Bobcat and Horse raced to the river to see who was fastest. Bobcat fell behind on a turn in the path, and Horse began to gloat. But when he approached the riverbank, he was shocked to find Bobcat leisurely bathing.
How did you beat me? Horse cried, angry.
Bobcat replied, When the path curved, I stayed straight. A new direction is not enough to throw me off course.
—COLLECTED FOLKTALES
Jasminda lay awake in bed, straining to hear any movement in the house. Dull moonlight filtered in through Mama’s frilly curtains. It was several hours to dawn. Exhaustion hollowed her bones. She’d depleted her Song helping Jack. It would have been wise to keep some in reserve to better monitor the soldiers, but the Elsiran’s wounds were severe. Though her Song was too weak to effect a complete healing, the infected flesh was gone, and he would live another day.
Her muscles tensed. She held her breath, listening. Tiny frissons of unease burrowed under her skin.
Gripping the shotgun she’d taken to bed in one hand, she reached under her pillow with the other for her father’s hunting knife. Another, smaller blade was already strapped to her thigh.
She rose, seized with the desire to check on Jack. The men had left him tied to the porch, saying even the barn was too good for the likes of him. She wrapped herself in a robe, hiding the shotgun in its folds, and slipped down the stairs. Snores rumbled from behind the doors of both bedrooms. Pushing down the anger at having strangers around her parents’ and brothers’ possessions, she crept through the kitchen to peer out the window.
Jack lay on his back, shivering, hands bound in front of him, feet tied to the porch railing. She doubled back to the main room to grab a quilt, then went out and draped his shuddering body. He didn’t appear conscious, but when she began to move away, he grabbed her hand.
“Thank you,” he said in Elsiran. She cast a glance into the quiet shadows hugging the porch.
“They didn’t feed you, did they? You must be hungry,” she whispered, drawing the quilt closer around his neck.
“Mmm.” He groaned, leaning his cheek against her hand. His skin was cold and clammy, face drawn and gaunt, and yet she could not pull away. She brushed his forehead and ran her fingers through his short hair. He did not flinch from her touch, but sank into it. His hair was like the soft bristles of a brush, his expression serene as she stroked his head. The fierceness in his face had once again been replaced by a soulful calm.
Such a contradiction, this Elsiran. Neither her skin nor her magic frightened him, yet he had more reason than most to hate Lagrimari. Of course, she wasn’t Lagrimari, but she wasn’t truly Elsiran, either. She forced herself to pull away.
“I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.
She rooted around the dark pantry to produce a tin of jerky and some dried fruit. She returned to give him a few strips of jerky, then pulled up a loose board in the floor where she could hide the food.
“You can get to this when no one’s looking. You’ll need to build up your strength.”
“We are truly in Elsira?” His accent was lilting and formal, and it put her in mind of her mama’s, a good deal more refined than those of the townsfolk.
“We are.”
His forehead crinkled in confusion. “But you are Lagrimari?”
“My papa was a settler; Mama was Elsiran. She was in the Sisterhood. That’s how they met.”
“I’ve never heard of such a pairing.”
Jasminda chuckled, a dry and empty sound. “She fell pregnant, and her family disowned her. Papa found this place and built a home for them.” She stroked the board beneath her feet, cut and nailed with her father’s two hands, a structure that proclaimed a love that never should have been. That even now, twenty years later, was not accepted. The thought of losing the place Papa had built for his family made her chest constrict.
Jack laid his hand on hers, and her skin tingled at the contact. The intensity in his expression dissolved her creeping sorrow, bringing instead a pang of yearning. She did not touch people. She barely even spoke to people. She was either here alone with no one but the animals as audience, or in town armoring herself against the cutting stares. The tingle in her hand turned into a warm heat that threatened to spread. With great effort, she pulled away from the impossible temptation of his body.
“How far is it to—”
He paused as a floorboard inside the house groaned under the weight of heavy footsteps. Jasminda froze as another board creaked. She grabbed her shotgun, scooted away, and crept down the steps into the yard. The moonlight cast heavy shadows, and she crouched beside a cherry tree, holding her breath.
Two soldiers darkened the doorway before stepping onto the porch. One nudged Jack with his foot, and Jack moaned, pretending to be asleep. The men chuckled to themselves and leaned over him.
“You’re sure the sergeant is out?” one of the men asked. Ginko, she thought his name was.
“Thank the Father for thick walls and a soft bed. He sleeps like he’s in his mother’s arms,” the second man said. Based on the outline of his large, misshapen head, Jasminda thought this was the one called Fahl. He’d eaten the last of the boiled eggs earlier, before she’d even had one.
Fahl squatted down and ran his hand across Jack’s body. The action took an impossibly long time, and Jasminda’s stomach hollowed. When he moved to loosen his own belt, she fought back a gasp. They were going to whip Jack.
“The bitch is upstairs. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather…” Ginko said.
“I’m thinking the sergeant has her in his sights. Besides, she looks like she’s got a mean scratch. No. I’ll make sure this one won’t make a peep, and who’s to care what state he’s left in? What Tensyn don’t know won’t hurt him.” He snickered, and Ginko scratched his meaty head, looking back toward the house, appearing uncertain.
Understanding dawned on Jasminda like a blow to the face. She had worried for herself, expected trouble from these men seeking her out in the middle of the night, but she’d never considered Jack’s vulnerability. Never considered how depraved these men might actually be. She could not sit by and allow him to be violated, though she was not sure what could be done to stop it.
They’d said the sergeant wouldn’t approve. Maybe if she woke him, he would stop this. But she couldn’t be sure, and going into his room at night could put her in the same predicament. She gripped her shaking hands and prayed to the Queen Who Sleeps for a solution.
The soft bleat of a doe rang out from the barn. The storm on the mountains was still making the goats uneasy. An idea took hold. What she needed was a distraction, and quickly.
Jasminda crouched and felt around for a stone or branch. After finding a good-sized rock, she threw it with all her might. It sailed across the yard to hit the chicken coop. Once the men turned toward the sound, she raced around the front of the house, taking the long way to the barn.
The first distraction bought her a minute, but now she needed something larger to really draw the men away. She slid open the well-oiled barn door. Instead of nestling on the floor sleeping, many of the goats were awake and stumbling around, agitated. She hoped that, for once, the stubborn animals wouldn’t need much cajoling. Luckily for her, the buck was eager to be out of doors and the does were of a mind to follow him. Grabbing the shovel, she nudged the herd along, increasing the pressure on their backsides until they bleated in disapproval.
The goats operated almost as a hive mind—when one was upset, they all were—so Jasminda continued poking and prodding at them, pushing them from the barn. Their discontent grew louder. Whines and cries pierced the night air. She’d often cursed the herd’s fickle temperament, but tonight it was a blessing.
She couldn’t see the back porch from where she stood, but an oil lamp flickered on inside the house. The goats’ racket would awaken the rest of the soldiers, leaving Fahl and Ginko no opportunity to hurt Jack.
Jasminda slipped into the garden shadows as the front door opened and the smallest soldier, Wargi, stumbled out. The sergeant’s voice carried over the yowls of the animals as he barked orders. The remaining two soldiers, Pymsyn and Unar, followed Wargi out to investigate what had spooked the goats.
She stifled a laugh at the way the men floundered, chasing after the scattering herd. They wouldn’t get much sleep trying to track down each animal. If they asked her in the morning, she’d say she had slept through it. She’d been listening to them her whole life, after all.
When she returned to the backyard, she retrieved her shotgun and found Jack as she’d left him. He opened his eyes, and the moonlight made them sparkle. She knelt and pulled the blanket down from his chin to check him out, not sure what she was even looking for.
“Are you all right?”
“What did you do?”
She shrugged. “A distraction. Have they … harmed you?” She grimaced at the foolishness of her question. “Further, I mean.”
He shook his head, his face a mask. Warrior Jack was back.
“But they will … when they can.” Braying cries echoed in the distance.
She gathered up the hem of her robe and nightgown, and reached for the band holding the knife in place around her thigh. Jack’s eyes widened. Her face grew hot as she hurried to remove the blade and put her gown back in place. After prying open the same loose floorboard as before, she hid the knife beside the tin of food.
As she laid the board back in place, his hand covered hers. “Thank you.”
She flexed her fingers under his palm, ignoring the tingles sparking once again on her skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you yesterday.”
“You thought I was mad.” His mouth quirked. He must have been in a great deal of pain, but it hardly showed. Perhaps he was a warrior jester—fierce one moment, jovial the next.
“I still might.”
He snorted a laugh, then winced.
Guilt tightened her chest. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t laugh.”
“I’d rather laugh than cry. Wouldn’t you?”
She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had something to laugh about.
“Is this a new breach?” she asked.
He sobered. “Not yet, but soon. There are cracks in the Mantle. Places where people can slip through, either knowingly or accidentally. But a breach is coming. The Lagrimari think they’ve found a way to tear it down permanently.”
“Permanently?”
He nodded. “The True Father has never been able to cross during a breach, not while any part of the Mantle is intact. But without it…”
“Without it, he could cross. What would that mean?”
His grip on her hand tightened. “The end of Elsira.”
The True Father was the most powerful Earthsinger alive. He had ruled Lagrimar for five hundred years, stealing more and more of his peoples’ magic through the “tributes” to keep him alive and in power. But the magic had never been enough. Each breach had been an attempt for him to expand his influence.
Though her relationship with the land and its people was tenuous at best, Elsira was her home. She could claim no true allegiance to the Prince Regent or the structures of society, but she wasn’t so naive as to believe even her isolated home would be immune to the fall of the country. “Could nothing stop it?”
“There is—” At a sound from inside, his lips snapped shut.
Jasminda whipped her head around. She strained to listen, and felt that same uneasy sensation that had awoken her. Jack was safe for the moment, but something was still not right—something in addition to the six enemy soldiers who’d overtaken her home.
Slowly, she backed away from Jack and crept to the door. It was past time to go back to her room, she couldn’t afford to be caught here.
She looked over her shoulder to find Jack’s gaze locked on her. The two sides she’d seen before—soulful Jack and warrior Jack—merged before her, giving a complete picture for the first time. She took in a jagged breath as a renewed surge of longing crashed into her. It battered against the solid wall of her fear and aloneness, making her shudder.
Shaking her head, she pulled open the door to the kitchen and slipped inside.