Cry of Metal & Bone

by L. Penelope

  Jasminda sighed with relief and took Darvyn’s hand, pulling him toward the destruction. “I wish I could do that,” she said wistfully.

  “Once you have a better hold on your Song you’ll be able to.” Jasminda had been a weak Earthsinger all her life until gifted additional power by Oola when the Mantle fell and the war ended. The new queen was still learning how to use so much power, and Darvyn, the only adult Earthsinger they knew of a similar strength, had been helping her.

  He had spent the past weeks in Elsira advising his friend Jack, the new king, along with his soon-to-be bride, Jasminda. The task was made more complicated because he also sought to avoid the elders of the Keepers of the Promise, the Lagrimari rebels who had worked so long for freedom for their people.

  His overall faith in the group he’d been part of for practically his whole life had been shaken deeply. Not only had the elders lied to him about his mother—hiding the fact that she’d tried to contact him for years before her death—but one of their own had betrayed him, resulting in his imprisonment and torture by the True Father’s agents.

  Now the True Father was locked in the dungeon, and the Lagrimari people had been liberated only to become refugees in this land of their former enemies. The Keepers were on the front lines of advocating for their people, a goal Darvyn shared, but he would no longer blindly trust anyone.

  And nothing he did, no plans he made or aid he rendered, could distract him for long from the thoughts of the Lagrimari woman who had stolen his heart. The falling of the Mantle had been bittersweet for him. Kyara—fierce, lovely, strong Kyara—had disappeared into thin air that day and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. Darvyn’s feet moved forward, but his heart and soul were trapped in the past—with her. She haunted his every breath.

  As he and Jasminda rushed toward the destruction, she explained to him how Oola had forced her out of the temple without a word just moments before the blast and how She had stayed behind.

  “I’ve been healing those I could reach with my Song. There is so much pain and hurt,” Jasminda said as they came up on the edge of the smoke.

  Since the Great Awakening, as the end of the war was being called, the city’s temples were always packed to capacity. Most Elsirans had spent their lifetimes worshipping Oola, and the opportunity to do so in the flesh caused a kind of spiritual exhilaration in many that he found somewhat distressing.

  Darvyn had fought in the Seventh Breach, had seen the kind of animus the magic-fearing Elsirans harbored against the Earthsinging Lagrimari. But the fact that their Goddess was the most powerful Earthsinger alive did little to sway their devotion to Her. It also did little to curb their lingering hatred of the Lagrimari. The irony was potent and daunting.

  Regardless of Her devotees’ human failings, Oola visited the three Rosiran temples built to honor Her every day. Hundreds would have been inside when the explosion hit.

  As Jasminda and Darvyn reached the edge of the destruction, he stretched his Song farther, feeling for the wounded. “There are so many injured; we’ll have to go in.”

  Jasminda nodded. Without another word, she hiked up her expensive, delicate skirt to reveal sturdy black boots and plunged into the darkness. Darvyn followed, climbing over the rubble to reach what remained of the temple.

  Immediately, they were struck by a pungent odor. Palmsalt, Jasminda said to him using her Song. The explosion must have released it.

  Darvyn sang a silent spell to create a bubble of fresh air around his head. When burned in large quantities, the substance released a fast-acting deadly gas, and if anyone survived the blast, the palmsalt would finish them off.

  It’s just beginning to spread outside the temple. Can you trap the gas so it doesn’t escape with the smoke? Darvyn asked. I’ll see if there are any survivors and send anyone I can out to you for healing.

  Jasminda nodded and stared up at the smoke billowing into the sky with tense concentration. Darvyn turned away and hastened farther into the temple. He scrambled over a sickening jumble of bloodied bodies that had been crushed by the collapsing walls. He drew Earthsong to him until his Song was ready to burst—the fast-moving torrent of life energy battered him as he stood amid its turbulence. The power crashed against him, and his Song absorbed the energy and held it, ready to use.

  Gloom surrounding him, he scanned the nearby bodies for any signs of life. A hush blanketed the space, interrupted by soft moans that drew him forward toward several survivors in the atrium. Their injuries were serious, but it would only take him a few moments to set their bones, staunch their blood loss, and boost their internal healing ability, allowing their bodies to fight off the poison.

  Earthsong rippled and flowed like white-capped waves refusing to be stopped. Life energy was drawn to life and it wanted to rush out full force and face down any challenges to itself, but Darvyn had to be careful. There was much to do here, and he needed to be judicious. Even his strength had a limit. When his Song was tapped out, it would be many hours before he’d be able to sing again.

  Once he cleared what was left of the doors to the inner part of the temple, the crush of the palmsalt lifted from his senses. He released the bubble around his head to find the air clean and fresh. A soft glow illuminated the space, and he did a double take.

  Oola—he refused to call Her the Goddess Awoken—floated in the air, Her skin radiating a gentle light. His connection to Earthsong crackled and pulsed; somehow he could feel the great quantities of energy She was pulling into Her Song.

  One temple wall had fallen away, disintegrating into rubble, but the others and all the columns had been frozen midfall. Chunks of marble hovered in midair. A spray of dust hung midarc overhead. It was as if time had stopped. Everywhere people were unharmed and awed, staring above them with jaws open, many prostrate and kneeling.

  Darvyn, these people must go. I cannot force them all to leave and hold the building up at the same time.

  He stepped farther into the room, gingerly avoiding the prone bodies of those amazed by the display around them. What of the palmsalt?

  Trapped for now.

  How long can you hold off the collapse?

  Long enough for them to evacuate. But they will not go.

  “You must get out of here,” Darvyn shouted in Elsiran and then in Lagrimari, noting a mix of races among the followers. “The Goddess demands that you get to safety.”

  A few heads swung in his direction, but most kept their eyes firmly on their deity.

  I have tried that. They will not even listen to me. Oola’s inner voice was wry. You must force them.

  I don’t believe in that, Darvyn said. He’d witnessed Her take over a man’s will and had no desire to ever do something so invasive with his Song.

  It is not puppetry. It is merely an emotional kick. You cannot force a man to do what he would not. You may, however, impel him to prioritize certain actions.

  It isn’t right, Darvyn said.

  It is necessary. Or they will all die in awe of my great and limitless power. Oola’s eyes flashed. Darvyn had long ago grown used to Her peculiar sense of humor. She had been communicating with him from the World Between since he was a child.

  He looked around and bent to the nearest devotee. Tears shone in the woman’s eyes as she stared at Oola. Darvyn picked the woman up and carried her toward the atrium.

  You will carry four hundred people out of here? Oola asked.

  Your power dwarfs mine. I know I couldn’t hold up this building for more than a few moments. Can you not hold out for as long as it takes?

  The others would die for their reverence of me, and you think I do too little. Her inner voice snorted. This building is heavy, Darvyn. The palmsalt is not dissipating inside its containment, but rather its poison is battling my spell. Jasminda’s spell was not strong enough to control the smoke along with the gas escaping into the air, so I am reinforcing hers, as well. Would you have it all be for nothing because you want to prove to me how moral you are? That you are et
hically superior to me?

  Darvyn set down the woman in his arms. He clenched his fists, fighting within himself about the right thing to do.

  Let us agree that you are the more honorable of us, She said.

  Flaring his nostrils, he came to a decision. He would not do what She asked. It was too much. Instead, he focused on his Song, bringing the mighty stream of Earthsong to heel to control the air around them. Oola had told him that was the way She lifted herself and appeared to be flying. He had never been particularly interested in flying about himself, but now found the will to try.

  The woman he’d just set down rose into the air, feet hovering above the ground and eyes widening with fear. He didn’t waste any energy soothing her emotions, he merely pushed her across the open space and toward the exit.

  Next, he worked on two people at a time, finding his rhythm with the new technique. Soon he was able to lift half a dozen at a time. As the crowd watched people floating by them, more and more awestruck worshippers scrambled to their feet.

  Some began to file out under their own power while Darvyn carried the others away with his Song. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Thank the seeds most in here had only minor injuries; he wasn’t sure he’d have much Song left for healing once he was done. Soon enough, the interior of the temple was nearly empty.

  How is Jasminda doing? he asked.

  She is helping lead them out and healing the injured.

  Darvyn oversaw the final worshippers’ exit and then climbed out without looking back. Oola could take care of Herself.

  Outside, the Elsiran army had arrived and was maintaining a perimeter of safety around the temple.

  “Have the nearby buildings been evacuated?” Darvyn asked one of the soldiers.

  The Elsiran looked at him askance. “Who wants to know?”

  Darvyn took a deep breath to hold in the retort he wanted to spit out. Jasminda appeared at his side, and the soldier bowed.

  “He is assisting in the rescue, Captain. Please treat him as an extension of me.” Her voice was hard.

  The captain visibly paled. “Yes, Your Majesty. The entire block has been evacuated.”

  “Good. The temple will collapse at any moment.” Darvyn stared at the captain until the other man looked away. Darvyn knew what the soldier saw: a Lagrimari, someone who until a few weeks ago would have only been met in battle on the other side of a war that had been going on for far longer than either of them had been alive. Even now, in peacetime, the Elsirans were able to accept a Goddess and a new queen with the same skin color as the Lagrimari, but that seemed to be the end of their tolerance.

  The shock of discovering Oola’s appearance had been overcome quickly by the faithful. The Elsirans had worshipped Her for centuries, believing Her to look like them. Those whose dreams She visited never got a clear picture of Her. They only heard Her voice and listened to Her counsel and advice. Darvyn couldn’t help but wonder if Oola could have done more to foster acceptance from Her prison in the World Between.

  After all, She’d visited him, as well. For reasons She claimed not to understand, She could visit his dreams at will—and he could seek Her out—unlike most, for whom visits were a random happenstance. And he alone had been able to see Her clearly. In his more cynical moments, he suspected She didn’t show Herself to the Elsirans on purpose, knowing that they would reject Her, the way so many were now rejecting the Lagrimari who were flooding Elsira. This soldier’s reaction wasn’t anything unique.

  Beside him, Queen Jasminda gave orders to another soldier. Though she looked just as Lagrimari as Darvyn, her mother had been Elsiran. She was a child of both people, both nations, and now, thanks to Oola’s abdication, she was also the queen. In a few days, she would marry Jack, the former Prince Regent and now king of what was slowly becoming a united land. But it would take more than a declaration from a goddess to consolidate two former enemies.

  Darvyn turned toward the rubble as it groaned and shook. Oola was releasing Her spells and allowing the destruction to take its course. He’d just begun to think about who the explosion had really meant to harm—the new queen, the old one, or both—when Oola emerged from the building, floating on an agitation of air currents.

  She drew nearer, carrying something in Her arms. She settled down before them, and his stomach turned as recognition dawned. The body of a small girl lay cradled in Oola’s hold. She was Elsiran, her copper hair tied in a topknot.

  Darvyn approached Oola as She knelt, not letting go of the child. He reached out with his dwindling Earthsong to the girl, even knowing it was futile. Death had already taken her.

  “There’s nothing that can be done?” Jasminda whispered, kneeling next to them.

  “Even Earthsong cannot bring one back from the World After,” Oola answered. She laid the child on the ground and rose, turning to survey the gathered crowd of worshippers and onlookers to the tragedy.

  The ones who did this watch us, even now. Her thoughts touched his mind via Earthsong.

  Darvyn stood and took in the hundreds of faces staring back at them—some in horror at the destruction, some in rapture at their Goddess. But there must be someone here looking on in satisfaction.

  Who did this? he asked.

  Oola remained silent, observing the crowd intently.

  Jasminda shook her head and crossed her arms. Her dress was ripped and dirty, but an air of regality persisted. She may have only been queen for a few short weeks, but she was well suited to it.

  This is a message. Someone will take responsibility for it, and then we’ll know exactly what they thought they were saying, Jasminda’s inner voice said.

  A bomb laced with palmsalt placed in a temple full of people, both Elsiran and Lagrimari, was not just a message. It was a declaration of war. And Darvyn knew about war. He’d been fighting his whole life, and it had cost him everything—his family, his childhood, the woman he loved.

  Peace was a fragile creature; its tiny heart had barely even begun to beat in the weeks since the Mantle fell. But his people finally had a real chance, not just to survive but to thrive. This was the future he’d been fighting and sacrificing for all his life. Yet there seemed to be no end in sight.

  He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He would make another vow to add to the others slowly filling his heart.

  Find those responsible for this destruction and bring them to justice.

  Find the man who murdered his mother and avenge her death.

  Find Kyara, the woman who owned his heart, and never let her go.

  I will find them all, he swore. Whatever it takes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  There were no thrones, no dynasties, for the matriarchs had warned against it. Those lessons echoed in our ears for a time, but years pass and memories blur until voices, once clear, turn to whispers and then fade entirely.

  The branches of the tree spread further apart and the roots began to wither and die.

  —THE AYALYA

  Kyara regained consciousness in stages. A droning, tinny sound reverberated in her ears. It slowly faded, replaced by a voice speaking in a language she didn’t understand. Her eyes twitched before clamping tightly shut, impaled by the brightness surrounding her. Leather bands cut into her forehead, wrists, and ankles, locking them in place. She could wiggle her toes, but her fingers responded sluggishly. A warm liquid coated her palms, and her chest ached, the coppery scent of blood tinging the air.

  She stilled her movements and reached for her other sight, but her Song was silent. Panicking, she tried again and again to access her power, fearing for a moment that it was gone, truly gone, forever. But wasn’t that what she’d always wanted? To be rid of the dreadful power to command Nethersong, the energy of death. Her Song had done nothing but cause her sorrow. It would be a mercy to have it stripped away. However, something was wrong—different than she’d expected.

  And then she felt her Song, finally, resting inside her, though shrunken and emaciated to almost nothing.
Instead of a snarling beast trying to rip through its leash, it resembled an abandoned pup, left to fend for itself without the skills to hunt or survive. Kyara’s entire body was weak, her mind a fog. As the foreign voice rumbled on and on, her memory of how she got here started to return in patches.

  She recalled standing on the streets of Sayya and losing control of her power. Watching in horror as her unchecked Nethersong caused every living thing around her to collapse. People had fallen where they stood or had slumped in carriages and rickshaws. Horses had keeled over. Birds had dropped from the sky. The only sound had been the cracking and splintering of wood and metal when out-of-control vehicles collided. Grief and pain … that’s what she remembered.

  She had killed before. Many times. Her years of forced servitude as the True Father’s assassin had left her all too familiar with the taking of human life. She had always struggled to control the unruly power inside of her enough to make sure only those she was commanded to kill were slain. But she’d failed.

  And worst of all, she’d failed him.

  A vision of Darvyn lying in a heap with his two friends assaulted her.

  She’d killed him.

  A sob escaped Kyara’s throat. Nearby, the foreign voice paused, then continued.

  She pulled at her bonds uselessly and risked opening her eyes again, forced them to withstand the blinding light until they adjusted. A ceiling of dark, paneled wood hung high above her. With her head locked in place, she only had the use of her peripheral vision. People sat on tiered benches, wearing cloaks of varying colors, many of them staring at her. She was at the front of an auditorium or classroom of some kind.

  The sight of the blood on her hands, seeping from wounds in her palms, cleared the fog of her memory in one burst.

  Raal, one of the mages who called themselves Physicks, had magically transported her from Lagrimar to … wherever she was now. Somewhere in Yaly, she remembered being told, nestled deep in the vast country where the Physicks had originated. She’d been locked in a cell, believing that Raal would do what he’d promised: remove her Song and free her from its lethal power.