Monkey said to Jackal, I believe that luck is the master of destiny, for one cannot be ruled by that which one considers foolish.
Then he took a running leap over the edge of the canyon and disappeared into the setting sun.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
The first snowflakes began to fall as Jasminda crept down the mountain. She followed the lantern light of the men who’d dragged away the unconscious Elsiran, staying a few dozen paces behind. While she’d thought his tale fantastical, there was no doubting the six Lagrimari soldiers who’d appeared, or their viciousness toward him. She’d winced as they’d continued to strike him, long after he’d passed out.
He was an odd one, surely—his manner, his clothing, his perfect Lagrimari speech and accent. She’d never heard of an Elsiran who could speak the language. Even her mama had never been able to master it. And with his talk of crossing the Mantle, of course she’d thought him deranged. The magical border between the two lands followed the mountain range. The Mantle had stood for five hundred years and had only been breached seven times, each resulting in months or years of war.
Her papa had come over during the Sixth Breach. He’d been one of the soldiers stuck in Elsira as prisoners of war when the gap in the Mantle closed. After their release from prison, they’d been unable to obtain citizenship or find jobs, so the Lagrimari had formed settlements, shantytowns really, and eked out a meager living with the help of the Sisterhood. But Papa had met Mama and built a life with her. He never talked much of home or said anything about wanting to go back.
Jasminda had asked him about it, over and over, always afraid that as soon as the chance came, he would disappear into the mysterious country of his birth, just over the mountains. He would reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere—sometimes with a chuckle, sometimes with an exasperated sigh, and occasionally with a haunted look in his eye that made her stop the questions.
The Seventh Breach took place the summer of her fifteenth year. The fighting had ended before her family even heard about it, isolated as their valley home was. Jasminda was glad they didn’t find out until the breach had closed. She believed Papa’s words that he would never leave her—believed them until two years ago when he’d been proved a liar.
But now her own two eyes bore witness of Lagrimari soldiers on her mountain. The odd Elsiran had been convinced he was still in Lagrimar. That meant he’d crossed the Mantle without even knowing it. Was this the start of another breach war, or something else entirely?
If she’d believed the Elsiran, she would have drained her Song to heal him more. His injuries were beyond her limited abilities, but she’d selfishly only given a little of her power to ease the worst of his pain. She’d wanted to leave a bit in reserve for her long journey. Could she have helped him avoid the men? There was little she could do for him now, not against six armed soldiers, but guilt made her follow them anyway.
It made no sense; he was nobody to her. Just another Elsiran. Except … He had not stared at her or been cruel. He had, in fact, shielded her from those men, put himself in their path so they would not find her. Why would he do such a thing?
As the men took wrong turn after wrong turn, she stayed on course, though the direct route she’d planned to take would have had her home and warm in bed by now.
Dawn poked its head over the jagged peaks, and with its arrival came the crowing of a rooster. The soldiers stopped short at a fork in the path. Jasminda knew that crow all too well.
The men conferred for a moment and chose to follow the crowing. The mountain made the sound seem closer than it really was, but the sign of civilization could not be mistaken. Her relief to be headed out of the storm battled with alarm—these strangers were now on a path that led only one place.
Her home.
The Elsiran had regained his senses, and instead of being dragged behind the men like a sack of beets, he stumbled along, his hands tied in front of him. The men climbed down the mountain, leaving the storm behind bit by bit. The snow and ice would grow worse over the next few days, but it would stay at the higher elevations. The valley where her home lay would remain lush and green, protected from the harsh weather by either the mountains surrounding it, or some lingering spell of Papa’s, or perhaps a little of both. But there would be no way out. These men would be trapped in an area that was only a two-hour walk from end to end. They would find her cabin; there was no way to avoid it.
She doubled back and took a shortcut she usually avoided, though it had been a favorite of her brothers. It involved a very steep climb, required scaling several large boulders, and brought her far too near one of the caves that peppered the mountain. She ignored the yawning black opening and focused on beating the men to her cabin.
Awake now for over twenty-four hours, she pushed herself far beyond exhaustion. Snow made the rocks slippery, and she lost her footing and slid down an embankment, skinning her hands and forearms. She picked herself up, ignoring the injury, and raced to her cabin, confident she had at least twenty minutes before the soldiers arrived.
She hurried to the barn, where she found the goats already awake, agitated and jittery, no doubt because of the storm. They were like her, craving peace and quiet. Any interruption to their routine or change in the weather troubled the sensitive creatures. She checked their food, then barred the outer barn door to keep them from wandering.
Her next stop was the cabin, where she set down her bag and retrieved her shotgun. She carried a pistol with her on trips to town, but the shotgun was her favorite. It was almost an antique but shot straight and true. She loaded it with the shells she’d purchased from the blacksmith, then sat on the porch steps. Waiting.
Do what you think you can’t. That’s what her papa had always said. It was a mantra of his. When he’d repeat it, one of her brothers would often make a face, crossing his eyes and mouthing along. But with them all gone now, it had become her own incantation, chanted inside her head at moments like these.
This was her home. The only thing she had in the world. No tax man nor enemy soldier could take it from her. She would do whatever she must to protect it.
It wasn’t long before the telltale clomp of boots announced the men. She hadn’t gotten a good look at them in the dark, but the cool morning light revealed dirty uniforms and even dirtier faces. All except for their leader, a man of skin and bone, his narrow face overshadowed by both a giant, curling mustache and a blackened eye. He was clean and well groomed, his hair parted and shining with pomade.
She stood as they approached, shotgun dangling almost casually from the crook of her arm. The Elsiran, barely standing, was held upright by a soldier. All her healing work had been undone by their brutality.
The leader spoke first. “Pleasant morning to you, miss. I am Tensyn ol-Trador, Honorable Sergeant of His Majesty the True Father’s royal army. My men and I are in need of food and shelter. We must speak with your father or husband.” His voice was high and nasal, like a human rat.
“This is my home.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he glanced back at his men, his mouth twisting into what perhaps was meant to be a smile. “You are alone?”
“I want no trouble here,” she responded. The Elsiran’s head popped up; he frowned and squinted at her, his bruised face freezing once he recognized her. Astonishment and sorrow settled across his features. His shoulders slumped.
Nerves caused her to struggle to catch hold of Earthsong. The power skittered out of her grasp.
“We have been caught in the mountains by the storm and cannot make it to the capital until it passes. We are tasked with transporting this spy to face the True Father’s judgment.”
“An Elsiran spy? In your uniform?”
“Yes, he had been spelled to look like one of us. I witnessed it wear off with my own eyes, miss. There are traitorous souls infecting our land, working with our enemies. The Singer responsible for this spell is soon to meet the World After, I think. But that is a matter for the True Father to sort out.”
The soldier holding the Elsiran kicked at his legs, causing him to crumple, face-first, to the ground. His upper body heaved as he drew in jagged breaths, but he did not cry out. Jasminda held her breath, keeping her face rigid to hide her horror. The prisoner rolled awkwardly to his knees, then slowly struggled back to his feet. The soldiers beside him snickered as he wobbled before finding his balance. His head shot up defiantly.
Her breath escaped in a rush. The man she’d met the day before on the mountain had been somewhat peculiar, but also gentle. Even with the uniform, he’d struck her as a painter or poet who had fallen upon thieves or been mauled by an animal. She hadn’t truly believed him to be a soldier. But now, the sharp lines of his face had turned savage. With his sculpted cheekbones, decisive chin, and that cold power in his eyes, she wondered how these soldiers ever thought they had him cowed. How could she have thought him anything but a warrior?
She forced her gaze back to the sergeant who looked at her expectantly. He’d been speaking, but she hadn’t been paying attention. “Excuse me?”
“May we shelter here?” His tobacco-stained smile sent a cold chill rolling through her.
“You and your men may stay in the barn. I will bring you food and water.”
A collective grumble arose from the other soldiers. Sergeant Tensyn’s grin fell away. “The barn? You must be joking.”
“The cabin is quite small, as I’m sure you can see. Plus, I am not in the habit of inviting strange men into my home.”
He took a step closer to the porch, bringing his eyes level with her chest. Though his gaze reached her face quickly, she did not miss the route it took. “Miss…?”
“Jasminda ul-Sarifor.” She spat out her name as if it tasted vile.
“Miss Jasminda. As the True Father says, it is your duty to aid his representatives to the best of your ability. I’m afraid the barn will not do. For the prisoner, perhaps, but my men have been marching for days with little food or rest.” His cajoling tone turned darker. “We have already learned there are traitors among us. Would not a loyal citizen answer the call of our great leader?”
As she had suspected, these men also believed they were in Lagrimar. If they thought her Elsiran they would likely kill her. She closed her eyes briefly and finally connected to Earthsong. With the energy pulsing into her, she could sense emotion and mood. It was not her strongest skill by far, but these men were easy to read.
Danger rolled off them, impatience, barely reined-in malice. And determination. She would not be able to keep them out. Her best chance was to go along with their assumption of her loyalty, be vigilant, and bide her time. Though she knew little of her father’s homeland, being a Lagrimari might save her life, so that was what she would be.
She released her connection and adjusted her shotgun in her hands, all while glaring at the sergeant. “You may wait here for the storm to pass, but listen to me clearly. I will kill any man who touches me.”
He swallowed. The others shifted where they stood. Finally, Sergeant Tensyn bowed. “I give you my word on the True Father that none of my men will harm you in any way. Food and shelter are all we ask.”
Her raw palms burned from gripping the metal of the gun, and her heart stuttered in her chest. The Elsiran looked on, an apology written on his face. She was sorry, as well.
“Well, come in, then.”