by L. Penelope
As Fahl drew closer and Ginko’s hands slid toward her panties, the back door crashed open. All movement ceased. Through watery eyes, she saw Jack standing in the doorway, the knife she’d hidden for him in his hand, his restraints dangling from one wrist. He leaped across the room and tackled Fahl, plunging the knife deep into the man’s belly. Ginko sprang away.
Jasminda crawled off the table and dropped to the ground. She blinked, clearing her vision, and rose to see Jack duck Ginko’s wide punch. The swing threw the Lagrimari soldier off balance. He wobbled until Jack landed a vicious, crunching kick. Ginko crumpled, hitting his head with a loud crack on the kitchen counter before falling to the floor. Blood pooled around his head and he stared upward, unseeing.
Fahl, knife still lodged in his belly, had been leaning against the opposite counter, but when Ginko fell, he rushed Jack with a new burst of strength. He grasped Jack in a bear hug and wrapped his hands around Jack’s throat, squeezing. Jasminda screamed and ran toward the hulking man, climbing on his back. The fingers of one hand sunk deep into his greasy hair as she pulled back his head, then in one swift motion slit the man’s throat with the other, just as she’d do with a goat.
She jumped back and he fell, blood spurting everywhere, covering Jack with its spray.
CHAPTER TEN
The Mistress of Serpents was asked to judge a dispute between two farmers.
This man has diverted the stream so I cannot water my crop, the first farmer said.
For years, this man has kept the stream to himself, the second replied. I am balancing the scales.
Serpent transformed the fields of both men into a magnificent lake. Now there is water for all, she said.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The weight of what she’d done hit her. Jasminda had just killed a man. Nausea squeezed her belly. She released the knife from her shaking hand, startling as it clattered to the floor.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked. She turned to face him and caught sight of Wargi in the doorway. The boy was frozen, eyes on the carnage of his former squad members. And then he was gone.
“Wargi!” she shouted, taking off after him. Jack followed on her heels as she entered her parents’ bedroom.
The boy stood over the sergeant’s prone body, shaking him awake. Tensyn sat up, bleary-eyed. Long moments passed before he processed what was before him. Both Jasminda and Jack were covered in blood, head to toe.
Jasminda didn’t know what to expect, so when the sergeant slowly raised his hands above his head in surrender, she was surprised. She looked back to find Jack training a pistol on him.
“Jasminda, gather the weapons,” Jack said. She blinked and jumped into action.
An additional service revolver sat on the dresser. She grabbed it and opened the chamber to find it full of rounds.
She bent to check the ground, when a rucksack in the corner began to vibrate. That same uneasy feeling of bad magic returned, pulsing in time to the movement of the sack.
“What is that?” Her voice hitched.
Jack’s brow was furrowed, but Tensyn stared at the bag, eyes wide, before turning away. He swallowed. The noise grew louder, more insistent.
“Answer her.” Jack motioned with his gun.
“It’s a speaking stone,” Tensyn said through clenched teeth.
Jasminda had never heard of such a thing. The queasiness in her stomach grew with each rattle. Jack slipped his hand around her wrist, raising her weapon until it was trained on the two Lagrimari, then he turned to the rucksack and searched its pockets.
A bandana covering his fingers, Jack retrieved a small brownish-red pebble, about the size of his thumbnail. The tiny object shook in his palm, unrelenting. Jasminda winced at the magic coming from it.
“A speaking stone.” Wonder laced Jack’s voice. “Why is it shaking?”
Tensyn firmed his lips, refusing to answer.
“The shaking must be how it alerts you to a communication.” Jasminda could feel the insistence of the magic. She glanced at Tensyn and suddenly the bandage on his finger made sense.
“Blood,” she said. Tensyn’s eyes narrowed. She turned to Jack who nodded, understanding. He wiped some of the blood covering him onto the stone. It stopped rattling.
“I do not like to be kept waiting, Sergeant. Is it done?” The same imperious female voice Jasminda had heard before came through the stone.
“Who is this?” Jack asked.
A pause. “Who is this?” The voice was smiling. It was as though the woman already knew who she was talking to. “I suppose introductions can come later. Time and the True Father wait for no man. Ta-ta.”
With a cry, Jack dropped the stone and shook out his hand.
“What happened?” Jasminda asked, but the speaking stone ignited like a match as it hit the ground. The flame instantly caught hold of the bedroom rug and raced across its length, impossibly fast.
As if possessed with some kind of intelligence, the fire leapt up the legs of the dresser. Before Jasminda could move, one of the oil lamps exploded, showering the room in sparks and flame. She screamed and ducked. Jack was on her in an instant, leading her out of the room, away from the blaze.
Wargi and Tensyn, coughing and sputtering, raced out behind them and disappeared through the kitchen. Jack pulled the bedroom door shut and stuffed the quilt from the couch in the crack at the bottom of the doorframe.
“Do you have a fire suppressor?”
His words scrambled in her head. “A what?”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t, all the way out here. We don’t have much time. Save what you can.” He dashed into the kitchen, leaving her staring at the door, still not believing what lay on the other side.
A coughing fit caused by the acrid smoke filling her lungs shook her from her stupor. Tears like acid stung her cheeks. Her house was burning. Her home.
She raced upstairs and replaced her blood-soaked robe with a dress and boots. Tossed items blindly into a sack. Some part of her was still in her parents’ bedroom, watching the flames consume the walls. She stared at the bag in her hands, not remembering how it got there, not knowing what was inside, only that the tightness in her chest was not just smoke, it was the mouth of an endless river, a wash of despair sweeping her away.
She found herself in the living room again, standing in front of the cabinets. Had she run down the stairs? Was that why she was struggling to breathe?
No …
Everything here was precious. Sooty fingers skimmed each shelf, committing the feel of each object to memory. Her chest contracted. Was that her heart shrinking away to nothing?
Jack appeared next to her, carrying a basket stuffed with what remained of the pantry. “Give that to me.” He plucked the sack from her grasp. She stared at her empty hands for a moment, then at Jack, and felt grounded by the firmness of his expression. His uniform was tattered and stained. She pulled out a set of her brothers’ clothes from the cabinet and tossed them at him.
“These should fit—the boys were tall for their age.”
Flames reached out from under her parents’ door, the quilt having been eaten away. In mere minutes there would be nothing left of her life.
“Jasminda.”
Time spun without her knowledge. She turned to find Jack changed and ready. He’d even pulled on Papa’s old coat, the one the three children had saved up over the course of a year to replace. Papa had been wearing the new one the last time she saw him.
Tears formed, and her throat began to close up. Jack said her name again. “We have to go.”
She nodded, throat too thick to speak, and allowed him to take her hand and pull her from the house.
In the front yard, Wargi dragged Pymsyn’s body, laying him next to the charred, motionless form of Unar. Tensyn sat on the ground, enthralled by the vivid flames. Their reflection danced in his dark irises.
Jasminda’s knees hit the ground as a crash sounded behind her. Heat crawled over her skin. Pungent smoke punched
her nose. She could not bring herself to look. Jack wrapped his arms around her and pressed her into his chest. He whispered something she couldn’t hear above the rush of blood in her ears.
Gasping, she worked to pull herself together, clutching at the coat Jack wore that had long since lost her father’s smell. Finally, she could breathe steadily. His arms were a cage of safety around her, but she still felt like her chest had cracked open and everything inside was leaking out.
“This is all I have. I have nothing else.”
He held her tighter and rocked her gently, but she found no solace in his arms.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Now Spider was more crafty than any of his brother or sisters. And he was the only one who wept not a single tear when his parents met the World After.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The cock of a hammer made Jasminda freeze. Slowly, she pulled away from Jack and turned around. Wargi held a pistol trained on them. He shook with fear and made little hiccupping sounds.
Jack raised his palms; Jasminda did the same.
“W-Wargi?” she said, voice shaking. “Please.” The boy looked broken, so unsure.
His grip tightened on the gun, and with his unsteady hand, she was afraid he might shoot them without even meaning to.
“There, there, my boy,” Tensyn said, rising. “Give that to me, then.”
With relief, Wargi gave the revolver to his sergeant. Jack’s shoulder brushed against hers as they stood side by side. Jasminda closed her eyes on a long blink, then opened them to face her fate.
Tensyn glared at them. Soot covered half the man’s face, and his normally coiffed hair stuck out all over his head. Part of his mustache had burned off. He looked from Jack to Jasminda, taking in their close proximity, and snorted.
“You think this Elsiran will think twice about you when he no longer has use for you?” He sneered and lowered the gun, pushing forward the hammer and placing it in his waistband. “But by all means, run off with this scum and see for yourself.”
His yellow smile gave Jasminda a chill. “Y-you’re letting us go?”
The sergeant turned so his face was in profile. He affected a magnanimous expression and shooed them away with a flick of his wrist.
“I don’t understand. Why would you do this?” Jack asked.
Tensyn tsked. “I’ve lost the bulk of my squad.” He motioned to the dead men, the dwindling fire. “I doubt very much that Wargi and I could get you back to Sayya with our necks intact. Let us call it a tactical relinquishment. Now go, before I change my mind.”
Suspicion had both Jasminda and Jack backing away. She fully expected the sergeant to shoot them in the back as they fled, but he paid them no attention. They walked backward to the tree line, then rushed behind a large trunk.
“What was that?” she asked.
Jack’s face was drawn, worried. “I have no idea. I don’t trust it.”
“He wants us to leave. But why?”
Jack lifted his shoulders. “I think we have little choice but to go.”
Jasminda forced herself to view the wreckage. The barn did not appear in danger from the rapidly dying flames. Some idiot had left the door unbarred, but perhaps that was for the best. The goats would be able to leave and forage for food. They were tough animals and too stubborn to die.
She led Jack through the grove of crab apples, deeper into the valley. Once they were a good distance from the ruined cabin, she stopped. Tears stung the backs of her eyes as the reality of the night’s events sank down on her.
“What do you think Tensyn and Wargi will do?” Jack’s voice cut through her self-pity.
“Go back. The speaking stone—that woman, I heard him talking to her before. She ordered him back to Sayya. I’d thought he would kill you first, but…” Her head was clouded from grief, and she couldn’t connect all the dots clearly.
Jack bent over and breathed deeply. His face was ghostly pale, and the energy that had been fueling him seemed to ebb.
“I need your aid,” he said.
She rushed over to help him sit. “I’m surprised you’re even standing.”
“That is not what I meant. The cornerstone.” His gaze held hers, and she couldn’t look away.
“Jack, I want to help you, but in five days I will have no home.” At his incredulous look, she went on. “This valley is so far out, so isolated, the Prince Regent didn’t even know we were here for many years. But when the crown found us—found me—they determined I owed a small fortune in back property taxes.” She took a deep breath. “I researched the statutes. By law, since we didn’t get any notices for all that time, we can apply for something called safe harbor and not have to pay.”
She blinked back her tears and sniffed. “I sent an appeal detailing everything, but it doesn’t seem to have helped. According to the magistrate, on Seconday of next week they will auction the land if I don’t come up with the money.”
Jack reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. The sensation calmed her, gave her something to hold onto.
“What will you do?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Renounce my mother and save my home. And then rebuild.”
“Renounce your mother?”
She told him of her call with the solicitor and her grandfather’s offer. The paperwork he wanted her to sign. “I don’t want to, but I don’t know what else to do.”
Jack was quiet for a moment. He reached into the bag he’d slung across his back. The bit of silver he pulled out took Jasminda’s breath away.
“I found it in the back of the pantry when I was gathering food. It was your mother’s?”
The pendant hung on a slightly charred chain. Snaking lines of metal had been designed to curl in on themselves in a beautiful tangle. Jasminda smiled at the familiar necklace.
“The sigil of the Queen,” she said, running her finger along the warm metal, tracing the endless curving line. “I haven’t seen this in many years. All in the Sisterhood wear them. I always thought it looked much like a spider.”
Jack smiled and tilted his head. “I can see that. Here…” He grasped the chain with nimble fingers. “Let me fasten it for you.” She swept her hair from her nape and presented it to him. His fingers brushed her neck, leaving goose bumps in their wake. She swallowed as the weight of the pendant settled just below her collarbone.
Rubbing the silver charm between her thumb and forefinger was soothing. It was an action Mama had done several times a day. Jasminda used to wonder if the motion aided in prayer. The Queen Who Sleeps visited the dreams of some—a very rare few—though Papa was included in the number.
He’d never spoken of the words of wisdom he received during these dreams, so Jasminda could only guess. Her own dreams had always remained silent, though she prayed for a visit just as most Elsirans did.
Mama had described joining the Sisterhood and devoting her life to service of the Queen as the best decision she’d ever made. Even when she’d left the order to start her family. That hadn’t stopped her generosity. She’d made up baskets for the sick, those who would have benefitted from Papa’s healing but refused it out of fear. She was kind to those who shunned her, and even coolly polite to those who only accepted her and the twins—who all three appeared Elsiran and had no magic—not Papa and Jasminda.
Her mama had been too good for this world and was needed in the World After to spread her love there. At least that’s what Papa had said. It was just a platitude to soothe grieving children, but as Jasminda grew older, she believed it more and more.
She released the pendant and spun around, the realization hitting her like a blow to the chest. “I can’t sign those papers, Jack.”
His eyes rounded with concern. “They burned, did they?”
She paused, thinking. “No, I never took them out of my bag. But I wish they had, because I won’t sign. Mama never distanced herself from me. She walked away from everything she knew and everyone just for us. I can’t—I won’t disresp
ect her memory by giving in to my grandfather’s shame.” She stood and paced, her boots rasping across the fallen leaves.
A nagging doubt had chafed against the back of her mind since her call with the solicitor. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but her gut told her there was more to her grandfather’s offer than what had been stated.
“You do have another option, you know,” Jack said.
She stopped her pacing.
“The in-person appeal. Go to Rosira. Your grounds are sound. There’s no reason why the Taxation Bureau won’t listen.” He reached for her hand, and she gripped him. “I will help.”
“You’ll help me get to Rosira? I don’t have any money, and”—she motioned to herself—“traveling across the country would be difficult for me.” She could only imagine that the rest of Elsira would be far worse in their regard for her than those in the tiny Borderlands town.
Jack pursed his lips. “Yes. Of course I’ll help you. I could even…” He bit back whatever he’d been about to say. “I will do whatever it takes to help you save your land so you can rebuild.”
Her free hand found the pendant again, worrying the smooth silver. “All right. And I will help you with the cornerstone … as much as I can.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Mistress of Eagles lived atop the tallest hill in all the land. From there she said she could hear the voice of the wind more clearly, and who better to listen to than the greatest traveler in the world?
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
“Are you sure you don’t want to rest some more?” Jasminda asked. “The storm seems to have lessened a bit, but it will still be a treacherous climb.” A trickle of Earthsong zipped through Jack. He did his best to straighten and pretend he did not hurt everywhere.
“No, we don’t have any time to waste. And you had better save your magic for the Mantle.”
Her lips thinned, but the tingle of power ceased. She marched over to a wide tree and retrieved a thick branch from beneath it, then presented it to him. He accepted the walking stick gratefully. His shoulder and abdomen were both ablaze with pain; each breath was a struggle.
