Secrets and Songbirds, page 1
Copyright © 2023 N.J. Rodman
Copyright notice:
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Content Warnings
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For my grandfathers -
One who taught me to always seek adventure,
And the other that silence can say more than words ever could.
CONTENT WARNINGS
This book contains depictions of mental illness with particular focus on anxiety. Other adult themes include fantasy violence, grief, character death, profanity, physical abuse, and sexually explicit content.
PROLOGUE
Soren rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen to put the kettle on. She needed caffeine, and she needed it now. She guzzled down the boiling liquid, wincing as the coffee burned her tongue. Regardless, she ignored her mouth’s cry for help and refilled her ceramic mug before settling in to eat her breakfast. She eyed the wood stove, insuring the flames had settled before biting into her toast.
The cinnamon raisin loaf from the bakery down the road was amazing, but it was almost gone. She mentally added it to her grocery list as she put her dishes away.
Dishes were a monotonous task. She always loathed having to heat the water. The well was not far from the back door, but in winter, they kept jugs in the cellar for convenience when it was too cold to pump. Soren hated lugging the large pot across the lawn, often soaking her shoes as the liquid sloshed out. Drying them was the bane of her existence and something her and her father constantly tiffed about.
He had been away for work for a couple of weeks and was due to be back in a few days, so she was soaking up having the house to herself since it was her day off.
She put her plate away, the dish clattering on the shelf before she settled down by the fireplace with her most recent read. She was just getting to a particularly exciting part of the story when a knock interrupted her.
“Of course,” she grumbled, slamming the book shut. There was no way for her Father to be back this early, and she had heard Enara leave already, so whoever was here was not invited. Baz did say he might stop by today. She was going to beat that boy if he was here this early. “Maker forbid I try to enjoy my book in peace!”
Yanking the door open to find one of the heads of the town council, she adjusted her posture. “I’m sorry, you’re not who I was expecting. Is there something I can do for you?” She bit her lip. She hated dealing with people of authority. The council only made house calls when it was an emergency.
“I am sorry to have to inform you of this, but your father was found dead this morning.” His tone was sympathetic as he adjusted the collar of his cotton suit.
The air was sucked out of her lungs as she attempted to comprehend the foreign information. “What do you mean, he’s dead?” She wasn’t sure why she was asking. She knew what the word meant.
She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, and tears blurred her vision.
“Do you want to sit?” The older man reached out to her, but she batted his hand away.
Through gritted teeth, she said, “Just tell me.”
“They found him out near the end of the Boreal River, just before the falls.”
She sniffled. “What happened?”
“They are still examining the body, but it seems he sustained multiple injuries and succumbed to them before he reached town. Most of the injuries were defensive wounds, leading us to believe that this was no accident. I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry!” she yelled. “My father is dead, probably murdered, and you’re sorry?” She tried to force down the knot in her throat.
“I wish I had better news. You will have access to his body by the end of the day. The city watch’s coroner will have finished the autopsy by then. Since you are his next of kin, you will be in charge of the funeral arrangements.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Anger filled her entire body as she lashed out at the poor man. “I don’t know how to plan a funeral! What the fuck am I supposed to do with his body?” Tears slid down her face as she continued her assault. “How dare you? How could you come here and just drop this on me like it’s an item off your damn checklist?”
The man was obviously uncomfortable, but she didn’t care.
“I am sorry for your loss. If you need help with the arrangements, contact city’s watch main office; they can help you coordinate with the funeral home. I would do it soon so they can prepare his body for the service. Again, I am truly sorry, but I must be going.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself!” She slammed the door in his face then fell to the floor, sobbing. Her heart was out of her chest and bleeding out on the floor, the open cavity sickeningly empty. She shook, gasping for air, coughing so hard she got sick right there on the hardwood.
She wiped her mouth then crawled to the bathroom where she laid her head on the woven rug, leaving a trail of tears in her wake. She held her breath and counted to ten, trying to slow her breathing. Her whole body vibrated with the effort, and she could feel her heartbeat in her temples.
As she stood, wobbling her way back to the living room, her vision got fuzzy. She dropped down to crawl to the rug in front of the fireplace where she curled in on herself, her chest aching from her manic breathing.
Her body seemed to be rejecting oxygen as she held her breath again. Her head swam as she felt the heat from the embers warm her face.
She lay there, staring at the flames, utterly shut down to the world until she was empty of tears. She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying there. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She had grown up without a mother, so the loss of her father left her feeling utterly alone in the world.
She watched the flames flicker, the shadows dancing off the back of the fireplace as exhaustion creeped up her body.
The door swung open, and Enara came rushing in. Her best friend from Voxridge Academy was not one to coddle, but when she saw her on the floor, she did not question it. She grabbed a blanket off the couch and put it over her, leaving for a moment before returning with a glass of water. The cylinder clinked as she placed it on the floor.
Soren watched as sweat beaded down its side. Then she reached forward with a shaking hand and took a sip. Gingerly, she placed it back down.
“He’s gone,” she finally said, voice cracking.
“I know.”
They sat in silence for a while. Enara added a few more logs to the fire as night fell before placing Soren’s head back in her lap and stroking her hair gently.
“I’m supposed to plan a funeral.”
“I’ll help you; don’t worry about that now.”
“They said he had defensive wounds. I want to know what that means. Who would have done this to him, Enara? I should have asked more questions … but I was just so angry. It all felt like a sick joke.”
Her friend shifted her vision downward, looking into Soren’s red-rimmed eyes. They were a deep chestnut brown but flashed orange in the firelight. “I heard the gist of it. The unfortunate thing about living in a small town like Vreburn—news travels fast.”
“Enara?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s just us now,” she said solemnly, the tears returning.
“We are all we need,” she replied.
No one told their kids how to plan a funeral. They never spoke of all the decisions you were forced to make amidst the cloud of grief. By the time they were old enough to dwell on these considerations, they expected you would just know what to do. When a parent passed earlier in a child’s life, they were left to make these decisions on their own.
Do you want to cremate the body? Open-casket or closed? What type of casket? Do you want to purchase or rent? Do you want a wood or cast urn? What type of flowers? Do you have photos you want to display? What do you want him to wear? Do you want to be a part of the body preparation? How many will attend the service?
She was asked these questions as if she already had the answers. She was thankful that Enara had known her father decently well and helped make suggestions along the way.
“Remember how he liked purple irises because they were your mother’s favorite. He used to keep them out back,” Enara offered softly.
Soren remembered with fondness. He had grown them when she was younger but had stopped when he’d begun to travel more for work.
She nodded. “Yeah, let’s use those. And I think we should put him in the gray suit. It looked nice on him.”
Her friend grabbed her hand and squeezed, knowing how hard this was for her.
“Can we go now?”
“Yes, of course,” the funeral director replied, closing her notebook. “If we have any further questions, we will get in contact with you. Take all the time you need.”
“How are you feeling?”
“How do you think I’m feeling?” Soren scowled, rubbing her hands down her face. “I can’t get the image of him out of my head. He was so cold. There were so many … How could someone do that to him?”
“I don’t know, but I promise we will do our best to find out. Come,” Enara said, standing and extending her hand. “Let’s get you home. Baz is standing by with some of his mother’s minced pie.” Laraline had made them with ground elk, and it was one of their all-time favorites.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am, and you have hardly eaten in the last two days. Come on.”
They sat around the dining table, digging into the assortment of food that Baz had delivered. It was unsettling to see a mask of sadness covering his normally cheery face.
“I’m sorry about your father, Soren. He was a great guy,” he said, embracing her tightly.
She squeezed back, nuzzling into the warmth of his chest.
Baz was a good friend, and she was happy to have a male presence in the house.
She pushed around the food on her plate, trying to eat, but her stomach rejected the nourishment. “Thank you guys, for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else we would rather be.”
“Yeah,” Baz replied. “You know we would never leave you hanging.”
“I know.” She turned her lips up in appreciation. They truly were the best friends she could have ever asked for.
“It’s okay if you need time to process it all, but if you want to talk, we’re here,” Enara said before she bit into her mashed potatoes.
“I know the situation is a bit different, but I know what it’s like to lose your parents, so if you need some insight, I got you.”
Soren furrowed her brow. She had nearly forgotten that Baz had been orphaned prior to moving to Vreburn.
“I don’t think you ever told me what happened,” she replied. “I knew you were adopted, but you never mentioned what happened to your birth parents.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure it’s the kind of story that would make you feel better.”
“I promise it’s okay … Go ahead, I could use the distraction.”
“Well, you know how, back home in Nuraka, they would persecute anyone who protested the law of the empire?”
Soren nodded.
“Well, my parents were activists during the civil war when Bao-Ren first came into power. His authoritarian rule caused unrest amongst the people, and they rallied against him.”
“They must have been so brave,” Enara said, looking at him intently.
“Yeah.” He smiled fondly. “They were. I mean, until they had me. When my mom found out she was pregnant, they stopped attending rallies for safety reasons. They continued to assist the rebellion from the sidelines, but Bao-Ren was building a following and things were getting dangerous. They ended up going into hiding, picking up work on a small rice farm outside of Saipea. They used forged papers with different names to avoid suspicion.”
“Do you remember much from back then?” Soren asked.
“Little things. I was six when we left, so most of the earlier years are lost on me, but I do remember that my mom would always sing to me when I was upset.”
“My dad said Mom used to sing to me while she was pregnant,” Soren commented. “He said she favored sea shanties.”
Enara laughed. “Well, that explains your love for the tavern then.”
“You’re not wrong.” Soren shrugged.
“My mom used to sing folk songs. We would dance around the rice fields, water sloshing in my boots. We were happy there for a while.”
“Then what happened?” Enara asked.
Baz straightened. “Bao-Ren had secretly continued his investigation into anyone who was involved in trying to overthrow the empire. Anyone found to be involved with the resistance was forced to stand trial for treason. As you can imagine, they were all found guilty and hung for their crimes.”
The girls sucked in a breath, shocked at the brutality.
“I didn’t think they were still allowed to employ those methods … even for the death penalty,” Enara said, shaking her head with disbelief.
“I’m not sure how it is now, but no one questioned it back then. So, anyway”—he paused to gather his thoughts—“my parents caught wind of this through a friend from their rally days and heard that empire loyalists were coming for them.
“All I remember is them waking me up in the middle of the night and throwing me in a small boat. They told me to stay down and keep silent until we passed the guard towers. When we reached a safe distance, I asked where we were going, and they just said somewhere safe. Three-quarters of the way through the crossing, a storm broke, capsizing the boat. I lost both my parents that day. Luckily, a sailor from Ilastead found me, or I would have been shark bait.”
“Baz, I had no idea. That’s horrible.” Soren’s eyes filled with sympathy for him.
“It’s okay. I mean, yeah … it’s really shitty. But if it weren’t for my tragic circumstances, I would have never met the two of you.” He nudged Enara’s shoulder.
“Well, that makes us quite the group,” she said. “You two lost your parents, and I don’t want anything to do with mine. Guess that means we’re stuck with each other.”
“Guess so.” Soren smiled.
“I mean, I’m not complaining,” Baz added.
They finished their meal then retired to the living room, sharing more stories from their childhoods. When it was time for bed, they said goodnight to Baz.
As he headed out the door, Soren turned to Enara, her eyes glossy with tears. “Can you stay in my room tonight?”
“Of course, lady, whatever you need.”
“I just … I don’t want to be alone,” she stammered. “I … I know he was gone all the time, but the house just feels hollow now.” She looked down, tasting salt on her lips.
“You don’t have to explain. Let’s go to bed.”
They walked down the hall and washed up in silence. Then, crawling under the blankets, Soren settled in, taking a deep breath, feeling calmer with Enara passed out beside her. The woman could fall asleep anywhere instantaneously, a skill Soren could only wish for.
Before sleep took her, she looked out the window, teardrops darkening her pillowcase. “Goodnight, Dad. I love you tons.”
Soren gazed down at the procession, her eyes blank. Grief settled in the pit of her stomach like spoiled milk. The horses shuffled around anxiously as their owners hopped out of their carts to join the other guests who had already been seated.
Just weeks ago, they had been laughing and sharing stories around the dying embers of the hearth. Their home had been so full of love and warmth. Now she stood on the hilltop above the cemetery in her alabaster mourning dress.
