Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(54)

She flexed her arms and legs, bringing feeling back into them. “What is that stone, and why does it cause visions?”

Everyone settled back down, and Turwig sat next to her, holding the wrapped stone. Her fingers itched to snatch it from him. She couldn’t explain the strange possessive instinct that had arisen within her toward the thing, but she wanted it back.

“You must understand that this is our most precious treasure.” He held up the wrapped stone. “It may be our last hope.”

“You are all Keepers of the Promise?” Jasminda said, motioning toward the others present.

He nodded. “Throughout the war, the Keepers have fought against the True Father’s tyranny, searching for a way to overcome his great power in order to awaken Her. We have always believed that killing the True Father was the only way to awaken the Queen. But the masked fiend is hard to kill.”

“Almost impossible,” Gerda said. “And there are those who believe he walks among us in secret, taking on the appearance of our trusted friends and confidantes.”

So that was why they found it so hard to trust. “It’s true that no one has ever seen his face?” Jasminda asked.

“No one has seen any part of him,” Turwig replied. “He is always covered from head to toe and wears a painted mask to hide his face. The women of the harems are kept blindfolded when they are with him. And aside from the Cantor, only the Songless are allowed in his inner circle.”

“The Cantor?” Jasminda frowned. “Who is that?”

“Every few generations, a powerful Earthsinger is spared the tribute in order to serve as the True Father’s Cantor, someone who studies Earthsong, finds new ways to create the breaches. They develop new spells and increase the True Father’s power.”

Jasminda had never known how the breaches were created. She doubted anyone on this side of the Mantle knew. “And what about those who give tribute? They must be able to get close to him.”

Turwig shook his head. “Tribute is given while unconscious. No one but the Cantor and the True Father knows how it is done. But we have chipped away, little by little, doing what we could, saving who we could. We’ve grown a network to hide as many as we can, so they may retain their Songs.” He looked to Rozyl and some of the younger Keepers present.

“Like the one who disguised Jack?” Jasminda asked.

“Yes . . . Darvyn. The poor boy spent his entire life hiding from tribute-camp thugs, being shuffled from place to place. His power—” Turwig shook his head at some memory clouding his mind. “His power is blinding. Darvyn was the one who discovered this.” Turwig motioned to the stone. “Years ago, when he was a small boy, we were secreting him away one night—there had been some betrayal at his previous residence, as was often the case. The boy was hidden in a wagon of straw pallets, but when we arrived at the checkpoint, he had disappeared.

“We doubled back, searching for him, but it was the middle of the night and the roads in Lagrimar are not somewhere you want to be caught after dark. I tracked him to the ruins of Tanagol, one of the first border villages destroyed early in the war.”

Turwig’s eyes softened as he became lost in the memory. “Imagine a child of four or five digging through centuries-old rubble, only to come out covered in dirt and muck with this treasure. He had felt the pull of the ancient spell within calling to him. Later, Darvyn began having the Dream of the Queen. She gave him certain instructions that we have been endeavoring to bring to pass for many years.”

Understanding dawned on Jasminda. “She told you to bring the stone here.” Turwig and Gerda nodded. “And did She tell you what it was? What it does?” She held her hand out for the stone, and to her surprise, Turwig gave it to her.

“No, She does not have control over the length or frequency of the dreams, so sometimes information is disjointed. We believe it is a caldera, an object that serves as a container for spells.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Jasminda said. “Are these common in Lagrimar?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. About a hundred years ago, a Keeper managed to get his hands on the journal of the Cantor. Everything we know about calderas comes from that book, and it’s not much. Only the most powerful Earthsingers can create such objects, and it then holds parts of their Songs. It requires . . .”

She looked up from her perusal of the bundle in her hand. Part of her longed to touch it again, but another part was afraid. “It requires what?”

“A blood sacrifice. A death.”

Jasminda’s blood ran cold. “Cavefolk magic?”

“The diary didn’t say, but once we saw what happened to you in the cave, well, we made an educated guess.”

“And the visions . . . you all have had them, too?”

“Oh, no, child,” Gerda spoke up. “Nothing at all happens when we touch the caldera.”

Jasminda shuddered. “No one else has seen a vision when they touch it?”

“No one else could sing inside the mountain, either.” Gerda’s voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension to it.

“So, why me?”

“We don’t know,” Turwig said. “Perhaps because you’re half-Elsiran. Perhaps some other reason. But I believe you are the only one that can unlock the mysteries of this stone.”