's got you there, Rhian," Gus said.

I'd never seen him in a suit afore. Even his beard was tidied up. Still the same shaggy hair, mind you.

"Need I remind you all," I countered, "the last time this man encouraged me and Strauss to enjoy ourselves, we ended up with a bun in the oven."

Riz whistled.

Random Father grunted.

Sebastian winked my way before addressing the table. "Listen well, my friends. You will soon be experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime performance. A legend in her own right, my little night-blossom. I understand many of us are uncomfortable, but this, too, shall pass. In the meantime, enjoy each other's company."

Once everybody had finished up and had taken a few minutes to stretch and prepare for a second round of carriage chaos, we said goodbye to Marta, readied the horses and crammed into our wagons. We were on track to arrive right on time.

I never much cared for the violin. Too screechy.

Change my mind, Creepy Lass.

When we arrived at the theatre, it was snowing lightly, and the ground was covered in a fluffy layer. We parked our carriages at the starting line of a long green carpet, ultimately leading us straight to the doors. I had to admit: the lass had done some serious landscaping where the overgrowth around the old building was concerned, and with the new outdoor fixtures lighting our path, the old stone theatre didn't look so old anymore.

Walking up the carpet was easy enough, even on unstable ground. See, of all the things Ever thought to prepare, shoes weren't one of them.

Most of us were in our usual boots.

When we burst through the door, the light of a thousand candles brightened the atrium. The old ticket counters had been removed. Most of the sickly wood was gone, and a number of the decorative fixtures looked to have been replaced.

There were plenty of oohs and aahs from the others, as expected and whatnot.

I described the scene to Strauss and Jakob who both nodded with their barely-there smiles.

Strauss carried his Vonsinfonie cane that night at the insistence of Sebastian. And afore you get any ideas, it was but a mere cane. He just looked sharp holding it.

Sebastian worked his way to the front of the crowd. "Right this way," he said, and with a swagger in his step, he led us through the atrium, and finally through another set of doors.

As if we couldn't have sorted that one out ourselves.

Whatever. Lucky us, being entertained by a Vonsinfonie for free or what have you.

The crowd was eating it up. Well, most of us. Some of us were tasting it a little bit. I caught Random Father's eye. He smirked. I smirked. He shrugged. I shrugged.

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Our shadows moved along the wall of the corridor before we reached what I bloody well hoped was the last set of doors. And without any of us doing anything, they burst wide open, revealing a spacious, circular area with fourteen chairs for fourteen people.

The lighting was dim, and a black velvet curtain wrapped around the stage, fluttering gently.

Above us, and all around us, the balconies were dark and empty.

Between all the excited banter coming from my mates, I caught a whisper at the back—Alexander to Random Father. I couldn't make it out, but Rhydian nodded in response, and Alexander peered upward and around the perimeter.

I gave them the questioning face, but they dismissed me with a hand wave.

And that's when I first felt the niggling in my gut.

A few others looked up and around, too. Adeline. Riz. Markus.

The second we were all seated, the curtains began to open.

There, the Creepy Lass stood, surrounded by a circle of candles, centre stage with her violin in one hand, bow in the other. She wore the same thing as always: black dress with a white frilly collar, shiny black shoes and white frilly socks.

"I wanted to thank you all in advance for coming," she said, flat as ever. "This first song is special to me because it was the first song my father and I wrote together."

From the corner of my eye, Sebastian blew her a kiss. The corner of Ever's lip twitched.

And then, for a moment, she smiled.

Everleigh Gloom raised her violin to her chin and began to play.

Now, I didn't know the first bloody thing about music, let me get that straight. I'd seen my share of street performers in Delphia, but I'd no idea a few notes could send a crawling shiver down my spine.

Nothing but the song.

I couldn't even look away to see how the others might be feeling, but I reckoned it was the same all around.

Except for Michael, probably.

The niggling knocked again.

And then it went away, replaced by the feeling of a thousand dreams fulfilled. For every burst of victory she played, the Creepy Lass swayed, bent, and twisted in time with the tune. And the song went on, and on. My heart racing as the number grew livelier by the second until suddenly, the music stopped.

Silence again…

…and Evergloom drew her bow across the strings in one final, haunting note.

The audience exploded in applause, myself included.

But the performer raised her arm, pointing to the section of balcony to her right.

The room fell silent.

We all watched as a candle burst to life. Everleigh then drew her arm in a wide arc around the theatre. She played a few notes, another candle lit. Another few notes, and another candle lit. Another note, another light, brightening even the darkest areas of the room.

Suddenly, the balconies were filled to the brim with Amali people.

As if from the shadows. As if out of bloody nowhere.

Not just people.

From behind me, Michael hissed. "Psst, Rhian."

The Strachan played a quick scale, and we all looked in her direction.

Nothing but the lass.

Nothing but the feeling of a thousand dreams fulfilled.

"This next song is the reason I asked you all here tonight," she said. "It was written by my father Sebastian and his brother Zacharias, many, many centuries ago."

"Rhian," a hiss from Michael again.

She played another scale.

A burst of victory.

The violinist lifted her chin to address the gallery above. "When I invited you all here, I promised you a gift." She lingered a while longer before she straightened her gaze, locking her grey eyes with ours. "I hope you enjoy it."

Like I said, I didn't know much about music, but I recognized the melody after the first few notes. It was the same melody I'd heard in the crypts. It made me feel the same way. Like there was nothing left for me to do, like I'd already experienced everything there was to experience, like I'd already lived the lives of everybody who'd ever lived. The good, the bad, the dreadfully fucking sad. It'd all been done before.

There were no greater loves, no greater tragedies.

Nothing was unique.

It was all bloody inevitable.

The Cursed Canticle.

Doomed to repeat.

An infallible example of immortality—

In an instant, we were all released from the song.

All of us except the ones in the balcony.

All of us except Sebastian, Alexander, and Jakob.

Everleigh raised her arm and pointed to the gallery on the right.

She played a few quick notes, and a moment later, they burst into ash.

She drew her arm in an arc around the room.

A few notes.

Ash.

A few notes.

Ash.

A few notes.

Ash, ash, ash.

The gallery was filled with at least three dozen Anima.

And then it wasn't.

And we were all equally stunned—almost. I watched Random Father as he eyed the black and white confetti with a strange smile. When Alexander eventually came to his senses, I clocked the pair of them locking eyes with a nod of solidarity.

Meanwhile, Everleigh stood in the centre of the circle of candles.

She raised both arms and fell into a deep bow.

And after straightening again, she looked to the audience.

Her silvery eyes were wet, and her voice was small.

"Thank you all for coming," she said, flat as ever. "And you're welcome."