Divided Fire

by Jennifer San Filippo

  “Stop!” Katzil shouted behind her.

  She leaped from the edge.

  Time seemed to slow. There, suspended in the air, she could hear the roar of waves echo off the cliff face below her. To her right, past the curve of the cliff, she could see the port, a huddled collection of docks crowded with ships. The same port she had arrived at. She wondered if Edom was still docked there or if he had continued on in search of more victims.

  The dark expanse of water swept out beneath her. The cliffside continued downward at an inward angle, away from her. Directly below her, the foaming surf swirled around shards of rock poking from the water like teeth.

  Air screamed past her. There was plenty of time to regret her actions—to call herself a raving idiot, to regret the pain she would cause Miren and Davri and her parents, to remember that the best way to avoid breaking a bone was to cross her arms and point her toes—before the ocean, dark and jagged and biting, slammed into her.

  Her collar pulled her under before the current could grip her, down, down. She clawed at the icy water, salt stinging her eyes. Her chest threatened to burst. She pushed for the surface, but the water crashed and choked her. She was drowning, her body slowing, punishing her for the lack of air.

  Miren Davri Mother Father Miren Miren.

  Her hands caught rock and she pulled up, up, up. Cold air slapped her face.

  Kesia coughed, fighting panic as her collar pushed against her throat. There wasn’t enough room to cough. She heard no sounds of pursuit over the roll of waves, but her body jittered with anxiety. She grabbed a rock and inched her way along the cliff face, toward the city.

  * * *

  Farther down, the cliff wasn’t as high, but Kesia couldn’t seem to climb its face. Her muscles were seizing up with cold and fatigue, and her fingers cramped as they clung to divots and protrusions in the rocks.

  She climbed for what felt like hours, agonizingly making her way up and to the left, inch by inch. The sky darkened, and the clouds were an odd yellow color, reflecting the lights of the city.

  Before she realized it, the cliff gave way to flat ground, and her stinging, bleeding hands dug into sand. She crawled up the shore a step at a time, too tired to shiver, her collar still stiff against her neck. Fatigue pushed against her eyes, begging her to sleep.

  Not yet, she thought, shoving herself upright once more. She continued forward, and a collection of buildings trickled into view.

  Tools. She needed tools.

  A small, wooden shed sat by a large building. She stumbled over and shoved the door open, greeted by the musty scent of sawdust. Shovels and trowels and brooms lined the walls, but she needed something smaller.

  She rummaged through the shed until her fingers found a cool, thin piece of metal set in a wooden handle. A file. She picked it up and dug it into a crevice in the collar. She had only seen the collar on others, but she thought there was a panel she could open. She worked blindly, her shoulders and arms aching and then growing numb.

  The tool rasped the edge of something that might be the panel. She pulled harder, harder—ping. The panel popped open slightly.

  She jammed the tool in and wiggled it around. She didn’t know what she was doing—a part of her feared that she was making it worse, possibly breaking something vital, but she couldn’t stop.

  Something caught.

  Click.

  The collar sagged opened and fell into her lap.

  Kesia inhaled. Air filled her chest, cool and fresh and there.

  She breathed fully, exhale, inhale, exhale. Sobs formed, but she forced them down. She wanted to breathe.

  Would they come looking for her? Would they just assume that she had drowned? She hoped so. This might bring trouble on them from their Council. Good.

  She thought of Ayla, who would have to do twice as much work now. She was so young, little more than bones and rags, but her Voice could hold out longer than Kesia’s. She thought of the Water Singer who had helped her, the Air Singers who had stood close as they heated the furnace together, and she felt a deep sense of regret. She recognized the same feeling she had for the villagers in Crescent Bay, those she had lied to, had refused to help, in order to protect herself.

  What would they think when they found her gone? What would Parviz tell them? She died trying to escape, shot to death on sight. Don’t forget that you belong here, you will never leave.

  Kesia trembled. She should keep moving. It seemed unlikely that anyone from the factory would look for her here, though she probably shouldn’t take the chance.

  But this space was warm and dark, and her wet clothes felt so heavy. She lay down. Just for a moment, she told herself. Just one moment’s rest.

  Twenty-Five

  Kesia

  Kesia awoke to banging.

  She shivered in her damp clothes, her side throbbing after sleeping on a hard floor. She remembered—the cliff, the beach, the shed, the collar. She could still feel it pressing against her neck, even as she saw it on the ground a few paces away. She pushed it behind a dusty crate, out of sight.

  Another bang.

  Kesia pushed herself up but nearly collapsed again. Her fingers found the file she’d use to remove the collar. She clutched it like a knife and raised it, her arm shaking.

  A man wrenched the door open, gold afternoon light pouring in. “No, I didn’t break the fence, Gemma! Some idiot scarffer rat must’ve—” He froze. “Who’re you?”

  He was old, skin hanging from his cheeks and chin, his shoulders gnarled, and his arms bent at odd angles. His shirt was too small and poorly patched, and his oversized trousers sagged. The brim of his hat shadowed his features.

  “Where’d you come from?” he asked.

  Kesia raised her hands to answer him but froze. If she signed, he would know she was a Singer. How much should she tell him? Could she trust anyone? She imagined pushing past him and running, but she wasn’t sure she could stand.

  A woman shouted something. The man leaned out the door to holler, “Hey, Gemma, we got a visitor!”

  Kesia heard footsteps. “What the skies you talking about?”

  The man stepped aside for a woman who was made of the same gnarled clay as the man. She stared at Kesia, her dark eyes glittering.

  “This is the one that broke the fence, I bet,” the man said. “She don’t talk much, though.”

  Kesia blinked. When had she broken the fence?

  “Oh, shush, Axel,” Gemma muttered. To Kesia, she said, “Well, you’re soaking wet and probably hungry? Come on in.”

  * * *

  “You’re quite lucky, little one,” Gemma said, stirring a pot of something that smelled like spiced grass. “This home’s usually rented out by richer folk at this time of year.”

  Kesia sat at a spindly table in their nook of a kitchen, wearing a threadbare dress and coat. Although the house was four times larger than their cabin in Crescent Bay, she had difficulty believing that anyone with money would want to spend time here. Grime crept up the corners of the white walls, and the parlor furniture was torn and lopsided.

  Axel stared at her from across the table. Kesia wasn’t sure if he was suspicious or just curious. She still hadn’t tried to sign at them.

  “All right.” Gemma brought three bowls to the table and sat down. “You’d better tell us about yourself before my husband decides to shoot you.”

  Kesia was shocked, but apparently this was meant as a joke. Axel waved a hand. “I’m not shooting any little girls.”

  Kesia nodded and raised her hands. My name is Kesia, she signed.

  “Hey,” the man growled, intrigued. “Are you a Singer?”

  Kesia shook her head. I was, she signed. But I lost my Voice to cloud fever when I was young.

  “Ah, I’ve heard of that,” Gemma said. “It’s not so common here, but it ravages the Kaleons something fierce.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re Kaleon, then?”

  Kesia swallowed, her heart thumping. Miren was so much better at t
his. She nodded.

  “Hmm.” Gemma exchanged a look with her husband. “But you’re not a Singer?”

  Kesia shook her head.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Kesia scrambled for some answer. Was there a chance they knew what Amos Steel was doing? Would they turn her in? How else could she explain her presence here? Her hands shaking, she signed, Ship sank.

  Gemma waited for more, but Kesia couldn’t think of more to say. Should she have admitted that she was from Kaleo? In the growing silence, she became more convinced that had been a foolish thing to do.

  “I see,” the man said.

  Gemma nodded. “That’s unfortunate.”

  They ate in silence. Kesia swallowed without tasting.

  When the bowls were empty, she stood.

  I can clean, she signed, reaching for the plates.

  “Well,” Gemma said, handing over her bowl. “About time I had some help around here.”

  Kesia carried the dishes to the basin and began scrubbing. The silence behind her felt tense; when she turned to look, the couple sat stiff, staring at each other without speaking.

  Did they think she was dangerous? Did they believe her story?

  She needed to see if they trusted her. I’d like to sleep here, she signed. If you don’t mind. Only one night.

  Gemma glanced at her husband. “Well, I think sleeping here one night is acceptable, don’t you, Axel?”

  Axel nodded vigorously “Sure, sure,” he said jovially.

  Gemma gave her a blanket and motioned to the lopsided couch in the parlor. “This is all we’ve got, I’m afraid, but I’m sure you don’t mind.”

  Kesia nodded, and the couple went to their room. She lay on the couch, irked by something, but sleep pulled her under before she understood what it was.

  She dreamed of the refinery, of metal clattering in a slow, dirgelike rhythm. Hunched, mindless Singers pushed crates that didn’t need pushing and heated rollers that weren’t being used. The furnace screamed with blue fire. White-hot liquid overflowed and splashed onto the floor, but the Singers didn’t care. Kesia opened her mouth to scream, but the Earth Singer was there, humming a note. A collar clicked.

  She blinked awake and saw a figure silhouetted against a window, approaching her, a collar in hand.

  She vaulted off the couch and Sang.

  Fire erupted and latched onto the couch, flooding the room with intense light. Axel stumbled back, screaming as flames crawled up his sleeve. The collar fell from his grip and thudded on the floor. Gemma bolted into the room, yelling and waving her arms. Kesia’s Song scaled the walls, bit into the furniture. Axel was shrieking in pain, begging her to stop.

  Kesia’s chest hummed as she Sang, her stomach tense with fury. Out, she needed to get out. She pushed past Gemma to the kitchen and grabbed rolls, dried meats, celery, and put them in a bag she found hanging by the door. Gemma was standing over her husband, trying to put out the fire with the blanket. Kesia barely heard their screams as she gathered supplies.

  The glint of iron caught her eye. The collar. Against every instinct, she picked it up and shoved it in her bag.

  She didn’t stop Singing until she was out of the house and the sound of a frantic bell pierced the night. Behind her, fire stabbed the dark sky.

  Kesia staggered into an alley and collapsed behind piles of garbage, breathing heavily, fatigue stuffing her head with cotton. Despite the noise, she succumbed to sleep.

  Twenty-Six

  Miren

  “Ori? Ori!”

  Miren shot upright from her bedroll. The landscape was still dark with early dawn, and a light dew covered the ground. In the faint light, their camp looked small and inconspicuous.

  Hana had moved some twenty paces past the wall of rock and was calling Ori’s name.

  Miren scrambled to her feet. “Stop, stop! What’s wrong?”

  But she knew already, before Hana answered. “Ori’s gone, he’s missing.”

  “What?” Arten was on his feet, his deep voice loud with panic.

  “Ori’s gone,” Hana said, again, her voice thick with tears. “I dozed off on my watch, and when I woke up he was gone.”

  “All right,” Arten said. “We’ll find him.”

  Davri’s signing was just visible in the dawn light. Miren could make out Liviya’s name.

  “Did Liviya come back?” Miren asked.

  “No, I didn’t see her,” Hana said. “Do you think Ori is with her?”

  “Why would she take him without telling us?” Miren said, but Hana had already turned away.

  “Ori!” Hana shouted.

  “Hana, stop!” Miren put a hand on her arm. “This won’t help.”

  “What if he’s lost? What if someone from town sees him?”

  But Miren didn’t think he was lost, and she remembered their conversation in the cart yesterday.

  A shiver ran through her.

  Ori had wanted to rescue his uncle.

  He knew where his uncle was.

  It was a foolish thing to do, but Ori was six years old. Children did foolish things. She remembered trying to take her father’s fishing boat out on her own when she was eight, believing nothing terrible would happen to her.

  Ori had gone to Rion’s, Miren thought. They had to find him. But the others had to stay hidden. Even Davri couldn’t risk being forced to sign.

  Miren would have to go by herself.

  If she were caught, she would be arrested. She might be hanged or thrown in prison.

  What would happen to Kesia?

  Miren groaned. She couldn’t abandon Ori, couldn’t ignore the cold knot of terror in her stomach.

  Hana and Arten were still calling for Ori, oblivious to Davri’s signed protests to keep quiet. If they were found, then it was over. No amount of waiting for Liviya would free them then.

  “I have to go,” Miren said.

  Davri looked at her sharply. Go where?

  “To Rion’s estate. To look for Ori.”

  “What?” Hana’s voice pierced the air.

  “Why would Ori be there?” Arten said.

  Miren paused and looked at the group. “He wanted to go after Cale.”

  Hana froze. “Oh, skies. We have to go get him.”

  Miren shook her head.

  “We have to!” Hana said. “They’ll hurt him, they’ll—” She broke off, hands to her mouth.

  “I’ll go,” Miren said.

  Hana sobbed. Arten pulled her close.

  Miren felt like a cursed idiot, but she would do it. With the same reckless resolve she had summoned after Kesia was taken, she would try to find Ori.

  A hand caught her shoulder.

  “You can’t come with me, Davri,” she said, without looking.

  His grip tightened.

  “I’ll be back,” she said. She turned to look at him. “Wait here for Liviya. I’ll find Ori.”

  Miren headed around the edge of town at a jog. As the sky lightened, she could see the estate to the north of the town: even from this distance, she could appreciate its size. If she remembered the map correctly, the Crown’s Seam, the river that would take them to the coast, wasn’t far beyond it.

  The horizon was glowing orange as she hurried toward the estate. At the base of the rise between the mansion and the town was sprawling farmland, a short wooden fence marking what must be part of Lady Rion’s estate. Evenly spaced cornstalks were just beginning to unfurl their leaves. Dark silhouettes were slowly moving through the crops, hoes in hand. At the edges of the property, guards with rifles over their shoulders watched the workers.

  Miren ducked behind some brush so the guards wouldn’t notice her. If she were Ori, and looking for someone, what would she do?

  I would sneak through the corn.

  Ori was small enough, and he probably didn’t understand the danger he was in.

  She glanced at the corn, hoping to see movement that would indicate his presence, but nothing stood out as more than the nud
ge of a passing breeze. Not far from the main estate, she spotted a barn and stable. Miren started around the edge of the property.

  She scurried behind a gnarled tree and pressed her back against it, out of sight, then looked up into the branches. What child didn’t love climbing trees? The line of trees surrounding the property would serve as an excellent vantage point, as well as a place to hide. Would Ori think of it?

  Miren moved from tree to tree, growing less certain that she would remain unseen, scanning the branches above her. At the sixth one, she stopped. A small, boy-shaped silhouette sat on a branch hugging the trunk.

  She whispered loudly, “Ori. Ori?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Ori, I know that’s you.”

  No response.

  “Ori, you need to come down right now.”

  He shook his head.

  “If you don’t, I’m going to have to come up and get you.”

  Ori didn’t move.

  Miren sighed. “All right, then.”

  She hoisted herself up to the first branch and started climbing. The tree was tall but not very wide; the weight-bearing branches bent and swayed dangerously. She kept close to the trunk, hoping not to be spotted by the guards. She settled on the branch just below Ori, who looked at the field, his bottom lip jutted out stubbornly.

  Miren struggled to get comfortable. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Looking for my uncle.”

  Miren peered around the trunk. Most of the estate was in view from here, including the farmland. Perhaps two dozen workers were scattered about the crops; it would be easy enough to spot Cale from here.

  “Do you see him?” she asked.

  Ori hugged the tree tighter and shook his head.

  “How old were you when you last saw him?”

  Ori paused, then held up three fingers.

  Miren sighed. “Ori, it was really, really stupid to leave like that.” Ori’s face contorted as he started to sniffle.

  “Oh no.” Miren waved her arm. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. You’re not stupid, all right? You’re really smart for climbing the tree and waiting; that was very clever. If you cry, they’ll find us. Ori,” she said softly, “it was very brave of you to come here, but we need to get going.”