Song of Blood and Stone

by L. Penelope

  “No one has seen any part of him,” Turwig replied. “He is always covered from head to toe and wears a jeweled mask to hide his face. The women of his harems are kept blindfolded when they are with him. And aside from the Cantor, only the Songless are allowed in his inner circle.”

  “The Cantor?” Jasminda frowned. “Who is that?”

  “Every few generations, a powerful Earthsinger is spared the tribute and serves as the True Father’s Cantor, someone who studies Earthsong, finds new ways to create the breaches. They develop new spells and increase the True Father’s power.”

  Jasminda had never known how the breaches were created. She doubted anyone on this side of the Mantle knew. “And what about those who give tribute? They must be able to get close to him.”

  Turwig’s expression grew grim. “Tribute is given while unconscious. Only the Cantor and the True Father know how it is done. But we have chipped away, little by little, doing what we could, saving who we could. We’ve grown a network to hide as many as we can, so they may retain their Songs.” He looked to Osar and the other children who were busy on the other side of the cave, far out of earshot.

  “Do you all still have your Songs?” Jasminda asked.

  “We lost ours long ago,” Gerda said, motioning to herself and the elders. “Aside from some of the young ones, only Rozyl and Sevora have their Songs.”

  Sevora was the other female Keeper. Jasminda hadn’t heard the woman utter a word, but her dark eyes were engraved with sorrow. Jasminda shuddered to imagine life without her Song; it was a part of her, weak though it was. Rozyl caught her stare and turned her closely shorn head away from the scrutiny. But for once, there was no spite from the Keeper.

  Jasminda faced the elders again. “You all helped the young man who disguised Jack?”

  “Yes … Darvyn. The poor boy spent his entire life hiding from tribute-camp thugs, being shuffled from place to place. His power…” Turwig shook his head at some memory clouding his mind. “His power is blinding. Darvyn was the one who discovered this.” He motioned to the stone. “Years ago, when he was a small boy, we were secreting him away one night—there had been some betrayal at his previous residence, as was often the case. The boy was hidden in a wagon of straw pallets, but when we arrived at the checkpoint, he had disappeared.

  “We doubled back, searching for him, but it was the middle of the night and the roads in Lagrimar are not somewhere you want to be caught after dark. I tracked him to the ruins of Tanagol, one of the first border villages destroyed early in the war.”

  Turwig’s eyes softened as he became lost in the memory. “Imagine a child of four or five digging through centuries-old rubble, only to come out covered in dirt and muck with this treasure. He had felt the pull of the ancient spell within calling to him. Later, Darvyn began having the Dream of the Queen. She gave him certain instructions that we have been endeavoring to bring to pass for many years.”

  “She told him to disguise me and send me over the border,” Jack said.

  Understanding dawned on Jasminda. “She told Darvyn that you all should bring the stone here?” Turwig and Gerda nodded. “And did She say what it was? What it does?” She held her hand out for the stone, and to her surprise, Turwig gave it to her.

  “No, She does not have control over the length or frequency of the dreams,” he said, “so sometimes information is disjointed. We believe this is a caldera, an object that serves as a container for spells.”

  “Like the map and the speaking stone,” Jack said, leaning forward. “Are these objects common in Lagrimar?”

  “Not at all,” Turwig answered. “About a hundred years ago, a Keeper managed to get his hands on the journal of the Cantor. Everything we know about calderas comes from that book, and it’s not much. Only the most powerful Earthsingers can create such objects. They can serve various purposes and even hold parts of their Songs. It requires…”

  Jasminda looked up from her inspection of the bundle in her hand. Part of her longed to touch it again, but another part was afraid. “It requires what?”

  “A blood sacrifice. And with the strongest ones, a death.”

  Jasminda froze. “Blood magic?” It didn’t exist anymore, at least not according to Papa. But merely saying the words brought to mind the wrongness of these caves, the skin-crawling feeling she’d gotten from both Jack’s map and the speaking stone. This caldera was different than the other ones, potent certainly, but it didn’t feel tainted. And it hadn’t required any blood before sharing its vision with her.

  “It’s magic we’ve never seen before,” Turwig said. “Stronger than any known today, saving the Cantor and the True Father.”

  “Did you all have the same vision I had, then?” Jasminda asked.

  “Oh, no, child,” Gerda said. “Nothing at all happens when any of us touch the caldera.”

  Jasminda shuddered. “No one else has seen a vision when they touch it? Not even Darvyn?” The Keepers all shook their heads. “You’ve tried using your blood?”

  “We’ve tried everything,” Turwig said.

  “So what made you think to test me with it?”

  Gerda tilted her head to the side, regarding her. “Intuition.”

  Jasminda looked at her skeptically.

  “And you wear the Queen’s sigil around your neck,” Lyngar said. “Maybe it was a sign.” He didn’t sound as though he was happy about that.

  “But why does it work for me?” Jasminda’s hand flew to her mother’s pendant. It wasn’t unique, all Sisters wore them.

  Turwig shrugged. “Perhaps because you’re half Elsiran. Perhaps some other reason. But since it opened itself to you, I believe you must be the one to unlock the mysteries of this stone. None of us are able.”

  Her failure with the cornerstone—to even pass the test to reveal the cornerstone—gnawed at her. The words of her family echoed in her head. Too weak. Too afraid. Jasminda shook her head in disbelief. “What were the Queen’s instructions? What did She say specifically?”

  “She is rarely specific,” Gerda said. “Her guidance has led us this far, though it has taken twenty years to find a way to get the caldera safely into Elsira. We had to trust that once we made it here, a way would be shown.” She leaned forward, her intensity piercing. “You are that way.” She placed her hand on top of Jasminda’s closed fist, and the caldera pulsed in response.

  The trust these people were placing in her was staggering. And very much undeserved. “Who else knows about it?” Her voice was small.

  The elders shared a glance, looks of resignation appearing on their faces. Rozyl sighed. “The Cantor knows, so we must assume she’s told the True Father—”

  “The Cantor is a woman?” Somehow Jasminda had assumed the powerful Earthsinger must be a man.

  “Yes,” Rozyl spat. “Her name is Ydaris, and she is menace personified.”

  Jasminda shared a look with Jack. His eyes lit. Could he be thinking what she was? Could this Ydaris be the mystery woman giving orders to Tensyn?

  “Anyway, we believe the king is searching for the caldera. All along we had planned to use decoys to sneak it out.” Rozyl waved her hand toward the women and children at the far end of the cave. “Word spread more quickly than we’d planned, and many have heeded the call to leave Lagrimar.”

  “There are more refugees?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, being led by groups of Keepers through known cracks in the Mantle. And more will follow them.”

  Jasminda’s heart drummed, ready to beat out of her chest. “Can you stop them? Send word somehow?”

  “Why?” Gerda asked. “Why should they not seek better lives for themselves?”

  “Better lives like those in the settlements?” Jasminda scoffed. “There are no better lives for those who look like us here. Those who can sing. There will be no welcoming party for you. In fact, I would be surprised if they don’t send you right back the way you came.”

  “They would not do that.” Jack’s voice was grim. �
�It is the Prince Regent’s duty to protect all within the borders of Elsira. He is honor bound.”

  Jack had not suffered the stares and cutting remarks. The bad trades and cheating merchants. The insult “grol witch” uttered over and over.

  Jasminda reached out for Gerda’s gnarled hand. “I do not think it will be a good place for the children. I do not think they will be safe there.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack’s jaw tighten, but he stayed quiet.

  “You have never been to Lagrimar, have you, girl?” Gerda said.

  Jasminda shook her head.

  “Of course not, for you seem to believe they were safe back there.” Her voice was kind but stern. Admonishing her ignorance. Jasminda looked again at the gaunt and hollow expressions of the mothers, the wordless appeals in the eyes of the children. They clung to each other like lifelines in a raging storm.

  Rozyl’s voice broke the silence. “Do you know what awaits these children? Slavery. For most it’s either the mines, the labor camps, the harems, or the army.” She ticked the list off with her fingers. “In the mines, at least you get to keep your Song. Though you exhaust it every day chipping away at bits of rock, pulling precious jewels from the mountain, and filling your lungs with dust. And after fifty years of service, you are released to die in poverty. The camps are for the boys to have their Songs sucked away, then be sentenced to hard labor for the rest of their lives. Girls go to the harems to ‘bless’ the Father with sons for his army.”

  “The suffering is immense,” Gerda added.

  Jasminda brought her hands to cover her face, not wanting these people to see her cry, especially not after what they had all been through. She’d had no idea how terrible Lagrimar actually was. Life in Elsira would not be easy, with little opportunity and even less dignity, but it was not slavery.

  “More are coming,” Rozyl said, “and the caldera is the last hope for all of us. If it falls into the True Father’s hands, then all is lost. If he breaks out of Lagrimar, not only will Elsira fall but other lands will follow. The world could be his to control. We’ve got to end this.”

  Jack turned to face Jasminda. “She’s right. This caldera is the best option for winning the war. You must have been chosen for a reason, Jasminda. Maybe everything that’s happened was supposed to.”

  Jasminda snorted. If Jack’s suffering, the soldiers invading her cabin, the fire—if all of those things were the Queen’s plan, and if Jasminda was truly chosen, then the Queen had quite the sense of humor.

  The weight of the expectant eyes peering at her sealed her mouth shut, silencing the doubts she longed to raise. She’d started this journey with one impossible goal, to help Jack so that he would help her save her land. Now an even more unattainable task was being set before her.

  “So what do I do?”

  Uncertainty crossed more than one face. “We’d planned to bring the caldera to Rosira, to be near the Queen’s resting place in the palace,” Turwig said. “After that, simply rely on Her guidance.” The old Keeper smiled at Jasminda. “For now, follow the visions. Learn what the caldera wants to show you. It must lead to a way to awaken Her.”

  Anxiety lay heavy on her shoulders. Perhaps the Queen would lead them to another, someone truly able to solve the mystery of awakening Her. For now, Jasminda had little choice but to accept the duty and pray the person they really needed would reveal themselves.

  Jack squeezed her arm, lending her strength. She would need all of it to face disappointing those who’d placed their faith in her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Mistress of Horses never met a field she could not coax to grow just a little brighter. Her voice can still be heard in the whisper of the leaves that shoot from the ground.

  —COLLECTED FOLKTALES

  “Are you going to try again?” Jack’s voice hummed in Jasminda’s ear.

  The others completed their preparations to leave, but Jack’s gaze never left her. She felt it like a physical touch. “I should, shouldn’t I?”

  “But you don’t want to? What’s stopping you?”

  She opened her mouth to admit to him her failures—if she could not save those closest to her, how could she do something so big? Thankfully, Rozyl’s raised voice kept her from answering.

  “We have little choice. It makes no sense to travel down a tunnel we can’t feel or see the ending of.”

  Jack rose and moved to where Rozyl and the elders stood. Jasminda followed. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

  To Jasminda’s surprise, Rozyl answered. “We can’t connect to Earthsong in the caves. Somehow, the mountain is blocking us. Without singing, we’ll never find our way through this maze of tunnels.”

  “Has the storm not stopped?” Jack asked.

  Rozyl was grim. “It’s getting worse.”

  “Worse?” Jasminda cried out. “No storm has ever lasted this long.”

  “Not a normal storm, is it?” Lyngar raised an eyebrow.

  Dread snaked its way across Jasminda’s skin “So what do we do?”

  “I bloody well don’t know,” Rozyl said, exasperated. “What can we do? Wait until we can cross above the mountain.”

  “That storm won’t die a natural death, I promise you that,” Lyngar said ominously.

  “What happens when you try to sing?” Jasminda asked. For the first time, she realized that her Song, which should have been fully restored by now, was not at full capacity. It had been hours since she’d used the last of her power on the cornerstone. Had the caldera sapped her?

  Turwig spoke up. “The children say their Song calls out but nothing’s there to answer it. Like the world has disappeared. Try it yourself if you like, child.”

  Jasminda drew in a shaky breath, then closed her eyes. Part of her was afraid to try—the foreboding she’d felt when first entering the cave had not dimmed. That sense that her magic had no place here was as strong as ever, but curiosity won out over the fear. She opened herself to Earthsong. The normally strong pull of the power was nearly overwhelming; the tide tried to pull her under, harder than ever before. “I feel untethered. I can barely hold on.”

  “But you can draw upon Earthsong?” Rozyl asked.

  Jasminda nodded, eyes still closed. Her attention was on her awareness of the cave, the tunnels beyond, and the mountain surrounding them. Ghosts of the ancient inhabitants brushed the edge of her senses. She thought briefly of the legends of the Cavefolk, the race of people who had lived within these mountains generations ago and then disappeared. There was a kind of primeval power here, locked in the fabric of the rock, but it thrummed with a different pattern than Earthsong.

  Still, a thread of life wove through this place. Insects and creatures too small to see, and mosslike vegetation that needed no light. She pulled the energy inside her; it formed a path, though faint, that led through to the other side of the mountain.

  She let the power slide away. “I can sense the route, but it’s long. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay connected and sing for the whole journey. The caldera sapped my Song.”

  “Why in pip’s name must it always be her?” Rozyl grumbled. “She’s not even full Lagrimari.”

  Jack’s breathing turned heavy as he glared. His reaction lit a spark of satisfaction within Jasminda.

  “Perhaps she can link with someone,” Turwig suggested.

  Rozyl gave him a look that could have sheared the shell off a beetle. “Why can she sing and no one else? Why does the caldera respond to her only? Her magic must be different. I’m not linking with her.” Jasminda flinched internally at the bite in the woman’s voice, though she had no desire to link with Rozyl, either.

  “What is linking?” Jack asked, looking from Rozyl to Jasminda.

  Gerda patiently began to explain. “It’s when two Earthsingers share their connection. They—”

  “It’s when one Singer gives control of their entire Song to another to do with as they please,” Rozyl interjected. “And that is not going to happen.”
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br />   “It’s a sharing of power,” Gerda continued, “but only one Singer can be in control. It must be done voluntarily, of the giver’s free will. If we still had our Songs, we would do it.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Lyngar hissed. Jasminda had linked with Papa when she was young and still learning. He’d shown her how to control her power through the link, but she could not imagine linking with a stranger. To do so was to become extremely vulnerable to another. It was like letting someone into her soul.

  The elders and Rozyl bickered over what to do. Neither Rozyl nor Sevora would link with Jasminda.

  A small hand slipped into her own. Osar’s round face beamed up at her. She squeezed his hand, and he leaned in, resting his head against her leg.

  “You would link with me, wouldn’t you?” she asked, smoothing down his hair. “You’re not afraid?” He shook his head, then offered her his other hand, which was closed in a fist.

  “What do you have there?”

  He unfurled tiny fingers to reveal a shoot of green with delicate white petals sparking out of it.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, incredulous, picking up the tiny flower. It could not have grown in the cave, and with the snow outside it was doubtful he’d brought it in with him. Yet here it was. Something beautiful and impossible amid the bleakness. “Thank you.”

  Silence descended. Jasminda looked up to find the others staring at her and the blossom in her hand. She straightened her shoulders, looking at Rozyl and Lyngar as she spoke. “Osar will link with me.”

  Rozyl narrowed her eyes. Lyngar merely turned toward the exit, speaking over his shoulder. “Fine. Let’s get going. We’ve wasted far too much time as it is.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  What of peace? asked a soldier to the Mistress of Serpents.

  A warrior who fights for peace is like a man leaving the shore to climb a hill so he may better view the ocean.

  —COLLECTED FOLKTALES

  Jack kept to the rear of the party as they made their way through the tunnels. He did not like to be so far from Jasminda, who led the group with Osar at her side, but he also did not want Rozyl or the other armed Keepers at his back. They seemed to feel the same about him, which left him walking side by side with Sevora, the tall Lagrimari woman who never said a word to him.