Song of Blood and Stone

by L. Penelope

  Jack followed the others into a large tent erected just outside the ruins. Tankards of ale poured from fat barrels were shared liberally. The rain pattering against the tent’s fabric lent a steady soundtrack to the tale the old men spun.

  Benn, Bindeen, and Qerwall sat together with Jack and Jasminda on folding camp chairs. The other soldiers sat in small groups nearby sharing memories and catching up.

  “We’re honored to have you here, Commander,” Qerwall said. His steely eyes were so light they almost seemed leached of all color. Different from the amber shade of most Elsirans.

  “I’m honored to be here. Will you tell us about the Phantoms?”

  Qerwall eyed Jasminda with more curiosity than suspicion and launched into his story. “I had the dream of the Queen once when I was a lad, no more than three or four years old. I didn’t rightly know what I’d seen, but when I told my mama, she nearly fainted dead away. Got a lot of attention from that, I did, in our village. A group of Sisters came and questioned me for the Dream Record. But it wasn’t until years later, when we deployed during the Fifth, that I had another one.”

  He rested his elbows on his knees and spread his gnarled fingers apart. “The Breach had been open going on sixty years, and at that point we were in a long standoff. They’d send a storm and then we’d bomb the living daylights out of them, and on and on. But when I got to the front line, things had just started turning ugly.

  “The day before had been the first time we’d been hit with those bloody apple bombs they conjured.” He snorted at Jasminda’s questioning expression. “They didn’t whistle or hiss like normal shells. But if you smelled apples, you were in for it. Those blasted things eventually destroyed the Citadel.”

  “Haven’t been able to eat an apple since,” Bindeen added.

  Qerwall grunted in agreement. “But that first night I had the dream. I was transported to this dark place where I couldn’t see anything, not even myself. I heard Her voice. It flowed through me like lava in my veins. Never heard a sound like it before or since.

  “She told me that there were others I had to find. Men I could trust, plus a few names She gave. Also, there were Lagrimari working against the True Father and we had to meet up with them. Said they’d found a weakness in the True Father’s plan and we had to be ready.”

  “See there’s this fella called a Cantor,” Bindeen broke in. “The True Father’s second in command. I suppose they don’t last long, that madman kills people close to him after a while, but this one’s name was Morryn. He’s the one what made the apples. This Morryn had a son in secret. The True Father didn’t know about him, and Morryn wanted to keep it that way.”

  “That was the weakness, see,” Qerwall continued smoothly. “These Lagrimari rebels had found it out and taken the son captive. They brought him to us, and we hid him in Elsira. Then got word to Morryn that we had his boy and if he didn’t stop shelling us with them apples, we couldn’t guarantee his son’s safety.”

  “That’s when the tide turned in our favor,” Bindeen said. “We couldn’t do much against those bloody bombs, but once Morryn stopped creating them, we were able to mount an offensive.”

  “That’s how we won the Fifth Breach.” Qerwall nodded and sat back, taking a long drink of his ale.

  Jack took in Jasminda’s stunned expression. He had studied military history, and while there were no public records of the classified mission, when he’d taken over as Army High Commander, he’d been briefed on the broad strokes. But he had never actually met any of the men involved.

  “What happened to Morryn and his son?” Jasminda asked.

  Bindeen sobered. “The father wanted to defect. We had a plan to get him and the boy out of the country and on a ship headed for Raun. But…” He shook his head.

  “The True Father found out. Killed the son. Drained the father’s Song.” Qerwall stared into his mug.

  “But left Morryn alive?” she asked.

  “For a time.” Qerwall nodded. “We got word from one of our contacts that the man escaped after his tribute. Don’t know what happened to him. Can’t imagine the True Father didn’t hunt him down and have him killed. After the breach closed, we were cut off from the rebels and heard nothing else about him.”

  “It wouldn’t have been easy for him to hide with that hair of his,” Bindeen mused. “When we had him, we shaved his head so he wouldn’t stand out so much, but you could still see that mark he had.”

  Jack looked up sharply from his ale. “What mark?”

  “Birthmark. Shape of an S running from the front of his head to the back. A streak of white in his dark hair. All the way down to his scalp.”

  A vise gripped Jack’s chest, making his breath short. “Describe him to me. How tall was he? How old then?”

  Bindeen scratched his chin. “Average height for a Lagrimari. Thick build. Would have been in his fifties back then, I reckon. Why?”

  Jack looked at Jasminda. “The old man I met, the one who gave me the map. He had a white streak in his hair just like that. The rest had turned a dark gray, but that streak was pure white.”

  Jasminda stared at him, her eyes reflecting the foreboding he felt.

  “But he would have to be going on one hundred years old now,” Bindeen said.

  “You think it could have been this Morryn who gave you the map?” Jasminda’s voice was hushed. The conversation in the tent stayed at a low hum, but to Jack’s ears it was deafening.

  He sat back in his seat, hands shaking. He pushed away the vision he’d seen during the quest to find the cornerstone. That had broken his heart, but this suspicion rising within him threatened to break his spirit.

  “What if Morryn is still working for the True Father?” Jack asked. “What if giving me the map was a trick, a plot to find a way to destroy the cornerstone and keep their plans in motion?”

  A growing dread unfolded as his thoughts continued. “You said the storm was magical, and after we revealed the cornerstone, the storm demolished it.” He met Jasminda’s gaze. “The current Cantor. She must have ordered Tensyn to let us go. Because she knew what I was going to do.”

  Jasminda shook her head. “But you can’t know. We don’t…” She frowned, staring at the ground. “The fire at the cabin? The stone caused it. They were … manipulating us. Forcing us to leave.”

  It was harder and harder to deny. The bottom dropped out of Jack’s stomach. “This is my fault. I believed Morryn. I didn’t ask enough questions, and I walked right into a trap.”

  He recalled the first time he’d touched his blood to the stone and been taken into the map’s vision, seeing the cornerstone and knowing that he had a chance to avoid the war. It had consumed him, made him foolish.

  “They knew who I was, and they used me to further weaken the Mantle.” He massaged his head as the truth struck him. “By pursuing the cornerstone, I brought about its destruction.”

  “If this is true, the True Father destroyed the cornerstone, Jack. Not you.” Jasminda placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed gently.

  “But remember the hooded woman in the vision? No one the True Father sent would have passed the test and found the cornerstone. He needed someone to lead him to it.” A pained expression crossed her face. “You said you felt like the storm was watching you. What if it was? I should have listened to you. It was bad magic.”

  A crackle of static interrupted whatever she’d been about to say.

  Benn sat up and grabbed the portable radio at his waist. He stepped outside to hear the caller, but ran back in almost immediately.

  “Urgent call for you from the capital, sir.”

  Jack stood, his whole body heavy as he walked out of the tent to take the call.

  “Jack? Is that you?” a familiar voice warbled down the line.

  “Usher? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Jack.” The man exhaled in relief. “Thank the Queen you’re alive!”

  “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Alariq.” Th
e old man’s voice cracked, weighed down with misery. “Your brother is dead.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  And what of evil? said the town’s mayor to the Master of Bobcats.

  Evil is a powerful man’s greatest friend. It will either fill his heart or line his pockets.

  —COLLECTED FOLKTALES

  Jasminda pulled Jack’s coat around her tighter. The thick, wet fabric did relatively little to keep out the driving chill of the rain. He hadn’t worn it long enough for his scent to permeate—and the dampness would have washed it away in any case—yet since she could not hold him, she settled for the jacket.

  Dusk had fallen, and the murky haze was penetrated only slightly by the vehicle’s headlamps. Benn navigated the four-wheeler with ease despite the sodden roads.

  Jack’s pensive mood was so present, it could have taken up an entire seat. He was eating himself up with blame for the cornerstone’s destruction. Jasminda wished she could soothe him. If he hadn’t taken Morryn’s map and tried to use it, the True Father would have just found another. And that person might not have been so lucky as to have been saved by someone like Osar.

  But guilt was guilt, and Jack continued to stew in his. The unvoiced question was this: had the cornerstone’s ruin hastened the fall of the Mantle?

  Nothing catastrophic had happened in the days since the avalanche, but maybe the worst was yet to come. A headache formed at the base of Jasminda’s skull. They could only move forward, not back. What was done was past.

  The four-wheeler approached a grouping of low, gray structures hugging the earth. The Eastern Army Base was all bland concrete, straight lines, and harsh corners, made drearier by the persistent rain.

  Benn pulled to a stop beside a row of other vehicles, and Jack faced Jasminda, his expression grim. “I need to check on some things. Benn will have sleeping quarters located for you.”

  “I won’t be with the others?”

  Jack shook his head emphatically. “You are an Elsiran citizen, not a refugee. That must be made clear.”

  He leaned in to speak a few words to Benn and then was off, disappearing into one of the nondescript buildings.

  “Miss Jasminda, if you’ll follow me.”

  Benn led her into the largest building on the base. Concrete floors and cinder block walls did not make the hallway inviting. Harsh overhead light gave everything a pallid sheen. They passed a number of doors with square glass embedded within. Beyond was a large space, a gymnasium perhaps, holding rows and rows of cots. Lagrimari huddled together as Elsiran soldiers finished setting up the pallets.

  Jasminda shivered, glad she would not have to spend the night among so many strangers.

  Benn led her down another hallway and motioned her to a small row of metal chairs. “Would you like something hot to drink? Coffee or tea?”

  She sank into a seat. “Coffee would be nice.” He nodded and disappeared into one of the many rooms. Though she sat alone, the building buzzed with energy. She reached for Earthsong to sense the people around her, hidden behind walls and doors. Wariness and anxiety pervaded.

  The Elsiran soldiers were now tasked with housing those whom they’d only ever seen as the enemy. The atmosphere was taut with tension.

  Two soldiers tramped down the hall. Their conversation halted when they caught sight of her. Jasminda averted her eyes, but couldn’t avoid the hostility rolling off them.

  The men continued on, but their voices reached her. “Looks like the commander has himself a new pet.”

  A snort. “A grol bitch to fetch the paper and eat the table scraps.” Laughter.

  Jasminda hunched over, ducking her head. But her shame was quickly replaced by anger, which raced like a streak of lightning sizzling through her veins. The sensation of pins and needles pricked her skin. The hair on her arms stood up.

  “Wonder what he’s thinking, keeping them all here. Could be the lot of them are spies seeking intel.”

  One man chuckled derisively. “Fat lot of intel available in the mess hall.”

  “That’s not the point. We should gut every grol we come across. That’s less of them to fight when the next breach comes.”

  A third voice spoke up. “I don’t know. There’s a couple of fit birds out there I wouldn’t mind tussling with.” More laughter.

  Jasminda clenched her fists until her knuckles hurt. Though the area around her was empty, she was aware of another presence nearby. At first she thought her Song sensed someone in an adjoining room, but this was closer than that. As close as frost coating her skin. An unseen entity stoking her anger like bellows to a fire.

  Untethered emotions swirled inside her. Her Song pulsed, drawing in more Earthsong until she was pregnant with power.

  “The one the commander picked out is the fittest, though. Maybe once he’s done with her, he’ll give us a turn.”

  She couldn’t hold on anymore. Her rage exploded, funneling itself through her Song.

  Her chair vibrated. The floor shook in gentle waves, then more forcefully. A violent wind basted down the hallway. Doors slammed wildly. Furniture rattled.

  Frantic soldiers rushed into the hall. Jasminda kept her head down, trying to control herself. In moments, the flare-up was over. Her Song was simply too weak to sustain that much energy. She was burned out and, moreover, horrified at what had just happened.

  The foreign presence had disappeared, and the building was in chaos. Men with guns drawn raced past her and around the corner.

  What in Sovereign’s name had she done? She stood on wobbly legs and followed them into the mess hall. The refugees were crushed together in the center with weapons trained on them by wild-eyed soldiers.

  Jasminda covered her mouth, stifling a gasp. She caught Gerda’s terrified gaze and wanted to melt into a puddle of shame. Jack appeared, calling for calm. Despite his words, the tension in the room was oppressive.

  “What happened?” he asked, looking around. “Who was responsible for that?” He repeated it in Lagrimari.

  Jasminda swallowed her fear and took a deep breath, preparing to step forward.

  “The children are frightened, sir. They acted without thought.” Gerda’s voice was calm and even. She stood beside Osar, an arm around him.

  Jasminda’s breath staggered. She couldn’t let the old woman shift the blame to the poor children. When she moved forward, Gerda held out a hand surreptitiously to stop her. “We will make sure it doesn’t happen again,” the gray-haired woman said.

  Jack expelled a breath and rubbed his face. His shoulders sagged. He stepped closer to Gerda. “Tensions are high, as I’m sure you know. If my men feel threatened they will react, and I may not be here to stop them. Many of these soldiers were in the Seventh Breach. Any display of Earthsong will inflame them.”

  “I understand.” Gerda’s gaze seemed to cut through Jack straight to Jasminda, who stood several dozen paces behind him, hovering near the wall. “We will stay watchful and calm.”

  “I would appreciate it.” Jack turned and spoke to his men, but his words blended together in Jasminda’s ears. As the soldiers left to go back to wherever they’d come from, Gerda approached.

  “You must beware, child. We are not the only ones slipping through the Mantle’s cracks.”

  “What do you mean?” Jasminda’s voice shook.

  “You felt something, did you not, in the wind and rain and snow?”

  Jasminda’s eyes widened. “How did you know? I sensed … someone. Something. And just now it happened again. Only this time it set upon me, made me lose control of my Song.”

  Gerda nodded. “The storm, it is tainted. The True Father is breaking free of his chains. And you are a target now because of the caldera.”

  “He knows I have it?”

  “Not exactly.” Gerda tilted her head to the side. “While the Mantle stands, he is limited. But his spell is drawn to the stone like a tracking dog. This storm will seek you out looking for weakness to exploit. Feeding on your anger. You must b
e stronger than it. Protect your mind.” She tapped a wrinkled finger against the side of her head.

  Jasminda tightened her arms around her waist. “Why didn’t you warn me before?”

  Gerda shrugged. “We weren’t sure it would affect you. I was hoping you would be immune.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Jasminda stepped back. At least her Song was depleted until tomorrow. She could do no further damage.

  Benn appeared, bearing a perplexed expression and a mug of coffee.

  “I have to go,” Jasminda said, sullen. Gerda smiled and shuffled away.

  Jasminda accepted the coffee gratefully, allowing the liquid to scald her tongue. The discomfort grounded her. The invasive vileness of the True Father’s magic was nothing she would soon forget. She only hoped she could somehow steel herself against it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Eagle and Shark were once as close as petals closed for evening. Not even a strong wind could tear them apart.

  —COLLECTED FOLKTALES

  Jack left his office well after midnight and trudged out into the soggy night. The rain had tapered to a light mist, matching his downcast mood. He wound his way through the narrow lanes of the base until he reached the supply building where Jasminda was staying.

  There was no place in the barracks secure enough for a single woman, and Jack wanted to make sure Jasminda was protected. Sleeping space was at a premium, so a cot had been set up for her in this small warehouse.

  He opened the door; a tall stack of boxes cluttered the entryway, blocking his view.

  “Jasminda. It’s me,” he called out, rounding the mountain of crates to find her crouched on her cot, a knife in hand. Her skirt had rucked up, revealing the garter that had housed the blade.

  Warmth shot through him. With a shy look, she set her skirt to rights. He swallowed and forced his gaze up to her face. She was looking anywhere but at him, so he pulled up a box and sat beside her. “How do you like the accommodations?”

  “It’s no cave floor, but it will serve.” Her eyes finally rose to meet his, and he relaxed a notch. For some reason he’d needed to see her after this endless, excruciating day.