The men finished pouring, and someone shouted. “All right, light it up!”
An Earth Song hummed around the circle, and each slave’s collar clicked open. Kesia felt something at the front of her throat slide out of place, giving her just enough room to Sing.
Most of the women were Air Singers, their Voices tripping and trampling over each other to increase the pressure in the vent below the furnace. Kesia’s jaw would have dropped in shock if it could; how did so many Voices compete with each other this way? All this Singing felt twisting and cluttered and wrong, like a crowd of people elbowing each other.
“Hey!” One of the workers waved a hand at her. The Air Singers continued despite the interruption. “Heat the air.”
Kesia opened her mouth tentatively and Sang, her Voice discordant against the higher-pitched trills of the Air Singers. She felt like the Song was going to run away with her at any moment, confused by the other Voices in the room, but she also felt the heat in the vents increase and shoot through the furnace. A sweat broke across her brow as the incessant din filled her ears.
She felt the truth of her situation slide through her like cold water. She was not a captive; she was a slave.
Thirteen
Miren
A hand shook Miren awake. “Up, get up. Let’s go.”
Miren pushed herself upright, her ear aching from using her pack as a pillow. A few paces away, Arten was scraping dirt over the dying embers of the fire while Hana handed Ori a canteen. The boy’s eyes were drooping with fatigue. The interior of the barn was still dark, but the faint light of early dawn peeked through a window. It had likely been only a few hours since she had gone to sleep. Since she had made the deal with Liviya.
She glanced at Davri, who lay facing away from her, his pack under his head. He had not spoken to her after making the deal.
Now he sat up slowly, looking ragged. He clearly wasn’t used to early mornings.
Miren checked her own pack. The revolver was still there, plus all her bullets and black powder. She checked her meager pouch of coin and counted it out. Everything was there.
She looked up to see Liviya staring at her. “Missing something? Or don’t you trust us?”
Miren glared back and began folding her bedroll. “Where are we headed?”
“North.” Liviya slung her pack on her shoulder. “Heading west a bit.”
“That’ll take us farther from the coast.”
“So we’ll be less likely to be found.”
Miren paused. “You think Cheliem will be looking for you?”
“Not just us.” Liviya nodded at Davri.
Ori pulled on Liviya’s skirt. “Nana, I’m hungry.”
“We’ll stop to eat in a short while.” Liviya rubbed his head gently. “We need to get out of sight first.”
The barn they had stayed in overlooked a small town wedged among some hills. Despite the scant light, Miren could see the faint movement of a few figures. Their party would be easy to spot once the sun rose.
She glanced to the south, noting the small woods they had run through last night. Any guards or patrols that Cheliem might have sent must have headed east, as Liviya had said. The farther northwest they traveled, the safer they would be.
Still, Miren couldn’t shake the notion that this was the wrong direction. Kesia would be along the coast somewhere. They would soon be farther from Kesia than when they’d started.
Just for a few days, she told herself. Once they’re on a boat, we’ll know where to go.
The group fell into a loose line behind Liviya as she led them back down the rise and onto a narrow dirt road. Arten and Hana stayed close, carrying Ori or holding his hand, while Miren and Davri trailed behind.
Farms were smaller here. The land was too uneven to support a whole field, so many farms had patches of crops—cornstalks, carrots, and beans—on whatever surface was available. Cows and sheep grazed on green slopes, and herders waved amiably in their direction.
The day wore on slowly as they walked. The wind was still cool this time of year, but as the sun rose, Miren soon began to sweat. The group didn’t talk much. Perhaps it was nerves, but she wondered if she and Davri were considered liabilities by the rest of the family. A larger party would naturally draw more attention.
A few times, Miren caught Liviya glancing back at them, perhaps checking if they had run off. Did she need Davri more than she had let on? Or was she still suspicious? Maybe she thought Miren and Davri would sneak away and turn them in to Cheliem.
Would that work? Would Cheliem be willing to help them if they returned his missing planters? Would it be enough to convince him to spare Davri and find Kesia?
Miren felt a pulse of shame. It wouldn’t work, and Miren wasn’t sure she had it in her to try even if she thought there was a chance.
Davri didn’t sign to her all morning, perhaps still angry with her for making this decision, though he hadn’t argued or threatened to leave. Perhaps he knew she was right and was just being stubborn. She considered asking, but she didn’t want to be the first to break the silence.
The sun crested overhead, but Liviya insisted that they continue walking. “The bigger our lead, the safer we’ll be,” she said.
Ori fussed until his father handed him a piece of jerky and picked him up. Miren’s feet were aching in her boots, but she didn’t complain.
Just past sunhigh, Miren noticed Liviya murmuring something to Hana, who nodded and slowed her pace to match Miren’s.
Hana smiled at Miren. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Hana.”
Miren forced a smile. “Miren.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your sister.”
Miren nodded. “Thank you.”
“For what it’s worth, I think she’ll be all right.”
Miren glanced at Hana. “I just mean that she’s a Fire Singer,” Hana said. “They’re very valuable.”
Miren wracked her mind for a change of subject. “Is it true that Liviya knows so much about the military?”
Hana blinked in surprise. “Yes,” she said. “At least, I think she does. I know her contract was sold to Third Circle Lord Barwick, although I don’t know much about how her time was spent until she reached us.”
“How did the three of you coordinate the escape?” Miren asked.
“Liviya knew I sometimes would go into town to buy fish and meat. She found a job with a local fish merchant. Later, I did the shopping as an excuse to see her. Apparently she learned that the fish merchant was doing business in Avi’or. She convinced him to smuggle us along with his wares.”
“It’s legal to do business in Avi’or?”
“No, definitely not, but certain goods fetch a high price there, so some consider it worth the risk. Liviya threatened to report him unless he helped us.”
“Mama,” Ori called from Arten’s shoulders. “Can I have some water?”
“Yes, sweet.” Hana took the canteen from her hip and tipped it into Ori’s mouth. Some of the water dribbled from his chin and soaked into Arten’s shirt.
“Thank you.”
“Swallow before you speak, dear,” Hana said.
Ori made a show of tipping his head back and making a gulp sound.
“You mentioned someone named Cale,” Miren said to Arten.
He nodded. “My brother. His contract was sold when our parents’ were. The Third Circle lady he works for has a reputation for . . . well, she’s not kind to her workers.”
Arten glanced away and, for a brief moment, looked much older than he was. How many sleepless nights had he spent worrying?
Miren felt a stab of empathy. Then she realized that they might be playing for her sympathies. Had Liviya told Hana to try to win her over?
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, her tone brisk. She slowed her pace.
Arten glanced at her in surprise but said nothing. He and Hana continued ahead of her without another word.
If they were trying to manipu
late her, it wouldn’t work. She couldn’t become sidetracked with this family. She couldn’t come to care too much. Her first priority had to be Kesia. No matter what. This group might be useful, but if a better opportunity to find her sister presented itself, she would take it.
* * *
They didn’t stop until sunset, the sky a bright orange as cloud cover rolled in over the western ridge. Liviya led them off the road and around a shelf of rock at the edge of a cornfield, out of sight of a town to the east.
Liviya passed out cured sausages. “We’re going to have to share,” Liviya said, “if we want to make it through the next two days.”
It felt like a trick, but the truth was that Miren was already running low on the rations she carried.
Davri signed Thank you and accepted the sausage.
Miren hesitated, then took one. “Thank you,” she echoed. She took a small bite. It was bland but fatty, a welcome change from the dried meats she and Kesia ate at home.
Miren looked over at Davri, who was avoiding her gaze.
“Can I see your map, please?” she asked.
He didn’t respond. For a moment, she thought he was going to ignore her completely—he had done a splendid job of it all day—but he finished his sausage and reached in his pack for the map.
She unrolled it and spotted Cheliem’s town, Isakio, and the forest they had passed through, and deduced that they must be just west of a small town called Sheber. Nothing was labeled as a military base or outpost.
Davri was staring at her grimly. She did not care if he was angry, but it felt foolish to keep him at arm’s length if it was going to make him cross. If he left, she would lose her bargaining chip with Liviya.
Miren leaned forward and whispered, “Listen, the deal with Liviya is our best option right now. We have no idea where to go, no one we can ask, and the Crown’s Guard is looking for you. If we want to find Kesia, we need to do this.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. I’m not convinced Liviya knows what she claims.
“She knows more than we do,” Miren said.
Which means we wouldn’t know if she were lying.
Miren’s temper flared. “My mother has not sent a single letter to us since she left. We don’t know what happens to Fire Singers. Maybe they’re put in the thickest combat because the military thinks that’s where they’ll do the most damage. And what if Kesia—”
Davri motioned for her to stop. We can disagree on things, but we shouldn’t work against each other. We need to make decisions together.
Miren paused. As irritating as she found him, he was the only one whose motives she trusted.
“Fine,” she said.
He nodded, satisfied.
* * *
The farther they traveled, the more Miren realized that the rest of Kaleo was nothing like Crescent Bay.
Everything was ragged edges and cliffs. She saw broken shelves of stone and odd chunks missing from hillsides. A miniature canyon was carved by a stream, and small eddies muddied the edges. At one point, the road was suddenly broken in two, as though some great force had split it ages ago; a large ramp had been built to allow for carts to cross.
Their pace was slower today. Liviya couldn’t quite hide a limp in her left leg, but she insisted that it wasn’t a long enough journey to spend coin on a horse and cart.
Ori did not walk. He was either sprinting ahead of the group, chasing butterflies and the occasional lizard, or he was sitting in the middle of the road wailing until his father scooped him up and put him on his shoulders. When the boy caught Miren staring at him, he would duck under his father’s shoulder or hide in his mother’s skirts. Miren tried not to let it bother her; Kesia had always been better with children.
“We’ll be at the river tomorrow,” Liviya said over a lean dinner of freshly caught rabbit. “We’ll spend the day looking for a proper boat to take us to the coast.”
Davri motioned Miren to step away from the others.
She followed him. “What?” she asked.
He turned her around so that he was facing away from the rest of the group; he didn’t want them to read his signs. I’m not sure I can do what Liviya wants.
Miren frowned. “What do you mean?”
He looked around, his brow knitted, his shoulders hunched. I don’t really know how to Sing.
“What?” she said. “Of course you do. You got us to Isakio.”
He shook his head. I was never trained! I can do a few things—like move a boat on the open sea—but I’m not sure how to do more. There was no one to teach me, and I am unpracticed.
“You—you didn’t practice? Never?”
Davri winced at her tone. My father didn’t like it when I practiced.
In Crescent Bay, young people who received a Voice at Skyflame were trained by someone older from the village. Air and Water Singers were shown how to assist the fishermen or irrigate crops; Earth Singers tilled the land or learned blacksmithing; Fire Singers, as they were so rare, were mostly charged with the lighthouse, though no one outside of Miren’s family had earned a Voice of Fire in generations.
Miren thought of the days after the Skyflame ceremony where Kesia had found her Voice. She remembered with embarrassment the hours she had spent sulking, dodging chores until she found that she could avoid pity by doing extra, and she remembered her mother demonstrating the Song to light the lighthouse lamp.
Miren had loved that Song. A simple few notes would have lighted the wick, but this was a true song, the melody longer, the notes carefully shaped. It was not a grand display of Singing; if anything, Miren thought it sounded humble.
Of the other new Singers that year, most were excited to join the adults on the water. Miren couldn’t remember Davri among them.
Davri had never learned. He had never even practiced.
Miren could not fathom it. What a waste, she wanted to say, but she bit back the words. Perhaps it made some sense that nobles like Darius would find Singing less important than the villagers did, or at least less useful. They didn’t need to worry about steering ships or fishing or keeping food chilled to preserve it. But surely the training itself would have been worth the time.
Davri glanced at Liviya. She says I need to steer a boat through difficult waters and over a gate. I don’t know how to do it.
“Well, I grew up with a Fire Singer, and I know some basics. Here, sit.” Miren reached for her canteen and poured out a small puddle of water between them. “I don’t know Water Singing, but all Songs share some basic principles. The most important thing to do is listen.”
Davri looked at the water, then back at her. Listen to the water?
Miren shifted in her seat, memories filtering through her mind. “Just listen. Think of what you want the water to do, and then wait for the Song to come.”
Davri stared at the water. Miren waited, wondering what Water Singing sounded like to the Singer, how it differed from Fire not just in terms of style, but feel. It must be slower, weightier, but less demanding.
A full two minutes later, Davri shook his head. I don’t hear anything.
“You made the boat move!” she snapped. “How can you not hear anything?”
He winced. Please stop yelling.
Miren groaned. “I’m not a Singer, you know. I don’t actually know how it’s done.”
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t wholly true. She had spent so much of her childhood listening to her mother Sing fire in the hearth, a spark in the lighthouse, a small light over her father’s shoulder—she could still recite all of those Songs from memory. She remembered watching Mother heat a pan in the fire and joining in, her childish voice stomping all over her mother’s Song. Even hours of practice with the melodies could not properly replicate the tone and timbre of a Singer’s Voice. But she still knew the theory.
A complicated mixture of pride and embarrassment heated her temper again. Miren knew she was being unfair, but she couldn’t help being irritated with
this boy.
She took a deep breath. Snapping at Davri might be satisfying, but it wasn’t helpful. “All right. What you need to do isn’t difficult. It’s just going to be a slightly larger Song than the one you used to get us to Isakio.”
Larger? Davri signed. Do you mean louder?
“No, not necessarily. I mean . . . more encompassing.” Miren tried to remember advice her mother might have given. “It’s . . . difficult to explain. It’s as though you’re addressing a lot of people at once instead of just a few. Sure, you might be louder, but the important thing is to keep everyone’s attention when you speak, right? Er, sign.”
He nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he stared at the puddle. So I have to speak to the water?
Miren considered. “Hmm, no. Not exactly. You are just echoing what you hear.”
And what do I hear?
“You have to listen first.”
This is very confusing.
“I think it’s clearer when you actually do it.” She glanced at the puddle. “Don’t worry about the water right now. Just listen.”
Davri studied the puddle for a moment, then closed his eyes. A breeze combed the grass around them, whispered through the trees. Somewhere beyond a bend in the road, a horse clopped past.
Davri straightened, as though surprised, and looked up. She followed his gaze but saw nothing except a line of trees.
He was looking north.
Miren felt her pulse quicken. How many times had she seen her mother look north when Singing? Miren didn’t know what it meant, and she had never asked. She had assumed that she would find out once she earned her Voice.
For the first time in years, Miren felt the sickening ache of that old desire to know what it was like to be a Singer, to hold so much ability and wonder and purpose. What did they hear? Her mother had never been able to explain it.
Davri stared at the puddle, and he Sang.
His high tenor drifted over the shifting wind. The puddle churned and swayed; Miren recognized his tune as a modified version of the Song for the tides, an easy, flowing melody of pushing and pulling. It was a common Song that fishermen used to coax a ship from the shore onto the open water. Miren realized that he might not have ever heard it Sung by another Singer, and yet the notes and syllables were unmistakably similar.
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