Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

She had stolen into his life—his very complicated life—and he was in no hurry for her to leave. But the war on the horizon would make everything immeasurably harder. Anti-Lagrimari sentiments would kick into effect once again, and her Elsiran blood would not protect her from the ire of the people who saw only her skin. He could tell from the way she spoke, the haunted look in her eye when the refugees discussed Elsira, that it never had.

The cold daylight of early afternoon greeted them at the end of the path, and they left the mountain behind, stepping back onto familiar territory.

But all was not well.

Acrid smoke assaulted his nostrils. The Keeper beside him clutched at her chest and sank to her knees. Alarmed, Jack searched out the other armed Keepers, all of whom looked equally affected. Their faraway expressions indicated they were using Earthsong.

Anxious murmurs rippled through the Lagrimari. He offered aid to the collapsed woman, but she brushed him off. Unease gripped him as he rushed to Jasminda’s side.

Seeing her eyes well with tears, he grabbed hold of her shoulder. “What’s happened?”

She shook her head and pointed through the thicket of trees. Just a few hundred metres away stood the Lagrimari settlement of Baalingrove, where he’d first met Darvyn.

Or at least that was where it used to stand. Thick smoke now billowed from that direction, and Jack’s gut filled with lead.

“I can feel them dying,” Jasminda whispered, looking toward the smoke in horror.

He tried to
convince the elders to stay behind, near the caves, to let him and the armed Keepers investigate, but they wouldn’t be persuaded.

“We go together,” Gerda told him simply, and would say no more.

“People are dying. There is danger near,” he said.

Turwig patted his arm. “There is danger everywhere, son. Who’s to say it won’t find us here, as well?”

With a shake of his head, Jack led the way, two of the Keepers at his sides, their rifles drawn. An armed Lagrimari on Elsiran land would be trouble, but his warnings fell on deaf ears. He did have authority here, though these people did not know it, and the fact that he had no idea what they were dealing with set him on edge. Pistol drawn, he exited the thicket for his first glimpse of what remained of the settlement.

He had last been to Baalingrove only a few weeks before. As always, he’d been struck by the living conditions of the settlers: makeshift wooden shacks with leaky tin roofs, tiny patches of garden, no running water, no electricity. The men survived mainly due to the kindness of the Sisterhood, a charity comprised of devoted followers of the Queen, who provided food and supplies. Neither the Prince Regent nor the Council saw fit to do any more, and the Elsirans as a whole preferred to pretend the settlers didn’t exist.

If he’d been a betting man, he would have wagered the place couldn’t look worse than it had when he’d left, but he would have lost. Now, charred husks replaced the shacks. Gardens lay scorched with the white crystals of what he guessed to be salt coating the barren earth. More than one blackened body lay smoldering in the dirt. He looked back at the children, wishing they weren’t seeing this, but the mothers made no move to hide the eyes of the young ones. They took in the gruesome sight without comment.

“What happened here?” Jasminda said from just behind him.

He had only an inkling, but before he could respond, angry voices rent the air, shouting in Elsiran. He couldn’t make out the words but recognized the heavy borderlander accent. Gunshots rang out.

“For Sovereign’s sake, get the children back!” he hissed.

He shared a glance with Rozyl, who pursed her lips and made a hand signal to one of her crew. The man peeled off and helped direct the mothers and children to squat behind the wall of a mostly intact shack.

Jack and the armed Keepers remained on the main path, along with Jasminda and the elders.

“Go with them,” he told Jasminda. She merely rolled her eyes and cocked her pistol.

The voices came from the edge of the settlement, on the other side of a grouping of smoldering lean-tos. As they approached, gunfire continued to pop and the shouting grew louder. Jack saw movement from the corner of his eye; a Lagrimari woman was huddled with two children behind the wreckage of a building. She was not part of the group that came through the mountain with him. Her eyes grew wide when she saw him, confusion crossing her features as she took in his companions.

Rozyl bent to speak with her. “What happened here?”

“There was some trouble in the town, I think. A girl went missing. Her father got it in his head that one of the settlers took her, and a mob of farmers came here to search.” The woman’s eyes kept darting to Jack. He took a few steps back, aware that, to her, he must look like one of the men who attacked this place.

“Are you injured? You should try to get to safety.” Rozyl’s voice was softer and kinder than he’d heard it before.

“My boy’s back there. He wanted to fight with the men. I can’t leave him.” She pointed toward the battle.

“Not even for the safety of these little ones?” Jasminda said. The solemn faces of two boys, each under five, stared up at them.

“We made it out together. I won’t lose one of them now.”

Jack’s heart stung for the woman. “Are you a refugee?” he asked. She shrank back at his voice, her face twisted in fear. Her gaze, full of questions, shot to Rozyl.

“He’s—” Rozyl looked back at Jack and shrugged “—with us.”

The mother’s expression was still rigid with suspicion. “We crossed with ten others three days ago, but I don’t know what became of them once the fighting started.”

Jack broke away to investigate, only dimly aware of the others trailing behind him. A turn in the road revealed a makeshift barricade erected out of pieces of tin, planks and boards, wheels, furniture, and other miscellaneous items. It was flimsy but blocked the mouth of the dirt road.

A half dozen Lagrimari crouched behind the barrier. Two were armed with hunting rifles, the others with pitchforks, machetes, and one man even held a sword. A boy of about twelve was among their number. He must be the woman’s son. Their backs were to Jack as they focused on the scene in front of them.

A small band of Elsiran farmers was currently being pelted with icicles and dirt clods. They used their rifles to try to bat away the projectiles, every so often getting a shot off in the direction of the settlers. Jack hung back, letting the elders and the armed Keepers go on ahead of him; he didn’t want to be mistaken for a farmer.

The way the boy knelt among the older men, looking slightly off to the side, his body alert but unmoving, made Jack believe it was he who was singing the spell to attack the farmers. The Elsirans were penned in a tight group. Any time one of them tried to break out of it toward the settlers, a chunk of mud or an icicle would hit him in the face, knocking him back. Two of them did manage to peel off and run away, back down the road toward the town.

The settlers cheered, and one of the men finally noticed Rozyl and her group advancing on the barricade with their rifles drawn. The Keepers took up positions and began firing on the farmers. The ice-and-mud attack stopped as the boy looked up, startled. This gave the farmers a chance to dive for cover among the nearby trees. They began to return fire.

The armed settlers must have been out of ammunition, for they didn’t fire, but Rozyl and her team were methodical, efficiently finding their targets and hitting them as man after man fell.

He felt no sympathy for the farmers, though they were his countrymen. There had been incidents such as these over the years, when tensions between citizens and settlers had bubbled over, but this was the most destruction he’d yet seen.

Jasminda came to crouch at his side. “I convinced the woman and her children to wait with the others.”

The woman’s son was staring up in awe as the Keepers made short work of the remaining farmers. Those who hadn’t been shot were now beating a quick retreat. Would they go to lick their wounds or try to gather reinforcements and retaliate?

“There were nearly one hundred men who lived here,” Jack mused. “I knew many of them.”

“Now there are five.” Jasminda’s voice was husky and thick.

He looked at her and wanted to apologize, though he’d had no hand in it—this was bigger than both of them. But he wished he could make up for the ignorance of his people, for the hatred and fear. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. There was really nothing he could say.

Through the gaps in the trees lining the road ahead, thick wheels kicked up clouds of dust. When the vehicle approached, Jack’s tension flared, then quickly fled. An open-topped four-wheeler drove up bearing four Elsiran soldiers. On its heels were two transports, a dozen men to each if they were following protocol. Sure enough, twenty-four men hopped out of the trucks and dispersed strategically, forming a perimeter around the settlement. The soldiers in the four-wheeler exited, guns drawn, and advanced on the barrier.

Jack stood ready to greet his men. Before he’d taken more than two steps, the soldiers opened fire. They gave no warning, no orders or instructions, just began shooting. Those at the barrier dove for cover, and Jack stood, dumbfounded, until Jasminda pulled him down again.

What in Sovereign’s name?

“Can you do the thing with the ice and mud?” he asked her. The idea of firing upon his own men was something he could not fathom at the moment, and he didn’t want the other Lagrimari to do so, either. He needed a distraction.

“I think so,” Jasminda said, and closed her eyes.

The firing stopped as a cloud of dust and dirt rose, blinding the soldiers. Jack ran to the barricade, passing the shocked Lagrimari gathered there, and hurdled across it, into the dust storm.

“All right, Jasminda,” he called, breathing into the lapel of his coat. When the dust cleared, he stood face-to-face, pistol drawn on the lead officer, a captain Jack recognized, but had never personally spoken to before. From the corner of his eye, he saw the soldiers nearby train their weapons on him.

“Hold your fire!” the captain shouted, a dazed look coming over him.

“Do you know who I am?” Jack said through clenched teeth.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Who am I then?” he pressed.

“Commander Alliaseen.”

Soldiers nearby gasped in shock.

“I-I have to ask for your identification code, sir.”

“Ylisum two five three zero nine.” Jack squeezed his hand around the butt of the pistol still pointed at the captain’s head, anger vibrating through his every fiber. “Verified?”

“Verified.” A moment was all it took for the demeanor of the other soldiers to change radically. The guns were put away swiftly, and the men all stood at attention. Jack lowered his weapon, as well, and tried to control his breathing.

“Commander, I am Captain Daveen Pillos. We had heard you’d been lost.”

“I was found, Captain.” Jack took in another steadying breath and unclamped his jaw by sheer will. “On whose order were you firing upon these settlers?”

Pillos’s gaze darted to the barricade and back. “No one’s order, sir. We were engaging combatants.”

“When you engaged these combatants, were they firing upon you?”

A tic jumped in the captain’s jaw. “No, sir. But reports said they had attacked some civilians.”

“Under the rules of engagement, under what conditions is it permissible to fire upon residents of your own country when you are not under immediate threat of harm?”

Pillos blinked rapidly as if trying to recall.

Jack exhaled in exasperation. “Has martial law been declared, Captain?”

“No, sir.”

“Then am I correct in stating there are no conditions under which it is permissible to fire upon residents of your own country when you are not under immediate threat of harm?”

“Y-yes, sir. But, sir . . . they are settlers.”

Jack took a step back and raised his voice so that all present could hear. “Yes, Captain. These are settlers. And as of the Treaty of the Seventh Breach, they have non-enemy status in Elsira. Unless they directly provoke you and are not, as in this case, merely defending themselves against attack, it is our sworn duty as defenders of Elsira to protect them, as well. Is it not?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack took a deep breath, exhausted from the display of leadership. Pillos was doubtless no different than most of his men, than most of Elsira if he could stand to believe such a thing.

“See if anyone needs medical attention and gather their weapons. But for Sovereign’s sake, don’t shoot anyone. And I need your radio, Captain. It’s urgent.”

“Yes, sir. This way.” He gave the order then led Jack to the four-wheeler. He hopped into the driver’s seat and picked up the earpiece and transmitter, speaking his identification code into the microphone.

“Connect me to the palace immediately.” The line was staticky while the call was patched through.

“Jack?” a voice warbled down the line.

“Usher? Is that you?”

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

“Usher, I’m not sure how you got on this line, but I have urgent business. I need to speak to—”

"Jack." The old man's voice cracked, weighed down with misery. “It's Alariq. Your brother is dead."

Jasminda’s gaze tracked
Jack as he dealt with the soldiers. After the initial incident, the men’s sudden change in attitude and obvious deference toward him piqued her curiosity. He only had to say a few words and they would hop into action.

He directed several soldiers over to ask, somewhat hesitantly, for the weapons of the Lagrimari. The settlers understood the commands and translated for the others. Rozyl had scowled but added her rifle to the pile.

Once the guns had all been put away, the other refugees were brought out from their hiding places, including nearly a dozen people she hadn’t seen before who’d hidden in the trees just beyond the settlement. They all gathered, seated behind the remains of the makeshift barrier, still wanting some distance between themselves and the Elsirans.

Gerda sat next to Jasminda as she followed Jack giving commands and instructing his men.

“You watch him very closely,” Gerda said. “Do you think he will disappear?”

Jasminda pulled her gaze away. “I’d almost forgotten he was one of them.” Her heart tied itself in a knot. He’d been so different, so kind, but now, standing in a huddle of other Elsirans, it was difficult to pick him out from the group. The idea of finding warmth and comfort from his presence seemed foreign.

What had she expected? She knew that he was on a mission. He’d risked his life to gain information, and now he had to put it to use. Just because she’d grown to think of him as a possibility, perhaps even as a friend, did not mean he felt the same. She was an ally; they had united against a common foe, and now that he was back on home territory, she was on her own again.

One of the settlers, a grizzled barrel of a man, stood and began inspecting the damage to the nearby shacks.

“What are you doing there?” Lyngar asked. He sat a metre away, snacking on the strange jerky the Lagrimari had brought with them.

“There are sound boards here. Much can be salvaged.”

“You’re going to rebuild?” The old man’s voice dripped with condescension.

“Aye,” said the settler.

Rozyl approached from her position nearest the barrier. “Have you any family back home?”

The settler pulled free an unburned length of tin and started a pile at the edge of the road. “I was born in the harems and grew up in the army. No family. This has been home these twenty years. Besides, with so many of you lot coming here, we’ll need to rebuild.”

The man’s tone was matter-of-fact and his logic sound. Where
would
the refugees live? Jasminda was certain the dilapidated settlements were not the salvation they had in mind when they’d started the journey. She certainly could not see herself living here. She wanted nothing more than to go back to her quiet life, her garden, and her goats and to put this whole desperate experience behind her. But the cabin was nothing but cinders now.

Sitting up straighter, she looked with new eyes at the destruction around her. The first settler had been joined by several others, all picking through the smoking remains to find bits that could be reused. If they could rebuild this place, could she not rebuild her cabin? Papa had built the whole thing by himself. It would take her far longer—she was not as strong physically or with Earthsong—but if she took regular breaks, she could sing the heavier logs into place. It would not be the same, but it would be hers.

The palmsalt would have completely dispersed within a few days, and the mountain storm was over. It would likely be a three-day journey over the mountain and then she could be home again.

She looked at the forlorn people gathered around her. “What will you do now that you’re here?” she asked Gerda.

“We are here only by Her guidance. There is a plan in place that we must follow.”

Jasminda frowned. She hadn’t known the Lagrimari were religious. “You follow the Queen? Is that . . . allowed in Lagrimar?”

“Oh no. The only religion allowed is reverence of the True Father. But She graces the dreams of some, and there are many who believe in secret.”

Jasminda nodded. “What
is
the plan?”

Gerda’s gaze was sharp and clear. It felt like the woman was peering deep into her soul. “It unfolds daily.”

Jasminda sat back and exhaled. The woman preferred to speak in riddles. Offering her valley to the refugees had crossed her mind, but she doubted that was a part of the Queen's plan. Jasminda was still an outsider, even among people who looked like her.

She turned again to Jack. He sat in the smaller of the vehicles staring out into space. His face was drawn and troubled. She wanted to go to him, ask what was wrong, offer comfort, but she had no idea if it would be welcome.

Another vehicle rumbled down the road, a sort of motorized covered wagon. Larger than both the auto she’d seen in town and the army vehicle, it pulled to a stop and seven women emerged. Each wore identical blue robes trimmed in gold with her hair tied in a topknot.

“Who are they?” Gerda asked.

“The Sisterhood,” Jasminda said. “Devotees of the Queen. They feed the poor and aid the settlers.”

The Sisters unloaded crates from the back of their wagon. Several soldiers came to assist.

Jasminda was torn. Jack had exited the vehicle and rallied somewhat, his back was straight, shoulders back, but she could still tell something was wrong. She started to reach out to him with Earthsong, but then thought better of it. If she was leaving, best that she break the ties now. Her imagination had run wild before; there had never been any possibility of something between the two of them. Especially not with him an important soldier and her— What was she? Just a goat farmer. An outcast. It would be better if he didn’t know her.

She stood and stretched her legs. Most of the others were now helping in the salvage project. She didn’t want to have to explain herself or say any good-byes. Especially not to Jack. It was cowardly, she knew, but whatever hopes she’d harbored were best buried deep and never acknowledged again. She could slip away and, very soon, no one would remember she’d been there at all.

Jasminda took a few steps back, away from the others. Everyone’s focus was either on the salvage or the newcomers, the Sisters, approaching with crates of food. Turning to head back toward the mountain, she nearly bumped into Osar. He looked up at her with disapproval, his lips pressed tight. She faltered.

Crouching next to him, she took his little hand in hers. “You’ll be all right. Somehow.” He continued to glare at her. “I don’t belong here. I know you can’t understand that, but it’s true.” He shook his head. “It’s not true?” He shook his head again, and Jasminda chuckled. “Why don’t you talk, Osar? You seem to have a lot of opinions.”

The vibration of Earthsong hit her like the clanging of a bell.

Words lie. Songs don’t.

His Song was so sure and strong, she’d nearly forgotten how powerful he was. She could hear his thoughts in her head as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud.

Look up.

The same words as after the avalanche, when Osar had saved Jack. Again she obeyed, squinting into the sun until it was blocked by a figure standing over them. One of the Sisters held out two paper sacks.

“Food,” the woman said in Elsiran, miming eating with one of her hands.

Jasminda stood and took the offered sack, unable to pull her gaze away. The woman before her was the spitting image of Mama. Golden auburn hair, topaz-colored eyes, a straight nose peppered with freckles. The only thing that kept Jasminda from crying out and running into the woman’s arms were the burn scars across her left cheek and jaw.

At Jasminda’s continued stare, the Sister touched her face briefly and ducked her head. She bowed slightly then hurried away.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t—” Jasminda said to her retreating back. With a glance at Osar, who was excitedly investigating the contents of the bag, Jasminda took off after the Sister. The woman was already retrieving more sacks from a crate and passing them out.

“This one’s empty,” she called out. Her voice was higher than Mama’s, lighter and breathier. Jasminda almost didn’t trust her memories. There was no way two people could look so similar.

“Sister Vanesse, could you lend a hand?” another Sister called from near the vehicles. The scarred Sister hurried off, leaving Jasminda gaping after her.

Vanesse.
She knew that name. Her mother had spoken it often enough. Jasminda had even tried addressing her letters to Vanesse Zinadeel when those to her grandmother kept being returned unopened. But her mother’s sister had not responded, either.

Aunt Vanesse.

Her only proof was a first name and a face nearly identical to her mother’s.

“Are you going to eat that?” a young girl asked, looking hungrily at the forgotten lunch in Jasminda’s hand.

“No, go ahead,” she said, handing it off, unable to take her eyes off a face she never thought she’d see again.

She didn’t know
how long she stood there, staring blindly, but the approach of more army-brown vehicles, a bus, and several trucks brought her back to the present. Soldiers rounded up the refugees and settlers, and directed them toward the bus.

“They wish us to sleep at the Eastern Base tonight,” she overheard a settler telling the others. “The Sisterhood has set up a place for the refugees near Rosira. We will travel there tomorrow.”

The settlers grumbled among themselves about whether or not to leave, in the end deciding to accompany the women and children and ensure their safety. Jasminda too was torn. Home beckoned, but curiosity and anger warred within her. Only metres away stood a blood relative, one she’d never met and who’d shown no interest in her. And in Rosira, lived her mother’s mother. A woman Jasminda had begged for help when she’d been left alone at seventeen. This was her chance to get answers. To meet her grandmother, look in her eye, and ask how she could be so callous to her own kin, how she could ignore her daughter and granddaughter for years.

Jasminda was tired of being ignored and being looked at with scorn and derision. She wanted both of these women to know who she was, to know what kind of man her father had been, how strong and smart her brothers had been. She would stand up and give a reckoning of her family. It was the least she could do for their memories.

Jasminda scanned the area. The Sisters were packing their supplies back into their wagon. There was still some small chance this Sister wasn’t her aunt, and even if she was, if she approached now, Vanesse may warn her grandmother and she’d never get the chance to confront the woman as her heart now demanded. Jasminda would wait for the right moment.

A soldier waved Jasminda toward the queue forming to board the bus. Staying meant she was little more than a settler or refugee. She searched the area for Jack but he was nowhere to be found. An emptiness took hold inside her, but she stepped onto the bus warily when it was her turn. A clean break was best, wasn't it? The engine thundered to life, and she chose an open seat at the back. Just before the driver closed the doors, Jack slipped aboard, his brow furrowed.

She held her breath as his gaze searched the seats until he found her. “What are you doing?”

She searched for words, but her mouth was too dry to speak.

He moved down the aisle toward her and extended his arm. “Come.” Her hand found his of its own accord. She could not control her longing for his touch, for his nearness. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, her hand in his caused a riot of sensation to shoot through her entire body. The fact that he'd sought her out dissolved the emptiness. Perhaps she needn't make a clean break after all. Perhaps Jack could help. She took his proffered hand, allowing him to lead her off the bus and over to the group of men standing near the other vehicles.

“Captain,” he said, though he pitched his voice loud enough for all the soldiers to hear. “This woman is a citizen, born in Elsira, and shall be treated as such. She is not a refugee.”

The man before him stood at attention. “Yes, sir. I apologize, sir. I did not realize.”

Jack nodded once, then led Jasminda to an armored truck, helping her into the rear seat. She darted a glance back to the bus.

“Are we going to the base, as well?” she asked.

He leaned his forehead against the doorframe and sighed heavily. “Yes.” His whole demeanor had changed. Gone were even the hints of the man she’d once confused for an artist. He was all warrior now . . . and a weary one.

“You are in charge of these men?” 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 very good.”

He shrugged and looked away as though uncomfortable with this topic of conversation. She changed tacks.

“What happened earlier? You seemed distressed. Is it the breach?”

He looked over his shoulder. The captain and another man stood nearby. Jack switched to Lagrimari. “No, but I will tell you later.” 

She eyed the other soldiers and nodded.

“Later then,” she said, placing a hand on his. Gasping at the thoughtless familiarity, she immediately tried to pull her hand back, but he kept hold and squeezed her fingers before letting go. His eyes crinkled in a tired smile, then he turned and walked off.

Voices carried from the other side of the truck. “Looks like the commander has himself a new pet.”

Someone snorted. “A
grol
bitch to fetch the paper and eat the table scraps.”

The soldiers cackled, their voices fading as they walked away. She clenched her hand into a fist and settled back against the truck’s hard seat.

The thin, army-issued
cot was almost comfortable. After arriving at the base, Jasminda had been given a space in a corner of a small supply building where she could sleep. The Lagrimari had been assigned a barracks building for the night, but Jack insisted she be kept separate. She appreciated his efforts to continually remind his men of her citizenship, but she felt uneasy alone in a strange place. Jack had showed her the space and then been called away again. She’d sat there for the past half hour reading the various labels on the boxes and listening to the sounds of the base beyond the walls.