Song of Blood and Stone

by L. Penelope

  Jack sighed. “Now is not the time.”

  “Your Grace, she’s saying it has to do with Miss Jasminda. I thought you might want to speak with her.”

  Jack peered more closely at the Guardsman. He was the same fellow who’d escorted Lizvette to questioning. Tension gripped Jack, and he nodded. “Take me to her.”

  They’d kept the woman in the main lobby of the palace, and Jack could hear her voice from two corridors away.

  “I will not stand down, and you would do well to keep out of my way, sir. I refuse to leave this palace until I have seen Prince Jaqros!”

  “Sister,” Jack said as he approached. The woman startled and spun around, gracing him with the tiniest curtsey possible before rushing to his side. A Guardsman reached out to stop her approach, but Jack brushed him off. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can stop a great miscarriage of justice, Your Grace. My niece, a citizen of Elsira, despite all appearances to the contrary, was chained and forcibly placed on a bus headed to Lagrimar with the refugees. She does not belong there, and I—”

  “You are Aunt Vanesse,” Jack said. The woman stopped, stunned. He should have recognized her at once, but his mind was scattered in a million directions. How many Sisters had burn scars on their faces? “Jasminda told me about you.”

  She looked confused, but the determination in her eyes burned bright.

  “Please, come with me,” he said, leading her toward his office. “I have been trying to rectify that situation, believe me. But I’ve been stymied at every turn.”

  Jack stopped at his secretary’s desk. “Netta, I want you to check in with the palace regiment every five minutes for an update on their search for an airship pilot.”

  Netta nodded and picked up the phone.

  “An airship pilot?” Vanesse said, squinting at him.

  “Yes. I fear that is the only way to get to her before the caravan reaches the border. My brother had the only airship in Rosira, and pilots are in short supply.”

  “Your Grace, I have a … a friend, who can drive just about anything. She’s competed in the Yaly Classic Air Race the past two years flying speed crafts. If there’s anyone who can pilot it, she can.”

  Jack stared, speechless, before breaking into a grin. He picked up the startled woman and spun her around, only putting her down when her small fist began beating against his back.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  On the occasion of their parents’ deaths, Bobcat gathered his brothers and sisters. Let us put away petty things, he said, and rejoice in our kinship. For the day is not long off when our good-byes will multiply.

  —COLLECTED FOLKTALES

  The buses lurched to a stop where the paved road ended, just past the entrance to the Eastern Army Base. Beyond loomed the border, deceptive in its ordinariness. Grass of the foothills gave way to the Breach Valley, a nondescript stretch of rocky dirt. The hills on either side veered up sharply, transforming into jagged mountains towering overhead. All seven Mantle breaches had occurred here.

  The only other visible indication that one country ended and another began were the hundreds of Elsiran troops and vehicles gathered with weapons drawn, pointing toward an equal number of Lagrimari troops on the other side. Bullets could not pierce the Mantle until it was breached, but both sides were intent on their standoff.

  The rain had ended sometime during the night. Perhaps the storm had done its work. The caldera was nearly back in Lagrimar, after all. Early morning sunshine broke through the gloom. The refugees filed off the buses silently to huddle together amidst a sea of soldiers.

  On one side of Jasminda stood Osar; Rozyl was on the other. The only words the Keeper had spoken had been to ask whether Jasminda had the caldera on her. After she’d affirmed it, Rozyl had not left her side.

  Across the border, rows of Lagrimari stood at attention. A familiar face at the front of the line made Jasminda’s breath catch.

  The soldier stepped forward, smiling broadly. “By order of His Majesty the True Father of the Republic of Lagrimar, I, Lieutenant Tensyn ol-Trador, do hereby declare this a day of peace. My brothers and sisters, I welcome you home.”

  Lieutenant? He’d had a promotion, then. Jasminda grew sick to her stomach to see the man’s smug grin. She stood in the middle of the crowd of refugees, but hunched down anyway, hoping he wouldn’t see her.

  Tensyn raised both hands over his head and paused dramatically before clapping them together. An earsplitting crack rent the air. The ground shuddered, rolling and shaking, throwing everyone off-balance. From the direction of the army base, an alarm sounded.

  “Breach!” shouted an Elsiran.

  “Breach!”

  “Breach!”

  The word was repeated, the message passed along, as the Elsiran soldiers hunkered down.

  The armies appeared evenly matched in numbers, though the Lagrimari weaponry was visibly old. The soldiers bore muzzle-loaded, single-shot rifles at least fifty years out of date. Many had bayonets or swords as well. Jasminda eyed the Elsiran soldiers nearest her, noting the far more advanced automatic rifles with coils of ammunition at the ready. Tanks were spaced evenly along the border with smaller armored four-wheelers bearing giant rifles and larger weapons that looked like cannons or grenade launchers. The Lagrimari had no vehicles, but the barrels of huge wheeled cannons sat on the front lines. Elsira’s superior economic power and technology was unquestionable. But the Lagrimari had one advantage the Elsirans couldn’t buy.

  The wind grew from a gentle breeze to a gale within the blink of an eye. Jasminda’s hair whipped back, the force of the wind stinging her eyes. It died down after a few breaths. But thick clouds exploded into existence on the Elsiran side. They swirled and raged unnaturally, then shuddered as deadly sharp icicles shot down. The ice stopped in midair a hand’s breadth from their heads, then crackled and fell apart, dusting the Elsirans and refugees in a layer of snow.

  The army’s Earthsingers were taunting them.

  Movement at the top of the lower foothills drew Jasminda’s attention. Lines of additional Lagrimari troops came into view from behind the hilltops on either side of the flatland of the breach area. They marched over the hills, descending across the border between the lands.

  “They’ve done it,” Jasminda whispered. “They’ve destroyed the whole thing. The Mantle is gone.”

  Within minutes, the number of Lagrimari soldiers more than doubled, vastly outnumbering the Elsirans. Jasminda spotted Tensyn leading his men across the former barrier. An Elsiran general marched forward to meet him.

  “There is no need for losing life this day. I will address my brethren,” Tensyn announced in broken Elsiran. The general reluctantly stood aside as the lieutenant approached.

  “Listen close,” Tensyn said in Lagrimari. This seemed to be a cue for all the refugees to sit down. Jasminda settled on the muddy ground with the others. “This day is a joyous one. The Mantle, which unfairly trapped us for so long, is now demolished.”

  A cheer went up among the Lagrimari soldiers. Tensyn drank in the applause, before raising a hand to silence the men. “I am pleased to welcome all of the lost souls back to the open arms of the Fatherland. Your presence will help us usher in a great peace. However, before your return, there is something His Majesty requires. One of you holds an artifact that has great significance to our blessed leader. A red stone, smaller than my palm.” He raised his hand over his head. The Elsiran troops nearest him followed his movement with their rifles, but he paid them no mind.

  “The stone must be returned before your homecoming may begin.”

  Jasminda’s chest tightened. Though it must have been her imagination, the caldera in her pocket seemed to hum to life. She flexed her fingers, eager for a weapon of any kind, a way to fight through the terror and escape.

  Tensyn paced the length of the tightly gathered crowd of refugees. “To underscore the importance of compliance with any and all beneficent requests of His Majesty’s, I will retu
rn one of you to the World After every minute the artifact is not within my possession.”

  He pulled his pistol from the holster at his hip and pulled back the hammer. The general closest to Tensyn pulled his sidearm as well.

  Tensyn chuckled. “I will harm no Elsiran. This is between me and my countrymen,” he said in Elsiran. The general nodded but continued pointing his own gun at the lieutenant.

  Tensyn produced a pocket watch from the pocket of his crisp uniform, and though Jasminda was at least three dozen paces away, she could feel each tick of the clock like a beat inside her chest.

  The minute that passed felt like the longest of her life, until it ended and Tensyn grabbed a random refugee from the crowd. Gray hair, a stooped stature …

  Gerda.

  Jasminda gasped. When Tensyn lifted his pistol to the old woman’s head, Jasminda hurtled into motion. Her body acted without thought, but she struggled against an immovable object while trying to rise and get closer to Gerda. She looked down to find hands wrapped around her waist, squeezing painfully, holding her in place. Wrenching her neck around, she stared into Rozyl’s hard eyes, wet with unshed tears. But her face was implacable. Jasminda turned back around. Through the crowd, Gerda met her gaze and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Jasminda slammed her eyes shut.

  The shot rang out.

  “No!” Jasminda’s scream echoed in the wake of the gunshot, reverberating off the mountain peaks. Many things could be healed with Earthsong, but a close-range shot to the head was not one of them.

  Rozyl didn’t let go, tightening her hold and forcing Jasminda’s head down.

  “Someone has something to say? The location of the artifact perhaps?” Tensyn’s voice was self-satisfied. Nausea swept over Jasminda. Her empty stomach heaved, but nothing came out. The Elsiran general looked horrified, but made no move to stop the executions.

  The clock continued to tick, and Jasminda couldn’t watch another person die. She couldn’t be responsible for the death of one more innocent.

  This time Tensyn pulled a young girl from the crowd, out of the arms of her shrieking mother. Jasminda slackened her body; Rozyl’s grasp weakened slightly. Taking advantage, Jasminda broke out of the woman’s arms and shot to her feet.

  Tensyn’s gaze landed on her, recognition widening his eyes. Jasminda opened her mouth to confess. Before she’d taken a breath, Rozyl shot up beside her.

  Turwig was next, moving faster than a man of his age rightly should. One by one, the other Keepers she’d met in the cave and at the camp stood, and even Lyngar, a man she’d suspected of having no emotions whatsoever, had tears in his eyes as he looked at Gerda’s lifeless form sprawled on the ground.

  Tensyn blinked, peering from one Keeper to another. “The artifact. Who has it?”

  “I have it,” Rozyl called out, her voice strong and clear.

  “I have it,” Lyngar said.

  The statement was repeated by every Keeper standing.

  “I have it,” young Timmyn said, taking to his feet. Other refugees, children and mothers, young and elderly all stood, claiming to have the caldera. Most of them had no idea what they were even admitting to, but Jasminda was moved all the same. She had thought she’d known misery and heartache since the loss of her family, but she had nothing on these people. She’d also thought she truly understood love, but the actions of the other refugees humbled her.

  They were all in this together. This group of strangers were acting as one with her. Standing together in the face of almost certain death. Tears streamed down Jasminda’s cheeks, and she swiped them away.

  The lieutenant pursed his lips, searching the crowd until he found Jasminda. He looked ready to speak, when a ripple of movement behind him caused him to turn.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The Master of Spiders searched for his treasure throughout the land. He found it not in the mountain, nor in the valley, nor by the sea. After many years, he could no longer recall what he was looking for.

  —COLLECTED FOLKTALES

  The row of Lagrimari soldiers parted to reveal a solitary figure. Jasminda could only stare as dread cooled her skin.

  Weak sunlight glittered off a jewel-encrusted mask covering the face of a man walking across the field. No holes for eyes, nose, or mouth were visible—just a covering of multicolored precious stones obscuring his entire head. A heavy tunic lined with even more jewels flowed nearly to his ankles. He walked across the ground as if laying claim to the land. As if he had already conquered everything he surveyed.

  His approach was endless, his paces measured. The thousands gathered were silent; not even a bird call interrupted the quiet.

  With a flick of his wrist, two dozen refugees before him went flying through the air and crashed in a heap on the ground. The Elsiran army appeared frozen in place. Jasminda was unable to tear her gaze from the force of nature that was the immortal king, but vaguely registered some barrier separating where she stood from the Elsirans around her.

  Noise reached her ears slowly, as if muted. A jeweled glove jerked, and another swath of refugees went flying. A sickening crunch of bones accompanied them, and low moans rose.

  Jasminda’s lip quivered. Now, none stood between the True Father and her. Though she could not see his eyes, she felt his attention on her. He knew she carried the caldera.

  He tilted his head to the side, regarding her. “What is this?” His voice was nothing like that of his younger self. Hollow and raspy, it was the sound of death.

  Jasminda flinched.

  “Yllis truly was innovative. He trapped his entire Song in the stone you carry, girl.” The True Father laughed, a sandpapery sound that rippled down her spine. “So much power. A Song unmatched by any alive today. Give it to me and you may live.”

  Hot tears escaped Jasminda’s eyes. Her body shook. A tunnel had been formed out of ice or wind or pure magic, perhaps all three, Jasminda couldn’t be sure. On the other side of it the Elsirans raged, blurry and ineffectual. Their weapons fired into the swirling tunnel walls but did not penetrate.

  She and the refugees, along with a handful of Lagrimari soldiers, were trapped in this cage with a madman. So this was his power, tainted and bitter.

  “No.” Her voice was soft amidst the immense twisting power surrounding them.

  The True Father inclined his head. That was the only warning she had before she was ripped from the ground and tossed into the air. The earth came back to meet her; this time the crunch she heard was from her own bones. Pain was delayed for one blissful moment, then her entire body ignited.

  The king’s power lifted her again, only to smash her down just as cruelly. White-hot agony lanced her. Deafening screams rang in her ears. It took a moment to realize they were her own. Then, in a flash, she was healed and standing upright.

  She wobbled on noodly legs, searching for support and finding none. The other refugees lay on the ground around her, many broken and bloodied, watching with wide eyes. Jasminda took a deep breath—not nearly enough to sustain her.

  The True Father laughed again. “Who are you to defy me, girl? A child with barely enough power for me to take. An insignificant whelp, yet you dare utter the word ‘no’?”

  He turned in a circle as if to ensure everyone was watching. “Though perhaps I should thank you.” He tilted his head to the side. “Your attempt to shore up the Mantle’s cornerstone with your negligible power amused me. And there is so little left that I find entertaining.”

  Guilt shrank Jasminda’s chest.

  He drew closer. “You thought to use the stone you bear against me? Or do you wish to lash out with your feeble Song and do something to stop me?” He laughed—the brittle sound turned her blood to ice. “Now give me the stone, and you may die quickly.”

  Jasminda trembled. She could not stop him from taking the caldera, but she would rather die, as slowly as it took, than give it to him. “I know who you are, Eero,” she said, fighting the quiver in her jaw.

 
The True Father froze. Once again, unseen eyes raked over her skin. “I have not heard that name in a long time.”

  This time, he dragged her into the air slowly. He stepped closer until he was directly beneath her, his head tilted up. “I think I would prefer to never hear it again.”

  Her skin constricted, squeezing tight against her muscles. The air surrounding her compressed, bearing down until her bones cracked, one by one. Her throat was crushed before she could scream. The pain went on and on. She lived inside it until she was certain she had passed out. But the impact of the ground on her shattered body rattled her. He’d dropped her.

  Jasminda’s skin was a bag of bone shards. She could not move. Drawing breath was nearly impossible. A whistling sound escaped her lips when she tried to fill her lungs. They must have been pierced with slivers of her ribs.

  “Get the stone,” the True Father’s deathlike voice rasped. Apparently, he would not deign to get his bejeweled gloves dirty. She was vaguely aware of hands pawing her, and not gently. The pain on top of pain made little difference. She could not draw enough breath to cry out.

  As the seeker mauled her, something brushed against her outstretched hand. Earthsong buzzed at the edges of her senses. Was this someone trying to heal her?

  Somehow, she managed to agonizingly lift her eyelids, but closed them again immediately. She’d fallen next to Gerda’s lifeless body. Jasminda forced herself to look upon the old woman. Gerda stared back sightlessly, her neck twisted at an impossible angle. Jasminda’s vision blurred.

  The Earthsong prickling at her was insistent. A link wanted to form. She could barely think but opened her Song to it—perhaps it would aid in the healing, though she knew in her heart it was too late. Even a strong Singer would need far more time than Jasminda had left in this world.

  Whoever was searching her pockets stopped suddenly. The warm presence of the stone left her. They’d found it. Now it was too late for everyone.