by L. Penelope
Wariness crept into Jack’s expression. “We used to talk. We became friendly. He let me practice my Lagrimari with him. One day, a few months later, I went to the settlement, and he was gone. Disappeared. I called for a search, thinking something must have happened to him, but we found nothing.”
Jasminda listened, impressed that he had even tried to find a missing settler. It was more than most Elsirans would have done.
“Then, just over three weeks ago, he returned and called for me at the base. He wouldn’t tell me where he’d been, just that the Mantle was going to be destroyed and Elsira needed to be warned. I contacted the Council and the Prince Regent, but they wouldn’t take the word of a Lagrimari settler. But I believed him.”
Jack scrubbed a hand down his face, his eyes growing faraway. His voice dropped as he told of the spell Darvyn had cast to make him appear Lagrimari, of hiding within Tensyn’s squad and discovering the terrible truth. “Not just cracks, not just a breach—the entire Mantle will fall. Soon. And the True Father will be unleashed on us all. But then, you already knew.”
A chill rippled over Jasminda’s skin. The faces of the Lagrimari were pensive.
“And Darvyn’s spell just … failed?” Turwig asked. The old man had leaned forward, intent on every word of Jack’s story.
Jack nodded, his shoulders sagging with weariness.
“He must be dead,” Lyngar said matter-of-factly.
“Or so badly injured he could not maintain the spell.” Gerda placed a comforting hand on Turwig as the man shuddered.
Jasminda wondered who Darvyn was to them. “You know this Darvyn?” she asked.
“Since he was a small child.” Turwig’s voice faded almost to nothing.
Lyngar’s face was perpetually twisted, as if everything smelled bad to him. “You’ve got your proof now, boy. What will you do with it?”
Jack made a fist so tight his knuckles cracked. “Now that the…” He blinked, looking stricken, and cleared his throat. “… the Mantle is beyond saving, we must prepare for war. I will go back and make them all listen to reason. Organize our troops. Then ready ourselves for a fight to end all others.”
Gerda and the old men shared another meaning-laden glance. Rozyl stalked up, towering over the seated group. Her face was taut as she stared at Gerda, pleading silently. Whatever was going on, it was obvious Rozyl did not want Jasminda or Jack to know about it.
Gerda held up a hand to wave Rozyl off. “What if there were another way?”
Jack looked up, his jaw set. “What other way?”
“You Elsirans worship the Queen, do you not?”
“Yes, of course.” He looked from face to face. “Do you? I thought religion was not allowed in Lagrimar.”
“Oh no,” the old woman said. “The only religion allowed is reverence of the True Father. There are the Avinids, of course, but they believe in nothing. However, the Queen Who Sleeps graces the dreams of some, and there are many who believe in secret.”
Turwig hummed in agreement. “If She were awoken, it is said Her power is great enough to stop the True Father.”
Jasminda gaped. “Do you believe that?”
“Do you doubt it?” Turwig’s dark eyes lit from within with wisdom.
She swallowed, turning to Jack. “She has never graced my dreams,” he said slowly. “I’ve prayed to Her many times without response.”
“Just because She didn’t speak to you directly, doesn’t mean She didn’t hear you, child,” Gerda said. “I believe She hears us all.”
“But She has slept for hundreds of years; there’s little chance She will awaken now.” Jasminda wondered if the others were all crazy for contemplating such a thing.
“Hmm,” was Gerda’s only response.
Jack’s flame-colored eyes danced in the firelight, the desolate look in them banished with this talk of the Queen. Though Jasminda could not even begin to hope for such a miracle as the Sovereign’s awakening, she was grateful for anything that erased the blight of defeat from his brow.
For with the cornerstone’s destruction, the miracle of the Queen’s awakening might be the only thing that could save them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
On the same day every year, the Mistress of Horses received the gift of a pot of honey. However, she never knew the giver and so never tasted its sweetness.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jack’s arms were wrapped around something warm and soft. He opened his eyes; any hint of drowsiness fled as a spark tickled behind his ribs. Jasminda lay curled on her side, her back pressed against his chest. Her head was tucked just under his chin, and his heart sped as he watched the rise and fall of her gentle breaths.
After their discussion of the Queen the night before, the elders had insisted it was time to sleep. Jack had no idea how long it had been since they’d left Jasminda’s farm, but even healed, his weary body was ready to shut down.
Jasminda hadn’t wanted to stay with the others, and Rozyl’s hostility had led Jack to agree. So they’d bunked in a smaller cavern a few hundred paces away.
Without a fire, this chamber was quite a bit cooler. They’d curled up on the ground next to each other, using her lumpy sack as a pillow.
Jack didn’t want to wake Jasminda by moving too quickly. He brushed her hair back, letting his fingers get caught in its tangled softness. Her scent was enticing, soothing, and he lay for a moment breathing it in. Once again, thoughts inappropriate to their current situation stole into his mind. The curve of her buttocks grazed his groin, and he inched backward so as not to scandalize her with his growing erection.
He owed her his life, there could be no doubt of that. So perhaps these feelings that had sprung up inside him could be traced there. All he knew was that he’d slept better on this hard, cold ground with her in his arms than on the most luxurious mattress in Rosira.
Light footsteps echoed outside the cave entrance. Jack removed an arm from around Jasminda and palmed the pistol he’d left within easy reach, keeping it down by his side. Though he had trusted Darvyn, he could not be completely certain that these enemies of his enemy were, in fact, his friends. They could prove to be great allies in the fight against the True Father, but they held secrets. There must be more to their reason for braving this journey than they’d shared.
Lantern light brightened the entrance as a curly head appeared—a head much lower than he’d expected. Osar stood gripping the lantern shakily. Jack released his weapon. The boy’s huge eyes glittered, and he beckoned Jack forward with one hand.
“Jasminda.” He shook her gently. “We have a visitor.” He nodded in the child’s direction. Jasminda sat up, yawning.
Osar motioned again for them to follow before disappearing down the hall. They gathered what was left of their things and joined the others in the larger cave. The fire had been put out, lanterns had been lit, and most were packed and ready to go. The armed Keepers and elders stood in the center; Gerda’s quiet tones carried over Rozyl’s hard voice and wild gesticulations. But all grew quiet once he and Jasminda arrived.
“Sit, sit,” Turwig enjoined. “Have something to eat.” He rooted around the pouch at his side and passed them a sparing amount of jerky and dried berries.
“Thank you,” Jack said, realizing his own hunger. How long had it been since he’d eaten? He must have lost the basket with their food in the avalanche. He would even have settled for Jasminda’s bitter herb mash, but though the Lagrimari food was not tasty, it was far more filling than he’d expected.
Jack inhaled the simple breakfast. He looked up to find that Turwig carried another, smaller pouch, this one cradled in his palm like it was precious.
Jasminda, who’d been wrestling with a tough bit of jerky, froze. Her gaze narrowed on the old man’s hand. Gerda appeared next to them, leaning in intently. She made Jack a bit uneasy; her gaze seemed to peer directly into the soul.
“Feel that, do you?” Gerda asked Jasminda. “I suspected you might.”
“I don’t trust
her,” Rozyl announced from the corner. “Who knows where her loyalties lie? I think this is a mistake.”
“Hush,” Gerda replied, still staring at Jasminda. Jack looked to her as well; she was obviously uncomfortable, though she’d been somewhat squirmy since they entered the caves. But now she visibly shook and leaned back as Turwig held the pouch out to her. With obvious reverence for the little bundle, he reached for Jasminda’s hand and placed it in her grasp.
She gave a soft cry and jumped. “What is this?”
Jack was on alert, hovering over her, wanting to render aid. Gerda halted him with a hand on his arm.
“Open it,” Turwig said.
Jasminda shook her head. Her hand trembled. “I can barely stand to hold it. What’s in it?”
“Jasminda, get rid of it,” Jack said, not liking her reaction. He went to grab it from her, but she shifted out of reach. Gerda’s hand tightened on his arm, displaying impressive strength. He didn’t want to hurt the old woman, but if that thing was dangerous, he needed to protect Jasminda. That was, if she would accept his aid. She seemed conflicted.
“Open it,” Gerda repeated gently.
A hush fell upon the cave. Jack held his breath as Jasminda slowly pulled the tie on the pouch, revealing its contents.
Nestled in the folds of fabric was a deep red stone—the same color as the cornerstone, but small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It was multifaceted, but smooth, like an oddly shaped gemstone.
Jasminda held it up to her face, inspecting it. Jack was entranced by the stone as well. A surge of longing shot through him. He wanted to touch it, feel its smoothness beneath his skin. But he could not move.
Lyngar brought one of the lamps closer to illuminate the stone better. Embedded within were dark, swirling lines. Was this the fossil of an insect like the ones he’d been intrigued by as a boy? But the curves of the shape trapped inside were no skeleton. Jack recognized the familiar symbol embedded beneath the surface.
“The sigil of the Queen,” he whispered.
Jasminda raised her free hand until it hovered over the bloodred stone. She met Jack’s eyes—hers sparked with anticipation and fear.
He wanted to tell her not to touch it, but the longing was so strong within himself that he couldn’t speak the words. His breath caught in his chest when he tried to voice the warning.
Jasminda’s finger traced the surface of the stone. Her eyes closed and long, dark lashes brushed her cheeks. Then, as if she’d instantly fallen asleep, her face slackened, and her whole body pitched backward to tumble to the ground.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We run through the woods laughing. Yllis’s fingers are intertwined with mine, and when he looks over, the love in his eyes makes my breath catch. My heart is so full.
Eero is behind us, thundering through the underbrush. I do not have to turn to sense my brother tripping over a root that Yllis and I had jumped over. It would be funny to let him fall, but it is not his fault he has no Song and cannot feel the forest around him the way we do. In the blink of an eye, I sing a spell to lift him back upright and set him on his feet. He stumbles a bit but rights himself, his emotions confused for a moment, before refocusing on the competition.
We clear the tree line, and Eero races ahead, beating us to the water’s edge. He dives underneath and swims out a little ways, shouting, berating us for our slowness. Yllis and I splash into the waves, soaking each other, and I think this is the happiest I have ever been. The two people I care most for in this world are here, and it is the most beautiful day I could have dreamed.
Yllis said he would not let it rain on Eero’s and my birthday, and he did not. I shall bring the clouds back myself tomorrow to keep things in balance, but for today, watching the smiles on his and Eero’s faces as the sun shines down on us is the best present ever.
Later, the fire crackles before us, and I lean back into the strong hold of Yllis’s arms around me. Eero sits just across from us, roasting tubers on a stick. His melancholy calls to me and I yearn to soothe it, but long ago he made me promise not to sing away his moods. I endeavor to respect his wishes, though it is difficult to see my twin so sad.
“What ails, Eero?” I say to him.
He continues to stare into the fire, his eyes faraway. I disengage from Yllis and move around to sit beside him. “We celebrate our birth today. Why are you downhearted?”
I nudge his shoulder. His mouth quirks slightly in the beginnings of a smile.
“I do not aim to diminish any happiness of yours. I only wish…”
I remain patient as he forms his thoughts. Words are not always easy for him, but they eventually flow. I do not push.
“I wish I could sing, as you do. As Father did.”
I reach out to him, placing my hand on his. “And I wish I shared Mother’s talent at drawing the way you do. The pictures you create are unequaled. Everyone’s talents lie in different directions.”
“Yes, but to control the earth and the sky? It is magnificent.” Wonder fills his voice. I feel ashamed for taking for granted the Song that swells within me, the feeling of oneness that I have with the life energy of the world.
“We are different,” I say. He looks pointedly at my hand, still on his arm, an example of the difference clearly displayed by the contrasting hues of our skin. Mine like our father and the other Songbearers with our dark hair and dark eyes, his the shade of Mother’s and the other Silents, with eyes of vivid golden copper. “The blue of the day’s sky and the black of the night’s are different, but one is not better than the other. We need both. If I could give you part of my Song, I would, so you could feel what it is like. And perhaps you could give me some of your talent so that I could paint the murals that bring such delight to all who see them, and it will equal out.”
He pulls away from my touch and stands, offering me his roasted tuber before turning to look at the water. “We will never be equals, Oola.” My name on his lips has never sounded so hopeless.
My twin walks toward the water, and I move back to Yllis’s arms.
“He offered for the daughter of the Head Cantor,” Yllis says as I watch Eero’s retreating form. “She turned him down for one of the Healers.” A fissure forms in my heart.
“I did not know. He tells me little of his love life. Once upon a time, we were close as heartbeats.” I shift to face Yllis. “Do you think there is a way?”
He leans his forehead to mine, his Song dancing at the edge of my perception, offering solace and comfort. I do not reach for it, but I am glad it is there.
“A way for what?” he says.
“To share my Song with him?”
A thoughtful look crosses his face. His studies with the Cantors are progressing; he is learning much about new spells, new ways to funnel and control the massive energy of Earthsong. “If there is a way, we will find it. I promise.”
His lips slide to mine. The kiss is not all-consuming, it is simply a reminder that he is here for me and that any problem I face, he faces as well. My worries flee. I would do anything for my twin, and if it is a Song he desires, I will do all I can to give it to him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Master of Sharks carries duty like a parcel he would deliver to someone else.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jasminda winced at the burning sensation in her palm. Her empty palm. When her vision focused, an anxious face filled her view. Firelit eyes regarded her, and a familiar scent filled her nostrils. Jack. His face relaxed as she stared up at him, hypnotized by the color of his eyes.
“What happened?” she asked, dazed.
He frowned. “I should ask you that. You collapsed.”
Clarity came back quickly. The cave, the storm, the elders, the stone … which had disappeared from her hand. She looked over to find Turwig wrapping it up again. Jack helped her to a seated position as the chatter of several voices quieted.
“You saw something, didn’t you?” Gerda asked.
Unlike t
he vision in the circle of stones, when she’d touched this stone she’d been drawn in to someone else’s life. She’d actually been someone else. Someone deliriously in love. The girl, Oola, was an Earthsinger with skin the color of Jasminda’s own, and she had been born a twin to Eero, a Silent—as Oola called him—who resembled an Elsiran, like Jasminda’s brothers. This was a world where Singers and Silent wed and apparently lived in peace with their children, normal and accepted. There had been no feeling of isolation in Oola’s thoughts, no sense of being always mistrusted or feared for her magic. On the contrary, her brother was jealous of her power.
The vision had been all-encompassing, and it took a moment to adjust to being torn away and inhabiting her own body again. Jasminda related the brief vision and watched the elders’ reactions, everything from puzzled to stupefied.
She flexed her arms and legs, bringing feeling back into them. “What is that stone, and why does it cause visions?”
Turwig and Gerda shared one of their meaningful looks. The old man still held the wrapped stone. Jasminda’s fingers itched to snatch it from him. She couldn’t explain the strange possessive instinct that had arisen within her toward the thing, but she wanted it back.
After a few moments of silence, Rozyl spoke up. “She passed the test, you might as well tell her.”
“Test?” Jasminda was not interested in any more tests. Anger fired within her. Jack grew rigid as well.
“Throughout the war,” Turwig began, “the Keepers have fought against the True Father’s tyranny, searching for a way to overcome his great power in order to awaken Her. We have always believed that killing the True Father was the only way to awaken the Queen. But the masked fiend is hard to kill.”
“Almost impossible,” Gerda said. “And there are those who believe he walks among us in secret, taking on the appearance of our trusted friends and confidants.”
Rozyl crossed her arms and sniffed. Could the woman’s paranoia be justified? “It’s true that no one has ever seen his face?” Jasminda asked.