Said a stonecutter to the Mistress of Frogs, How may I complete my work and feed my family, though I am lame?
To which she replied, A stone needs only a trickle of water, unceasing in its focus, to create a groove. If you are the water, take your time to do the work. If you are the stone, best roll out of the way before you are split in two.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
It was not in Jack’s nature to despair. He’d been through his share of hardships, to be sure—well, less than most but more than some, he suspected. The Seventh Breach in particular came to mind. Ninety-nine days of misery that had felt like a thousand. But even then, he’d been full of righteous rage, which had kept him from sinking into the depression so many of his men had succumbed to.
There was a desolation that sank into the hearts of people who’d lived through war. He saw it in the old-timers who had fought in the tail end of the Fifth Breach, a war that lasted seventy years. But he’d also seen it in the faces of Lagrimari children in the villages the squad had passed through on his spy mission. Before his bloody disguise had worn off.
Now, a kind of melancholy he was not used to threatened to overtake him. He was back where he’d started—captured—and worse, the girl he’d tried to protect had been hauled into this mess. But he couldn’t allow himself to sink too far. Giving up was also not in his nature, not while there was breath in his body.
He wasn’t sure how many breaths he had left, though. Each one was more difficult than the last. He’d been trained to work through pain, to put it in a box in his mind, then put that box into another box until he had as many boxes as he needed to keep moving, keep fighting. He had lost count of his boxes, and they’d long stopped helping. Pain was all he knew, but even that meant he was alive and still had a chance to escape.
The brute to his left, a lout called Ginko, squeezed a brawny hand over Jack’s arm and pulled him forward, toward the girl’s quaint cabin, which sat under the shade of several tall trees. A barn stood off to the side with a chicken coop beyond it. Rows and rows of carefully tended plants stretched out on either side of the house, interrupted every so often by thickets of trees.
Most of Lagrimar was desert wasteland, but in the very far west the climate was more pleasant, almost like lush Elsira. He would have imagined that most of the country’s population would live in this tiny region, but it was not the case. Aside from the two western Lake Cities, the people were spread evenly across the barren country, with many living in the capital city of Sayya, far to the east.
Jack’s travels during his undercover mission had kept him mostly in the west. But he had never been inside a Lagrimari home before and found himself surprised at its warmth and coziness. He had thought they would all look like the tenuously built mud-brick huts of the poor villages, but this was a proper home for a family. Quilts covered overstuffed couches and chairs. Colorful rugs hugged the floor, though they were currently being sullied by the mud tracked in on the soldiers’ boots. The mantelpiece featured children’s drawings, wood carvings, a cuckoo clock, and a photograph of several people that he couldn’t make out from this distance.
The girl, Jasminda, pointed out two bedrooms and a washroom on the main floor for the men to use. Just beyond the living room was the entrance to the kitchen, through which a squat woodstove was visible. A staircase in the living room led up to a closed door that she indicated belonged to her. When he looked back to the mantel, the photo had been turned facedown.
“And what of communications, Miss Jasminda?” Sergeant Tensyn asked. “Our radio equipment is badly damaged, and we’ve had no contact with our regiment.”
“No electricity. No radio or cables here.”
Tensyn looked ready to continue his questioning when she broke in. “Sergeant, you hope to bring the spy in alive, yes?” She had not looked at Jack since that moment of recognition outside, and she did not glance at him now, yet he felt her attention on him all the same.
Earthsong moved across his skin like the lips of a lover. When Darvyn had cast the spell to change Jack’s appearance before leading him through the crack in the Mantle into Lagrimar, it had felt so different. Less personal, less invasive. But thanks to Jasminda’s continued ministrations, finally, the pain could fit in a box. He fought the desire to fall to his knees with relief.
“There is a reward for the return of this man,” Tensyn said. “Alive.”
Jasminda wrinkled her nose. “He stinks of infection. Why has he not been healed?”
Her words caused a spike of fear. He’d seen many a man die of untreated infection from wounds more minor than his.
“All of my men have already given tribute to the True Father.”
“And their Songs have not returned?”
Jack’s gaze snapped to her, and Tensyn’s expression sharpened. “Tributes are irreversible, as I’m sure you know, Miss Jasminda. Once your Song is gone, it cannot be returned.”
All of the men were looking at her now, but her expression did not change. Her eyes flashed for a moment—perhaps with fear or anger—but it was gone so quickly Jack could not be sure.
“I had heard sometimes they did, that is all. This man will die in days if the infection continues.” She spun away and stalked into the kitchen.
Was it possible she was more than just a sympathetic Lagrimari? Her ignorance of the True Father’s tributes could mean she was a Keeper of the Promise like Darvyn. They often stayed in isolated places like this, free from the dictator’s edicts.
“Can you keep him alive?” Tensyn asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was clipped.
A cautious hope welled within Jack.
She slammed a basket of fruit on the kitchen table and retrieved more food from the pantry, still clutching her shotgun. The other soldiers, except for Tensyn and Ginko, sat and began eating without ceremony. Jasminda grabbed a bowl, filled it with water, and gathered towels and a knife.
“Back porch. The floors in here are already filthy.” Her words cracked like a whip.
“My apologies, miss.” Tensyn lowered himself into a bow. “I’ll have my men be more careful with the state of your home.”
The sergeant motioned to Ginko, who pushed Jack forward. His injuries screamed, but he remained silent. Jasminda’s lips pursed and she spun around, leading the way out the back to the porch. She motioned to the top step with her chin. Jack was pushed down until he sprawled across the stairs, gasping for breath.
“Untie him,” she said, staring at his lashed wrists. “I need to check his wounds.”
Ginko pulled a knife from his boot to cut the rope. The sharp edges of the pain had been bound by whatever spell she’d sung a few moments before, but the weakness in his limbs couldn’t be ignored. The lack of food and water, the days of walking and hiding, had all left him teetering on the edge of his endurance. She too had deep circles under her eyes, and he wondered what she’d been doing up on the mountain.
As she settled next to him, his awareness of her pulsed like an extra sense. She smelled of cool mountain air, pine, and something light and feminine that he couldn’t place. He closed his eyes and inhaled her nearness, allowing it to soothe and calm him. He imagined himself far away, in the barracks he’d called home since childhood, or maybe even farther away, floating on his back in the Delaveen Ocean, the sun warming his face.
The vision faded when her fingertips grazed his forehead.
“Does that hurt?” Her whispered voice stroked his cheek. He opened his eyes to find her very close. Unable to find his voice, he shook his head.
“Take that off.” She pointed to his shirt. He had the absurd desire to chuckle. How many times had he longed to hear a woman ordering him to take off his shirt? What he’d felt of her touch so far had been very soft.… She must be soft all over. He’d never imagined a Lagrimari girl could be so lovely. The coils of her hair called to his fingertips and—
“Has your tribute day been scheduled?” Tensyn’s oily voice broke through Jack’s musings. He and Ginko stood in the doorway, and Jack hated having anyone at his back. That kind of sloppiness had literally been beaten out of him. He blamed the pain and the fatigue.
His bruised fingers faltered on the tiny buttons as he shrugged awkwardly out of his shirt. Once again, Jasminda assessed his injuries impassively, though he suspected things were quite a bit worse than when she’d seen him yesterday.
“No,” she answered Tensyn.
“And your family?”
“Dead.” Her unexpressive mask slipped for an instant, and Jack glimpsed a cavernous well of grief in her eyes.
“May they find serenity in the World After,” Tensyn said, his voice grave.
Jasminda repeated the blessing. Jack’s eyes met hers briefly before she looked away. “Lie back,” she told him.
She dipped a cloth in the water and ran it across his chest, cleaning away the blood and grime. He suppressed a groan at the incredible coolness of the water on his skin, relishing it until she stopped suddenly. He craned his neck down to see what had caught her attention. The bullet wound was far worse today, the skin black with infection, blood and pus seeping out.
The screen door slammed. He looked up to find the two of them on the porch alone.
“What is your name?” She pitched her voice low, speaking directly into his ear in perfect Elsiran as she continued cleaning his chest.
He took hold of her wrist, stilling her hand. Even the former POWs spoke only a broken version of Elsiran. How had she been able to learn it when no one in Lagrimar spoke the language? She shook free of his grip and continued cleaning his chest and face. Inside, the soldiers chortled, ensuring they would not be overheard.
“Jack,” he whispered, scanning her face desperately. “Are you a Keeper of the Promise?”
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. She darted a look at the door. “No. I don’t know what that is.”
“How can you—”
“This is not Lagrimar.” The door opened again, and Ginko emerged, taking a stance with his arms folded while he chewed on a stick of jerky.
Jasminda switched back to Lagrimari, speaking quietly. “I need to cut away the dead flesh from the wound. Otherwise the infection will kill you.”
He nodded faintly, still trying to process her last words. If they weren’t in Lagrimar, that meant they had all passed through the Mantle without knowing it. He’d been on home soil the whole time. That must be why she’d acted as if he were deranged.
Escape was so close. The despair threatening to pull him under faded away like mist in the sun.
“My Song is not strong. I can’t both stop the bleeding and dull the pain.”
He met her worried gaze and smiled, though the action reopened one of the cuts on his lip. Her expression said she thought he was delirious again. Perhaps he was.
“The only way to the other side is through,” he said. She blinked, staring at him blankly before the corners of her mouth rose a tiny fraction. He hadn’t seen her smile yet, and even this hint of one lightened him. She closed her eyes, and once again the warm buzz of Earthsong poured into him like a fizzy cola. He opened the largest box he could to tuck away the pain and imagined Jasminda’s smile.