Jolin inhaled sharply. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
“Feel what?”
“There are very few witches who are so tightly bound to the elements that they can sense their discord.” Doranna sounded sad.
“It’s your witch sense,” Jolin explained. “You’re feeling the manipulation of elements. It feels wrong, because it is.”
“I’ve felt this before.” Lilette wet her lips. “When Sash and the others were singing their curse. But it wasn’t this bad.”
“More witches are singing now. It’s stronger,” Jolin said.
Lilette finally dared open her eyes. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Grove City is singing a curse.” Her thoughts ran from her sister to her island to all the people she had met, even for a moment, while in Rinnish. She pushed back from the table and started toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Jolin asked.
“I can’t just sit here.” She shoved her feet into her boots.
“You can’t stop them!” Doranna moved to follow her. “No one can.”
Lilette didn’t look back. “No. I want to be alone.”
Doranna grabbed a cloak hanging on the wall. “At least take this. If you’re out after nightfall, you’ll be in the rain.”
Lilette slung it over her shoulder. Ignoring the paths, she tromped right through Haven’s mud. By now, the sky had darkened, the once-brilliant blue covered by a film of shadows. Eventually she found herself at the base of the cliffs, her heart racing. She prowled around, desperate for a way up. At last, she found it. Next to one of the waterfalls, stairs zigzagged toward the top of the cliffs. Hiking up her confounded dress, she started climbing.
By the time she reached the top, she was breathless and her legs ached. A sea breeze swept her hair behind her. The sky hard darkened to the deepest turquoise, leaving an orange smudge where the sun had turned to embers. Another woman stood at the cliff’s edge.
She recognized the woman’s stance, her long gray hair. Lilette moved to stand beside her, watching the waves below batter the cliffs as if trying to find a way in. “Bethel.”
“I wondered if you’d come.”
“What is the curse?” It wasn’t one to sink the island. It couldn’t be.
Bethel closed her eyes and murmured in time with the twisted rhythm, “Rains to cease, winds to still, soil to harden, seeds to kill.” She’d spoken in Kalari instead of the Creators’ language, her words eerily echoing the discord.
Though they weren’t sinking the island of Harshen, Lilette thought of the gardens and orchards curling up and couldn’t catch her breath. With some of the men dead, her village would be hard pressed to survive off the sea. And Sash would suffer from this curse along with everyone else.
Bethel’s expression was hard. “This goes against everything we were placed here to do. It’s evil.”
“It was my idea,” Lilette said softly. “How could I suggest it so blithely?”
“The Heads were already planning to do it.” Bethel drew in a deep breath. “What the emperor did was an act of war.”
Clouds were rolling in from the west. A cool breeze picked up, chilling the sweat on Lilette’s skin. She wondered where Han was, what he was doing. If he missed her as much as she missed him.
And then she looked further east, toward Harshen, and she wondered if Sash was still alive. If she was hurt or injured or scared. “How much longer will this . . . singing go on?” Lilette asked.
“If the emperor doesn’t force his captives to counter-sing, not much longer. If he does—” Bethel shrugged “—it could go on for days.”
Lilette wrapped her arms around herself. “Won’t they just cancel each other out?”
“Let’s hope that’s all it does.” Bethel was silent a moment. “What I can’t figure out is what part you have to play in all this.”
“What do you mean?”
Bethel studied the distant lights of Grove City. “All of us are just pieces on the board, Lilette.”
Lilette swallowed hard. “Maybe we should get back. It’s late.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t see it. You were withheld from the game, and then you appear right as the final moves are being made.”
“I don’t think—”
Bethel’s hand snaked out, grabbing Lilette’s forearm. “What did she tell you to do? What are you here for?”
Lilette went still. “She?”
“Your mother.”
Lilette’s breath hitched in her throat.
Bethel’s gaze narrowed. “I was right. She has sought you out.”
Lilette took a sudden breath—somehow she’d forgotten to breath. “She said I was to save those I could.” Lilette worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I already did what she asked.”
Bethel’s gaze met hers. “Did you?” Her gaze revealed her disbelief.
Lilette held out her hands in a helpless gesture. “The witches are the strongest power on earth. How could they fall?”
Bethel scoffed. “Everything falls.” She turned and started walking away. “Come on. I have something that will allow us both to get a little sleep.”
Lilette cast a longing glance toward the sound of the song. It felt wrong to let this go on, but surely the pressure would force Chen to release Sash and the others. It was better than a war. Better that the witches send a message that any rulers who tried to use witches as weapons would suffer famine until they were disposed of by their own people.
As Lilette made her way back, the heavens opened and rain sheeted down. She draped the cloak over her shoulders and pulled up the hood. Bethel didn’t have a hood, nor did she seem to mind the rain. They tromped down the slippery steps and into the soggy forest, stopping at a tree not far from Jolin’s place. The inside smelled of minerals—like a cave—instead of tree resin. Rocks littered the floor.
Bethel opened a cupboard of dusty green bottles and rummaged around. “Now, if I could just remember where that sleeping tonic is.”
“Ah.” She pulled down a bottle and held up a finger. “One swallow. Two, and you won’t be able to wake up in the morning. Three, and you won’t be able to wake at all.” She pressed it into Lilette’s hands, but wouldn’t let go until she nodded her agreement.
Lilette started for the dark beyond the door, but paused at the threshold and turned back. “Does this . . . feeling—does it have a name?”
Bethel’s eyes met Lilette’s. “Oh, yes. It’s called the hassacre.” She tipped back her own bottle and then wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
“How do you bear it?” Lilette’s voice came out as little more than a whisper.
Bethel frowned. “You don’t.”
Chapter 26
Lilette was never happier than the time she spent on Haven. She slept well and was filled with a quiet contentment. ~Jolin
The hassacre continued every night for the next week. Despite the fact that it left Lilette sluggish and numb the next day, she took a swallow of the sleeping potion every night. Not only did it ease the wrongness twisting inside her because of the hassacre, but also the ache in her heart for her sister and her loneliness for Han.
The room was practically sweating when Lilette stepped inside, even with the windows swung open to let in a stray breeze. She set down the lunch tray and unloaded the contents on the table. “Today, we have a surprise—fish. In this case, breaded fish, with a side of yummick.” Yummick was red as a beet and tasted like squash. “And fruit.”
Doranna took a plate, but Jolin barely looked up from where she stood over a small, bubbling cauldron. Sweat ran down her temples and dampened her hair. She’d long ago abandoned her dresses for a tunic and trousers that looked suspiciously like the ones from Harshen.
Lilette took her first bite, wishing she could have somehow brought her eunuch with her. He would have shown the wastrels how to make a brown sauce to sauté fish with some vegetables, served over rice. Creators’ mercy, Lilette missed rice.
She wiped a
trickle of sweat from her forehead. “Jolin, lunch.”
Her friend pulled a small rock out of the cauldron and dropped it into a crate full of rocks. “This time. I can feel it.”
Rocks in potions? “Uh, what are you doing?”
Jolin smoothed a few stray strands of her hair. “I’m soaking raw steel in a compound to see if it affects the strength of the steel.”
“She’s going to send them to the blacksmith’s to see if she can make an unbreakable sword,” Doranna added.
Jolin shot a glare at the wastrel. “If I can manage to line up the particles of steel, it will strengthen the end product.”
“And boiling rocks in a potion will help?” Lilette asked incredulously.
Now it was her turn to receive a glare. “That’s what I’m trying to determine.” Jolin dropped more rocks into the cauldron with a plunk. “Now clamp it. I’m working.”
After making a face, Lilette took another bite of her lunch. Doranna smothered a laugh, and Lilette gaped at her. It was the first time she’d ever heard Doranna laugh—or seen her smile, for that matter. “Doranna, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
Lilette tapped the bread. “Why did you decide to become a wastrel?”
Doranna’s smile became as brittle as glass. “You know, for someone on the fast track to becoming one of the discipline heads, you’re blatantly ignorant.”
Shame tore through Lilette. “I . . . just . . . there are wastrels everywhere. I don’t understand why they would choose a life of servitude.”
Doranna’s mask of indifference slipped, darkening to something like hate. “You’re lucky to be accepted as one of them, witchling.” She stormed from the room, slamming the door shut after her.
Jolin stared after her. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
“What did I say wrong?”
“Wastrels aren’t like eunuchs, Lilette. They didn’t choose this.”
Lilette gasped. “Surely they weren’t forced?”
“No.” Jolin dropped her tongs with a clatter and came over to sit at the table. She took a bite of her fish and started chewing. “Of all witch born, only a fourth are admitted as witchlings. Two-thirds of those never reach their apprenticeship.”
“What happens to them all?” Lilette asked.
Jolin drained her cup of water and refilled it. “Depending on their skill, witchlings can become apothecaries, minor healers, herbalists. Apprentices—like me—can become master physickers, teachers, or researchers. Only those who graduate to full keepers sing the songs that rule the world.”
Jolin’s gaze went distant and she shook her head sadly. “Women like Doranna, who were never admitted at all, become wastrels because it gives them a chance to be a part of something. She and my mother have been fast friends since they were children. And my mother pays Doranna better than anyone else would.”
For a chance to be a part of this, Lilette would have made the same bargain. “And those who choose not to join the wastrels?”
Jolin’s expression tightened. “Become simply women, having babies and being wives.” Her nostrils flared. “It is not an easy path.”
Anger growled in Lilette’s chest. All her life, she’d watched men measure out a woman’s rights, taking what they wanted and giving far less. She would never willingly choose to be beholden to anyone. “Why would the keepers be so cruel? Everyone deserves a chance to prove herself.”
Jolin scraped the last of her fish in her mouth and pushed herself back from the table. “That’s exactly what Doranna and the others prove every single day.”
***
Doranna didn’t come back until the next day. Lilette stepped gingerly into the tree with the lunch tray and set it down. She, Jolin, and Doranna ate in smothering silence until Lilette couldn’t stand it anymore. “Doranna, I’m sorry. This” —she gestured to everything around her— “is all still very foreign to me.”
Doranna didn’t respond.
Lilette sighed. “If what you say is true, if someone really has put me on a fast track to becoming a discipline head, I promise to try to change things.”
Doranna softened a fraction and gave a curt nod. The rest of the meal was punctuated only by the scrap and clink of plates.
Ignoring her food, Jolin stared unfocused out the window. The bubbling cauldron was cold, the plants undisturbed. Yesterday, the blacksmith had sent word that their steel wasn’t any stronger than regular steel. Jolin wasn’t really talking to anyone yet.
Lilette finished her food. She was tired of Jolin’s foul mood. What they needed was an expert on rocks and an expert on potions to work together. Lilette strode from the room without a word to Jolin or Doranna. After asking three different women where Bethel was, Lilette found her beside one of the cliffs’ many waterfalls. Eyes closed, the woman sat perfectly still, nearly soaked through from the waterfall’s spray.
Lilette crouched down in front of her, the spray cool against her damp face. “Bethel. It’s Lilette.”
“I know,” the woman murmured without opening her eyes.
“Jolin is making a potion,” Lilette went on. “But it seems no matter what she tries, it’s not changing anything.”
“That’s because she’s doing it wrong.”
“Well, now I know were Jolin’s bluntness comes from,” Lilette muttered. She wiped the moisture beading on her brow before it could run into her eyes. “Can you help her?”
“Yes,” the older woman said, “If she asks for my help.”
Lilette pushed down her rising frustration. “Jolin is far too prideful to ask for help—especially from you.”
Bethel’s jaw tightened.
“And you’re too prideful to offer.” Lilette sighed and glanced up at the towering wall above them. It was made from solid black rock. A staircase had been carved into the side. “There’s nothing at the top, so why build a staircase there?”
She started when she looked down and found Bethel staring at her.
“Because we’re going to need them.” Bethel paused. “Just like we’re going to need Jolin’s potion.”
Lilette blinked. “What?”
Bethel hauled herself up with a groan and limped down the path, going faster as her limp faded.
Lilette had to hurry to keep up. “Where are you going?”
“You’re right. It’s fast becoming too late for pride. When everything ends, we’ll need Jolin’s discoveries.”
Lilette threw her hands in the air. “Nothing’s ending.” But Bethel paid her no mind. Hurrying after her, Lilette huffed to keep up—she still hadn’t recovered all her strength from nearly dying, and anything over a walk made her breathless.
Bethel entered Jolin’s tree without knocking and went straight to the cold cauldron. Jolin’s head popped up from the table, crease marks imprinted in her cheek from the book she’d been lying on. Her eyes were hazy with sleep. “Mother? What are you doing here?” Jolin’s gaze suddenly sharpened and she glared at Lilette.
Bethel sniffed the potion, before dipping in a finger and sucking on it.
“I wouldn’t do—” Jolin started.
Bethel spat it out, and Jolin’s protest died on her lips. Bethel seemed to compose herself before turning to her daughter. “Potions are your area of expertise.”
Jolin’s jaw dropped.
Oblivious, Bethel knelt next to the rocks littering the floor. She closed her eyes and her body went still, as if she was listening. “But I know the earth. It’s not like the other elements—full of life and vigor. Earth is more like a sleeping dragon. Slow to rouse and cumbersome when it wakes, but after it gets moving, it’s explosive.”
Jolin put her head in her hands. “I know that.”
“No you don’t!” Bethel turned, her face creased with anger. “The earth is alive, just like your plants or the waters. But it’s so much bigger!”
“I’m simply trying to realign—”
“You’re not listening!” Bethel rose to her feet and started
toward the door. “You never listen.”
Lilette stepped between Bethel and the exit, her hand up. “And where does she get her pride?”
Bethel shifted her weight from one foot to the other and took a deep breath. “Earth is simply too big to accomplish something so small.”
Behind Bethel, Jolin mimicked her mother. Ignoring her, Lilette went on, “Then what do we need to do differently?”
Bethel rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “You have to find a stone that’s more awake. One that will listen to a potion and react more individually.”
“What stone?”
Bethel paused for a few seconds. “I don’t know.”
Jolin threw her hands in the air and stormed into the greenhouse. Bethel closed her eyes until the last of her daughter’s footsteps faded away. “And you should use a singer as well as a potion.”
Lilette reached forward and put her hand awkwardly on Bethel’s shoulder. “She’s never felt like she was enough.”
Bethel sighed. “She was always enough for me, just never for herself.” Her gaze fell on Lilette’s pendant. “What’s this?” She was already reaching for it.
Lilette forced herself not to squirm. “The sun pendant. I wouldn’t wear it, but Han—”
Bethel waved her to silence as she pulled it over Lilette’s head and held it in her hand. “It’s amber. Blood of the trees, frozen by the sun and wind. Hardened by thousands of years until it is something not quite stone but no longer plant. Something other.”
Eyes closed in concentration, Bethel used her finger to trace a pattern through the stone. She sang, her voice commanding and clear as rainwater. The amber cracked, a crescent-shaped piece breaking off to leave an imperfect circle.
Lilette gasped. “That’s mine!” Somehow, the pendant had come to stand for everything Harshen had given her—both the good and the bad.
Bethel pried off the setting and tossed it aside. She held the pieces in her hand, eyes closed. “It has been forced to be the sun, bright and hot and pumping blood, when it should have been the moon, layers of shadow and rivers swollen with life.”