She seized the piccolo, more affectionately known as the devil’s whistle, and slid it down inside her right boot. An Irish wooden flute she discovered in the next crate fit snug against hercalf in her left, and the flute Mairwen had first brought her fit perfectly into the long narrow pocket in the side of her jacket. “A harmonica…hmm.” She eyed the thing, tried a few notes, then nodded and stuffed it into another jacket pocket. She’d have that thing singing a tune in no time. Strapping the guitar across her back, mainly for bait and to keep anyone from looking for the smaller instruments she’d hidden, she continued sorting through the containers but set aside a cello, harp, dulcimer, and banjo, deciding against them. Then she worked open the drawstringed neck of a duffel bag and peered inside. “Wow.”
“What is it, Divine One?” Albionna eased closer, eyeing all the musical instruments as though fearing they might attack her.
Lyla pulled the monstrosity out of the duffel and held it up. “Bagpipes.” She scratched her head while studying the stocks, the blowpipe, and the chanter. She’d only tried to master this thing one time before and hadsomewhatsucceeded. It was not an easy instrument to play, and she admired anyone who could make the mournful pipes sing. Her amazing knack for catching on to any tool of music with little to no trouble had been thoroughly stretched to the limits with the bagpipes. Playing Scotland’s blessed horn was not for the faint of heart. But drastic times demanded drastic measures, and the one major thing the pipes had going for them was that they were loud—so loud, they’d been proven to cause hearing loss in those who played them. Pipers who wore special hearing protection while they played were counted among the wise. “I don’t know if I’ve got the wind for these yet, though.”
Deciding to take a leap of faith, she secured them in the same strap holding the guitar across her back. She had to try. Better to have them and not need them than to need them and not have them. Although she couldn’t ever remember a time when she’d ever wished she’d brought along a set of bagpipes. Then again,she’d never charged off to battle an evil, fire witch that turned into a black bird or a druid that sucked souls.
She turned in a slow circle, scanning the many musical instruments one last time. “My violin. I need to take the violin.” It had broken the curse of the sickness. She couldn’t possibly leave it behind. The violin in one hand and the bow in the other, she eyed her unorthodox battle suit, trying to figure out a way to carry it.
“Allow me, Divine One.” Albionna rushed forward with a woven leather strap that she secured around the pegbox of the violin, then attached to Lyla’s belt. “And now for this piece.” She took the bow, slid it into a cloth, drawstringed sheath, then tied it alongside the violin hanging against Lyla’s hip.
“Brilliant, Albionna. Absolutely brilliant.”
Tears in her eyes, the maid stepped back, bowing her head. “I pray it protects ye, Divine One.” With a hurried sniff, she pulled a square of cloth from her pocket, pressed it to the corners of her eyes, then shoved it back out of sight. “How do ye mean to get to the wall?”
“I’m going to start my attack from the tower, and hope that’s all it takes.” Lyla wasn’t a fool. She knew she’d never convince any of the dragons to give her a ride to the wall straight away. It was too far to walk, and she’d only ridden a horse once. Actually, she’d only sat on a horse for pictures. But if she could blast those bagpipes across the land, then hit the airwaves with every other musical instrument she’d strapped to herself, maybe it would be enough to bring down the walls.After that, she might be able to convince one of the dragons to give her a lift to Thornpitch to make sure Magnus was safe and finish the job of taking down Kcirred.
She glanced over the instruments one last time. “I wish I could take all of these up to the tower but there’s just no time.” She headed for the door, then paused and realized, she hadno idea how to get to where she wanted to go. Magnus had transported her there with his spell. Turning back to Albionna, she pointed at the hallway. “Uhm…could you tell me how to get to the tower room?”
With her mouth set in that hard line that always showed up whenever she wasn’t particularly pleased, Albionna marched forward and charged out the door. “Follow me, Divine One. Since I am already well and truly damned, I might as well take ye there myself.”
“You are not well and truly damned!” Loping along behind the extraordinarily speedy maid, Lyla realized that she’d severely overloaded herself with all the musical instruments. “Suck it up,” she muttered to herself under her breath. This was life or death, and not a time to give up before she’d even gotten started.
When they reached an archway built into a curved wall, Albionna halted and stepped aside. “The tower, Divine One. The sacred room is at the top, three levels higher.”
Three flights of stairs. No problem. Lyla resettled her load, then stepped through the archway, stood on the landing, and looked up. “Holy shit.”
Narrow, treacherous stone steps rose in an upward spiral like a gray, maniacal snake anxious to swallow its next victim. No handrails. The steps were wide on one side, then narrowed down to nothingness on the other, little triangles of death waiting to send her tumbling downward. No wonder Magnus used spells to access the tower room. She wouldn’t mind a little magic herself right about now. But her magic was music—not transportation spells.
“Thank you, Albionna,” she told the maid with a great deal more self-confidence and grace than she really felt. Then she trudged upwards, steadying herself with one hand against the wall of cold stone blocks and taking care to keep to the widestside of the steps. Even though she ached with an urgency to make sure Magnus was safe, she forced herself to keep a steady pace. If she burned out quickly, she’d never make it. Long ago, high school track meets came to mind, and the memory of the pain she’d always get in her side when she didn’t follow her coach’s instructions on how to conquer any long-distance run. Already nearing the point of breathlessness, she slowed her momentum and allowed herself the luxury of huffing a bitter laugh. She’d hated that coach, but the relentless woman had always been right, and now, her advice was proving to be priceless. She needed to follow it to make it to the top.
After what seemed like forever, she reached the end of the steps and the door. “Don’t be locked,” she said to it as she put her shoulder against it and tried the latch. Thankfully, it wasn’t. She shoved it open and squinted against the wind already whipping through the room. It was almost as though the Thirteenth Realm wasn’t exactly pleased with her. “Too bad.” She strode across the space like she owned it and halted in front of the Scale of Rurik. “I need your help.”
The tall, mirror-like slab that reminded Lyla of a prehistoric dinosaur part in a museum remained blank, but she had the distinct impression that the thing was listening.
“You enabled Magnus to talk to me when I was still in my reality. At least, I think it was probably you helping him communicate with me across time and planes of existence.” She pulled the bagpipes free of the strap and started filling its bladder with air, blowing into the blowpipe. “Anyway, I thought if you could send my music into Thornpitch—I’m not asking you to show me the place—but if you could amplify the sound and flood them with it, it could save a lot of lives.”
The surface of the scale flickered as if washed with a passing ripple of sunlight.
Lyla paused in the inflating of the pipe bag, testing its fullness by tucking it between her side and her elbow. “So, was that ayes?”
Another flicker of light, a stronger one, cast a rainbow pattern across the flagstone floor and up the walls.
“I’m taking that as ayes.” She placed the mouthpiece of the bagpipes between her teeth, trying to remember how she’d controlled her breathing and the instrument’s airflow the last time she’d attempted to coax a song from the thing. If not handled properly the pipes squeaked, wailed, and shrieked like an angry feline with its tail caught in a screen door. Positioning her fingers over the holes of the chanter, Lyla was thankful this particular set of pipes didn’t have the additional keys that some models had. This set appeared to be very basic. Thank goodness, becausebasicwas the best she could do with this instrument, she’d only played a time or two before.
The first blast of sound made her jump. She’d forgotten how loud the things really were. But they were perfect, and it was time to put on a show. “Let’s do this,” she told the Scale of Rurik, then closed her eyes and let instinct take over. Tapping her toe in time with the bold, robust drone of the pipes, she unleashed the emotional, melancholy sound, willing it to pour across the Thirteenth Realm and cleanse the land of evil.
As the lilting rhythm of the song strengthened, visions of a stormy sea filled Lyla’s mind, and she leaned into the untamable relentlessness of the maelstrom that perfectly encapsulated her inner turmoil and battle to make lifebetter, make it worth living and celebrating. She opened her eyes to dark, lightning-filled skies and high winds that whipped her hair wildly about her face. Ground-shaking thunder exploded. She didn’t care. She refused to stop. Instead, she increased the tempo of the song, piping the ferocity of the battle, summoning Scotland’s powerfulblood and majesty to rise against the dark forces attempting to bring it down.
She swayed in time with the song, circling Rurik’s scale as she played louder still, making her ears ring with the sheer volume and force of the tune. Then the poisonous wall of clouds, the barrier around Thornpitch, caught fire, sending flames and sparks shooting high into the sky. Thank heavens, she’d nearly used all the air she possessed. She couldn’t keep this up much longer. But she could switch to the violin for a while to ensure the wall stayed down. She and the pipes had endured as much of this performance as either of them could stand.
Propping the bagpipes against the base of the pedestal that held the scrying scale, she hurried to set her violin in place and continue the fight with a hearty drag of the bow across the strings. The song danced from her fingertips, overjoyed at being released once more to bring the Realm out of the darkness into the light.
“Keep sending the music,” she begged the mighty scale, croaking the words since her voice had suffered with the strain of the stairs and the bagpipes. Maybe it wasn’t her throat that was weak. Maybe it was her lungs. She closed her eyes and shook her head at the useless thought. Once everything settled down, she’d have plenty of time to get in shape. A furious roar to the left of the tower made her open her eyes and face the fury.
Never had she seen such a monstrosity. Black as pitch, its form undulated like a mesmerizing murmuration of birds performing their strangely synced sky acrobatics. The beast brought an offensive stench with it: the choking bitter noxiousness of singed hair and burning pitch.
Lyla played harder, increasing the tempo of the song ringing out from the violin, but the thing kept coming, homing in on her like a great sightless monster. She refused to back down, ducking her head and unleashing the most powerful ballad sheknew: the song of her soul, the song that had awakened the dragons from the never-ending sleep.
