CHAPTER TEN
The Scorpion was born from death’s own hand
She clawed her way out of her mother’s womb
And every breath she took a miracle
Though each and every one portended doom
To save them all she had to walk alone
Her path led to a mother made of stone
—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING
The warehouse is so hot, Ulani isn’t sure whether she’s conscious or not at any given moment. Papa used to threaten to send her and Tana to the Hollow Place—a realm like the World After, but full of endless horrors and torments. She’d thought the closet at the top of the stairs was such a place, but it pales in comparison to this sweltering prison.
If there is a real Hollow Place, then her papa is there now, and these nabbers will meet him soon, she hopes.
She is chained to a bolt dug deep into the ground with six other girls. Another few bolts hold other children as well, many curled up on the floor. A bucket in the corner overflows with filth and gives off a sickening stench. Slashes of light break up the darkness from hatches near the roofline, but nothing dims the heat.
A few minutes ago, the banging on the front door drew the men out of the back area and through the canvas curtains to the front. Ulani shudders, wondering who it could be. She doesn’t know where they are, just that they’re in the bush.
Next to her, Tana grips her hand and squeezes, sending a silent message that they are in this together—whatever this happens to be. Ulani never got a chance to find out what her sister’s plan for them had been—before they even left the house, their stepmother had already derailed it.
The woman had taken a look at them, bags slung over their shoulders, dressed in their plain, traveling tunics, and suddenly grown a spine. Or so they’d thought. She’d insisted that they travel with her to her family’s home in Checkpoint Four, where Papa had met her sometime after Ulani’s mother had run off, and long after Tana’s mother had died in childbirth.
They’d piled into a rickshaw drawn by a stoop-shouldered man and headed for one of Sayya’s lesser used outer gates. Just outside the city, they were supposed to transfer to a carriage for the rest of the trip. But a large, enclosed wagon awaited them along with a grim-faced man whose eyes were even scarier than Papa’s.
He’d tossed their stepmother a bag of grams and pulled the screaming girls into the wagon, where they were bound hand and foot and tied to a bolt in the floor. The woman’s first act of defiance against her dead husband was to sell his children. Tana had called it poetic.
Over the course of the trip, a few stops were made to pick up other children, then at some point when the sky was still dark, they’d been dragged here. To the Hollow Place.
Muffled whimpers and sobs keep up a steady rhythm. Ulani curls in on herself and places her thumb in her mouth—something she hasn’t done in a long, long time.
Sounds of sickness rise from beyond the curtains toward the front of the space. Men coughing and retching. A woman pushes through the dirty fabric and stands there, light haloing her from behind. She looks like a warrior, face flushed, and breathing heavy.
Ulani sits up. She elbows her sister in the side. Tana rolls over and stares at the woman.
“It’s her,” Ulani whispers.
“Who?”
“Her. The Poison Flame.” Her words are barely audible; awe steals her voice.
The woman disappears briefly, and Ulani wonders if she was real at all, then she’s back with a ring of keys. More voices enter the warehouse—men and another woman.
The Poison Flame unlocks the shackles of the older children and then gives the key to Tana, instructing her to free all of them. When her chains come off, Ulani rubs her wrists, trying to bring feeling back into them.
She watches the Poison Flame carefully, but the woman doesn’t seem to recognize her. Then she notices the others who came to save them. They must be Keepers of the Promise. A swell of hope rises.
The children are led into the sunshine, though it’s already starting to lower toward the horizon. Still, the light feels good on Ulani’s skin. Everyone blinks their eyes, taking in the endless bush around them and the wagons that had brought them here. Keepers watch over them, and a large woman with catlike eyes announces they’re going to be taken to a safe house.
Ulani looks around, searching for the Poison Flame. She finds the woman at the edge of the group, talking to an angry man and another man who looks sort of familiar. She’s sure she’s never seen him before, but she can’t shake the feeling that she knows him.
She elbows Tana again. “She must be a spy for the Keepers. Otherwise, why would she work for both them and the True Father?”
Tana squints and stares at the Poison Flame. “No, that’s not possible. The king would know if she was spying. She can’t be the same person who killed Papa.”
Tana never believes her, but Ulani is sure. It is the Poison Flame. She had a feeling she would see her again.
As the children streamed out, Darvyn met Kyara’s eyes. Her gaze was hard. She shook her head slightly, and his heart fell. Her sister was not here.
He couldn’t say why he felt so much for a woman he did not know and wasn’t sure was entirely sane, but she’d been effective. They cleared out the warehouse, captured all the nabbers, and saved the children without any bloodshed or casualties of any kind.
When he’d entered the sweltering space, he’d found four nabbers on their knees, vomiting into the dirt. All of the men here were either vomiting or had collapsed in pools of their own sick. What had she done in the few moments before he’d followed her inside, used poison? He wondered what was in her bag of tricks.
As the other Keepers were loading the children into the wagons, Kyara stood off to the side, peering at the faces of the young ones.
“We’re going to question the nabbers,” he said to her quietly. “Perhaps we can find out who may have taken your sister and where she is.”
Her eyes were hollow when she looked at him, world-weary and bleak. She nodded slowly, then focused over his shoulder. He felt Aggar’s approach and saw the warrior mask reassert itself on Kyara’s face. Something in him wanted to reach out to her, to help console her. If he’d ever had a sibling, he would have done anything to keep them safe. Ironically enough, it was Aggar’s parents who had made him begin to understand what a real family could be like, but that had all been stolen from him long ago. Like so much else.
Aggar’s gaze was sharp when it landed on Kyara. “What did you use on the men to make them sick?”
She turned to face him fully, her stance proud and tall. “Special mixture of palmsalt extract and grimflour. When sprinkled on the skin or blown into the face it’s not deadly, but it’s enough to make a grown man wish he were dead—at least for a little while.” She smiled secretively, and Aggar leaned back a bit.
“Do you have any more?”
“Why? Is something you ate not agreeing with you?”
Aggar spun on his heel and motioned for Darvyn to follow him. They walked a little ways into the bush to speak privately.
“I don’t trust her. Are you sure she’s telling the truth?”
Darvyn looked back to where Kyara stood with the others. Her eyes sparkled in the light from the fire that had been built just outside the warehouse. With full dark upon them, the chill of the night seeped into his pores.
“She’s well shielded, so I cannot read her.”
Aggar’s nostrils flared. “Why did you not tell me before that she had her Song?” He whipped around to regard her again. “I think she’s seen too much.”
“And what do you propose we do? Interrogate her as we would a nabber?”
“She could be anyone.”
“Like who? Aside from the Wailers, the Cantor is the only Earthsinger allowed to work for the True Father. I think it’s safe to say she’s not the Cantor, and considering she has all her mental faculties intact, she’s not a Wailer, either.” Darvyn shivered at the memory of the last time he’d gotten close to a Wailer. Those fully initiated into the regiment of Singers were little more than human puppets. They shuffled along mindlessly, stares vacant, every action controlled entirely by the immortal king. “The very fact that she has her Song gives us more reason to trust her.”
“She’s not one of us. Nor does it seem likely she’s looking to join.” Aggar spat.
“It’s true she doesn’t think much of us. But she’s effective and capable. Not a drop of blood was shed. Wasn’t that what you were afraid of?”
Aggar looked away, his brow pulling even farther down as his perpetual frown deepened.
“She’s a courier by trade. Partnering with her means we can travel the highway and make better time than rumbling through the bush,” Darvyn said. “She can get us through the checkpoints with less suspicion.”
Aggar considered this. Without the proper licensing for transportation and travel, driving large wagons down the Great Highway would be quite an expensive proposition. They’d have to bribe each checkpoint guard to let them pass uninspected. They could use the nabbers’ papers, which were obviously forged, but that would require even bigger bribes. The Keepers’ funds were low due to many resources being diverted to supply those traveling across the mountain, but going off-road would be difficult and uncomfortable for the already traumatized children. A courier’s license would make everything easier.
Darvyn saw the moment Aggar relented and agreed to keep Kyara with them. “Watch her closely. Don’t let her out of your sight. And let me know the moment you feel something isn’t right.”
He nodded as Aggar walked away. Darvyn couldn’t seem to stop watching Kyara, and letting her out of his sight was something he had no intention of doing.