CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

And now, I fear, my tale is incomplete

Though I have writ the words my father told

The lies we tell, the secrets that we keep

Though fires of old memories grow cold

The future that she sought is still to be

It approaches with fate’s own certainty

—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING

The walk through the mountains is harder than Ulani thought it would be, though, honestly, she’s never spent a great deal of time thinking about walking through mountains. The group led by the Keepers has only just started on the path that winds over ancient peaks dusted with a cold, white substance Gladda tells her is called “snow,” when Ulani feels something change.

A sensation ripples through her, thrumming against her Song like the hard pluck of a luda’s strings. Tana is walking a little ahead of her so Ulani tugs on Zeli’s tunic.

“It’s gone,” she whispers.

Zeli frowns down at her. “What’s gone?”

“The Mantle.”

“What do you mean?”

The lady who feels like soft summer rain, the one they call Fakera, looks back at her and tilts her head. Then she nods. “She’s right. I don’t feel the Mantle anymore. It’s gone.”

Everyone in the group stops and stares at the mountains rising overhead as if searching for a visible difference. Only the Earthsingers can sense that the Mantle, which was there just a moment ago, now isn’t.

“Will Elsira still be safe for us?” a lady asks.

“No matter what, it will be safer than staying here,” Gladda says. Others murmur in agreement. And so they keep moving up and up again, over rocky paths and over boulders. Past darkened cave openings that echo with a bleak wrongness so strong, the yawning mouths make Ulani cringe. They climb up into air so cold it’s like being locked in the icebox back home. But she doesn’t complain.

She does, however, wonder about the lady in her dream. Each night since the last time she saw her, Ulani has hoped for another visit, but never again found herself in that dark place with her body more of a suggestion than a reality and the lovely, rainbow voice from the woman who called herself Oola.

Even still, she thinks she’ll see her again.

At night, around their campfire, one of the women in the group sings. She’s the same griot who performed at the Magister’s house a few days ago. The one who sang about the Poison Flame. Her voice makes Ulani think of drops of water on eyelashes and the warm grass of the courtyard under her feet.

When they stop tonight, after finishing their evening meal, the griot will look at Tana and announce that she will sing a new song, one she hasn’t sung in a long time. One her mother and her mother’s mother taught her.

“It’s been passed down in our branch of the House of Eagles for generations,” she’ll say.

“Why haven’t you sung it in so long?” Ulani will ask.

“Because it wasn’t time then. But I think the time is now.”

The griot will strum her luda and begin singing about a different animal. One with no house Ulani has ever heard about. A scorpion.

Sometimes it will seem like she’s singing the song just for Tana. Her gaze will drift to the girl, eyes shining, like she’s found the missing piece to a puzzle. Ulani will wonder aloud why there aren’t more scorpions.

“We don’t have scorpions in Lagrimar,” one of the old women sitting around the fire will say.

“Don’t we?” the griot will respond, her gaze tracking Tana. “I think there may be one or two around.”

---

Dawn broke over the peaks of eastern mountains. Darvyn paced back and forth on the narrow walkway surrounding the dome of the Avinid temple. He’d been up all night waiting and worrying.

Sayya’s West Gate loomed less than a kilometer away. If she was coming, she would have been there already. Not only his heart, but his Song was disturbed.

He maintained a connection to Earthsong to check for soldiers approaching, but the source energy was in flux. Something very powerful strained the energy before it reverted back to normal. His head snapped over to the west, sensing the source of the disturbance lay there.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something massive had just changed. Silence reigned over the endless desert, but chaos approached, he just knew it.

Not long after, Farron ran up the steps and climbed onto the roof. “Darvyn! You’ll never guess what’s happened!”

“The Mantle has fallen.” Recognition hit him as the words left his mouth.

Farron’s shock was almost comical. “How did you know?”

Darvyn rubbed his chest. “I felt it.”

“Not only did the Mantle fall, but the Queen is arisen.” He spoke in a hush, eyes alight with excitement. Darvyn wished he could match Farron’s enthusiasm, but his emotions were empty.

“A transmission went out from the border on all our frequencies,” Farron continued. “It said that a half-Lagrimari girl awakened the Queen using the caldera you sent with Turwig and the others.”

Farron chattered away about how the True Father had been there, too, and had challenged the newly awakened Queen Who Sleeps, but the Lagrimari girl had attacked him and with the Queen’s help, drained him of his Song.

“He’s powerless, Darvyn. The True Father is going to rot in an Elsiran prison.” He tapered off and stared out at the desert along with Darvyn. “We’re free.” Disbelief and awe colored his voice.

“Free,” Darvyn repeated. The word tasted strange on his tongue. It was what he’d worked for his entire life, yet the victory was bittersweet.

Joy, melancholy, hope, fear, and regret all danced within him. Farron’s emotions echoed the same steps.

“Should it feel different?” Farron whispered.

“I don’t know.”

Just past midday, Zango joined them to watch the caravan approaching from the west. A dust cloud heralded the arrival of the motorized vehicles, all far larger than diesel crawlers. The conveyances were foreign to Lagrimar. Long and short, open topped and closed, every single one of them was filled with brown-clad Elsiran soldiers. Sunlight glinted off the chrome of the vehicles.

“They must have driven half the day to get here,” Farron said with wonder in his voice.

“They’re headed for Sayya,” Zango said. “Do you think our soldiers will resist?”

“If the True Father is really gone, what would they have to fight for?” Darvyn replied.

Elsirans streamed across the highway for hours. And as the day limped on, more and more Lagrimari citizens began to head the other way. People had packed whatever meager belongings they could carry, loaded them into carts, onto mules and horses or on their backs and immediately begun the trip west.

Something like hope bubbled up within him. The Mantle coming down meant they were no longer locked behind the borders of this country. He could travel, visit other lands, and meet other people. Long-suppressed dreams were now a possibility—except, he wasn’t going anywhere without Kyara. Her absence caused an emptiness to yawn inside him.

Gripping the railing before him, he regarded the foreign soldiers still heading in. Even from the roof, he could hear the murmured whispers working their way through both the Lagrimari leaving and the Elsirans entering the city. Everyone began looking up and pointing.

A white comet of light arced slowly across the sky, capturing the attention of those on the ground. Wariness thrummed in Darvyn’s veins. That light felt familiar. He ducked through the door into the temple and raced down three levels of staircases to reach the bottom floor.

Once outside again, he found the light hovering above a crowd who had stopped to stare. Soon it became clear that the spectacle was not a light after all, but a glowing woman. She floated above them, a swirl of wind playing with Her white dress, whipping it around. Dark, curling tresses haloed Her head like a cloud. Her skin shone with the same light as She’d had in the World Between, which soon dimmed to a dull shine.

The people clogging the road gaped, open-mouthed, at the site of Her, wild hair blowing in the invented breeze, crackles of Earthsong radiating from Her essence.

The Queen Who Sleeps had found him.

To the Lagrimari who had not joined the ranks of the Keepers of the Promise, Her promise, She was merely a legend. But Darvyn knew better.

Your Majesty. Darvyn sent his thoughts to Her, bowing his head slightly, mostly to hide his aggravation.

Darvyn. Her voice in his head was amused. She looked the same as always, but larger than life now. More like a goddess. The only difference was the pendant around Her neck, one he’d never seen before. Its stark twisting and folding lines formed a long-legged insect. The sigil of the House of Spiders.

You do not appear to be happy, She said.

We are truly free?

You are.

And what of Jack?

Her eyes smiled, though it didn’t make it to Her lips. He is well. He will be king of our new land.

Relief filled part of the void within him. Jack was all right, and he would make a good king. Somehow, Darvyn wasn’t even surprised. And the True Father?

The Queen’s eyes flashed, but not in anger, as he’d expected. In sadness. The emotion passed so quickly that Darvyn thought he might have imagined it.

Powerless. Mortal again. His stolen Songs have been removed from him. For now he is imprisoned, but I will deal with him in time.

Then this is truly a happy day. Part of him meant it. A very large part.

And yet?

Could She not feel that a chunk of him was missing? Darvyn swallowed. Do you know what’s happened to Kyara?

The Queen tilted Her head as if listening for Kyara’s location. The hope ballooning in his chest collapsed when She settled her cold attention back on him.

You must go west. You will aid the new king and queen, Jaqros and Jasminda.

No. Darvyn shook his head. I need to find her.

Now is not the time for you and her. I owe the new queen a debt, and it must be paid. Family is all that matters now. And it is high time Jasminda’s family came home.

Darvyn stared in disbelief.

Instead of explaining Her cryptic statements, She rose into the air and disappeared into the blue of the sky.

He dropped his head into his hands and squatted down, suddenly unable to breathe. Farron crouched beside him. No one but Darvyn had heard the Queen’s speech, but they had all seen the face-off between him and the goddess.

“So that’s Her,” Farron said, ignoring the silent tears streaming down Darvyn’s cheeks. Whatever Her agenda was would be difficult to ignore, but he was through being Her—or anyone else’s—pawn.

“She’s wrong,” Darvyn whispered. “I will make my own promise. A new promise.”

Farron looked at him curiously. Darvyn balled his hands into fists and pressed them together to seal his vow. “I will find her. I won’t rest until I do. And then I’m never letting her go. This, I vow.”

The promise rang through his Song, imprinting itself onto his being. He clutched his head in his hands again, battling the rising pressure.

He would find Kyara.