Divided Fire

by Jennifer San Filippo

  Davri shifted his melody, and the water stilled, then began to swirl. Miren was drawn back to that long-ago Skyflame ceremony and the pail of churning water. His tone was richer and deeper with age, but just as before, his Voice shot up into falsetto, a high-pitched, unsustainable sliding melody that was far too quick and sharp for a normal Water Song.

  The water in the puddle spiked upward, cracking faintly as it froze into a glistening sculpture of icy needles.

  Davri looked at her, grinning widely. I had forgotten.

  Miren leaned back, trying to keep her own smile in check.

  Fourteen

  Miren

  The following day, they reached the river.

  The towns they passed were larger and closer together, with sprawling farmland interrupted by rows of buildings alongside wide dirt roads.

  The sudden appearance of bustling carts and an erratic hum announced the next town, Fisher’s Point, before it came into view. The hills seemed to level to make room for it, like furniture pushed to the corners of a room. The western mountains felt closer here, though Miren didn’t think they had traveled very far toward them. It added to the crowded feeling of the town.

  Arten hoisted Ori onto his shoulders. “Remember what we spoke about,” he said.

  “No talking.”

  “That’s right. We don’t want them to know where we’re from.”

  “Because we’re the bad people.” Ori plucked at his father’s collar.

  Miren looked up in surprise. “You’re not bad people.”

  Ori glanced at her, then away. “But we’re fighting.”

  Ah, he meant the war.

  Davri signed, Not the bad people. War doesn’t have good or bad people. Just people who want different things.

  Ori stared at Davri as he signed. Ori tried to mimic him: War doesn’t have people.

  Davri signed the sentence again but slower, showing the sign for good.

  “We should practice more with him,” Arten said. “Haven’t had much reason to.”

  Miren pushed down Davri’s hands. “No signing. Not here.”

  Davri gave her a hard look but didn’t argue.

  No one paid them much attention as they walked through town. Though there were plenty of fishermen and farmers, Fisher’s Point was an infrequent stop for traders. The river provided a direct eastern route to the coast, but the heavy current made it a one-way trip, and the town was too far from the coast for merchant ships to reach. Davri had explained all this in agonizing detail the night before.

  Fisher’s Canyon was also known as Jorli’s Creek for a time, he had signed animatedly over the fire. Supposedly, it was a running joke among some farmers. A young Singer couldn’t remember the sign for river and instead used creek. The name was abandoned when cartographers added it to maps, as it created confusion. Its cousin, a river called the Crown’s Seam, cuts just along the border of the Second and Third Circle territory. It’s much larger.

  Past the houses that seemed to grow smaller and closer together, they finally reached Fisher’s Canyon itself.

  The river was nothing like what Miren had imagined. She had expected something slightly larger than the scattered creeks of Crescent Bay. Those creeks were cold and occasionally full of small fish that Miren had learned from experience were more trouble to catch than they were worth.

  Fisher’s Canyon was a large crevasse that split the town in half and was breached by various crooked bridges, some of which swayed dramatically as people walked across them. Miren couldn’t see the river itself until she was standing two paces from the edge.

  White water roared fifty paces below, the sound amplified by the canyon walls. Rope ladders dangled to the occasional wooden dock or patch of dry land. Mounted at the top on both sides of the canyon were pulley systems, webs of wheels and chains and cranks that lowered boats and pulled up full nets. Miren spotted a couple of women using the pulleys to raise a large basket of fish from the dock below.

  Though she was a skilled swimmer, Miren felt a thrill of fear. The fisherfolk seemed unbothered, but she couldn’t convince her pulse to slow.

  Liviya pointed downstream. Miren followed her gaze to a heavy-looking iron gate that was mounted on the side of a sturdy bridge. The gate was hoisted all the way up, allowing boats to pass underneath.

  “They lower that gate at night,” Liviya said. “We need to take a boat and get it over the barrier.”

  Miren stared at her. The river would be impassable once the gate was in place.

  Everyone looked at Davri, who was staring down at the water. The roar of the river was loud enough that Miren could whisper without being heard. “Think you can do it?” she murmured.

  He glanced at her, his lips pressed in a thin line. I have to, he signed.

  * * *

  They camped just outside of town and waited for dusk, the early spring night growing chilly. Miren watched the gate being slowly lowered into the water, dipping below the surface before locking in place.

  “The gate explains why no one has issues leaving their boats on the water unattended,” she observed.

  Hana looked up. “I’m not thrilled at the idea of stealing someone’s boat, but there’s no other way.”

  Miren had been struggling with the thought as well. She rationalized it as Liviya and the family were the ones doing the stealing, not her, but she knew this was false comfort.

  Hana and Arten had mostly left Miren alone—something she encouraged—but they had taken a liking to Davri. He was well-read and patient and eager to help. Even Ori seemed fascinated with the young man who didn’t speak. He imitated Davri’s signs, though it was clear the child didn’t always know their meanings.

  Now, a light hum caught her attention. Davri was Singing water into different shapes to entertain Ori while Arten and Liviya scouted the area.

  “No, make the head bigger!” Ori demanded. Davri obliged without missing a note. A small figure made of water attempted to walk across the ground.

  Miren listened, surprised that the undulating nature of Water Song could be wielded with such accuracy. She noticed Davri’s Voice jump and crack a little with the effort, but the figure retained its shape. It was apparent Davri possessed the same strange knack that other Singers had: Once a Singer understood how to listen, skill and control came rapidly.

  What does he hear? she wondered. What can he hear that I cant?

  It had been a while since she had felt genuine jealousy for Singers, though during the first few days after Kesia received her Voice, envy had been a constant companion.

  Miren remembered one particular afternoon: she had crept up the lighthouse stairs and opened the floor hatch just a sliver to spy on Kesia’s Singing lessons. Mother’s back was turned, and she faced the center of the lightroom. The girls had known how to work and clean the lighthouse for years, but now Mother would show Kesia how to light its lamp with Song.

  Miren knew that this Song was special. When Mother explained the importance of listening while Singing, she would refer to this Song. Before Skyflame, Miren had never managed to repeat the Song perfectly, despite all her practice.

  Now Kesia stared at the wick, a distant look of concentration pulling her brow together. She looked older and far away, her attention on something the sisters could never share.

  “Miren,” her father shouted. “Where did you go?”

  Miren ducked her head before Kesia could turn. She gently lowered the hatch door and slipped down the stairs. She was supposed to be feeding the chickens.

  “Miren!” her father called.

  She shut the lighthouse door behind her and found him hammering at the chicken coop.

  She wiped sweaty hands on her skirt. “Sorry, I’m doing it.”

  He gave her a look but said nothing. She unrolled the top of the bag of dried corn and plunged her hand inside. The steady beat of the hammer and the squawking chickens covered up any uncomfortable silence.

  The chickens scuttled around her as she tossed t
he feed. A question hummed at the back of her throat, which was full and bitter. She could never ask her mother or Kesia, of course, but perhaps the other non-Singer in the family would understand.

  “Father,” she began.

  He picked up another nail and set it into the wood. “Yes, dear?”

  “Did you ever want to be a Singer?”

  He lowered the hammer with a smile, as if he’d expected this conversation. She should have fed the chickens and not said anything. She didn’t want to seem jealous of Kesia.

  “I think,” her father said, “that everyone wants to be a Singer when they’re young. I even remember when I first saw someone Sing. It was my uncle, and we were fishing. I thought it was incredible, a very clever, easy way to catch many fish at once, and with only one net.”

  Miren nodded. Incredible was too easy a word, too simple, but she couldn’t think of a better one.

  “I remember my Skyflame ceremony,” he continued. “I remember going up and trying to Sing Water, because I certainly didn’t have the low range for Earth. But as I walked into the circle, I thought about how difficult it was for my uncle. He was ignored much of the time. Not on purpose, of course, but people didn’t always notice when he was signing. I didn’t want to not speak for the rest of my life.”

  Miren blinked. She considered crying because she hadn’t yet, but now didn’t feel like the right time.

  Father shifted his grip on the hammer. “Since then, I’ve always thought that true Singers were those who realized what they were sacrificing and were willing to give it up. You work harder than anyone, but you don’t always get the recognition for it. You gain a Voice, but you lose one too.”

  Miren nodded absently, turning back to the chickens. She hadn’t thought about those things at Skyflame. She remembered being nervous, her head feeling full of air. She had never considered the spells of silence in between Songs.

  A young Voice drifted from the lighthouse. A light glimmered in the window.

  * * *

  Since then, Miren’s envy had shifted into something closer to resigned disappointment. She hadn’t experienced that jealousy for years, and she felt immature for entertaining the emotion now. I have no reason to be jealous of Davri, she told herself.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Miren looked up in surprise at Hana.

  “No,” Miren said.

  Hana took a seat beside her, smiling pleasantly. Perhaps Miren’s previous standoffishness had been forgiven.

  “Your friend is very talented,” Hana observed.

  Davri sat about ten paces away, still Singing a puddle of water into different shapes while Ori watched. Davri hadn’t asked any more questions about Singing, but Miren had noticed him practicing pulling water from a pump into his canteen, drying his bedroll, encouraging a pot over a fire to boil faster. He was learning quickly.

  She realized he was the best Water Singer she had known, and as a nobleman, he would never have to use his gift to survive. The irony of it felt cruel.

  “He is,” Miren said quietly, in case Davri could hear them.

  “Are you two . . .” Hana nodded to Davri. “Romantic?”

  “Oh no!” Miren said a little too loudly. “No, definitely not.”

  Hana grinned. “I didn’t think so. But you don’t look alike.”

  “No, we’re not related. He . . .” Miren searched for a way to say it that didn’t needle her and found none. “He fancies my sister.”

  Hana nodded again, as if this didn’t surprise her either. “And does your sister fancy him?”

  “Yes,” Miren admitted. “She does.”

  “You don’t sound pleased about that.”

  Miren paused. She had told herself not to grow close to these people, but if all went well tonight, they would soon be on their separate ways. There was no danger to this conversation.

  “When you met Arten,” Miren said, “what convinced you both that . . . you should marry?”

  Hana raised an eyebrow. “We fell in love, of course.”

  “But is that all? You have those warm feelings inside and decide to marry?”

  “Well, no. Those fade over time. But we grew to know each other, and we realized we could share our lives. And then we realized that we didn’t want to live without each other.”

  “I don’t understand the difference.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will someday.” Hana smiled.

  Miren felt a spark of irritation at that answer, but she said, “Well, I don’t think that Davri and Kesia understand that difference either.”

  Hana considered for a moment. “I’m not so sure,” she said.

  “Why?”

  She nodded to Davri. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  Miren said nothing. Yes, he was still here. That counted for something, as much as she hated to admit it.

  She scrambled for a different topic. “When did you meet Arten?” she asked.

  “He and Cale were brought to Cheliem’s estate about a year after I was.”

  “Cale, his brother?”

  “His younger brother, yes. Liviya hopes to rescue him as well.”

  “Alone?”

  Hana shrugged. “Arten so badly wants to rescue his brother,” Hana said.

  Miren pulled at the grass near her heel. “I understand,” she said.

  Hana nodded. “Not all siblings are close, but those who are have an unshakeable bond. I worry I’m going to wake up one morning and find Arten gone, chasing after Cale.”

  Miren stilled. “Really?”

  “Sometimes.” Hana waved a hand. “But I shouldn’t. I just worry. Truthfully, if Liviya says she would do better alone, I believe her. She came up with that plan to escape Cheliem’s estate. It didn’t go as we hoped”—she gave Miren a wry look—“but the idea was to make Cheliem think we had escaped toward the coast and jumped the first ship we saw.”

  Miren felt a small beat of guilt but quickly smothered it. “But she had a second plan, just in case?”

  Hana nodded. “She always comes prepared.”

  Miren leaned forward on her knees. “Helping us wasn’t part of the plan,” she said. “What made you decide to warn me?”

  Hana’s gaze slid down. “Truthfully, when I first saw you, I thought you both were pretending to be nobility. You certainly weren’t dressed like it, and Davri being a Singer made you look even more odd. When I heard Cheliem send word to the Crown’s Guard, I thought . . .” Hana bit her lip. “I—I thought having you two try to escape would improve our chances, that maybe Cheliem would think the fire was your fault and focus on you.”

  Miren blinked. “Oh.”

  Hana looked abashed. “I’m sorry, truly. I was terrified of what we were about to do, and I believed I had to improve our chances in every way I could. I felt awful about it as soon as I suggested it. When you managed to find us in the chaos, I thought letting you come was the least I could do.”

  Miren considered Hana’s words. “I understand,” she said. “It makes sense.” Miren thought she might have done the same thing in Hana’s position.

  They both looked up as Davri’s Song leaped into falsetto: the sphere of water he held aloft hardened into ice with a faint cracking noise. Ori plucked it from the air and turned it over in his hand. “It’s cold!”

  It is cold, Davri signed, grinning.

  “What about your sister?” Hana asked Miren. “She’s a Fire Singer?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was she taken?”

  “Eight days ago.”

  Hana looked sympathetic. “How did she avoid the draft for so long?”

  “She grew sick.” Miren pulled at a loose thread poking from the knee of her trousers. “Cloud fever.”

  Hana said, “I may have heard of that.”

  “It’s an illness that goes for the throat and often damages the voice, sometimes destroying it completely.” Miren remembered her sister’s gaunt cheeks, her small frame wrapped in blankets. “Kesia was always a b
it frail. She was often sick. We thought cloud fever was going to take her.” Miren remembered lying in bed those nights, weeping as she imagined Kesia not breathing, practicing her goodbyes in her mind: Kesia, I love you, you were a wonderful sister, please don’t go, I love you—

  “And so she was excused from the draft?” Hana asked.

  Miren took a breath. “The recruiters removed her name from the roster.” She remembered their mother standing in the doorway between uniformed soldiers and a shuddering Kesia, signing a warning: I am the strongest Singer in this village. If you do not take my daughter, I will come quietly. “I think they were just happy to get our mother.”

  Hana nodded. “The war has taken so much.”

  “The Singer draft was the worst thing our king ever did to us,” Miren said.

  Ori jumped to his feet to chase a dragonfly. Miren glanced up and saw Davri staring at her, his expression looking too much like pity. She glanced away before he could sign anything.

  * * *

  They ate a meal of stale bread and cheese and watched the sun set, fighting sleep and cold until Liviya and Arten returned from scouting the river. “Time to go,” Liviya said.

  They followed Arten back into town, keeping to the edge of the ravine until he led them down a rope ladder. Davri hoisted Ori onto his back and went next.

  Miren landed on the short dock and nearly lost her balance. When she recovered, she saw Liviya pointing to a small fishing boat at the farthest end of the dock. Arten hurried to it and started untying the mooring ropes.

  Davri hopped into the boat, then helped Hana and Ori climb in. Miren glanced up at the top of the ravine, but no one was in sight. She climbed aboard with Arten close behind, the boat now dangerously crowded.

  Arten shoved against the dock so the bow was facing downstream. Miren braced herself, her pack strapped tightly across her chest. Davri positioned himself at the bow, his knuckles white as he clung to the side. He exhaled, then inhaled and Sang a note.