by L. Penelope
We thought it best not to make the spell widely known, and so are all sworn to secrecy. At first, Eero and I would go up into the mountains above town to let him practice so as not to be spotted. But this week we are on assignment in the east, checking in on the colony that has sprung up here in the shadow of the eastern mountains.
It is a quiet place, so far from home. A bleak and dry environment where nothing grows, but the colonists are working to transform it into lush farmland, as our parents and grandparents did long ago in the west. We could not have found a better place for Eero to practice away from prying eyes.
I relent and take his hand for the spell. The power is always there, humming inside me, a leashed beast waiting for release. I set a trickle free and sing it into my twin, deep into the core of him where it would last him quite a while if he did not waste it.
I give just a little, but he has been using it up faster and faster, asking for more and more. Some part of me advises caution—having been born Silent, there is no telling how the power will affect him—but it brings him such joy.
“No more until tomorrow,” I admonish. His eyes shine as he nods his understanding.
With a flick of his wrist, he pulls the moisture from the air until it forms a tiny dense cloud hovering above his palm.
“What are you going to do with that?” I hold back a laugh.
His grin is mischievous. He winks at me. “My tongue is a bit parched. The terraforming is moving at a snail’s pace, and the water rations here barely slake my thirst.” He opens his mouth, and the little cloud becomes a stream of water that arcs, landing on his tongue.
I shake my head and turn back toward the imposing mountain range. “The storm will be here in a few hours,” I say. “We had better head back so I can help the Songbearers with today’s work. That way they will not fall too far behind because of the weather.”
The Songbearers work together to sing the barren ground to fertility. One day, farms will grow where this desert stands. That is the true power of Earthsong.
My brother squints into the distance, unable to see what I see. “Would it not be better to halt the tempest and leave more time for the work?”
I shrug. “If we stopped every storm, nothing would ever grow.” A greater unease pushes at me, but I brush it away. One storm at a time is all I can deal with.
* * *
Jasminda stared ahead blindly, replaying the last vision in her mind. Changing desert into farmland—she was awestruck by the power of these ancient Singers.
To the west of the settlement of Baalingrove were green fields and rolling hills. Clusters of trees sprang up here and there, and according to the settlers, the nearest farming village was about two kilometers away. But the settlement stood in the shade of the bordering mountains. Jasminda recognized the profile from her vision. Baalingrove was very close to where this colony of Earthsingers had been. All of this beauty and greenery had been transformed from desert wasteland long ago.
She stood, wincing at the way her sodden clothes stuck to her, and turned to the distinctive peaks. In her mind, she tried to triangulate the location of the colony. How long ago had it been since the Singers had done their work here? Was this vision a clue of some kind? Could the colony’s location offer some insight into how to awaken the Queen?
“They wish the refugees to sleep at the Eastern Base tonight,” one of the settlers told the others. The men sat together, appearing impervious to the rain that poured down. “The Sisterhood is setting up a camp for them near Rosira. The plan is to travel there tomorrow.”
This elicited a chorus of grumbles from the other men. “I reckon we should go with them,” another grizzled man said.
“And leave our homes? Who are they to us?” Voices murmured in agreement.
The first man stiffened. “Those who need protecting.” Protests rose, but he leaned forward. “Most of us were born in the harems and grew up in the army. No family and no choices. We’ve been cast off here going on twenty years, but these women and children coming across need our help. They don’t know the language, nor do they know what to expect from these flame-haired bastards—though after today, I’m sure they can guess.”
The others quieted, and he continued. “I can’t make none of you go. All I know is a man protects those weaker than himself. And no matter what they think, we’re still men.”
Jasminda blinked back tears. Had Papa not met Mama, he would be one of these men. The settlers remained silent, but she saw renewed purpose in the set of their jaws. They would go to protect the others.
And she would go as well—it was where she’d intended to end up all along. Appeal to the Tax Bureau, save her land. And discover a way to awaken the sleeping Queen. No, not difficult at all.
But first, she needed to visit the site of the colony. If the way to awaken the Queen was truly tied to these visions, then she couldn’t ignore any possibilities.
She looked for Jack, but didn’t want to ask any of the Elsirans. Finally, she spotted him near one of the vehicles talking with some of the soldiers. She called to him, waving to get his attention. Their eyes met, and a chill raced through her. She told herself it was just the unyielding rain. Jack broke away from the group; the other Elsirans looked her way, confusion evident on their faces.
He approached wearily. He looked so tired and burdened. Perhaps that was her imagination, however, his demeanor had changed. Gone were even the hints of the man she’d once confused for an artist. He was all warrior now.
His presence beside her dried her throat. Whatever she had been planning to say flew out of her head.
“You are in charge of these men?” The question had been weighing on her since the soldiers had lowered the weapons pointed at him and showed him such deference. She didn’t know much about military ranks, but High Commander sounded awfully important.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Her heart grew heavy. Though he stood next to her, suddenly he seemed very far away. “You are very young.”
“I started early. Practically at birth. And my family is very … well connected.” There was no pride in his voice.
“The men respect you. It isn’t false regard in their eyes. You must be quite good.”
He shrugged and looked away, as though uncomfortable with this topic of conversation. She changed the subject.
“You’re taking us all to the base?”
“Yes, all the refugees and any of the settlers who want to come. Tomorrow, we’ll head for Rosira.”
And what would happen after that? Would she ever see him again? She pushed the question back. It would probably be for the best. Before she got any more attached.
She cleared her throat. “I saw something with the stone.”
Jack’s brows raised; he stepped closer. “What?”
She briefly relayed the last vision. “The twins were near here. I recognize the formations.” She pointed to the mountain. “Perhaps a few kilometers north. I thought maybe we could go there and look around. There could be something we’re meant to find.”
“Do you think the caldera is like the map?” he asked, following her line of thought.
“We know so little. There might be nothing there, but since we’re so close, I thought we should check.”
He looked off into the distance. “The only thing I can think of up there are the ruins of the Citadel. Do you think that’s where this colony was?”
“Could be.”
Jack nodded, his decision etched on his face. “Then we’ll go. It’s very near the base, so we can stop at the ruins on our way.” He moved to walk away, then stopped and turned back to grab her hands. “Thank you.”
The contact zinged all the way up her arms. “Don’t thank me yet. I still don’t know how any of this will help awaken the Queen.”
He grinned at her. “Still. Oh, and I don’t think we should mention the caldera or the plan to wake the Queen to anyone else. Getting anyone in the government involved could be … complicated.”
“All right,” Jasminda agreed. “I don’t have anyone to tell, anyway.”
He squeezed her hands, then marched away, barking out orders. Jasminda clenched her fists, willing the tingling to stop before it reached her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Mistress of Frogs was called to the bedside of an old woman who wanted to be assured of peace in the World After.
She said, Peace can be found only in memory. To seek it in the future is folly.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jack watched the transports carrying the refugees and settlers rumble away. Only he, Jasminda, and Benn, his assistant, remained. Jack had been grateful when Benn drove up an hour before. He’d embraced his old friend like a brother.
Jasminda’s expression was unreadable as the other Lagrimari were driven off. Jack didn’t have to explain himself to his men, but he’d noticed their questioning looks as Jasminda was held aside while the Lagrimari were gathered together.
Now Benn, the only person Jack trusted, was in the driver’s seat of a four-wheeler. He wouldn’t ask any difficult questions, and he would be discreet. Benn had known of Jack’s undercover mission—only the broad strokes—and had kept his every confidence.
“Where to?” Benn asked. He’d greeted Jasminda politely, palms out, without any questions, and for that Jack was grateful. The fact that she appeared surprised at the action gnawed at him.
“The Citadel. We need to take a look at the ruins.”
The Citadel had been built after the First Breach, just a few decades after the Mantle’s erection. The invading Lagrimari had taken over much of the eastern farmland. They’d built a wall to keep the Elsirans out and used their considerable power in the form of earthquakes, fires, storms, and floods to do battle.
Elsiran engineers responded by constructing a mighty battle ram that eventually tore down the wall. Their superior numbers pushed the Lagrimari back, and the tear in the Mantle closed again, without the Elsirans quite knowing how.
That’s when the Citadel was built—a walled city that could withstand a year-long siege. The Elsirans bolstered their army, making the city its headquarters. That long-ago Prince Regent knew it was just a matter of time before the True Father attacked again.
Their four-wheeler came to a stop at the edge of the ruins. A vast sea of tumbled rock and stone stretched out before them. Tough grasses and shrubbery pushed their way through gaps in the stones. Here and there an archway remained mostly intact. The foundations and first stories of many of the buildings had also lasted, though the formerly cobbled streets were just greenery now.
“Why was it never rebuilt, I wonder?” Benn asked.
“I don’t think we had the heart. A city of stone is no match for men who can cause it to crumble with a thought.” The Elsirans had underestimated the Earthsingers, and they had suffered for it. Jack exited the vehicle, wading through the somber atmosphere that had settled over them.
“But this city stood for hundreds of years,” Jasminda said, coming to his side.
“Because the True Father wanted to use it.” Jack snorted. “After all the work it took to build, the Lagrimari tunneled in during the Second Breach and took over. It changed hands throughout the years more than once.”
The rain had subsided for the moment, though the gray sky promised more. Jasminda turned in a circle, taking it all in. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“Are you cold?”
Jack still wore her brother’s pants, but had changed his wet shirt for a dry one and donned a brown army jacket back at Baalingrove. The refugees had been issued blankets while waiting for transport, but Jasminda must have left hers behind.
He took off his jacket and handed it to her. She smiled, almost shyly, before accepting it.
“Thank you,” she whispered. It engulfed her, and she had to roll up the sleeves. Jack looked away. The jacket wasn’t even really his, but it sparked something possessive in him that was wholly inappropriate.
The Citadel sat slightly to the southwest of the only gap in the mountain range. This stretch of land was a few thousand paces wide and was the sole location from which you could see the country of Lagrimar.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Jasminda asked. “Breach Valley? I’ve never…” She looked visibly shaken.
The Mantle was invisible to the eye, but try to cross the gap and you would hit an impenetrable force. Well, mostly impenetrable.
Every breach had occurred right here. Every breach save for the current one.
“What does he want?” Jasminda asked. “Why invade this place again and again?”
“Farmland, food for his people. I suspect everyone is easier to control when they’re well fed.” Elsirans certainly were. The most unrest always happened in times of strife.
“But he has magic.”
Jack turned away from the valley, back to the ruins. “They say he hates to use it. Darvyn told me that the True Father’s power is tainted, so he himself cannot transform the land from desert to fertile. Apparently, he tried at the beginning and it only made the land worse. But he had already stolen the power from the strongest Earthsingers, so there were few left to terraform. So he set his sights on this side of the mountain.”
After the Citadel’s destruction, the Eastern Base became the hub of army operations. It was to the north of Breach Valley, just out of sight of the constant reminder of failure the destroyed city held.
Benn walked a bit farther out of earshot. “Do you recognize anything?” Jack asked Jasminda.
“This does seem to be the location of the colony I saw. But I don’t know.” She headed down an overgrown path that was once, no doubt, a vibrant city street. Every so often she would stop and squint. He wondered if she was using her Song to search for clues but didn’t pierce the quiet to ask.
The low hum of voices rose nearby. Jack grabbed his sidearm and moved in front of Jasminda, scanning the area.
His skin tightened with apprehension until a bugle trilled out. They turned a corner and found three dozen old men gathered before the remains of the clock tower. Though not much of the structure was left, it was still the tallest thing standing in the city.
Some of the old-timers were in military dress uniforms, some in suits and ties with sashes of honor covering their chests. They all stood at attention while a lone bugler played a plaintive melody. Two at the front of the group folded the Elsiran flag, its blue and gold symbols of the country’s crest disappearing into the folds.
Jack came to attention and saluted. When the bugle died, the men’s voices rose, singing the Elsiran national anthem.
“From sandy shores near oceans deep,
To mountains near and far,
Her memory, alive we keep
Elsira’s in our hearts
Shining brightly, coast to hill
Her beauty waning never,
Elsira lives on by our will
Elsira is forever.”
Quiet replaced the voices, and then the ceremony was done. The skies picked that point to open, dousing them in a cold drizzle.
Some of the men looked up, noticing Jasminda and Jack for the first time. Jack wore only the plain brown shirt, and none of his stripes were visible to indicate his rank, yet one of the men recognized him. The old-timer snapped to attention and saluted.
“High Commander Alliaseen. It’s a pleasure, sir.” The other men followed his lead.
Jack reciprocated, conscious of his intrusion upon them. “As you were,” he ordered.
By the age of the men present, he gathered they must be Fifth Breach veterans. Some tough old bastards. What he’d heard about those fights made his stomach sour.
“Jasminda?” one of the men called out, stepping forward. She grew rigid beside Jack before her expression morphed into a smile.
“Bindeen?” A graying figure approached and bowed slightly as she beamed. “What in Sovereign’s name are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the
same. Those what are left from our regiment get together this time every year to pay our respects. It’s the anniversary of our last stand here.”
“This is Master Bindeen, the blacksmith in town,” Jasminda said by way of introduction. Jack liked that she smiled fondly at the old man. He sensed there were not many who could claim her friendship.
Bindeen nodded at him. “Sir.”
Jack looked more closely at the uniforms of the men. “You say you shared a regiment?” Bindeen wore the patch of the 23rd Infantry, the Black Skulls, while the two who’d folded the flag were both from the 18th, the Stormwalkers. And over there was a fellow from the 49th.
Bindeen eyed the others with a sidelong glance, then grinned. “We share a regiment that no patch was ever made for, sir.” The old man peered at him meaningfully.
“The Phantoms?” Jack was incredulous.
“Aye.”
Jack viewed the man with renewed admiration. He bowed slightly. “It is an honor.”
Bindeen scoffed, his face reddening. “It was Qerwall over there who brought me in and watched our backs every day of that mission.” He motioned to a wiry man with a full head of gray hair still tinged with the red of his youth.
Jasminda looked back and forth between them. “What are the Phantoms?”
Bindeen’s mouth clamped shut, a guilty look crossing his face, but Jack grinned. “I think fifty years of being classified is long enough. What do you think, Sergeant?”
The man smiled. “Why don’t you step into our office? I’ll tell you all about it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Master of Monkeys came across a hunter caught in his own trap in the forest.
Will you free me? the hunter cried.
Nay, answered Monkey. However, in leaving you ensnared, I free your prey from your pursuit.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
