Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

The weight of what she’d done hit her. She’d just killed a man. Wargi looked ready to vomit, and Jasminda felt the same. She released the knife from her shaking hand. It clattered to the floor, and she eased toward the boy, trying to appear as nonthreatening as she could while covered in blood.

“You know they were monsters, right?” she whispered.

Wargi’s gaze darted from the sergeant’s barely moving form, to Jasminda, to the doorway behind her, where she could feel Jack’s presence.

For all the blood and death that had just taken place, the house was eerily quiet, its hush broken occasionally by soft snores from the passed-out soldiers in the room next door. The dowry liquor was a powerful blend. She wondered idly if the dead soldiers had made sure the others drank more, to ensure there would be no interruptions.

“Wargi, I . . . I don’t want to hurt you. Just . . . just let him leave.” She motioned toward Jack. “You were on patrol by yourself, right? You could say you were far away when this happened.”

The young soldier’s eyes glazed over for a moment as he seemed to consider what Jasminda was saying. The furrow of his brow as he thought reminded her so much of her brothers. His shoulders slumped, and she was close to inhaling in relief when he focused on Jack again and narrowed his eyes. His back straightened, expression hardened. Jasminda sank into herself when he moved to the sergeant and began to shake him.

Jack stepped around her, pointing his knife at Wargi. “Sit down,” he said, his voice a forceful command. Covered in blood, he looked every bit the warrior he was. Wargi backed up a step, the moment of bravado gone, then collapsed onto the ground. The sergeant groaned and shifted, rolling over on the bed and rubbing his face.

“Jasminda, gather their weapons,” Jack said.

She scanned the room and found two service revolvers on the dresser. She checked the chambers, pulled back the hammers, then handed one to Jack. The men had arrived with rifles, as well, but had spent what little ammunition they had firing at birds in the valley earlier.

Tensyn sat up, bleary-eyed. Long moments passed before he processed what was before him. He sputtered, his face contorting in rage as Jasminda aimed the gun at him.

“Traitors.” The word was laced with venom.

Holding the gun steady, Jasminda cast a glance to Jack. “What now?”

He pointed to Tensyn. "On the ground." The sergeant complied with a sneer.

Jasminda backed up to the corner so she could see both Jack and the door to the room.

With remarkable efficiency, Jack stripped the bedsheets, ripping them into ribbons as Tensyn seethed and spat curses.

“Are you going to make this difficult?” Jack said, kneeling and pulling the sergeant’s hands behind his back. He was securing the man's wrists with the strips of cloth when suddenly Tensyn gave a shriek, shot to his feet, and ran directly at Jasminda. His wild, desperate look froze her in place, her finger hovering on the trigger.

Two shots rang out in the small room, and Tensyn’s body jerked before he fell, crashing into the dresser against the wall. Jack lowered his smoking weapon, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, dropping her arm to her side, then looked over Jack's shoulder in shock.

Tensyn’s fall had knocked the items off the dresser, including the two oil lamps lighting the room. Flames quickly licked up the spilled oil and raced along the wooden legs of the dresser, engulfing Tensyn’s clothing and flesh.

Jasminda stared at the flames as they flew up the walls unreasonably fast.

“Jasminda!” Jack shouted. She blinked, unable to think, her feet locked in place. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into the living room.

Wargi coughed and sputtered, crawling out behind them. Jack pulled the door shut and stuffed the quilt from the couch in the crack at the bottom of the doorframe.

“Do you have a fire suppressor?”

His words scrambled in her head. “A what?”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t, all the way out here. We don’t have much time. I’ll gather some food. Save what you can.” He dashed into the kitchen, leaving her staring at the door, still not believing what lay on the other side.

A coughing fit caused by the acrid smoke filling her lungs shook her from her stupor. Her house was burning. Her home. The only thing she had left.

She raced upstairs and pulled on a dress and her boots. Tossed items blindly into a sack. Some part of her was still in her parents’ bedroom, watching the flames consume the walls. She stared at the bag in her hands, not remembering how it got there, not knowing what was inside but only that the tightness in her chest was not just smoke, it was the mouth of an endless river, a wash of despair sweeping her away.

She found herself in the living room again, standing in front of the cabinets. Had she run down the stairs? Is that why she was struggling to breathe?

No . . .

Everything here was precious. Sooty fingers skimmed each shelf, committing the feel of each object to memory. Her chest contracted. Was that her heart shrinking away to nothing?

Jack appeared next to her, carrying the basket stuffed with what remained of the once-full pantry. “Give that to me,” he said and snatched the sack from her. She stared at her empty hands for a moment, then to Jack, and felt grounded by the firmness of his expression. His uniform was tattered and bloody. She pulled out a set of her brothers’ clothes from the cabinet and tossed them at him. “Put these on. They should fit—the boys were tall for their age.”

Flames reached out from under her parents’ door, the quilt having been eaten away. In mere minutes there would be nothing left of her life.

“Jasminda.”

She turned to find Jack changed and ready to go. He’d even pulled on Papa’s old coat, the one the three children had saved up for over the course of a year in order to replace. Papa had been wearing the new one the last time she saw him.

Tears formed and her throat began to close up. Jack said her name again. “We have to go.”

She nodded mutely and allowed him to take her hand and pull her from the house.

On the front yard, Wargi dragged Pymsyn’s body, laying him next to the motionless form of Unar.

Jasminda dropped to her knees as a loud crash sounded. Part of the ceiling had collapsed. Something broke inside of her. Somewhere close-by, a voice wailed in agony. Jack wrapped his arms around her and pressed her into his chest until she realized the screaming was coming from her.

He whispered something she couldn’t hear above her own cries. Gasping, she worked to pull herself together, clutching at the coat Jack wore that had long since lost her father’s smell. Finally, she was able to breathe steadily. His arms were a cage of safety around her, but she still felt like her chest had cracked open and everything inside was leaking out.

“This is all I have. I have nothing else.”

He held her tighter and rocked her gently, but she found no solace in his arms.

The adrenaline surge
fueling Jack was beginning to wane. Each injury pulsed again with renewed strength. He released Jasminda gently, leaving her staring almost catatonically at the house. Wargi hovered over the two remaining soldiers he’d laid out on the ground. Neither man appeared to be breathing. With great effort, Jack knelt and felt for a pulse on each. Scared eyes regarded him from behind round spectacles. Jack shook his head, and the boy’s mouth quivered.

“Head east,” Jack said. “Go home. Find the path you took to get here. Do you remember the red rocks?”

Wargi nodded and stumbled away into the darkness. Jack hoped the boy would be able to find his way back through the Mantle, but he’d done all he could. He turned to Jasminda, but she was gone. A rush of panic swept over him. She was so distraught, at first he feared she may have run back into the burning house, the way husbands to the north in Udland threw themselves on the funeral pyres of their dead wives. He quickly discarded that idea; she was devastated, yes, but far too strong of spirit for that.

He found her in the barn, standing over the goats that slept on the floor, nestled together in groups of threes and fours. The barn was far enough away from the house that he did not think it would catch fire.

He sagged against the doorframe, every ache and pain making itself known. When he would have collapsed indecorously into a heap, a sickening smell assaulted his nostrils.

“Where is that perfume coming from?” Jasminda asked, glancing around.

“Sweet Sovereign’s slumber,” he said under his breath. “Cover your nose and mouth! Quick!”

Jasminda’s brow furrowed, but his frantic words had the desired effect. She wrapped a scarf over the lower half of her face as Jack pulled a rag down from a peg and did the same. The rag smelled strongly of kerosene, but he ignored it.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he pulled her away from the barn.

“Palmsalt.”

She froze, her eyes wide, then turned and ran back toward the barn.

“Jasminda!”

“The goats,” she called over her shoulder. Jack rushed after her.

The dead soldiers must have had palmsalt in quite a large quantity among their things, and it was now burning and spreading through the air. The possibility had never crossed Jack’s mind. This was technically peacetime and the substance had only one use. The mineral was mined in Lagrimar and found alongside their iron deposits. Once ground into a powder, it was added to grenades and bombs that, when ignited, created a cloying, sweet aroma that many found pleasant. Right up until their lungs shut down.

The gas would spread quickly, and if they breathed much more of it, they would soon be dead. As would the goats Jasminda was shoving noisily out of the barn and into the night.

“We need to go,” he said, grabbing her arm. She gave one of the little beasts a kick to the backside, then nodded and followed him out.

He tried to inhale as little as possible, but breathing was a sad necessity. His movements were far slower than he would’ve liked, and the wind was changing, the breeze bringing more of the gas their way.

He limped along, matching her swift pace as best he could down a path through the expansive gardens. She dashed off to retrieve a thick branch from beneath a tree and handed it to him. He accepted the walking stick gratefully. His shoulder and abdomen were ablaze with pain, each breath a struggle. But each breath no longer held the nauseating mix of oil and palmsalt.

They had walked nearly a thousand metres. “I think we are clear of the gas,” he said.

She shook her head in disagreement. “I’m singing a barrier for us, just around our heads. The palmsalt is spreading through the valley. Bloody wind. We’ll have to get to higher ground.”

He hadn’t felt the telltale murmur of Earthsong. Then again, she wasn’t directly affecting his body. The mountain was clearly still in the throes of the storm, thick clouds churning out snow at higher elevations. He silently prayed to the Queen Who Sleeps for protection on the journey.

“Will the goats fare well?” he asked.

“They’re quick. And too stubborn to die.” Her voice cracked, belying her stony countenance. Earlier tears had dried, streaking her cheeks—her red-rimmed eyes had turned cold and determined. A bruise marred the side of her face, but it looked like war paint, further accentuating her competence.

She held a shotgun in one hand and a lantern in the other, with the sack containing the items saved from the house draped across her back. Though he’d protested, she would not let him carry anything, giving a pointed look to his limping legs when he had tried to insist.

“I’m not an invalid.”

Her arched eyebrow contradicted him. “Focus on staying upright, and I’ll do the rest.”

She winced a bit from some injury she wouldn’t acknowledge, but overall, she was in far better shape than he. Common sense told him she was right to insist, but his pride stung.

“Are we going through the tunnels?” he asked as they neared the path that would take them into the maelstrom.

“We’ll see.” She pursed her lips, avoiding his gaze. She was hiding something, some additional anxiety she refused to let him in on. He received only silence in answer to his questions, so he saved his breath for the moment.

As they walked, the moon peeked out from the overhead clouds, brightening the way out of the valley and up the path leading into the mountains. Though the valley was calm, the storm still raging ahead worried him. As the path rose, the temperature fell drastically and the ground changed from grassy, to dirt covered, to snow covered. Each torturous step brought not only a deepening of the snow but an increase in his pain.

Jasminda led the way, the light from her lantern reflecting off the snow, now knee-deep but swallowed up by the surrounding darkness. He leaned heavily on the walking stick as each step became more difficult than the last. Pausing to catch his breath, a coughing fit struck him, leaving red splatters on the pristine white.

When he straightened, he found her staring at the blood on the ground. Almost immediately, the warm hum of Earthsong rippled through him.

“Save it,” he advised. “I’m all right.”

She scowled. “You are not all right. You are worse than when you arrived. Stop being such a fool.” The buzz of Earthsong continued for a few moments before she turned and stomped away.

For hours, they battled the storm, their progress arduous. Strong gusts of wind blew against them, sometimes knocking them on their backs and forcing them to stop until the gale calmed some. Icy blasts whipped through Jack’s coat, freezing his fingers until he could no longer grip the walking stick and had to leave it behind.

“Let’s stop here for a moment,” Jasminda shouted, pointing to a notch in the rock wall just big enough for two people. Underneath the rocky overhang, the snow stood only ankle high, and the sidewalls protected them from the worst of the wind. They crouched down together, shaking from the cold. She took his hands in hers and rubbed, bringing some feeling back into them. In the flickering lantern light, worry etched a frown on her face.