by L. Penelope
“I convinced him to keep it a secret,” Zeli said apologetically, meeting her eyes. The girl, who had been a bundle of nerves the last time they’d met, was much altered. She pointed at the morning’s paper on the coffee table between them. The headline read, THE GODDESS’S STUNNING SECRET! BUT CAN SHE BE TRUSTED? EXCLUSIVE BY HAZELLE HARIMEL. “That is why we left.”
“Did you know? About the True Father’s escape?” Jasminda gripped the arms of her chair.
Zeli slowly nodded, her composure crumbling. “I knew the day it happened. The Goddess swore me to secrecy, and I didn’t know what to do besides obey Her.”
Jasminda’s heart tore into pieces at the grief and shame in the young woman’s expression. She slid forward, wanting to reach for her and comfort her, but was too far away. “You believed in Her. We all did. She…” Jasminda shook her head. What had Oola been thinking? What was Her plan? Did She even have one? “She has an agenda of Her own and we are not always privy to it. I’m so sorry She put you in that position. I truly am.”
Zeli took a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure what She would do to anyone who tried to cross Her—even you. We decided secrecy was best.”
She and Varten then took turns explaining how they’d read Yllis’s journal and traveled to Yaly to search Saint Gilmer’s Archives, where they’d met yet another ancient Earthsinger who by rights should be dead. There were a lot of those around these days.
“Gilmer gave me my Song back,” Zeli said, voice thick.
“But how?” Confusion, wonder, and hope warred within Jasminda.
“With this.” She reached into the ragged pouch slung around her shoulder and retrieved a bundled package. When she unwrapped it, Jasminda’s heart nearly stopped. “I’ve been calling it the king stone.”
The dagger that Jasminda had plunged into the True Father’s back the day the Mantle fell lay in the young woman’s hand. Encased in a spell made of blood and magic, it looked dull in the light.
“How were you able to use that to restore your Song?”
“You and the Goddess trapped all of the Songs the True Father stole in here when you disabled him that day,” Zeli began. “If this caldera can be unlocked, those Songs will go back to their rightful owners. Gilmer couldn’t free them from such a great distance, he was only able to extract mine.”
She looked down at the object she held. “He taught me the spell he used—the blood magic words at least. He also taught me the idea of it, the intention, but we do not have all we need in order to truly release the Songs. The spell requires more.”
“Is it blood?” Roshon asked, leaning forward intently.
Zeli shook her head. “A sacrifice. More than blood.”
Jasminda recalled the price of a powerful caldera. Death. Her limbs lost all feeling. “I would think dying would erase the need for a Song.”
“Not death, either. Not necessarily.”
Jasminda shook her head, impatience taking over. “What did you sacrifice then?” she snapped.
Varten jerked, glaring at her fiercely. Jasminda held up a hand and breathed deeply. “I’m sorry. But what was it?”
Zeli sat straighter, in an instant she looked older and somehow … mightier. “I sacrificed my fear.” Silence followed the bold statement.
“I don’t understand,” Jasminda finally said.
“Something precious. Something that’s a part of you, that’s difficult to relinquish. That is a sacrifice.”
Jasminda blinked. “Fear…” she whispered.
“In order to restore their Songs, the Lagrimari people will require a sacrifice. Not of the vein, but of the heart.”
Zeli’s words reverberated inside Jasminda’s head. “If it’s truly possible to give everyone their Song back, then we might stand a chance against the True Father.” She looked up, excitement sweeping through her. “There would be enough Singers to protect the non-Singers from the wraiths. Without bodies to possess, Kyara and the other Nethersingers might be able to find a way to banish them for good.
“There’s another problem though. Even if every Singer is willing to protect the ungrateful Elsirans, the wraiths move so quickly. By the time the portal appears, there’s no chance for folks to find a Singer to help them. Logistically, it’s a nightmare.”
“I may be able to help in that regard.” Everyone turned to Yllis, who’d remained quiet so far.
“After I was killed by Eero, I went to the World After, as all do. But I was determined to find my way to the World Between, back to Oola. I had studied magic for so many years and felt certain there was a passageway between the worlds. I searched for it for … well, I don’t know how long. There is no time there. But eventually I found what I was looking for. The passageways were not what I expected, however, and I became stuck in the Void.”
Jasminda was only glancingly familiar with the Void. She’d heard Darvyn discuss it before, but as a concept it was new to her.
“The Void is something like the space between worlds,” Yllis said, answering an unasked question. “A glue of sorts that holds things together—when the worlds are in balance, that is. When they’re not in balance, like when the Physicks rent the barrier in order to let the spirits flow into the Living World, the Void goes a bit … haywire. I felt when that happened and recognized that the old Cavefolk prophecy of a war between the worlds was coming to pass. And so I found my way out of the Void and came here.”
Jasminda opened herself to Earthsong and examined him again. He had very little life energy and a great preponderance of something she almost couldn’t identify. Something hazy and staticky, which put her in mind of the burn of cola against your nostrils when you first take a sip. Was this the Void?
“So what are you saying, Yllis? Why did you come back?” she asked.
He moved languidly away from the fireplace to settle in the other armchair opposite her. “After so long spent investigating the passageways and locked within the Void, I became sensitive to its energy. I can sense the disturbance in the Void when a portal opens, and I believe I can give some kind of warning. I was able to feel the opening of the last attack, even thousands of kilometers away. I’ve felt each of the other trials that Eero has done.”
He steepled his fingers together, balancing elbows on knees. “You need a way to give an alert and gather people together so that Singers can help non-Singers. It will only be a few minutes, but I can give you notice of an impending attack.”
Varten’s leg began to bounce. “Perhaps we can create shelters, places where people can go when the warning comes in. They’d be manned by the Singers willing to help and non-Singers can go there to be protected from the wraiths.”
“The city already has emergency shelters,” Jasminda said. “For hurricanes that hit the coast during the rainy season. We can direct people there.”
“Some could be manned by Raunians as well,” Roshon added. “King Pia says the vats of selakki oil will be arriving tomorrow. She diverted a shipment that had been headed south.”
Gratitude filled her. “Well, this may work,” she said, cautious. Variables and question marks still riddled the plan, but it was solidly possible. “Zeli, what else do you need to restore the Songs? We could use as many Singers as we can get.”
Zeli twisted her mouth in a grimace. “Two things. One, a willing sacrifice from every Lagrimari wanting their Song back. Gilmer said it must be consciously and sincerely given. That, I expect, will not be easy.”
That was putting it lightly. “And what’s the second thing?”
“I need to find the Rosiran obelisk.”
Jasminda looked questioningly to Yllis, who frowned. “When I was a Cantor, we used the obelisks to focus and extend our power. There was one in each city and every Singer could connect to it. They allowed us to link without touching, to combine and magnify Earthsong.”
“Gilmer had one in his Archives,” Zeli said. “I’ll need to be at the obelisk in order to restore the Songs.”
“Well, where was the Ros
iran obelisk?” Jasminda asked.
Yllis spread his arms. “Here, in the palace. But it’s gone.”
“What do you mean it’s gone?”
He pursed his lips. “This place has grown and changed much in the centuries since I was last here. I do not recognize the layout any longer. But the obelisk was large, with a great chamber built around it. I cannot fathom why it’s now hidden.”
“It must have been in the older section,” Varten said, knee jumping as he thought.
“Would Oola know?” Jasminda asked. Yllis froze, tension visible. “Have you talked to Her since you’ve been back?”
He looked away.
“Have you talked with Mooriah?” she asked softly. Chaos had reigned after the strategy meeting had broken up and she hadn’t noticed where Mooriah had disappeared to. Yllis refused to answer. It looked like a family reunion was on its way; Jasminda wondered if it would be a joyous one.
In the meantime, they had quite a list of impossible things to do in order to prepare for the next attack.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The table legs must each bear their weight
evenly.
Their sturdy feet well-grounded,
flat and strong.
Like roots, they plant themselves and face the
consequence
of being what keeps its restless form
held down.
—THE HARMONY OF BEING
Darvyn stared out of the window of the town car up at the majestic house they’d pulled in front of. Heavy clouds had gathered overhead promising rain. The temperature was cold enough that it might even be snow.
“Are you certain this is the place?” he asked his driver, Erryl.
“Yes.” The man punctuated the statement with a big nod. “Got the info off a new palace maid whose brother is a Keeper. The Keepers have taken over this house all right, unlikely as it seems.”
While apparently in Elsira this was just a mere house, to Darvyn it was a mansion. Pale stucco the color of sandstone was topped with a dark, clay-tiled roof. The home had no front yard to speak of, just a strip of grass with large, verdant shrubbery separating the building from the iron fence protecting it from the street.
With his Song, he sensed the property’s inhabitants. Nearly two dozen were inside the house, along with a handful of guards hidden along the perimeter. He wiped a hand down his face and turned to Zeli. “Are you ready?”
She nodded resolutely. The girl had changed from the frightened mouse he’d first met weeks ago, bathing in the pride of serving Oola. Now she was stoic as a hardened soldier. Serious and driven, but without losing the innocence of youth or the spark of optimism that had also marked her.
Darvyn could not imagine what it must be like to lose your Song, and then to have it restored again … He deeply admired the young woman’s strength and fortitude. They exited the vehicle and stood on the narrow walkway.
“What did it feel like?” he asked. She turned to him, expression open and questioning. “Giving up your fear.”
She appeared pensive as she searched for the right words. “Like setting down a satchel filled with rocks that I’d carried my whole life. It’s not permanent, Gilmer said it will come back, but now I will know how to deal with it better.”
Darvyn nodded, envying her suddenly. “All right, you asked for help in using your Song. Tell me, how many people do you sense inside the building?”
She closed her eyes, concentrating. “Twenty, I think.”
“Twenty-two,” he said. “There are two elderly people on the main level. Their Earthsong is reduced due to their age.”
She scrunched her eyes shut and nodded. “Yes, I can feel that.”
“The ability to know what you’re facing is important. But don’t rely only on Earthsong. Use it in combination with your other senses.” He took a deep breath and exited the vehicle, waiting for her.
Rozyl had requested Darvyn come to speak to the Keepers. At first he’d balked. Given his history with the group, he wasn’t certain he was the right person. But Rozyl had said that she was having a tough time persuading them to help convince their Singers to man the emergency shelters. Most Keepers still held the Shadowfox in high esteem and his word would go far. They also did not believe that Songs could be restored, and Zeli had volunteered to accompany him and prove it.
“Do you know how to open locks?” he asked, trying to extend the teachable moment as well as offset his own discomfort. Zeli shook her head, but appeared eager.
“Heat can melt the lock. That’s the method I prefer. Though you can also manipulate the air to turn the latch, depending on the type of locking mechanism. I suppose you could freeze the metal and break it off, too. There are options.” He shrugged.
“Or you could just ring the bell,” a voice said from the other side of the fence, its owner hidden by a prickly bush.
Turwig appeared, his grandfatherly quality making Darvyn homesick for a moment. Though he’d grown up on the run and never had a permanent place to call home, the old man was the closest thing he had to a father.
“Darvyn,” Turwig said, inclining his head.
“This is Zeli,” Darvyn said, motioning to the young woman beside him. The old man’s eyes brightened, but Darvyn noted he hadn’t yet opened the gate. “I’m here to speak with you and the other elders about our strategy for the next attack.”
Turwig nodded and stepped backward. Darvyn used Earthsong to push open the gate, a waste of power really, but he rationalized that it would be instructive for Zeli.
They followed Turwig into the house, where the front door was opened by a waiting guard. Security here was high, but with such tension against Lagrimari among the Elsiran populace, that was understandable.
“How did you all acquire this house?” Darvyn asked as they stepped into a large foyer.
“It was vacant. The former owner passed away during the summer. We are technically squatting here. Does the queen wish to remove us?” Turwig raised a brow.
Darvyn rolled his eyes. They walked across the tiled floor, passing rooms furnished in what he recognized as an old-fashioned Elsiran style replete with dark wood and lush, thick fabrics. A group of young men and women in a sitting room looked up, shock and awe rippling from them through his Song.
The Shadowfox’s appearance here was unexpected. His split with the Keepers was not widely known, but rumors had filtered down to him, questions about his low profile in recent weeks while the rest of the group had been so visible and vocal. A frisson of guilt speared him—he could be doing a lot of good here, if only he could still trust them.
Zeli followed silently behind him, even her footsteps were quiet on the ornate tile. Turwig led them to a bright room in the back of the house, an entire wall of windows displaying an overgrown garden, graying and shriveled in preparation for the cold season.
Overstuffed couches and armchairs were grouped into clusters around the large space. Most of the leadership of the Keepers were gathered. Rozyl looked up at Darvyn’s entrance, a sense of relief from her hitting his Song. Aggar and Talida stared coldly from the corner. Four men he didn’t recognize sat with Hanko and Lyngar, speaking earnestly around a low table.
A graying woman shot from her seat to approach. “Tarazeli?” she called out, eyes wide.
“Gladda!” Zeli exclaimed, rushing over to be enveloped in the woman’s embrace.
“I’m so glad to see you doing well, child. What brings you here, and with the Shadowfox, no less?” The woman beamed over at him.
Darvyn recalled meeting her many years ago and was glad for the reminder of her name. He cleared his throat to address the suddenly quiet room. “I’ve been charged to relay a message from Queen Jasminda. She humbly requests the assistance of the Keepers in protecting the populace.”
The gazes of the others unnerved him somewhat, public speaking had not often been required of him, but he pressed on. “The True Father will attack again. He could strike at any moment—all of
you either witnessed the wraiths or saw the aftermath of their assault. This plan that the queen and king are putting forth requires the assistance of every Singer we can get.”
“You expect us to believe that this child’s Song was restored?” Aggar scoffed, shifting his bulk in his seat.
“I’m not a child.” Zeli spoke gently but firmly. “And if I had no Song, how could I do this?” The wide armchair in which Aggar sat rose into the air. The man gripped the armrests and sputtered, kicking his legs out in panic. Darvyn couldn’t hide his smirk, though he managed not to laugh as the man and the chair lowered gently back to the floor.
“How do we even know your Song was taken, girl?” Lyngar grumbled, his well-lined face sagging further.
“I was there when she was sent to Sayya,” Gladda said. “I’ve know her since she was a child. Her parents were Keepers and friends of mine. She was shipped off for tribute far too young, and I comforted her when she returned, empty and broken.” She looked at Zeli with great fondness. “This is truly a miracle.”
Zeli shook her head. “Not a miracle. All who have lost their Songs can have them restored. Not just me.”
A chorus of disbelief rose as people broke into side conversations. There were questions, many questions, about the manner in which the Songs had been restored and what type of sacrifice would be necessary to ensure all Lagrimari would be affected. Few could wrap their minds around the idea of giving up fear.
Darvyn marveled at how calm Zeli remained, barraged by the group, and not everyone polite. She explained the concepts over and over again with a gentle patience Darvyn could never hope to master.
“We don’t know exactly what the sacrifice should be or if it is individual or collective,” she was saying, perhaps for the third time. “Should everyone make the same sacrifice or can they be different? None of us know yet. It is something we need to find out.”
“Why don’t we know?” someone asked.
Zeli pursed her lips. “When the Godd—when Oola and Queen Jasminda created the caldera, the king stone, they did not do so with any intent for the Songs to be released. In the heat of the moment, with the True Father ready to steal Oola’s Song again, they acted only to remove the stolen Songs from him and render him powerless. Usually, calderas are created with a method for unlocking them. As this one was not, the task is harder. But the presence of my Song restored is proof that it is not impossible. We need your help to spread the word. The more who know about the sacrifice, the better it will be when I find the obelisk. Then I’ll be able to do the spell, but it will only be successful with the aid and cooperation of the people.”
