Larks never sing you know when they're captive...
“Sing for me, little bird,” Krayon asked, gently, placing a hand on the boy’s arm. The child snatched his arm away and glared at him. The boy was maybe thirteen years old, dressed in a baggy cream tunic. His eyes were piercing blue and his hair long and soft. His face was set into a defiant glare as he sat on the floor, looking defensive. Krayon didn’t blame him for his behaviour, heaven only knew what sort of life the child was forced to lead serving Lord Imrad.
“It’s no use asking him nicely, I’ve tried that,” Imrad called, from where he was lounging on a leather recliner. The dark haired Demon Lord sighed and got to his feet, wandering over to the boy, he crouched to his level.
“Now Liron, how about sharing that beautiful voice of yours, hmm? I’ve heard it from your room when you think I’m not around, you know.” Imrad said, his voice layered with false kindness.
Liron’s face twisted into one of hate and he remained stubbornly silent.
Without warning Imrad slapped his face.
“You try my patience, boy. We can do this the easy way or the hard.” he growled.
Liron put his hand to his suddenly red cheek, Krayon noticed his fingers quivering slightly.
And then the boy spoke.
“I will never sing for you! I can’t and I won’t!,” he shouted, and the wine glasses in a nearby cabinet made a strange ringing noise at the undertones the boy’s voice was causing. Krayon flinched, unsure why a child shouting was causing him to feel ill.
“Enough!” Imrad barked, his face suddenly pale, “You will not speak to me in that manner, I won’t have it. You’ll do as I tell you, you‘re mine.”
“I am not yours,” Liron growled, “I will never be yours. You stole me from the Song House, I was never yours to take.” the growl was quiet but it somehow rumbled through the room like the warning tremors before an earthquake.
“Imrad, let the boy be,” Krayon urged. “It’s obvious he will not sing.”
“Who are you?” Liron asked, suddenly turning to Krayon. His expression softened and it made his face even more beautiful.
“I am Demon Lord Krayon of Egae,” Krayon replied.
“You’re a demon lord, yet your songs are so much kinder than his,” Liron said, gently, then he stood, gave Imrad one last, hateful glare, and then left.
Farren had been a housekeeper at Lord Imrad’s castle since he was five years old, and back then he had hated every moment, but when he was fourteen a new bride had appeared in the castle, a beautiful younger boy with a voice like an angel. The first night he had arrived he had been locked in the Crush, the stand alone cell in the castle grounds where brides were kept isolated if they misbehaved, and Farren had been gardening. He heard a sorrowful, wordless song from within the Crush, so beautiful and so sad that he could not help but sit below the Crush’s barred window and listen to it. He listened for hours to the song of loss, loneliness, and fear, and he wept at the younger boy’s heart song, a melody that filled him with such pity it was like the child’s sorrow was his own.
Farren saw the boy for the first time the next day as he served the bride’s breakfast. He was stunned by his beauty, an angel’s face that was as lovely as his voice. Farren felt an immediate attraction to him, like the earth had shifted, and he knew things would never be quite the same now.
Servants were forbidden to talk to the brides at any time, but Farren longed to introduce himself to this new addition, just to show him his existence. There was something captivating about him, his eyes were deep blue, like an ocean men could swim serenely in, or when the tides changed, be dashed against the rocks and doomed. And Farren did not doubt that this child could easily break a man - it was in the way he sat, and the proud set of his jaw, and how, even now, when he was so frightened and in so much pain, he was able to focus his eyes on Lord Imrad and just stare with such defiance.
Months passed, then a year. Farren did not speak to the bride he now knew as Liron, a Song Bird stolen by one of Imrad’s men to entertain him in the castle. Farren did, however, rota the servant cycles so he was always the one to clean Liron’s room. Farren had been promoted to the head of housekeeping, and as such he was the highest status of servant in the castle. He’d learnt to enjoy his job, he saw no point in despairing at a position he would never be allowed to leave, he was too busy these days to feel sorry for himself. However, even with so much work, he always found time to linger in Liron’s room for as long as he could get away with. Liron would watch him as he cleaned the fireplace and swept the floors, but they never spoke, although Liron would often give a small smile and hum quietly. The gentle humming was enough for Farren, it was a kind, wordless song of friendship and hope, and the servant would have been content to lay down his broom and listen to it all night, though he dare not for the sake of his life.
Then, when Farren was seventeen, Imrad locked all of his brides and servants in the castle with a kitchen full of food and no way of escape. The Demon Lord left his lands and went travelling to other worlds to avoid the mortal rebellion that was stripping Demon Lord’s of their lands and leading to their execution at the hands of the high order moderators. In less than a month the castle rules were relaxed with no one around to enforce them and the castle servants were free to socialise with the brides, both of them glad of the company.
“All these years and I’ve never known your name, friend,” Liron said, as he spoke to Farren for the first time. His voice was full of such warmth that Farren thought he might melt, and it was then that he realised he was in love with the child. His beauty in all it’s entirety had caught him like a siren’s trap and Farren would never… could never love anything or anyone ever again. In that moment Farren panicked, he knew his love was irreversible, and he also knew it would kill him. He felt like a moth drawn to a flame, consciously heading toward his own doom, but unable to resist. Farren looked at Liron then, with petrified eyes, and he spoke in a quivering voice.
“My name is Farren,” he managed, and then quickly left the room, leaving Liron confused and a little hurt.
Over the next year Farren learned to control himself. He realised he could not be near Liron, but he could not be away from him either. He gradually awarded himself more and more trust, until he was able to hold a conversation with Liron, and eventually they became good friends. Liron was five years younger and respected Farren like a brother, they shared their lives with one another. They spoke of things they dare not to anyone else, their hopes, their dreams, their sorrows. Liron would sing to Farren often, like only a Song Bird can sing, and Farren would often be reduced to humble tears by the beauty of the bride’s melodies. Liron would find Farren’s own heartache in the songs of the servant’s speech, and would mimic them, then twist them to tell of hope and love, to comfort him and give him a song to beat away such heartaches. They were good times, wonderful times, and this in itself should have been enough to warn Farren that it would not last. A year later Lord Imrad returned.
Now the brides and a handful of servants had been moved to this strange house, where Imrad hid himself behind Lord Krayon of Egae, careful enough to not break any rules that would warrant his execution by the moderators. Times were better than the old days, but were not ideal. The brides and servants still had to attend to their proper duties, but they were more free than they had been and they were allowed to continue to communicate with one another when they were not busy, so Farren and Liron were able to remain friends.
Liron found Farren in his room after he had denied Lord Imrad his voice.
“He may hurt you,” Farren said, softly, when Liron had explained to him what had happened.
“He would not dare,” Liron laughed, “He’d be in trouble if he did.”
“I don’t know how much he might dare get away with,” Farren cautioned.
Liron sighed and sat on the bed beside Farren.
“Lord Krayon’s brides have such devotion for him, I hear it in their voices, every song they sing has his harmony in it, and they make it fit so beautifully.”
“I wish I had an ear for songs like you do,” Farren smiled, “Maybe then I could read people as easily as you do.”
“You’d like to read me.” Liron chuckled.
“Yes, just like you read me this moment,” Farren laughed.
Liron was silent for a moment, then turned to Farren and hummed a soft melody. Farren hadn’t heard such a song from him before, it was a sang of excitement and anxiety, of love and passion, of longing and want, and Farren didn’t understand it until it finished and Liron spoke.
“You’d like to kiss me,” he said, those pericing eyes fixed so intently on Farren’s.
Farren backed away, startled.
“I hear it in your voice, every day I hear it. I heard it in your sighs before we said a word to one another, when I was barely old enough to understand such feelings. Today I’m ready.”
Farren was terrified, he didn’t know how to react.
“No. You’re a child, and you are… I can’t…”
“I am an adult, the Song House drugs delay the growth of our bodies and advance the growth of our minds, in spirit I am as old as you,” Liron smiled.
“But you… “
Liron began to sing once more. ’Don’t be afraid,’ the song said, ’Trust me,’ the song said, ’I love you,’ the song said. It was too much for Farren to bear, and his hand reached out to brush against the Song Bird’s cheek, then he leant in and kissed him. Farren then fed of what he had hungered for since he had first heard the boy’s voice.
Liron woke in the morning in a large bed, sprawled naked atop velvet sheets. He looked around and as he regained his senses he came to realise he was in Lord Imrad’s room and grew confused.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Imrad’s voice said, and Liron sat up to see the Demon Lord perched on the edge of the bed. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“How did I get here?” Liron asked, anxiously. “What happened.”
“Don’t fret, child, you’re safe now,” Imrad purred, though there was a strange edge of anger to his voice that Liron discovered and didn’t like.
“Where is Farren?” Liron murmured.
“Don’t worry, he’s been dealt with.”
“Dealt with?”
“And rightly so,” Imrad sniffed. “You don’t think I’d let that peasant get away with raping my sweet Song Bird.”
“W… what? ,” Liron gulped, a sinking feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach. “He didn’t… he didn’t rape me, I consented.”
Imrad raised his eyebrows and his eyes widened, he clicked his tongue and sighed, “Oh dear, what a tragic mistake,” he murmured.
“… what do you mean?” Liron asked, his voice shaking.
“The boy’s sentence has already been carried out.”
“Sentence?”
Imrad snapped his fingers and a young servant of eight or nine came running from the adjoining room.
“Take Liron to where the servant boy is,” Imrad ordered. The youngster looked at him with a wide eyed, uncertain expression, and faltered.
“Now!” Imrad roared, and the servant nodded quickly and headed for the bedroom door.
Liron climbed off of the bed, dressed himself, and followed the child out of the room.
The servant led Liron to the cluster of buildings at the end of the garden, which Imrad had put there himself when they had moved. One of them resembled the Crush in which Liron had spent his first night away from the Song House. It was toward this building that the young servant headed.
The young child hovered at the entrance of the building and said not a word, instead just gestured nervously for Liron to enter. Liron walked through the doorway into the dark, cold room beyond, feeling a growing sense of dread with every step. He had not prepared himself, however, for the sight that met him once inside.
Farren’s body hung naked from the wall, held there by a string of thick barbed wire that stretched from one corner of the room to the other. Limbs twisted at odd angles, flesh was torn, cut, and bruised, the little finger of his right hand was missing altogether, and he’d been castrated.
Liron fell to the floor and vomited, and he stayed there for a long time until eventually he felt he had enough strength in his legs to stand once more. He stumbled to the body and, sobbing, he began to set about getting it down from this grizzly trap. Liron shredded his hands on the barbed wire in his frantic actions, but eventually the wire came loose and the body was freed. Liron sat on the floor and cradled Farren’s limp head to his chest, and he sang a song so filled with pain and loss that the animals close by all fell silent.
Liron’s pain lasted hours, until another evening was on it’s way. Imrad’s voice pierced the air, calling Liron’s name, and the bride’s pain turned to anger so quickly it was frightening. He laid the body down, carefully, then went back to the house, stomping the grass underfoot in his blind rage.
“You monster!” Liron screamed, running at Imrad and bunching his shirt in his hands. Imrad pushed him away and he fell to his knees. “How could you do this? Why did you do this!”
Imrad sneered. “You gave the peasant boy your flesh, your love, and for me you won’t sing a note.”
Liron got back to his feet and spat at him venomously.
“Very well, now you have my attention.” he growled. “So I will give you the song you deserve.”
And Liron sang. His voice filled the house, but anyone who heard it would think it could just as well fill the world. The notes that flew from him were like the evils that flew from Pandora’s box, all bursting with a hate and loathing the likes of which nobody had felt, each one pierced Imrad like an arrow and in seconds he was on the floor, writhing around in pain. Others in the house couldn’t control themselves, and although the song was not directed at them, the echoes were enough to cause them to stop what they were doing, bury their heads and weep. As Liron’s song reached a climax every window and glass in the house exploded into tiny fragments and shattered. And as the melody quietened and moved back into the tones of pain and sorrow, Liron let himself fall to the floor, where the song ended and he began to sob. He glanced once at Imrad, who had fallen into an uneasy unconsciousness next to a puddle of his own vomit. Then, exhausted, Liron too fell asleep.
“It’s no use asking him nicely, I’ve tried that,” Imrad called, from where he was lounging on a leather recliner. The dark haired Demon Lord sighed and got to his feet, wandering over to the boy, he crouched to his level.
“Now Liron, how about sharing that beautiful voice of yours, hmm? I’ve heard it from your room when you think I’m not around, you know.” Imrad said, his voice layered with false kindness.
Liron’s face twisted into one of hate and he remained stubbornly silent.
Without warning Imrad slapped his face.
“You try my patience, boy. We can do this the easy way or the hard.” he growled.
Liron put his hand to his suddenly red cheek, Krayon noticed his fingers quivering slightly.
And then the boy spoke.
“I will never sing for you! I can’t and I won’t!,” he shouted, and the wine glasses in a nearby cabinet made a strange ringing noise at the undertones the boy’s voice was causing. Krayon flinched, unsure why a child shouting was causing him to feel ill.
“Enough!” Imrad barked, his face suddenly pale, “You will not speak to me in that manner, I won’t have it. You’ll do as I tell you, you‘re mine.”
“I am not yours,” Liron growled, “I will never be yours. You stole me from the Song House, I was never yours to take.” the growl was quiet but it somehow rumbled through the room like the warning tremors before an earthquake.
“Imrad, let the boy be,” Krayon urged. “It’s obvious he will not sing.”
“Who are you?” Liron asked, suddenly turning to Krayon. His expression softened and it made his face even more beautiful.
“I am Demon Lord Krayon of Egae,” Krayon replied.
“You’re a demon lord, yet your songs are so much kinder than his,” Liron said, gently, then he stood, gave Imrad one last, hateful glare, and then left.
Farren had been a housekeeper at Lord Imrad’s castle since he was five years old, and back then he had hated every moment, but when he was fourteen a new bride had appeared in the castle, a beautiful younger boy with a voice like an angel. The first night he had arrived he had been locked in the Crush, the stand alone cell in the castle grounds where brides were kept isolated if they misbehaved, and Farren had been gardening. He heard a sorrowful, wordless song from within the Crush, so beautiful and so sad that he could not help but sit below the Crush’s barred window and listen to it. He listened for hours to the song of loss, loneliness, and fear, and he wept at the younger boy’s heart song, a melody that filled him with such pity it was like the child’s sorrow was his own.
Farren saw the boy for the first time the next day as he served the bride’s breakfast. He was stunned by his beauty, an angel’s face that was as lovely as his voice. Farren felt an immediate attraction to him, like the earth had shifted, and he knew things would never be quite the same now.
Servants were forbidden to talk to the brides at any time, but Farren longed to introduce himself to this new addition, just to show him his existence. There was something captivating about him, his eyes were deep blue, like an ocean men could swim serenely in, or when the tides changed, be dashed against the rocks and doomed. And Farren did not doubt that this child could easily break a man - it was in the way he sat, and the proud set of his jaw, and how, even now, when he was so frightened and in so much pain, he was able to focus his eyes on Lord Imrad and just stare with such defiance.
Months passed, then a year. Farren did not speak to the bride he now knew as Liron, a Song Bird stolen by one of Imrad’s men to entertain him in the castle. Farren did, however, rota the servant cycles so he was always the one to clean Liron’s room. Farren had been promoted to the head of housekeeping, and as such he was the highest status of servant in the castle. He’d learnt to enjoy his job, he saw no point in despairing at a position he would never be allowed to leave, he was too busy these days to feel sorry for himself. However, even with so much work, he always found time to linger in Liron’s room for as long as he could get away with. Liron would watch him as he cleaned the fireplace and swept the floors, but they never spoke, although Liron would often give a small smile and hum quietly. The gentle humming was enough for Farren, it was a kind, wordless song of friendship and hope, and the servant would have been content to lay down his broom and listen to it all night, though he dare not for the sake of his life.
Then, when Farren was seventeen, Imrad locked all of his brides and servants in the castle with a kitchen full of food and no way of escape. The Demon Lord left his lands and went travelling to other worlds to avoid the mortal rebellion that was stripping Demon Lord’s of their lands and leading to their execution at the hands of the high order moderators. In less than a month the castle rules were relaxed with no one around to enforce them and the castle servants were free to socialise with the brides, both of them glad of the company.
“All these years and I’ve never known your name, friend,” Liron said, as he spoke to Farren for the first time. His voice was full of such warmth that Farren thought he might melt, and it was then that he realised he was in love with the child. His beauty in all it’s entirety had caught him like a siren’s trap and Farren would never… could never love anything or anyone ever again. In that moment Farren panicked, he knew his love was irreversible, and he also knew it would kill him. He felt like a moth drawn to a flame, consciously heading toward his own doom, but unable to resist. Farren looked at Liron then, with petrified eyes, and he spoke in a quivering voice.
“My name is Farren,” he managed, and then quickly left the room, leaving Liron confused and a little hurt.
Over the next year Farren learned to control himself. He realised he could not be near Liron, but he could not be away from him either. He gradually awarded himself more and more trust, until he was able to hold a conversation with Liron, and eventually they became good friends. Liron was five years younger and respected Farren like a brother, they shared their lives with one another. They spoke of things they dare not to anyone else, their hopes, their dreams, their sorrows. Liron would sing to Farren often, like only a Song Bird can sing, and Farren would often be reduced to humble tears by the beauty of the bride’s melodies. Liron would find Farren’s own heartache in the songs of the servant’s speech, and would mimic them, then twist them to tell of hope and love, to comfort him and give him a song to beat away such heartaches. They were good times, wonderful times, and this in itself should have been enough to warn Farren that it would not last. A year later Lord Imrad returned.
Now the brides and a handful of servants had been moved to this strange house, where Imrad hid himself behind Lord Krayon of Egae, careful enough to not break any rules that would warrant his execution by the moderators. Times were better than the old days, but were not ideal. The brides and servants still had to attend to their proper duties, but they were more free than they had been and they were allowed to continue to communicate with one another when they were not busy, so Farren and Liron were able to remain friends.
Liron found Farren in his room after he had denied Lord Imrad his voice.
“He may hurt you,” Farren said, softly, when Liron had explained to him what had happened.
“He would not dare,” Liron laughed, “He’d be in trouble if he did.”
“I don’t know how much he might dare get away with,” Farren cautioned.
Liron sighed and sat on the bed beside Farren.
“Lord Krayon’s brides have such devotion for him, I hear it in their voices, every song they sing has his harmony in it, and they make it fit so beautifully.”
“I wish I had an ear for songs like you do,” Farren smiled, “Maybe then I could read people as easily as you do.”
“You’d like to read me.” Liron chuckled.
“Yes, just like you read me this moment,” Farren laughed.
Liron was silent for a moment, then turned to Farren and hummed a soft melody. Farren hadn’t heard such a song from him before, it was a sang of excitement and anxiety, of love and passion, of longing and want, and Farren didn’t understand it until it finished and Liron spoke.
“You’d like to kiss me,” he said, those pericing eyes fixed so intently on Farren’s.
Farren backed away, startled.
“I hear it in your voice, every day I hear it. I heard it in your sighs before we said a word to one another, when I was barely old enough to understand such feelings. Today I’m ready.”
Farren was terrified, he didn’t know how to react.
“No. You’re a child, and you are… I can’t…”
“I am an adult, the Song House drugs delay the growth of our bodies and advance the growth of our minds, in spirit I am as old as you,” Liron smiled.
“But you… “
Liron began to sing once more. ’Don’t be afraid,’ the song said, ’Trust me,’ the song said, ’I love you,’ the song said. It was too much for Farren to bear, and his hand reached out to brush against the Song Bird’s cheek, then he leant in and kissed him. Farren then fed of what he had hungered for since he had first heard the boy’s voice.
Liron woke in the morning in a large bed, sprawled naked atop velvet sheets. He looked around and as he regained his senses he came to realise he was in Lord Imrad’s room and grew confused.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Imrad’s voice said, and Liron sat up to see the Demon Lord perched on the edge of the bed. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“How did I get here?” Liron asked, anxiously. “What happened.”
“Don’t fret, child, you’re safe now,” Imrad purred, though there was a strange edge of anger to his voice that Liron discovered and didn’t like.
“Where is Farren?” Liron murmured.
“Don’t worry, he’s been dealt with.”
“Dealt with?”
“And rightly so,” Imrad sniffed. “You don’t think I’d let that peasant get away with raping my sweet Song Bird.”
“W… what? ,” Liron gulped, a sinking feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach. “He didn’t… he didn’t rape me, I consented.”
Imrad raised his eyebrows and his eyes widened, he clicked his tongue and sighed, “Oh dear, what a tragic mistake,” he murmured.
“… what do you mean?” Liron asked, his voice shaking.
“The boy’s sentence has already been carried out.”
“Sentence?”
Imrad snapped his fingers and a young servant of eight or nine came running from the adjoining room.
“Take Liron to where the servant boy is,” Imrad ordered. The youngster looked at him with a wide eyed, uncertain expression, and faltered.
“Now!” Imrad roared, and the servant nodded quickly and headed for the bedroom door.
Liron climbed off of the bed, dressed himself, and followed the child out of the room.
The servant led Liron to the cluster of buildings at the end of the garden, which Imrad had put there himself when they had moved. One of them resembled the Crush in which Liron had spent his first night away from the Song House. It was toward this building that the young servant headed.
The young child hovered at the entrance of the building and said not a word, instead just gestured nervously for Liron to enter. Liron walked through the doorway into the dark, cold room beyond, feeling a growing sense of dread with every step. He had not prepared himself, however, for the sight that met him once inside.
Farren’s body hung naked from the wall, held there by a string of thick barbed wire that stretched from one corner of the room to the other. Limbs twisted at odd angles, flesh was torn, cut, and bruised, the little finger of his right hand was missing altogether, and he’d been castrated.
Liron fell to the floor and vomited, and he stayed there for a long time until eventually he felt he had enough strength in his legs to stand once more. He stumbled to the body and, sobbing, he began to set about getting it down from this grizzly trap. Liron shredded his hands on the barbed wire in his frantic actions, but eventually the wire came loose and the body was freed. Liron sat on the floor and cradled Farren’s limp head to his chest, and he sang a song so filled with pain and loss that the animals close by all fell silent.
Liron’s pain lasted hours, until another evening was on it’s way. Imrad’s voice pierced the air, calling Liron’s name, and the bride’s pain turned to anger so quickly it was frightening. He laid the body down, carefully, then went back to the house, stomping the grass underfoot in his blind rage.
“You monster!” Liron screamed, running at Imrad and bunching his shirt in his hands. Imrad pushed him away and he fell to his knees. “How could you do this? Why did you do this!”
Imrad sneered. “You gave the peasant boy your flesh, your love, and for me you won’t sing a note.”
Liron got back to his feet and spat at him venomously.
“Very well, now you have my attention.” he growled. “So I will give you the song you deserve.”
And Liron sang. His voice filled the house, but anyone who heard it would think it could just as well fill the world. The notes that flew from him were like the evils that flew from Pandora’s box, all bursting with a hate and loathing the likes of which nobody had felt, each one pierced Imrad like an arrow and in seconds he was on the floor, writhing around in pain. Others in the house couldn’t control themselves, and although the song was not directed at them, the echoes were enough to cause them to stop what they were doing, bury their heads and weep. As Liron’s song reached a climax every window and glass in the house exploded into tiny fragments and shattered. And as the melody quietened and moved back into the tones of pain and sorrow, Liron let himself fall to the floor, where the song ended and he began to sob. He glanced once at Imrad, who had fallen into an uneasy unconsciousness next to a puddle of his own vomit. Then, exhausted, Liron too fell asleep.