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Lost in shame
Reviled, now renamed
As your greatest disgrace”
The next verse returned to a quieter tone, but more intense. The second chorus built to a crescendo, then gave way to the trasbu’s shockingly plaintive growl, melding with the guitar. When the short interlude finished, the band stopped, and the piano tinkled a sweet, sad measure. Then the guys tore through the chorus again, Rusp’s heavy pounding thudding through Irene’s bones as she belted the chorus twice from the chest. Then the uferliss soared, accompanied by her clear soprano winding wordless arias through its beguiling wail.
Crescendo. Silence.
The clan and Irene stared at each other. She’d been concerned about the lack of rhyme in the verses, but she’d believed they’d work if sung right. Much of opera wasn’t built on rhymes either, and she’d relied on her experience to render Sherv’s halting English into lyrics that flowed.
Her whole body tingled. To her ears, it had sounded fine. No, it had soundedphenomenal.
“Mother of All.” Rusp was the first to regain the power of speech, but the sticks he’d used to drum dropped from limp fingers. He spoke in staccato Kalquorian, then resumed in Irene’s language. “Song is amazing!”
“It is,” Irene gasped. “Sweet prophets, it’s perfect.”
“Almost perfect,” Sherv corrected, but his grin spread ear-to-ear. “It is near what I hope for.”
“I love lemanthev, but this better,” Jemi gushed. “This incredible. Do another song. Write, Sherv.”
They bellowed laughter, flushed by the success of a song of their own making blowing them away.
“I know we’ve said it before, but no one else is doing this.” Irene raked her fingers through her hair, boggling at the sheer creativity Sherv had spearheaded. “Promise you’ll take it as far as it will go. Others have to hear it.”
Sorrow drifted over their faces, even Rusp’s. She was sad as well, but knowing they wanted her to continue as a part of it perversely made her happy. She meant something to them, at least as a singer and songwriter.
“We’ll see. Can’t think how to do without you.” Sherv sighed. “Wish we have longer.”
“Me too. Have you ever heard of soulmates?”
The trio shook their heads.
“It’s when you’re born to be with someone in particular. Destiny brings you together. I feel we were meant to meet. I wonder if we’re musical soulmates. Maybe it sounds dumb to you—”
“No. Is how I feel when I meet Sherv and Rusp.” Jemi beamed at them, his despondency diminishing. “I like this soulmates idea. We have a similar thought on Kalquor.”
“I like it too. Very glad ancestors bring us Irene, even for short time.” Sherv glanced at Rusp, who nodded his agreement.
They gazed at her, and an electricity passed through her. Yes, musical soulmates. Maybe more, if the universe had been kinder, if her world hadn’t been so xenophobic. It hurt to think what they might have had, and she’d probably never see them again.
Grief filled and overwhelmed her. Suddenly she was sobbing, her face buried in her hands.
“Irene!”
Arms closed around her, pulled her close, lifted her. Whoever held her sat, cuddling her on his lap. Much as Sherv had held her for her one and only real kiss, but there was only comfort and shelter, rather than lust.
They barely knew each other, yet Irene experienced the coming loss almost as keenly as the greatest separation of her life. Her stolen moments of freedom, gained under the cover of an Odeergin outfit, weren’t freedom at all. She still wore the chains of a merciless society, enslaving her until the end of her life.
She realized she was speaking in the midst of her sobs, spilling her past to those who’d gathered close to stroke her hair, rub her back, murmur words she couldn’t understand, and rock her like a child between them.
“…my parents…begged to go with me…no work for my father, they said…I had to go…sing for the glory of Earth and Church…I cried…begged for my parents to save me…beat on the shuttle window…nothing they could do…my mother fainted…last I saw of them for months…”
She could still envision it: her mother falling to the ground and her father dropping to his knees next to her, his stricken gaze following the hover shuttle until it went around a tree-filled corner, cutting off Irene’s view of them.
The nun and the opera company director had shouted over her screams, insisting her parents would visit her soon. At sixteen, Irene had witnessed the Church in action, had noted people disappearing, had heard enough lies to believe her abductors were adding to them. In her mind, her parents had been gone for good.
The Church and government were stealing something precious once more by keeping her from Clan Sherv. Irene tried to tell them, though she couldn’t force herself to be coherent as she bawled.
