Divided Fire

by Jennifer San Filippo

  She couldn’t think about what was to come. Whenever she considered the military, she wanted to weep.

  I don’t want to kill anyone.

  Singing was a gift—her Mother had always insisted so. It was a beautiful way to assist the village, a way to contribute to something bigger than herself. It was not a weapon; it wasn’t meant for destruction. Kesia thought of the man she had burned, how she had thrown fire onto his sleeve, almost feeling the flame bite into his skin. It was devastating, a corruption of Singing. Was that what she would be asked to do in service to the king?

  On the morning of the third day, one of the pirates unlocked Kesia’s cage.

  “No tricks, Singer!” the man shouted. “Or I put a bullet through your head.”

  Kesia lowered her head and raised her hands to indicate submission. Most of the men, she had learned, could not read signs.

  “Climb out,” the man said.

  Slowly, she pushed herself up. Her arms felt like bags of sand, and her head spun from standing so suddenly. No one came to offer her assistance as she pulled herself out of the cell.

  The gag in her mouth was as cumbersome and fishy as ever. Two gun barrels gaped at her, and she cringed. She wanted to collapse and melt into the deck of the ship.

  Then she looked up.

  We’ve arrived.

  A huge mountain took up most of the sky, dull clouds circling its blue and gray peak. Spread out in front of her was a sight she had never thought she would see.

  A city.

  Davri had described cities as bustling, crowded places with huddled, elaborately designed buildings and streets made of stone. The people who lived there were clad in brightly colored gowns, or suits, or well-pressed uniforms, he’d said.

  But he hadn’t mentioned such tall buildings, or the noise that drifted from them even here at the docks. Or the docks themselves, which were numerous and crowded with ships of every size, some full-masted, others coughing steam from metal columns.

  The ridge of mountains was so close that Kesia could see how it curved around and downward toward the coast, as though trying to corral the city closer to the water. She could see buildings along the sheer ridge at the far end of the city. One building even sat on top of the ridge, though she could hardly make it out against the bright sunlight.

  And she realized that was why the world seemed skewed, offcolor: it was only midmorning, but the sun was hidden behind mountains. Mountains to the east—

  “Here we are, little Singer,” Edom said, smiling. “Welcome to my homeland!”

  Kesia sucked in a breath. A few of the men cried out in alarm at the sound, but she hardly heard them.

  They hadn’t taken her to the Kaleon Royal Navy.

  She was in Avi’or.

  The same hazy blue mountains she had once stared at from the lighthouse widow’s walk were now jagged and stark before her. Why hadn’t she noticed that they had been heading east and not north? Had she not once thought to look at the sun’s path across her barred cage, or notice the shifting stars at night?

  “I must say, Singer,” the captain continued, “that it has been an absolute pleasure having you onboard. I haven’t had a prisoner so compliant in ages.” He slapped a hand on her shoulder. “I have found in recent years, however, that it’s best not to tell captured Singers where I’m bringing them. Of course, they assume I’m selling them to their king, but, unfortunately, your king is a bit of a gold-pincher compared to the business we’ve found here.” He flicked his fingers at the crewmen. “Chain and box. Let’s get rich, gentlemen!”

  The crew roared with approval. Before Kesia could even consider a means of escape, her arms were yanked behind her, and cold, cruel metal pinched her wrists. The pirates produced a crate. Sheer panic made Kesia kick at the men, but they easily wrestled her inside, her knees curled into her chest, and slammed down the lid.

  Only faint light came through a few cracks in the crate. Everything hurt—her back ached, her shoulders were aflame, her cheeks were raw from the gag, and her lip had split more than once. Already her wrists were numb against the cold metal.

  The crate tilted, and her head slammed painfully against its side. She heard two men grunt as they lifted the crate and started walking.

  She listened to the sounds of city life. She tried kicking the side of the crate to attract attention, but she was jostled so violently that her shoulder bounced against the top lid. “None of that,” a gruff voice warned.

  After a short time, the crate was set down, and she heard Edom’s voice. “Oi!” he called. “I’m looking for a witch.”

  “You’re never gonna find better with a tongue like that, Edom,” a woman said. “How many this time?”

  “Just the one, I’m afraid.”

  “One Singer, eh?” the woman said. “I guess the waters are getting a bit thin, huh?”

  “You could say so,” Edom said. “Had to hop across the sea for this one.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’ll be paying you more for her.”

  “Oh, you might,” Edom said. “Let’s take this deal inside.”

  More jostling as Kesia heard footsteps thump on wood, and the voices of the crowd began to fade. The crate was plopped on the floor.

  “You lot get to trading,” Edom said. “I’ll take care of this one.”

  The other men grumbled and ambled out, their footsteps fading. A door closed, and it grew quiet.

  Kesia heard more footsteps and the faint clinking of metal.

  “You seem to be doing fairly well this season,” Edom said.

  “High demand,” the woman replied. “Let’s see what you have for me.”

  A strain of wood, and the lid was removed. Kesia blinked as two figures loomed over her. The woman was a bit plump, with a long rope of hair hanging across her shoulder. She wore a faded blue dress and apron and stood with her hands on her hips.

  “Skies and seas, Edom.” The woman waved a hand at Kesia. “This all you’ve got?”

  Edom reached down and pulled Kesia upright, nearly lifting her off her feet as he dragged her from the box. She was in a small wooden room lit only by a single lantern mounted on the wall. Behind the woman, a line of six men and women sat against the wall, gagged and chained. Prisoners?

  The captain wrapped his arm around her neck.

  “If I hear one wrong note from you,” he growled, “I shoot you in the leg. Is that understood?”

  Kesia nodded, her eyes watering. I can’t do this, I can’t do this.

  He slapped a firm, hot hand on her shoulder like a proud father. “I think this is worth about five of the usual.”

  The woman arched a brow. “Really?”

  “Voice of gold, this one,” Edom said.

  “Fire Singer? Sweet songs, she is.” The woman snorted, but her eyes bored into Kesia.

  “Saw it with my own eyes. You really want a demonstration?” the captain challenged. “I thought you liked your pub.”

  “I’m gonna need proof if you want half of what you’re about to ask for her.”

  Despite the commotion, only a few captives had dared glance in Kesia’s direction. They were gagged—were all of them Singers too?

  Edom shrugged. “All right, then.” He slipped his pistol out and grabbed Kesia’s shoulder.

  This is it.

  Kesia fought back a whimper.

  “Girlie, it’s time for a little Song, but if you try anything funny, I’ll blow a hole through you.”

  He slipped the gag from her mouth. The air in the room was stuffy and tasted faintly of alcohol.

  The woman produced a single stick of kindling.

  This was Kesia’s chance. She knew this was her chance, but she stood rigid between the two Avi’ori. The cold barrel of the pistol at her back seemed to draw all her focus. He’ll kill me, he’ll kill me.

  “C’mon, little girl,” he growled. “Just give us a tiny sample. You don’t want trouble.”

  Trembling, Kesia opened her mouth and Sang a single note.
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  The tip of the stick crackled with fire.

  Before Kesia could even consider continuing the Song, Edom had his arm around her neck again and shoved the gag back in so hard that she was nearly sick.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the woman held the smoking stick higher, staring at Kesia with wide, hungry eyes. “After all these years. Where’d you find her?”

  “You really have to go far and wide for ’em, I tell you,” he said, releasing Kesia. “Found this one in Crescent Bay.”

  “Ah,” the woman said. “No wonder I hadn’t heard from you, going that far south.”

  “And look at how compliant she is,” Edom said. “You won’t find a single charred piece of wood on my ship.”

  Kesia’s eyes burned with shame, her ears going numb as the two began to haggle. She hadn’t once put up a fight. Coward coward coward—

  If Miren had been taken, things would have been different. Miren would’ve fought sea serpents to get back home, and there was nothing in Kesia that believed her sister would have lost. I’m not Miren, she thought.

  Blinded by half-formed tears, Kesia complied numbly as she was led to a seat beside an elderly woman in the corner, while a large sack of gold was passed to the captain. She looked up in time to see Edom pause by the door and give her a mock salute. Then he was gone.

  Twelve

  Kesia

  Kesia sat, her hands still chained behind her but now linked to the other six captives. After securing her in place at the end of the row, the woman had followed Edom out. The door had opened briefly to reveal a dark hallway and the echoing rumble of voices and clinking glasses. The woman closed and locked the door behind her.

  Kesia looked down the line of captives. They were dressed in shabby clothes or even rags, and they were all gagged. Most of them stared at the ground or at the door.

  She caught the eye of one of them, an older man with wisps of white clinging to his head. His clothes were stained with black soot, and one of his boots had a hole large enough for his toe to peek through.

  She furrowed her eyebrows and nodded, her questions unsigned. Where are we going? What’s happening?

  He just blinked at her, eyes glassy.

  A short time later, two men came into the room. One, with a brown beard and shaved head, was so big that his shoulders filled the doorway. The second was taller but lean, his large nose giving him a birdlike appearance.

  “Wake up, everyone,” the big one said in a deep, booming voice. “Time to go.”

  The lean one came and unlocked the chain that connected Kesia to the wall. He caught her staring and grinned. “You’re a pretty one.”

  Kesia’s stomach churned.

  “Not this batch,” the big one said, unlocking the other end of the chain from the wall.

  The large man led the captives out of the room and down a hall, the lean man holding the end of the chain behind Kesia. They turned and exited through another door.

  Kesia blinked in the bright afternoon sunlight. Tall wooden fences surrounded a small dirt yard. The mountains rose directly in front of them, gray in the bright sunlight. They were so close now that Kesia could no longer see the peak. To the right, a wagon stood harnessed to four horses.

  The large man motioned for the captives to get in the wagon. The prisoner at the front, a young woman with curly reddish-brown hair and a slight limp, obeyed quickly.

  Kesia glanced back as the line moved forward. The woman who had spoken to Edom stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Her dark eyes caught Kesia’s.

  Kesia shivered and turned away as she climbed into the wagon.

  “Don’t take long, boys,” the woman called. “I’m roasting a bird tonight.”

  The men hollered and whistled as they covered the wagon entrance, enveloping Kesia and her companions in near darkness. A moment later, a wooden gate creaked open, and the horses began to move.

  The captives were jostled against each other for perhaps an hour. At one point, everyone leaned back as the wagon started up a long incline. The cuffs dug and pulled at Kesia’s wrists until she felt a warm trickle of blood.

  This can’t be real. When she had believed that she was headed for the military, she’d had some sense of what to expect. At least she had known she would be valued. But this uncertainty was agonizing—she almost hoped they would just shoot her.

  At last the wagon leveled again and stopped, and a sudden clanking of metal made Kesia startle in her seat. The wagon continued forward and then stopped once more.

  The back of the wagon opened. “Everyone out,” a man shouted.

  This time, Kesia led the way out of the wagon, nearly falling onto the ground as she stepped down without the use of her arms. A metal gate stood in front of her, the center decorated with a metallic A. Beyond the gate, she saw a wide dirt road that continued downward and out of sight, leading back toward the coast. The gate was flanked by walls of red brick. She looked around and saw at least a dozen large, featureless buildings in rows—she was in a compound.

  The leaner man grabbed her end of the chain. “This way,” he said.

  He led them through a line of warehouses. Some of the buildings coughed up steam or smoke through large chimneys.

  They were led to one of the larger buildings. Metal doors screeched open to let them in.

  The clang of metal rang around them. Odd machines whirred and whined as metal sheets were pushed through rollers. Molten iron pooled in basins, and steam hissed from pipes. Perhaps twenty people worked busily. No one gave the new arrivals more than a glance.

  “Let’s collar the Singers!” the lean man called. “The boss wants to get through orientation quickly. Let’s go!”

  Orientation?

  Collar?

  From a hall to the right, four men surged forward, their arms ladened with black iron rings larger than dinner plates. They were so thick that Kesia wouldn’t have been able to encircle one with her hands.

  Most of the captives understood a heartbeat too late. They recoiled, a few waving their hands in refusal. The men slapped them if they resisted and latched the collars on their necks with a heavy click. The Singers clawed at them, eyes wide, as if they couldn’t breathe.

  A hand grabbed Kesia’s hair and yanked. Before she could react, she heard a snip, and all her hair below her chin fell to the ground in light brown clumps.

  Kesia shrank back as one man approached her. She shook her head desperately, but he caught her jaw in his hand and forced her head up. Icy metal curled around her neck.

  Click.

  The collar was so wide that Kesia could barely open her mouth. Her throat felt as though it had shrunk to half its size. Her gag was gone, but she could not catch her breath to draw in the air that would let her run or Sing. She almost didn’t notice another man unlock her manacles from behind. She pulled at the collar, feeling around for some kind of lever, but except for a narrow slit at the back, it was cold, coarse metal.

  A man stepped forward.

  He had sharp, pointed features and a burly build. He wore dark slacks and a long coat, clean and finely pressed. He scanned the lineup of prisoners with a dissatisfied tilt to his mouth.

  “Welcome, Singers,” he said in a rumbling voice, “to the factory. My name is Parviz. You may call me ‘sir’ or ‘Lord Parviz’ if you’re ever given the chance to address me.” He gestured to a shorter, stockier man next to him. “This is Nadav. If you’re lucky, he will never address you at all.

  “During your stay here, which will likely be for the rest of your lives, you are my property. My property does what I say. It performs quietly and does not disobey. If it does disobey, it is discarded. Valuable property is only valuable if it functions properly. I advise that none of you overestimates your worth. Understood?”

  Kesia shivered. I’m going to die. I’m going to die here.

  Parviz continued, “Your collars prohibit you from Singing or exerting yourselves too much. When it is time for you to work, your collars will be altered to allow
you just enough breathing room.” He nodded to Nadav, who opened his mouth and Sang.

  Kesia gasped as Earth Song rumbled through the floor. Something clicked inside her collar and she took a breath. The air was cool and metallic. Before she was ready, another note from Nadav slid the collar shut.

  “At the same time,” Parviz said, “we can kill you with a single note.” He glanced at Nadav.

  The Song shifted.

  Voiceless choking toward the end of the line caught everyone’s attention. An elderly man—the one who had met her gaze before—writhed and clawed at his collar, opening his mouth as wide as he could. No sound came from him, not even a breath. His skin began to pale, his eyes wide as he struggled.

  Kesia cringed away, her pulse hammering against the collar. Please stop, please stop.

  The Song ended. The man crumpled to the floor, wheezing and spluttering.

  “As you can see,” Parviz continued, “you cannot escape, so I suggest you don’t try. Any questions?”

  Silence, long and chilling. Kesia’s bones felt brittle, like glass that was about to shatter under the dull shadow of steel. When can I go home? I want to go, please let me go.

  Parviz glanced around. “Nice, we got a good haul. All right, take them to their assignments.”

  Workers surged forward and began herding them farther into the building. Kesia fought not to flinch, no longer fearing these men as much as Nadav, the Earth Singer.

  “You,” one man addressed her. “You’re the Fire Singer?”

  Could she lie? Would she get away with it? Would it help her? It didn’t matter—she didn’t have the courage to try. She nodded as much as her collar allowed.

  “Go to the furnace and wait for orders.”

  The man pointed to the great, gaping furnace in the middle of the room. A number of collared women were already huddled around it, watching as some Avi’ori men poured iron from the second level into the top of the furnace. Kesia joined their circle, looking at each of them in turn, but no one spared her a glance. Only one girl, perhaps thirteen, was staring at Kesia with wide, hollow eyes, her skin ashen.