The Mountains Sang Their Silent Melody

V

Frances's training began with healing. Over and over again, Opus slit open her forearm and presented it to Frances to repair. Each time, Frances located themself within Opus's situation and healed the wound. This process was utterly draining, and they did not stop for dinner. By the time the sun began to sink over the horizon, Frances felt like they'd been on the verge of death a hundred times within the last few hours.

When Frances noticed the darkening skies, they leapt from the ground where they were sitting. "I have to go!" they said. "My mothers will be so worried."

Opus stood and caught Frances before they could leave the cavern. "Let's see your wrists," Opus said, kneeling in front of them.

Frances obediently held out their wrists. Opus checked them as well as Frances's collarbone.

"Your sigils are intact," Opus reassured Frances. "Your parents will not have the time to worry."

"I don't understand . . ."

"The sigils give us time, young Frances," Opus explained. "Or, more specifically, they give you time. Until you wipe them off, you will exist in . . ." Opus paused, trying to remember how her dear friend had explained it to her. "It's sort of like you exist in your own 'bubble' of time. Your normal frame of time is paused while the sigils remain intact."

All worries of returning to their parents swept away from Frances. The sigils gave them time to catch their breath. They had all the time on the mountaintop to ask questions and learn more.

"You aren't wearing sigils, though," Frances pointed out.

"Because the mountains are a sacred, liminal space. I am not a sorcerer, which means I have no magic innate within me. However, I can manipulate the magic innate within these mountains. I have learned to use that magic to cross into different frames of time." Opus crossed from the cavern's entrance back to the fireside. She sat on her blanket.

"Your friend taught you," Frances said.

Opus nodded.

"Could I learn how?" Frances asked.

Opus stroked her chin. "Well, that depends. If it is part of the work the natural world has set out for you, it will come easily to you, like healing wounds does." Opus gestured to her unblemished forearm.

"And if not?" Frances asked.

"Then you'll have to learn it the long way, like I had to learn it," Opus answered. She shrugged. "You'll need to build a relationship with the mountains, and you won't be able to use your powers away from the mountains."

Frances chewed on this information. Their stomach growled, hungry for something more substantial than knowledge.

"You're too weak now to make the journey home," Opus said. "Stay the night. I'll make us some dinner, I'll lay out another blanket for you, and we'll sleep by the fire. And tomorrow, I'll teach you how to speak."

Frances agreed, but only because they knew they would never make it back to the gondola station. They ate the food that Opus offered, but when it came time to sleep, Frances struggled. They were used to sleeping in a bed, with their mothers just in the room next door. It was this experience that made Frances understand Ophelia's deep longing for her mother. How difficult it would be, not to know where her mother was! To only know that her mother was so far away ...

Despite Frances's thoughts echoing a cacophony inside their head, they were eventually able drift off to sleep. Their last thought before they lost consciousness was one of confusion. What does she mean, teach me to speak? I know how to speak. I've been speaking to her this whole time, haven't I?