CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Walking barefoot on the sand, Ayal stepped upon a shell that sliced her foot open. Her cries of pain brought the people to her, but as they were the prized of the Weaver, Dahlia the Healer would not come.

—THE AYALYA

Ella gasped and clutched Benn’s hand as the shuttle bus careened around a curve in the dirt road. Her alarm was not at the driving skills, or lack thereof, of the elderly Sister at the wheel, but at the number of protesters teeming outside the refugee camp. The group had doubled in the past few days.

Scores of angry people, shouting slogans and carrying signs, crowded the perimeter of the parking lot. A pitiful few soldiers were all that stood between the demonstrators and the camp.

The bus was met by a contingent of grim-faced Sisters, with Sister Moreen at their head. Prospective parents filed off the vehicle amidst the clamor of “Keep Elsira Elsiran!” from less than one hundred paces away.

Ella kept her hand in Benn’s as they followed the Sisters deeper into the camp, until the shouting turned into a muffled murmur. Her chest remained tight as they entered the same large tent she’d visited before, where once again the orphaned children were seated in sober rows.

A slow smile spread across her face when she spotted Ulani and Tana, seated near the back. Ella tugged Benn forward, eager to greet the girls, when Sister Moreen’s sharp voice brought her to a stop.

“Today you will have supervised visits with the children to ensure your suitability as parents. Please gather here to be matched with your chaperone.”

Sucking in a breath, Ella checked her enthusiasm. She was glad the Sisterhood was taking care in placing the children, even if it collided with her eagerness. But when she met the Sister who would be overseeing her interaction with the girls, her spirits took a nosedive.

“Sister Gizelle, what a surprise,” Ella said through clenched teeth.

Gizelle’s eyes narrowed. But her expression smoothed when she turned her attention to Benn. She looked him up and down with a gaze just shy of lecherous. “You must be Master Ravel. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.” She held her hands out to Benn for a greeting. Ella gripped her husband’s hand tighter.

Taking the cue, he ignored the young woman’s outstretched hands and bowed to her instead. He was well aware of the history the two women shared.

Gizelle chuckled and dropped her arms. “We take our duty to the orphans seriously. We must be certain that our adoptive families are of the highest moral character, as I’m sure you can understand.” Her voice oozed honey.

“And I’m certain you’re the perfect person to judge high moral character.” Ella’s words were tipped in frost. They had the desired effect of wiping the smugness from the Sister’s face.

“It isn’t at all clear Mistress Ravel—excuse me, Mistress Farmafield—whether a foreign citizen is even permitted to adopt in Elsira.”

“Well, since the children aren’t Elsiran, I don’t see why an exception can’t be made.”

Gizelle tilted her head. “Laws are not made to have exceptions, I’m afraid. It’s what separates us from the animals.”

Ella geared up for a retort when Benn’s deep voice broke in. “‘Laws writ by men contain all the flaws of man. The sun needs no law but to shine.’” Ella stared at him.

“Book of Her Reign, chapter nineteen,” Gizelle murmured. She straightened her shoulders and looked around the room. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Ella grinned at Benn. Leave it to him to defuse a situation with something a Sister couldn’t argue with—scripture. Still, it would be so easy for Syllenne, and Gizelle by extension, to deny her the ability to adopt the children as retribution. Had she gotten her heart set on something destined to be impossible?

Nerves fluttered on delicate wings in her midsection as she approached the table where the girls were sitting ramrod straight, barely moving a muscle. She’d never seen children be so still and take up so little space, but all the young Lagrimari present seemed to have mastered the technique.

Ella folded herself onto the cushion; it took Benn a bit longer because of his bad back. She smiled at the girls. “Do you remember me?”

Ulani nodded, but it was Tana who spoke. “Ella.”

“Yes, and this is my husband, Benn.” She brushed her hand across Tana’s forehead, then Ulani’s. Turning to Benn she said, “This is how you greet someone in Lagrimar.”

“Yes, I know.” He chuckled. Ella had forgotten Benn had worked near the Lagrimari settlement in the east for years and must know far more about their culture than she did.

They sat, doing their best to communicate with the girls, though it was slow going. Today, two translators rotated among the tables, aiding in the interactions. Both were settlers—former Lagrimari prisoners of war who had been in Elsira for years. Benn greeted each man warmly when he came by to help.

Together, they played with the provided toys, and worked on teaching the girls a handful of new Elsiran words, all under Gizelle’s watchful eye. Thankfully, the Sister didn’t appear to hold any animosity toward the children and kept her attitude in check. She even went as far as to play with Ulani, who marched a toy horse up the Sister’s arm.

All too soon, the visit was over. Ella hugged each girl tight, tears clogging her eyes when she had to say good-bye. Tana clung to Benn; she’d opened up more with him, even gracing him with a rare smile—one Ella hoped to see a lot more of.

Ulani spoke to one of the settlers, her voice pitched upward like a question. “They want to walk you out,” the man said.

Ella looked to Sister Gizelle and held her breath. The Sister’s expression was glacial, but she gave a subtle nod. Grinning, Ella took Ulani’s hand as Tana held on to Benn and they made their way back into the day’s dying light.

The warm glow of the visit cooled rapidly as the sounds of the protestors grew louder. Once they reached the parking area, it was clear that even more had amassed over the past two hours and they’d moved much closer, spilling onto the gravel, unfettered by the ineffectual guards.

Ella stopped short at the unfolding chaos. Ulani’s hand in hers turned to stone. The little girl may not have been able to understand all the words or read the signs, but she could see very well the vitriol on the demonstrators’ faces and hear their barbed tones.

Adopting and caring for these girls didn’t just mean sheltering, clothing, and loving them. It would also mean safeguarding them from the embedded hatred in their new land.

Some of the protestors began pointing to where Ella and the others had emerged from the rows of tents. The demonstrators began marching forward at an alarming pace.

“Take the children back,” she called out to Gizelle, who had been steps behind them. She pushed Ulani back, placing her body between the child and the approaching mob. Then she turned and picked the girl up, intent on carrying her back to safety. Benn was already hustling Tana away.

A bang sounded behind her along with the spray of gravel. Anguished cries rang out. Ella glanced over her shoulder to see a shuttle bus had backed into the main driveway, perhaps to block access to the protesters. A screaming woman lay on the ground, next to a sign reading CULL THE HERD in blocky letters. Blood gushed from her arm, and her leg was twisted at an odd angle.

The bus’s door opened and the white-haired driver stepped down, regarding the scene with surprisingly little distress. The Sister crossed her arms, with apparently no intention of rendering aid to the downed protester.

Ulani wriggled to be let down from Ella’s embrace. She wanted to hold on tight, to protect her from any unpleasantness, but she allowed the girl to get down, resolving to lead her away. However, with a determined speed she hadn’t expected, Ulani raced toward the injured woman.

“Ulani!” Ella shouted, running after her, not putting it past these protesters to harm an innocent child.

Ulani crouched beside the sobbing woman, not touching her, and closed her eyes. Ella stooped down, wrapping an arm around the girl and keeping the surrounding people in her sights.

Gasps rang out from those towering over them. Ella looked down in time to see the wound on the woman’s arm close. Then her twisted leg shifted, and with a soft pop, the bone snapped back into place.

An uncomfortable hush fell across the crowd. For one pregnant moment, everything was still.

Ulani opened her eyes.

“Witchcraft,” whispered a tall, bearded man leaning on his picket sign.

The injured protester, a slim woman of about thirty with a mop of curly ginger hair, scrambled to a seated position, running her hand over her leg. Her expression went from astonished to dumbfounded. She gaped at Ulani, jaw open.

Scattered whispers coalesced into a crush of outrage. Ella grabbed Ulani around the waist and hauled her away, back toward the tents. A clamor of disgust and condemnation rose behind them. Half a dozen soldiers ran up to try to calm the situation.

Once they were hidden by a row of tents, Ella put Ulani down and ran a hand across her face, reassuring herself that the girl wasn’t hurt.

“You’re an Earthsinger,” Ella said, pitching her voice to make clear that she wasn’t upset or afraid.

Ulani nodded.

Tana ran over and skidded to a stop before them, clutching her younger sister in her arms. “She is … not thinking always,” she said in halting Elsiran. “Feels everyone.” The older girl shook her head.

Ella’s stuttered breathing had not yet slowed down. “Ulani, sweetheart, it’s kind of you to want to heal people when they’re hurt, but everyone doesn’t want it. Some people would rather be injured than accept your help.”

Ulani frowned. “No help?” Her bewildered voice trembled.

“Not everyone. They’re afraid.”

“Afraid … me?” Her eyes widened so much it was almost comical. If Ella wasn’t tempted to cry she may have laughed.

“I’m so sorry. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Tana crossed her arms, looking angrily in the direction of the parking lot. The storm on her face matched the one in Ella’s heart.

This was just the beginning of what Ella feared could become another war. There may not be a battlefield or tanks or weapons, but there were two sides in conflict and only one could win.