Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1)

by Penelope, L.

  The energy moving them was benevolent. She could never have sung a spell strong enough to lift two adults into the air, but at least she could sense that the powerful, unknown Singer had no ill intentions. Her relief was short-lived. As she stretched her reach further, she brushed against the awareness of several others nearby. She could feel their presence but all other emotion was blocked. Tension tightened her belly once again.

  The avalanche had destroyed much of the physical path. The spell carried them to where it began again, farther up the mountain, and set them down on a patch of snowy ground. The space was protected from the storm by a sort of bubble, similar to the one she’d made to protect them from the palmsalt, but this one was much larger and stronger. While she couldn’t see anyone, she felt people close-by.

  Jack stirred, pulling her attention away from their surroundings. She brushed snow off his face and let out an anxious breath when he blinked his eyes.

  “Welcome back,” she said.

  “Delighted to be here.” He frowned. Flexed his arms and legs.

  She crawled closer, anxious. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  A brilliant smile spread across his face. He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  She studied his energy and found his wounds completely healed. Bones sound, blood stanched, the hole above his heart had not even left so much as a scar from what she could tell.

  The darkness around them moved and shadows broke away from the rock wall, stepping into the weak circle of light. Two men and two women, all Lagrimari and armed with rifles, came forward. Jasminda scrambled back, her hand diving into her coat pocket where she’d stored her pistol. Jack too produced a revolver—the sergeant’s—holding it at his side. The Lagrimari weren’t pointing their weapons but held them at the ready. They weren’t soldiers; they wore no uniforms. Their clothes were made from tough, gritty-looking material similar to burlap. The men and women themselves seemed tough and gritty, as well. Jasminda tensed as the group regarded them with hard gazes.

  Footsteps crunched in the snow behind the Lagrimari. A small head appeared and pushed its way to the center.

  “I told you to go back to the cave,” one of the women spit out as a little boy pulled away from her grasp. The woman’s face was badly scarred on one side with jagged lines. The boy was around six or seven with a shock of black hair and round cheeks. He smiled brightly revealing two missing front teeth.

  Jasminda pointed her pistol to the ground, peering at the boy.

  “Well, hello there,” Jack said in Lagrimari. “Are you the welcome wagon?”

  The boy beamed at Jack, who smiled back uncertainly. Jasminda watched the exchange, confused. What exactly was going on?

  “He’s an incorrigible child,” the scarred woman spat.

  “He is only trying to counteract your pigheadedness, Rozyl,” another voice said from the darkness. An old woman stepped into the light, her face leathered and wrinkled. She was gray-haired and stooped, and wore a ragged coat of matted fur. “It’s too cold out here for all this bother. Pssht. Put those away.” She waved her hand, and the armed men and women strapped their rifles to their backs and retreated into the shadows. Rozyl was the last to do so—she scowled at Jasminda before she went.

  “Come, children. Come inside where it’s warm.” The old woman placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, Osar. We wouldn’t want our guests to feel unwelcome.”

  “Who . . . who are you?” Jasminda asked.

  “I am Gerda ul-Tahlyro. This little one is Osar, always trying to do good deeds.” She smiled down at the child, who seemed a bit abashed.

  Jasminda could only stare at the boy. “That was his spell?”

  “Oh yes. He’s the strongest of us all.”

  “They don’t need to know that,” Rozyl growled from somewhere in the darkness.

  “Osar has already said these two are safe. What reason have we not to trust them?”

  “I don’t trust anyone.” Footsteps crunched away. The cave entrance must be there, hidden in the darkness. When the last footsteps disappeared, Jasminda stood, taking Jack’s offered hand.

  He was peering at Gerda, his brows drawn. Jasminda expected him to say something, but when he didn’t, she offered her hands to Gerda, palms out in greeting. “I’m Jasminda ul-Sarifor, and this is Jack . . .” She waited for him to provide his surname, but he remained silent.

  Gerda squinted at her outstretched hands. Jasminda blinked rapidly, unsure of her mistake. Though she’d never actually had anyone greet her properly in Elsira, she hadn’t thought this Lagrimari woman would shrink from her touch.

  “In Lagrimar, they greet one another by bringing a hand to the forehead,” Jack said, reaching for Gerda’s right hand and bringing it up to touch his head. Jasminda swallowed and dropped her hands, heat rising in her neck and cheeks.

  “Sarifor, you say?” Gerda said, cocking her head to the side. “Any relation to Dansig ol-Sarifor?”

  The world fell away for an instant as an image of Papa’s smiling face crossed her vision. She blinked past it and forced herself to breathe. “You knew my father?”

  Gerda nodded. “Long ago.” She turned and disappeared into the shadows. “Come along now. There’s a warm fire inside.”

  Utterly shaken, Jasminda moved to grab the bag and lantern, but Jack’s quick fingers plucked them away first. He chuckled at her exasperation, but the expression did not reach his eyes.

  “What do you think?” she whispered.

  He watched the storm blustering just on the edge of their little invisible wall of protection. “I’ll go first,” he said, then grabbed hold of her hand and charged ahead.

  She was glad for his hand in hers. The mountain caves and tunnels frightened her. They had been strictly off-limits growing up, and even her intrepid brothers had listened to Papa’s words and stayed away. Only half a dozen cave openings lined the mountain path, and her family passed them countless times on their way to and from town. But they had never ventured in. Something about the gaping openings sent off danger signals. On a primal level, they felt like places to be avoided.

  Though Jack had been expecting them to use the tunnels to shortcut the storm, she’d had no real intention of doing so. Her plan, such as it was, had been to hope the storm abated early or, if it didn’t, wait it out at the mouth of one of the caves. Once he stepped inside one, he would no doubt feel the danger and agree that waiting and going over the mountain was the best option

  But he did not shudder the way she did as they entered. He gave no evidence that his skin was crawling with the oppressive atmosphere in the darkened cave. With each step, the temperature grew steadily warmer, but cold goose bumps abraded her skin.

  A short tunnel opened to a huge chamber many stories high. The interior was wholly unexpected; instead of the rough surface of rock, the walls and floor were glassy and smooth, but not slippery. It was as if they had been blown in the forge of a glassmaker. They reflected the lamplight, illuminating the entire space. She ran her fingertips across the strange rock, then jerked them back as if stung. There had been no pain, but she struggled to calm her rioting belly. Her breath pulsed in short gasps.

  Jack turned, concern on his face. He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm fully around her. “What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t feel that? The wrongness of this place? It’s like . . .” The lifeless eyes of the man she’d killed swam into her vision. The cave smelled of pungent earth and stale air, but underneath it all, she smelled blood. She considered connecting to Earthsong to explore the foreboding, but the idea caused a ripple of nausea to overwhelm her. That same instinct screaming the danger of the caves told her that this was not a place for magic. For the first time ever, the thought of using Earthsong filled her with dread.

  “We can just wait here for the storm to end,” Jack said, his warm breath on her ear pulling her back from the edge of panic. She focused on him, his arm around her, the strength in his body now that he was no longer i
n pain. He was a solid thing to hold on to, and she leaned into his sturdy chest. “I think these Lagrimari are Keepers of the Promise. Rebels against the True Father.”

  Her breathing eased, allowing his words to sink in. “They’ve crossed the Mantle . . . How? Why?”

  He shook his head. “Perhaps they knew of the cracks. As to why . . .”

  Off to the right, another tunnel was lit by a flickering fire. Voices buzzed from within. Jack grew quiet as they approached and paused at the entry to the small cave. A well-tended fire roared in the center, sleeping packs spiraling out from it. A handful of careworn women, each huddled with a small child or two, looked up at her. Osar sat with a slightly older girl near the fire. Rozyl and the others from outside stood grouped together in the corner, hovering over Gerda who sat on the ground with two other elders.

  “Come,” Gerda called, her voice cracked. “No use skulking about in the corridors.”

  Jasminda surveyed the two-dozen Lagrimari and approached. She had never seen so many people who looked like her in the same place. But each face she peered into held a sort of quiet desperation, a somberness that hinted at a life of struggle. Except for Rozyl’s. She merely glared. Jasminda set her jaw and glared back, unsure as to the source of the hostility. The woman’s gaze dropped to Jack’s arm around her shoulder, and Jasminda tensed. He was the only Elsiran here.

  “Have a seat,” Gerda said.

  Jasminda eyed the ground suspiciously but had little choice unless she wanted to stand for the foreseeable future. They settled on the ground in front of the elders, but Jack kept his body turned to the side, continually scanning the room. Rozyl and her crew moved a few metres away.

  “This is Turwig ol-Matigor and Lyngar ol-Grimor.” Gerda pointed to the old men.

  “You are Keepers of the Promise?” Jack asked with a sidelong glance.

  “We are,” Gerda said. Rozyl groaned.

  “Did you know my father, as well?” Jasminda asked the men. A look passed between them that she couldn’t decipher.

  “It was many years ago, child. I can hardly recall,” said Turwig, whose kind face held a grandfatherly quality.

  The one called Lyngar had deep lines etched into his face, his perpetual scowl making her wonder if he was related to Rozyl. “I can. He was a scoundrel. He abandoned his regiment. Unforgivable!”

  Jasminda tensed and focused on the unpleasant man. “He was captured in the Sixth Breach. A prisoner of war.” She forced the words out through clenched teeth.

  “Is that what he told you?” Lyngar snorted. Gerda shot him a murderous glare, and he looked away, not exactly chastened, more like he’d grown bored with the conversation.

  “He journeyed to the World After two years ago along with my brothers . . . to join my mother, who was Elsiran.” She said the last as a challenge, to see how he would react. Lyngar’s head whipped toward her before his gaze shot to Jack.

  “So that is why you cavort with them.”

  Jasminda moved to stand, wishing she could throttle the old man or, at the very least, get away from him. Jack’s hand on her arm stilled her, and she sat stewing in rage. The fire was either far too hot or her blood was boiling.

  “Why have you brought these people across the Mantle?” Jack said, motioning to the women and children in the center of the room.

  “It will fall soon,” Gerda said simply.

  “Yes, and the Elsiran side will be no safer than Lagrimar if the True Father makes it across.”

  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. “Life in Lagrimar has become unbearable. That is why we’ve come. To seek better lives for these young ones.”

  “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 young mother screaming. 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 turned toward 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. It’s either the mines, the tribute 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. The tribute 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.”

  “And the daughters?” she whispered.

  “They never leave the harems,” Rozyl said, staring coldly.

  Jasminda’s stomach churned violently.

  “He . . .” Jack sputtered. “With his own daughters?”

  “All the True Father’s children are sterile,” Lyngar hissed. “Not that it is any less disgusting.”

  “The suffering is immense,” Gerda said. “There are many who cannot bear it. That is why we left.”

  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. Her stomach churned as nausea threatened again.

  “How do you know about the Keepers, boy?” Turwig asked Jack.

  Beside her, Jack swallowed and cleared his throat. “After the Seventh Breach, I was stationed at the Eastern Base—”

  “You’re a soldier?” Rozyl asked, her voice an octave higher than before. She rolled her eyes and pounded the wall of the cave.

  Jack waited out her mini-tantrum before continuing. “When we transferred the POWs to the settlement, as per the terms of the treaty, I met a young man called Darvyn.” More than one person in the cave sucked in a breath. “You know him?”

  Gerda silenced everyone with a glance. “Go on.”

  A 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. An
d the True Father will be unleashed on us all.”

  Jasminda shivered. The faces of the Lagrimari were pensive.

  “And the boy’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 needed to rest after the journey and the healing.

  “The boy 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 he was to them. “You know this Darvyn?” she asked.

  Turwig nodded. “Since he was a small child.”

  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?”

  “Make them listen. Prepare to fight,” Jack said.

  Lyngar appeared dubious.

  “You should rest, now,” Gerda said, echoing Jasminda’s thoughts. “You’re welcome to our fire—”

  “No,” Rozyl broke in. “I don’t care how strong Osar’s Song is. They’ll sleep in one of the adjacent caves.” Her suspicion bored into Jasminda.

  “Rozyl—”

  “It’s fine, Gerda. We don’t want to be any trouble,” Jasminda said.

  “We keep our weapons,” said Jack.

  Rozyl sneered. “As will we.”

  Jasminda was tired of the attitude. They’d done nothing to this woman, to any of them, to cause such distrust. Perhaps living in Lagrimar made one overly cautious, but the bitterness was undeserved.

  Exhaustion seeped deep into her bones, as well. She would take sleep any way she could get it. Jack led the way back to the outer cave and to a smaller cavern a hundred metres away. It was cooler than the refugees’ camp, and Jasminda missed the warmth of the fire. The heat had dampened the anxiety of being inside the mountain, but now it was back full force, tightening her chest and constricting her airways. She focused on her breathing as Jack checked every inch of the cavern until he appeared satisfied it met his standards.