CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Scorpion was caught between two worlds
One so well-known and one beyond her grasp
For while the dark held power uneclipsed
’Twas in the light’s rays that she longed to bask
The struggle was enough to rend the soul
To tear the flesh from skeleton and bone
—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING
Days at the factory passed slowly in a haze of noise, the bitter taint of gunpowder, mind-numbing boredom, and aching muscles.
Kyssa served as overseer of the entire factory, though they saw Ora pretty frequently since she kept an office in the corner of the building. The factory manager liked things to run a certain way. She liked well-kept girls in clean tunics who didn’t talk back, did their work, met their quotas, and didn’t cause trouble—or so Kyssa was constantly reminding them.
Zeli had no problem following the rules. She was being fed and housed and wasn’t beaten. The work was easy, but tedious. Still, she had an inkling of other fates that could have befallen them, and while she missed her life in the Lake Cities, she was resigned to this new one.
For now.
But Ora wanted something more than for her factory to merely be a success. Her ambitions were clear in the way the woman dressed and in how she spoke. She had her eyes set firmly on advancement. Zeli reasoned that while Ora was technically a payroller, she was a low-ranking one, looked down upon by those who didn’t have to sully themselves overseeing manual labor.
That was underscored this particular morning by the fact that the manager had called all the new workers in for a meeting. They’d been awakened early by Nedra and ordered to braid their hair afresh and appear as neatly put together as possible. Kyssa had fussed over them, ensuring their tunics had no stains or rips before leading them into a part of the factory none had yet seen.
They were led to a small corner office with glass-filled windows on one wall looking out onto an enclosed desert garden. Carefully arranged stone and rock sculptures surrounded beds of bobcat acacia, dune sunflowers, and sand heliotropes.
Ora sat behind a great wooden desk, hands clasped before her. She wore a pair of spectacles and peered over the rim at the girls lined up before her. Zeli straightened her spine under the woman’s perusal. The office was quite a bit cooler than the rest of the building due to the large fans overhead, running off the line shaft belt. The walls must be thick for the noise wasn’t so overwhelming in here. An eerie silence washed over the room as Ora took stock of her newest workers.
“The True Father has called for a Mercy Day to commence today at the noon hour,” Ora announced.
Zeli stiffened. One of the other girls sucked in a breath. Ora continued as if there had been no reaction. “The factory will stop its operations, and you all will participate in the festivities as is required.” She pursed her lips and tapped them thoughtfully.
“I have been unable to make a personal contribution to a Mercy Day in several months. And this displeases me. Since you all are new, I wanted to impress upon you the importance of remaining vigilant. My employees are good, loyal citizens who participate and do their parts. As you go along your way today, keep your eyes open for anyone not fully enjoying the True Father’s hospitality and generosity. I want names, descriptions—if you see someone, follow them and try to gather their address. Hopefully, the next time our king sees fit to benefit us with a holiday of this magnitude, I will be among those honored for their contributions to the peace.”
Zeli hoped she had controlled her facial expression and not revealed the sickening sensation that had invaded her stomach. Tana stood beside her, rigid as a board.
Ora’s small features broke into a shallow smile that gave a sinister gleam to her pretty face. “Girls who provide useful information will be rewarded handsomely. I’m sure Kyssa and the others have told you how grateful I can be.”
While the other girls wisely held their peace regardless of how they felt about this new directive, Tana was vibrating with unchecked anger. Zeli turned to her, too late to stop it from boiling over.
“So, Ora-mideni,” Tana said, a note of derision in her voice, “during this glorious day where the True Father executes those deemed disloyal, you want us to spy on the citizens of the town, looking for anyone who may be fit to receive the same fate the next time His Majesty deigns to grace us with a celebration?” Her voice took on an unusually sweet quality, but her face was cast from iron.
Ora blinked rapidly, her gaze appearing to calculate whether so small a girl could truly be quite so impertinent. After a pregnant moment in which Zeli thought her body would snap in two from the tension, Ora simply nodded and said, “Exactly. You may return to your workstations now.”
The girls filed out and back to the factory floor. Kyssa remained behind, speaking in hushed tones to Ora.
Zeli nudged Tana as they went back to their table. “You shouldn’t provoke her.”
Tana shrugged. “It’s all stupid. I’m not spying for her or anyone else.”
Zeli was uncomfortable spying as well, but she wasn’t going to cross the mistress in public. It wasn’t wise.
The first hour of their shortened shift passed uneventfully, but then a disturbance near the main door caused the girls to look up.
A shudder wracked Zeli’s body when she saw the vile payroller from the auction entering the factory with two burly guards flanking. “What is Mengu-mideni doing here?” she asked aloud.
Nedra, at the end of the table, looked up, her jaw tensing. Mengu crossed the aisles and entered the short hallway leading to Ora’s office.
“Is he a frequent visitor?” Zeli asked.
Nedra stared at the door for a beat then dropped her gaze back to her work. “No. He’s not. But he and Ora-mideni have a long rivalry.” She continued at her machine, finishing off the filled bullets by affixing the rounded tips to them.
“It’s best to stay away from him,” she said after a minute. She looked up at Zeli and held her gaze, face blank. “If you encounter him in town, turn and go the other way.”
Zeli swallowed. Nedra was not an emotional person, not in the few days of their acquaintance and not now, but something in her carefully disaffected demeanor gave the warning more intensity. Even without the alert, Zeli had no intention of going anywhere near the man. But somehow, a few minutes later when Kyssa approached their table, a resigned look on the woman’s face, she realized she might not have much of a choice.
Kyssa stopped and everyone at the workstation held their breaths. “Tana-deni. Come with me.”
Zeli’s gaze shot to the younger girl, who tilted her chin up, eyes defiant. But she complied, following the tall woman back toward the manager’s office.
Tana didn’t look back, but across the room, Ulani stared at her sister with fear in her gaze.
Zeli’s hands shook with apprehension. Whatever was going on in that office, she needed to know about it. She unhooked the belt of her machine from its wheel, disconnecting it from the line shaft’s ceaseless motion.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Nedra asked.
“I need the privy,” Zeli answered, not looking away. She thought Nedra might challenge her, but with another look toward the office, the young woman simply nodded.
Zeli wiped off her hands and sprinted away. There were a number of exterior doors leading to the row of privies set up in the back of the factory. Zeli chose the most roundabout route that would take her closest to Ora’s office. There, she hovered in the corner, near the entrance to the short hallway. She peeked around the edge long enough to see Kyssa and Tana standing outside the office door, their backs to her. Tana’s arms were crossed, her posture rigid.
“Mengu-mideni has expressed interested in acquiring additional servants for his estate. If Ora-mideni wanted, she could send you to him today, after your little display earlier.” Kyssa’s voice was contemptuous. “If you want to stay here, you have to play by the rules. Here is a lot better than many other places, you know.”
“You sound like Zeli-deni,” Tana grumbled.
“Well, Zeli-deni is correct. She has the right kind of attitude and can go far if she applies herself. You know Ora-mideni rose from almost nothing to the position she occupies today?”
“She rose by informing on her neighbors.” Tana sounded venomous. “She’s responsible for them being carted away to the camps or the mines or killed for things they may not have done. That’s how she’s gotten ahead.”
Zeli heard a slapping sound and peered around to find Kyssa’s hand raised and Tana holding her cheek.
“You will not speak ill of your mistress. You don’t know anything about life here. Don’t think I can’t tell that you grew up with means. With your high and mighty attitude and self-righteousness. What right have you to judge anyone else? What did your parents do to survive, Tana-deni?”
Tana’s little shoulders slumped. “Doesn’t mean I have to do it, too.”
“If you want to stay here, you do. If you don’t have any credible information after today’s Mercy Day then Ora-mideni will send you to Mengu-mideni’s estate. She doesn’t need troublemakers. Now get back to work.”
Zeli ducked her head back around the corner as Kyssa suddenly spun away. When the woman drew nearer, Zeli slipped outside to avoid being spotted eavesdropping.
She returned to her station to find Tana focused intently on her funnel and powder. The girl didn’t look up or acknowledge either Zeli or the threat that had just been leveled against her in any way.
It was really none of Zeli’s business. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself. She’d already helped Tana and Ulani as much as she could by saving them from Mengu once. Tana’s fate would be her own if she was foolish enough to provoke their mistress. If the girl didn’t have a sense of self-preservation, then what was the use of Zeli getting involved?
She rubbed her remaining bracelet, wishing for a little luck right now. Because while it could easily be Tana sold to another place today, who’s to say it couldn’t be Ulani next, or Zeli herself? Life at the factory might not be as safe as she’d thought.
Pain was a hot needle lancing Darvyn’s spine. His muscles shrieked when he attempted to move, but he forced himself up to a seated position. He reached for Earthsong, his Song seeking comfort in the familiar pathways of power, but an echoing emptiness met him.
Again he attempted to connect to the endless ocean of energy, but it was no use. Some unknown force blocked him, cutting him off from the magic as certainly as the darkness had stolen his sight.
Blackness, complete and oppressive, surrounded him. No spark or glimmer of light penetrated. Fear clawed through him.
“Kyara!” he shouted.
His voice echoed off the cavern walls. He slid a hand across the smooth ground, made of no material he could comprehend.
“Kyara!” The reverberation exacerbated his aloneness.
No response.
If she was injured somewhere, he would never know. Once again, he was helpless to save her. Without his Song, he could not even ask the Queen for guidance.
It stood to reason that the long fall would leave them near each other. Palms outstretched, he felt around methodically, trying to cover the nearby area. His voice went hoarse from calling her name over and over; his hands were rubbed raw from skimming the cavern’s walls and floor.
Hours passed, and the hope of finding Kyara alive was dwindling. But if he had survived the fall without his Song, surely she would have. He did not want to give up, but hunger and exhaustion overwhelmed him, and the darkness battered his optimism. He had to find her, no matter what.
He continued moving, unwilling to stay still. As long as his body held up, he would keep going. Despair would not be allowed to overtake him.
More time flowed with no change. Not to the blackness, or the cold, or the fear in his heart that he would die in these caves without anyone ever knowing. He sidestepped a rock formation jutting up in front of him, then stopped short, staring at it.
He could see.
A faint light ahead lit the tunnel with a dull glow. He let out a whoop and jumped with a sudden burst of energy. Speeding to a run, he headed straight for the light.
The air grew fresher as he sprinted.
This tunnel must lead outside.
Ignoring the lingering aches in his limbs, he kept running until he saw daylight.
Outside, the sun shone merrily. The bitterness in the air close to the gorge smelled sweet after the damp stink of the cave. Blue sky met his grateful eyes. He’d thought he might never see it again. Then he looked down.
The entrance to the tunnel in which he stood was cut into the sheer face of a cliff. One hundred paces below, Death River flowed, its poisonous waters gently moving. This part of Serpent’s Gorge was narrow, with the cliffs dropping directly into the water with no shore or riverbank to speak of.
He studied the rock face. On the other side of the gorge, the surface was a bit craggier, with possible handholds and footholds, but on his side, the canyon had been eroded to an even surface. There was no way to climb it.
With Earthsong he could have sang a spell to catch the wind in his tunic, or gouge the rock to make it climbable, even cut stairs into its sheer face, but some force still rendered him Songless.
The weight of the realization forced him to the ground. He sat, hanging his legs over the side of the tunnel’s entrance, looking at freedom but not being able to grasp it.
After the endless fall, and a surprisingly soft landing, Kyara was enveloped in a womb of blackness, the heat from above replaced by the cool damp. The whispers that had awoken her this morning were louder here. The words were still unintelligible, but the emotion behind them was clear. She’d followed the voices to the crystal city, lulled into compliance by their gentle drone. Now they took on a tone of expectation. Something was waiting for her here underground.
Her hands floated against a cool, smooth surface, the darkness surrounded her, and the whispers continued. The throaty, guttural sounds made her think of the language of blood magic that Ydaris used for her spells. Kyara strained to understand, certain she was on the cusp of comprehension, but it never came.
Instead, she felt around, trying to learn about her surroundings. While the air was dense and earthy, exactly what she’d expect from a cave, her fingers slid not over dirt but strange smooth stone. She crawled forward on her hands and knees, only to knock her head against a wall.
Hissing in pain, she pulled back. Crawling the opposite way only led her to collide, more slowly, into another wall. She sat back, rubbing her forehead, as the whispered voices became more agitated. Was this what going mad felt like?
She made a quarter turn to the left and rose on wobbly legs, keeping her hands in front of her, searching for obstacles. Her forward motion was slow. She shuffled along, reaching out to forestall any more meetings with the walls. Her shin slammed against something jutting from the ground. She let out a curse and sat down heavily, rubbing her aching leg. This was ridiculous. Where was she going and how would she ever get out of here?
The voices became encouraging, murmuring cheerful, bright nonsense.
“I can’t understand you!” she screamed. “Either help me or be quiet!” She dropped her head into her hands and fought the frustration and fear. She could very well die down here, wherever “here” was.
The whispers quieted, leaving her alone in the darkness. She didn’t like that, either. It reminded her too much of her time locked in the cage in the dark, damp depths of the glass castle’s dungeon. She’d been confined there for months during her training, as Ydaris forced her to gain control of her Song.
That was it …
Kyara reached for her inner vision, and the surroundings flickered to life around her. Even underground there was life and death, decay, transformation, and renewal.
Insects and tiny creatures and organisms all lived and died here. The weak glow emanating from whatever inhabited the walls around her was enough to help get a handle on her surroundings.
She’d never tried to navigate using Nethersong. Even stretching out her senses, she had a difficult time visually understanding the three dimensions so she focused only on what was directly around her. The faint gleam formed a path illuminating the rock walls and floor, lined as it was with organic life and death.
She moved forward, running her hand against the wall to keep her balance. The tunnel she was in twisted and turned and led to dozens of offshoots that created a labyrinth. Four pathways opened in front of her.
“Any ideas?” she whispered, hoping the voices hadn’t abandoned her completely. As if waiting for her permission, they started up again, quieter this time, though she still couldn’t understand them.
She stood in front of the first path. The tone of the whispers seemed negative, their timbre low and disapproving. She tried the next one with the same result. However, the third passageway met with an approving mumble. Kyara followed their guidance. They seemed to want something from her, which meant they would probably keep her alive. She hoped.
She continued navigating the paths this way for hours. A day, perhaps two, could have passed. Time was an impossibility. Whenever she came to an offshoot or fork, she tested the possible directions for which one made the whispers happiest.
Darvyn was never far from her mind. A desperate longing swept over her, causing her to pause. She’d wanted—no, needed—to push him away to save him, but doing so tore at her.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat and pushed forward, conscious of a glow visible to her physical eyes, not just her Nethersong sight. The caverns around her sparkled in the low light, and the outline of her arms in front of her became apparent.
As she continued down the tunnel, the light grew brighter. At the path’s end, she emerged into a large open cavern—more than large, enormous. So gigantic it could have held the entire glass castle. The sides were pockmarked with darkened cave entrances, and catwalks of stone crisscrossed the open middle above and below her. She surveyed the space in awe. The sight was just as magnificent as the crystal city, and just as mysterious.
Soft light originated from below. She reached for her Song, and amid the vast field of black, five columns of light shone brighter than any she’d ever seen. Even freshly dead bodies did not display so much Nethersong.
Curiosity and dread warred with her as she tried to figure a way down to where these creatures were. Directly ahead of her, a narrow strip of the strange smooth stone crossed the gigantic cavern. One hundred paces out, a staircase descended, connecting multiple levels of footbridges. She judged herself to be at least four hundred paces from the bottom, the walkway only as wide as about four of her feet. Without railings on either side, navigating this tiny bridge would be harrowing.
She took a deep breath and stepped forward. The whispers voiced their approval, but it was of little comfort. Certainly they wanted her for something, but it could be to eat for their supper. She had no idea what she was dealing with. Still, she kept moving and reached the long staircase, allowing herself a moment of rest before climbing down.
Her legs burned by the time she made it all the way to the bottom. The light grew brighter on the way down, illuminating the cavern’s interior, its stone glassy with the sparkle of minerals within.
A series of small chambers was honeycombed into the bottom level. She followed the light and heard the crackle of fire as she approached. Finally, she stood at the entrance to a small cave with a roaring fire pit. Seated around the flames were five figures.
At first she thought they were animals of some kind. Giant colorless slugs or worms. Their skin had been leached of all hue, leaving a translucent membrane protecting their muscles and organs, all of which could be seen beneath. Green-and-blue veins pulsed, and Kyara shuddered to watch their movement. Fear and revulsion locked her knees, but she forced herself forward, curiosity conquering her disgust.
The whispers were thankful, joyous, and relief tinged their foreign words. These creatures were their source, but what were they?
She was fewer than a dozen paces away when one of them stirred, unfolding itself to reveal a bald skull with two colorless eyes peering at her from an ancient face. The see-through skin sagged in bunches, but the eyes were clear. The other four figures sat up, revealing that they were indeed human, or something similar. Each appeared as old or older than the cave itself.
Kyara’s hands shook as she met the stare of the first man. Ancient, unfathomable eyes looked up at her, forcing her gaze away. None of these men wore any clothes, and two of them were actually women. Their bodies were jellylike, jiggling with every movement.
She clenched her jaw and willed bravery. Her Song had not reacted to any threat; in fact, she hadn’t felt as though she was in peril at any point during this entire bizarre experience, even when she’d been certain she was going to die.
The first man who’d stirred motioned for her to sit. There was an empty place in the circle directly across from him. She swallowed and sat, still in awe at these beings.
The man spoke, his voice low and whispery as a brush on canvas. Kyara shook her head; she still could not understand the language of the whispers. He nodded, as if he knew as much and opened his fist to reveal a dark shard of glass. The sparkles embedded within marked it as a piece of the cave.
He passed the fragment to the woman on his left, who passed it to the man beside Kyara, who held it out to her. She reached for it tentatively, gasping when it hit her skin and her surroundings swirled and changed.
A man dressed in orange stands in front of the red obelisk. He turns his face and a quiver of recognition goes through Kyara. It is Raal.
She tries to shrink back, but her body is not there. She’s merely watching, and this soothes her fear. Two men pull weeds from around the base of the obelisk and toss them into a pile. Each is bald with strange markings tattooed onto his head. When they clear away the last plant, they step aside, keeping their heads lowered.
Raal glides toward the spire gingerly. He runs his hand up and down the red stone, eyes ablaze with some strong emotion Kyara can’t read.
A sick feeling enters her stomach, but she wants to know more.
“Hearing cone,” he says, holding out his hand. She shivers at the physician’s familiar voice. She’s never forgotten it, not after all these years. One of the servants jumps, rummaging around in the large pack at his feet until he retrieves a small ear trumpet.
Raal puts the cone to his ear and says a string of words in the language of blood magic. He says them quickly in a strange accent, and Kyara doesn’t catch what they are. Then he is talking to an unseen person and answering as if he or she were there.
“I have found it. It is much larger than we thought and immobile. I will do another test, but this cannot be the death stone. It is just another shrine.”
He is quiet for a time, listening. The ear trumpet must be spelled in some way, though she has never seen a blood spell that didn’t coat the object in the casing of magic-hardened blood.
“Question the prisoners again. I have no time to chase smoke. If the father won’t break, we will have to use his sons against him. They have given us nothing but lies so far. We must find the death stone quickly, and I am certain it is not here.”
He pulls the cone from his ear and flings it to the ground. One of the servants rushes to pick it up and replace it in the bag.
Raal stalks away.
The vision faded, and Kyara opened her eyes to find five pairs of colorless ones peering back at her. The vision had leeched all the warmth from her body. She wrapped her arms around her knees and realized she no longer held the shard of rock. Wherever it had gone, she was glad to be rid of it.
“That vision was real. It happened not long ago. The physician was here, looking for something called a death stone?” Kyara asked.
The ancient man’s eyes lowered. He opened his palm again to reveal a rough, red stone.
“A caldera?”
“Caldera,” the man repeated and nodded.
Kyara could have sworn his palm was empty the moment before. She wondered what type of magic this was.
Once again, he passed the stone around the circle. This time, Kyara hesitated before touching it. It burned against her fingers as it flung her into another vision, much different from the first.
The entire Cavefolk assembly is gathered on the floor of the Great Cave. I feel so small, so worthless, and yet I have been given an enormous opportunity. Our shaman, Oval, sits next to me, still and solemn. When it is my time, I rise to face them. The cave grows silent with their anticipation.
My throat threatens to close, but I push forward, seeing all of them and none of them at the same time. My voice comes out, echoing across the cavern walls.
“A thousand years ago my ancestor came to this assembly and warned of the two sorcerers who would come from the sky. Many did not believe, not until the day the clouds brought forth the man and woman who transformed the Outside.”
They are all looking at me, hanging on my words.
“We have lost so many to the Outside, to their curiosity about the sorcerers and their lack of respect for the old ways. We will lose more. We have protected the Folk. We have barred the Outsiders’ sorcery from our caves, but more is needed. My bloodline has borne the prophecies since the beginning of time, and I have been gifted with a divination.”
Shocked whispers overtake the people. Oval stands to silence them. He does not have to say a word for in moments, silence reigns again.
“Let Murmur finish,” Oval says. “We must hear his words.”
I clear my throat. “I have seen a future without the Folk. I have seen the three worlds at war. The living, the dead, and those in-between will battle. I cannot see the end of it, but our world as we know it will not survive.”
Oval stands tall as the people begin to shout.
“The blood will protect us! The blood always has!”
“The Mother will shield us!”
Oval quiets the people again by simply raising both his hands. “The vision is many generations away. But the Folk must know. The blood will tell.”
“The blood will tell,” everyone intones in unison. I stumble back, glad of the weight lifted from my shoulders.
The vision changed abruptly, disorienting Kyara and throwing her out of the mind she’d been inhabiting. Murmur—that was the name of the man across from her. She had been him in the vision, young and scared. Not colorless and inhuman-looking like he was now. Just pale-skinned, with light-colored eyes that had rarely seen the world beyond the caves. Eyes terrified of the things he’d witnessed in his prophecy.
The vision settled and her own consciousness once again merged with Murmur’s memories from centuries later.
The sorcerer hands the infant to me. The little girl is bundled in blankets, but fast asleep.
“Her name is Mooriah. Swear to me that she will be safe.” His voice is a command, the way these Outsiders always treat those of us they call Silent, the ones born without their sorcery. As if their magic was the only in existence.
The descendants of the Folk who left the safety of the Mountain Mother to live Outside have paid a steep price. They obtained their sunlight and their rain, but now they are embroiled in a war with the sorcerers, these Earthsingers who manipulate nature as if it were clay to be molded.
But the baby before me is not an Earthsinger. She is something else.
“You are brave not to kill your daughter,” I tell him. “Her Nethersong will not harm the Folk.”
The sorcerer nods and looks upon the babe longingly. “I wish your mother could have seen you,” he whispers and strokes the babe’s cheek. Then he turns to me.
“If I do not return, raise her as your own and tell her of her legacy.”
I nod before he turns and leaves the cave, to climb back down the mountain and into his world of green.
I take the babe into the darkness. The prophecy I saw as a child is still a long way off, but when that war begins, we will need soldiers to fight. Not just ones who manipulate life, but those who can alter death, as well.
“Mooriah,” I say, and she stirs in my arms as if she already knows her name. She and those like her are our only hope to survive the war that will come.
Kyara let the stone drop from her hand before another vision could start. She shivered in the cool air of the cavern. The visions were from long ago, hundreds of years judging by the clothing the Earthsinger had worn. Mooriah must be long dead, unless she was somehow like these ancient creatures. But her skin was the same shade as Kyara’s own—not ashen like the other Cavefolk. Did they live forever? But they were full of so much Nethersong.
“The baby … She was like me?” Kyara asked.
Murmur nodded.
“But she’s gone now?”
Again, he nodded. And with her, Kyara’s brief flare of hope for learning more about her Song. The control Ydaris had tortured into her was still tenuous. A teacher could have been the miracle Kyara always sought, but that would forever be a dream.
“Why am I here?”
“You are here because you are needed.” Murmur’s words now made sense. She had understood the strange, ancient language in the vision, seeing from Murmur’s perspective, and that knowledge must have carried over in reality.
“I am needed for what?”
“For what is nearly upon us. The war I prophesied over five hundred years ago is beginning. We five are all that is left of the Folk. And you are here because if the living world is to survive, you will need to fight for it.”