Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(27)
“It’s a sharing of power,” Gerda continued, “but only one Singer can be in control. It must be done voluntarily, of the giver’s free will. If we still had our Songs, we would do it.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lyngar spat, and Jasminda tensed. She had linked with Papa when she was young and still learning. He’d shown her how to control her power through the link, but she could not imagine linking with a stranger. To do so was to become extremely vulnerable to another. It was like letting someone into her soul.
The elders and Rozyl bickered over what to do. The four armed Keepers were the only adults who had not been forced to give their Songs in tribute to the True Father. Jasminda shuddered to imagine life without her Song; it was a part of her, weak though it was.
A small hand slipped into her own. Osar’s round face beamed up at her. She squeezed his hand, and he leaned in, resting his head against her leg.
“You would link with me, wouldn’t you?” she asked, smoothing down his hair. “You’re not afraid?” He shook his head, then offered her his other hand, which was closed in a fist.
“What do you have there?”
He unfurled tiny fingers to reveal a shoot of green with delicate white petals sparking out of it.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, incredulous, picking up the tiny flower. It could not have grown in the cave, and with the snow outside it was doubtful he’d brought it in with him. Yet here it was. Something beautiful and impossible in the midst of the bleakness. “Thank you.”
Silence descended. Jasminda looked up to find the others staring at her and the blossom in her hand. She straightened her shoulders, looking at Rozyl and Lyngar as she spoke. “Osar will link with me.”
Rozyl narrowed her eyes. Lyngar merely turned toward the exit, speaking over his shoulder. “Fine. Let’s get going. We’ve wasted far too much time as it is.”
Jack kept to the rear of the party as they made their way through the tunnels. He did not like to be so far from Jasminda, who led the group with Osar at her side, but he also did not trust Rozyl or the other armed Keepers at his back. They seemed to feel the same about him, which left him walking side-by-side with a tall Lagrimari woman, Rozyl’s second-in-command, who never said a word to him.
On the whole, they were not a talkative bunch. The only sounds they made were footsteps echoing against the oddly smooth cave walls and the soft babbling of the youngest of the children. They did not dawdle, either, deftly navigating the twisting path, which edged steeply downward, leveled off, then dipped low again.
They took no breaks, and not even the smaller children walking on their own complained. Nor did the elders, who were remarkably spry for their ages. Strips of some unidentifiable food source, gray and brittle, were passed around and eaten while they walked. Hours passed like this, the silence companionable but complete.
Jack focused on the back of Jasminda’s head, keeping her in sight at all times. Whatever reaction she’d had in the cave did not recur, but he was uneasy all the same. No one had any idea what had happened to her or why she was the only one who could sing inside the mountain.
Her vision of the Cavefolk was disturbing, as well. Barbaric practices like human sacrifice were said to still be performed in Udland, their northern neighbors, but the thought of such things taking place in his land, even in ancient times, was unsettling. Jasminda had been so deeply shaken, he hadn’t questioned her tale for an instant. After having his entire body rendered unrecognizable to the point where his own mother would not have identified him, his threshold for belief in the unbelievable had nearly vanished.
Not that his own mother was likely to recognize him anyway. He’d been only a child the last time he saw her.
The woman next to him glanced over sharply before going back to ignoring him. He gave her a brilliant smile and tipped an imaginary hat.
Slowly, the air began to change. The pathway leveled off again, and fresh, clean air filtered in. It was the way he’d always thought a mountain would smell. They extinguished their lanterns when light glowed softly up ahead. Over the thump of their footsteps, water trickled, insects whirred, birds called.
Home.
The tunnel ended abruptly, leaving them at the edge of a huge cavern, much like the one they’d entered on the other side with some key differences. Sunlight streamed in through openings in the rock far overhead. Before them stretched a vast forest; trees and vines and greenery filled the cave. A narrow and somewhat hidden path led down to the forest floor. Just beyond it, a stream of water flowed gently down, vanishing below. The view stole his breath.
The group formed a queue as the path was only wide enough for one. Jasminda disappeared from view first. Not being able to see her made his palms itch. He was returning to civilization and, with it, all of his duties and responsibilities. With no home and family, Jasminda was now listed among those responsibilities, but he was glad of it. He hadn’t yet figured out what to do about her, though. Could he find her a farm near the Eastern Base? Possibly. But that would be too dangerous with a breach imminent. Could he keep her safe in the city, far away from the fighting? And then not see her for months or longer . . . The possibilities raced through his mind. All of them included seeing her again. As often as he could manage. Was that even something she would want?
She had stolen into his life—his very complicated life—and he was in no hurry for her to leave. But the war on the horizon would make everything immeasurably harder. Anti-Lagrimari sentiments would kick into effect once again, and her Elsiran blood would not protect her from the ire of the people who saw only her skin. He could tell from the way she spoke, the haunted look in her eye when the refugees discussed Elsira, that it never had.