She felt the Song catch immediately. The water beneath them rose and pushed against the bottom of the boat with surprising force, as though Davri had startled it from its sleep.
Miren had never fully understood where the power of Song came from. She knew some energy had to come from the Singer, but there was a strange singularity to it. How could Singers who had never met other Singers perform a particular Song the exact same way? There was a source to their power, even as each Singer had his or her own strengths.
The boats around them swayed slightly as the water level dipped to support their surge. The boat rose higher and higher, until it almost felt that they would keep going straight into the sky.
The mountain of water passed over the gate, then dropped.
The boat splashed down on the other side, harder than they expected; Miren bit her tongue painfully. Ori squealed with either fear or delight as Arten hunched over him. Davri clutched the bow with both hands, his shoulders sagging.
“Go, go, go!” Liviya hissed.
Davri gulped down more air and Sang, and the boat surged forward. He knew this Song well enough.
Miren looked back up at the town, which was already behind them. It seemed unlikely that no one had seen or heard them leave, but there was no sign of pursuit. All that was left was to reach the coast.
Davri’s Song leaped and fumbled, and he seemed to be struggling for breath. Miren looked up to see another gate.
There was no time to correct course. The boat swooped up slightly at the last moment as Davri tried to protect them from the impact, but the craft’s momentum flipped it all the way over as it slammed into the new gate, dumping all six of them into the black water.
The icy water shut over Miren like jaws. She felt the cold bars of the gate against her back as her nostrils filled with water. She fumbled for the bars and pushed herself up, suppressing the urge to inhale. Churning water roared in her ears. She opened her eyes but saw only blackness.
She clawed her way up the gate, fighting the current, until her head broke the surface.
She gasped the cool night air as the water rushed past her ears. Next to her, the boat bobbed upside-down against the gate. Gripping the bars, she started pushing her way toward the bank.
A blond head in the water caught her attention. She reached down and felt an arm and pulled.
Hana gasped as her head broke the surface. “Ori! Where’s Ori?”
“I don’t know!” Miren looked around, but she saw nothing in the dark. “Can he swim?”
Before Hana could answer, the water swirled around them, plunging them under again. The gate was wrenched from Miren’s grip as the water shoved her upstream—against the current.
Her hip and shoulder slammed into something hard and dry. The water had spit her out onto the bank on the opposite side of the river. Water Singing filled the small canyon. Davri stood poised on the rocks, a sodden Liviya lying beside him.
A few moments later, the water surged and spat out Arten, his arms wrapped around Ori. Hana cried out in relief.
“Come on,” Liviya said, breathing heavily and pushing herself upright. “Climb. We have to go.”
Miren followed, her hands slick as she clawed her way up the ravine. She thought she heard someone shout over the roar of the river, but she dared not take the time to look.
Arten hopped over the ridge, then knelt to help Liviya. Davri pushed Ori up over a bulge in the precipice too big for him to climb. Every second felt too long; the rocks were slippery under Miren’s wet hands; her pack streamed water. She heard another shout—she knew she hadn’t imagined that one.
Someone grabbed her and hoisted her onto flat ground. “We have to go,” Arten said. “They can see us.”
Miren glanced over her shoulder. Torchlight flickered from the other side, and more fires moved along the ravine—local men on watch maybe, or some kind of patrol readying to cross a bridge.
Miren looked around. They were no longer in the town—flat, open farmland stretched in every direction.
“Go, let’s go!” Liviya led the way, and the group dove into the nearest cornfield.
Fifteen
Miren
They ran north. Even after it became clear that no one was following them, they didn’t stop wading through stalks of corn from one farm to the next until the sky began to lighten. Ori cried quietly until Hana soothed him and Arten scooped him up. Davri continued to hum, slowly drying everyone’s clothes, starting with Ori. Eventually, fatigue won over caution, and they sat on the far side of a small hill, out of sight from the nearest farm.
Davri was the first to slump to his knees, exhausted from so much Singing. Arten began gathering kindling. Hana looked through her pack for items that hadn’t been damaged by the water. Ori sprawled on the ground next to Davri, looking tired and miserable.
Miren lowered her pack but remained standing. “What happened?” she asked.
No one answered immediately, but in the growing silence, everyone paused to look at Liviya, who was busy wringing out the hem of her shirt, though it was mostly dry now, thanks to Davri. Miren waited, her anger mounting.
Davri sat up. My fault. I didn’t see the gate in time.
“This isn’t your fault,” Miren said. “Is it, Liviya?”
Liviya straightened her shirt. “It seems,” she said with a sigh, “that Fisher’s Canyon has a second gate.”
“Oh, does it now?” Miren asked acidly.
“How did we miss that?” Hana asked.
“It must be a new structure,” Liviya said. “It wasn’t labeled on my map.”
“How old is your map?” Hana asked.
Liviya carefully pulled the rolled-up map from her pack and laid it on the ground. It was still damp from the river, and much of the ink had bled in illegible streaks. “I purchased it about eight months ago.”
While Liviya pored over the sodden map, Arten knelt, rubbing wood together for a fire, his expression grim. Davri was rummaging through his pack and trying to Sing some crackers dry.
“We’ll have to try another river,” Liviya said. “I think the Crown’s Seam might be doable, though we’ll have to pay off a few fishermen. Davri, can you Sing two smaller boats at once?”
Davri paused in his Song, obviously exhausted.
Miren’s anger boiled over.
“No.”
Everyone but Liviya looked up at her.
“Care to sit down?” Liviya said.
Miren faced the older woman. “Davri and I agreed to help you get your family on open water.”
“That’s still the deal.”
“The second gate was your error. We held up our end of the deal.”
“Then I’ll rephrase the deal,” Liviya said. “You are not getting a word of information until my family is no longer touching Kaleon ground.”
“Well, you had better give us something, because otherwise we walk.”
“Oh really? You’re going to search the entire coast of Kaleo for your sis—”
“If I have to! It would be better than wandering around waiting to get arrested with you all. Or worse.”
Ori whimpered and huddled close to his mother. Miren felt a pang of regret for scaring the child.
“We’re still the best option you have,” Liviya replied, looking unconcerned.
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
“Oh, you’re not, are you?”
Miren swallowed. “I don’t trust that you know what you’re doing, not after that surprise second gate. And I’m not even sure that you have the information we need.”
Liviya raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“We’re not going any farther with you until we get some answers.”
“We had a deal,” Liviya said darkly.
“We fulfilled our part of that deal!” Miren snapped.
“I won’t give you anything until my family is safe.”
“That wasn’t the deal, Liviya!”
“Yes, it was.”
&
nbsp; A handclap. Everyone glanced at Davri.
We need something from you Liviya, Davri signed. We want to help you, but not at Kesia’s expense.
Liviya considered him for a long moment, her dark eyes hard. “What would you suggest, Davri?”
All the naval officers you think Kesia might be assigned to, he signed without hesitation. If you truly know what you claim to know, you must have some idea, and I will be able to recognize some of the names. When your family is safe, you can tell us where to start looking.
Liviya narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, but Davri didn’t flinch. “What if I refuse? You plan to leave us?” she asked.
This is a gesture of goodwill. We did a lot for you tonight. We need some kind of proof that you really intend to help us. This information won’t help us on its own, but it will prove you know what you claim to know.
Liviya leaned back slightly, still staring at Davri. Miren was struck by the notion that Davri had essentially just asked for the very same thing she had, but he had a far better effect on the group.
Liviya said, “I will give you names only, not fleets. I need to be sure you won’t leave us in the middle of the night.”
“You said yourself that would be foolish,” Miren said.
“That doesn’t mean I think you won’t try.”
Davri glanced at Miren, waiting for her approval. Making the decision together, just like he had said. She gave him a small nod.
Deal, he signed.
Sixteen
KESIA
Kesia Sang heat into the air, trying to keep her balance against the Air Songs all around her. The heat from the furnace had dried her skin. The collar chafed her neck and chin. Her hair, matted with sweat and soot, clung to her cheeks and snagged on it.
Life as a slave for Amos Steel held a rigid pattern.
At night, the female Singers were shoved into a heavily fortified closet with nothing but a few mats and tattered blankets. A blaring horn and the clank of a metal lock woke them in the morning, followed by the silent commands of the Earth Singer, Nadav. The slaves followed him down a metallic hallway and set of stairs to the large, clamorous workplace.
Avi’ori men, none of them wearing collars, worked on contraptions scattered throughout a series of rooms filled with conveyor belts, metal rollers, and water basins. Fiery liquid poured into iron basins from a great furnace. Kesia still didn’t fully understand the process, but this was clearly some kind of metal refinery.
The Avi’ori workers took turns giving her orders throughout the day. Make the furnace hotter. Warm up this sheet of metal here. Heat the rollers. All day she Sang, her Voice struggling to remain true against the Water and Air Singers who worked around her.
She had never kept a Song going for longer than a few minutes before, and even that would leave her head filmy and her knees weak. Flames ate at her from the inside for hours. She could almost feel her cheeks sink and her gaze turn hollow as time passed.
She remembered hearing Davri Sing, his low tenor floating over a puddle as it swirled and waved within itself. All Song took something from the Singer, but water was easy to continue once it was prompted. Fire demanded everything.
Breathing was the worst chore. The unyielding pressure of the collar held her on the edge of panic all throughout the day. She focused on remaining calm, on the steady rhythm of her heart, the air cooling her lungs. In. Out. In. Out. She stumbled a few times, her mind swimming, her throat raw. A short note of Earth Song yanked her upright each time.
She glanced often at the only other Fire Singer, the small, frail girl with stringy hair. She was easily the youngest slave, so starved that her shoulders poked against her rags, but she flew from task to task with an impossible energy. Their first night in the barracks, Kesia had asked her name, but the girl had shaken her head. None of the Singers communicated much during the day, and after work hours the barracks were too dark to sign.
Kesia’s heart throbbed. They needed to escape.
The trouble was that she couldn’t fathom a way to do it. Every open door drew her gaze outside, giving her glimpses of warehouses and what might be a wall. But she saw no gate.
When she wasn’t staring out the window, she watched her fellow Singers. The new slaves, those who had arrived with Kesia, winced at every command. Most of the others kept their gazes down, their backs hunched under the weight of their collars. They moved slowly, taking long and measured breaths in between Songs.
A few hours into her first day, she learned why.
She Sang a small fire under a piece of pounded sheet metal. The Avi’ori pointed with his hammer where to heat, never looking at her. Someone shouted just as a sudden grating of metal shook the room. Kesia whirled, her Song dying on her lips.
A Water Singer, a middle-aged man with a long nose and a mess of facial hair, stumbled away from an overflowing basin, where molten metal had splashed onto the floor. The Singer cradled his hands, his breath coming in short gasps. He must have attempted to catch the metal as it fell.
“Hey!” an Avi’ori man shouted. “What are you doing? It’s ruined now!”
The Singer waved his trembling hands as though trying to sign.
Kesia didn’t understand at first why he shook so violently, until she followed his gaze to the front of the room and saw Parviz, the slave master, at the door.
Kesia’s stomach lurched. She ducked her head as he entered but didn’t look away. Parviz glanced between the Singer and the basin. The Avi’ori workers remained silent. The Water Singer fumbled, apologizing, his signs a garbled mess.
Parviz glanced at Nadav and nodded.
Kesia felt her heart drop through her stomach.
The Water Singer wheezed as something in his collar clicked. Nadav’s deep voice shifted, throwing the slave to the ground, dangerously close to the puddle of molten metal. A feral choking came from the man as the collar dragged him toward the door, past Parviz’s impassive form, Nadav walking beside him. The Water Singer stopped struggling just as the door closed behind him.
Parviz glanced around, as if just noticing his audience. Kesia couldn’t help but think that he had enjoyed it. She shivered.
“Back to work,” he said.
Kesia turned, convinced she would be sick all over the machine. She found the Avi’ori worker with the hammer watching her.
He shrugged. “Consider that a warning, Singer,” he said. “Parviz doesn’t put up with much.”
* * *
The factory workers rarely spoke to the Singers unless to give an order. They talked and laughed over the roar of machinery, never looking at Singers, treating them like part of the factory. What kind of men could work so casually alongside slaves?
“Hey, Fire Singer!” a man shouted. Kesia hurried over.
“We’re almost out of coal, and we’ve still got a load of metal in there. Keep this hot until we get more loaded in.”
Kesia nodded and Sang, bracing against the fatigue that pulled at her shoulders. She stared at the fire, watching the flames twirl and flicker. Miren had said that staring at fire too long hurt her eyes, but Kesia had never felt that. She let the fire guide her vision across the furnace, imagining that she could make out shapes.
On a whim, she altered her Song.
The flames ballooned and shifted, bumping gently against their new constraints. She added notes and syllables, and the fire formed into a horse. She thought the head was too small, or the tail too long, so she evened out the proportions, then practiced lowering and raising its head. The hair would fall with it—
“Hey!” a man shouted.
Kesia lost a note, and the fire flickered out.
“What are you doing?” the man said, a bag of coal over his shoulder.
Kesia shook her head and signed, Sorry, sorry, sorry! She threw herself into a new Song, and the fire flickered back to life, formless and normal.
The man shoved coal into the furnace, and the fire devoured it. Kesia stopped Singing with a gasp and collapsed
to her knees.
“Get up,” the man said without concern in his voice. “Before Parviz gets back. And don’t let him see you do those stupid tricks again.”
She nodded, struggling to find enough balance to stand. Breathing took all of her focus. In. Out. In. Out.
A set of hands pulled her up. The other Fire Singer stared at her, her grip firm until Kesia could steady herself. The girl wasn’t smiling, but there was softness in her eyes. She flitted away before Kesia could thank her.
The day was unbearably slow. The only measure of time was the light streaming through the windows. When it turned a faded orange, the Avi’ori workers headed for the door, chatting about dinner plans and the bar a few streets over.
Nadav escorted the women back to the barracks on the second floor. Kesia measured her breaths with each step, trying to stave off the wave of panic that always threatened to choke her. In. Out. In. Out.
A rumbling note, and the metal door swung open. The women filed in without comment. Kesia stayed close to the other Fire Singer and waited until the door shut with a loud thump.
The room had no light, so signing was nearly impossible, and it was quiet except for shuffling feet and labored breathing. Kesia bumped into someone short and thought it was the Fire Singer. She caught her wrist and pressed into her hand the signs for K and EH and S and EE and UH.
The girl went unnaturally still. Kesia braced for her to pull away, but a small, warm hand pressed against hers and spelled: AY-L-UH. Ayla.
Kesia smiled, and the cold lump in her chest thawed a bit. If they worked together, they could find a way out. Quickly, she spelled another word, her heart thumping: EH and S and K and AY and P—
Ayla wrenched her hand out of Kesia’s and backed away, slipping into the crowd of women claiming their mats. Kesia felt a pang in her chest and remembered to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
* * *
The next day, Kesia was brought to another part of the large building, a huge space full of enormous metal cylinders. The rollers stood upright as blindingly hot sheets of metal were pushed between them. Singers pelted the finished sheets with water before loading them onto carts and wheeling them outside.
Divided Fire Page 13