Divided Fire

by Jennifer San Filippo

  Twenty-Three

  Miren

  Miren and Liviya looked at each other.

  “What do we do?” Miren said.

  “Get us out of here.” Liviya tossed the reins to Miren as she hopped into the back of the cart. “Hana, put something over your hair.”

  “What’s wrong?” Hana asked.

  “Don’t speak,” Liviya said in her Kaleon accent. “Cover Ori with a cloak.”

  As soon as Liviya was settled, Miren flicked the reins, and the horse started forward. She kept pace with the carriage in front of them, fighting the urge to slap the horse into a trot.

  As they passed the posters, Miren squinted to read the print. Each poster promised a reward for information on the fugitives, and as much as a hundred gold for their return alive to Her Ladyship Rion.

  Lady Rion? Cale’s master? Why would she be looking for them?

  Miren’s heart thumped. She didn’t know where Liviya had planned to go, and she didn’t want to slow down to ask. She watched people’s faces as she passed, but the cart itself didn’t draw much attention. She glanced back briefly and saw everyone huddled just behind her, their heads down, Hana’s covered in a blanket.

  Guards patrolled the streets in pairs, wearing sky-blue and gold uniforms—the colors of the Third Circle. They would be Rion’s guards, then, not the Crown’s, who wore black uniforms. Why would Rion station so many guards in a town like this?

  Had Rion somehow expected them to come here?

  Miren tried to control her expression as the passing guards glanced at her, tried to contain her panic. She struggled to look bored, tired—a farmhand traveling a long distance.

  She squeaked in surprise when Liviya grabbed the back of the seat and whispered in her ear. “I’m going to create a distraction. Get them out of here. As soon as you get out of town, go west. Don’t wait for me.”

  Before Miren could protest, Liviya hopped over the side of the cart and crossed the street.

  Miren fought the instinct to pull the horse to a stop. Splitting up seemed like a terrible idea, but halting traffic would be worse. They had to get out of the city, then figure out what to do.

  The cart came to another intersection of cobbled streets. Miren badly wanted to urge the horse forward, but she waited, forcing her shoulders to relax and smiling at the pedestrians.

  She kept herself from looking back at the rest of the group again. They all must be obscured well enough—but then why had Liviya run off to create a distraction? She wouldn’t be of any help to them if she got arrested.

  The town center stretched on for another two blocks before the line of buildings gave way to more spacious plots. Miren flicked the horse into a trot.

  She glanced behind her. Everyone was still huddled in back, Ori bundled in a blanket and tucked by Arten’s side, his face buried in his father’s chest.

  Miren turned back toward the front and saw another cart parked on the side of the road. She steered the horse away, but too late—the corner of her cart nicked the back end of the other. Wood splintered with a loud crunch.

  “Hey!” A man stood just a few paces away, speaking with an older woman. He was portly with black trousers and a light blue coat. He had thin, brown sideburns and a dark hat with a wide brim.

  Miren yanked on the reins. If she tried to run now, she would create a scene. “Sorry!” she called.

  The man’s face flushed red as he assessed the damage, his companion watching with alarm. Miren jumped off the cart and joined him. A board hung crookedly off the side of his cart, but the crates in the back were untouched.

  “Skies and seas, woman!” he cried. “What have you done?”

  “What?” Miren said. “It’s not so bad.”

  “Not so bad!” he shouted. “I run a business. This is unsightly! You’re paying for repairs!”

  Miren hunched as his yelling drew more eyes. “Sir, I—I will, of course,” she stammered. “Please, sir, there’s no need to—”

  “I think twenty gold should suffice,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Twenty gold,” she cried. “I don’t have that much coin.”

  “Then you’ll spend a week in the stockade.” He called, “Guard! Guard, here please.”

  “No, no, please!” she said. “I can pay, I can pay—I just don’t have the money with me today. I need to go home to get it.”

  “Oh, do you?” he sneered. “You think I’d just let you skip away without paying me?”

  “But I don’t have the money!”

  “Then you can stay in the stockade until you’ve paid me. Guard! Here!”

  Miren turned as a pair of uniformed guards waded their way through the crowd toward them. One had long, dark hair tied back, and another had a thick beard. She recognized them; they had been patrolling the plaza where she’d seen the wanted posters.

  Had the guards followed the cart?

  Miren’s heart was pounding now. Arten still had his head down, hunched as though he were trying to shield Ori with his body. Hana sat facing away, head covered. Davri, however, sat straight, watching the exchange, one hand on the edge of the cart as though he were about to jump out and intervene.

  Miren clenched her hands into fists. What would Liviya do?

  Where was she?

  A couple of women walking along the road paused and pointed. Miren followed their gaze and spotted a column of dark smoke rising a few blocks away.

  A fire.

  Had Liviya set a building on fire?

  Miren stepped in front of the other cart’s owner as the guards approached. “Sirs,” she said. “Is that a fire over there?”

  “What?” the cart owner said, looking up.

  People around them began to notice.

  The guards bolted in the direction of the smoke. The other cart’s owner was distracted by the sight, pressing forward and peering over the crowd.

  Miren darted back onto the cart, grabbed the reins, and flicked them hard. The horse surged into motion and out of town.

  * * *

  They kept going until it became too dark to see the road.

  Miren finally pulled the horse to a stop behind a small shelf of land that was just about her height. It wasn’t as hidden as she liked—she could spot three farmsteads from here—but it was far enough away that the town was now a collection of silhouetted buildings and faint lights from the streetlamps.

  The group climbed out of the cart, slow and exhausted.

  Hana finally broke the silence. “Should we build a fire?” she asked.

  “We don’t need to cook anything,” Arten said.

  “But it will be too cold to sleep without one,” Hana said.

  If they built a fire, they would be easily spotted. But if they didn’t build a fire and were still spotted, they would look suspicious. Miren rubbed her forehead. What should they do?

  “Keep the fire behind here.” She pointed to the outcropping. “At least it won’t be seen from town.”

  No one responded, but she saw Arten’s silhouette leave to look for wood and dried grass. Ori complained about being hungry, and Hana pulled something from a bag. Miren wanted to talk to Davri, but of course he wouldn’t be able to answer her questions in the dark.

  A half-hour later, the party sat around a small fire.

  “How did he know?” Arten said. “How could Cheliem possibly have known we’d come this way?”

  “How do you know it’s Cheliem?” Miren asked. “The poster said that Lady Rion was looking for you.”

  “This is her territory,” Arten said. “Cheliem would have needed to get her permission to put those posters up. Why else would she be looking for us?”

  Miren glanced at Davri. He nodded. That makes sense.

  “So Cheliem is still looking,” she said.

  No one answered. Arten paced, rubbing the back of his head. Hana held Ori, watching her husband worriedly.

  Liviya had seemed confident that Cheliem wouldn’t look for them beyond Fourth Circle, and
he would have focused his attention on the coast. The fact that he not only was looking for them this far north, but had managed to send word before their arrival, was concerning.

  Miren didn’t think going north had been too obvious. Who would travel closer to the capital to escape the government? “Cheliem must have thought you’d come here to save your brother,” she said.

  “Or he guessed our plan to take the Crown’s Seam to the coast,” Hana said.

  Taking the Seam to the coast is not something a reasonable person would think of, Davri signed, his fingers barely visible in the firelight. I think Miren is right. He thinks we’re here to find Cale.

  The group fell silent. If Cheliem was behind this, then it meant that none of them were safe. Although—

  “Davri’s face wasn’t posted,” Miren said. “Wouldn’t Cheliem be looking for you as well?”

  Davri shrugged.

  “Maybe Cheliem doesn’t want the competition,” Arten said. “If there’s word of a Singer avoiding the draft, then bounty hunters might start looking for you.”

  “Would that really happen?” Miren asked.

  If the bounty is large enough for a nobleman to be tempted, Davri signed, then it would attract attention.

  “But the wanted posters—why would Rion do such a favor for Cheliem?” Hana said. “She ranks higher than he does.”

  Davri signed, If Cheliem sold Cale’s contract to Rion, then it’s likely they have some connection.

  “What do we do now?” Hana asked.

  “I’m not leaving without my mother,” Arten said.

  Miren glanced at Davri. Should they stay and wait, or should they press on? Each choice felt riddled with unacceptable consequences. Skies, how had they managed to get this far?

  “Maybe . . . someone can wait here for Liviya,” Hana said, looking at Miren uncertainly, “while the rest of us try to find a boat?”

  “She said we shouldn’t wait for her,” Miren replied. “We can’t risk anyone seeing you all.”

  “We need to find her,” Arten said. “Miren, you’re the only one who can safely go to town. You can go look for her!”

  “And what if someone finds you while I’m gone?” she countered. “How are you going to talk your way out of anything when your faces are plastered all over town? Have Davri do it?”

  A cold, pragmatic corner of Miren’s mind reminded her that she didn’t need the whole family—Liviya was the only one who could help her find Kesia. The rest of her mind was telling her that deserting Arten, Hana, and Ori would be a heartless thing to do. She wasn’t sure which side would win.

  “Mother had a plan,” Arten said. “Let’s find her and carry it out.”

  Liviya’s plan was based on the assumption that no one would follow us this far north, Davri signed. We need a different plan.

  “The river is still our only option,” Arten said. “If the coast wasn’t dangerous for us before, it certainly is now.”

  “Do we even need a boat?” Hana said, looking to Davri. “What about when you Sang us out of Fisher’s Canyon?”

  Miren and Davri both shook their heads. That was an emergency, Davri signed. I can’t keep us all together.

  “And it would take too long,” Miren said. “With a boat, he just needs to direct the current underneath us. Without one, he would need to Sing to keep us above water and propel us forward at the same time.”

  That too, Davri signed.

  “We still need something to get us across the sea,” Arten said. “A sailboat was always the hope.”

  “How was Liviya planning to get a sailboat to the Crown’s Seam?” Miren said. “I thought it was a canyon.”

  “I don’t know,” Arten said. “That’s why we need her.”

  Miren took a long breath. “We wait, then,” she said. “We’ll sleep in shifts, and when it’s light again, I’ll go back to town to look for her, all right?”

  Davri nodded. Arten and Hana shared a look.

  “Fine,” Arten said.

  “Fine,” Miren echoed.

  “What about Uncle Cale?” Ori asked loudly.

  Hana shushed him gently. “Ori, we can’t right now.”

  “Nana will get him,” Arten said. “We need to go to Avi’or and wait for him.”

  “No!”

  “Ori—” Hana began.

  “You’re just scared!” he yelled.

  “Ori,” Arten said sternly. “Don’t talk to your mother that way.”

  “No!” Ori began to cry. Hana leaned over and murmured to him, but the little boy wailed inconsolably.

  Miren suddenly felt very tired. “We should take turns keeping watch,” she said to Davri.

  He nodded. I’ll go first.

  Twenty-Four

  Kesia

  Kesia remained unmoving in the lightless barracks until the door opened and the other Singers filed in. In the brief light from the hall, no one met her gaze.

  The next day of work began with the same note of Earth Song that always unlocked the door, the same creaking sound as it opened, the same shuffle downstairs. Kesia felt bruises along her jaw and hip. Her ear throbbed, and her knee twisted painfully with each step. She ate the dry bread and soggy vegetables, sitting numbly among the other Singers.

  The Avi’ori workers arrived, and the day began as usual. Everyone gave her glances. They didn’t help her walk, or lift things, or push the crates. The same rhythm as before. It was like they had all been waiting for her to realize what they had already accepted.

  This was their lives. This was all they would ever know.

  Then why? she thought. Why am I working? Why am I trying? Why am I still going? For hours, the word echoed in her mind until it ceased to mean anything. Why why why why why. The question never left as she Sang the furnace hot, warmed the rollers, pushed crates of slag to the back.

  A shout. Someone had said Fire Singer. She turned. Katzil spoke with Nadav at the door, beckoning her with a hand. How long had he been standing there?

  She hobbled over, the world moving slowly past her. Katzil stared at her, taking in her injuries, her bruised cheek, her collar, her limp. He motioned for her to follow him. She thought of Singing, of bursting out with fire until everything around her was burning.

  Outside was the same. A thick fog had rolled in from the bay, seeping into the air with a wet chill that clung to her clothes. She limped after Katzil, who slowed his pace for her. Why why why why—

  In the hangar, the men worked as usual. They shouted and argued and even laughed, because they would see their homes in a few hours. They would leave.

  She climbed into the airship and took her spot in the furnace room, not remembering if she had been given orders to do so. The boys stood there, shoveling coal as they had yesterday. They did not look at her. She wondered at the Song she would need to set their clothes on fire. She could hear it, past the din of work. High and fast, fierce and precise. She watched the scene in her mind with utter detachment.

  She heard someone shout fire. She Sang the furnaces alight, and the room bloomed with sudden heat. Her Voice didn’t hint at the change within her; it burned and consumed her just as it always did.

  Hours dragged on. Memories tumbled over her like waves. The morning the chickens got out because she hadn’t latched the coop. The day she caught Davri sneaking around the village, staring at Haro as he worked over the forge. The day her father left. The day her mother left. The first time Davri took her to his favorite place, the secret cove under his father’s estate. The way his hand felt warm and dry in hers. That fateful night atop the plateau, Skyflame, her Voice bursting forth. The day she was taken, Miren screaming for help, crumpling from a blow to the head.

  Kesia choked on her Song. I tried, Miren, I really did.

  The Miren in her mind was silent.

  * * *

  The day passed at a crawl, but eventually the craft landed back in the hangar. She stepped off the airship and waited. Katzil approached her, and she followed him out of the
hangar and up the path to the refinery. A bright orange sunset shone against the jagged cloud cover to the west, silhouetting the sharp cliffs and mountains along Kaleo’s western border.

  They came to the plateau, just steps from the refinery. To her left, the plateau cut to a cliff overlooking the coast. Even from such a height, she could hear the distant echo of waves on the rocks. The same sound she would hear from the lighthouse in Crescent Bay.

  No, Miren said. It’s too high up. There are likely rocks at the bottom.

  Yes, there were likely rocks at the bottom.

  Kesia turned and started walking.

  Her heart pounded. She was not supposed to go this way. She would be caught, beaten, starved, shot.

  She kept walking.

  “Hey!” Katzil shouted.

  Kesia quickened her pace. Her twisted knee ached in protest, but she burst into a run. Her chest heaved uselessly, and the collar threatened to strangle her, but she kept running.

  Somewhere over the water, Miren was shouting.

  Kesia, don’t!

  Kesia pushed herself to go faster. The ground to her left erupted with a gunshot. She didn’t slow; the cliff drew nearer, the collar grinding into her neck as she pumped her arms, her lungs aching. She waited for more shouting, more gunshots, more footsteps, but there was nothing. She imagined that the captain was giving her time, wondering if he missed her on purpose, but that couldn’t be right.

  Kesia, please! Miren cried. This won’t work.

  But Miren had always been protective. Always cautious, untrusting. Kesia knew her sister’s intentions were good, but she had never admitted to herself how stifling Miren could be.

  Perhaps Miren was wrong this time. Perhaps this would work.

  It almost didn’t matter—Kesia wasn’t going to stop running. Her knee threatened to bend the wrong way and send her sprawling. Her vision grew hazy around the corners, but she kept running.

  The edge approached—ten paces away, five paces—

  Kesia! Miren cried.