Elandria paced nervously in the corridor outside Trevain’s room. A week had passed and Aazuria had still not returned from Adlivun. It had been too long.
Mr. Fiskel exited Trevain’s room with a bowl of soup in his hands. The old man lifted his shoulders helplessly as he made eye contact with the girl. “I still can’t get him to eat, Miss Elandria. He just won’t stop talking about Callder. He’s also running a temperature. The captain’s making himself sick with stress.”
Elandria gave Mr. Fiskel a steadfast look before approaching him and taking the bowl of soup from his hands. She nodded to him and entered Trevain’s room. She marched to Trevain’s bedside and placed the soup down on the nightstand firmly before reaching out to feel the man’s forehead.
Trevain’s eyes opened slowly, and he blinked at her. “Zuri, you’re back. I thought you left forever. Like my brother. It never rains, but it pours. Shouldn’t we amend that for Alaska? It never snows, but it blizzards. Doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
Elandria frowned at his nonsensical rambling. She moved her face closer to Trevain’s and shook her head firmly to indicate that she was not Aazuria. She slapped him lightly on the cheek.
He blinked again, several times. “Elan? I’m sorry. What am I thinking. My vision must be… I’m just tired. In my defense, you do resemble your sister.”
“How on earth can you be tired?” she asked him with the rapid hand motions “You have done naught but remain in bed for a week!”
“I didn’t get any of that,” he answered, staring up at the ceiling. “Did you know when Callder was a boy he liked fencing? Fencing, imagine that. A rather noble and focused sport for such a lazy and careless kid. Mother caught us playing with wooden swords once, so she signed us up for fencing lessons. He loved it. He really did. Especially when I let him win.”
Elandria studied his pallid complexion with worry. There was moisture on his skin which caused strands of his grey hair to cling to his forehead. He had been very quiet for days, sending her away whenever she had tried to speak with him. Now he seemed to hardly notice her presence as he ruminated. He seemed like he was in the beginning of delirium. Having seen many illnesses and much grief in her extended lifetime, Elandria resolutely decided to do all within her power to bring him out of his despondency. She picked up the bowl and spoon, and attempted to coax Trevain to drink some soup.
He turned his head away from the offered victuals and buried his face in the pillow. “Fencing,” he mused to himself. He continued mumbling into the pillow. “Put a saber in his hand and he was full of life. Why wasn’t he like that about anything else? No self-esteem. Didn’t know how great he was, how great he could have been. Should’ve told him. If only things had been different; if I’d been more attentive to my little brother... but I only cared about myself and my own success. Now what can my money do?”
Elandria placed her hand on his shoulder, shaking her head, intending to object to his self-blame with all the gestures she could muster. Trevain, however, did not acknowledge her touch. He continued to mutter against his pillow.
“The money’s worthless,” Trevain whispered. “Callder knew it. He knew it more than I did. He always said such negative things about himself. Why? He kept insulting himself until the insults became truth. He’d say, ‘I’m worthless scum, and I’m better off dead. You’re better off with me dead, and so is Brynne and the whole world!’ It wasn’t true. I swear it wasn’t true.”
Elandria reached out to soothingly pat Trevain’s hand, but he still did not react. He swallowed and continued speaking softly to himself. “He made it true because he believed it so much! How could he believe those awful things about himself? He was such a smart boy. A kind boy. I should have told him! I should have forced him to know.”
Elandria returned the soup to the nightstand. She took some of the fabric of her dress into her hands and began to squeeze it anxiously. She considered Trevain’s words and wondered if she should have gone to Adlivun instead of her sisters. Waiting and not knowing was very difficult; it was paralyzing.
“Why did he drink so much? Why didn’t he give himself more credit? Why did he have to be such a damned fool? It should have been me. It should have been me instead.”
Standing up abruptly, Elandria walked to the window of Trevain’s room. She parted the curtain and gazed out at the serene view of the ocean. Trevain continued to mumble to himself in bed, but Elandria was too far away to make sense of his muffled speech. She raised her fingers to the glass and traced the shoreline with her fingernail. She sighed as she also traced the horizon.
Her lips, which she usually kept tightly shut, now parted. She drew in several deep breaths before finding the courage to release her voice in song:
My love has gone to sail upon the sea,
A fortnight has passed without his return.
I cannot smile; I cannot eat or sleep.
I fear the worst and already I mourn.
We were to marry come the gentle spring,
In the small church our mothers kindly chose.
I clutch a lock of his hair and his ring,
Watching for signs of him upon the shores.
Elandria’s voice echoed off the walls of the room, filling it completely with her celestial a cappella melody. Trevain stopped his muttering and paused, allowing the music to flood his mind and body. It permeated his being in the same way that ingesting hot liquid would have sent feeling of warmth throughout his insides.
He had not consumed any of the soup that Elandria and Mr. Fiskel had tried to get him to drink for days. They had been respectful of his wishes to starve himself. This poignant singing, however, was force-feeding his senses and overloading them with bucketfuls of emotional nutrients and enchantment. Now he discovered for what he had truly been famished.
Elandria’s voice was sublime. She moved his blood, sending powerful currents through his stagnant arteries, with ripples that extended all the way to the smaller veins and capillaries. She brought all his pain to the surface, where it simmered on his skin, burning him briefly before dissipating into the air around him. Elandria’s voice was…
Trevain suddenly sat up in bed, shocked by the realization. Elandria’s voice? He looked to where she stood near the window, belting out passionate lyrics in a loud and clear soprano. Yes, it was coming from her throat—the throat of the girl who had not spoken once since she had entered his home. He was being serenaded by the speechless girl for whom he had begun learning sign language!
Although his astonishment was colossal, his immense pleasure at listening to the exquisite music easily overpowered his surprise. The sound was breathtaking. He could have sworn that he had heard it before.
O, where is his fine ship? Where is my love?
It was under the great sequoia tree,
He avowed to all the heavens above,
Come hell or high water he’d come for me!
So I ask the skies now: where is my love?
“You can speak,” he said dumbly, interrupting her song.
She smiled at him weakly, and gave a small ladylike shrug. He stared at her, dumbfounded.
“You can actually speak,” he repeated, in wonderment.
Elandria shook her head to indicate the negative. She raised her hands to answer him with sign language. “Yes, I can, but I choose not to do so. I can communicate in many other ways. Where I hail from, everyone knows sign language and it is completely unnecessary.”
Trevain frowned as he stared at her fast moving hands. “I am really trying to understand you, but I can only pick up a word here and there. I can’t put it together.”
She tried to slow down her hand motions so that he could comprehend her signage. “I dislike the sound of my own voice in speech. It is garish and unrefined.”
“Elandria!” he responded in frustration. “I just heard you use your voice! I’m not going crazy, am I? Please, speak to me. I know you can!”
She paused, clenching and unclenching her hands into fists fretfully.
“Elan?” he coaxed softly. “Please?”
She reached up and began to finger her braid as she gathered the resolve to form a simple sentence. She opened her lips and uttered a simple proclamation:
“Just as it never snows, but it blizzards, I never speak; I only sing.”
He nodded then, satisfied. “I understand. I guess you have your reasons. Just like those ultra-holy monks who take vows of silence for personal enlightenment and such, right? Well, I won’t force you to speak anymore. I just wanted to know why… your voice! It’s magnificent. You’re an opera singer… you performed those recordings which Aazuria danced to in the club.”
Elandria nodded, her eyes downcast shyly.
“You’ve been professionally trained,” he added. “Just like Aazuria has been trained in dance. No high school diplomas, but professionals when it comes to fine arts. You girls are just full of surprises, do you know that?”
Elandria gave him a small coy smile. “You have not the faintest idea,” she answered.
Trevain observed the shy girl curiously for a moment. Then he grunted and crossed his arms. “That whole situation with that man, Naclana, didn’t make any sense. What is your sister hiding from me?”
“Secrets bigger than you can imagine,” Elandria responded. “I am sure you know that she cares for you and acts with your best interests at heart; but she has important duties of which you cannot conceive.”
“I see. Actually, I don’t. I don’t see at all,” he said miserably. “Would you sing to me again, Elan? I love the sound of your voice.”
Elandria smiled in relief, grateful that Trevain was understanding of her need to remain silent unless it was in song. She was also delighted that he appreciated her singing so much that it had almost made him completely forget for a few seconds that his brother had just died. It was her only gift; if her voice was not capable of reaching him, there was no more she could do.
She closed her eyes, and lost herself as she allowed her soul to pour forth and fill the room.
The skies give me no comforting reply,
Instead they mock me with cruel tempests.
They terrify me, making lightning fly,
And I know I am not one of the bless’d.
I shall hold fast to hope though all seems lost,
I shall think of my love and his kind smile.
To retrieve him I shall pay any cost,
To rescue him I shall sail endless miles.
She continued to sing for several minutes. Every song that came to mind about love and loss, and even some songs she had created herself over the years. The acoustics of the large master bedroom were favorable, and she felt a sensation approaching joy as she allowed her voice to gust forth from deep in her gut and fill every corner and crevice of the chamber.
When her songs ended, she remained motionless and quiet for several seconds. She turned to gaze out the window again, scanning the horizon. She heard a creak of motion in the bed, and turned and saw that Trevain was sobbing.
“Not Callder, not Callder,” he was moaning. “I just don’t believe it.”
He was crying. He was finally grieving and allowing himself to face what had happened. She felt a solemn satisfaction. He would be better before long. Elandria knew that modern medicine was without value in a case like this.
Only music could heal a destroyed soul.