Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(86)

Osar grabbed her hand. Without even thinking about it, she reached for Rozyl’s hand, as well. When their skin met, like before, Jasminda was thrown forcefully into a connection with Rozyl’s Song. She instinctively slammed down a shield. Rozyl startled. Through her energy, Jasminda sensed the Songs of the others crowded around her vividly, in sharp contrast to the bleak, emptiness of the many Songless.

The caldera pulsed again, vibrating through the layers of fabric, warming Jasminda’s skin. The spell Yllis had taught Oola in the vision tickled her memory.

A blood sacrifice.

Gerda’s blood bathed the ground beneath her body.

A powerful Song.

Rozyl’s Song was intense, stronger by far than Jasminda’s own father’s. She knew from linking with Osar before how strong he was, as well. Many of the other children, as well as the Keepers, held Songs of varying strengths.

“Osar,” she whispered. “Can you send a message to everyone to link with me?”

His big eyes shone as he nodded. Like a ripple spreading through a pond, every refugee took the hand of the ones next to them. Jasminda felt each link expand the pool of power she had access to by orders of magnitude.

She felt every heartbeat inside her body, every breath. Insects burrowed deep under the ground came into crisp focus. Every blink of every eye of each of the thousands of soldiers surrounding her was loud as a camera’s shutter. The brutal rainstorm drifted off to the west. Access to every living being within a million metres was at her fingertips. Power raced through her. Every Song linked with her was at her control.

She centered her attention on the ground beneath their feet and reached for the memory of Oola’s spell. Through the link she could almost taste Gerda’s blood mixed with the dirt and sand. She twisted the energy of Earthsong, mixing it with the woman’s lifeblood.

The power swelled within her as she wove the threads of the differing energies together. The spell came to her as if channeled from another mind—in a way it had been. The complex fabric of intermingling energies was nothing she could explain, but she sang the spell as if possessed.

When she was done, she looked up, breathing heavily, coming back into the knowledge of her surroundings. Below her feet, the ground had become glassy and smooth. Dark as midnight, it extended all around them, like fast-spreading molasses. Soon, the earth beneath the soldiers, both Elsiran and Lagrimari, was transformed to the polished rock surface of the caldera. Just as in the caves.

Shouts of alarm rang out around them as the soldiers took in the transformation. Jasminda’s vision, blurred from the heavy strain of working magic far beyond her experience, came back into focus. Then the shots began. She did not know which side fired first, but a hail of gunfire whizzed around her, heralding the beginning of the war.

The refugees shrank back as a group, scurrying to move out of the line of fire as the bullets flew. Jasminda’s feet were leaden, but she was dragged along with the others, still hand in hand, as they moved backward to allow Elsiran troops to fill in the gap they created.

Some refugees fell, struck by bullets as they made their retreat. The others ran toward the squat buildings of the Eastern Base, taking cover behind them. Here, the ground was hard and shiny, as well. The massive caldera extended far beyond the base as far as she could see.

Jasminda placed a palm on the ground and caught a subtle trace of the wrongness she’d felt in the cave. She recognized it now as the residue of magic that required death. There was something unnatural about it that made a shiver go up her spine.

What had she done?

She peered around the corner of the building to view the fighting. The Elsirans were pushing forward against the overwhelming number of Lagrimari. Tanks and weaponry felled many a Lagrimari where he stood. She sighed and slumped against the wall, all energy draining away.

“They’re not using Earthsong,” said Rozyl, watching the fighting unfold.

“They can’t,” Jasminda breathed. “This land is like the cave now. No one can sing.” She let out a hollow chuckle, then winced and grabbed her stomach in sudden pain. Looking down, she scrunched her brow in confusion. Her palm came away coated in blood.

“You’ve been shot,” Rozyl cried, kneeling before her. “I’m no good at healing. Osar!” she called, looking around for the boy.

Jasminda shook her head, then placed her hand over Rozyl’s. “No one can sing but me.”

Recognition sparked in Rozyl’s eyes. “Then sing. Link with me.”

“Making this—” she tapped the hard ground beneath her “—even with the link . . . it took almost everything I had. I can’t link again or heal myself.” The last vestiges of her Song’s energy were dwindling.

“Then we’ll get you off this bloody thing. How far does it go?” Rozyl looked around wildly.

“Too far,” Jasminda whispered, struggling to breathe. The pain was a haze. It seemed far away but she was losing control of her body. Her arms were so heavy. “Rozyl, my pocket. I can use the last of my Song to read the caldera one more time.”

Rozyl sat stubbornly motionless, her face a mix of betrayal and hurt.

“Please.” Jasminda opened her palm, her fingers fluttering. “This is the last chance.”

With a resigned expression, Rozyl reached into Jasminda’s pocket, pulling out the photograph and the bundled caldera. Jasminda smiled at the photo but reached for the caldera. Rozyl unwrapped the stone carefully, then placed it in Jasminda’s hand.