The transformation is slow at first. A mortal’s flesh may sustain him but isn’t the trigger for his metamorphosis. No, a resonant’s flesh is the key. Yet, let me warn you. Like inducing a woman’s labor, triggering the change too early can be deadly. So, bring him apples, milk, and salted pork. Let him cleanse his palate and balance his humors. Then, when his pupils dilate and he looks at you with hunger, you give him a taste. My dearest Ilene, I recommend giving him your wrist. It’s much less painful than offering your thigh.
Two days, that’s how long it took to make it to the bottom of the gorge—two days with a blindfold and a mule for company. There was the voice, too, the one that ebbed and flowed like the tides of the ocean. Once Felix was curious to know what made those lonely cries, but now they drove him mad. He fell from the narrow path on the last day and broke his leg on the rocks below. His femur poked through skin and fabric, and his chest felt like it was going to cave in; three cracked ribs and a grazed lung.
The scholars found him there, barely conscious, but alive.
“Where are the others?” Felix asked as a woman wrapped his arms around her shoulder.
“They’re gone, Felix.”
He recognized her voice, Ilene. The woman who recruited him on the streets of Bruma, the woman who led him to that dark chasm and tightened the blindfold, telling him never to take it off. What happened to the debt collector, the doctor, and the innkeeper? What were their names again? Did he ever know? He shared a cell with them once, so surely he once knew.
There was that howl again, not like a wolf. No, that sound was familiar. This was alien. At first it was like a loon’s cry; distant, unnerving, but with such depth of feeling. Then it was like the call of a whale that scraped the ocean floor and caused the ground to quake.
“Make it stop,” Felix said, scratching the corners of his ear.
“You don’t have to wear this anymore,” Ilene said, touching the corners of his blindfold.
Our little secret.
“Don’t touch it!” he screamed, slapping her hands away.
“Listen to me. It’s over. You can open your eyes now.”
Just one peek.
“No! Please, stop!” Again, he pushed her back.
“As you wish.” Ilene lifted him out of the stones, and he screamed, his splintered bone poking through the wound in his leg.
The scholars carried him into the Astralarium while he shouted in delirium. Felix barely remembered the first night, save for the pain. White-hot agony shot through his leg as they pushed the bone back into place. He lost consciousness soon after.
Felix woke in a dark room, the air moist and heavy. There was a single candlestick at his bedside table, and the walls seemed to sweat, a heartbeat beneath him. Was that wood? He touched the bleached surface of the wall, soft and wet like the inside of his cheek. It took him a minute or two before realizing the blindfold was gone. The scholars removed it while he was unconscious.
“I can bring it back,” Ilene said from the corner of the room.
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice, ripping the sheets off the bed but crying out in pain when he tried to move his leg.
“Please, relax. It will take a day or two for the bone to set correctly.” Ilene stood from her stool, dropping her journal next to the candle and placing her hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
Oh yes, he was. Felix could feel the heat blistering beneath his clammy skin. Yet, even while sweating, he wrapped the sheets close to his chin, hands shaking as a chill ran the length of his spin. The Leviathan’s whistle was there, too, bouncing around inside his skull like marbles loosed from a bag.
“I don’t feel well.” Felix said, grabbing the corners of her brown robe.
“I know,” she whispered. “I am going to help you. Are you hungry?”
Oh god, yes. That gnawing sensation, that burning itch, that boiling cauldron spilling over. Felix’s lips quivered, drool slipping down from his chin to the sheets.
“Yes, I am hungry.”
“Then, give me your wrist,” Ilene said.
“Why?”
“Give me your wrist,” she repeated, but with an edge, a dagger poised at the tip of her tongue.
Felix held out his hand, and she pushed the sleeve of his tunic up to his elbow. Then, brushing her hair behind her neck, she leaned over and licked his wrist, raspy, wet, and warm.
“What are you doing?”
“Quiet!” Ilene hissed. “I know just the thing.” She stood, smacking her lips. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Ilene left, closing a heavy door behind her. Felix could hear the click of a lock and her footsteps fading into the background.
He waited for some time, rolling in the flickering light that burned his eyes. His skin felt icy, but a fire raged beneath. The voice in his head didn’t help either. He pressed a pillow close to his ear, but it did him no good. There it was again, that undulating pitch, that guttural squeal, that lonely cry.
“Leave me alone!” he shouted, but there was no answer.
Felix clawed at the walls, soft like rubber and as wet as a field of morning dew.
Drip, drip.
His stomach growled, and a new sensation conquered the fever. The folds of his sheets became like the rolling surface of warm bread, and the candle wax like glazing on a cake. He pinched the corner of his elbow and licked his wrist as Ilene did before. Salty with a hint of sugar, a plump roast that was undercooked and could use more salt.
Just one bite.
A line of spittle dripped down his chin as he smelled the tender surface, needing the edge like dough to bring out a smokey, spicy flavor that caused his nostrils to flare.
Just one bite. Just one bite. Just one bite.
Felix almost broke the skin, a sharp pain racing up his arm and through his heart as he pulled his flesh like an animal tearing into a carcass.
“Oh, god!” he cried, pulling his arm away. “What is happening to me?!”
There was a sound at the door, a clicking noise, and the creaking of a rusty hinge as Ilene stepped into view. She was carrying a tray with a dried piece of salted pork.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” Ilene said, setting the food in front of him.
Felix barely acknowledged her, tearing into the meat and tossing the utensils on the floor. The food was stiff and cracked like arid soil, but he didn’t care. The salt was so thick it made his eyes water and nose burn, but he didn’t care. The piece was too big to fit whole in his mouth, but he didn’t care. In the end, there was no juice to lap up, but he licked the plate all the same.
Click.
One of his molars fell out and bounced across the floor.
“What’s happening to me?” Felix asked, hands shaking and skin smooth like an eel.
“All instruments need to be tuned to perform properly and we are no different, but that’s not important right now.” She placed her hand on his forehead. “How do you feel?”
There was an unmistakable calm that washed over him, a bucket of water dousing the flames beneath his skin and a spear to skewer the beast in his belly. Even the voice had grown quiet, but there was a heaviness now, a weight bearing down on his shoulders.
“I feel better,” Felix yawned as she licked his wrist once more.
“Yes, that’s better,” Ilene said with a smile. “Now, get some rest.”
She stood, but Felix caught the corners of her robe, his eyelids drooping.
“Am I, dying?” he asked.
“No, you’re being reborn.” she said, blowing out the candle.
That’s how the rest of the week unfolded. Felix woke in the morning with a burning fever and aching belly, and Ilene was there waiting for him.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, licking his wrist.
“I am.”
“I know just the thing.”
Today it was dried fruit that stuck between his teeth, another molar or two rolling out onto an empty dish, the pain in his splintered leg growing dull with each passing hour. She always knew what to bring to quiet the aching, the chills, the wailing walls, and his growling stomach. It was a blessing, but he was always so tired afterwards.
The next day, Felix’s teeth were soft, his incisors hanging loose, canines bending like wet clay, and the rest of his molars falling out onto the floor.
“What’s happening to me?” Felix asked again.
“It’s okay,” Ilene said, lifting her lip so he could see the scars across her gums. “It happened to me too, but the teeth always come back.”
She brought him a bucket and a metal tool this time.
Click. Click.
The teeth came out without a drop of blood, and pulling them felt good, like scratching the edges of a healing sore or around a mosquito bite. Soup was the only thing that would do today, but she picked the right flavor, his fever receding into the shadows. However, sleep didn’t come easy that night.
Felix tossed and turned as white fragments poked through the edges of his puffy gums. They itched so badly he gnawed on the side of his bedpost and scratched the corners, ripping open soars for the incisors to pass through.
By the morning, he had a new set of teeth just like the old but with a razor-thin filament spanning the length of each. Those thin sheets were so sharp they could split paper down the middle, but his tongue was now thick, raspy, with a waxy layer to keep from being cut too deep. Now, he minced dried meat as easily as butter.
“How are you feeling today?” Ilene asked as he scarfed down the salted pork.
“Better,” he said, crumbs falling down his chin. There was strength in his hands now, and his leg didn’t ache anymore as he stretched his toes. “Much better.”
“Good, I’ve brought something for you today,” Ilene said, holding an old conch shell in her lap, the kind he used to find on the beach as a kid. “Listen closely.” She pressed the ornate shell next to Felix’s ear. “What do you hear?”
He closed his eyes, and then came a gentle sound, ripples of water lapping against the shore. There was a subtle drip and the shifting of moving sands; Felix could almost hear gawking seagulls and young children splashing about. Yet, there was something else buried beneath that calm theater, something that was so familiar to him it was synonymous with his mother’s voice—a scream, a howl, a baleful cry of a distant whale. The sound was like a loon’s whisper or the soft strumming of a tuned violin, calm, pleasant, but lonely.
“I hear a Leviathan calling me,” Felix said.
“Yes, that’s right.” Ilene rested her hands in her lap. “The ocean is a lie, but the Leviathan’s call is the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Many children grow up listening to the sounds of the sea through a crustacean’s shell, but, Felix, that sound is make believe.” She held up the conch, running her fingers along the opening. “The shape causes air to bounce around inside, amplifying sound. Did you know that blowing wind sounds a lot like ocean waves when given the right pitch?”
“You’re not going to tell me that the air howls like that too, are you?” Felix asked, dropping the plate in his lap.
“No, the Leviathan’s call is unique,” Ilene said, sitting at the foot of his bed, candle wax dripping down from her sleeves. “This decoration”—she held up the shell— “and even the walls of the Astralarium are made of the same substance.”
Felix reached over and touched the smooth, bleached surface of his bedroom wall. It felt moist, sticky, and soft, like a fish’s skin.
“A Leviathan’s stapes bone,” Ilene said. “That’s what the walls, the bedposts, and the chandeliers are made from. Heaven’s, even the candle holders contain chipped fragments.” She laughed. “Hollow tubes may sharpen the sounds of the wind, but a Leviathan’s spine can do so much more.”
“Is that why I can hear them?” Felix asked.
“That’s one reason, but tell me, do you truly believe in the Leviathan’s now?” she asked. “On the streets of Bruma, you called me a zealot. You said there was no reason to fear the stars.”
Felix could see the monks lined up in the capital once more.
“Fear the saint’s light!” they shouted.
Why should we? He once asked, but now distant voices filled his head. Voices that whistled and hummed reminding him of his mother calling from the grave.
“You look hungry,” the voices teased as his stomach growled.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Felix said, wiping the drool from his lips.
“A wise answer.” Ilene grabbed his hands, tracing the scar along his palm. “Yes, the walls of the Astralarium amplify a Leviathan’s whispers, but only a resonant can hear them without losing themselves.” She poked his chest. “A resonant like you.”
“Resonant?”
“Do you know how some people are resistant to infection? The same principle applies here. A few have greater tolerance to a Leviathan’s call.”
“And if you don’t?”
“You die, or worse, go completely mad.” Ilene smiled, but only half of her face responded, the patched scar on her cheek curling like a peeled fruit. “Make no mistake. Even we don’t survive without a few loose boards in our heads.” she said, pulling his right arm tight and licking his wrist, tongue raspy and wet.
Her behavior this time made his skin crawl, but he was careful not to show it, not to wince at her touch. There was something in her movements, a twitchy smile, a shaky left hand, and the jerking motion of her jaw that was a warning, no sudden movements, no scowls, or screams. This woman was dangerous.
“You haven’t enough iron in your diet,” Ilene said, licking her fingertips.
“Do you hear them too?” Felix asked.
“I already told you I do. My Leviathan is Inedia, the one who patrols the constellation Orion. Yours is Sitis, the curse of Ursa minor.” She pulled the sleeves of her robe up to her elbow and pinched her wrist. “I’m sorry, Felix. I should have been honest with you from the first, but I couldn’t risk losing such a promising candidate.” Ilene said, sinking her teeth into her wrist, blood spilled out onto the bedsheets.
His heart skipped a beat; that scarlet red substance smelled like honey, and he could taste the iron on the tip of his tongue, which hung like an old rope, impossibly long.
“Once you’re tuned to a Leviathan’s pitch, you may never return to the world of men,” Ilene said, offering her bloody arm which he grabbed with trembling fingers. “Once you resonate with a Leviathan, there is only one taste that will suffice.” She closed her eyes as Felix tore into the wound on her wrist, snapping the tendons.
Sweet, savory, and sour, just like mother used to make.