by L. Penelope
The bird shut its tiny beak, and the gears inside crawled to a stop. Lizvette had just moved toward the thing to pick it up and inspect it when a strange clicking sound rang out and smoke began pouring from it. The entire contraption vibrated before exploding in a burst of sparks.
She raced back inside and slammed the terrace door, peering through the rattling glass as the haze cleared. It had left nothing behind, not even so much as a gear. Lizvette looked around wildly, half expecting that someone had snuck in to witness the strange sight, but she was still alone.
The radio purred from the other room where Mother slept. Lizvette sank onto the couch. Eventually, her shaking subsided and she pondered her father’s message.
Mother had always been a devoted follower of the Queen Who Sleeps. Since the Goddess’s awakening and Lizvette’s arrest, Mother had visited the temple daily until she grew too sick to leave the palace.
Zavros’s news echoed in her mind. The Southern temple would not have been Mother’s first choice, being so near the dangerous neighborhood of Portside, but all the temples were so packed these days, and that one was the largest. Mother could have very well been present for the bombing—and Father knew it. His warning had likely arrived later than intended, and Lizvette’s heart sank at the realization that her father’s treachery had not ended now that he was in hiding. He had known about the bombing beforehand. Could he have had something to do with it? She could not deny her suspicions, as horrible as the idea was to contemplate. As for the rest of his message, Safety is simply not guaranteed … Did that mean more attacks were coming?
Her hands shook as she gathered her pen and paper to send a note to the king requesting an audience. She had to warn Jack about this and needed to see him in person to do it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Those who met the child saw our future in her. Hamish the Warrior pronounced her brave. Rhys the Spy praised her inquisitive nature. And Atar the Organizer admired her circumspection. But Neftet the Merciful questioned her courage saying, “The line between prudence and cowardice is drawn in smoke.” Her words were wind battering the flames of our hope.
—THE AYALYA
Ella Farmafield grasped the bar under the window as the bus took a turn at high speed. Her stomach lurched and she was quite certain that at least one of the vehicle’s wheels had left the ground. When it thumped back on the pavement, she bounced on the seat, gasping. She couldn’t find her breath to send a whispered prayer to Saint Maasael, the patron of travelers. This was nearly worse than the journey she’d made to Elsira on that dreadful steamer ship.
The woman at the bus’s helm, an elderly Sister with a snow-white topknot, had to be one of the worst drivers Ella had ever seen. They had been in no less than three near collisions and hopped the curb at least four times. But the shuttle the Sisterhood offered from Rosira to the refugee camp on the outskirts of the city was the best way for her to get there. The distance was too far to walk, and a taxi would have been impossibly expensive.
The other volunteers on the bus clutched their seats or chests in alarm. Fortunately, the turnoff to the little dirt road leading to the camp was just ahead, and this terrifying trip was nearly over. However, a deeper fear tightened a fist around Ella’s chest. If today’s visit was unsuccessful … She shook her head, unwilling to imagine the consequences.
Under normal circumstances, Ella would have leaped at the chance to answer the Sisterhood’s call for volunteers to aid the Lagrimari refugees—she herself had emigrated over six years ago from the neighboring land of Yaly. Not to escape a brutal dictator, true, but to find a better life with her Elsiran husband, Benn. Ella knew exactly how mistrustful of foreigners people in this country could be and had great sympathy for the cause of the Lagrimari.
But while her desire to help the refugees was sincere, it was not her main reason for coming to the camp this day. Today was about justice.
As the city of white tents came into view, so did the sounds of shouting. A small group of protesters, perhaps three dozen, had amassed at the entrance to the camp.
Ella blew out a breath. The woman across the aisle from her sighed. “Don’t they have anything better to do?” she muttered.
These anti-refugee protestors were everywhere these days. On street corners, crowded into meeting halls, filling the airwaves with their hateful opinions on the evening news broadcasts.
Ella squinted at the signs some carried with racist slogans like CULL THE HERD and GROLS GO HOME. Home? From the little she knew, Lagrimar was a vast wasteland, a desolate desert where the Lagrimari had been trapped for hundreds of years by the magic of the Mantle, and suffering under their immortal dictator the True Father.
Since the war and the fall of the Mantle, many Lagrimari had left their hardscrabble lives for the promise of something better in Elsira, and Ella for one was happy to have them. The presence of the other Elsiran volunteers on the bus was evidence that not all citizens felt such animosity toward the newcomers.
The bus careened past the knot of protesters and the handful of soldiers keeping them at a decent distance from the tents. They pulled to a jerky stop in a makeshift parking lot that held mostly Sisterhood trucks and a few army vehicles. When Ella disembarked and placed her feet on solid ground, she barely resisted the urge to kneel down and kiss it.
She scanned the surrounding area, which was free of any Lagrimari. They seemed to keep to the tents mostly, she’d only seen a few on the two other trips she’d made to the camp.
A group of Sisters approached, royal-blue robes swishing as they walked. Their neat topknots appeared to be achieved without the aid of pomade—Ella was impressed. Two acolytes shadowed the group, the preteen girls wearing the lighter blue dresses of initiates adorned with white pinafores. The Sisters greeted the volunteers warmly and began assigning them duties around the camp.
Ella stayed to the back of the small crowd, her eye on one of the Sisters. The woman was shorter than average, with frail, birdlike limbs and narrow features. She looked like a strong sneeze could blow her over and vibrated with nervous energy. Her topknot held hair of a dark auburn verging on burgundy and her eyes burned a pale gold.
Sister Rienne was the real reason Ella was here. For the past six weeks, Ella had been trying, and failing, to find someone not browbeaten into silence. If just one soul would speak out about what had been going on behind the scenes in the Sisterhood, she was certain others would join in. But if she couldn’t convince Rienne to help, then Ella had very little hope left.
Ella caught Rienne’s eye and smiled enthusiastically, but the woman’s gaze darted away. She was more skittish than a barnyard cat, but Ella was persistent. And stubborn.
She successfully ensured a place in the group of volunteers that Rienne oversaw and followed her through the orderly aisles separating the tents. Every now and then a curious head would peek out, but for the most part, the residents stayed away from visitors. The group entered a large supply tent near the edge of the camp.
“These crates hold the shipment of textbooks we’ve been waiting on,” Rienne said in her papery voice as she pointed to a small mountain of wooden boxes. “There are Elsiran language books as well as history, math, and science. We’ll need them unpacked and organized by subject with children’s books here and adult books here. Each stack will be put in its own knapsack to be distributed to the schools in the camp and in the nearby overflow locations.”
Ella rolled up her sleeves and got to work. To her dismay, Sister Rienne hovered just out of casual-conversation distance.
The first time they’d met, Ella had merely wanted to take the woman’s temperature and try to develop a rapport. But it was their second and last meeting that caused the Sister’s current avoidance of her. Ella had come on too strong, something she didn’t usually do—it’s just that she was growing desperate.
After nearly an hour of working, her first opportunity to speak with Rienne alone arrived when the Sister slipped out of the tent. Ella grabbed several
empty crates and took them outside to the rubbish pile.
She looked around anxiously, finally spotting the Sister’s small form bobbing down a nearby aisle. Ella ditched the crates and broke into a jog to try and match Rienne’s pace. Though Ella had at least two heads of height on her, the woman was quick.
“Sister Rienne, a word please?” she called out, keeping her voice pleasant.
Rienne whipped around, exasperation creasing her forehead. Ella paused, her chest heaving from the exertion of the chase. They were deeper inside the camp now; large signs marked the rows with numbers for the north-south routes and letters for those going east-west. “I need to speak with you about the matter we discussed last time.”
Rienne clasped her hands and tightened them. “Mistress Farmafield, I don’t think it’s appropriate—”
“I realize that the memories are difficult to rehash, but…” Ella’s eyes entreated the Sister. She took a step forward and lowered her voice. “The High Priestess of the Sisterhood has hurt many people. Corruption corrodes the organization. She’s torn apart families. Ruined lives. Your family is not the only one.”
Rienne turned her face away, pain tightening her features.
“Someone has to stand against her. Tell their story. Together we can take her down. Don’t you want justice for Lyza?” Ella whispered.
Shaking, Rienne cut her eyes at Ella. “How do you know the things you claim to?” She held up a hand when Ella went to respond. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think I want to know. What you ask is impossible. The High Priestess is untouchable. What happened to my daughter was an abomination. But Lyza has found peace in the World After. The Sisterhood is all I have left. If I go against the High Priestess, I’ll have nothing.”
Rienne’s eyes filled with tears, and Ella’s heart cracked. She’d heard the same from the other women she’d approached over the past few weeks. Women who had grievances against Syllenne Nidos, the High Priestess of the Sisterhood. Taking her down had been Ella’s driving goal since the Mantle’s fall. She had her own reasons for doing so, and had been arrogant enough to think it would be relatively easy. Syllenne had made many enemies during her ascension over the past decades and Ella knew so many details … but could never reveal how exactly she knew.
There had been backstabbing, theft, blackmailing, threats, assaults, and heartbreaking abuse. Rienne’s poor daughter Lyza, only nine years old and an acolyte to the order, had been beaten and brought to the brink of starvation, all as punishment for her so-called high spirits. Syllenne had overseen the discipline back when she’d merely been a temple priestess off in the far east of the country.
Young Lyza had died of an easily treatable infection when Syllenne had denied her medical treatment. Rienne’s grief made her a shell of her former self.
“There are others,” Ella pleaded. “More like you who’ve been affected. Alone your voices may not carry, but if you raise them together…” She clasped her hands together to emphasize the unity.
Rienne just shook her head. “Syllenne knows everything. I’m sure she knows you’re here now speaking with me. Besides, don’t you think the Goddess can sense the heart of Her own High Priestess? If something could be done, wouldn’t She do it?” A deep frown descended across her drawn features. “As powerful as the High Priestess was before the Great Awakening, she is that much more untouchable now. And if the Goddess Herself has not seen fit to replace her…” Rienne spread her arms apart in a defeated gesture.
Ella took a deep breath, gearing up to press her case, when a figure appeared farther down the row, approaching with speedy footsteps. A dense foreboding caused Ella to hold her tongue as she recognized the feline grace of the Sister drawing near them. Golden-red hair and a face carved with otherworldy beauty came into view—Sister Gizelle.
Rienne noticed Ella’s aggrieved expression and looked over her shoulder at the newcomer. When she turned back around, her face was ashen. Gizelle was one of Syllenne Nidos’s lackeys and her presence here underscored Rienne’s point—the High Priestess was always watching.
Gizelle had been the one to kidnap Ella’s newborn nephew—on orders from Syllenne Nidos—moments after her sister died. The baby was held for days until Ella discovered his location and reclaimed him. Now he was safely out of the country, out of reach of the High Priestess and her machinations. For if Syllenne ever discovered the secret hidden in the baby’s blood, he would never be safe.
And now, if Gizelle reported back that Ella had been targeting Rienne, things could very well get worse for the timid Sister. Ella cursed herself for not expecting something like this.
Sister Gizelle glided to a stop next to them, her perfect face arranged in the most vicious scowl. “Mistress Ravel, whatever are you doing here?” Even her voice sounded like melted gold, the steely unfriendliness in it notwithstanding.
Ella gave a broad grin. “It’s Mistress Farmafield. In Yaly, married women keep their surnames. I seem to have gotten a bit lost in this tent maze you’ve constructed.” She motioned to Rienne. “This Sister was so kind as to stop to aid me; I’m really quite a dullard about directions.”
Gizelle eyed them suspiciously. “Where precisely are you trying to go?” Though at least a decade her senior, Sister Rienne shrank away from Gizelle, whose gaze had narrowed to a flinty point.
Voices rose from around the corner. A small crowd seemed to be headed their way. “Please keep up,” an exasperated woman called out. “No more stragglers if you please.”
The group emerged in the intersection Ella and the Sisters were standing in. Close to a dozen Elsiran men and women led by one harried, middle-aged Sister. The woman’s face was plain and round; her no-nonsense manner put Ella in mind of her mother-in-law. Ella didn’t recognize any of the people from the volunteer shuttle, and she hadn’t met a male volunteer, yet several men were present. Most appeared middle class, well dressed, and not like they expected to pick up trash or unpack crates. Quite unlike the plain frock she’d worn to do odd jobs around the camp.
The new Sister eyed Ella, Rienne, and Gizelle curiously.
“Here they are,” Ella said brightly. “One row looks just like another here.”
Gizelle’s eyes widened a fraction. “You are here with Sister Moreen’s candidates?”
“Oh yes,” Ella said. “I just got a bit turned around.”
Sister Moreen sighed dramatically. “We don’t have time to chase after those who fall behind. Stay close to the group. This way, please.” She began walking backward, leading the men and women deeper into the camp.
“Thank you so much for your help,” Ella called out, moving off to follow. She planned to track them for a while and then make her way back to the tent she’d been volunteering in. However, while Sister Rienne disappeared so quickly Ella thought she must dabble in magic as a hobby, Sister Gizelle fell right in line, apparently determined to ensure Ella made it to where she’d claimed she was going.
Ella was only mildly curious as to where that was, but her interest was piqued when they approached a tent much larger than the rest at the intersection of rows AA and 49.
She ducked into the entrance and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the lower light. Gas lamps illuminated a space that was even bigger inside than it had first appeared. This looked to be some sort of meeting area, done in the Lagrimari style with cushions on the ground around low tables instead of regular tables and chairs.
Seated in orderly rows in the middle of the space were at least thirty children ranging in age from about three years to young teenagers. All had the same mist of melancholy clinging to them. These children, down to the youngest, had seen far too much in their few years of life.
Folding chairs had been brought in for the Elsirans, and Sister Moreen herded them to the seating area as the children looked on. Gizelle stayed, standing near the entry most likely to prevent Ella’s escape from whatever it was that she’d gotten herself into. Ella sat at the edge of her chair, taking in the details of her surroundin
gs and trying to listen in to the people around her. She couldn’t afford to ask them what they were doing here when it was something she should obviously know.
Moreen stood in front of the chairs and the chatter quieted immediately. “Thank you for heeding the call.” Something close to a smile graced her stern face. “The need for families to adopt the Lagrimari orphans is great. It far exceeds those willing and as such, you all are truly to be commended. I believe I speak for everyone in the Sisterhood when I tell you how grateful I am. These children represent just a small fraction of those who need stable homes with upstanding families.”
Ella looked at the people around her in a new light. Men with collars starched and pressed, women in what may well have been their best dresses, hoping to make a good impression. And the children, sitting still as stones in their neat little rows. Faces scrubbed clean and eyes—well, if not hopeful, then nearly so. Ella’s heart tore. She focused back on Sister Moreen.
“Now there is a language barrier, but the children are learning Elsiran quickly. Their minds are so pliable and while it’s not possible for us to learn their language, which apparently was created via witchcraft, we have no doubt that most of them will be fluent in a few short months. Many have already made astonishing progress. With care and attention, these children could be a part of your family.”
Everything else faded away as Ella considered what she’d stumbled into. Six years of marriage had not blessed her with a child. Adoption was always a possibility, and one she’d considered, but it had never seemed to be the right time. Her and Benn’s finances were a mess, they lived in a one-bedroom flat over a corner bodega, and Ella hadn’t been at her job for very long; however, something deep within her bloomed and blossomed at the thought of bringing one of these children home.