“Engines are at thirty-six percent heat,” called another worker, the one standing beside the pilot. “Forty, forty-five, fifty—”
“Release tethers!” the captain shouted.
Beyond her Song, Kesia heard the clacking and snapping of metallic cables outside. She stumbled for a moment as the floor tilted.
“Keep Singing!” the captain yelled. “Don’t slow down.”
She poured more of herself into the Song until the furnaces roared with fire. The two young men fidgeted with their shovels, waiting for orders. Though Singing took nearly all of her focus, her gaze kept drifting to the window. Outside, she could see the jagged, cavernous valley and the path she and Katzil had taken down from the factory. They must have opened the roof of the building.
They were flying. They were in the air.
Something metallic snapped and clanged above her head. She sensed a sudden shift in the heat flowing from the furnaces on her right.
“We lost the port boiler!” the gauge-watcher shouted.
“Skies,” the captain hissed. “Lower her down.”
The pilot pulled levers. The gauge-watcher turned dials. The view shifted.
She continued Singing because no one had told her not to. The captain glanced at her. “Stop the fires!” he shouted. “Put them out!”
She did, a final, relieved note that choked all heat from the furnaces at once. Suddenly dizzy, she grabbed the doorframe to steady herself, noticing that the airship was back on the ground.
Sit, she signed, seeing the captain’s eye on her. I need to sit.
Katzil ignored her signs. “I have to take you back now,” he said.
She nodded and followed him out of the airship, her legs trembling.
* * *
She returned just as the Avi’ori workers were filing out of the warehouse, though the Singers had not yet been escorted to the barracks. Nadav saw her and gestured to a pile of pails and rags and mops.
Clean, he signed.
Kesia took a broom and began wandering around the room in a haze of fatigue. She was completely worn out from the demanding Singing and the climb back up to the factory.
Her mind drifted to the airship. Today, she had flown. In spite of her exhaustion, she found herself hoping they would call on her again soon.
When the Singers had finished washing the furnace and organizing carts, the Earth Singer finally escorted them to their rooms. Kesia fell into step next to Ayla, who glanced up with a timid question in her eyes.
Flying ship, Kesia signed, taking her time with each word. I flew.
Ayla’s eyes widened, but she didn’t sign. Nadav had just opened the door to the room where the women slept. Kesia fought the urge to look at him as she passed.
The door closed, leaving them in darkness. Kesia wanted to tell Ayla more about the airship, but she lost track of the girl in the shuffle. She curled up on a tattered rug and thought about flying, about large balloons and pulleys and coal and propellers and altitude. She imagined herself holding the wheel, giving orders to others as the craft glided over waters, boats, between mountains, arriving at Crescent Bay—
Her chest tightened: she hadn’t once considered escaping on the way back.
Miren Davri Miren Davri—how could she have become so distracted?
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would look for a way to escape.
Eighteen
Kesia
The following day, Kesia returned to the factory floor, though she couldn’t help looking for Katzil. The captain. Of a ship. That flew.
She gritted her teeth and focused on thoughts of home. If there was a chance that Miren was alive, then Kesia owed it to her to plan an escape. She pretended that Miren was beside her, discussing her options.
You need to pay attention next time the captain takes you, Miren would say. Look outside, see where the gate is, where people are. Even finding a warehouse to hide in might be helpful.
But I don’t even know if the captain will come again, Kesia thought, feeling guilty at the twinge of disappointment.
He will. Miren’s voice was firm. They just need to fix something, and then they’ll want to test again. They’ll want you, because you’re a Fire Singer.
Ayla is a stronger Singer. Kesia glanced at the other girl.
They don’t know that. Besides, the fewer people who know about the airship, the better. They built it behind that hillfor a reason.
Kesia shoved the cart by the door. Some men were pouring iron ore into the furnace; they would need her soon. She set herself between a pair of Air Singers, waiting for orders.
You won’t have an Earth Singer watching you, Kesia, the imaginary Miren reminded her. It will be your best chance.
Kesia shivered. It was her best chance, but she was frightened. She could fall, be shot by guards—
They won’t kill you. You’re too valuable.
But even the Miren in Kesia’s mind didn’t say what they both knew: there were worse things than death.
Kesia imagined Miren smirking, covering concern with humor. You could steal the airship. They’d never catch you that way.
A silent laugh pushed against Kesia’s collar. Would Miren be as amazed at the craft as she was?
I would, Kesia, but I’d be terrified.
Kesia nodded. She was terrified too.
* * *
At noon, the Avi’ori workers passed around glass water jugs and stale bread and cheese to the Singers. Kesia was surprised at the size of her portion of bread, almost half a loaf.
“Captain wants you better fed. You’re joining him today.”
Kesia nodded and shoved the food in her mouth. The captain. Were they ready for another flight?
Focus, Miren’s voice sounded in her mind again. You’re looking for escape.
A few minutes later, her belly aching with so much food, Kesia saw Katzil saunter in. The men didn’t intercept him this time as he called to her. “Let’s go, Fire Singer.”
She hurried after him, daring a glance at Nadav, who gave a nod of permission.
The captain led her out the double doors, toward the southern gate. She walked a few paces behind him so he wouldn’t see her wandering gaze. She counted three other buildings in sight, all of them similar in size to the refinery where the Singers worked.
Another gate, Miren urged. Look for an opening.
Kesia glanced between the buildings, seeing the brick wall adorned with metal spikes. If there was a door, it must be on the other side of the compound, and guarded, and locked, and—
Then look for something else! Miren snapped. Don’t give up so easily.
Kesia glanced to the right. The faint roar of waves tumbled over the western wall of the compound. Even if Kesia could get beyond the wall, they were on top of a cliff. Jumping wasn’t an option.
There must be something, Miren insisted.
Kesia followed the captain through the gate and down the same path as yesterday. Sorry, Miren, I’m sorry, I’m trying—
I know, Kesia. I know.
The Miren in Kesia’s mind stayed silent after that. Soon the hangar came into view, and the airship distracted her from thoughts of escape.
Kesia followed the captain onboard and took her spot by the furnace room door. The same two Avi’ori boys stood beside bins of fresh coal, their dark faces smudged with dust and grime. No one spared her a second glance.
She didn’t understand half of the words that the crewmen shouted, but she sensed the quiet excitement as more men came aboard and found their places.
Captain Katzil was last to take his position. He looked around, his expression serious. “Don’t get too hopeful, men. Every endeavor will have problems. That’s just the way of the skies.”
Kesia recognized it as a play on a sailor’s idiom, the way of the seas, and she found herself smiling too.
“All right, let’s start the fire!”
Kesia Sang a note, strong and clear. She felt it reverberate through each furnace at once, felt the fai
nt hum as the heat crawled upward through the pipes. The coal burst into flame, startling the shovel boys.
She didn’t let herself get distracted by the captain’s commands and the bustle around her. The power that the fire demanded was consuming. She glanced at the gauges, seeing the needles slowly climbing.
“Boilers at fifty percent!” the gauge-watcher called.
“Release the tethers!”
The same snapping noise. Outside the pilot’s window, the hangar walls began to sink.
Kesia focused on heating the furnaces. Flying, flying. Out the window, she saw a glimpse of blue.
“Skies,” one of the shovel boys breathed.
The pilot pulled a lever, keeping a firm hand on the wheel. “Clear of the hangar in three, two, one.”
“Initiate propellers.”
The whirring of the engines grew louder. Kesia shifted her Song as the gauges reached their desired heats almost simultaneously. She let her Song soften and leaned against the wall. The four fires were white hot, and her Song drifted over each one, keeping them stable.
“Keep us in a starboard turn,” Katzil said. “This is just a test.”
“Yes, captain.”
A flying ship. Kesia couldn’t help a faint smile.
The furnace on the starboard side dropped in temperature, and she noticed that her Song wasn’t catching on the coal. She motioned for the boys’ attention and pointed. More coal, she signed.
The boys glared. “We don’t take orders from you,” said one.
Kesia turned to the captain, but he was faced away from her, speaking with the gauge-watcher and gesturing out the window. Her heart fluttered with panic. She gasped under the weight of her Song. If she did this much longer, she would collapse, and the craft would suffer.
The ship started tilting.
“We’re losing power on the port side boiler!” the gauge-watcher shouted.
She marched forward and reached for one of the boys’ shovels.
“Hey!” he snapped and pulled it from her hands.
She swiveled and wrenched the other boy’s shovel from him. Her arms trembled as she worked to pour more coal in the hot furnace. She could feel her Song leap hungrily onto the new fuel, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
“Great skies!” Katzil shouted.
Kesia took a deep breath, feeling the constraint of her collar. More coal, she signed, pointing at the furnace.
“You two! What are you doing?” Katzil looked furious.
The boys blanched. “We were waiting for orders—”
“If the girl says it needs coal, put it in! She’s working harder than the two of you put together, and she ain’t even getting paid. Get to work.”
“Yes, sir,” they mumbled. They huddled around the furnace and shoveled frantically. Kesia stumbled back and fell to the floor.
The captain looked to Kesia. “You all right?”
She nodded, breathing heavily. Ship all right? she asked.
He blinked. “Yes, girlie. Ship is fine. Get to work when you’re ready.”
She nodded again as he passed. It was easy to believe that he was genuinely concerned, that he trusted her to keep the ship flying.
He is not your friend, Kesia, Miren would say. To him, you are no more than property.
* * *
The day ended in celebration, the men clapping one another on the back and insisting they go out for drinks. A few even looked in her direction, perhaps seeing her through the lens of the captain’s approval, but their elation had nothing to do with Kesia. How could one feel so free and so trapped at the same time?
Katzil assigned one of the crew to escort Kesia back to the factory. She glanced around as they walked, but night had fallen like a blanket, and the compound was only lit by a few oil lanterns. Miren would urge her to try again tomorrow, she thought.
As the Earth Singer led them to the barracks and closed the door, Kesia was careful to stay by Ayla. She caught the girl’s hand and signed, Escape, against her palm, strong and firm and fast.
She waited for Ayla to pull away, to scamper to the farthest corner, but the girl only paused. Slowly she took Kesia’s hand and signed, No home.
Kesia’s heart throbbed, and Ayla slipped from her grasp before she could spell sorry.
Nineteen
Miren
Miren handed over the two gold pieces, and the man behind the counter gave her the bundle without so much as a smile. It was a ridiculous amount for dried meats and cheese, but Miren knew prices would increase as they traveled north. Besides, it was Davri’s money.
Miren made her way through a steady stream of people, trying to study them without being caught staring. Most of them wore work clothes like hers, but the cloth seemed cleaner and more colorful. She saw shirts of blues and greens and reds, rather than the faded yellows and browns and off-whites she knew.
The city itself was larger than any she’d been in yet, and the buildings were taller here than at home. Miren spotted Liviya inside a shop whose sign read BEULAH’S MAPS AND CHARTS. She was likely buying maps to replace those that had been ruined in the river.
Miren turned a corner and in the intersection saw a large, ornate fountain: a statue of several men and women standing in a circle, mouths open as though they were Singing. Behind the Singers was a small mountain with a perfectly symmetrical peak.
At the base of the fountain, a crowd was forming, facing a few men and women who wore the uniform of the Crown’s Guard. One guard, whose decorations proclaimed him the most senior, was addressing the crowd in a deep, thundering voice.
“. . . fought to defend the king’s land just off the coast of Kilithis Bay, where our battlements lay waiting, cannons loaded and ready. The Avi’ori ships realized the trap too late. Before they could turn around, the cannons fired on them and drowned their ships.”
He paused, waiting for applause, and the group slowly obliged.
“The Kaleon fleets are in need of more brave men and women who are willing to risk themselves at sea for the good of us all. Today, we accept volunteers to join our ranks. Who has the same courage as those sailors?”
Miren’s eyes widened as a few stepped forward from the crowd. Volunteers? Weren’t all able-bodied men already drafted?
Beside her, an older woman clutched the shoulders of a boy who seemed well into his teen years. The woman looked pained, almost angry.
“Isn’t there a draft?” Miren said. “Why are they asking for volunteers?”
The woman glanced at Miren. “Not from around here I take it.”
“Fifth Circle.”
“Hmm. Didn’t know there was anyone still alive that far south.”
Miren shrugged. Was that how the rest of the kingdom regarded Fifth Circle territories? “We’re small. No cities like this.”
“This ain’t no city,” the boy said.
His mother nodded toward the Crown’s Guard. “They pretend to look for volunteers, but if they don’t get the number they want, they’ll pull names from the town census. This is just for show.”
Miren nodded, though she didn’t quite understand. Why not just draft the people and be done with it?
She noticed two of the officers signing to one another. “Are those officers Singers?”
The woman nodded. “Singers of the King’s Navy come here to lead the Skyflame ceremony.”
“Skyflame? Now?” Miren asked, confused. Skyflame was always celebrated at the end of harvest season.
“Tomorrow,” the woman said, sounding grim. “They come by a few times a year to host it and draft those who earn a Voice.”
Miren stood aghast. She had never heard of such a thing. Crescent Bay hadn’t held Skyflame in years. Part of the reason was that they no longer had Singers to guide the ceremony, but there was also the unspoken fear of one’s young son or daughter becoming a Singer. With the Singer draft still in effect, the gift of Song had very quickly become a curse.
The crowd was dispersing now that the spe
ech was over. Miren was supposed to meet Liviya at the stables, where they were to purchase a cart and horse together, but she decided that could wait. She made her way toward one of the women guards, whose dark hair was tied back in a bun.
“Excuse me,” Miren said. “I had some questions about recruitment.”
The officer pointed to the lead officer and signed, All questions should be directed to Officer Arvek.
The Singer’s signs were so sharp that Miren almost missed their meaning. “No, I mean about Singers.”
The Singer nodded, motioning for her to continue.
Miren’s heart thudded. Could it really be this easy? “My s—cousin will be participating in Skyflame tomorrow, and I was wondering about what would happen if she becomes a Singer.”
Singers who demonstrate a Voice are immediately sent to the capital, the woman replied dutifully. Air Singers have the great privilege of helping ships sail and maneuver northern waters.
“Actually, I wonder if she’ll become a Fire Singer.” Miren scrambled for a story. “You see, our grandmother was a Fire Singer, and my cousin has the same lower pitch in her voice.”
The woman nodded placidly, as though she had heard such things before. That would be a great honor.
“Where would a Fire Singer most likely serve?”
Those decisions are made by generals and fleet commanders. Your cousin would be assigned where needed.
“But where are some of your Fire Singers stationed?” Could Miren find out where her mother was? “Some examples?”
The Air Singer paused.
“I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am,” Miren added quickly. “My aunt and uncle are just worried. Hopefully there’s somewhere other than combat you would send a young girl.”
The woman’s eyes flashed. It is an honor to serve one’s country against the Avi’ori.
Miren blinked, stunned. “Of course,” she said. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” She had never met someone who seemed eager to serve in the war.
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