Song of Blood and Stone

by L. Penelope

  Jack crouched next to her. His eyes slowly rose to meet hers. He scrubbed away the tears tracking his cheeks.

  What had he seen? Whatever it was, it seemed no less harrowing than her own test, only Jack had passed.

  The cornerstone rose before them, radiating power.

  Jack’s golden gaze dimmed. His breathing stuttered, and his eyes rolled up into his head. Blood gushed from one of his nostrils.

  “Jack?” Jasminda reached for him, but he fell to the side, unconscious. Fear drummed a cadence inside her chest. She could not heal Jack and have any hope of fixing the cornerstone.

  Though it tore at her heart, she swallowed and focused her attention on the obelisk. Her breathing had still not returned to normal, so it took several tries before she could successfully connect to Earthsong. The raging river of power felt wild, rough, and choppy.

  She filled her Song to its limited capacity and felt for the magic of the cornerstone. A power ancient and unfamiliar met her. The spell was a tangled webbing of complex pieces, far beyond her skill level.

  She could see cracks in the intricate latticework of energy, but trying to fill them would be like mortaring a brick wall with twig and a bit of mud. She was just too weak. She had the absurd desire to laugh.

  The voices of her family echoed in her head. She swatted them away, but they persisted.

  “It’s not just me,” she muttered aloud as if their apparitions were still before her. “No Singer alive could repair this spell.” The magic was hundreds of years old. Papa had told her the ancient Singers must have had godlike powers to create the Mantle. And yet slivers of doubt pierced her.

  She poured her Song into the attempt, feeling her way around the spell, trying to patch even one crack. She drained herself to no effect. The old man who’d given Jack the map must have been delusional. Or was she simply the wrong Singer for the job?

  She shivered, suddenly cold. No longer able to hold on to Earthsong, she opened her eyes to find swirling eddies of snow had invaded the protection of the pillars. The remaining grass shriveled before her eyes as the storm breached the circle.

  What had happened? How had the magic failed? She drew her coat tighter and bent to Jack. He was still breathing, but his injuries had been severe, and the climb up the mountain had only worsened them.

  She leaned her head to his chest to find his heartbeat slow, his body temperature scarily low. She lay across his body to try to warm him, but it looked more and more like he would die on this mountain. Likely, they both would.

  Tears froze on her face. She squeezed her lids shut against the pain of defeat in so many areas.

  Pins and needles skittered across her skin, alternating between tiny jabs of pain and numbness. The evil presence lurking in the storm felt even nearer. She stared up at the obelisk as hope fled.

  The ground shook—aftershocks of the cornerstone’s appearance? But the gentle vibrations increased in intensity. The rattling grew until the snow bounced and the earth groaned in complaint. Violent, shattering shakes rattled the ridge where the circle stood. The stone columns trembled and crumbled as the shaking grew stronger. Large chunks fell away, barely missing where Jasminda lay protecting Jack with her body. Beneath them, cracks appeared in the earth.

  She gripped Jack tight, whispering the Promise of the Queen through stammering lips. “While She sleeps this promise keep; That She dream of us while for Her we weep; May She comfort, counsel, guard, and guide; Those whose love will never die; And when Her betrayer pays for his lies; And finally the World After occupies; May love’s true Song with Her remain; And awaken Her that She may rule again.”

  What was left of the disintegrating columns swayed and tilted. Two of them crashed into the obelisk. They tore through the gleaming red stone. The other pillars followed suit, and rocks tumbled down from somewhere above. They all fell, pounding the ancient artifact into powder until no trace remained.

  The ground opened up where the columns had once stood.

  Jasminda had repeated the prayer twice through, her words a mere whisper at the end, when the earth beneath her fell away, leaving her clutching Jack’s limp form as they tumbled down the mountain.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When bonds of friendship would hold him down, Bobcat cuts his ties to run free.

  —COLLECTED FOLKTALES

  Jasminda lost Jack in the free fall. In the pummeling of rocks and snow and debris, her curled fists could not hold on, and he fell away.

  Then the rapid descent stopped. The buzz of Earthsong surrounded her, lifting her until she was weightless. A soft, glowing light approached, floating upward as if on wings. Rising along with her lantern was an unconscious Jack. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into her arms as they floated straight up. Having him back calmed her enough that she could take a breath and enjoy the healing warmth surrounding them.

  Her nicks and cuts disappeared; even her frayed emotions were soothed—an accomplishment achievable only by a very powerful Singer. She wished she hadn’t exhausted her Song. She longed to reach out and sense the intentions of the Earthsinger who’d found them. Though his or her actions so far had been benevolent.

  The spell—strong enough to carry two adults in the air—brought them down the mountain and set them gently on a patch of snowy ground. They were protected from the snow and cold by a bubble of insulated air.

  Jack stirred. Jasminda brushed a hand across his brow and exhaled when he blinked his eyes.

  “Welcome back,” she whispered.

  “Delighted to be here.” He looked around, confused. Flexed his arms and legs.

  She crawled closer. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  A brilliant smile spread across his face. He shook his head. “Not at all.”

  She wanted to check for herself to be sure, but the relief in his expression told the story. He was well. Thank the Sovereign.

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head. “Someone saved us. An Earthsinger.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “And the Mantle?”

  Jasminda swallowed her regret. “It didn’t work. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough.”

  The light in his eyes dimmed, and a new fissure formed on her heart. There was nothing she could do to make it better—their chance to stop the war was gone because she had failed.

  She longed to ask him what he’d seen in his vision, but the darkness around them moved. Shadows broke away from the rock wall, stepping into the weak circle of light. Two men and two women, all Lagrimari and armed with rifles, came forward. Jasminda scrambled back, her hand diving into her coat pocket where she’d stored her pistol. Jack, too, produced a revolver, holding it at his side.

  Perhaps the Singer who’d saved them hadn’t been as benevolent as she’d hoped.

  * * *

  The Lagrimari held their weapons at the ready, pointed down. Instead of uniforms they wore clothes made from tough, gritty-looking material similar to burlap. The men and women themselves seemed tough and gritty as well. Jasminda held her breath as the group regarded them with hard gazes.

  Footsteps crunched in the snow behind the Lagrimari. A small head appeared and pushed its way to the center.

  “I told you to go back to the cave,” one of the women spat as a little boy pulled away from her grasp. The woman’s face was badly scarred on one side with jagged lines. The boy was around six or seven, with a shock of black hair and round cheeks. He smiled brightly, revealing two missing front teeth.

  Jasminda pointed her pistol at the ground, peering at the boy.

  “Well, hello there,” Jack said in Lagrimari. “Are you the welcome wagon?”

  The boy beamed at Jack, who smiled back uncertainly. Jasminda watched the exchange, confused.

  “He’s an incorrigible child,” the scarred woman said.

  “He is only trying to counteract your pigheadedness, Rozyl,” another voice said from the darkness. An old woman stepped into the light, her face leathered and wrinkled.
She was gray-haired and stooped, and wore a ragged coat of matted fur. “It’s too cold out here for all this bother. Pssht. Put those away.” She waved her hand, and the armed men and women strapped their rifles to their backs and retreated into the shadows. Rozyl was the last to do so—she scowled at Jasminda before she went.

  “Come, children. Come inside where it’s warm.” The old woman placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you, Osar. We wouldn’t want our guests to feel unwelcome.”

  “Who … who are you?” Jasminda asked.

  “I am Gerda ul-Tahlyro. This little one is Osar, always trying to do good deeds.” She smiled down at the child, who seemed a bit abashed.

  Jasminda could only stare at the boy. “That was his spell?”

  “Oh yes. He’s the strongest of us all.”

  “They don’t need to know that,” Rozyl growled from somewhere in the darkness.

  “Osar has already said these two are safe. What reason have we not to trust them?”

  “I don’t trust anyone.” Footsteps crunched away. The cave entrance must be there, hidden in the darkness. When the last footsteps disappeared, Jasminda stood, taking Jack’s offered hand.

  He was peering at Gerda, his brows drawn. Jasminda expected him to say something, but when he didn’t, she offered her hands to Gerda, palms out in greeting. “I’m Jasminda ul-Sarifor, and this is Jack…” She waited for him to provide his surname, but he remained silent.

  Gerda squinted at her outstretched hands. Jasminda blinked rapidly, unsure of her mistake. Though she’d never actually had anyone greet her properly in Elsira, she hadn’t thought this Lagrimari woman would shrink from her touch.

  “In Lagrimar, they greet one another by bringing a hand to the forehead,” Jack said, reaching for Gerda’s right hand and bringing it up to touch his head. Jasminda swallowed and dropped her hands, heat rising in her neck and cheeks.

  “Sarifor, you say?” Gerda cocked her head to the side. “Any relation to Dansig ol-Sarifor?”

  The world fell away for an instant as an image of Papa’s disapproving face crossed her vision. She blinked past it and forced herself to breathe. “You knew my father?”

  Gerda nodded. “Long ago.” She turned and disappeared into the shadows. “Come along now. There’s a warm fire inside.”

  Utterly shaken, Jasminda moved to grab the bag and lantern, but Jack’s quick fingers plucked them away first. He chuckled at her exasperation, but his eyes lacked their usual sparkle.

  “What do you think?” Her voice was hushed and cautious. Warily, she watched the storm bluster just on the edge of their little invisible wall of protection.

  “I’ll go first,” he said, then grabbed hold of her hand and charged ahead.

  She was glad for his hand in hers. The mountain caves and tunnels frightened her. They had been strictly off-limits growing up, and even her intrepid brothers had listened to Papa’s words and stayed away. Half a dozen cave openings lined the mountain path her family used on their way to and from town. But they had never ventured in. Something about the gaping openings sent off danger signals. On a primal level, they felt like places to be avoided.

  Like the wretched map and Tensyn’s speaking stone, a similar crawling unease pervaded the caves. All set her teeth on edge in their own way.

  But the others did not shudder the way she did upon entering the cavern. Jack gave no evidence that his skin was crawling with the oppressive atmosphere. With each step, the temperature grew steadily warmer, but cold goose bumps irritated her skin.

  A short tunnel opened to a huge chamber many stories high. The interior was wholly unexpected; instead of the rough surface of rock, the walls and floor were glassy and smooth, like the patch of ground surrounding the cornerstone. The entire interior of the mountain looked as if it had been blown in the forge of a glassmaker. She struggled to calm her rioting belly. Her breath pulsed in short gasps.

  Jack’s expression mirrored her concern.

  “Do you feel the wrongness of this place?” she asked. “It’s like…” The lifeless eyes of the soldier she’d killed swam into her vision. The cave stank of pungent earth and stale air, but underneath it all, she smelled blood. She was glad her Song was depleted for the next half day or so. The idea of trying to sing here caused a ripple of nausea to overwhelm her. That same instinct screaming the danger of the caves told her that this was not a place for magic. For the first time ever, the thought of using Earthsong filled her with dread.

  Jack pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her. “We can just wait here for the storm to end.” His warm breath on her ear pulled her back from the edge of panic. She focused on him, the strength in his body now that he was no longer in pain. He was a solid thing to hold onto.

  “And then what?” she asked.

  “I think these Lagrimari must be Keepers of the Promise. Rebels against the True Father. Perhaps their young Singer could help to bolster the cornerstone—if we’re able to find it again.”

  A sob escaped Jasminda’s pressed lips.

  “What is it?” Jack’s eyes were frantic.

  She sucked in a breath and met his gaze. “It’s gone.” He grew stricken as she told him of the shaking earth. Of how the cornerstone had been destroyed.

  “I don’t understand.” He pulled away from her and dropped his head in his hands. “What happened? How could it just be crushed like that?”

  Jasminda drew away. She wanted to offer some comfort, but what words could she say? If she had been stronger, could she have prevented the rock slide? The avalanche?

  Off to the right, an opening in the cavern wall was lit by a flickering fire. Voices buzzed from within. Jack trudged forward, toward heat and light, his face a desolate landscape. Jasminda followed, her arms wrapped around herself, poor protection from the fears and regrets that pummeled her.

  They stood outside the cave in silence. Jasminda watched Jack for a clue of how to proceed, but he was lost in his own mind.

  “Come,” Gerda called, her voice cracked. “No use skulking about in the corridors.”

  Jasminda peeked inside to find a well-tended fire roaring in the center, sleeping packs spiraling out from it. A handful of careworn women, each huddled with a small child or two, looked up at her. Osar sat with a slightly older girl near the fire. Rozyl and the others from outside stood grouped together in the corner, hovering over Gerda who sat on the ground with two other elders.

  With a hand on Jack’s shoulder, Jasminda nudged them forward. Two dozen Lagrimari watched their entrance. She had never seen so many people who looked like her in the same place. But each face she peered into held a sort of quiet desperation, a somberness that hinted at a life of struggle. Except for Rozyl. She merely glared.

  Oddly enough, the obvious antagonism was comforting for Jasminda. At least she was in familiar territory. She set her jaw and scowled back, refusing to be cowed by this woman who didn’t even know her. Rozyl’s gaze dropped to her hand on Jack, and Jasminda froze. He was the only Elsiran there.

  He shook himself, his eyes sharpening and scanning the room, then shifted into a protective stance, placing his body in front of hers.

  “Have a seat,” Gerda said.

  Jasminda was still wary of the smooth cave interior. However, with no other options, she settled on the ground in front of the elders. Jack positioned himself by her side, but turned slightly, keeping an eye on the entire space. Rozyl and her crew moved a few paces away.

  “This is Turwig ol-Matigor and Lyngar ol-Grimor.” Gerda pointed to the old men.

  “You are Keepers of the Promise?” Jack asked with a sidelong glance.

  “We are,” Gerda said, motioning to the other elders, Rozyl, and the three guards with her. Rozyl groaned. The other women and children were out of earshot.

  “Did you know my father as well?” Jasminda asked the old men. A look passed between them that she couldn’t decipher.

  “It was many years ago, child. I can hardly recall,” said Turwig, w
hose kind face held a grandfatherly quality.

  The one called Lyngar had deep lines etched into his face, his perpetual scowl making her wonder if he was related to Rozyl. “I can. He was a scoundrel. He abandoned his regiment. Unforgivable!”

  Jasminda tensed and focused on the unpleasant man. “He was captured in the Sixth Breach. A prisoner of war.” She forced the words out through clenched teeth.

  “Is that what he told you?” Lyngar snorted. Gerda shot him a murderous glare, and he looked away, not exactly chastened, more like he’d grown bored with the conversation.

  “He journeyed to the World After two years ago along with my brothers … to join my mother, who was Elsiran.” She said the last as a challenge, to see how he would react. Lyngar’s head whipped toward her before his gaze shot to Jack.

  “So that is why you cavort with them.”

  Jasminda moved to stand, wishing she could throttle the old man or, at the very least, get away from him. Jack’s hand on her arm stilled her, and she sat stewing in rage. Either the fire was far too hot or her blood was ablaze.

  “Why have you brought these people across the Mantle?” Jack motioned to the women and children in the center of the room.

  “It will fall soon,” Gerda said simply. “Better to be on this side than the other when that happens.”

  Turwig spoke up. “How do you know about the Keepers, boy?”

  Beside her, Jack swallowed and cleared his throat. “I met one years ago. After the Seventh Breach, I was stationed at the Eastern Base—”

  “You’re a soldier?” Rozyl asked through gritted teeth.

  Jack nodded tersely. “When we transferred the POWs to the settlement, as per the terms of the treaty, I met a young man called Darvyn.” More than one person in the cave sucked in a breath. “You know him?”

  Gerda silenced everyone with a glance. “Go on.”