Langria was not what I’d expected.
This was supposed to be the place full of forests and fruit and freedom songs. A land where I might dig my hands into rich soil and come away with a feeling of abundance. It was supposed to be blanketed by a sky where love reigned supreme, making Sun seem insignificant, where Jadan runaways would be welcomed with opened arms and abundant Cold.
Yet Langria was anything but paradise.
This was a place of despair.
On the way back, Sett had taken me on a detour out of the tunnels so I could better understand these lands. We climbed crude stairs by light of her lantern for what felt like an eternity, exiting onto a shelf of rock that she called Pass of Arron. The pass let out on the Southern side of the valley, looking North. The position was high and unobstructed, which allowed us a view of most of Langria.
Langria was much smaller than I initially had gathered looking at it from above. The occupied part consisted mostly of hooded buildings, dilapidated carvings, and scattered patches of green, all tucked against the bottom of the lowest portion of the Great Divide. The green sections were rather small and shy, huddling close to the river. There were still plenty of fruit trees and red flowers in the gardens, all being tended to by Jadans wearing wide-brimmed hats, but even hidden in shadow, I could see the worry on their faces. They had buckets of Cold at their feet, but the buckets were barely filled halfway, the rations made up entirely of Wisps.
I searched around the rest of the Divide, finding that the amount of green life trailed off severely in each direction. Langria existed in a small, protected section of the Divide, where the river bent out from the mountainous cliff faces and then returned back under.
Above the city were sections of rock that had dried into sections, like they had once held gardens that could no longer be sustained. The dead portion of the valley was much larger than the alive portion, and it gave the appearance that Langria had been shrinking into itself, dying for a long time.
Along the patches of emptiness, the new deadlands, warriors continued to hone their skills. They struggled with swords and bows, practising with fury, their wiry muscles flexing and moving. Their skin wasn’t as dark as the Jadans back home, but they wore the same familiar pain I saw my whole life.
Hunger and loss.
Watching the warriors, grief overtook my heart. Ellia and Ellcia had been on to something when they said Langria wasn’t real.
Sett handed me the Farsight.
‘What happened here?’ I asked, pointing to all the dead land leading down to Langria. ‘It looks like there should be more. More gardens, more life.’
‘Spy happen.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Langria proud nation. A hundred of eight years freedom. Langria survive on mostly what is “Wisp” in the common tongue, and yet we survive. Khat no break us. And then ten year ago be coming a spy here. Spy put Desert in ground, and many of us dead. We still get Wisp from above, but many tree go black. River angry.’
I felt my mouth go dry. ‘Ten years ago, you said?’
Sett nodded.
‘The spy came through the Coldmarch,’ I said. ‘Didn’t they? They Khat was able to sneak someone in disguised as a runaway. That’s why the Coldmarch was shut down.’
Sett said nothing, only looking out on her domain with sadness.
‘I—’
‘Khat no win through war,’ she said. ‘Had to deceive.’
Rage grew in my chest. I imagined that until recently the whole valley was filled with lush plants. With children laughing and playing games on the shore of the river where they could jump right in.
But because of a betrayal, the land had been stripped down to its bones. It had been made feeble and frail.
‘Where did the spy plant the Desert?’ I asked.
‘No one be knowing exactly,’ she said. ‘Some be saying she only planting half of Desert, because half her heart still for Jadankind.’
My mind began spinning as fast as it ever had, thinking about my experiments with the Desert. Just like with the Frost – or Khol – I hadn’t been able to break the Desert in any way. It resisted both hammer and blade and water. I wondered how this spy could have found its weakness and broken it in half.
‘But you still get Cold here?’ I asked. ‘You still have a Cry Patch?’
Sett gestured to the top of the Divide, the North side, where I had touched down. The place where the sands were reddish and springy.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We still be getting Wisps, but not near as many as before. Langria be dying since Desert.’
I looked through the Farsight, glancing up to the top of the Divide.
‘Tell me everything,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I have Shaman Eli give story in tongue of enemy. I need you understand. We go in moment, for now you look at Khol-flowers.’
‘Khol-flowers?’
‘Spirit of Jadan people,’ Sett said, gesturing for me to use the Farsight.
I put it to my eyes and once again she guided my vision. I was swept from a scene where two Jadan women were practising with spears, across the thin river, to a spot near what might be a Cry Temple. The building was made of ironstone, and looked strong enough to withstand an attack from any army. A giant Opened Eye was carved into the top of the entrance.
‘Inside the building?’ I asked.
‘No.’
Sett pushed the Farsight down just a nudge, setting me in front of the temple.
There was a small garden.
And it was growing a single kind of flower.
One I recognized instantly.
‘Alder,’ I said. ‘They’re alder flowers.’
‘In tongue of enemy yes, alder.’
I felt like my legs were starting to give. Things were starting to fall into place, and memories of the Coldmarch came rushing back.
The garden was surrounded by a ring of gifts. There were flowers and flutes and woodcarvings just to name a few. The soil in which the flowers sat was the most alive that I’d ever seen, darker than my skin.
‘That’s why alder is the sign of the Coldmarch,’ I said.
‘Yes. And used to grow much larger patch than that, back before spy and Desert. Spirit of Jadan people cling final breath.’
Three Jadan men kneeled at the edge of the garden, planting Wisps into the soil.
‘Are they trying to grow them back?’ I asked. ‘Those men?’
‘No. Nothing really help after Desert. They pay tribute to Adaam.’
‘Adaam, like the Adaam Grass?’
‘Yes. You is learning all.’
Three large chimes rang through Langria and all the fighting stopped at once. The skirmishing Jadans threw down their weapons and gave one another small gestures of respect. Some grabbed wrists. Some hugged. Some drew two fingers down their cheeks.
Then they began to disappear.
In a matter of moments almost all of the barren lands were emptied.
‘Where’d they go?’ I asked.
‘Tunnels. Not enough Cold anymore to be in Sun all time, so have to strength in darkness. Then training under ground. You come now.’
I took one last look at the alder flowers and gave the Farsight back to Sett. We retreated into the tunnels and took a long staircase back down.
‘Most Langria is tunnels,’ Sett said. ‘Free Jadans very good at make tunnels.’
I nodded, thinking about all the stretches of Coldmarch that had involved tunnels. We took the stairs in silence for a while and then emptied into a long chamber, the ceiling so low that we had to hunch. I couldn’t make out her expression from the dim light of the Adaam grass, but I could tell that Sett had a strange energy about her. I kept a safe distance and used the quiet to think.
Why did Langria still have a Cold patch, when the rest of the world dried up?
Why did the Desert destroy only some of Langria?
How much more time could my friends hold out?
The tunnel eventually led us to an open chamber, and my head felt like it might burst. My fingers itched to tinker, but that was just normal.
We stood in the doorway to the room, watching people crowded around a well. They were dropping buckets into a hole. As they pulled them back up they chanted a song in unison, clapping their tired hands. They looked exhausted, pushed right up to their limits.
Still they sang.
The melody was simple, yet intoxicating. It reminded me of Moussa, my other closest friend while growing up in the barracks. He loved music almost as much as I loved inventing, and we’d secretly share any scraps of melodies overheard on the streets. He was the best singer in the barracks. I hadn’t seen him since he’d been tortured by the Vicaress, forced to give information on my whereabouts. I had no idea if he was still alive, or if he was now singing in the black. My chest squeezed. I wanted to pause and listen to the new song, but Sett nodded for me to follow her.
‘Tell me about Second Fall,’ Sett said.
I filled her in on everything left to tell as we passed through the tunnels. Sett had to hunch as we walked, as she was nearly a head taller than me, and her gray hair brushed the ceiling. The tunnel walls were smooth and precise, but I still felt like we were being watched.
She was patient as I finished telling about the Desert they’d buried, waiting to speak until the end.
‘Yes,’ she finally said. ‘They try planting Desert in Dagon all time. We find lots of Desert here too.’
‘Damn them.’
Sett laughed. ‘Yes. Also, how you learn fly? Why Asham let you become Maker in Paphos? Isn’t they making you slave in Paphos?’
‘Not all Asham are bad. One of my closest friends is—’
Sett spat to the side. ‘All Asham poison.’
‘I wouldn’t be alive if not for this Asham. His name is Camlish and he’s risked his life for me many times. He’s actually helping us inside the city, going against his own people.’
Sett huffed. ‘Trust me. All Asham poison. Come from first Khat.’
We didn’t speak for a while after that.
At last we stopped in front of a chamber where Sinniah and the warriors were waiting. The Asham was crumpled on the floor in front of them. I almost couldn’t make the warriors out, since the room was dark and they were still covered in Chossek powder. Shaman Eli and Lop were holding hands in the corner, whispering quietly.
Sett touched two fingers to her lips and then pressed them towards Sinniah. Sinniah returned the gesture, and then they began speaking rapidly in Langrian. This exchange didn’t have the cadence of an argument, although the tone was cautious, especially on Sinniah’s end.
Sinniah bowed.
Sett gestured to Shaman Eli, who gave Lop a kiss on the cheek and then followed us out into the tunnel.
‘Nice pick,’ Eli said, gesturing back to the chamber. ‘This Noble looks like he’s got lots of tears.’
‘What did they say?’ I asked him under my breath, keeping a bit of distance back from Sett. This was not hard, as she moved almost as swiftly as Sinniah.
Shaman Eli shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. It’s good things. They trust you for now.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘For now?’
Eli shrugged, and I noticed that thankfully Zizi was nowhere to be seen. ‘There are some words that don’t translate.’
‘Fair enough. Good to see you, by the way.’
Eli clapped me on the shoulder. ‘You going to teach me how to fly, Meshua? I think it will very much impress Lop if I fly.’
I smiled, trying to keep up with Sett’s pace. ‘If I can get back to my friends again, I’ll teach you everything you want to know. Also, I’m not Meshua.’
Eli winked. ‘Of course not. You just fly around wherever you want and make Cold. Regular Jadan through and through.’
I shook my head, but I had nothing with which to refute him.
‘I learned all about Meshua from Split the Pedlar,’ he said. ‘Split was my Shepherd for the second leg of the Coldmarch.’
‘That’s how I know your name!’ I said. ‘From Split. He mentioned you.’
Eli put his hand over his chest. ‘You’ve heard of me before? That will very much impress Lop. Can I tell her this?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. But just don’t call me Mesh—’
I stopped myself as Sett had led us to a huge cavern.
Immediately I knew this place was important. There were oil lanterns glowing everywhere, illuminating things far better than Adaam Grass could have. The ceiling was high and held up with stone arches, all carved with Jadan faces. Each face had a single braid detailed into the stone.
There was a clear path through the cavern on which to walk, while the rest of the floor was adorned in small, detailed scenes from Jadan history. Some pictures were done with paint, some with coloured stones, but all of them were painstakingly detailed. They depicted stars and animals and forests. More than anything else there were scenes of battle.
In the middle of the chamber stood a large cabinet that had its doors wide open. In the centre, suspended on a bar of steel, was a huge scroll that must have weighed the same as a small child. The top of the scroll was adorned with an Opened Eye cap that kept the whole scroll tight, and a large necklace rested against the body, hanging on a rope of gold. The dangling pendant was shaped like the three lines – two upright, one lying across their tops – that shone in the centre of a Khol.
The place was a giant dome, perfectly round, split in half by a red alder line. One side of the room held hundreds of weapons, pinned to the walls on stands and nails. There were axes and bows and daggers; but there were also weapons that I didn’t recognize. Things with springs and gears that threatened to cut a hole through any besieging army.
All of the weapons had a tiny scroll underneath, resting on a protruding dowel. The size of the scrolls varied from a single loop to the size of my wrist.
The other side of the room had hundreds of leaves preserved between sheets of glass. The leaves sat on shelves with plaques underneath. The leaves varied greatly as well, in shape, colour and size.
A large word had been painted on top of each side of the room, written in what had to be Langrian.
‘What do they say?’ I asked Eli, pointing to the headings.
He first gestured to the weapons wall. ‘To Kill.’
Then he pointed to the leaf wall. ‘To Live.’
‘Like in Coldmarch tunnels under Mama Jana’s’ – “Lost” and “Saved.”’
‘Mama Jana!’ Eli exclaimed. ‘I remember her having great fingernails.’
I gave a small laugh, awed by the room. ‘Yes, she did.’
‘Is she still alive?’
I paused, swallowing hard. ‘I hope so.’
Sett said something long and potent in Langrian, pointing to the weapons.
‘The weapons are of fallen warriors,’ Eli relayed. ‘When a Langrian is killed in battle we put the weapon to rest for at least seven days. It is believed that if the weapon is used again quickly, the original warrior’s spirit might have to wait in the black. Many children choose to use the weapons of their ancestors when they are of age. The scrolls beneath have all the great deeds and honours that different weapons have acquired in their lifetime.’
Sett swung her arm and gestured to the leaves.
Eli straightened up, puffing out his chest with pride. ‘But not all Langrians are warriors. This other wall is dedicated to life. Whenever a new garden is successfully formed, the grower gets to put a leaf from their harvest on the wall. There used to be new gardens all the time, back before the spy maimed our land. Now there are hardly any new gardens. But guess who has gotten to put three leafs on the wall in the last year alone?’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that why they call you Shaman Eli?’
Eli smiled widely. He was missing a few teeth in the back and one in the front, but otherwise he had pink and healthy gums.
Sett gestured to the large scroll in the centre of the room. ‘Sit together. Here.’
The three of us settled in front of the shrine.
‘Big history written in scroll,’ Sett said. ‘I give you only small history as you is being in hurry to get back friends.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Then Sett told me of Langria, pausing enough between sentences so Eli could translate.
‘The first thing you must know about is Adaam and Vivus. They were two young boys from Paphos, neighbours, growing up together before the Great Drought. They used to run, play and explore the woods together when they were very young. Adaam liked music and singing; he was a sweet boy. Vivus did not like these things. He preferred cruelty and power. As the years progressed they drifted apart. Adaam watched Vivus begin to do more and more terrible things. Stealing. Hurting those weaker than him. Forcing the young girls to try things they did not want to try. Adaam once stumbled across Vivus skinning a lamb alive in the woods behind their houses, boilweed shoved in the poor creature’s mouth to keep it from bleating. The death was not for food or ritual, and afterwards Vivus tossed the dead lamb into the forest to rot. Adaam knew Vivus just wanted to watch the creature suffer. Adaam saw it all from the beginning.
‘Unfortunately Vivus found his way into a position of power. He became a soldier of the King’s law and lied his way up in status. He accused many innocents of terrible crimes. There was never any proof of course, but Vivus would say they were performing rituals to Sun and practising unholy things with fire. The King of Paphos trusted Vivus, and so he handed out punishment accordingly, which meant lashings and death. The people of Paphos began to fear Vivus greatly and trembled at the sound of his name.
‘Adaam on the other hand had become a simple singer, with no power except that of his voice, and so he watched helpless and afraid as Vivus rose through the ranks. When every one of the King’s descendants died mysterious deaths, followed by the King himself – who was found hanging on the end of a rope – no one dared question Vivus. And since there was no one else to challenge him, Vivus took the throne. He reigned for a while with an iron fist, but Vivus did not stay in Paphos. He had grander aspirations. He wanted to be the first King of every land, and left with a small group of close advisors to travel the World Cried and understand what was out there. Vivus left one of his closest generals in power in Paphos, a woman nearly as terrible as himself, and set out.
‘A year or so later after Vivus left,’ Sett and then Eli continued, ‘is when the world began to die. City by city the Patches became barren and the land heated to terrible temperatures. Forests died in flashes of ash and fire. Rivers began to boil. Grass was overtaken by sand and rock. And many, many died. Hundreds of thousands perished in terror and anguish, with refugees flooding Paphos, where Cold still fell. Vivus eventually returned with his Gospels, calling himself “The Khat”. He claimed to have the answers to why everything was dying and how to save it. And when Ziah fell, the world dropped to its knees. Every Jadan – the word just meant people back then – had to accept a life in chains if they wanted to live. They also had to give up their Khol. Since Khol were Meesh-Dahm in essence, kept on display in the Cry Temples for all to admire, the Khat made them illegal, and had his Priests and taskmasters bring them all to the Pyramid.
‘But Adaam knew Vivus for what he was: a liar and a thief. He did not trust a word of what the Khat had to say. He figured the Khat must have found Evil in some corner of the world, and that he was responsible for all this death and chaos.
‘And so Adaam gathered a group. A small group. Six families. Not to fight, but to run away and try and preserve the Jadan way of life. Adaam believed with his whole heart that there still must be somewhere in the world where Cold was still Cried. Before Adaam left, he sent word to Vivus that he had written an Anthem for him. One so beautiful that the slaves would sing it gladly throughout all the ages of his rule. Vivus was happy to accept, and he sent for his old friend to give a grand performance of this masterpiece. But while the Pyramid was busy setting everything up, Adaam found a Khol and stole it, sneaking away into the night. Then he took the very first Flock and left the city. Off to find a new pasture in a dead world.’
I finally remembered to breathe.
Eli tried to parallel Sett’s emotion, but his tone paled in comparison.
‘Adaam could have gone in any direction, but chose to go North. I don’t know if you know this, but Cold almost always falls at an angle, from North to South.’
I nodded. The Patch Jadans had made mention of this characteristic before, telling me the best technique was to dig at an angle to find the existing holes. I was too young to have worked in the Patches, so I had never experienced it myself.
‘So Adaam went North and the pass was hard. The Flock barely had enough food and Cold to get by, but they were resilient. And they had the wind of belief at their backs. They passed the husks of once-great cities, now burned to ash and rubble. For weeks they travelled by starlight, under a sky that used to bless the whole land, but now only blessed a tyrant and a liar.
‘Two children died on the first Coldmarch. The familes gave them a proper burial and then had to move on. The terrain was terrible; they found no Cold anywhere. Soon they were all on the brink of death. They pushed North as far as they could go, but eventually they began to run low on food and Cold. Dozens of vultures circled them, for there were still birds then. The birds too were desperate, clinging to a life without Cold. Adaam and the Flock desperately pressed on, the Khol their only source of hope, until they ran into a massive split in the land: the place they decreed to be the ‘Great Divide’. The Flock took refuge in the Great Divide to try and get away from the Sun. For days they pushed through the nightmare terrain, but things were getting desperate.
‘Then one night at Sunset Adaam set out alone. The Flock was all but dead. They had no food or Cold left, only the Khol. Adaam kept pushing North, taking the Khol with him, tears in his eyes for his people. He called out to the Crier, begging for a sign, for anything. Eventually he came to a boiling river, and his heart was shattered. He couldn’t go any further and he was to the point of death. And so he dropped to his knees and wept.
‘He took out the Khol and said his final prayer.’ Sett paused, switching to the common tongue. ‘I believe you be knowing it, Micah.’
‘Shemma hares lahyim criyah Meshua ris yim slochim,’ I said.
It was hard to speak. I was shocked, finally understanding the history of the words.
Sett nodded and then continued the story.
‘And then Adaam pressed the Khol against his face and in that moment the Crier spoke. The spirit of the Crier swept inside him, bringing Meesh-Dahm—’ Eli stopped translating. ‘Meesh-Dahm is like …’
‘Energy,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ Eli exclaimed. ‘How’d you know that?’
My heart pounded. I felt like a part of me had always known this story. The story, but not the ending. Everything inside of me clenched with awe and anticipation.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘The Crier told Adaam to make Langria. He said Adaam could make Cold fall. Our Creator just needed to know where to Cry. And so Adaam put the Khol in the ground by the river and that night—’
I leapt to my feet, opening my arms wide. My chest felt like it was about to burst from revelation.
‘HE PUT IT IN THE GROUND!’ I shouted.
Sett already had a dagger out. ‘What?’
I began to dance. I couldn’t keep still. I did the same dance my father used to do. It made me smile so wide my cheeks could have smashed through the walls of the cavern.
‘HE PUT IT IN THE GROUND!’ I shouted, hopping from foot to foot. ‘He put it in the ground. He put it in the ground.’
‘Yes,’ Sett said. ‘He put in ground. Now hush and be still, I finish story,’
I threw my head back and howled with delight. I could feel the Crier in me too. This was my moment. This was what my whole life was leading up to. The Coldmaker. The Flock. The Matty. It was all bringing me here, to this spot, to this story, so all the pieces could finally fall into place.
Sinniah and her warriors leapt into the cavern with their spears out. Sett waved them back.
‘Tell me, Micah,’ Sett said. ‘What you be doing?’
I leaned over to catch my breath, putting a hand over my chest. My heart was thumping so loud that any of my Ancestors waiting in the black would be able to hear my joy.
I had found the message.
I knew how to save the World Cried.
‘Let me guess,’ I said, finding it hard to speak, as my blood was rushing. ‘That night, Cold began to fall on top of the Divide. And the river cooled because the land cooled, and so Adaam was able to swim across safely. With the last of his strength he climbed the mountain, to the North side, and found a new Cry Patch. The Flock survived and called it a miracle and together they started Langria!’
Sett looked confused.
Eli translated my words. It was surreal to hear my message take on the form of such old and powerful sounds. I suddenly felt connected to these people. They were my family too. We were all one Flock.
And I’d save them all.
I ached for Shilah and Cam to be at my side. To share this discovery.
‘Yes,’ Sett said slowly. ‘So you do be knowing story?’
I laughed, continuing to dance. My elation rang through the chamber, and I could hear a bright future reverberating off every weapon and every leaf on the wall. A new age rang with my laughter.
‘They’re seeds,’ I said, aghast that I was finally speaking the answer after all this time. ‘Khol. They’re seeds for Cry Patches! They let the Crier know where to cry. They’re seeds!’
‘Slow down,’ Sett says. ‘I want understand.’
Everything started falling into place.
Answers to all the ancient mysteries rained down into my mind from all sides.
Adaam planted the Khol down in the valley.
Which made the land come alive.
And a new Cry Patch was formed.
Langria got Cold on the North side, up on the top of the Divide. It fell in the red sands up high, which meant that the Cold was probably headed towards the spot where the Khol was planted. But the rising land got in the way. The Cold struck the ground before it could reach down into the valley itself. It was also probably why they only got Wisps.
And it now made sense why the Khat continued to demand all the Khol come to him, under penalty of death. He must have known that Khol was the only way to fight Desert. To make new Cry Patches.
The seed idea also kept in line with all my experiments in the tubs.
The Desert took away life.
The Khol would restore it.
It was so simple I laughed; it was so beautiful I cried.
I started pacing the walkway, tears staining my cheeks. I was too excited to stand still. I remembered what Cam had said about the Crier, about feeling such powerful waves of love and connection that tears came into being.
If it was true, then the Crier was here.
He’d always been here.
‘This is it,’ I said. ‘This is how we end the Great Drought. We plant Khol in the ground and it takes away the effect of the Desert. We put it in the ground, and Cold begins to fall again. Old Man Gum wasn’t talking about Desert back then. He was talking about Frosts. Khol. THEY PUT IT IN THE GROUND!’
‘Meshua,’ Sett said. ‘Too fast.’
I almost couldn’t handle the emotions. I was seeing things in an entirely new light.
‘Khol make new Cry Patches,’ I said. ‘They must be seeds. The Crier was giving us a way back all to Him all this time. And the stories about the Khol in the black bringing us home. It all makes sense!’
Sett sighed. ‘Yes. This being thought of before. But no matter. Khol all destroyed. Is broken idea.’
It didn’t bother me that my Idea wasn’t the first of its kind. Even if they’d thought of it before, they hadn’t been able to act on it.
But I could.
‘The Khat has plenty of Khol in the Pyramid,’ I said. ‘I’d bet my life on it.’
‘Is no matter,’ Sett said, giving a sad shake of her head.
Then she began speaking rapid Langrian. Eli helped out.
‘Sett says we’ll never make there. Paphos has too many Noble – Asham. The numbers make it impossible. There are two hundred and eight Jadans in Langria. There are ten thousand Asham in Paphos.’
‘No there aren’t,’ I said with a laugh.
Sett cocked her head.
‘Most Asham have gone to the City of David’s Fall. Thousands of them, with more arriving every day to watch. I bet the Pyramid is practically unguarded.’
‘But City of David’s Fall on way to Paphos,’ Sett said. ‘We be caught. We no be having numbers to fight through.’
‘We don’t need numbers,’ I said. ‘You said other spies have tried to plant Desert in Langria before, right?’
Sett nodded.
‘Please tell me you still have them.’
‘The spies?’ Eli asked.
I shook my head. ‘The Desert.’
Eli spat on the ground and then realized he’d hit one of the paintings. He bent down to wipe the moisture away, and Sinniah shot him an irritated look.
‘Why would we keep that poison here?’ Eli asked.
Sett sighed, letting her head fall. ‘We have. I do keep Desert.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘So not to fall back in enemy hand,’ Sett explained. ‘I keep locked away.’
‘How many of them do you have?’ I asked.
‘Eight.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘And Sett.’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re an Inventor. I imagine you have created lots of weapons. Powerful weapons. And a tinkershop – a shop for making.’
Sett smiled, my plan starting to settle behind her eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Show me.’
She motioned for me to follow.
As we exited the chamber, I pulled Eli aside. Zizi wasn’t anywhere on his body, so I felt comfortable wrapping my arm around his shoulder.
Eli’s face was frozen in shock, and I could tell he was having trouble processing the plan.
‘I have one more question for you,’ I said.
‘Meshua,’ he answered under his breath. ‘You really are Meshua.’
‘Actually that’s what my question is about. What does Meshua actually mean? What’s the translation in the common tongue?’
Eli’s lips worked soundlessly as we trailed behind Sett and the warriors. Sett and Sinniah were conversing in rapid Langrian, keeping their voices low.
‘Eli,’ I said.
‘Hmm?’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It’s like … in the prophecies it means, “The split in the sky, through which Cold will once again be Cried, returning to the land and the Jadan people”.’ Eli paused, biting his bottom lip.
‘That’s quite a long translation for one simple word.’
‘Oh, you want the literal translation?’ he asked.
‘Yes. If you know it.’
‘It means “opening”,’ Eli tapped his lip. ‘Or more precisely, it means “spout”.’
And that’s when I knew it was all real.
I laughed like never before, with tears running down my chin and neck. And just like with the dance, I realized it was my father’s laugh.
And I could hear him laughing along.