CHAPTER ELEVEN

Abandoned out of love and out of fear

The Scorpion had not yet learned her sting

Her father, full of duty and remorse

Sought vengeance over every other thing

And so he left his only child behind

Tied to a world with blood and stone to bind

—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING

Zeli’s mother had always told her that a tarnished mirror was still beautiful underneath, you just had to work a little harder to see it. It was her way of making sure Zeli didn’t fall victim to gray moods and kept to the shiny side of life.

She’d always taken those words to heart, but even she was having a difficult time finding the shiny side to the public coach. She sat in the middle bench, facing backward, squeezed between Devana on one side and a portly cottager on the other, whose gender she couldn’t determine from the cut of their mud-brown tunic. The individual was already asleep, snoring softly. Across from them on the facing bench, two teens in fine tunics looked on, silent frowns on their faces. No doubt cursing their poor fortune to be stuck in tight quarters with such riffraff. Little did they know that the young man next to them in the tattered cloak was an Ephor. And the young woman hiding her face with an oversized, olive-green hood was the Magister’s daughter.

Kerym sat directly across from Devana. The accommodations were so narrow that their knees brushed up against one another’s. And every so often, the coach would go over a bump and Zeli’s right knee would tap Kerym’s left.

Oh. Shiny.

Then she remembered Yalisa’s words and focused on squelching the reaction that any sort of contact with him created. It helped that Devana was complaining. Well, she was usually complaining, but the cramped, jittery coach made it all worse.

“Why couldn’t I have taken one of Father’s carriages?” she lamented. “Or even his autocar.” While Laketown had its share of diesel contraptions, the Magister had one of the finest horseless carriages in the west. He used it very little as fuel was in short supply and merely possessing the thing was more impressive than riding in it.

“You don’t think he would have noticed if one of those had gone mysteriously missing?” Kerym asked, wryly.

Devana pouted. “Yes, of course he would. But still, facing his anger has to be better than this.” She stomped her foot lightly for emphasis and banged Kerym’s leg.

If Devana had ever learned to ride a horse, she could have easily bribed a stable boy for one. It’s not like her father counted his horses with any regularity. And if that was truly a concern, they could have hired horses and ridden to Eleven. But that would be far less safe. No, sadly, though it was the least comfortable way to go, the coach was best. The trip would be just over twenty-four hours including horse changes. Still, as the wheels hit a particularly deep rut in the road causing everyone to jump, Zeli wished she were somewhere else.

Until Kerym’s leg hit hers again.

They had just cleared the gate in the wall that surrounded and protected Laketown. Zeli peered around the snoring passenger and out the window at the land beyond.

The city itself was large and teeming with people, but outside its walls another world existed. This one, called the Snarl, was a community of tents, tarps, lean-tos, and hastily constructed shacks haphazardly erected. Once green fields stretching from the wall to the mountain were now just dirt, with muddy paths of no discernible organization separating one structure from another.

Zeli had grown up in the Lake Cities so it had been a shock when, at seven, she’d been sent on her first trip through the Midcountry and had seen what the rest of Lagrimar was like. Whether Upper or Lower Faalagol was the finest city in the west remained a subject for debate—what couldn’t be argued was that both were virtual paradises in comparison to the rest of the land.

Everything to the east was a barren expanse of yellow-brown dirt, coarse shrubbery, rocky outcroppings, desolation, and despair. As a girl she’d traveled in the belly of a wagon and had only seen the surroundings during brief stops for food and to change horses. The difference had overwhelmed her then—she’d been both enthralled and horrified by the vast and endless desert. No lake glittering with clear, blue water. No trees blossoming as the blue-violet days brought life back to them. No soft, mossy grass underfoot. No colorful birds singing merrily. No vines of plump grapes scaling trellises.

No food at all. Very little water. Ration tokens for meager meals that rarely filled any belly. Gaunt, desperate faces with hollowed-out cheeks and eyes. Those faces looked up now at the carriage as it passed.

These people had made the trek from wherever it was they’d come from to the Lake Cities for a chance at entering the hallowed gates. Access to both cities was tightly controlled. It made sense, Zeli thought, since the entire country couldn’t very well live here.

The Magister made it clear that only those with particular and necessary skills could enter Lower Faalagol, those who were needed. However, every so often, whether due to death, arrest, or some other misfortune, space would come available for additional residents. A lottery was held and a handful of people from outside were admitted entry.

Everyone else was left beyond the gates to get on as they saw fit. A community had sprung up over the years. She heard tales of the Snarl from other servants. Crime was well managed inside the city, but the Snarl was lawless, having no Ephor managing it and falling outside of the purview of the Magister.

Though every so often, when things got truly out of hand—when crime affected one of the favored or if disease swept through the shantytown—soldiers would be sent to raze the place, tear down structures, burn the semipermanent buildings, kill indiscriminately, and force everyone away.

Afterward, a handful of the army’s Earthsingers would be dispatched to replant the grass, leaving the field beautiful and serene for a time. Then within a few months, a few stragglers would return, set up shop, and the whole thing would start all over again.

Not that Zeli knew much about the Snarl personally. She’d rarely had cause to venture outside of the wall. The Magister didn’t like for Devana to travel; on her actual visits to Watertown, they used the lake’s ferry instead of going the long way around.

It was just as well, for the sight beyond the coach’s windows was miserable and depressing. Soon enough, the rabble surrounding the roadway faded into just a few sparse tents here and there and then nothing but the bush. Zeli sat back, looking straight ahead at the scowling face of the well-dressed girl across from her.

The public coach now rumbled along the Great Highway—the length of intermittently paved road which stretched the width of Lagrimar. Their first stop would be Checkpoint Fifteen, the next town after Laketown. There the coach would water the horses and let the passengers stretch their legs for a brief few minutes before continuing on.

Zeli let the vibrations of the wheels lull her into an almost trancelike state. Unlike the person beside her, she found sleep difficult. She turned her attention to the placard affixed to the interior next to the window.

The printed card bore pictographs spelling out the rules of travel since, with no formal system of schooling for the masses, much of the population was illiterate. The first rule was about drinking. The picture showed a bottle of spirits crossed out, and next to it two figures sharing it. If you bring alcohol, best be prepared to share.

The next was an X over a cigarette. No smoking.

Another image advised against using other passengers as pillows. And the last one portrayed a figure diving from the carriage as the horses run away and then being broken on jagged rocks.

Zeli turned away feeling sick to her stomach.

The journey was quiet, and soon enough they pulled up to the gate blocking the road at Checkpoint Fifteen. The driver slowed and paid the toll, then they crossed the gate and stopped at the way station.

All the passengers hopped out for a stretch and it was clear that several more people were waiting for the coach. Zeli found the outhouse and relieved herself. When she returned, Devana was locked in an argument with the driver.

“I’m sorry, miss, but when the coach is full, servants must ride atop.”

Zeli looked carefully at the new passengers. Payrollers judging by the bright colors of their tunics and the fancy embroidering. They stood, turning their noses up at Devana’s rough clothing meant to conceal her identity.

The girl was fuming. Normally, one word of who her father was smoothed out any opposition, but if she started throwing his name around then he would find out where she was and what she was doing.

Devana gave the driver her most imperious glare. “I’ve paid the full fare for all those in my party. I don’t see why any of my people have to move when—”

“It’s all right,” Zeli said quickly. No need to make a scene. “I’ll sit up top.”

“On the roof of this horrid deathtrap?” Devana shouted, pointing. The roof already held several travelers, obviously poor and world-weary. “Up there stricken by the elements like a common knob?”

Zeli held back a smile at Devana’s affront. It was kindly meant, at least for her.

“I can go up,” Kerym said amiably. “I don’t mind.”

The horror Zeli felt was mimicked on Devana’s face.

“You will do no such thing. You are—” She cut herself off and pursed her lips. Then turned to the driver. “I will have you written up for this. You’ll be sorry you crossed me.”

The driver didn’t look cowed at all. But Zeli had no doubt that once the adventure was over and Devana was back home and had access to her vast resources, this man would be out of a job.

“I’m sorry, Zeli-deni. It’s barbaric.” Devana shook her head.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” Though she was not enthused about what awaited her.

She approached the coach, not quite sure how those people had gotten all the way up to the roof area, which didn’t have seats at all. Just a flat surface and an assortment of bags. It seemed you had to find a place among them.

A few metal rungs had been bolted to the corner of the carriage. As she was determining how best to reach them, warm hands engulfed her waist. Kerym’s scent filled her nostrils as he gave her a boost so she could reach the makeshift ladder.

She sputtered out a thanks and clambered ungracefully onto the roof. There she settled on the hard surface, wedging herself between what looked like two mail bags. Once she’d gotten situated, she looked up. Three men, two women, and one little girl shared the roof with her. She nodded at them and then the coach was on its way again.

The adults turned back to their conversation.

“I’ve heard they’re taking folk over the mountains,” the white-haired man said.

“I don’t believe it,” replied a younger man, whose sparse beard barely covered acne scars. “You can’t believe every fool rumor that comes your way.”

“No, I’ve heard it from three different people, all hailing from different towns,” a bony woman said through the gaps of several missing teeth. “Keepers will take those willing to risk it. There are cracks in the Mantle they say.”

Zeli shivered as a warm gust of wind whipped through her.

“Pshaw.” The younger man waved his hand. “How can magic have cracks? Besides, it’s only been a handful of years since the last war. Not time for another yet.”

“You’ve seen the factories ramping up, haven’t you? Soldiers passing through, headed west. War is coming. And if there’s a way to get out before then, best take it,” the white-haired man said. “The Keepers are the best chance we’ve got.”

Zeli tried to tune them out. Talk of the Keepers of the Promise always made her uneasy. There was no greater win for a favored than in exposing a Keeper. Forget being the mistress of a powerful man; revealing that one of your neighbors was a hated rebel? You could be set for life.

The chill running through her sank to her bones. A memory pushed its way forward—her mother, hair askew, only half-braided, shouting a warning. Zeli, run! Soldiers kicking down their flimsy door. Dragging Mama and Papa away, arms and legs bound.

She hadn’t been able to run, so she’d been taken as well.

Her parents had been dubbed traitors, outed as members of the Keepers of the Promise, and then executed. After agonizing weeks of uncertainty as to whether she’d share their fate, Zeli had been sold. Indentured to the Magister who’d wanted a girl of about his daughter’s age to keep her company and serve her.

She didn’t know exactly who had outed her parents. Who had reaped the benefits of the knowledge? What had they received? A better home? Bushels of food? Fine fabrics? Perhaps they were even payrollers now, elevated enough to receive a salaried position in the government.

She swallowed. The Keepers had never let a few deaths slow them down. If these folk on the coach were to be believed, they were now taking people through cracks in the Mantle? It was preposterous. And even if it wasn’t, what would anyone do in the land of the Elsiran pigs? A race who had committed so many atrocities in the Breach Wars.

No, Zeli would much rather stay here in Lagrimar. Life wasn’t so bad if you followed the rules. Even if the rules tended to shift and change often, you just had to keep up. The True Father made them that way for a reason. That’s what Devana and the Magister said at least, and Zeli had no reason to disbelieve them. Her parents had been misguided, and look where it got them. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

The coach rolled on and the adults pulled out their rations and began chewing. Strips of tough jerky served as their protein accompanied by dried fruit and nuts.

Zeli fished out her meal as well, pocket bread filled with beans and pieces of real chicken. A bit soggy, but of better quality than rations. As the others ate, the little girl simply hugged her knees to her chest and looked away.

She was scrawny and dirty. About the same age as Zeli had been when her parents were taken. How she’d even afforded a coach ticket was a mystery. Zeli knew what it was like to be scared and alone on a long journey. She split her sandwich into two, wrapping half in the thin paper and handing it to her.

The girl’s eyes widened and she took the food, gulping it down almost in one bite. Her eyes lost a fraction of their haunted expression and she gave a small smile that missed her mouth entirely.

Zeli nodded. She had once been young and hungry and far from home. And while she vowed to never be so again, she knew there were no guarantees.