Divided Fire

by Jennifer San Filippo

  * * *

  Kesia followed Zuriel, surprised when he took turns down alleys and dark, littered spaces between buildings. Looking up, she saw lines of drying clothes above the alleys and potted plants in the windows. Metal stairs zigzagged up the side of the buildings, all the way to the roofs.

  Zuriel leaped for one set of stairs and pulled. A ladder slid to the ground with a roar of metal. “We’ll go this way,” he said. “Fewer people will see us.”

  Kesia wasn’t sure that was true, but she scrambled up the stairs after him. Her chest heaved against an invisible collar. She grabbed the rail to steady herself.

  “Hey, are you coming?” Zuriel called, already a flight above her. “We don’t want anyone to spot us.”

  She nodded and continued up the next flight of stairs.

  On the fifth floor, Zuriel curled his fingers under a window and shoved it open. “I use this way all the time,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. His excited grin faltered. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, her breathing finally steady.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll just be Grandpa. Mother isn’t home yet from work.” He leaned through the window and tumbled in headfirst. “Grandpa,” he called. “We have a visitor!”

  Kesia stuck her head through the open window. She saw two beds pushed against opposite walls. Clothes littered the floor and hung off a mantel. Zuriel hurried to the door and paused, waiting for her.

  “Zuriel!” a voice shouted from another room. “Did you come through the window, again? You know your mother hates that.”

  Kesia wiggled her way in until she could drop and roll onto the floor. She untangled herself from a pair of trousers, wincing at the smell.

  “We have a guest!” Zuriel said again. He motioned for Kesia to hurry. She straightened her skirt and stepped into the hallway.

  A man sat in a small parlor reading a newspaper, a cane propped against the arm of his chair. His shoulders were hunched, and he was mostly bald but for wisps of white hair behind his ears. A wire frame was set on his nose and ears, holding two shards of glass in front of his eyes. He stared at Kesia through them, and his eyes looked unnaturally large.

  “Hello,” he said.

  She nodded, her hands clasped in front of her.

  Zuriel nudged her. “Say hello,” he whispered.

  She glanced at him, her heart thrumming. Hello, sir, she signed.

  The man pulled the frames off his face and sat up. “Zuriel,” he said, “why did you bring this girl through the window?”

  “Because she’s being hunted!” Zuriel cried. Kesia startled at the word. “She—she escaped from Amos Steel!”

  The man didn’t move, his expression blank with confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, you don’t listen.” He pushed Kesia forward. “Tell him!”

  Kesia stumbled, stiff with fear.

  The old man folded the newspaper and set it on his lap. “Please sit down,” he said.

  Kesia went to the nearest chair and sat on the very edge of the seat, imagining herself darting for the door. Her bag slipped down her arm. Zuriel sat next to her, looking eager.

  “I’m Dar,” the old man said. “What’s your name, young miss?”

  She glanced at Zuriel, who nodded encouragingly. She spelled, Kesia.

  The man watched her with a steady gaze. “Kesia,” he said aloud. “Is that right?”

  She nodded.

  “And what is this about Amos Steel?”

  She lifted her hands, and once she started signing, she couldn’t stop. She told of the pirates coming to Crescent Bay, of being sold, of working in the factory and later on the airship.

  They’re building a huge airship, which can really fly, but they need me to keep the furnaces hot.

  “A what?” Dar asked.

  Air ship. Kesia made the signs distinct. It’s like a large egg on its side, and it has air in it. It’s a very big secret.

  “Red skies and seas,” Dar muttered. “I heard whisperings about them making prisoners of war work at Amos, but I never imagined pirates dragging Singers from their homes.”

  “But what about this airship?” Zuriel said. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

  “There were rumors,” his grandfather said. “But there are always rumors. I just didn’t think they’d be so daring about it. How were they able to fly the thing without us seeing?”

  It’s on the other side of the hill, Kesia signed, pointing south. You wouldn’t see it from the city.

  “But someone must have seen,” he said to himself. “They must have done their tests around their private cove.”

  A lock clicked, and the front door swung open. A woman in a dark blue dress swept through, brown tendrils of hair peeking from an otherwise tight bun.

  “Mother,” Zuriel said. “This girl was a slave at Amos Steel!”

  “What?”

  Kesia recounted the story, watching the woman’s face tighten as she sank onto the couch. She glanced at Dar, whose face was grim.

  “I can’t believe it,” Zuriel’s mother said when Kesia had finished the story a second time. “You were right, Father. I can’t believe you were right.”

  “I never thought it was this bad, Tisa,” Dar replied. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Cheap labor means more profit, and this explains a lot.”

  “How did they control you?” Tisa asked.

  Kesia glanced at Zuriel. He nodded, but he looked less eager now. “Show them.”

  Kesia reached in her bag and withdrew the collar.

  Tisa gasped audibly. Dar looked sick.

  “Unbelievable,” she said. “How many of you were there?”

  About twenty, Kesia signed.

  “Why don’t you just march up to the factory and burn it to the ground?” Zuriel asked.

  Kesia shook her head, feeling tears prick her eyes. She had imagined it before, but most of the Amos Steel buildings were made of brick and metal, which took far too much Singing to melt. Besides, bullets were faster than her breath.

  “Zuriel, don’t speak like that,” Tisa said. “Kesia, you are welcome to stay here until you decide what you want to do. You can share my room. I have some old dresses that will fit you.”

  Kesia’s throat closed. They said they would help her, and she marveled at how easily she believed them. Thank you, she signed.

  Thirty-One

  Kesia

  Kesia clipped the final piece of wet laundry, a faded blue shirt of Zuriel’s, onto the line mounted just outside the window. A whole web of lines crisscrossed the alley, most of them laden with damp clothing that flapped in the wind.

  In the apartment building directly across from them, a plump, smiling woman waved from a window. Kesia waved back, nervous that a stranger had seen her, but the woman was already gone.

  For three days—three quiet, merciful days—she had been staying with Zuriel’s family. She had made an effort to blend into their routine. Mornings were all chaos. Tisa would shake Zuriel from bed at least twice before he finally staggered to the kitchen for breakfast. The newspaper was delivered to the doorstep. In a whirlwind of shouting and shoveling food and looking for misplaced socks and hats, Tisa and Zuriel would leave.

  The metallic oven intimidated Kesia, but Tisa was a patient teacher. By the third morning, Kesia was cooking salted pork and baking cornbread for breakfast. At Dar’s prompting, Zuriel retrieved the newspaper and read aloud. The first few words startled Kesia like cold water.

  “‘Amos Steel and Co. Boosts City Economy,’” Zuriel read. “‘Leading experts report that the overall condition of neighboring businesses has improved significantly since Amos Steel’s founding ten years ago.’ Sure, I’d wager my earnings for the week that it has!”

  “Read another article,” Tisa said, glancing at Kesia. “Please.”

  Zuriel flipped a few pages. “‘Yesterday, the mayor oversaw the raising of the Sky Pillar in the town square in preparation for tomorrow’s Star Song Fe
stival.’ It’s almost here!”

  “Oh, is it that time of year again?” Dar said.

  “Don’t tease, Father,” Tisa said, kissing Zuriel’s head. “This is the big year.”

  Zuriel grinned. Kesia sat down with a plate of pork. Star Song?

  “It’s the biggest holiday of the year,” Tisa explained.

  Zuriel was practically jumping in his seat. “Every year, the town gets together at night and lights the Sky Pillar. They set up four stations around it, one for each element, and everyone who’s twelve gets to participate and try to Sing for the first time!”

  Kesia signed excitedly, That’s Skyflame!

  Zuriel looked puzzled. “Sky fire?”

  We call it Skyflame in Kaleo, Kesia explained. We climb a hill and build a large fire—

  “This is a festival. We all gather—”

  “Zuriel,” Tisa said. “Don’t interrupt.”

  Kesia smiled. Yours sounds much bigger.

  “It’s huge,” Zuriel said. “You should come with us!”

  Kesia paused. Going outside felt like an unnecessary risk.

  “You should keep reading,” Dar said to his grandson. “I want to hear about the coastal trade agreements.”

  Zuriel groaned and flipped through the pages. He looked up. “Hey! You know what we should do? We should go to the newspaper and tell them about Kesia!”

  Kesia flinched so hard that she dropped her knife, smearing the table with butter. She signed apologies as she reached for a rag to clean it up.

  “Zuriel,” Tisa warned.

  “It’s perfect! That way we can let the people know what’s happening without endangering Kesia! Once the people hear about it, they’ll get really mad, and Amos’ll have to let the other slaves go!”

  In the silence that followed, Kesia searched for reasons why that wouldn’t work. She would have to show her face; nobody would believe her; they would assume she was part of the Kaleon military.

  But when she thought of Ayla Singing fire on her own, those excuses felt cowardly.

  Dar cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Zuriel. The Council employs Amos Steel to manufacture much of their steel. If the company uses Singers as slaves—”

  “Then the Council might already know,” Tisa finished. “They might not want that information to get out.”

  “But the paper isn’t run by the government,” Zuriel said.

  “But the people who own the paper might be,” Dar said. “We don’t know what the Council would be willing to do to keep this a secret.”

  “But if the people know, then the government would have to stop!”

  All eyes turned to Kesia.

  Tisa stood. “We can discuss this later. Zuriel, you’re going to be late to work.”

  After Tisa and Zuriel had left, Dar took his place in his chair with the remains of the newspaper, and Kesia cleaned up the kitchen.

  A few hours later, the dishes had been washed and put away. The pantry had been organized. Beds had been made and laundry hung out to dry. What else was there to do?

  Tisa and Zuriel spent most daylight hours at their jobs. Tisa was a secretary for an office—Kesia didn’t fully understand it, but Tisa often came home complaining that she had been sitting for too long. A boy Zuriel’s age was expected to attend school, but he held a job at a factory across town. “School is boring,” he had said by way of explanation.

  Kesia began sweeping the floors. She couldn’t shake the belief that if she was idle, she would find herself slumped against the wall of an alley, or worse—back in the Singers’ quarters of Amos Steel.

  She knew she was being irrational, but when she stopped working, she thought about terrible things: Singers who were still slaves. A young Fire Singer forced to do the work of two. A sister who might or might not still be alive. Parents who were at war. Davri alone in his study.

  At least she could help around the house.

  Dar’s newspaper dipped slightly. “Kesia, why don’t you take a break?”

  Kesia nestled the broom in the crook of her arm. I will sweep the kitchen floor first.

  “You already swept it,” he said gently. “Sit down.”

  Kesia hesitated. He had clearly given her an order, however kindly. She returned the broom to the closet and took a seat on the couch.

  Dar stared at her for a moment. “Why don’t you read a book?”

  Kesia nodded, feeling relieved. Reading a book was a leisurely activity, but at least it was keeping busy.

  She stood and walked over to the small shelf against the far wall. Twelve volumes stood in formation; she had never seen so many in one place. Davri had once offered to sneak her into his father’s library, a rare sign of rebellion from him, but Kesia had refused. Any extra attention from Darius had seemed too blatant a risk—both because she was a Singer and because Darius would not approve of his son courting a commoner.

  She ran her finger over the thick, well-worn covers, marveling at how so much information could be held in such a small casing. She found one Tisa had recommended: The Only Star, a romance between a rich blind man and a peasant woman born mute.

  She opened the book and began reading, but soon her attention was drawn to the window, to the crowded streets. Was Dar right? Was slavery really such a far-reaching conspiracy here?

  A rippling snore startled her from her thoughts. Dar had fallen asleep in his chair, the newspaper crumpled in his lap.

  She stood, grabbed a shawl to cover her head, and left. She had been on the streets after her escape and hadn’t been spotted, but somehow being out in the open felt more dangerous now. Rebellious, even. But she hadn’t seen a single Amos Steel worker outside the factory since her escape, and now that she was clean and in different clothes, she was less likely to be noticed.

  She traveled the streets with no particular destination in mind. She thought of Davri, of the hours they paced the beach together or sat on a shelf of rock, keeping to the north end to avoid the villagers’ attention.

  She had never been able to explain to Miren why she wanted Davri to know about her Voice. It wasn’t just her affection for him. Being a Singer was lonely, and being the only Singer in a village was lonelier still. Even here, in this bustling city, she was alone.

  Another street. She didn’t realize where she was heading until she was less than two blocks away.

  Amos Steel.

  She stopped across the street from the great incline of the southern hill. The same, well-worn path snaked up the facade in switchbacks, giving way to the plateau at the very top. The brick walls of the factory buildings were red-brown, like drying blood.

  A woman shouldered past her; Kesia had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She stepped aside, her heart hammering.

  There were more Singers in that compound than there had been in Crescent Bay at any point in her life. Even when Kesia had lamented the loss of her speaking voice, her mother had never referred to Singing as anything but a gift. When the king had decreed that Singers be drafted, people were furious. Singing was no longer a way to serve one’s community; it was now a weapon of war, a reason to hide.

  Kesia saw figures making their way down the incline, slowly growing larger.

  There were five of them, about fifty paces away from her now. She recognized them all. Two had worked on the airship.

  Kesia’s whole body shook with fear. The ghost of a collar pressed on her throat, making it difficult to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

  She turned around and ran.

  Thirty-Two

  Kesia

  “You have to go to Star Song!” Zuriel complained the following morning. “I’m singing tonight. And the food will be incredible.”

  Kesia sat at breakfast. Fried pork, spiced eggs, and rolls with butter covered the table, but her appetite hadn’t returned since yesterday’s trip to the factory. When she had gotten back to the apartment, Dar had still been asleep. No one knew she had left, and she felt reluctant to bring it up.
<
br />   But the fear occasioned by seeing those men hadn’t left her. She had hardly added to last night’s dinner conversation. No one had pressed her, though she caught Dar staring more than once.

  Now, as they sat around the table, Tisa was stirring oatmeal in a pot. Kesia had gone to bed early and woken late, but she still felt unrested.

  She signed, There might be factory workers at the event.

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” Zuriel said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s all going to be so crowded that no one will notice us.”

  I can’t risk them seeing me.

  “We’ll give you a hat, and you can have your face painted. There’s a stand for that. Come on, I know you want to go!”

  Kesia did want to go to the Star Song festival. From the parlor window, the city of Peladah seemed to have transformed overnight. Banners of bright red and gold were strung between lampposts, brushing the tops of carriages. Ribbons streamed from roofs, and flags waved from open windows. She thought of the Skyflame ceremonies of Crescent Bay. Miren would likely have a few things to say about the noisy festivities—Skyflame was a celebration, but it was also sacred—though Kesia thought the fanfare added excitement. She imagined strolling the streets of Peladah with Davri, admiring all the bright colors, glad for the thick crowd as an excuse to hold hands.

  “A crowd is the best place to hide,” Dar said. “It’ll be all right, Kesia.”

  A sudden blare made Kesia jump. She rushed to the window. A collection of brightly clad musicians marched down the center of the road, tooting horns and beating drums of various sizes.

  “The festival officially begins at sunset,” Tisa explained, “but people always like to start early.”

  “See?” Zuriel said. “It’s going to be amazing! Please come.”

  Kesia allowed herself a smile and nodded. I’ll go.

  Neither Tisa nor Zuriel had to work today, so Kesia spent the morning in the kitchen with them, cooking every kind of sweet the boy could name. While the rolls were baking, Kesia settled by the window and watched the people pass. They wore bright colors of fire, red and gold, as well as white and even some blue.