Zuriel flopped down next to her. “Wait’ll you try the food,” he said. “There’s a dozen booths all surrounding a huge fire. They roast beef and chicken and vegetables with this ginger sauce, and there’s another booth with spiced rum that actually lights the drink up when you buy it! The trick is not to blow it out right away, because the rum tastes best when it’s hot.”
In the afternoon, after they had gorged on sweets, they rummaged through the closet. Tisa pulled out clothes in shades of red and gold, with patterns that suggested fire or stars.
“People only wear blue and white if they’re a Singer or are participating in the ceremony,” Tisa said, digging in the back of her closet. “I have a lovely white dress in here somewhere, but that’s probably not the best idea.”
Red is fine, please.
Tisa chose a yellow skirt and blouse. Kesia wore a red dress and shawl to cover her head. Zuriel donned a blue coat with white trim, and even Dar pulled a fiery ensemble from his closet.
At sunset, they left the apartment and joined the crowd. Tisa, Zuriel, and Dar greeted their neighbors cheerfully, but Kesia stayed a few paces back, hoping not to be recognized. She still felt anxious being in the open, but everyone was so enthusiastic that she couldn’t help but be excited.
The streets were lined with booths, their bright signs advertising face-painting, food, and drink. The little family waded through currents of people, taking turns supporting Dar by the arm until Tisa decided that only Kesia was equipped to keep up with Zuriel. “Just make sure he doesn’t get trampled,” she said.
Zuriel skipped along, stopping at booths and eating more food than Kesia thought possible. At one point, he gestured in excitement as the crowd split to watch a performance.
Two looming structures circled each other. They were puppets, each featuring a large cut-out head with a long snout and serpentine eyes, and a tail that extended over the heads of three more performers. One puppet was aqua, shimmering like the scales of a fish; the other was dark brown with a square flank. They twirled and danced around each other in an elegant display of battle.
“The two beasts,” Zuriel explained over the noise of the crowd. “The beast of the land and of the sea.”
She had heard of the creatures, but they had never celebrated the beasts in Crescent Bay, and certainly not during Skyflame.
When the clock tower chimed eight times, the crowd began to surge.
“It’s time, it’s time!” Zuriel cried.
The crowds led to an enormous plaza. Unlike the rest of the city, the circle of cement was barren. A single pole in the center was adorned with a glass sphere. Red-and-gold ribbons connected the sphere to the four corners of the plaza.
People fought for spots toward the front, and an excited hum floated through the air. Kesia could almost imagine the great flaming structure of Skyflame. We’re so similar, and yet we wage war, she thought. We both celebrate Singing and both abuse it.
At some unseen cue, four people stepped into the center of the plaza: two men and two women, each wearing white clothes with ornate blue patterns that artfully depicted their element. Just as with Skyflame, they each carried a symbol of their element as well: stones, kindling, ribbons, and a pail of water. The crowd hushed as each Singer placed their element at the end of a ribbon. The Fire Singer, an older woman with long braided hair, Sang to light the four connected ribbons. The fire flared and climbed the ribbons until it surrounded the glass sphere on top, which glittered like a star.
Kesia marveled at the similarities to Skyflame.
A bell sounded, and the quiet shattered as children dressed in blue flooded the square. Each rushed to one of the four elements and started singing. The adult Singers tried to impose order, but the children were too excited to heed them properly.
Kesia gaped, appalled. This was nothing like Skyflame.
Zuriel had gone still. Tisa stepped up beside him with Dar and wrapped an arm around him. “Any advice for Zuriel?” she asked Kesia.
Zuriel looked up expectantly. Kesia thought of her mother’s wisdom before her own Skyflame ceremony. There’s no way to prepare, really, Kesia signed discretely. If you’re not chosen, don’t be discouraged.
“Chosen?” Zuriel said. “I thought it was just luck.”
Kesia shrugged. Her mother had always used the word, and she had never questioned it.
They watched as the children finally resigned themselves to waiting in lines around each of the different elements. There was a crowd for Earth and Fire, though Kesia noted that many of the children who failed there hopped into the Water or Air lines.
The sight distressed her more than she expected. If this was how the ceremony was conducted, it was a marvel that Avi’or had any Singers at all. The children treated Singing like candy—something that could be had if one begged hard enough. She felt a fuller appreciation for her mother’s training.
Unexpected applause startled Kesia. A girl had managed to make the ribbons flutter with a quick trill, and now she was beaming as her parents cheered.
“There are usually more Singers than this,” Zuriel muttered, disappointed.
Another ten minutes went by, and Zuriel still didn’t join the other children. Kesia glanced at Tisa with a question, but Tisa just shrugged. Perhaps he was intimidated by the crowd.
Children were already leaving the center of the plaza, looking disappointed and embarrassed. The four adult Singers simply watched with solemn expressions. The elements remained undisturbed.
They’re just singing nonsense, Kesia signed. They need to listen.
“Listen to what?” Zuriel asked.
This was another lesson from her mother, but she didn’t feel the small pulse of warmth that usually came with those memories. Just listen, she signed.
More children spilled into the plaza, singing random syllables or sometimes shouting at the elements as if they could intimidate the water into splashing or the ribbons to stir. Some parents watched with a smile, but others looked worried, even angry. The Singers overseeing each element stood idly, looking resigned to the chaos.
Kesia glanced at Zuriel, but he seemed intent on something. Before she could ask him what he was looking at, he stepped into the plaza and headed for the pile of stones at the far end. A few boys yelled at him for cutting in line, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Zuriel stopped in front of the stones, as the Earth Singer who stood beside them waited, looking mildly curious. Over the din of the crowd and screaming children, Kesia felt more than heard Zuriel’s Voice.
It started as a hum, a rumble below her feet. The pile of stones tumbled over each other and then rose into the air.
The children’s shouting faded so only Zuriel’s Singing was heard. A few rumbling, uncertain notes, and the stones clattered to the ground.
A beat of silence. Tisa’s hand covered her mouth.
The crowd erupted into applause.
Thirty-Three
Miren
For four days, Miren stared out at the water.
Her back ached from sitting for so long on the hard, wooden seat. There was hardly enough room in the boat to sit unencumbered, let alone sleep. They took turns huddled in the prow, whispering apologies as they elbowed and kneed one another.
Miren’s eyes hurt from the bright light reflecting off the water. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her cheeks were hot from the constant sun. She kept hoping they were nearly there, the Avi’ori mountains slowly rolling closer as the hours passed. But the shoreline never came into view.
While Davri Sang, the group signed instead of speaking, sometimes whispering to Ori when he didn’t understand. Any interruption, however slight, felt like an unnecessary burden to place on the Singer.
Miren could hear Davri’s fatigue through the Song, but he rarely took breaks except to eat and sleep. At those times, the others would take turns rowing, keeping silent as Davri slept. The currents of the open water were rough and unforgiving, and the muscles in Miren’s back and should
ers screamed for relief. More than once, she was convinced that they were even farther away from Avi’or than when they had started.
Liviya’s insistence on angling southeast added time to their travel, but her decision turned out to be wise. Occasionally, they heard the faint booming of cannon fire. Sometimes, they even saw a line of towering, triple-masted vessels facing a smaller number of what must be steam-powered ships, long and metallic, heavy steam billowing from fat towers that rose from the deck in place of masts. The Avi’ori ships were clearly faster and held heavier firepower, judging from the ringing explosions, but they were often outnumbered by the Kaleon naval craft.
Once, they heard cannons at night, far nearer than they’d anticipated. In the dark, a line of Kaleon ships had managed to creep close to a smaller Avi’ori fleet and open fire. Everyone had begun to panic quietly until Davri awoke and launched into Song. For the next two hours, they sailed almost due south in an effort to avoid any more skirmishes.
Now, as Miren stared out at the water, she thought she saw the faint outline of civilization: buildings of varying heights and girths were scattered along the base of the mountain range. As they grew closer, she spotted more structures along the mountainside, with thin switchbacks snaking up the foothills. She even saw a building far up on a cliff on the southern end of the mountain range. The Avi’ori coastline at last.
She tapped Liviya on the shoulder. The woman looked up, squinting, the wrinkles around her eyes stark in the pale sunlight.
Docks? Miren signed.
Liviya considered, then shook her head. We’ll be charged for docking, she signed. Better to find a beach.
Miren glanced at Davri. He was staring straight ahead, his gaze glassy as he focused on his Song. Liviya gently patted his knee and explained where they should head.
He looked past her, as though just noticing that they were near the coast, and nodded once. Miren’s concern for him had grown over the last four days. She had never seen a Singer work this hard or for this long. She had heard stories about sailors who Sang their ship through horrific storms or fought back wildfires on land, but those tales never gave specifics about what the strain did to the Singer. Could it kill them?
And what of Kesia? What was she going through in comparison?
As they came nearer, the mountains grew, and so did the buildings.
This was a city, larger than any she’d seen in Kaleo.
Everyone in the boat straightened at the sight of land, eager despite their fatigue. Liviya wordlessly directed Davri past a cluster of docks to a short span of beach at the northern end of the city.
The curling surf pushed them the rest of the way ashore. Miren braced as they hit the sand hard. Cale and Arten jumped out and pulled the boat up until the bow was on the sand.
Liviya climbed out of the boat as if she were angry. Arten carried Ori to shore. Hana held her skirt up in a vain attempt to keep it dry.
Miren was so stiff that she nearly tripped as she disembarked. She turned back to the boat to retrieve her pack and noticed Davri still slumped over, dark circles under his eyes.
“Davri,” Miren said, her voice rasping with disuse. “Are you all right?”
He didn’t sign, didn’t move. He just stared at the sand, his shoulders hunched. For a brief moment, he looked like his father, the overhead sun giving his features sharp shadows.
He took a breath and pushed himself out of his seat. She held out a hand, but he waved it away, struggling to find balance.
He got one foot over the side before the boat tipped and dumped him out into the surf.
“Davri!” She lunged into the water and hauled him up. He coughed up a mouthful of water, but another wave shoved him off balance, and he went under again.
“Someone help me!” Miren cried.
Cale crashed back into the surf, followed by Arten. They pulled Davri upright and slung his arms over their shoulders, half-dragging, half-carrying him to shore. Liviya waded in and hauled the boat up out of the water.
Miren noticed onlookers for the first time. People were scattered around the beach, some hitting balls back and forth, others lounging in the sun. Many of them seemed to be relaxing, though the beach seemed a strange place to do so.
Silently, their group trudged through the sand, half-soaked and sunburned, Arten and Cale still supporting Davri.
Unlike towns Miren had seen in Kaleo, there was no gradual shift between the city and the rest of the world here. The beach ended abruptly in stone walkways that lined cobblestone streets.
Arten and Cale led Davri to a relatively quiet street corner and sat him on the edge of the sidewalk.
Miren hurried to kneel in front of him and gently chafed his hands. His eyes fluttered as if he were fighting to keep them open. His head bobbed in what might have been a nod.
“He’s exhausted,” Cale said, kneeling on his other side. Cale’s bruising was stark in this lighting. His swollen eye was more open than it had been, though it watered slightly at the corners.
Miren seated herself next to Davri. He smelled of sweat and saltwater, but she probably did too.
“We need to find a place to stay,” Liviya said, glaring at a couple of passersby. She waited until they were out of earshot before adding, “I’ll ask around.”
“I’ll go with you,” Arten said. The back of his shirt was stained red-brown; his wounds must have reopened while he was rowing.
Liviya frowned. “Hana should go with me. She looks the most presentable.”
Miren thought they all looked like homeless beggars, but Hana collected her matted hair in a bun and followed. Cale and Arten took seats beside Miren and Davri, Ori grumpily leaning against his uncle.
“Skies,” Cale said. “We made it.”
Miren stared at the city with renewed attention. Buildings twice as tall as any she had seen before stood sentinel along every street, some of them open for business, some with windows that scaled the whole facade. A boy shouted and waved a gray newspaper, his words hardly distinguishable to her through his accent.
The air was stiff and unmoving and heavy with the smell of dirt and horse dung. Unfamiliar spices wafted from different buildings. Even the clothing looked odd. Almost all the women wore colorful skirts, often lined with lace or artful patterns. Many men wore coats despite the warm weather.
Davri’s head drifted to Miren’s shoulder. Miren stiffened, but his eyes were closed; he likely wasn’t even aware of what he was doing.
A long, hot hour later, Liviya and Hana returned and led them to a tavern a few blocks away, passing busy streets thronged with carriages and people on foot. Davri insisted he was fine, but he quickly proved he couldn’t walk on his own. The men supported him on either side, while Hana and Miren took turns carrying Ori.
As they walked, they saw people dressed in bright reds and golds, with a few in white and blue. Banners hung from lampposts and outside windows. Troupes of musicians marched down the center of the street with no regard for traffic.
“Hey,” Cale said, “I think it’s the Star Song festival.”
“I think you’re right,” Hana said, pointing at bright banners.
“What’s Star Song?” Miren asked.
“It’s like your Skyflame,” Cale said. “All children who are twelve years old partake in the Star Song ceremony in the city plaza and try to get a Voice.” He saw Miren’s incredulous expression and grinned. “The ceremony I grew up with in a farming town is much more like how Kaleo does it, but the city tends to be a little”—he sidestepped a pair of giggling girls in bright yellow dresses, their faces painted with gold swirls—“louder.”
Miren stared at the ever-growing crowd, amazed that Skyflame was so different here. “Where is the city plaza?” she asked.
“It’s a few blocks over.” Hana pointed to the left. “We saw it earlier. It’s pretty crowded now.”
Miren considered making a detour, but her worry about Davri overruled any curiosity.
Liviya and Hana led the
m to the tavern they had found: a tall, narrow building painted dark red. Miren counted five rows of windows. A sign above the door read HORIZON INN.
Inside, they were greeted by a roar of conversation and clinking dishes. Unfamiliar food smells made Miren’s stomach tighten with hunger. A plump woman with short hair and an impressive nose sat behind a counter. Just beyond was a staircase.
The woman glanced up at the group and gasped. “What happened to this one?” she cried.
Liviya and Hana carefully explained that Davri had injured himself during a construction project near the docks, but he would be fine, and no, he didn’t need a doctor, just rest. Miren kept quiet, realizing that now she was the one with a foreign accent.
Liviya paid; the woman handed Liviya three sets of keys and returned to her perch.
The staircase was too narrow for three people, so Cale heaved Davri up the steps on his own. They came to a room with two small mattresses with maroon blankets and wooden chests at the foot of each. Hana and Miren stripped off Davri’s shirt and boots and settled him in bed.
Like in a dream, Miren looked up and found herself seated on the floor beside Davri’s bed. The others had gone down to eat. She didn’t remember the excuse she’d given, though she thought the bed too plush for her ragged self. Besides, she didn’t want to sleep.
Davri breathed evenly, his jaw slack. She was struck with how hard this trip must have been on him. He had lived a life of ease. Had he ever once complained during the journey?
Four days of Singing. Could he have damaged his Voice?
Miren groaned. Her mind was inventing scenarios just to torture her. She was surprised—and wryly annoyed—that she cared this much. Kesia would be happy to know that she did.
Where was Kesia?
Miren pulled the map from her pack. She had all but ignored the right side of the map, but now she stared at the expanse of Avi’or. The country was slightly larger than Kaleo, but most of it was mountains and hills, the cities crowded by the coast and in the valleys. Railways wove through nearly every city. Trains were a fast way to travel, right? Perhaps searching here wouldn’t be quite as taxing as it had been in Kaleo.
Divided Fire Page 25