Page 102 of Beneath the Haunting Sea
“Ah,” said the Whale. “That is not quite the same thing.”
Chapter Forty-Five
IN THE MORNING, TALIA WOKE TO FINDWen beside her, his wings folded and his head on her knee. He stirred at her movement and looked up at her, unblinking.
“Wen,” she said, “you have to go home.” She’d decided it last night, just before sleep had finally claimed her. If she failed in her quest, nothing could save him, but if she succeeded—she wanted him far from here, far fromRahn and any repercussions.
The seabird tilted his head to the side, the rising sun glinting amber on his feathers. He looked fierce and wild, but somehow not unlike himself.
Beneath them, the Whale swam on and the sea lapped cold at his sides, splashing Talia’s knees.
“Fly home, Wen,” she whispered. “Please fly home. It’s my fault you’re here. I want to save you. Please.”
But the seabirdjust stared at her with his strange black eyes, his answer as clear as if he’d said it aloud:I will not leave you.
“You have to go home,” she cried, her fear for him so sharp she could taste it. “You have to!” She shoved him off the back of the Whale but he caught himself before he hit the water, wings flapping to regain his balance. He flew back to her side.
She pushed him off again, and againhe flew back to her.
The third time, Wen leapt into the air before she could shove him, the wind from his wings whipping through her hair. “Fly home, Wen!” she screamed.“You have to fly home!”
And the Whale rumbled quietly beneath her: “Talia Endain, I do not think he will go.”
She dropped to her knees on the Whale’s back and swiped angrily at the tears that broke through her defenses.
Thewhite seabird watched her for a while from the air and she stared up at him. “I don’t want you to die,” she said. “I can’t lose you, too. That’s what I saw, the second time I looked in the mirror. I saw you die. I can’t bear it. Please go home.Please.”
But Wen flew down and settled across from her, his wild eyes staring into hers. He folded his wings and she could almost hear his voice.I will not leave you.
This time, she didn’t try and push him away. Dread enveloped her, but it was tangled tight with relief.
“Will you teach me the Words of the gods?” Talia said to the Whale in the afternoon, staring down toward his great gray head. “I’ll need them when I go down to Rahn’s Hall. To shield me from the weight of the water. To give me the strength to defeat her.”
The Whale rumbledbeneath her. “I will teach you, Talia Endain, but you cannot defeat her with Words alone.”
She brushed her fingers over the knapsack containing the Star-light and the sliver of the Tree. “I don’t intend to.”
He rumbled again, this time with that lion-purr laughter. “That is very well.”
Talia pulled herself to a sitting position.
“The Words I speak in your hearing must not be uttered untilthe time you have need of them, or their power will wane. They were given to the gods at the making of the world, to help them shape it, but they are not as strong as they once were. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Then tune your ears and listen. I will sing to you in the language of the Stars themselves, that the Words might burn stronger in the music of their original tongue.”
And then the Whale began to sing.
It was a terrible, beautiful song, and it echoed all around her, slipping into her mind and her soul, making her ache.
The knapsack at her hip grew hot as fire—the Star-light, awakening to the song. She had to take it off her shoulder, scramble away from it, up toward the Whale’s broad head. If she hadn’t, she felt the heat might have consumed her.
The Whalesang all day, and she sat staring over the sea, listening with every ounce of her being. The sun passed over the arc of the sky and sank down again in a blaze of yellow flame.
When night fell over the world and the round disc of the moon awoke out of the waves, the Whale stopped singing. Talia caught a sharp breath—the sudden absence of his music disturbed her.
Wen settled beside her, and sheput one hand on his wing.
