CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The sands of time are not lost when they pass
Those tiny granules one day flow again
And seers know and prove to all who doubt
The power held inside one tiny grain
Whether your life’s water or wine, just wait
The glass will turn again by hands of fate
—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING
Zeli left the estate, walking out into the night, eager to be away from the confines of its walls. She’d once felt so safe there, welcomed as a child after enduring days of terror, but now everything from the dark presence of the trees in the courtyard, to the flickering shadows formed by the lanterns made her itch inside her skin.
Kerym’s visit replayed in her mind. His soft words of praise, his touch, his kiss. She wrapped her cloak around herself tighter to beat away the chill that accompanied the memory. She had not stopped shaking since climbing out of the bath.
When she’d started down the hill, it had been with a vague notion of going to Lake Faala. To sit along its placid shores and watch the moon reflected off the water. Perhaps listen to the owls calling to one another from their places nestled in the surrounding trees. But her two feet had minds of their own and soon she found herself at the outer wall of the city.
The guards were far more concerned with keeping people out than in. So no one stopped her, or even looked twice, as she walked out of the gate and into another world.
While the city slept, the community that had sprung up outside of it was alive. Globe lights with candles had been strung up along the main pathway and larger pit fires raged every few hundred paces. The night was chilly and the earth damp, but that did not slow anyone down.
Everywhere there were singers singing and dancers dancing; laughter peppered the darkness as did the rowdy cheers of the drunk and raucous. Zeli had thought the Magister’s political dinners were wild when some of the Ephors imbibed too heartily on wine and spirits, but she revised her opinion. She’d never seen anything inside the city even a fraction as unrestrained as this.
Life was lived out here in the margins of respectability, at least by the standards of the favored. She walked the makeshift streets in awe. Artists painted and crafted by firelight. A female blacksmith hammered on a square of dark metal. Jewelry makers hawked their wares and she even spotted someone selling handwoven bracelets, much like the ones she made.
There were far more women than men, and many more children than she’d realized. The younger ones scampered around in small gangs, while adolescents apprenticed at the food carts and pottery makers and cartwrights. These people were poor, but industrious, crafting something out of nothing in the most surprising ways.
As she walked along with no destination in mind, she passed several musicians, but a familiar voice drew her closer to one of them. A griot, the same woman who’d been at the Magister’s the other night, sat near a fire pit, capturing the attention of her rapt audience. She sat with her luda on her lap, strumming a fast, jaunty melody, her silvery voice, bell-clear and full-throated.
“Well the Shadowfox came into my town, to see what he could see,
He saw the dry grass, the fields burned to ash,
But he won’t see a hair of me, no, no,
He won’t see a hair of me.”
Listeners smiled, clapped, and nodded along, many mouthing along with the words. Griots would often change familiar songs to make them their own, though many of the lines were kept the same.
“The Shadowfox knelt down in the dirt, the soil was yellow-brown,
I watched him dip down, deep into the ground,
And pull the salt right into his hand, yes, yes,
He pulled the salt right into his hand.”
Zeli had heard this one. Usually, she turned away whenever it was sung, unwilling to be a part of such a subversive act as listening to a song about the Keepers. The old pain of her parents’ deaths had never left her, it simply made a home just below the surface and emerged at inopportune times.
“Magister came around the next day, he heard the echoed cries,
Now the people rejoiced, their joy had a voice
And they sang on into the night, oh, how,
They sang on into the night.”
This storyteller didn’t know the Shadowfox, had no idea what kind of man he was. Probably didn’t personally know any Keepers at all. But Zeli remembered the quiet boy her parents had sheltered for a few days. Two elders had come to the door late one night, a sharp-cheeked boy in tow. Zeli had been roused from her bed, had given it up to their visitor, and slept between her parents until the elders returned and spirited him away again.
Her parents hadn’t confirmed the boy’s identity, but whispers that the Shadowfox had planted a field just outside the Snarl arose after he’d left. She’d put two and two together, surprised at the time that someone so powerful could be so young. Just a teenager. A few months later, her home received another late-night visit.
This time, instead of soft-voice elders, it was Enforcers kicking in the door. Screaming, guns pointed, chains and ropes binding her. Her future never the same.
Her chest panged, the emptiness of the space where her Song should be was more pronounced tonight.
Did she blame the Keepers? The Shadowfox? Well, why shouldn’t she? Whether it was sheltering him that had brought her family down or some other treasonous act, it didn’t matter. Her parents had chosen their revolution, their stupid, stupid rebellion over her.
She looked up, startled to find tears streaming down her cheeks. The griot went on and on, with verse after verse of how the Shadowfox healed people, saved them from tribute, and was in turn rewarded by the love of the people. Many would seek to pay him back by setting out food and drink for him that would be gone in the morning, or leaving blankets and spare clothing in a barn or stable. The song made him sound like a mythical spirit, not a man at all. When the singer finished, the crowd applauded.
Zeli tried to imagine the heroic figure the others saw, but couldn’t. All she could see was the door smashed in and her mother screaming wildly.
“What about the ones who get caught?” Startled faces turned Zeli’s way and she realized she was the one who’d spoken.
The griot peered at her silently, head tilted to the side in question.
“Do you have any songs about the Keepers who are sent to the platform on Mercy Day? Ropes draped around their necks. The ones punished for their crimes. The families torn apart by the Keepers’ selfishness? Ripped out of their mothers’ arms in the middle of the night?”
Zeli backed away from the crowd, heart drumming wildly. “Sing about that, why don’t you? Sing something that means something.”
Many in the audience looked at her pitifully, others with anger. She’d broken an unspoken rule in their land, talked of the misery that everyone gathered here was desperately trying to forget. Broken her own rule, actually, pushed over the edge by emotions she couldn’t name or control. But the anger simmering beneath the surface had finally found a way to break free.
Two older men approached her, their expressions menacing. Shakily, she stepped back again, fear bleeding through the rage. She was all alone in a strange place with unfriendly people.
She stumbled, legs unsteady, vision blurry. From behind, arms reached for her—she flashed back to the revival, the hand around her ankle, her struggling in vain. Her limbs hardened to iron, ready to fight, ready to die if she had to rather than be captured again. She wished she had the strength to stop others from manhandling her—from handling her at all.
But strong hands turned her around. She tensed until she found herself staring up into the grim face of Fakera, the woman she’d met in the market.
“Come with me child,” Fakera said. She gathered Zeli close, gently this time, and sent a glare behind her, to the men who’d formed a barrier between them and the crowd.
Numb now and pliable, Zeli allowed Fakera to lead her all the way back to a covered wagon near the wall. No one followed. Inside, the space was warm and bright, with no source of heat or light visible. Woven tapestries hung on the walls and thick, worn cushions padded the floor.
A teakettle sat on a square of metal in the corner. Baskets and clay pots lined the floor.
“Drink this,” she said, holding out a steaming cup of tea. There was no stove or fire, and Zeli looked at it suspiciously.
“You think I’d poison you, uli? Drink it.”
She reluctantly accepted. The brew was sweet and felt good going down her throat. A soft tingle swept over her, and she felt her raw emotions soothe.
“No spells,” Zeli said, defensive. “I don’t want it.”
Fakera shrugged. “You worked yourself into a frenzy. You need to calm down.” But the tingling residue of magic stopped.
Zeli took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
The woman nodded, her heavy eyes looking even more weighed down than the first time they’d met. No one spoke for a long time. Not until Zeli finished her tea did she break the silence again. “You knew my parents?”
Fakera’s lips curved sadly. “We all did. Brave people. Highly respected. They accepted dangerous assignments because they believed that resistance is the only way to truly live.” She shook her head. “When they were gone, Gladda took on the job of keeping an eye on you. For their sake. Yarrink and Sefa saved my life. Saved many lives. More than once. You should know that.”
“Not my life,” Zeli breathed. “They left me behind. They chose the Keepers over me.”
Fakera swallowed, her expression tormented. “This path is one of sacrifice. Sometimes we give up more than we expect.”
The words did nothing to assuage Zeli’s pain. It was a cold, hard ball surrounding her heart.
“Gladda-deni brings you food. Why?”
The woman’s gaze sharpened. “The Magister’s food stores hold more than he needs. The excess is distributed. Some to those here, some to those going over the mountains.”
“Why would you tell me this? You don’t know me enough to trust.”
“Don’t I?” Fakera raised her hand and the kettle moved, under its own power, across the room to her side. She refilled her cup and raised her eyebrows at Zeli, who shook her head.
“How do you do that?”
“Air currents,” she said simply.
Zeli didn’t recall having been able to control air currents using her Song. Or heat tea. Perhaps she hadn’t been very strong. “Gladda didn’t trust me.” She crossed her arms.
“She didn’t tell you what you weren’t ready to hear.”
“And now I’m ready to hear it?”
“Why did you come out here tonight? It’s quite a long way from your estate.”
Zeli’s lips snapped shut. The thought of the estate eroded whatever calm she’d begun to feel here. “This world is a lie,” she muttered.
Fakera leaned forward, a strange glint in her eye. “Yes, yes, it is.” At Zeli’s surprise, she snorted. “Did you think I would disagree with you? All of this, everything the True Father has built here is a lie. A very old and very entrenched one. And once your eyes are opened”—she turned her hand palm up to reveal a glowing ball of light hovering over it—“it’s very hard to close them again.”
“I don’t know what to do now.”
“What do you want to do?”
She thought of Kerym’s offer, her dream. Without it, what did she have left? And even if she accepted, what was to keep her from being sent away to the work camps for some manufactured crime? She was lost without a shiny side to find under all the tarnish.
But there was still hope for the girls. “You’re helping lead people over the mountain? Through the cracks in the Mantle?”
Fakera nodded.
“What kind of people?”
“Anyone who wants to go.” She tilted her head. “Do you…?”
“No, not me,” she said emphatically. She still couldn’t fathom life in a foreign land. “But … there’s a girl. Two girls really. One still has her Song. Maybe…” She looked down.
“Our last group is headed over at dawn. If you get the children ready, Gladda will know how to find us. We’ve helped many to keep their Songs. And we’ve helped many without them.” She looked at Zeli significantly.
Zeli mulled over the idea of leaving Lagrimar and taking a chance on the unknown in Elsira. The hard little ball around her heart felt like a weight she’d never be able to shed.
Tana and Ulani slept in a tiny alcove just outside of Devana’s suite, out of the way of the business of the rest of the estate. Zeli crept up and shook Tana.
The girl sat up sharply, appearing instantly awake. “What’s wrong?” Her hands were curled into fists, gripping the pallet they slept on.
“Nothing, everything’s all right. But you two must come with me.”
“We’re leaving?” Ulani asked, groggily wiping her eyes.
“Yes. Kerym-mideni is planning to tell the Magister about your Song and…” Zeli shook her head in frustration. She couldn’t put into words exactly why it was so important for this one girl to keep her Song. Whether it was the old pain of losing hers or the terrifying journey to the capital, she wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t bear it if Ulani was stripped of her power.
“Grab your things and let’s go,” she said.
The girls donned their tunics quickly. Neither had anything more they wanted to bring although Devana had gifted them a number of beautiful things.
“Are you sure you want to leave the clothing and jewelry behind?” Zeli asked.
“We didn’t want them,” Ulani said.
“They’re hers, not ours,” Tana added, voice clipped.
Zeli shrugged and led them into the courtyard, walking slowly and quietly. This late at night it was doubtful they would run into anyone, but just in case, explaining what they were all doing would be difficult.
They entered the kitchen, which was lit only by the glow of embers shining through the grates in the oven door. Seeing the normally bustling room so silent and empty was eerie. Zeli’s fear ratcheted up a notch when the shadows in the corner began to move. She moved in front of the girls protectively, then relaxed as Gladda’s face became visible.
“Are you all ready?” the woman whispered.
“Where are we going?” Ulani asked.
Zeli crouched down to speak to her. “Gladda-deni knows the Keepers. They will take you two over the mountains and into Elsira. Many people are fleeing Lagrimar, seeking better lives. Your Song will be safe there. I’ve heard the whole land is like Laketown, green and beautiful.” Her eyes stung but she was determined not to cry.
“You’re not coming with us?” Ulani said, her lip beginning to quiver.
“No, uli,” she said, pulling her in for a hug. “I … There’s nothing there for me. But you will both be safe.”
Tana bristled. “What do you mean there’s nothing there for you? What’s here for you?”
Zeli swallowed, unwilling to meet the girl’s eye. “Kerym-mideni has offered…” She cleared her throat. “I’ll have a position here. He says Devana-mideni will return, and I think he’s right. One day he will be Magister and he is … He’s said he will take care of me.”
She finally drew her head up to face Tana, whose dark eyes flashed. “He’s a liar.”
“You don’t understand—”
“We’re not going without you.” Ulani crossed her arms, for once looking as stubborn as her sister. Tana mimicked the action, glaring.
“You both need to leave here. You won’t be alone, the Keepers will protect you.”
“We won’t be alone because you’re coming with us,” Tana said, with more steel in her voice than an eleven-year-old should be capable of.
“It’s safer for you if I stay. I don’t think they’ll look for you, but just in case—”
“Do you love him?” Ulani asked, looking up at her guilelessly.
Zeli sank back on her heels. A chill went through her at the memory of Kerym’s kiss. “No.”
“Then why stay for him?”
She shook her head. How could she explain to them what she was feeling? The uncertainty, the terror, the longing for something more? Then she looked into Ulani’s questioning gaze and Tana’s young-old eyes and realized the truth. These two, young as they were, could understand.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, voice quivering. “This is all I’ve ever known. I don’t have…” She motioned between the two of them. “I don’t have anyone watching out for me.” Tears streamed down her face.
Gladda’s warm hand clamped down on her shoulder, then slid to her back, rubbing soothing circles. “You’ve always had people watching out for you.”
Zeli wiped her eyes. “You are all braver than me.”
Ulani reached for her hand and squeezed. “We can be brave enough for you, too.”
Zeli’s heart hurt. The pain radiated out in rippling waves. She couldn’t break down now, they didn’t have the time, but a pull started, weak at first and then stronger. A pull toward the unknown. “I—”
“Shh.” Gladda raised a finger to her lips. Outside the door, soft footsteps crunched lightly on the walkway. She must have ears like a bat to have been able to hear it.
Gladda tiptoed to the window and peeked through the break in the shutter. Zeli eased to her side.
“Kerym-mideni,” the woman mouthed, and ice froze Zeli’s veins.
Was he looking for her again? What else would he be doing at this time of night? And what would he do if he didn’t find her? When the footsteps passed, she turned to the others. “You all, go. Now. If Kerym-mideni is looking for me and thinks something is wrong he could start searching.”
“I doubt he’d awaken the household in the middle of the night,” Gladda said, frowning.
“We don’t know why he’s here,” Zeli insisted. “You all must leave. Now.”
Gladda nodded, worry creasing her brow, but Zeli couldn’t go along if she thought Kerym might be looking for her. Or even worse, what if he discovered Gladda and the girls leaving in the middle of the night? No, she had to stay and distract him, or at least make sure he didn’t discover the others before they were safe.
The thought made her convulse with dread, but it was more important that the girls get away.
Gladda looked grim. “Fine. We’re taking the path around the lake to meet up with my contact at dawn. Then the Keepers will take us all over the mountain.”
“You’re going with them?” Zeli asked, encouraged.
“Yes, it’s time to leave this place. Nothing good can come from staying.” Her words were pointed. “I expect to see you at dawn.”
Zeli pursed her lips then looked back to the girls. They both appeared poised to protest, so she relented. “Fine, I’ll be there by dawn.”
“Do you promise?” Ulani asked.
Regret and shame filled her. “I promise,” she said, and shooed them all on their way. She hated to lie, but saw no other option.
What was it Fakera had said about sacrifice? Sometimes we give up more than we expect. Maybe she was more like her parents than she ever thought. She wondered if they would be proud.