by L. Penelope
Jack laid his hand on hers, and her skin tingled at the contact. The intensity in his expression dissolved her creeping sorrow, bringing instead a pang of yearning. She did not touch people. She barely even spoke to people. She was either here alone with no one but the animals as audience, or in town armoring herself against the cutting stares. The tingle in her hand turned into a warm heat that threatened to spread. With great effort, she pulled away from the impossible temptation of his body.
“How far is it to—”
He paused as a floorboard inside the house groaned under the weight of heavy footsteps. Jasminda froze as another board creaked. She grabbed her shotgun, scooted away, and crept down the steps into the yard. The moonlight cast heavy shadows, and she crouched beside a cherry tree, holding her breath.
Two soldiers darkened the doorway before stepping onto the porch. One nudged Jack with his foot, and Jack moaned, pretending to be asleep. The men chuckled to themselves and leaned over him.
“You’re sure the sergeant is out?” one of the men asked. Ginko, she thought his name was.
“Thank the Father for thick walls and a soft bed. He sleeps like he’s in his mother’s arms,” the second man said. Based on the outline of his large, misshapen head, Jasminda thought this was the one called Fahl. He’d eaten the last of the boiled eggs earlier, before she’d even had one.
Fahl squatted down and ran his hand across Jack’s body. The action took an impossibly long time, and Jasminda’s stomach hollowed. When he moved to loosen his own belt, she fought back a gasp. They were going to whip Jack.
“The bitch is upstairs. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather…” Ginko said.
“I’m thinking the sergeant has her in his sights. Besides, she looks like she’s got a mean scratch. No. I’ll make sure this one won’t make a peep, and who’s to care what state he’s left in? What Tensyn don’t know won’t hurt him.” He snickered, and Ginko scratched his meaty head, looking back toward the house, appearing uncertain.
Understanding dawned on Jasminda like a blow to the face. She had worried for herself, expected trouble from these men seeking her out in the middle of the night, but she’d never considered Jack’s vulnerability. Never considered how depraved these men might actually be. She could not sit by and allow him to be violated, though she was not sure what could be done to stop it.
They’d said the sergeant wouldn’t approve. Maybe if she woke him, he would stop this. But she couldn’t be sure, and going into his room at night could put her in the same predicament. She gripped her shaking hands and prayed to the Queen Who Sleeps for a solution.
The soft bleat of a doe rang out from the barn. The storm on the mountains was still making the goats uneasy. An idea took hold. What she needed was a distraction, and quickly.
Jasminda crouched and felt around for a stone or branch. After finding a good-sized rock, she threw it with all her might. It sailed across the yard to hit the chicken coop. Once the men turned toward the sound, she raced around the front of the house, taking the long way to the barn.
The first distraction bought her a minute, but now she needed something larger to really draw the men away. She slid open the well-oiled barn door. Instead of nestling on the floor sleeping, many of the goats were awake and stumbling around, agitated. She hoped that, for once, the stubborn animals wouldn’t need much cajoling. Luckily for her, the buck was eager to be out of doors and the does were of a mind to follow him. Grabbing the shovel, she nudged the herd along, increasing the pressure on their backsides until they bleated in disapproval.
The goats operated almost as a hive mind—when one was upset, they all were—so Jasminda continued poking and prodding at them, pushing them from the barn. Their discontent grew louder. Whines and cries pierced the night air. She’d often cursed the herd’s fickle temperament, but tonight it was a blessing.
She couldn’t see the back porch from where she stood, but an oil lamp flickered on inside the house. The goats’ racket would awaken the rest of the soldiers, leaving Fahl and Ginko no opportunity to hurt Jack.
Jasminda slipped into the garden shadows as the front door opened and the smallest soldier, Wargi, stumbled out. The sergeant’s voice carried over the yowls of the animals as he barked orders. The remaining two soldiers, Pymsyn and Unar, followed Wargi out to investigate what had spooked the goats.
She stifled a laugh at the way the men floundered, chasing after the scattering herd. They wouldn’t get much sleep trying to track down each animal. If they asked her in the morning, she’d say she had slept through it. She’d been listening to them her whole life, after all.
When she returned to the backyard, she retrieved her shotgun and found Jack as she’d left him. He opened his eyes, and the moonlight made them sparkle. She knelt and pulled the blanket down from his chin to check him out, not sure what she was even looking for.
“Are you all right?”
“What did you do?”
She shrugged. “A distraction. Have they … harmed you?” She grimaced at the foolishness of her question. “Further, I mean.”
He shook his head, his face a mask. Warrior Jack was back.
“But they will … when they can.” Braying cries echoed in the distance.
She gathered up the hem of her robe and nightgown, and reached for the band holding the knife in place around her thigh. Jack’s eyes widened. Her face grew hot as she hurried to remove the blade and put her gown back in place. After prying open the same loose floorboard as before, she hid the knife beside the tin of food.
As she laid the board back in place, his hand covered hers. “Thank you.”
She flexed her fingers under his palm, ignoring the tingles sparking once again on her skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you yesterday.”
“You thought I was mad.” His mouth quirked. He must have been in a great deal of pain, but it hardly showed. Perhaps he was a warrior jester—fierce one moment, jovial the next.
“I still might.”
He snorted a laugh, then winced.
Guilt tightened her chest. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t laugh.”
“I’d rather laugh than cry. Wouldn’t you?”
She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had something to laugh about.
“Is this a new breach?” she asked.
He sobered. “Not yet, but soon. There are cracks in the Mantle. Places where people can slip through, either knowingly or accidentally. But a breach is coming. The Lagrimari think they’ve found a way to tear it down permanently.”
“Permanently?”
He nodded. “The True Father has never been able to cross during a breach, not while any part of the Mantle is intact. But without it…”
“Without it, he could cross. What would that mean?”
His grip on her hand tightened. “The end of Elsira.”
The True Father was the most powerful Earthsinger alive. He had ruled Lagrimar for five hundred years, stealing more and more of his peoples’ magic through the “tributes” to keep him alive and in power. But the magic had never been enough. Each breach had been an attempt for him to expand his influence.
Though her relationship with the land and its people was tenuous at best, Elsira was her home. She could claim no true allegiance to the Prince Regent or the structures of society, but she wasn’t so naive as to believe even her isolated home would be immune to the fall of the country. “Could nothing stop it?”
“There is—” At a sound from inside, his lips snapped shut.
Jasminda whipped her head around. She strained to listen, and felt that same uneasy sensation that had awoken her. Jack was safe for the moment, but something was still not right—something in addition to the six enemy soldiers who’d overtaken her home.
Slowly, she backed away from Jack and crept to the door. It was past time to go back to her room, she couldn’t afford to be caught here.
She looked over her shoulder to find Jack’s gaze locked on her. The two sides she’d see
n before—soulful Jack and warrior Jack—merged before her, giving a complete picture for the first time. She took in a jagged breath as a renewed surge of longing crashed into her. It battered against the solid wall of her fear and aloneness, making her shudder.
Shaking her head, she pulled open the door to the kitchen and slipped inside.
CHAPTER SIX
Bobcat caught a thorn in his paw and could not remove it. Horse came by and offered to pull the thorn out.
Ow! cried Bobcat. I thought you were going to help me.
I removed the thorn, Horse replied.
But you left two more behind!
You are welcome, Horse said, and trotted off.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The blade hidden under the knotty floorboard called to Jack. Freedom. He could cut his ropes and head west for home. But it was doubtful he’d make it more than a few hundred paces in his current state. His wound was no longer infected—yet it hurt to breathe. A full day of rest had helped, but it had also brought into focus just how severe his injuries still were.
He’d awoken to the healing tingle of Earthsong early that morning. Jasminda was doing all she could, and leaving now would only increase his chance of recapture. He needed to bide his time until he was at least well enough to walk without aid.
But time was steadily running out. Jack had witnessed the Lagrimari army amassing far too close to the border. Whispers of the True Father’s rapidly increasing strength had spread through the countryside like a plague. Word was, tributes were being taken from whole towns at a time. Not just adults but children, infants even, were being drained of their Songs to feed the god-king’s unquenchable thirst for power. Darvyn had warned him as much, but Jack hadn’t believed the former POW. How could he have known, having been trapped inside Elsira since the last breach?
But Darvyn knew a great deal, including the location of a crack in the Mantle. He’d led Jack through that place where the magic had weakened, in order to allow Jack to personally gather the proof his Elsiran government would not accept from a Lagrimari. The two had agreed to meet in a fortnight to return to Elsira, but Darvyn’s spell had worn off early, and Jack had been exposed, shot, and forced to go on the run before the appointed date. He rubbed his chest, wondering, not for the first time, what had happened to the young man.
Jasminda appeared through the copse of trees behind the back garden, a full basket on her arm. Her dark eyes flashed as she scanned the area, always alert. The sight of her ignited him as a gentle breeze ruffled her mass of tight curls. Her beauty was raw and pure, and a torrent of desire he had no business feeling rose inside him.
She reached the porch and paused, cocking her head to listen for the men.
Jack kept his voice low. “They do fitness drills first thing in the morning; they’re all probably in the front yard going through their paces.”
Jasminda tiptoed through the door to the kitchen, but was back in moments with a cup of water in her hands. “You’re right. Their calisthenics are … interesting.” She barely contained a smile.
Jack snorted, recalling the bizarre movements the sergeant insisted they all participate in to stay limber and strong. But when she brought the cool water to his lips, his humor faded as he quenched his thirst.
“Thank you.”
She brushed off his gratitude and fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress, a frayed and faded creation that might once have been blue. “So what will you do? About the Mantle?”
He had been pondering just that while on the run from the soldiers, but perhaps the Queen had sent him the solution. Maybe being shot and captured was just what he’d needed. “There is a way to strengthen the Mantle. Prevent the breaches, prevent it from coming down.”
She leaned in closer, bringing her scent with her. He breathed in her aroma—delicate and woodsy, both refreshing and fragrant—then cleared his throat.
“An old Lagrimari man in one of the villages recognized me, or rather my disguise. The Keepers of the Promise already had a spy embedded in this unit. Darvyn, the Singer who spelled me, simply switched me in for their agent and gave me his face.”
Jasminda’s eyes rounded. “I had no idea such power was possible. To change a person into someone else for—how long? Days?”
“Nearly two weeks.”
“This Darvyn’s Song must be very strong.”
Jack nodded, pushing away the foreboding that built when he thought of his friend. One crisis at a time was all he could manage. He only hoped the young man was still alive.
“The elder passed on something for me to give to the Keepers.” He motioned to his left boot and bent his leg to try to reach it, then hissed as pain arrowed through his limb.
Jasminda stopped him with a hand to his thigh.
“Hidden in the lining of my boot.”
She nodded and unlaced his ties with nimble fingers, then slid the shoe off. From the lining she pulled a small, irregularly shaped shard of black stone, its surface smooth as glass, then promptly dropped it as if the thing had stung her. It skittered across the wooden boards, landing a pace away.
“W-what is that?” Her lips were parted, eyes round. She shook out her hand. Odd. Touching it had not affected Jack in any way, nor had it the old man, though Jack was not a Singer, of course, and the elder had long ago lost his Song.
“He told me it was a map. An ancient one that is supposed to lead to the cornerstone of the Mantle.”
Jasminda leaned down until her nose was only a few breaths away from the rock fragment. “The cornerstone?” she asked.
“The old man said the ancient Singers who built the Mantle reinforced it with a single cornerstone, hidden in the mountains. Over time it must have weakened, and now there are cracks in the magic. But it can be shored up, strengthened with Earthsong.”
Jasminda’s profound reaction puzzled Jack. She seemed horrified by the small stone. Jack grabbed it, feeling nothing but cool, polished hardness. Nothing to match Jasminda’s aversion.
He rubbed his thumb across it. “Fortifying the cornerstone will stop the breaches and keep the True Father on his side of the mountain. I was planning for Darvyn to do it, but now…”
Jasminda met his eyes with skepticism. “And you believed some random old man with a rock? Where did he get it from, and why has no one heard of it before?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. The Keepers have a network of sympathizers hidden across the country. I didn’t have long to speak with him before the others returned.” He motioned to the house, meaning the soldiers. “But I did verify one thing, the stone is magic.”
She wiped her hands on her skirt and swallowed. “Of that I’m sure, but I don’t know that it’s a map.”
“What does it make you feel?”
“Bad. Wrong. It’s bad magic.” She shook her head and rose, backing away from him.
“Jasminda—” he whispered. Footsteps inside the house cut him off. He cursed under his breath, fisted the shard, and closed his eyes to feign sleep.
“Pleasant morning, Miss Jasminda. You certainly rise with the sun, don’t you?” The sergeant’s obsequious voice made Jack’s skin crawl. Jasminda merely grunted. Jack cracked an eyelid to find her trying to get past Tensyn, whose angular form efficiently blocked the doorway.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get breakfast started.” Her shoulders were as taut as her voice.
The man didn’t move immediately, and a nasty foreboding caused Jack’s fist to tighten until the little shard threatened to slice his skin. Finally the sergeant stepped aside, allowing Jasminda to pass, then followed behind her.
Jack fought to bring his breathing back under control. He did not like the way Tensyn looked at Jasminda. He settled his weight protectively over the floorboard where she had stored the knife and food the night before.
He would find the strength he needed to get out of here. And he would have to take Jasminda with him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Never give a gift w
ith your eyes closed, said the Master of Sharks to the rich man. For you may part with more than you intend.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Six soldiers crowded around the table, devouring the morning meal Jasminda had set in front of them. Their favorite pastime seemed to be making fun of the youngest and smallest: bespectacled Wargi.
“This one is more coddled than an Elsiran brat,” Pymsyn said through a mouthful of eggs. “Came into the army straight from his mother’s skirts, he did.”
“Thinks he’s better than the rest of us because he’s not harem-born,” said Fahl. “Just because your mam didn’t have to spread her legs for the True Father doesn’t make you top shit.”
“And doesn’t make your mam any less of a whore than ours,” Ginko grunted. The table erupted in laughter.
Jasminda always paid close attention to the men’s taunting and verbal sparring. She didn’t want to make any more mistakes and cast suspicion on her Lagrimari identity. But she knew next to nothing of life in that land. Her father had been tight lipped, and it wasn’t as if any of her books had information on their culture or practices. Aside from the breaches into Elsira over the years and very limited trade with Yaly, their neighbor to the east, Lagrimar was cut off from the rest of the world. Mountains surrounded the country on all sides, with only a small flat area a few thousand paces wide on the Elsiran border, where all the breaches had occurred.
As the men continued to mock Wargi, the young soldier just smiled and laughed, appearing to take it all in stride. But his eyes remained brittle, and Jasminda almost felt sorry for the boy. His round face hadn’t yet lost its baby fat; he couldn’t be older than sixteen.
Soon enough, the sergeant called the table to order, issuing instructions for the men to split into pairs to explore the valley and monitor the progress of the storm. All the soldiers except Wargi and Tensyn himself headed out.
“Is there anything my men can help you with, Miss Jasminda?” Tensyn’s stained smile verged on lecherous. She swallowed the bile that rose and forced herself to smile back.
