by Penelope, L.
The brute to his left, a lout called Ginko, squeezed a brawny hand over Jack’s arm and pulled him forward, toward the girl’s quaint cabin, which sat under the shade of several tall trees. A barn stood off to the side with a chicken coop beyond it. Rows and rows of carefully tended plants stretched out on either side of the house, interrupted every so often by thickets of trees.
Jack had never been inside a Lagrimari home before and found himself surprised at its warmth and coziness. He had imagined they would all look like the dilapidated shacks of the POW settlements, but this was a proper home for a family. Quilts covered overstuffed couches and chairs. Colorful rugs hugged the floor, though they were currently being sullied by the mud tracked in on the soldiers’ boots. The mantelpiece featured children’s drawings, woodcarvings, a cuckoo clock, and a photograph of several people that he couldn’t make out from this distance.
The girl, Jasminda, pointed out two bedrooms and a washroom on the main floor for the men to use. Just beyond the living room was the entrance to the kitchen, through which a squat woodstove was visible. A staircase in the living room led to a closed door that she indicated belonged to her. When he looked back to the mantle, the photo had been turned facedown.
“And what of communications, Miss Jasminda?” Sergeant Tensyn asked. “Our radio equipment is badly damaged, and we’ve had no contact with our regiment.”
She held herself erect with a fearsome expression as she turned to answer. “No electricity. No radio or cables.”
“And telegrams?”
She shrugged. “In town. On the other side of the mountain.” She waved a hand vaguely in a circle then closed her eyes as if pained. Tensyn looked ready to continue his questioning when she broke in. “Sergeant, you hope to bring the spy in alive, yes?” She had not looked at Jack since that moment of recognition outside, and she did not glance at him now, yet he felt her attention on him all the same.
His whole body began to grow warmer, lighter. The odd sensation of Earthsong pulsated through him. He had only experienced it once before, when Darvyn had cast the spell to change Jack’s appearance before leading him through the crack in the Mantle into Lagrimar. The touch of magic stroked him intimately, like a brush of fingers across his skin. The soft vibration cascaded over his entire body, leaving him feeling weightless. Finally, the pain could fit in a box. He gasped, pulling in a deep breath, and fought the desire to fall to his knees with relief.
“There is a reward for the return of this man,” Tensyn said. “Alive.”
Jasminda wrinkled her nose. “He stinks of infection. Why has he not been healed?”
Fear speared Jack at her words. He’d seen many a man die of untreated infection from more minor wounds than his.
“All of my men have already given tribute to the True Father.”
“And their Songs have not returned?”
Tensyn’s expression sharpened, and Jack’s own brow furrowed at her question. “Tributes are irreversible, as I’m sure you know, Miss Jasminda. Once your Song is gone, it cannot be returned.”
All of the men were looking at her now, but her expression did not change. Her eyes flashed for a moment—perhaps with fear or anger—but it was gone so quickly Jack could not be sure.
“I had heard sometimes they did, that is all. This man will die in days if the infection continues.” She turned abruptly and stalked into the kitchen.
It was she who used Earthsong on him. Was it possible she was more than just a sympathetic Lagrimari? Her ignorance of the True Father’s tributes could mean she was a Keeper of the Promise like Darvyn. They often stayed in isolated places like this, free from the dictator’s edicts.
“Can you keep him alive?” Tensyn asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was clipped.
A cautious hope welled within Jack.
She slammed a basket of fruit on the kitchen table and retrieved more food from the pantry, still clutching her shotgun. The other soldiers, except for Tensyn and Ginko, sat and began eating without ceremony. Jasminda grabbed a bowl, filled it with water, and gathered towels and a knife.
“Back porch,” she said curtly. “The floors in here are already filthy.”
“My apologies, miss,” Tensyn said with a genteel bow. “I’ll have my men be more careful with the state of your home.”
The sergeant motioned to Ginko, who pushed Jack forward. His injuries screamed, but he remained silent. Jasminda’s lips pursed and she spun around, leading the way out the back to the porch. She motioned to the top step with her chin. Jack was pushed down until he sprawled across the stairs, gasping for breath.
“Untie him,” she said, staring at his lashed wrists. “I need to check his wounds.”
Ginko pulled a knife from his boot to cut the rope. The sharp edges of the pain had been bound by whatever spell she’d sung a few moments before, but the weakness in his limbs couldn’t be ignored. The lack of food and water, the days of walking and hiding, had all left him teetering on the edge of his endurance. She too had deep circles under her eyes, and he wondered what she’d been doing up on the mountain.
As she settled next to him, his awareness of her pulsed like an extra sense. She smelled of cool mountain air, pine, and something light and feminine that he couldn’t place. He closed his eyes and inhaled her nearness, allowing it to soothe and calm him. He imagined himself far away, in the barracks he’d called home since childhood or maybe even farther away, floating on his back in the Delaveen Ocean, the sun warming his face.
The vision faded when her fingertips grazed his forehead.
“Does that hurt?” she whispered, her voice gentle. He opened his eyes to find her closer than he’d expected. Unable to find his voice, he shook his head.
“Take that off,” she said, pointing to his shirt. He had the absurd desire to chuckle. How many times had he longed to hear a woman ordering him to take off his shirt? What he’d felt of her touch so far had been very soft . . . She must be soft all over. He’d never imagined a Lagrimari girl could be so lovely. The coils of her hair called to his fingertips and—
Tensyn’s oily voice broke through Jack’s musings. “Has your tribute day been scheduled?” He and Ginko stood in the doorway behind him, and Jack hated having anyone at his back. That kind of sloppiness had literally been beaten out of him. He blamed the pain and the fatigue.
His bruised fingers faltered on the tiny buttons as he shrugged awkwardly out of his shirt. Once again, she assessed his injuries impassively, though he suspected things were quite a bit worse than yesterday when she’d seen him.
“No,” she said, answering Tensyn.
“And your family?”
“Dead.” The unexpressive mask of her face slipped for an instant, and he glimpsed a cavernous well of grief in her eyes.
“May they find serenity in the World After,” Tensyn intoned.
Jasminda repeated the blessing. Jack’s eyes met hers briefly before she looked away. “Lie back,” she told him.
She dipped a cloth in the water and ran it across his chest, cleaning away the blood and grime. He suppressed a groan at the incredible coolness of the water on his skin, relishing in it until she stopped suddenly. He craned his neck down to see what had caught her attention. The bullet wound was far worse today, the skin black with infection, blood and pus seeping out.
The screen door slammed. He looked up to find the two of them on the porch alone.
“What is your name?” She pitched her voice low, speaking directly into his ear in perfect Elsiran as she continued cleaning his chest.
He took hold of her wrist, stilling her hand. Even the former POWs spoke only a broken version of Elsiran. How had she been able to learn it when no one in Lagrimar spoke the language? She shook free of his grip and continued cleaning his chest and face. Inside, the soldiers chortled, ensuring they would not be overheard.
“Jack,” he whispered, scanning her face desperately. “Are you a Keeper of the Promise?”
She frowned, dartin
g a look at the door. “No. I don’t know what that is.”
“How can you—”
“This is not Lagrimar.” The door opened again, and Ginko emerged, taking a stance with his arms folded while he chewed on a stick of jerky.
Jasminda switched back to Lagrimari, speaking quietly. “I need to cut away the dead flesh from the wound. Otherwise the infection will kill you.”
He nodded faintly, still trying to process her last words. If they weren’t in Lagrimar, that meant they had all passed through the Mantle without knowing it. He’d been on home soil the whole time. That must be why she’d acted as if he were deranged.
Escape was so close. The despair threatening to pull him under faded away like mist in the sun.
“My Earthsong is not strong. I can’t both stop the bleeding and dull the pain.”
He met her worried gaze and smiled, though the action reopened one of the cuts on his lip. She frowned, giving him that look that meant she thought he was delirious again. Perhaps he was.
“The only way to the other side is through it,” he said. She blinked, staring at him blankly before the corners of her mouth rose a tiny fraction. He hadn’t seen her smile yet, and even this hint of one lightened him. She closed her eyes, and soon the warm buzz of Earthsong poured into him like a fizzy cola. He opened the largest box he could to tuck away the pain and imagined Jasminda’s smile.
Jasminda lay awake in bed, straining to hear any movement in the house. Had she slept at all? She couldn’t be sure. Dull moonlight filtered in through Mama’s frilly curtains. It was several hours to dawn, so she must have dozed a little. Her last full night of sleep had been days ago, before she left for town and this nightmare began. Exhaustion hollowed her bones. Her Earthsong had been depleted again by helping Jack. She’d wanted to keep some in reserve to better monitor the soldiers, but the Elsiran’s wounds were severe. Though her Song was too weak to effect a complete healing, the infected flesh was gone, and he would live another day.
Her muscles tensed and she held her breath, listening. Was that the creak of a floorboard? Gripping the shotgun she’d taken to bed in one hand, she reached under her pillow for her father’s hunting knife. Another, smaller blade was already strapped to her thigh.
She rose, seized with the desire to check on Jack. The men had left him tied to the porch, saying even the barn was too good for the likes of him. She wrapped herself in a robe, hiding the shotgun in its folds, and slipped down the stairs. Snores rumbled from behind the doors of both bedrooms. Pushing down the anger at having strangers around her parents’ and brothers’ possessions, she crept through the kitchen to peer out the window.
Jack lay on his back shivering, hands bound in front of him, feet tied to the porch railing. She doubled back to the main room to grab a quilt, then went out and draped his shuddering body. He didn’t appear conscious, but when she began to move away, he grabbed her hand through the blanket.
“Thank you,” he said in Elsiran. She cast a glance into the quiet shadows hugging the porch.
“They didn’t feed you, did they? You must be hungry,” she whispered, drawing the quilt closer around his neck.
“Mmm,” he groaned, leaning his cheek against her hand. His skin was cold and clammy, face drawn and gaunt, and yet she could not pull away. She brushed his forehead and ran her fingers through his short hair. He did not flinch from her touch, but sank into it. His hair was like the soft bristles of a brush, his expression serene as she stroked his head. The fierceness in his face had once again been replaced by a soulful calm.
Such a contradiction, this Elsiran. Neither her skin nor her magic frightened him, yet he had more reason than most to hate Lagrimari. Of course, she wasn’t Lagrimari, but she wasn’t truly Elsiran, either. She forced herself to pull away.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.
She rooted around the dark pantry to produce a tin of jerky and some dried fruit. She returned to give him a few strips of jerky, then pulled up a loose board in the floor where she could hide the food.
“You can get to this when no one’s looking. You’ll need to build up your strength.”
“We are truly in Elsira?” His accent was lilting and formal, and it put her in mind of her mama’s, a good deal more refined than those of the townsfolk.
“We are.”
His forehead crinkled in confusion. “But you are Lagrimari?”
“My papa was a settler; Mama was Elsiran. She was in the Sisterhood. That’s how they met.”
“I’ve never heard of such a pairing.”
Jasminda shook her head, expression grim. “She fell pregnant, and her family disowned her. Papa found this place and built a home for them.”
She stroked the board beneath her feet, cut and nailed with her father’s two hands, a structure that proclaimed a love that never should have been. That even now, twenty years later, was not accepted.
“We’re so far out, the Prince Regent doesn’t even send tax collectors. He must not know we exist.” She ducked her head, unable to stop thinking of her family in the plural. Their lives were etched into the walls and the floors; even the smell of the air brought them back to her. She clenched her jaw to keep the emotion at bay.
Jack laid his hand on hers, and her skin tingled at the contact. The intensity in his expression dissolved her creeping sorrow, bringing instead a pang of yearning. She did not touch people. She barely even spoke to people. She was either here alone with no one but the animals as audience, or in town armoring herself against the cutting stares. The tingle in her hand turned into a warm heat that threatened to spread. With great effort, she pulled away from the impossible temptation of his body.
“How far is it to—”
He paused as a floorboard inside the house groaned under the weight of heavy footsteps. Jasminda froze as another floorboard creaked. She grabbed her shotgun, scooted away, and crept down the steps into the yard. The moonlight cast heavy shadows on the yard and she crouched beside a cherry tree, holding her breath.
Two soldiers darkened the doorway. They stepped onto the porch. One nudged Jack with his foot, and Jack moaned, pretending to be asleep. The men chuckled to themselves and leaned over him.
“You’re sure the sergeant is out?” one of the men said. Ginko, she thought his name was.
“Thank the Father for thick walls and a soft bed. He sleeps like he’s in his mother’s arms,” the second man said. Based on the outline of his large, misshapen head, Jasminda thought this was the one called Fahl. He’d eaten the last of the boiled eggs earlier, before she’d even had one.
Fahl squatted down and ran his hand across Jack’s body. The action took an impossibly long time, and Jasminda’s stomach hollowed. When he moved to loosen his own belt, she fought back a gasp. They were going to whip Jack.
“The bitch is upstairs. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather . . .” Ginko said.
“I’m thinking the sergeant has her in his sights. Besides, she looks like she’s got a mean scratch. No. I’ll make sure this one won’t make a peep, and who’s to care what state he’s left in? What Tensyn don’t know won’t hurt him.”
The two snickered, and Ginko scratched his meaty head, looking back toward the house.
Understanding dawned on Jasminda like a blow to the face. She had worried for herself, expected trouble from these men seeking her out in the middle of the night, but she’d never considered Jack’s vulnerability. Never considered how depraved these men might actually be. She could not sit by and allow him to be violated, though she was not sure what could be done to stop it.
They’d said the sergeant wouldn’t approve. Maybe if she woke him, he would stop this. But she couldn’t be sure, and going into his room at night could put her in the same predicament. She gripped her shaking hands and prayed to the Queen Who Sleeps for a solution.
The soft bleat of a doe rang out from the barn. The storm on the mountains was still
making the goats uneasy. An idea took hold. What she needed was a distraction, and quickly.
Jasminda crouched, setting her shotgun down at the base of the tree, and felt around for a stone or branch. After finding a good-sized rock, she threw it with all her might. It sailed across the yard to hit the chicken coop. Once the men turned toward the sound, she raced around the front of the house, taking the long way to the barn.
The first distraction bought her a minute, but now she needed something larger to really draw the men away. She slid open the well-oiled barn door. Instead of nestling on the floor sleeping, many of the goats were awake and stumbling around, agitated. She hoped that, for once, the stubborn animals wouldn’t need much cajoling. Luckily for her, the buck was eager to be out of doors and the does were of a mind to follow him. Grabbing the shovel, she nudged the herd along, increasing the pressure on their backsides until they bleated in disapproval.
The goats operated almost as a hive mind—when one was upset, they all were—so Jasminda continued poking and prodding at them, pushing them from the barn. Their discontent grew louder. Whines and cries pierced the night air. She’d often cursed the herd’s fickle temperament, but tonight it was a blessing.
She couldn’t see the back porch from where she stood, but an oil lamp flickered on inside the house. The goats’ racket would keep the soldiers awake, and Ginko and Fahl wouldn’t have the opportunity to hurt Jack.
She slipped into the garden shadows as the front door opened and the smallest soldier, Wargi, stumbled out. The sergeant’s voice carried over the yowls of the animals as he barked orders. The remaining two soldiers, Pymsyn and Unar, followed Wargi out to investigate what had spooked the goats.
She stifled a laugh at the way the men floundered, chasing after the scattering herd. They wouldn’t get much sleep trying to track down each animal. If they asked her in the morning, she’d say she slept through it. She’d been listening to them her whole life, after all.
When she returned to the backyard, she retrieved her shotgun and found Jack as she’d left him. He opened his eyes and the moonlight made them sparkle. She knelt and pulled the blanket down from his chin to check him out, not sure what she was even looking for.