Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1) (28 page)

“Vette, we have known each other all our lives. You must tell me.”

Her jaw quivered, but she nodded, darting a glance at the closed door. “He wanted me to be the princess. I suppose it would make up somewhat for me being born a girl. Alariq was kind, but he never held my heart.”

She looked at him pointedly, and his stomach sank in understanding. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but she continued. “When Alariq died, Father didn’t miss a beat. He was determined to be the grandfather of the next Prince Regent, no matter what it took. Jasminda was an obstacle, but one that worked in his favor. If you would not choose me of your own free will, then he would give you a push.”

“What kind of push?”

“Feeding information to the press. Giving them fodder for the fire. Presenting me as the solution.”

“And you went along with this, Vette? Why?”

She swallowed and brushed away the wetness from her cheeks. “I never wanted to hurt you, and I certainly never wanted to see her harmed. But Jack, you are the Prince Regent of Elsira. You must marry well. Your wife is not just for you; she will be the princess of the land. Did you really think there was a future with her? It’s for the best that she leave now with the others.”

Jack shot to his feet as the ache in his chest seemed to spread to his whole body. His hands pulled at the short ends of his hair, searching for a release from his frustration. “Lizvette, there is no future for me without her.”

“So she should have stayed here, hidden away for the rest of time so you could sneak into her chambers? And then what? What about when you need an heir? She’s to be content being your mistress while you sire the next prince with someone else?”

“You had no right! Not to decide her fate. Did she get on that bus willingly?”

Lizvette turned her face to the fire. “I gave explicit instructions that she was not to be harmed.”

Jack leaned against his desk, imagining Jasminda fighting tooth and nail against whatever hired thugs Lizvette had acquired.

“Did you think of what it must have been like for her?” Lizvette looked down to her folded hands. “If one day, someone ever loves me, I would hope they would scream it from the rooftops.” Her smile was brittle.

Jack fell onto the couch and slumped down. Lizvette was right. In a perfect world, he would have shouted his love for Jasminda from every window in the palace . . . but the world was far from perfect.

A knock sounded at the door, and a Guardsman entered.

“Your Grace, radio communication with the refugee caravan is down due to the thunderstorm. We’re unable to contact them.”

“Then send a telegram to the Eastern Base and keep trying the caravan. I want to make sure she doesn’t step one foot inside Lagrimar.”

“Yes, sir.” The Guardsman spun on his heel, readying to leave.

“Wait.” Weariness lay over Jack like a blanket. He looked at Lizvette and sighed. “Take her to the Guard’s offices for questioning. The charge is kidnapping. And arrest Minister Nirall, as well.”

Lizvette stood and brushed her dress off, her sad eyes relaying an apology. Jack’s head fell to his hands as the weight of the crown grew even heavier.

The noise of
the crash reverberated through the bus, screams and wails, crunching metal and glass. Then all movement ceased, and they were held in a bubble of stillness for a pregnant moment. Jasminda may have lost consciousness, she was not certain, but after a timeless period of insensibility, the world came back piece by piece.

First, the cold rain seeping into her clothing. Burning metal tinged with blood and fuel assaulted her nose. Crying, moaning, agonizing sounds of suffering. The tinny taste of blood on her tongue. Osar’s eyes, inches from her own, peering at her. The warmth of Earthsong cradling her in calm, knitting her wounds.

Jasminda jerked to life, flexing her arms and legs. The bus had landed on its right side. Those in the window seats, like herself, would have sustained the worst injuries. She was sore, but whatever injuries she’d had, Osar had healed. Her hands were now free; the bar she’d been chained to was cracked and the chain broken, leaving only the heavy silver bracelets on her wrists.

She levered herself up and held out her arms for Osar. He fell against her, and she squeezed him close. The uninjured helped the injured from the wreckage. As they clambered out, they found the two buses directly behind them in the caravan had also crashed, unable to avoid the accident.

Chaos reigned on the ground as the last of the refugees were rescued from the wrecked buses. Faces peered out the windows of the other buses farther back in the convoy. On the ground, severe injuries were being tended to by the children, using Earthsong. Soldiers stood grouped together, huddled around maps and radio transmitters or tending their own injured.

Jasminda set a young girl she’d been carrying down on the sodden ground, then straightened. In the east, the muted glow of dawn emerged behind the mountains. Perhaps a two-day’s walk to the southeast lay her mountain. Buried hope bloomed in her heart.

An old barn loomed a hundred metres away. If Jasminda were to go now, during this confusion, she could escape and could keep the caldera safe. She would head to her valley where odds were that no one would find her.

She searched the crowd for Turwig and Gerda but couldn’t find them. Osar was healing a woman she didn’t recognize. Most of the other Earthsingers were resting. Hopefully not many more needed healing, and the healers’ magic would not be exhausted, but there were too many people around—injured and uninjured—for Jasminda to search through. She would have no chance to say her good-byes. This may be her only opportunity to escape.

She kept low to the ground so as not to bring attention to herself and backed away from the throng. At the bottom of the hill, a stream overflowed its banks. Trees dotted the ground, offering cover as she made her way to the barn. Most of the refugees were focused on their family members or the injured. Her retreat went unnoticed until a sharp face shot in her direction, as if drawn by a magnet.

Rozyl crouched on the ground in conversation with two other women. Jasminda froze, just steps from cover. She glanced at the nearest group of soldiers, arguing among themselves, not paying attention to the scattered refugees. Rozyl followed her gaze, then turned back to Jasminda. The two locked eyes for a long moment before the other woman dropped her head, silently giving consent.

Jasminda darted behind the tree, hiding just as the soldiers dispersed. The men took up places around the perimeter of the refugees and herded them into a tighter group. Visually marking her path, she searched for the fastest way to move from her current position to new cover.

A scream tore through the air, rippling chills across her skin. One soldier broke through a cluster of refugees, dragging a child with him. Her breath caught at Osar’s wriggling form being dragged by his collar.

The soldier holding Osar tugged him along until they reached the lieutenant in charge. A line of refugees trailed behind them.

“This one bewitched me!” the soldier shouted in Elsiran.

One bedraggled woman wailed in Lagrimari, “Leave him alone! Leave the boy alone!” She was working herself into a frenzy. Others tried to calm her, but she brushed off their aid. Jasminda recognized her as Timmyn’s mother. The poor thing had already seen her son shot, the threat of violence to another child must have pushed her over the edge.

“What is the problem, Sergeant?” the lieutenant asked.

“Sir, this vermin spawn performed his enchantment on me. I . . . I felt a strangeness befall me. Some unnatural thing.” The sergeant shook Osar in anger, and Timmyn’s mother lunged toward them.

Another soldier pulled his weapon, training it on her. “Keep back!”

She screamed for them to let the boy go.

“What is she saying? Where’s the one that can translate?” the lieutenant barked. To Osar he said, “What have you done, boy? What vileness have you brought upon us?”

Gerda approached, her presence calming many of the refugees, though Timmyn’s mother grew even more hysterical. “All the boy’s done is heal your soldier,” Gerda said.

The lieutenant drew his own pistol, not understanding her words. “Get back. All of you get back!”

Other soldiers mobilized, drawing their firearms on the refugees. From behind her tree, Jasminda watched in horror. Rozyl stood at the edge of the group, her stance defiant. She darted a glance to where Jasminda hid before snapping back to the soldiers.

Cold logic told her there was no better time to go. The attention of the soldiers was fixed on the refugees. There would not be another opportunity. But the image of Timmyn, flat on the ground, blood pooling on his shirt, would not leave Jasminda. If someone was shot this time . . . Were there any Earthsingers not drained from helping the others?

Her brain knew the caldera was more important than the lives of a few refugees, but could she stand by and watch a potential massacre just to keep it safe? The mother screamed again, thrusting Jasminda from her daze.

She rose and started back toward the others.

Escape would have to wait.

“There is too
much interference, sir.” The communications officer flipped a switch, testing yet another connection.

“What kind of interference?” Jack said, peering over the man’s shoulder.

“It’s very unusual, but we’re not able to contact any unit east of the Old Wall.” Static could be heard from the man’s headset.

“So the entire northeastern sector of the country is radio silent?”

“Yes, sir. No telephones, two-ways, or cable communication is operational. They’re just silent.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s almost as if this were intentional.”

The officer looked up startled. “Well, yes, sir. It could be.”

Jack did the math in his head. The caravan was too far along for vehicles to catch up with it, and there was no way for him to contact anyone who could get Jasminda to safety. Panic threatened, but he beat it back through force of will.

Dusk had fallen, bringing with it rain from the east that pelted the city mercilessly.

He banged his fist on the table, and the young officer jumped.

“Blast it! I would need wings to get to her now,” Jack murmured, then stopped short. His gaze rose to the ceiling.

The airship.

Alariq’s pride and joy. And the cause of his death.

It was risky, too risky to even be contemplating, but what was the alternative? Jasminda trapped in Lagrimar? Forced to work in the mines or the harems or worse. She could be killed. He could not save the hundreds of refugees, much as he wanted to, but the life of one woman, the woman most precious to him, could he not even save her?

The airship was the only way to get to the border fast enough—maybe even beat the caravan that had left hours earlier. However, it was this precise situation, flying in a thunderstorm, that had killed his brother. Jack had called Alariq foolish . . . Who was the fool now?

He stalked out of the communications room and into the small office the army maintained in the palace.

“The airship that was on the roof—is it still there, Sergeant?” he asked the soldier on duty.

“Yes, sir. It’s scheduled to be moved next week.”

“Never mind that. I need a pilot. Immediately.”

“Sir, the army doesn’t have any ships or pilots. The airship was a gift to Prince Alariq from—”

“Yes, I know all that. But there must be someone in this city who can pilot a bloody airship. Find the ambassador to Yaly. It’s their invention, he must know someone.”

The sergeant rushed to stand, confused but determined.

“Your Grace,” a Guardsman appeared in the doorway. Jack whirled around to face him.

“What is it?”

“There’s a woman here from the Sisterhood. She’s been raising quite a ruckus for some time now, saying she needs to speak with you.”

Jack sighed. “I can’t imagine a worse time."

“Your Grace, she’s saying it has to do with Miss Jasminda. I thought you might want to speak with her.”

Jack peered more closely at the Guardsman. He was the same fellow who’d escorted Lizvette to questioning. Tension gripped Jack, and he nodded. “Take me to her.”

They’d kept the woman in the main lobby of the palace, and Jack could hear her voice from two corridors away.

“I will not stand down, and you would do well to keep out of my way, sir. I refuse to leave this palace until I have seen Prince Jaqros!”

“Sister,” Jack said as he approached. The woman startled and spun around, gracing him with the tiniest curtsey possible before rushing to his side. A Guardsman reached out to stop her approach, but Jack brushed him off. “What can I do for you?”

“You can stop a great miscarriage of justice, Your Grace. My niece, a citizen of Elsira, despite all appearances to the contrary, was chained and forcibly placed on a bus headed to Lagrimar with the refugees. She does not belong there and I—”

“You are Aunt Vanesse,” Jack said. The woman stopped, looking stunned. He should have recognized her at once, but his mind was scattered in a million directions. How many Sisters had burn scars on their faces? “Jasminda told me about you.”

She looked confused, but the determination in her eyes burned bright.

“Please, come with me,” he said, leading her toward his office. “I have been trying to rectify that situation, believe me. But I’ve been stymied at every turn.”

Jack stopped at his secretary’s desk. “Netta, I want you to check in with the palace regiment every five minutes for an update on their search for an airship pilot.”

Netta nodded and picked up the phone.

“An airship pilot?” Vanesse said, squinting at him.

“Yes. I fear that is the only way to get to her before the caravan reaches the border. My brother had the only airship in Rosira and pilots are in short supply.”

“Your Grace, I have a . . . a friend, who can drive just about anything. She’s competed in the Yaly Classic Air Race the past two years flying speed crafts. If there’s anyone who can pilot it, she can.”

Jack stared, speechless, before breaking into a grin. He picked up the startled woman and spun her around, only putting her down when her small fist began beating against his back.

“
Are you sure
this is wise?” Usher said, following Jack up the stairs and onto the roof. Rain attacked the building; wind gusts blew sideways into the covered awning they stood under, soaking them.

“No, I’m pretty sure this is the least wise thing I could ever do. But I can’t lose her, Usher. I can’t.”

“I understand your feelings are strong, young sir, but this country lost a prince to that very airship not three weeks past.”

“Duty has taken everything from me. Everything I’ve ever loved I’ve lost—and that hasn’t been much. I’ve sacrificed my life for this country again and again and what does it give me in return? Nothing but heartache. I will not allow Jasminda to be another casualty.”

Usher’s face was grim. Jack didn’t want to argue with him. He didn’t have the strength for it. But to his surprise, Usher merely nodded. “Come back with her quickly, then.”

“Thank you, old man.” They embraced, and Jack raced over to the airship.

A lump formed in his throat as he grew closer. He’d never been in anything like it before. They were common in other places—the Fremian army had an entire fleet—but Elsira was not a country that took well to change, adopting new technology only when absolutely necessary.

He climbed into the cabin where Vanesse’s friend Clove already sat in the pilot’s seat, checking over the instruments. At first glance, the woman was unassuming. She barely came up to his shoulder and her heart-shaped face seemed made to smile. Strawberry-blond hair curled around her head, and he couldn’t place her age. Vanesse was in her early thirties, but Clove could be ten years younger or older—it was hard to say.

“Everything look all right to you?” Jack asked, taking his place on one of the plush seats, dripping water all over it. Across from him sat Vanesse who had removed her robes and wore a smart-looking pantsuit, similar to the one Clove wore. She appeared perfectly dry.

“This is beautifully made, Your Grace. It’s an honor to be able to fly it. Just a few more calculations, and we’ll be ready to go.”

Jack nodded, tamping down his impatience. “How bad is the storm?”

She turned in her seat to face him. “I’m not going to lie and say it’s a stroll through a straw garden. This will probably be the toughest flight I’ve ever made. But I’m game. When it’s time to face the fiddler, best do it with your dancing shoes on.” She smiled at Vanesse, who beamed back at her. Though Jasminda and her aunt didn’t really resemble one another, something about Vanesse’s smile made Jack’s heart lurch. He recognized adoration when he saw it and sensed there was more to these two women’s relationship than friendship.

Usher remained under the awning, watching them solemnly, but gave a supportive nod when Jack caught his eye.

Then the engine whirred to life. “Are you ready, Your Grace?” Clove shouted.

He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to the Queen Who Sleeps that he live long enough to save the woman he loved. “The only way to the other side is through it!”

“That’s the spirit!” Clove said as the ship lurched into the air.

The refugees traveled
on foot, abandoning the wrecked buses. The rain ended shortly before dawn and the cool morning air left Jasminda’s clothes damp and chilled. Guards from the buses formed a perimeter around the group, weapons in hand.

Tension between the guards and the refugees still crackled, though once Jasminda had translated that Osar was only trying to heal the soldier, things had calmed somewhat. The Elsirans, so fearful of magic, had been uninterested in being aided by an Earthsinger, and Jasminda had warned the children off their natural, helpful instincts.

The paved road ended at the Eastern Base at the bottom of the foothills. The border loomed just beyond, deceptive in its ordinariness. Her last time here, she had not even registered the proximity of the base to Lagrimar proper. There was no visible line, no wall, just the grass of the foothills giving way to a stretch of rocky dirt about a thousand metres wide. The hills on either side veered up sharply, transforming into jagged mountains towering overhead. This small stretch of flatland was not only the sole break in the mountain range separating the two countries but it was the location of all seven Mantle breaches.

The only other visible indication that one country ended and another began were the hundreds of Elsiran troops and vehicles gathered with weapons drawn pointing toward an equal number of Lagrimari troops on the other side. Bullets could not pierce the Mantle until it was breached, but the Elsirans showed no signs of backing down from their standoff.

The sun shone overhead, lighting the bleak landscape of sandy soil and sparse, tough vegetation. The refugees had been quiet since leaving the buses, but now at the end of their journey, their silence was a shroud. Osar stood on one side of Jasminda, Rozyl on the other. The only words the woman had spoken had been to ask whether Jasminda had the caldera on her. After she’d affirmed it, Rozyl had not left her side.

Jasminda’s fingers itched for her lost shotgun. Rozyl’s hands curled into fists, probably wanting the same thing. Across the border, rows of Lagrimari stood at attention. At the front of the line, an older man with a world-weary face stepped forward.

“By order of His Majesty the True Father of the Republic of Lagrimar, I, Brigadier Joren ol-Tarikor do hereby declare this a day of peace. My brothers and sisters, I welcome you home.”

He held both hands over his head and paused dramatically before clapping them together. An earsplitting crack rent the air. The ground shuddered, rolling and shaking, throwing everyone off-balance. From the direction of the army base, an alarm sounded.

“Breach!” shouted an Elsrian.

“Breach!”

“Breach!”

The word was repeated, the message passed along, as the Elsiran soldiers tensed almost in unison.

The armies were evenly matched in numbers, though the Lagrimari weaponry was visibly old. The men bore muzzle-loaded, single-shot rifles that were at least fifty years out-of-date. Many had bayonets or swords, as well. Jasminda eyed the Elsiran soldiers nearest her, noting the far more advanced automatic rifles with coils of ammunition at the ready. Tanks were spaced evenly along the border with smaller armored four-wheelers bearing giant rifles and larger weapons that looked like cannons or grenade launchers. The Lagrimari had no vehicles, but the barrels of huge wheeled cannons sat on the front lines. Elsira’s superior economic power and technology was unquestionable. But the Lagrimari had one advantage the Elsirans couldn’t buy.

The wind grew from a gentle breeze to a gale within the blink of an eye. Jasminda’s hair whipped back, the force of the wind stinging her eyes. It died down after a few breaths. But thick clouds exploded into existence over those on the Elsiran side. They swirled and raged unnaturally, then shuddered as deadly sharp icicles shot down. The ice stopped in midair a hand’s breadth from their heads, then crackled and fell apart, dusting the Elsirans and refugees in a layer of snow.

The army’s Earthsingers were taunting them.

Movement at the top of the lower foothills drew Jasminda’s attention. Lines of additional Lagrimari troops came into view from behind the hilltops on either side of the flatland of the breach area. They marched over the hills, descending across the border between the lands.

“They’ve done it,” she whispered. “They’ve destroyed the whole thing. The Mantle is gone.”

Within minutes, the number of Lagrimari soldiers more than doubled. According to Jack, almost all of Elsira’s fighting force had been gathered here.

Technology versus superior numbers and magic.

Jasminda fought against the building despair.

The brigadier marched forward, leading his men across the invisible barrier that no longer existed. An Elsiran general marched forward to meet him.

“There is no need for losing life this day. I will address my brethren,” Brigadier Joren said in broken Elsiran. The general stood aside as Joren approached.

“Please, listen close,” he said in Lagrimari. This seemed to be a cue for all the refugees to sit down. Jasminda settled on the muddy ground with the others. “I am happy to welcome you back to the open arms of the Fatherland. Your presence will help us usher in a great peace. But before your return, there is something His Majesty requires of you. One of you holds an artifact that has great significance to our blessed leader. A stone, smaller than my palm.” He raised his hand over his head. The Elsiran troops nearest him followed his movement with their rifles, but he paid them no mind.

“The stone must be returned before your homecoming may begin.”

Jasminda’s chest tightened. Though it must have been her imagination, the caldera in her pocket seemed to hum to life. She flexed her fingers, eager for a weapon of any kind, a way to fight through the terror and escape.

Brigadier Joren paced the length of the tightly gathered crowd of refugees. “To underscore the importance of compliance with any and all beneficent requests of His Majesty’s, I will return one of you to the World After every minute the artifact is not within my possession.”