Divided Fire

by Jennifer San Filippo

  Thirty-Six

  Kesia

  Well into the afternoon, with Tisa and Dar still gone to speak with a council representative, Kesia and Zuriel sat cross-legged in his room amid a sea of sketched maps and schedules and written descriptions, arguing about what they should do.

  It’s so dangerous, Zuriel, Kesia signed. You might not be helping anyone.

  But I have to try.

  What if they catch you?

  They won’t. I’m an Earth Singer now.

  As if to demonstrate, he Sang, and the collar lifted into the air between them clicking open and closed. Kesia winced at the sound.

  There isn’t enough time to plan a proper escape, Kesia tried again. You have to report to the bureau tomorrow.

  That’s why we have to do it tonight, Zuriel signed, still Singing the collar open and shut. If we don’t, who will?

  Just after sunset, Tisa and Dar returned from city hall looking harrowed.

  “Eight people,” Dar grumbled. “We had to talk to eight people before we found one who could answer our questions. Skies and seas.”

  What did they say? Kesia asked.

  “We finally spoke to an assistant council representative,” Tisa said. “She explained that they have a shortage of Earth Singers, and they’ve started recruiting as early as possible. They assured me that Zuriel wouldn’t be put into combat,” Tisa said. “They want his help with manufacturing ships and . . . weapons.”

  Kesia straightened. That is good news, right? He won’t be fighting?

  “If it’s true,” Tisa said. “But either way, he’s still a child. It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t—” She took a breath. “You’re going to be all right, Zuriel. I promise.”

  Zuriel nodded, looking distracted. I’d like to practice with Kesia a bit more tonight.

  Tisa stared, blinking. “All right.”

  Kesia could see the hurt on her face as Zuriel retreated back to his room. She thought of telling Tisa and Dar about Zuriel’s plan to break into Amos Steel tonight, but she couldn’t bring herself to form the words. What would they do if they knew? What would Zuriel do?

  She followed Zuriel into the room and closed the door. He held a piece of paper in front of him, one of the maps of the compound that Kesia had drawn at his request.

  This was her fault.

  If she had not come here, Zuriel wouldn’t even know what was happening at Amos Steel. He wouldn’t be practicing with that wretched collar. He wouldn’t be planning to get himself killed tonight.

  He glanced up at her, questioning.

  She took a seat, but her mind couldn’t focus, even as he asked her questions and studied her maps. She felt a rising fear, a slow-rolling realization that something terrible was going to happen.

  Zuriel picked up the collar again.

  She stood. Restroom.

  Zuriel nodded, his brow knitted in concentration as he began to Sing.

  Dar sat in his usual chair, a newspaper in his lap. Tisa stood in the kitchen over a pan hissing with hot oil.

  Kesia signed, I’ll be right back.

  “Is everything all right?” Tisa asked.

  She nodded and left the apartment.

  The city at night was almost a different world. The lampposts that stood like sentinels were alight with small flames, casting the streets in an orange glow, reminding her faintly of the lighthouse in Crescent Bay.

  She walked quickly, heading north. A few men hollered at her, but she clutched her shawl and quickened her pace. She turned and continued on until the buildings and streets gave way abruptly to the dark, glimmering expanse of the sea.

  She had never seen the docks at night. Ships never left until dawn. It was possible she might be able to stow away.

  She paused in an alley. Ships of varying sizes bobbed in the water, some with large, cylindrical columns in place of masts.

  She had no supplies, no money. She had no idea which ships were going where. But she couldn’t stay and put Zuriel’s family in danger. He couldn’t rescue the slaves without her help. She couldn’t save him from the military, but if she left, she could keep him from doing something that might ruin his life. He would report to the bureau and be stationed somewhere far from the conflict.

  But she didn’t move.

  I want to help people, Zuriel had signed.

  Wasn’t that what her mother had taught her since receiving her Voice? That Singing was a gift, a way to serve the community. Work, yes, but joyous work.

  I thought you wanted to help others.

  She thought of Cari and the morning the pirates had come to Crescent Bay.

  Before that day, she hadn’t Sung in years. When they had learned that Kesia’s Voice had survived cloud fever, Miren insisted they keep it a secret: no Singing, not even when they were alone.

  Kesia had resented it, but she had complied. Even now, Kesia was not convinced Miren understood what she had asked, but her sister had been so insistent that Kesia couldn’t bring herself to Sing, even when she was alone.

  So why had she Sung to save Cari from the pirates?

  It had been instinctive, and the Song had come to her immediately. It took no thought for her to light a pirate’s sleeve on fire to save Cari, or later, when she was in danger, to set fire to an elderly couple’s living room. She wanted to blame the pirates or the war, but maybe Kesia herself was the monster.

  Singing in defense of Cari hadn’t felt evil.

  It had been the right thing to do.

  I want to help people.

  But she had never thought that she could. She had never been strong. Or at least, there had always been someone stronger. Her mother, her father, Miren.

  But that day at Crescent Bay, she hadn’t stopped to consider it. She had just done it.

  Kesia stepped farther into the alley, away from the docks. She headed back to the apartment.

  Thirty-Seven

  Miren

  Liviya led the way through the streets, heading due south.

  Despite the late hour, the city was bright with the orange glow of streetlamps on every corner. The remnants of the Star Song festival still littered the city. Miren saw grubby banners crumpled along curbs and streamers tangled around lampposts, too high to reach. A few people still wore bright yellow and red, but the foot traffic was much lighter than it had been the night before.

  Miren walked with Davri; Cale and Arten were close behind. They had not even been in Peladah for a full day, and already they had found a clue. After weeks of traveling in Kaleo for a scrap of information, the contrast felt unreal. She fought the urge to fidget with the pistol at her hip, the one she had taken from Cheliem’s estate during their escape. The loss of her father’s revolver felt like a wound.

  Miren glanced at Davri. “Are you sure you want to come?” she murmured. He still looked pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

  He frowned at her. You’re not doing this without me.

  Deciding who would go tonight had not been easy. Hana had insisted that Arten could remain behind if they had Cale to guide them inside the compound, but he refused to let his brother and mother go without him. Arten tried to convince Liviya to stay and was met with surprising vitriol. Miren thought Davri should remain behind on the grounds that he was still recovering from their trip across the sea, but he maintained they shouldn’t be without a Singer. Ori insisted he should go because he wanted to, but he was unanimously overruled.

  They were still blocks away when Amos Steel came into view. A large, walled compound stood at the top of a wide plateau, dark and featureless. A winding path zigzagged up the side of the hill, faintly lit by scattered lanterns.

  It loomed over them as they approached, its dark silhouette looking spectral against the night sky. They didn’t slow until they were across the street from the base of the path.

  “We shouldn’t go up this way,” Miren said. “We’ll be spotted.”

  “We’ll go around the plateau,” Liviya said. “Look for a less
visible way up.”

  The group quietly followed, keeping to the sidewalk until the streets gave way to docks, and they could hear the gentle roar of the sea. The coastal edge of the plateau was a sheer cliff face that angled inward over the water. Around the edge, the surf pounded against the sheer walk, leaving little room for a pathway along the shore. There was no way to avoid getting wet.

  “Should we wait for low tide?” Cale said.

  Davri held up a finger and pointed at himself.

  “Let’s at least wait until we’re out of sight before you Sing,” Miren said. “We don’t want you tired before we even get there.”

  “I thought we were just observing,” Arten said.

  “We are,” Miren said. “But I feel like we should be prepared.”

  The group followed Liviya, wading through the churning surf at the base of the cliff. It wouldn’t be so difficult in the day, but night hid jagged rocks and pits under the water. Miren nearly twisted her ankle on a sudden dip in the ground.

  Once they were around the cliff, the rock gave way to a beach. The group stumbled onto dry land, soaked and shivering. Davri Sang to each person in turn, drying their clothes, his Voice still raspy but his tone strong.

  Miren looked around. It was dark here, save for the faint moonlight that coated the ground and brushed the trees. The beach ended abruptly with a thick tree line that spread back up the rise toward the compound like black specters. In front of them, the land split into a cragged, uneven valley, the compound still visible on its plateau, which now stood to their left.

  When everyone was dry, they started up the rise.

  This side of the range was far less friendly. The group sidestepped the underbrush and pushed back tree branches, tripping on jagged stones.

  Partway up, as the trees thinned out, Miren paused. Davri was trailing behind, breathing heavily. She kept pace with him the rest of the way, biting back her worry.

  Finally, the land leveled, and the walls of the compound rose into view, a massive line of brick that extended into the blackness. It was far taller than Miren had expected—she didn’t think they would be able to scale it. Metal spikes stood at attention along the top.

  “Now what?” Arten whispered to Liviya. “Just walk around it?”

  “A good way to start,” Liviya said. “See if we can get a peek over the wall.”

  “Are we going to try to get in?” Arten asked.

  Liviya slid him a look. “If the opportunity arises, maybe, but we’re just looking for information tonight.”

  Miren opened her mouth, then closed it. She wanted to know if Kesia was here. But she also didn’t want to risk Liviya’s family any more than necessary, and it was tormenting to think of this dragging out over several nights.

  “Why would there be a gate on this side?” Cale said.

  Everyone turned to look. Miren noticed a stretch of wall where the spikes were missing. She realized that it was a set of metallic double doors.

  Liviya looked to her sons. “Did you see this gate when they hired you?”

  “No,” Arten said. “They kept us in the buildings near the front entrance.”

  Davri snapped for attention. It was too dark to see his signs, but Miren saw him point to the ground behind them.

  Miren looked around, not understanding, but then she noticed a faint strip of even ground leading back down the incline, farther inland than the way they had come.

  “There’s a path,” she said.

  The sudden shriek of metal pierced the air.

  Everyone whirled as the metal doors opened, and light poured out. A small crowd of men, maybe eight total, congregated around the doors, some of them carrying lanterns, all of them carrying weapons except for two in the center.

  These two were well dressed in black trousers and coats, dress shirts. One was slightly taller; the other held a dainty-looking cane. They were both smiling amiably until they noticed Miren’s group.

  For a single heartbeat, everyone stared at each other.

  The man in the middle shouted, “Spies!”

  “Run!” Liviya cried.

  Gunshots exploded against the night.

  Miren pounded down the rise at a run. The ground tumbled past her, too dark to see, threatening to trip her at any moment. She leaped over a bush and ducked as another gunshot blasted behind her.

  Remembering Davri, she glanced to her right and tripped.

  The ground slammed into her, and she rolled down the incline, into rocks and brush. She pushed herself upright and ran for the nearest line of trees.

  She risked a glance back. The men were still giving chase. She heard thundering footsteps behind her, more shouting, more gunfire. Miren tripped again, landing on a bush, rolling off it onto the ground. Her gaze caught a small hollow in a tree, and she ducked inside. It smelled of moss and damp earth, and the ground beneath her was uncomfortably wet, but she didn’t move.

  More shouting and a couple of gunshots made Miren’s stomach tense.

  She waited until it was quiet, and then she kept waiting. When she finally poked her head out, the night was still. A faint breeze rustled the trees; an owl hooted softly from somewhere far off. She thought she heard a voice, but the sound was too distant for her to be sure.

  Miren’s throat tightened. She should not have let this happen. She shouldn’t have let the family come. She shouldn’t have let Davri come. She should have come by herself or figured out another way to learn more about Amos Steel. First Kesia, and now them. Why couldn’t she keep anyone safe?

  Miren crawled out of her hiding place, wincing at every rustle of brush and snapping twig. She noticed lights moving on the other side of the valley, but she didn’t hear any more gunshots.

  She continued forward, hoping that the others had also managed to hide. Then the trees ended abruptly at a footpath. Looking around, she didn’t see anyone. She could go left, toward the coast, or turn right and continue farther down the path.

  She turned right.

  She walked for longer than she expected, surprised and worried that she hadn’t seen anyone else. Miren thought they had all run for safety, but she wasn’t sure. Had the others been shot at the top of the rise? She almost turned back at that thought, but then she heard something: a ting of ringing metal, or a faint wind-like sound that might have been a hiss of steam, or just a breeze.

  She continued forward, and the path widened to reveal an enormous building with a domed roof. A set of double doors in the front opened and closed as someone walked inside. Miren crept closer, but the trees were thin around the building. Men were milling about the entrance and might see her.

  A hand caught her arm.

  She whirled and bit back a squeal, fist raised.

  “Hey!” Cale leaned back, hands up. “It’s me.”

  She let out a breath. “Don’t do that!” she snapped.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Have you found anyone else?”

  “No,” she said. “Do you think they went this way?”

  “I’m not sure. I just ran.”

  “What is that building?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But guess what I heard?”

  She waited, but he didn’t continue. “Are you really asking me to guess?”

  “Fire Singing! I heard Fire Singing coming from in there.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Kesia

  Kesia lay awake, her pulse loud in her ears.

  They were going to Amos Steel tonight.

  Saving Cari had been impulsive—she’d had no time to consider her actions. But now, with a plan drawn up in advance, the hours marched by like a funeral procession, reminding her of how foolish this was, and reminding her that to succeed, she would likely have to use Song as a weapon. She imagined leaping out of bed and insisting that Zuriel not go. Instead, she thought of Ayla and the other Singers as she kept running the plan in her mind.

  Can we do this? she wondered. Can we really do this?

  Later
, soft footsteps creaked down the hall. Kesia glanced at Tisa, but she was sound asleep, folded neatly under a thin blanket. She imagined waking the woman, watching her sit up, signing, Your son might die tonight. It might be my fault.

  Kesia sat up, feeling every creak and bend in the mattress. She reached for the clothes Zuriel had lent her: dark trousers, a coat, and a cap.

  She crept to the door and cracked it open. The parlor was dark, but she saw a figure on the couch.

  Zuriel stood as she entered, dressed in similar dark clothes. A bag hung from his shoulder, hiding her collar inside. There were so many ways this could go wrong.

  Without a word, they left the apartment.

  The streets were quiet. No one took notice of them.

  They didn’t sign as they walked, a precaution. In her mind, she saw Ayla and the other imprisoned Singers, starved and exhausted and gaunt. She and Zuriel were two of the rarest types of Singer in the world. There was no one more capable.

  They arrived at the base of the hill sooner than she expected, the winding path ghostly in the glow of streetlights. The factory was a rectangular silhouette at the top of the plateau.

  A long, quiet hour later, they arrived at the far end of a brick wall spanning the length of several city blocks.

  Cold gusts of wind snatched at their clothes. Kesia glanced back at the city. The streets were a crosshatched pattern of orange-and-yellow lights illuminating the ebb and flow of people.

  Zuriel headed for the wall, and Kesia hastened to follow. There was a faint glow, but it wasn’t enough to sign by.

  A muted clank of metal—Zuriel pulled the collar out of the bag. Kesia wished they could have left it behind—a rock would work well enough for this—but they would need the collar for their plan. She reached out a hand until her knuckles brushed the metal. She shivered and took hold.

  They hadn’t had a chance to practice this maneuver: both of them held the collar in one hand and braced a foot against the wall. Zuriel took a long breath and began to Sing; as the collar lifted them both, they walked up the wall like mountain climbers.

  Zuriel’s Song was quiet but steady. Kesia realized his Voice had grown strong in a short time.