Divided Fire

by Jennifer San Filippo

Through a haze of pain, Kesia could imagine bullets raining down from the airship onto navy ships, armies, towns, the capital. Onto Crescent Bay.

  “Of course, this is all a very big, expensive secret,” he said. “Only a handful of people know about it.” He grabbed her by the hair again. His sneer, his hateful eyes filled her vision. “The only reason I’m telling you is because you’ll never get to tell anyone. You’ll never leave here, do you understand? Do you understand?”

  He shook her fiercely. Kesia wished she could scream, shriek a note and burn everything, send fire in every direction.

  “The only reason I haven’t let you choke to death is because of that pretty little Voice of yours.” He leaned close, his voice barely a whisper. “You are here forever, girl. You’ll be here on the day you die. I swear it to you.”

  He shoved her away from him, her head smacked the ground again, and once more she saw stars.

  Parviz stood, straightened his shirt, and ran a hand through his hair. “Lock her in the barracks for the rest of the day,” he said to Nadav. “Give her nothing to eat.”

  I failed, Miren. I failed.

  The Miren in Kesia’s mind had nothing to say to this. Miren was gone.

  Kesia lay in the pitch-black barracks, stiff, uncomfortable, and alone. Everything throbbed. The muscles in her neck screamed each time she moved. Her stomach churned with a sickly hunger. She should welcome the time alone, more time to sleep, but there was no way to know how many hours had passed, how soon she would have to get up and work again.

  Her mind sank into more pleasant memories. She remembered fishing with her father, complaining as the line tangled, laughing when Miren’s fish slapped her cheek. She remembered her mother cooking freshly caught fish or rabbit over the fire. She remembered Miren telling a grand story, gesturing to shapes of fire that Kesia summoned in the air.

  Pain was everywhere. There was no relief from the Song leeching from her, the fire heating her skin, the clang of metal shattering in her ears. To escape into her memories was like trying to swim in a puddle. Everything was slipping from her.

  This was worse than death. Burning up her bones, her heart, her blood . . . Miren, Davri, Mother—they wouldn’t wish this. They wouldn’t want this for her . . .

  Kesia lay on the floor in the dark, silently screaming.

  Twenty-Two

  Miren

  “Miren,” Hana said, “would you switch with me?”

  Miren looked up, startled from her thoughts. Arten, Hana, and Davri were gathered around the back corner of the wagon, holding it just high enough for Liviya to slip off the broken wheel and replace it with the new one she had bought from a local farmer.

  Miren leaned against the fence that lined an apple orchard, her attention drifting to unhelpful memories: the time they had fought after Kesia had come home late from a day with Davri; the day they had received the letter drafting Singers; the day her father had left, his gaze tight as he handed her his revolver and said, “Protect your mother and sister.”

  She hurried over to take Hana’s place next to Davri. Hana sighed in relief and stood up straight. “Thank you.”

  “Almost done.” Liviya set the new wheel on the axel, then used a mallet to hammer it in place. Although she had refused to take the blame for steering the cart into a large pothole, she had made the mile-long walk to the nearest farmhouse and bought a replacement from the farmer with her own coin.

  Miren stared out, trying to distract herself from the discomfort of holding the cart. The heavy clouds to the west and a thick scent of soil suggested they had just missed a rainfall. They were well within the Third Circle now. Towns were close together. The land here was brimming with farms, which blanketed most of the territory to the west, wedging itself between the cragged mountains.

  Miren had felt a gnawing sense of dread since returning to the barn after her and Davri’s visit to Eitan’s estate. Or perhaps it wasn’t dread. Sadness? Resignation? She thought again of the days just after Kesia had earned her Voice. Miren had been jealous and bitter, and though Kesia hadn’t deserved it, Miren had been unkind to her for a time.

  But her father had been right—there was a cost to having a Voice, which the war and Davri’s experiences made all the more apparent. She didn’t believe she craved a Voice anymore—so why was she thinking of it now?

  She wanted to do something.

  The truth felt like a weight on her shoulders. This horrible feeling of doing nothing stirred up those old, painful yearnings of wanting to be like her mother—being needed and capable of filling that need.

  What she was experiencing was the feeling of defeat.

  Another few minutes, and Liviya finally said, “Got it!”

  Miren, Arten, and Davri lowered the cart to the ground. Miren’s shoulders ached, and her hands stung from the rough wood. A patch of red on Arten’s shoulder caught her eye.

  “Arten,” she said, “you’re bleeding.”

  He paused and turned. “Really?” He pulled up his sleeve over his shoulder. “Oh.”

  “Here,” Hana said. She led him to the side of the cart and helped him ease off his shirt.

  Miren stifled a gasp.

  Arten’s back was a patchwork of scars—tong, deep slashes in every direction. Many of them were white and purple, scarred over, but a few were red and swollen.

  Liviya wordlessly handed Hana a small, circular container. Hana opened it and scooped up some pale green paste and covered the bleeding scars. Miren dug at a splinter that had lodged at the base of her palm, understanding the peril of being a planter more clearly than ever before.

  The group was quiet for a few minutes as Hana tended to Arten with practiced deftness. Miren glanced at Davri, but he had taken it upon himself to distract Ori. The boy laughed in delight as Davri held him upside down by the ankles.

  “Should we really go through the town?” Hana asked Liviya.

  The next town, Gorrish, was the largest yet. Though it was still a half-day’s travel away, Liviya had announced that they wouldn’t avoid it as they had the others.

  It was also just within Lady Rion’s territory. Miren could sense the mounting tension between mother and son as they neared the estate where Cale was.

  “It will take too much time otherwise,” Liviya said. “Besides, we need to find a boat.”

  “It will be difficult this far from the coast,” Arten said.

  “We’re still not too far from Fisher’s Canyon. We should be fine.”

  “We’ll need to pass Rion’s estate to get to the Crown’s Seam,” Arten said.

  “Arten,” Hana murmured.

  “Then we had best do it quickly, hadn’t we?” Liviya said.

  “You think it’s safe for us to speak?” Hana asked. “In case anyone in town talks to us?”

  “Planters are fairly common up here. Try to avoid speaking, but if you have to, yes, it should be all right.” Liviya took the container of paste from Hana and fastened the lid on. “No signing, though.”

  Davri nodded, not looking up from Ori, who was standing on Davri’s feet. Davri held the boy up by his hands, and the two swayed while Ori giggled.

  Liviya added, “We’ll ask around about boats and see what people say. If we have to, we’ll hedge east a bit. Does that sound acceptable? Miren?”

  Miren looked up. “Yes. Fine.”

  They piled into the cart, and Liviya took the reins. Miren sat next to her.

  “You’ve been quiet,” Liviya said. She was staring ahead, back straight.

  Miren slumped in her seat. She had come to the front to avoid conversation. “Just . . . worried. Tired.”

  “From sneaking away with Davri two nights ago?”

  Miren flinched, then relaxed. It wasn’t as though she could be in trouble. “That barn door needs to be oiled.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Out.”

  Liviya glanced at her. “Hana says the two of you aren’t romantic.”

  “No,” Miren said,
trying not to appear offended. “He has feelings for my sister.”

  “Hmm,” Liviya said, sounding unconvinced.

  Miren grimaced. What did it hurt to tell Liviya, anyway? “We went to go break into Eitan’s estate for information on my sister.”

  Liviya’s gaze shot to her. “What? Why?”

  “His brother is on the list of names you gave us.”

  “And so you thought—”

  “We didn’t do it,” Miren said. “We couldn’t get past the fence.”

  Liviya didn’t respond, and Miren wilted as shame washed over her like a cold tide. She felt even more foolish now that Liviya knew. Liviya held the reins out to Miren.

  “No, thank you,” Miren said stiffly.

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “I don’t know anything about horses.”

  “Only one way to learn.”

  Miren sighed and took the reins. They were heavier than she expected.

  For all of Liviya’s sharp words, she was a patient teacher. She would let Miren try a command a few times before giving more instruction, and she kindly cursed out a passing carriage driver for complaining that Miren was blocking the road.

  Miren’s hands felt raw from helping to hold up the cart, but she didn’t offer up the reins when Liviya declared the lesson over. It felt good to do something other than sit or walk.

  Liviya said, “Did you ever hear how I managed to break them out?”

  “Um, I think Hana mentioned that you planned the escape.”

  “Over months,” Liviya said. “It took us nearly three months to enact that plan.”

  Miren nodded, not sure how to respond.

  “Did you ever hear how I tried to rescue my husband?” Liviya asked.

  Miren startled. “No.”

  “Watch your grip there,” Liviya said, pointing to the horse as it turned toward the middle of the road. Miren straightened the reins.

  It was nearly a minute before Liviya spoke again.

  “I escaped the lord I was contracted to two years ago.”

  Miren turned. “Two years?”

  Liviya grimaced and waved a hand. “No need to shout.”

  “Sorry.”

  Another long pause, but Miren knew better than to pelt Liviya with questions.

  “I was a fool. I thought it was obvious that I was going to try to find my family, so I hurried to where my husband was, since it was closest. I thought the two of us could continue to Cheliem’s together. I didn’t know Cale had been sold to Rion by then. As long as I arrived before any messenger from my lord’s estate, I figured I would have the advantage.”

  Liviya’s gaze grew unfocused as she stared out at the road. “I broke into the servants’ quarters in the middle of the night, woke him, and we ran. It was a foolish strategy. I thought some of the servants might want to escape with us, but one sounded the alarm, and the guards shot at us.”

  Liviya pulled up her sleeve and showed a gnarled scar on her upper arm. “My husband was shot in the head,” she said. “The guards thought it was better to shoot a servant than let him get away.

  “Now that a lord’s guards had seen my face, I couldn’t risk my sons’ lives. I fled back to Avi’or on a smuggler’s ship and waited a full year before returning.”

  “A whole year,” Miren whispered. A year was plenty of time for Kesia to be assigned to a ship, to sail directly into cannon fire.

  “I knew it was the only way to help them. Let the lord’s guards assume that I had died from starvation or drowned at sea. An old woman isn’t worth enough to stew over.

  “It was the worst year of my life. Every day I went to work in a cotton mill, thinking about those boys, knowing what kind of woman Rion is, knowing Arten was trying to raise a child. I can’t tell you how many times I went to the docks searching for a ship to take me back to Kaleo. But in the end, I knew I had to wait. I knew I wouldn’t be of any help to them until enough time had passed.”

  Liviya’s voice was barely above a whisper. “The only thing that kept me going was the belief that my boys were strong. That they would survive long enough for me to come and get them. I can’t even be sure if Cale is still alive. At least, I haven’t seen him for myself. But I know he is strong.” Her dark eyes glittered.

  Miren felt it would be rude to look away, so she held the older woman’s gaze, searching for something to say. “Then he must be.”

  Liviya placed a hand on Miren’s shoulder. “Sometimes,” Liviya murmured, “we can’t protect the people we love. Sometimes that’s our fault, but sometimes it’s not. Sometimes we need to trust that they’re strong enough to hold out for us.”

  Miren was horrified to feel her eyes brimming with tears. “But what if she’s not?” she whispered.

  “If you’re doing your best to get to her, what makes you think she’s not doing her best to get to you?”

  Miren didn’t reply. She had spent years wondering what her mother was going through, too hopeful or too cowardly—she wasn’t sure if there was a difference—to truly consider her dead. Now her sister existed in that same dark, unknown space in Miren’s mind. She didn’t know what Kesia would do.

  Perhaps, she reasoned, she didn’t know what Kesia could do.

  Wait for me, Kesia, she thought. Please. I’m coming.

  “We should stop to water the horse,” Liviya said. “You know how?”

  Miren nodded and steered the horse to the side of the road. She pulled sharply on the reins and said, “Whoa.” The horse stopped.

  Everyone climbed out. Miren wiped the tears from her face before anyone else could see.

  After a brief rest, Hana asked, “Miren, could you keep an eye on Ori? I’d like to walk and stretch my legs.”

  “You should ride in the back, too, Mother,” Arten said. “I can drive the cart.”

  Busy with the horse’s bridle, Liviya didn’t look up. “I’ll take a break when I need to, Arten.”

  Arten sighed and joined Hana. Davri glanced at Miren, but she looked away. “Fine,” Miren said. “I’ll ride in the cart.”

  Liviya climbed into the front and took the reins as Miren, Davri, and Ori took seats in the back. Miren angled herself to avoid catching Davri’s gaze by mistake; they hadn’t really spoken since their foray into Madafim to break into Eitan’s estate. She still felt embarrassed about the whole thing, and she resented it.

  Across from Miren, beside Davri, Ori held two stones and occasionally smacked them together, playing a game she didn’t recognize. He solemnly handed her a stone.

  “No, thank you,” she said. She had never been comfortable around children.

  Ori continued to hold out the stone, his eyes boring into her.

  She suppressed a sigh and took the stone. It was dark and weighty and smooth. “What is this for?”

  “It’s for this.” Ori held up his stone and slammed it into the floor of the cart with a dull thud.

  Miren looked to Hana for help, but only Davri was paying attention. He grinned at her. Play along, he signed subtly.

  She shot him a look, feeling that he was setting her up to look foolish, but she held up the stone and tapped it against the cart.

  “No, like this.” Ori lifted the stone over his head and smashed it into the wood.

  “Ori, be gentle,” Hana called. She caught Miren’s eye and grinned.

  “All right.” Ori slammed the stone down even harder.

  Miren was forming a newfound respect for parents. “Have you ever met your uncle?” she asked, hoping to distract the child.

  “Yes!” Ori placed the stone on his head, but it slid off and flipped into his lap. “Papa told me stories about him. One time, he stole a whole cow from a neighbor!”

  “It was a chicken, Ori,” Hana corrected gently.

  “A whole chicken.” Ori lurched, and the stone rolled off his head once more. Miren leaned over to grab it and handed it back to him. “Thank you,” he said. “A whole chicken!”

  “That’s . . . a lot of chick
en.”

  “Yes. We’re going to rescue him.”

  Miren frowned and glanced at Hana, but now she was deep in conversation with Arten.

  “How are you going to do that?” Miren said.

  “We go to Rion’s ’state,” he said firmly.

  Miren looked at him in surprise. “How do you know that’s where your uncle is?”

  “I heard Nana say so. It’s that way.” He pointed straight ahead.

  Perhaps children were more observant than Miren had thought. “Ori, you can’t go rescue your uncle,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “No,” he insisted. “Papa wants to rescue Uncle Cale.”

  “You and Papa and Mama are going to Avi’or.” Did it make sense to call Avi’or home when Ori had never been there?

  “No!” Ori slammed both rocks down at the same time.

  “Yes, you are,” Miren said firmly. “Liv—Nana will help Cale.”

  “No, no, no!” He slammed the rocks so hard that one bounced out of his grip. Miren caught it once more.

  Davri snapped his fingers for her attention and shook his head.

  Miren shrugged helplessly. She knew she was doing something wrong, but she didn’t know what. She wracked her brain for a way to change the subject. “Do you . . . like to play with rocks?”

  Ori ignored her, holding a rock in each hand. She sighed and leaned against the edge of the cart, feeling guilty and frustrated.

  Just before sunset, they rounded a sharp cliff and found themselves on the outskirts of Gorrish. They saw buildings that might be homes on roads that led to a bustling city center.

  The closer they got to the center of town, the more crowded the road became. Miren caught more than one person staring as they passed, their gazes circling between Liviya and Arten, who was now seated at the front of the cart.

  “No one speak,” Liviya said suddenly. “Davri, don’t sign.”

  Davri nodded, and even Ori sat quietly, thumping his stones together until Hana gently threatened to take them away.

  Miren was just about to ask Liviya what she thought was going on when the crowd in front of them parted, revealing a large board in the center of a plaza. Three papers had been tacked to the board, each with a sketched portrait: Miren looked closer and saw the faces of Arten, Hana, and Ori, just above the word WANTED.