A/N
 This has always been one of my favorite songs, but it also happens to make the perfect anthem for Ira's grief.  

Ira 

In the days after Uriel left, Ajak kept me in the circle from sunrise to sunset.

Every night he reset the spell that allowed me to sleep without dreams and in the morning when Shayla and Nina were having breakfast, Ajak had me building imaginary walls and locked doors. Claiming the longer fast would help me focus, the only time I was allowed to eat was when Nina called us in for dinner. I didn't mind the lake of food, and the nutrition-heavy diet Shayla provided proved to be more than satisfying but the long hours of seemingly pointless work were maddening.

Every morning began with Ajak talking me into a calm meditative state but that was where our success ended. The moment I tried to do anything else the knowing and memories would flood in, breaking my concentration and putting us back at square one.

It was the same thing over and over again.

Every. Single. Day.

The only thing that made the brain-numbing process worthwhile was the few hours of "studying" in the library before Ajak put me to sleep. There was something comforting about the wealth of knowledge Ajak had collected within its walls, all of it contained within pages and hidden amongst the shelves. There was no knowing to crowd my mind with facts and fragments here and I could choose what I wanted to see.

Extending up to all three levels of the house, Ajak's collection of books, manuscripts, and scrolls took up the entire north wing. From corner to corner each wall was covered with only a few tall thin windows to let light in between shelves and half the floor was filled by more that went all the way to the ceiling. Amongst the towering rows, a cozy sitting area had been arranged at its center and separated the space from the narrow stairs that lead up to the large balconies on each of the higher levels.

Tucked under the stairs was a room that took up the other half of the base floor. Its solid wood door was engraved with an intricate script that reminded me of the one in Uriel's bunker but this one did not call me as the other had. Instead, it seemed to hide itself, folding into the walls around it when I focused my attention in its direction. When I asked Ajak about it, he simply shook his head and warned me not to go in there, before leading me upstairs.

"There are some very delicate talismans in there, I'd rather not have you destroy them," he told me as he collected a few dusty tomes and deposited them atop one of the many desks lining the balcony.

Set up as a classroom of sorts, each desk had two seats and faced the large chalkboard on the wall in three half-circle rows.

"Where are all the students?" I asked when I realized what it was.

"they're all gone."

He didn't seem to be bothered by that fact, but his aura dimmed with sadness and his touch lingered on the books as though recalling another time when they had been necessary.

Why?" Nina asked, oblivious to his silent pain.

"Because they were too caught up in the thrill of something new to be wary of the pitfalls." He told the little girl, "Now get down from there before you break something."

The little girl had taken to joining us in the library with a book of her own, often finding odd and twisted ways to sit. On that first evening in the library, she'd decided to test the strength of the balcony railing, hopping up to balance precariously on the edge of a fifteen-foot drop as she vocalized her curiosity. And I'd nearly stepped on her more than once when she'd decided to lay with her folded legs at the top of the steps, head pointed toward the bottom and seeming unbothered by the upside-down words of the book she'd propped upright on the stair below.

Since then, Ajak had kept me busy during the late hours with history lessons on the Mage. He talked about how they had gone underground after the war, first driven into hiding by governments that wanted to abuse their gifts but then later kept there by their king and those loyal to him.

He described the seven lords who had collected weaker mage called vassals, to build their houses of power in opposition to their unwanted monarch. They along with the smaller houses kept things from descending into complete chaos but it was the collectors, bargain brokers, and hunters who kept their world precariously in balance. Acting as independent parties they had no qualms with dealing with whoever could pay them and acted as go-betweens for the more powerful mage and muutes, only swearing fidelity to the king and more for protection than any sense of loyalty.

"Protection from what?" I asked one night, curious despite myself.

"From another mage generally but mostly the Lords." Ajak explained "Talismans give us a way to amplify and channel our own energy but new mage have no way of generating more energy once it's used. Skyglass gives them a good boost but carries the risk of further mutation, and possibly death. Drawing from another mage is less risky and far more potent. Even if it is forced from a Skyglass user, once the drug is cycled through the body, the energy has been metabolized enough to purify through an exchange. It's not uncommon for masters to awaken new mage and keep them on a steady diet of Skyglass just to drain them later. If they survive long enough, they often end up repeating the process when they become masters themselves."

That shadow of grief clouded his colors for a moment before Ajak shook it off.

"But if the mage agrees to be a vassal it becomes a two-way street," he continued "and the excess generated by the exchange of ether given, not just taken, benefits both parties. The more vassals a master has bound to them, the more ether they have access to. And smart ones will encourage their vassals to find their own because a master can draw through them as well as from them."

"Like some sort of cannibalistic pyramid scheme," I said.

He winced but nodded "yes, I suppose that's a simpler way to say it."

Over the next week, he told us the truth about the mage that they liked to keep out of the historical records and while not all of it was new to me, his informative explanations did help fill in the gaps the knowing left with its sporadic facts. And though Ajak wasn't nearly as forthcoming about the current politics of the mage, he was more than willing to satisfy Nina's endless curiosity and answered as many of her questions as he could.

And while the two of them bonded over a love for books, Ajak gave me patterns to study and memorize. Some were simple, the pentagrams easy to imitate, and the staggered layering of bricks familiar. But others were beautifully intricate. knots so complex they became a work of art blended with mazes with no end or start that was brain-numbing to trace.

My favorite among them was the Tibetan mandalas. Symbols of life, they called to the part of me that was drawn to beautiful things, and I could almost imagine the story each told. Countless hands had traced those same lines throughout the ages, each one becoming a part of something greater as they recreated the same pattern over and over again. And yet each time it became something new as every artist made it unique in their own way, adding to its history.

when Ajak noticed my affinity for them, he had me begin bringing sand to the circle, and helping me make my own mandala became part of our mourning routine. There was something calming about pouring the precise lines and by the sixth day, it took only a few minutes to settle the circle's spell.

Unfortunately, it never stayed that way for long.

I hadn't realized how used I'd become to nights that were simply another day somewhere else until faced with the tedium of time dictated by the Sun. now the hours in the circle stretched out, almost dull in their uniformity, while the dreams hovered at the back of my mind. As if vengeful of my temporary escape, they waited for me to close my eyes so they could show me everything I'd avoided during the night.

And so it went.

Until, on the eleventh day, the first rains came. and Ajak decided I could have some time to myself while he tended to the remnants in his greenhouse. Apparently, some of them were more sensitive to the weather. I wasn't sure what that meant but when he left me, muttering about depressed roses fighting with his ferns, I could guess it wasn't good.

Suddenly left to my own devices, it occurred to me that I had nothing to do by myself. At first, I tried to keep myself busy in the library but without Ajak's and Nina's soothing chatter to replace the knowing, the space felt too quiet. Like the dreams, I'd grown used to facts that swam ceaselessly around my thoughts like a wall of white noise I could never shut off. Yet whatever spell or talisman Ajak has placed inside the library it chased away the noise, if only temporarily, and without it, I felt indescribably alone.

Bored of looking at endless patterns, I went in search of company.

I knew Ajak would be in his greenhouse, but I wasn't desperate enough to risk another encounter with his oh-so-special creepy crawlies so instead, I went to the kitchen, but it was just as empty as the library. Checking all five of the massive bedrooms that took up the south wing yielded similar results and forced me upstairs.

I had yet to see the rest of the house and took my time ascending the steps. Several pictures had been hung here. While I'd seen several works of art decorating the mansion, these looked more like old family portraits. Some were paintings, yellowed with age and depicting straight-backed subjects in fine clothing. Several photos, that had clearly been colored after being captured, were spread out among blurry black and white.

The higher I went the more recent the pictures seemed. At the top, two frames side by side caught my attention, making me stop in curiosity.

In one of them, Ajak stood behind a seated Shayla, who held a blurry bundle. They both looked slightly haggard but shared the smile of every proud new parent. Beside them hang the picture of a younger Uriel grinning deviously at the camera, one arm slung casually over the shoulders of a dark curly-haired girl. With the unrestrained joy that lit up her face, she could have been Nina's older sister and I wondered Idly if maybe she was: the two did bare an uncanny resemblance. Then I wondered if it was really Uriel beside her. Even if they shared a face, the bright-eyed boy in this photo seemed too different to be the dangerous creature that pretended to be a man.

Shaking off that thought I pressed on.

At the top of the stairs was a large open space inhabited only by more pictures and several cozy seats arranged in the alcoves tucked beneath each staircase. There were three by my count and I could see the rails of a fourth through the archway across the foyer that marked the library's second level.

The murmur of soft voices drew me to one of the doors on each side of the foyer's back wall. Cautiously I peered into the room unsure of what to expect.

What looked like a large gym greeted me. lit by floor-to-ceiling windows along the entire exterior wall, various contraptions and bars took one side of the spacious room. On the other, thick mats had been laid out across the floor and a group of headless dummies stacked neatly in the corner.

Against one wall a bucket of wooden swards sat unused while above them hung an impressive collection of very real weapons. What impressed me most about the display was the variety of them, from blunt and brutal to sharp and sleek with everything in between. Some I recognized from movies or books. daggers, sabers, and even a mace were lined up neatly. But some I was less familiar with. Several strangely curved blades hung beneath what looked like an oriental fan that was spread out to reveal the lethal edges of its spine.

I was so absorbed in studying the collection I didn't notice Shayla's bright colors until Nina's husk voice quipped "Again? Really?"

Focusing my attention on her vibrant shades I watched a stoic Shayla shift from an extended crouch to one leg before pushing herself up to a standing position, one arm stretched toward the ceiling while the other circled to the side before meeting in a prayer gesture at her chest. Each movement was as fluid as water, she had the grace of a dancer. And yet... there was a controlled strength about her that spoke of danger.

If she noticed my intrusion, she didn't acknowledge it. Nina on the other hand seemed happy for a distraction. The little girl broke from her poorly imitated stance and rushed at me with contagious excitement.

"Ira!" Nina crashed into me with all the weight of a feather, almost startling me with how light she felt. "Do you hear the rain? I think it's my new happy sound, but Shayla won't let me play in it. She's SO boring. All she does all day is hit stuff with sticks and play with dirt. She won't even let me play with her pretty knife."

I blinked down at her, momentarily distracted from the onslaught of words by the images that danced around my head upon contact.

Souls screaming.

Corpses marching.

A light cloaked in darkness.

Marigolds in a minefield.

Death pressed cold hands to my neck, making goosebumps crawl down my arms as a strange emptiness pulled at me where Nina's arms were wrapped around my waist.

There was something very wrong about her.

"It's called a rapier" Shayla corrected, speaking for the first time. She seemed nonplused by Nina's complaint, but her bright colors shifted with amusement.

Nina made an ugly face at her but turned to me when she asked "will you take me exploring? She said I can't go on my own, but she never wants to go, and Ajak is always busy with you and I'm tired of reading their boring books."

It struck me then what was wrong.

Nina had no aura.

It was an oddity I hadn't noticed when others were around, but without Uriel's overbearing aura blinding me or Ajak's soothing tones to hide her, she was a blank canvas. I wouldn't have realized if Shayla's wasn't pulled in tight like a second skin. None of her vibrant emotions showed outside her exaggerated expressions, only a faint shadow that seemed to echo those around her.

"Well?" Nina prodded when I quit for too long.

"Um. Sure" I mumbled distracted by the vacant space around her.

"Yay!" Nina clapped her hands in excitement and grabbed my arm. Death and doom seeping from her skin, she tossed a "see ya later" over her shoulder as she pulled me toward the door.

I let her drag me back out to the foyer and deeper into the mansion. Passing two doors marked with the traditional little people that most public bathrooms used we wandered down a hall lined with windowed doors like the ones at school. Between the doors hung more pictures, though these seemed less personal. The first had only a hand full of kids while the next had three times the amount. The farther down the hall they hung the more the group grew as new faces were added to the pictures.

I almost tripped over Nina when she came to an abrupt stop in front of the third, grinning with unbridled amusement.

Pointing to a bald head in the middle of the picture she gave a snort of laughter. "Look at his hair," she said as if it were the most ridiculous thing she's ever seen. "It's all gone."

It took me a few seconds to realize who the boy was. Without his hair and with his sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks the tiny slip of a thing was nearly unrecognizable. He was skeletal compared to the young teens surrounding him but there was no mistaking the wild thing that looked through his eyes. Unlike the smiling Youngman in the stairwell, this boy was a reflection of the shadows he now carried as a man.

Quickly losing interest in the picture, Nina tugged me farther down the hall.

"Let's see what's in here." Skipping lightly on nimble feet, she chose a door at random to poke her head in. Immediately an explosive sneeze rocked her small frame.

Peering in behind her I saw another classroom had been set up but where the ones in the library were kept clean, this one was covered in dust. A thick coat of it blanketed the furniture and clouded the window in a murky haze and I could feel it tickling at my nose as Nina pushed me back out.

"Blech, aburrido" she huffed.

Apparently deciding empty desks weren't interesting enough she went across the hall next. Heedless of the dust she flung the next door open and sneezed twice as it bellowed up from the force of her entrance.

"Chido, a nest." Perking up, Nina pushed further in, leaving me to follow in her dusty footprints.

The "nest" was in fact a circle of cushions, low couches, and several beanbags. I'd spent enough time with Ajak to recognize the space for what it was: a spell, or at least it would be if there was anyone to fuel it. Along one wall a floor-to-ceiling shelf displayed what looked like rocks and chunks of metal. I had no doubt they were used to focus this spell, just like the sand Ajak used in the tree circle, but with no one to activate them they sat dormant and unused.

Ignoring the "shiny pretties" as she like to call anything that could reflect light, Nina ran in and hopped onto one of the cushions. A mini cloud proofed around her as she landed, making her sneeze again but she grinned as some of it settled in her hair. Delighted by this result she jumped to the next cushion, creating another poof of dust while I hung back, wary of the circle and hesitant to breathe in the dirt she was kicking up.

Nina went around the whole circle, cackling like some depraved villain. By the time she finished her circuit the tickle in my nose had turned into something between a sneeze and a cough. She went around and around until the cushions had nothing left to pollute the air. Then, satisfied with her mess, Nina dropped to the floor and skipped back over.

"let's go see what's in the next one," she said cheerfully, a trail of dust bellowing after her and sending me into a sneezing fit.

I debated pointing out that she was tracking dirt through someone else's home as she tromped to her next choice but decided there wasn't much of a point and followed quietly instead.

I regretted it the moment I saw what was inside.

A piano sat in one corner with a drum set next to it. In front of them, several guitars and a mandolin were propped up on stands. Spread out in no discernable pattern were chairs and music stands. Throughout the room instrument cases of varying sizes and shapes were piled on the floor, on shelves, and even on a few chairs. The only thing that looked remotely organized about the entire space was the table stacked with piles of sheet music

Everything, all of it, was so familiar I wanted to throw up.

Her room used to look like this.

Completely unaware of my growing dread, Nina went straight to the nearest case and flipped it open to reveal a bugle horn. Curious, she picked up the wide end piece and inspected it. After turning it over a few times she placed it on her head as if it were an oddly pointed hat and wandered over to another case. This one held a flute which she blew on but left when it didn't do anything interesting.

The next was a smaller piccolo horn.

Then a violin.

Then a set of bells

Then...

I felt my feet move of their own accord as Nina revealed the sleek, elegant shape. Seeing it now was like seeing an old friend and I went to it as though in a trance, wanting but dreading to remember all the times I'd held it. Knowing all I had to do was reach out, my fingers itched to feel wood and string beneath them again. Mom had wanted me to learn the violin because it was classic, but it had always been the soulful base of the cello that called to me.

I let my hands lead me to it now.

The temptation too much to resist, I ran a hand over its body, hardly daring to touch the antique. My chest squeezed uncomfortably tight with the memories it sent fluttering at the edge of my thoughts.

Memories so happy they hurt.

"What is it?" Nina asked, returning to my side having explored the contents of several more cases.

"A cello." I breathed.

I caught her quizzical look out of the corner of my eye but didn't dare look away. A part of me was afraid it might disappear if I did.

"What's it supposed to do?"

she stood on tiptoe to peer into its hollow cavity, then poked its scroll, as if it were a button she could press to make the cello sing.

"You play music with it."

"Music?" there was wonder in her voice as she gazed at the cello with new appreciation. "You can make music with this?"

"I used to," I told her simply.

"Really?" I might as well have told her St. Nick was coming early the way she looked at me.

"Ya," I said softly. "My mom taught me."

"Will you play for me?"

My heart stopped at her request.

I hadn't touched an instrument since I let- Well... since mom died.

I couldn't bear the thought of even trying when we had always played together.

The thing was my mother had been a child prodigy. Talented, charming, and dedicated she could play anything with strings by the time she was ten. She could make you weep and laugh with nothing but an instrument and a smile.

But like most stars that peaked before their first decade, being gifted lost its novelty as she grew older and she'd been forgotten by the adoring public as soon as a newer, cuter, prodigy came along. It didn't help that she had lost her love of music as her parents grew increasingly desperate, trying to hold onto her waning fame. By the time they'd died in an accident when she was fifteen, she hardly played at all anymore.

Then she met my dad.

Two orphans floating through the system, they'd fallen in love. Both gifted in their own way, they'd found a way to make it work. Mom started performing at small gigs even though she never liked being the center of attention. She much preferred the intimacy of teaching students who shared her passion and sharing her craft brought back her passion for playing. Dad was good with numbers and finished his accounting degree before he was twenty. According to all of my mom's stories, I was born right after they got married and moved to New York. I might not be a genius like my father, but I did math well enough to know she was either lying or their marriage wasn't entirely legal. But I didn't mind because their fairytale romance had always been my favorite.

It was my favorite because I got to be a part of it.

And that was all I ever wanted.

I'd never needed to conquer the world or fly to the moon or run a marathon. I didn't have the ambition others did to do great things. No, my happiness came from the music I shared with mom and the safety dad wrapped us in when we performed for him. That music was always ours, tying us together and I'd never had to play alone because I'd been content to be a part of someone else story.

At least I had been until the dreams forced me to live everyone's story.

Retracting my hand, I shook my head. "I can't."

"Oh." Nina's disappointment made guilt twist in my gut. She looked so deflated; it made me squirm uncomfortably "I wanted to hear what music sounds like," she told me forlornly.

I blinked at that, sure she had mixed up her words as she was sometimes prone to do, until she ran a hand up and down the cello's strings.

"Uri said Mama Winter used to make music for him." her voice was so small she seemed to shrink into herself. "I don't think I was born yet. Sometimes I forget things and I think I forgot my Mama." The little girl was the most somber I'd ever seen her. "I don't know if she ever played music for me like Mama Winter played for Uri." She bit her lip, almost shy as she confessed "Sometimes I think I might remember if I heard it again."

"Are you saying you've never heard music before?" I asked, not sure if I was horrified or jealous.

If only I could forget all the happy things I missed.

But that would mean forgetting Mom.

Nina gave me an exaggerated shrug shaking off her melancholy.

"I asked Uri to bring me a song box once, but I think he forgot. He was gone for a really long time, and he was really hurt when he came home. I thought maybe he was dead 'cuz he didn't wake up for a long time, but his colors were just really dark." She sounded sheepish as she admitted, "I fell asleep after we fixed him, and I forgot to ask him again."

"We?" the pronoun piqued my curiosity. I'd never seen anyone other than Nina and Uriel in the bunker.

"Uri's ghost helped me."

"His ghost?" was she talking about the wildness? Was that what I saw watching through his eyes?

Nina nodded and fiddled with one of the tuning knobs on a guitar.

"It's always sad. I think it would like music. In my books music always makes the ghosts dance. I think Uri needs music too." She perked up as an idea came to her. "Maybe if you play for them, Uri can dance with his ghost, and it will be happy."

I didn't know what to say to that. I wasn't sure Uriel's "ghost" was capable of happiness. Not when I'd only seen it hungry or murderous.

I couldn't make a ghost happy, but I could give this child a gift everyone deserved.

"Okay." I had to force the words out before I thought better of it and changed my mind. "I'll play something for you."

Nina's head whips in my direction at my offering, sending the trumpet she just set on her head like a pointy hat clattering to the floor.

"Really," she asked breathlessly, quickly scurrying back over to me, waiting on my answer like an excited puppy.

Nervously I lifted the cello out of its case. Its solid weight was achingly familiar as I sat down with it and I couldn't resist the urge to run my hands over its body one more time. Quickly checking for any warping or damage I carefully pulled out the endpin and settled the instrument between my feet. This one was larger than I was used to, and it took a few adjustments before I found a comfortable height but holding it was like finding a missing piece of my soul.

And yet...

My hands and heart felt too heavy to play music.

I sat there for a long moment just holding this part of my past, not sure I could bring myself to make anything worth dancing to.

In front of me, Nina squirmed, impatient as she hopped from foot to foot.

"what's wrong? Did you forget too?" she sounded so distressed a manic sort of amusement bubbled up.

I wish I could forget, but two years wasn't enough to erase over a decade of muscle memory. And with the knowing hovering just outside my thoughts I didn't think an eternity would.

Drawing on whatever I had left of a spine, I plucked at the first string.

Nina jumped at the sound, her eyes going wide with amazement as she leaned in, death and decay drifting uncomfortably closer with her proximity.

I winced. The instrument, though in beautiful condition, was horribly out of tune.

"Do it again!" Nina breathed, her excited anticipation making her almost serious.

When I did, she let out a delighted giggle and something loosened inside me at the sound.

"More!" she insisted breathlessly, and I couldn't help but smile just a little.

"I haven't even started yet." I told her "Just wait 'til I'm finished tuning it."

The cello had sat unused for too long, but my ears could never forget the sound of a perfect cord. Letting the Knowing guide me, I adjusted the pegs and bridge until each cord rang true.

The whole time Nina sat quietly, listening with rapt attention. By the time I was done she was practically vibrating with intensity, and I had to pause for a moment, preparing myself for what came next.

I began with You Are My Sunshine because it was light and easy.

With the first measure, Nina's whole body swayed. She seemed almost transfixed by the sound and warning niggled at the back of my mind at her response. But if my dreams made me forget myself, then playing was remembering who I was and the thought was quickly brushed away, the song growing hollow as my memories pushed forward.

I let my eyes slide close as the truths I could not avoid poured from my hands, revibrating through the cello to echo in each note. They became a dark melody of the thoughts and memories that warred like kingdoms for the throne in my head. The deep base of the instrument resonated with the pain I didn't dare to feel as I played what I wished had happened. Letting the strings and bow sing the last goodbye I'd never get to say to mom, I let the sound surround me in a perfect bubble where I could simply be and the music at my fingertips became an ode to the thoughtless storm within that raged with the winds outside.

For a perfect moment, I was back home: the ghost of my mother playing beside me as we performed for our audience of one.

As if called by my song with no name the Knowing came, and with it brought an endless multitude. A thousand souls grieving what was lost, settled in my mind as if it were their own. we became one as every goodbye never spoken weighed heavy on my chest. The anger and pain of people who had been taken away from them mixed with my own suppressed emotions and sent tears streaming down my face.

I'd forgotten how the vibration of sound hummed through my whole body.

How it made me feel alive.

How it made me feel... like me.

I understand, I told my visitors as my fingers and bow flew. I understand.