by Penelope, L.
“You see, I was undercover, spying from within the Lagrimari army. But now there are men looking for me, they’re not far, but—” He paused to take a breath; the effort of speaking was draining. He suspected he had several cracked or broken ribs in addition to the gunshot wound. His vision swam, and the girl turned into two. Two beautiful girls. If these were his last moments before traveling to the World After, then perhaps he was not as unlucky as he’d always thought.
He blinked rapidly and took another strained breath. His mission was not complete; he could not die yet. “Can you help me? Please. I’ve got to get back to Elsira.”
She stole an anxious glance skyward before kneeling next to him. Her cool hand moved to his forehead. The simple touch was soothing and a wave of tension rolled off him.
“You must be delirious.” Her voice was rich, deeper than he’d expected. It eased the harsh consonants of the Lagrimari language, for the first time making it sound like something he could imagine being pleasant to listen to. She carefully worked at the remaining buttons of his shirt, pulling the fabric apart to reveal his ruined chest. Her expression was appraising as she viewed the damage then sat back on her haunches, pensive.
“It probably looks worse than it is,” he said.
“I doubt that.”
Jack’s chuckle sounded deranged to his own ears, so it was no surprise that the girl looked at him askance. He winced—laughing was a bad idea at this point—and struggled for breath again. “The soldiers . . . they’re after me. I have to get back through the Mantle.”
“Shh,” she said, digging into her bag. “Hush all that foolishness; you’re not in your right mind. Though I’ll admit, you speak Lagrimari very well. I’m not sure what happened to you, but you should save your strength.”
She retrieved a jar filled with a sweet-smelling substance and began spreading it over his wounds. The constant, throbbing pain eased a notch making it easier for him to breathe.
“What is that?”
“Just a balm. Helps with burns, cuts. Can’t do any more for you right now, but you can’t stay here. Storm’s coming.”
He laid his head back on the ground, closing his eyes to savor the slight reduction in pain. “A quick rest and I’ll be back on my way. Need to keep moving, though. Need to get back.”
She shook her head. “Back through the Mantle?” Her voice was skeptical.
He nodded.
“And away from the Lagrimari soldiers chasing you?”
“Yes.” Her palm met his forehead again. She thought he was delusional. He wished he was. Wished the last few weeks had been nothing but the imaginings of an impaired mind.
“The Seventh Breach ended almost five years ago.” Her voice flowed over him, as cool and comforting as the balm she’d used. “We’ve had peace since then. No way to cross the Mantle from either side.”
He shook his head, aggravating the hole in his upper chest, inches from his heart where an inconvenient bit of metal was still lodged. “There are ways.”
A crunch of boots in the distance set him on alert. He grabbed the girl’s wrist to halt her while he listened. The soldiers were near.
He opened his eyes and looked into her startled ones. “Shh, they’re coming.”
Her head darted from side to side and he could see the moment she realized that someone was indeed coming. Jack couldn’t let her be found helping him. Having seen firsthand what these men were capable of, he couldn’t let her be found by them at all. The Lagrimari army was filled with men unfit even for Elsira’s prisons. This girl had been kind, a trait his people didn’t believe the Lagrimari even possessed, but he knew better and felt the need to protect her. He wrestled himself to a sitting position, ignoring the daggers of pain impaling him with every movement, but her strong arms prevented him from standing.
“Hide here, and I’ll draw them away,” he whispered and motioned for her to crouch down. “They will find me anyway, but it’s best they don’t see you.” She frowned, looking back toward the sound of approaching footsteps.
As he agonizingly made his way to his hands and knees, the pain flared hot, threatening to blind him. With a tug on her arm, he pulled her behind the shrubbery and half crawled, half dragged himself back onto the narrow, rocky path. Her head stuck up over the grouping of rocks and shrubs, and he motioned for her to get down as he put a little distance between them.
The footfalls grew closer and he turned to face them, not wanting to draw any attention to the girl hiding only a few metres away.
Six Lagrimari men appeared from around the bend in the path. The sergeant spotted him, and a hard smile spread across the man’s narrow face. Jack only had time to feel a small amount of satisfaction at the purple bruise around the sergeant’s eye before a kick to his midsection stole his breath and his consciousness.
The first snowflakes began to fall as Jasminda crept down the mountain. She followed the lantern light of the men who’d dragged away the unconscious Elsiran, staying a dozen metres behind. While she’d thought his tale fantastical, there was no doubting the six Lagrimari soldiers who'd appeared, or their viciousness toward him. She’d winced as they’d continued to strike him, long after he’d passed out.
He was an odd one, surely—his manner, his clothing, his perfect Lagrimari speech and accent. She’d never heard of an Elsiran who could speak the language. Even her mama had never been able to master it. And with his talk of crossing the Mantle, of course she’d thought him deranged. The magical border between the two lands followed the mountain range. The Mantle had stood for five hundred years and had only been breached seven times, each resulting in months or years of war.
Her papa had come over during the Sixth Breach. He’d been one of the soldiers stuck in Elsira as prisoners of war when the gap in the Mantle closed. After their release from prison, they’d been unable to obtain citizenship or find jobs, so the Lagrimari had formed settlements, shantytowns really, and eked out a meager living with the help of the Sisterhood. But Papa had met Mama and built a life with her. He never talked much of home or said anything about wanting to go back.
Jasminda had asked him about it, over and over, always afraid that as soon as the chance came, he would disappear into the mysterious country of his birth. He would reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere—sometimes with a chuckle, sometimes with an exasperated sigh, and occasionally with a haunted look in his eye that made her stop the questions.
The Seventh Breach took place the summer of her fifteenth year. The fighting had ended before her family even heard about it, isolated as their valley home was. Jasminda was glad they didn’t find out until the breach had closed. She believed Papa’s words that he would never leave her—believed them until two years ago when he’d been proved a liar.
But now her own two eyes bore witness of Lagrimari soldiers on her mountain. The odd Elsiran had been convinced he was still in Lagrimar. That meant he’d crossed the Mantle without even knowing it. Was this the start of another breach war, or something else entirely?
The snow fell steadily as the men wandered down the mountain. They took paths that led nowhere, then would double back and end up bickering about how whichever of them who was supposed to be leading the way was stupider than a fergot zinteroch, whatever that was. They used Lagrimari words Papa had never taught her.
The temperature seemed to drop another few degrees as they quarreled, and she pulled her coat tighter. A whispered prayer to the Queen Who Sleeps left her lips, asking for protection during the storm. Following the men had been an impulse, one born of guilt. If she had believed the odd Elsiran, could she have helped him avoid the men? There was little she could do for him now, not until her Song restored itself, but she was unable to walk away and leave him to his fate.
It made no sense; he was nobody to her. Just another Elsiran. Except . . . He had not stared at her or been cruel. He had, in fact, shielded her from those men, put himself in their path so they would not find her. Why would he do such a thing?
More than curiosity motivated her, more than guilt. What more she could not say, but she followed the soldiers for hours as the storm began in earnest, pelting her with cold. The direct route she’d planned to take would have had her home and warm in bed by now, but she did not change course, even as the men took wrong turn after wrong turn. Dawn poked its head over the jagged peaks, and with its arrival came the crowing of a rooster. The soldiers stopped short at a fork in the path. Jasminda knew that crow all too well.
The men conferred for a moment and chose to follow the crowing. The mountain made the sound seem closer than it really was, but the sign of civilization could not be mistaken. Emotion battled within her, relief to be headed out of the storm and alarm that these strangers were now on a path that led only one place.
Her home.
The Elsiran had regained his senses by now, and instead of being dragged behind the men like a sack of beets, he stumbled along, his hands tied in front of him. The men climbed down the mountain, leaving the storm behind bit by bit. The snow and ice would grow worse over the next few days, but it would stay at the higher elevations. The valley where her home lay would remain lush and green, protected from the harsh weather either by the mountains surrounding it, or some lingering spell of Papa’s, or perhaps a little of both. But there would be no way out. These men would be trapped in an area that was only a two-hour walk from end to end. They would find her cabin; there was no way to avoid it.
She doubled back and took a shortcut she usually avoided, though it had been a favorite of her brothers. It involved a very steep climb, required scaling several large boulders, and brought her far too near one of the caves that peppered the mountain. She ignored the yawning black opening and focused on beating the men to her cabin.
Awake now for over twenty-four hours, she pushed herself far beyond exhaustion. Snow made the rocks slippery, and she lost her footing and slid down an embankment, skinning her hands and forearms. She picked herself up, ignoring the injury, and raced to her cabin, confident she had at least twenty minutes before the soldiers arrived.
She hurried to the barn, where she found the goats already awake, agitated and jittery, no doubt because of the storm. They were like her, craving peace and quiet. Any interruption to their routine or change in the weather troubled the sensitive creatures. She checked their food then barred the outer barn door to keep them from wandering.
Her next stop was the cabin, where she set down her bag and retrieved her shotgun. She carried a pistol with her on trips to town, but the shotgun was her favorite. It was almost an antique but shot straight and true. She loaded it with the shells she’d purchased the day before, then sat on the porch steps. Waiting.
Do what you think you can’t. She’d wanted to stop going to town, hide in the valley, and never hear grol spat at her with hatred or contempt again. But he wouldn’t let her. And now, even if she had somewhere else to go, she wouldn’t have left. This was her home. The only thing she had in the world. She would face anything to protect it.
It wasn’t long before the telltale clomp of boots announced the men. She hadn’t gotten a good look at them in the dark, but the cool, morning light revealed dirty uniforms and even dirtier faces. All except for their leader, a man of skin and bone, his narrow face overshadowed by both a giant, curling mustache and a blackened eye. He was clean and well-groomed, hair parted and shining with pomade.
She stood as they approached, shotgun dangling almost casually from the crook of her arm. The Elsiran, barely standing, was held upright by a soldier.
The leader spoke first. “Pleasant morning to you, miss. I am Tensyn ol-Trador, Honorable Sergeant of His Majesty the True Father’s royal army. My men and I are in need of food and shelter. We must speak with your father or husband.” His voice was high and nasally, like a human rat.
“This is my home.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he glanced back at his men, his mouth twisting into what perhaps was meant to be a smile. “You are alone?”
“I want no trouble here,” she responded. The Elsiran’s head popped up, he frowned and squinted at her, his bruised face freezing once he recognized her. Astonishment and sorrow settled across his features, and his shoulders slumped.
Her Song had regenerated over the many hours of travel, but she struggled to catch hold of Earthsong while keeping her attention on the men before her. The power skittered out of her grasp.
“We have been caught in the mountains by the storm and cannot make it to the capital until it passes. We are tasked with transporting this spy to face the True Father’s judgment.”
“An Elsiran spy? In your uniform?”
“Yes, he had been spelled to look like one of us. I witnessed it wear off with my own eyes, miss. There are traitorous souls infecting our land, working with our enemies. The Singer responsible for this spell is soon to meet the World After, I think. But that is a matter for the True Father to sort out.”
The soldier holding the Elsiran kicked at his legs, causing him to crumple, face-first, to the ground. His upper body heaved as he drew in jagged breaths, but he did not cry out. Jasminda held her breath, keeping her face rigid to hide her horror. The prisoner rolled awkwardly to his knees, then slowly struggled back to his feet. The soldiers beside him snickered as he wobbled before finding his balance. His head shot up defiantly.
Her breath escaped in a rush. The man she’d met the day before on the mountain had been somewhat peculiar, but also gentle. Even with the uniform, he’d struck her as a painter or poet who had fallen upon thieves or been mauled by an animal. She hadn’t truly believed him to be a soldier. But now, the sharp lines of his face had turned savage. With his sculpted cheekbones, decisive chin, and that cold power in his eyes, she wondered how these soldiers ever thought they had him cowed. How could she have thought him anything but a warrior?
She forced her gaze back to the sergeant who looked at her expectantly. He’d been speaking, but she hadn’t been paying attention. “Excuse me?”
“May we shelter here?” His tobacco-stained smile sent a cold chill rolling through her.
“You and your men may stay in the barn. I will bring you food and water.”
A collective grumble arose from the other soldiers. Sergeant Tensyn’s grin fell away. “The barn? You must be joking?”
“The cabin is quite small, as I’m sure you can see. Plus, I am not in the habit of inviting strange men into my home.”
He took a step closer to the porch, bringing his eyes level with her chest. Though his gaze reached her face quickly, she did not miss the route it took. “Miss . . . ?”
She clenched her jaw. “Jasminda ul-Sarifor.”
“Miss Jasminda. As the True Father says, it is your duty to aid his representatives to the best of your ability. I’m afraid the barn will not do. For the prisoner, perhaps, but my men have been marching for days with little food or rest.” His eyes narrowed. “We have already learned there are traitors among us. Would not a loyal citizen answer the call of our great leader?”
As she had suspected, these men also believed they were in Lagrimar. If they thought her Elsiran they would likely kill her. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes briefly, and finally connected to Earthsong. With the energy pulsing into her, she could sense emotion and mood. It was not her strongest skill by far, but these men were easy to read.
Danger rolled off them, impatience, barely reined in malice. And determination. She would not be able to keep them out. Her best chance was to go along with their assumption of her loyalty, be vigilant, and bide her time. Though she knew little of her father’s land, being a Lagrimari may save her life, so that is what she would be.
She released her connection, adjusted her shotgun in her hands, all while glaring at the sergeant. “You may wait here for the storm to pass, but listen to me clearly. I will kill any man who touches me.”
He swallowed. The others shifted where they stood. Finally, Sergeant Tensyn bowed. “I give you my word on the
True Father that none of my men will harm you in any way. Food and shelter are all we ask.”
Her raw palms burned from gripping the metal of the gun, and her heart stuttered in her chest. The Elsiran looked on, an apology written on his face. She was sorry, as well.
“Well, come in then.”
CHAPTER TWO
It was not in Jack’s nature to despair. He’d been through his share of hardships in his twenty-two years—well, less than most but more than some, he suspected. The Seventh Breach in particular came to mind. Ninety-nine days of misery that had felt like a thousand. But even then, he’d been full of righteous rage, which had kept him from sinking into the depression so many of his men had succumbed to.
There was a desolation that sank into the hearts of people who’d lived through war. He saw it in the old-timers who fought in the tail end of the Fifth Breach, a war that lasted seventy years. But he’d also seen it in the faces of Lagrimari children in the villages the squad had passed through on his spy mission. Before his bloody disguise had worn off.
Now, a kind of melancholy he was not used to threatened to overtake him. He was back where he’d started—captured—and worse, the girl he’d tried to protect had been hauled into this mess. But he couldn’t allow himself to sink too far. Giving up was also not in his nature, not while there was breath in his body.
He wasn’t sure how many breaths he had left, though. Each one was more difficult than the last. He’d been trained to work through pain, to put it in a box in his mind, then put that box into another box until he had as many boxes as he needed to keep moving, keep fighting. He had lost count of his boxes, and they’d long stopped helping. Pain was all he knew, but even that meant he was still alive and still had a chance to escape.