These Divided Shores, page 22
The Visjorn bear blood necklace was easy enough to break. Lu put it in a mortar and gently, gently, cracked the glass, letting the precious blood drip into the stone bowl. It was such a small amount—would it be enough? How much did the Mecht clan leaders use in their potions? She couldn’t bring herself to ask Gunnar, not now, when going to him would mean facing Vex in the cells where the Tuncians had locked them away.
She sorted her Tuncian spices. She picked which magic plants to use. She went over the steps to make Emerdian stonework, the temperature and molding, the time and pressure.
How, all this time, have so many cultures used our magic and not realized it was happening in Port Mesi-Teab, in Port Camden, in the Mechtlands? How has no one pieced this together before now?
Rosalia came, and Lu asked if there was anything Grozdans combined with Grace Loray’s magic that was unique to them. Rosalia couldn’t think of anything, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t out there, being used even now. Would Elazar and Tom find it first?
They had done something with Menesia to make it control Cansu after Elazar sang a hymn. That paralleled how the Mechts used Eye of the Sun, and the Tuncians used Budwig Beans, and Emerdians used Bright Mint. Tom had put that together, experimenting with different concentrations of Menesia—as he had done on her.
Lu’s hand hovered over a vial of Bright Mint. She could make a condensed dose of it, take it, and see what memories Tom had erased from her mind.
She stayed herself and got back to work.
Kari came. Nayeli wasn’t there to bar her entry, and she stood next to the table as Lu laid out the most potent of the Tuncian spices.
“We have had news,” Kari was saying. “Elazar has left Port Mesi-Teab. He appears headed northeast, for Port Fausta, to continue ‘spreading his coming light.’”
Rosalia was in the sanctuary, though. Whoever Elazar would get to bow to him as a symbol of Port Fausta’s surrender, it wouldn’t be the Grozdan syndicate Head.
“Tom is gone as well?” Lu asked.
Kari hesitated. “Yes.”
Whenever she left to fight Elazar, Tom would be there. And Teo. That likelihood circled Lu’s plans, a hawk with a crooked beak and bloodthirsty talons.
Lu refused to let it debilitate her. Confronting her father would invigorate her, and when she stood before him this time, she would not hesitate. She would not let him break her.
Kari’s voice quickened. “Now that we know Elazar’s plan, we will follow him to Port Fausta and assassinate him. Heads Blaise and Rustici have agreed to join us, and Head Rustici will contribute knowledge of Port Fausta. But, sweetheart, you don’t need to be involved—”
Lu flinched away. “Harmedeku,” she said, touching a jar of spice. “Nigrika. And—” She couldn’t remember the name of this one, but it was rich and chocolaty and a single whiff had made her eyes water—from its potency, and from memory.
Kari had cooked with this spice. A breakfast treat on Lu’s birthday—pork that had marinated in it for days, with sticky, fresh honey and tart grapefruit, cooled by yogurt and eaten with stone-cooked Tuncian pastries from Kari’s mother’s recipe—
“Mootabel.”
Lu looked up.
Kari stared at the jar. “Mootabel,” she repeated. “The spice. They say it comes from the god of Rebirth, Eshepri. That eating it can make you anew.” She lifted her eyes to Lu’s. “You can’t still want this, Adeluna. Permanent magic.”
Lu gripped the jar of Mootabel. New starts—that was why Tuncians associated it with birthdays. “He’s already working on magic,” she whispered. “If he figures out how to make it permanent while he still has Teo—no. I will do this. I have to do this. For Teo, for Grace Loray, to make this island safe.”
Kari’s eyes glistened. “You’ve never felt safe, have you?”
Lu didn’t respond.
Kari’s eyes drifted back to the table. She lifted the jar of Harmedeku. “This one is used in offerings to the god of Death, Fapsanti. She is the wife of Eshepri, so it is often paired with Mootabel. Nigrika—this is associated with lesser blessings. Has Nayeli gotten you Hadiza, or Tale? Those are the spices of the other two gods, and could be—”
A thin yet sturdy thread of tension wound around them, but Lu shoved it to the edge of the room, scooping up Kari’s help and her presence with greedy hands.
Years ago, they had sat in ramshackle hideaways together, Kari explaining the finer points of stealth and spying to Lu. This was no different, and as Lu asked about the amounts of spices often used, she saw an echo of her younger self, staring up at Kari with wonder.
This was her mother. This resilient, controlled woman, who could analyze any situation and adapt it to her own ends. Who could bring an entire country to its knees. Who could wage war and rip victory away with bloody hands and never once lose her poise.
Tom had made Lu a traitor. But this was her mother, imperfect and indestructible, and maybe, since Lu had come from her, she could be those things, too.
Equal spoonfuls of Tuncian spices—Harmedeku, Mootabel, Hadiza, and Tale, the four added to concoctions to demand the gods’ blessings. They perfumed the air with zest and smokiness. Adding spices in those amounts to Budwig had let Cansu listen through every similar plant on the island.
The steps to make Emerdian stonework. Cooking at the highest temperature the little fire could reach for four and a half hours, then five more hours on low, orange-gray coals. This preparation had taken Bright Mint’s effects from mental stimulation to insanity.
Mecht Visjorn bear blood. Such a small amount—Lu added all of it and prayed to whatever god would hear her. Mixing it with Eye of the Sun let the Mechts have permanent fire control.
Should Lu sing an Argridian hymn over it? No. She wouldn’t add Menesia to this potion. She wanted no part in controlling others if that was what Argridian hymns did.
Then she added plants. Powersage. Aerated Blossom. Cleanse Root. Incris. Lazonade. Croxy. Plants for strength, flight, healing, power, movement—their counter plants too, all broken down and combined.
For two days after the explosion, Lu hadn’t left the laboratory shack. She hadn’t gone to see Vex and Ben; she barely knew anything that was happening outside these walls, aside from Kari’s visit and her news that Elazar—with Tom and Teo—was heading for Port Fausta.
But after all her work, her careful monitoring of the various ingredients and preparation steps, Lu came away with a large enough amount of potion to fill five vials with permanent magic. Well—possibly permanent. There was one way to find out.
Lu stood over the table, digging through her soul for the resolve to take one of the vials.
The shack door opened. A spurt of panic welled up. She didn’t want to relinquish control of this magic—it would be passed out on her terms. Lu swiped at the vials, trying to hide them. She managed to get only two into her pocket before Nayeli and Rosalia appeared.
Why? If this potion worked, they would need all five vials, every weapon possible to destroy Elazar.
Lu took a fortifying breath. If it worked, she would reveal the two remaining vials. All five had the same potion within them, and Lu didn’t have enough ingredients remaining to make more. No need to waste all the vials if the magic within was—or wasn’t—permanent.
“That councilmember has us moving out to Port Fausta later today. Have you finished?” Rosalia leaned around the table. “Those vials. Gloria! You did it!”
Lu slammed her hand over them as Rosalia reached around her.
Rosalia wasn’t deterred. “What’ll they do? Strength? Flight? Speed?”
“Lu—have you tested it?” Nayeli analyzed Lu with new purpose. She was wondering if Lu had taken permanent magic. If she had . . . abilities, now.
Lu shook her head.
Nayeli growled—but looked relieved. “Fatemah was right about that, at least—who are we going to test it on? It’s a bit . . . cruel. Isn’t it?”
“I can find some volunteers,” Rosalia said. “Grozdans aren’t afraid of cruelty.”
“We’re well aware of Grozdans and their lack of standards,” Nayeli snapped. “But by cruel I mean runs the risk of giving someone Shaking Sickness.”
Lu stared, hearing aloud what she had been trying not to admit to herself. She saw Vex, grabbing the Variegated Holly bomb. Shaking as he threw it. His grimace of pain and fear.
These potions—that she had made, that she was responsible for—could give someone Shaking Sickness. Or worse. Was she any better than Elazar if she made someone else test it?
“Well,” Rosalia giggled, “it’s a good thing we have a disposable Argridian piece of shit.”
Lu’s blood sank to her toes. “You will not touch Ben,” she stated. “Or Vex.”
Rosalia’s grin soured. “Not them. That other one—the defensor.”
Lu had heard that the Tuncians had given Jakes magic to heal his wounds. He had awoken this morning and confirmed that Elazar’s plan was to host a gathering in Port Fausta before heading to Port Camden and, finally, New Deza.
Nayeli’s face screwed up. “You think he’ll volunteer? He’s a defensor of the Church—”
“Who said anything about volunteering?” Rosalia kept her eyes on Lu as she spoke.
Nayeli blanched. “You want to torture this poor kid?”
Lu huffed. “Poor kid? He guarded us in the Port Camden prison. He stood by while defensors whipped Gunnar, while Milo tortured me.”
“So he deserves to be tortured too?”
Hesitation yanked on Lu’s chest. “That’s . . . that’s not what I said.”
“What are you saying, then?” Nayeli asked. “Because that’s what this will be. We’re forcing magic on him. It’s torture, and you know it.”
“Don’t you want Cansu back?” Rosalia cocked her head at Nayeli. “She’d be heartbroken to hear you weren’t doing everything possible to save her.”
“Shut up.”
“That defensor is Argridian. He’s an enemy.” Rosalia stomped for the door. “I’ll get Nate and Pierce to grab him. Elazar’s almost to my city. My city. I don’t have time for morals.”
Lu was leaning against the table by the time Nate and Pierce hauled Jakes into the shack.
She had watched revolutionaries die from Argridian bullet wounds, or hung from the walls of ports, or burned on stakes. She had spied for her parents, killed for Tom, because Argridians were enemies. They were heartless, and evil, and that made them inhuman.
So it was all right that Lu had killed them. It was all right that she would experiment on this one, Jakes, because he was an enemy. Just like Tom had taught her.
If this potion worked, it would make her strong enough to defeat Elazar and save Grace Loray. It would let her save Teo.
Nate shoved Jakes into the middle of the room. Manacles clamped his arms behind his back, and he stumbled to keep from falling into the smoking fire.
When he looked up, his eyes locked on Lu. “What is happening?” he asked in stunted Grace Lorayan, his accent thick. He knew he was outnumbered, even if he didn’t know the why or the how, and his throat worked on a hard swallow.
Nate kicked the backs of Jakes’s legs, sending him to his knees. “Fatemah’s raiders have been questioning him all morning. Most of his information is stuff we already know. The Tuncians handed him over—seems they were happy to find a use for him.”
Jakes hung his head.
Nayeli pinned Lu with a look. “Go ahead. Give him the magic.” There was a dare in her voice, not to do it.
Lu pushed back from the table and picked up one of the vials. Her hand shook.
She had no idea what it would do. What abilities it would give him, if any.
A low, rhythmic noise emanated from Jakes. Humming?
Lu frowned. Nate grabbed Jakes’s chin and jerked his head back, readying his mouth to open.
The humming cut off. Jakes’s eyes went to the vial in Lu’s fingers.
Understanding made his eyebrows raise. “It’s all right,” he told her, sweat beading on his forehead. “I understand why you have to do this. I want it, too, believe it or not.”
Lu held her frown. “If you think you can take permanent magic back to Elazar—”
“I won’t.” He inhaled, and Nate jerked his grip on Jakes’s neck tighter. “Elazar turned on me after the Port Camden prison escape because I told him I let you go. I couldn’t . . . he isn’t the future. I will go where either you or Ben are. You two will end this war. You two are the future.”
Nayeli stepped up beside Lu. “What? Wait—no, still confused. What?”
“Didn’t you swear loyalty to Elazar?” Lu pressed. “You are a defensor of the Church.”
“I swore loyalty to Argrid.” Jakes nodded at the vial in her hand. “Do what you must.”
He closed his eyes with a deep breath.
Nate glanced at Pierce with a baffled squint. Jakes must have stopped fighting him. Sure enough, Nate backed away, and Jakes stayed on his knees, eyes closed, head tipped up.
Rosalia looked just as perplexed. But it was a murderous, dark confusion, a reflection of her impatience in Fort Chastity. How she had unflinchingly shot Tom.
Jakes started humming again. Lu wanted to question him more, to figure out why he was accepting this experiment—this torture—
She recognized the song.
“All this,” she started, “and you hum a revolution song?”
Jakes’s eyes split open. “What?”
“Rebels made it up during the war.” Lu hummed a few bars. Teo had sung it to himself more times than she could count. It had been a popular song among revolutionaries, a bawdy tune sung during dark nights. Teo loved it because his mother had sung it as a lullaby to him. A memento of a time Teo didn’t know.
He knew it now, though. He was living it.
“It isn’t a revolution song.” Jakes’s face hardened.
Something about his tone—disgust, maybe—made pride swell in Lu’s chest. She started to sing. “Dirt and sand, all across the land; the currents are ours, you see.”
Jakes hesitated, but started alongside her—in Argridian. “Prayer is ours, devotion too; so we do not fear the flames—”
They united on “No god, no soldier, no emperor, no king—”
And gaped at each other.
Jakes’s face grayed. “How . . . how do you know that?”
“I told you,” Lu said, easing into a raging river. “Revolutionaries made it up.”
“No. My sister wrote that. In Argrid, when I was a child.”
Lu looked at Nayeli, as though she would have an explanation. But Nayeli’s eyes were wide. “It became popular among the rebels,” Lu said. “Perhaps it spread to Argrid, and the people there changed it?”
Rosalia groaned. “This is all fascinating—give him the potion!”
Lu glared at her, fury heating her face. Rosalia faltered back a step.
“No.” Jakes’s insistence pulled Lu back to him. “My sister wrote that song. She wrote it for Argrid. For the people there who wanted more than Elazar’s tyrannical rule. She sang it to me, and her daughter, when we were scared, when the Church did horrible things around us, when we couldn’t escape the hell it was to grow up in Argrid. And when Elazar killed her and my niece with Shaking Sickness in Deza, when priests burned my parents in front of the cathedral my family had gone to for years, I had only that song. It’s all I have left of her. Revolutionaries on Grace Loray do not get to change Bianca’s song just because—”
Lu grabbed for Nayeli, clutching her for balance. “What did you say?”
“I said, the revolutionaries—”
“No. Bianca. Your sister’s name was Bianca?”
Jakes’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Bianca and her daughter, dead from Shaking Sickness. Bianca, who wrote that song.
Lu’s palm was sweaty around the vial, her heart thudding. “Bianca. And Annalisa.”
Jakes teetered back, his cheeks blotchy. “How do you know those names?”
It was impossible—it was mad—
“Elazar didn’t kill them in Deza,” Lu whispered. “I watched them die here. On Grace Loray.”
“No,” Jakes protested weakly. “No, Elazar killed my sister and niece in Deza when I was thirteen. They’ve been dead for seven years. How could you— What is this? You got this information somehow, didn’t you? You’re trying . . . you’re trying to . . .”
He bent double, his manacles clanking against his back. Tendrils of hair twisted around his face as he spoke fast and low to himself in Argridian.
There was a knock on the door and the handle rattled. Nate must have thrown the lock.
Rosalia cursed and stomped over to deal with it, but Lu knew nothing outside of this defensor at her feet. Bianca’s brother. Annalisa and Teo’s uncle.
“Bianca and Annalisa fled Argrid,” Lu told him. She didn’t owe him this. But she did, somehow, her heart unable to start again until she spoke. “They came to Grace Loray with other refugees. I was young—ten, eleven. Bianca became one of my parents’ supporters. She helped them fight Elazar here. Annalisa was . . . a light.”
Jakes looked up at her, his eyebrows rising.
“Bianca died two years ago, of Shaking Sickness,” Lu told him. “And Annalisa too—”
She couldn’t force the words out. So many more needed to come: Annalisa died a few months ago. Has it only been a few months? But Teo is healthy. Teo is—
Teo had been born on Grace Loray. Jakes had a nephew he didn’t know about.
Lu almost told him, but the emblem on Jakes’s uniform stayed her. Argrid’s ivory curved V, the crossed swords, bloodstains and dirt smeared across them. She remembered this defensor standing outside her cell, complicit in Gunnar’s whippings, in Milo’s torture of her.
Jakes had proven he would sacrifice anything, anyone, to achieve his goals.
Lu would not let him factor Teo into his machinations.
Nate and Pierce joined Rosalia at the door, talking to whoever had come.
