by L. Penelope
Next to the little girl, an emaciated man appeared, his hair matted with dirt and grime. It was the man who had broken into the harem and attacked Ahlini. Kyara had been trying to protect her friend when her power had first engaged. She’d killed both of them before she knew what she was doing.
“I was driven mad with hunger, living on the streets of Sayya,” the man said. Kyara felt his black gaze boring into her. “I only wanted food, not to hurt the girl, and yet you killed me.”
Kyara shook her head. “You were choking her. I-I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
Another man and woman stepped forward, holding hands. Kyara recognized the woman as the kindly merchant’s wife who had taken her in when she’d been thrown out of the glass castle of Sayya with nothing, not even the clothes on her back.
“I tried to help you,” the woman said, shaking her head. “And you repaid me by murdering me and my husband.”
“He was beating you,” Kyara tried to explain through her tears. “I didn’t have control. I didn’t know what I was doing.” It had taken her years to manage her Song and not accidentally kill anyone in the vicinity when she used her power.
More people stepped into the light, encircling her. More of her victims. Men who would have hurt her or sold her to even worse men as she had made her way alone down the Great Highway. Innocent bystanders, too close to the epicenter of her power’s discharge. Those whose lives she’d been ordered to end by the Cantor and the True Father. More and more of them clambered forward to tell their stories and demand accountability for what she’d done.
Kyara fell to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears to block out their testimonies and questions. The words were a clanging chaos and felt like fingers all grasping for her, even though the dead themselves stayed a good ten paces away. She gasped in a breath and shook, cowering on the ground.
Then the voices stopped.
She looked up to see the shrouded, sad woman standing alone, her body even dimmer than it had been before, like a shadow visible in the darkness.
“You must embrace the Light if there is to be peace.” Her voice was barely audible and sounded pained.
Kyara shook her head and rose. “I don’t understand.”
“Embrace the Light,” the woman breathed out again before she disappeared.
* * *
Kyara sat up in bed and threw off her thin blanket. She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks, struggling to bring her breathing under control.
“Was it the same dream?” Dansig asked quietly.
She turned to find him sitting at Varten’s bedside. Both boys were asleep.
“Always a version of the same thing, but I never get used to it.” Every time she was brought back from having her Song drained, she had the dream with all her victims showing up to accuse her and the Sad Woman repeating the cryptic phrase that made no sense.
“I wish I knew what ‘embrace the Light’ meant,” Kyara said, rising to pace her cell. Though she was bone tired, getting back to sleep after the dream was impossible. “And he’s never there,” she whispered, staring down at her hands.
“Who?” Dansig asked, breaking out of his fog.
She shook her head, unable to even speak Darvyn’s name. “One of the last men I killed.” She hadn’t meant to kill any of them, but her power had been uncontrollable. She must have wiped out half the city when she’d lost herself. She supposed there was a chance that Darvyn’s Earthsong could have protected him from her. Could he really still be alive? Or was his spirit too disgusted to even visit her dreams?
She crouched in the corner of her cell and rubbed her eyes. “My mother isn’t there, either.” Kyara had accidentally killed her mother while still an infant, or so Ydaris had told her.
Dansig’s eyes crinkled sympathetically. “Maybe they aren’t spirits, just embodiments of your guilt, and you can’t see her because you don’t recall what she looked like.”
Kyara had thought the same thing before. But if this were all just a product of her imagination and a result of the remorse she bore, she would actually feel better. Something about the dream—its consistency and the fact that it was so much more real than any other dream she ever had—made her doubt that it was merely her conscience having its say.
“Or maybe the Sad Woman is your mother,” Dansig suggested. “You say it feels like she’s trying to help you, right?”
Kyara shrugged and stared out into the dark hall. There were no other prisoners in this section. She wondered if there were others here somewhere and she’d just never seen them.
Varten moaned in his sleep and turned fitfully. Dansig brushed his son’s hair back and watched him until he settled.
“He isn’t getting better,” Kyara said, her voice soft.
“No. And he sleeps longer and longer each day, though he never seems rested.”
She sighed heavily and leaned her head back against the wall. Dreams and guilt aside, she needed to focus on a way out of here before it was too late.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Phelix the Mystery looked on in silence, bathing the seeker in a pure, hypnotic light. Receiving this benediction, Ayal found comfort in the unknown. To step away from home was to embrace the unfamiliar, to be held in the arms of the enigma. Honor those who ask the questions, the Mystery revealed, and beware those who offer answers.
—THE AYALYA
“That is not how we do things,” Pearl cried, slapping his palm against the thick, polished table. The smooth mask obscuring his face quivered with anger that he was barely reining in. “How dare you use our name in such a manner? And without the permission of the collective?”
Jade’s masked form was preternaturally still. It stood to reason that breath was entering and escaping his body, but his chest gave no sign of movement. “New times require new methods. Has no one here noticed that our country is being overrun? You are happy for me to utilize my resources to take the action, but not take credit for it? The people must know what we face. We will need to recruit soldiers for the battle ahead.”
Before Pearl could bluster up a response, Diamond held up a hand. His silent authority rippled through the others. His mask was the most monstrous of them all, with bugging eyes and a grotesquely shaped mouth. He spoke with a graveled voice bearing a lethally sharp edge. “It has already been done, so we have no choice but to move on. However, in the future, this body must come to agreement on matters such as these. Announcing ourselves in the newspaper has a rippling effect of consequences that we could have prepared for. Consensus, not unilateral action, is how we operate. If you wish to continue to be a part of this collective, you must agree to abide by our ways.”
A crackle from a device in the center of the round table issued Amber’s reedy voice amid a soft hiss of static. “And now that you have ‘outed’ us, so to speak, what is the next step, Jade? Do you intend to publish our photographs in the newspaper? Perhaps have ‘wanted’ signs printed and posted in the local constabularies?”
Jade steepled his fingers, covered with blue gloves edged in gold piping—blue and gold, the colors of Elsira. “You recruited me to this organization because you needed fresh blood. New ideas.”
Sapphire spoke up. “We recruited you because a hand must have five fingers. And our fifth member met an untimely end, leaving a seat open. I, for one, was not a fan of your membership. I don’t trust you. But I was outvoted. Because we vote, that is how we come to decisions.”
“I appreciate your beneficence,” Jade said derisively. “To be effective, we must rally the people to our cause. Is that not the purpose of this body in the first place?”
Pearl snorted. “How likely are they to support us knowing that friends and family members perished because of an act we admit to perpetrating?”
“We seek those who are already mistrustful of the status quo,” Jade began coolly. “Those disinclined to step foot in a temple and worship a power they can never obtain. The others are expendable.”
“Tho
se temple-goers you cast off so easily still make up the majority of the population,” Sapphire said through clenched teeth. “The loss of the temple was strategic, even I can admit to that, but you cannot discard the opinions of the populace. The will of the people is where our power lies.”
“Yes, and we create the will of the people,” Diamond announced. “They are the canal waters and we the locks that move it into position.”
“Aye,” responded Jade, betraying his lower-class roots. “We must guide their thoughts and direct their actions. My way is just a jump start to that end. You will see.”
“Clean up the loose ends,” Diamond directed. Jade raised a hand in acknowledgment. “And consult us before using our name again.”
Jade ignored the older man’s imperious manner, but Sapphire seemed ready to argue the point some more. Diamond raised his voice a notch. “We must trust one another to complete our given tasks. That is the only way to move forward.” His tone indicated the time for discussion of this matter was at an end.
Sapphire’s narrow shoulders sank.
“And now,” Diamond continued, “how goes the fundraising, Amber?”
The peculiar device on the table coughed up a crackle. “Slowly. Our contacts here are not suitably motivated to assist, but I am still working diligently on the matter.”
Diamond nodded. “Pearl, any updates?”
“I’m closely monitoring my assignment. Nothing new to report as of yet.”
“Very well then, things seem to be moving apace. The time and place for our next action must be decided upon once we’ve gathered the needed intelligence.”
Discussion continued around the table, but Jade leaned back in his chair, listening quietly. He hadn’t been sure about joining when he was recruited, but had been curious enough to plod through the tedious layers of initiations necessary. Now he was glad he’d done so, but not, he suspected, for the reasons anyone here would suspect. No, the old guard’s time had passed; what no one here but him seemed to realize was that their tactics were already obsolete.
There was more than one way to attack the threat that faced the land. And in order to cull the herd, they would need sharp tools.
* * *
“I’m not so sure about this, seashell,” Benn said as he and Ella stood on a street corner in West Portside facing a nondescript, three-story building. The bleached bricks were beginning to crumble and the windows had been sealed and painted over in a dreary mud brown. Behind them, the narrow street bore few signs of life, though it was just a little past the breakfast hour and the rest of the city was bustling. Rubbish littered the gutters and putrid smells wafted out from darkened alleys. The taverns they’d passed on the way had no names, just increasingly lewd graphics on the signs above the doors distinguishing one from another.
“Did you think someone dealing in illegal substances would have an inviting lair?” Ella asked.
“I’m not particularly enthused about visiting a lair at all.” Benn’s voice was dry. “Are you sure you trust that old man?”
“As much as anyone can trust a professional smuggler.” She smiled up at him and was met with a worried look.
The Intelligence Service report stated that the temple bomb had included close to half a kilogram of palmsalt—far more than could be acquired aboveboard. With only one distributor in the country legally permitted to sell the deadly material, and only in tiny quantities, Ella had reasoned that those responsible for the temple bombing had procured it on the black market. She’d taken Benn to visit an acquaintance of hers, an elderly Raunian “import-export man,” at his regular breakfast spot.
Old Nir had been seated at his usual table in a darkened corner of a dingy tavern, and had brightened when they’d arrived, happy to share his meal with someone. She thought he must be quite lonely and spent a while just chitchatting before getting down to business.
“Are you a fan of fireworks, Nir?” she’d asked.
“Hmm. Can’t say that I am. Awful lot of noise they bring,” the old man said. “Colored lights popping up all around to stun your eyes … No, I can’t say I’m a fan. But you young people do love your bright and shinies.”
Ella suppressed a smile.“Yes, I think they’re exciting. But they’re quite hard to come by in this country. I’m planning a birthday party up the shore, before the weather turns, and thought a man with your connections would know how I could get my hands on a few fireworks for the party.”
Nir wiped his mouth, his calculating eyes flashing in the dim light. “I don’t trade in such things myself. Dangerous to transport on a craft such as mine, powered by a thermo-engine. You’d need a cold-powered vessel. Wouldn’t want all those bright and shinies bursting on board and releasing all that bad air.” His gaze turned suddenly shrewd. “My ship could come down around me like that temple up yonder.”
Ella held his eyes, not flinching under his perusal. A lonely old man, but not a stupid one. Palmsalt’s main use was in fireworks. When small amounts were mixed with various other chemicals, it created pretty, multicolored flames. But when burned in large quantities, the gas it gave off was deadly, which was why its sale was strictly regulated in most countries.
Nir peered at Benn who sat by Ella’s side but had remained quiet, allowing her to take the lead. However, under the old man’s sharp stare, Benn tensed. Ella put a hand on his thigh to calm him.
“I don’t think I can help you,” Nir said slowly, scraping the eggs on his plate onto his fork. “Minding my own business is more than enough work for me. Can’t keep stock of everyone else’s too.”
Disappointment held Ella in its shadowy grip, but she wasn’t going to give up. Benn had the look and bearing of a soldier or a lawman. Though they were dressed casually in street clothes, Benn’s hair was regulation short and his posture arrow straight. And asking about palmsalt the day after an attack, Nir likely thought they were working with the police. And who would want to implicate their countrymen in something as horrific as the bombing?
“A salesman isn’t responsible for what his customers do with the merchandise.” She leaned forward, keeping her voice even. “The customer is the only one to blame. The only one who might be sought to answer for their actions. One might never recall the salesman at all. There would be no need.”
She sat very still as Nir mulled this over. Tension radiated from Benn in waves.
“A man’s livelihood is sacred,” Ella continued. “There’s no justice to be had in taking that away. But those people who died yesterday—so many women and children, merely worshipping their goddess in a place they thought safe—those people deserve justice. I’m just looking for information on a customer. Nothing more. I give you my word.”
She didn’t dare look at Benn, though she suspected his expression might be clouded with disapproval. But their goal wasn’t to identify who sold the palmsalt, merely who bought it.
After a prolonged silence, Nir sat back in his chair. “I knew there was something about you, missy. Remind me of my auntie. More stubborn than a barracuda, she was.” He sighed deeply.
“No one with any sense would sell much more than half a kilo at a time,” he said. “The only two men I know with the stones for such are Bor Wintersail and Hak Floodhammer. I don’t do business with Bor myself, and he ain’t in the country anyways, but I can tell you how to find Hak.”
Nir had directed them to the old, brick warehouse, only a few blocks away from the tavern where he ate every morning. Staring up at the building, a flurry of nerves overtook Ella.
“Well let’s get this over with,” Benn said, taking her hand and moving forward purposefully.
They’d only taken a few steps when the main door to the warehouse opened and two figures rushed out. Both appeared to be young men, dressed in brown coveralls with billed caps pulled down over their faces. Ella got a quick flash of chin as the men sped by, heads low. They moved so quickly they nearly mowed her down. Benn swooped her out of the way just in time.
Neither man
apologized or even looked up as they hastened off down the street.
Ella looked after them, then back to the warehouse door, which hung open. A tight sense of unease squeezed her chest.
Benn was on alert, too. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “A deal gone bad, maybe?”
“Perhaps.” Caution overtook nerves as they approached the door. Nir had given them a coded knock to use, but it wasn’t necessary.
Benn pushed the door open the rest of the way and looked inside. The front room was a small antechamber, empty except for an unoccupied desk and chair. The only other exit was a single door, which must lead to the interior of the warehouse.
Benn turned the knob warily, keeping himself between Ella and whatever was on the other side. The door glided open easily. On its other side were no less than half a dozen deadbolts and chains. “I take it this door is usually locked,” he said dryly. “Is there any way I can convince you to stay outside?”
“You should be glad I brought you along in the first place,” she quipped.
They were a team—and a good one. Ella hadn’t blinked when Benn returned from the palace entrusted with this mission. And when she’d brought up adoption, he’d seen how serious she was. He’d gazed around their tiny, one-bedroom flat, no doubt wondering where they would store two growing children, but immediately agreed to meet them on the next visiting day. Ella was sure he’d fall in love just as she had. So though her apprehension multiplied, there was no way she was leaving.
She reached into her bag and retrieved her shael, the short, weighted club she carried with her at all times. Benn eyed the weapon and shook his head, but retrieved a revolver from the harness at the small of his back.
He closed the door and engaged one of the locks. She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t want any surprises at our backs.”
Ella nodded and then took in the vast space before them. Rows of metal racks took up the shadowed interior. Crates and boxes of all sizes filled the shelves with labels in languages from every country on the continent.
