“Pia . . . ,” Liyana began.
“I will sing so that you cannot focus,” Pia warned. “If you cannot focus, then you cannot work magic.” Filling her lungs, Pia shrieked. Liyana covered her ears as Pia’s scream-song reverberated inside her bones. Crescendoing, Pia’s voice rose an octave higher. It felt sharp enough to slice the sky. She stopped and smiled at them. It was not a sweet smile.
Liyana rubbed her ears. The notes still echoed inside her skull. “How exactly do I focus with that?”
“You outlast her,” Korbyn said with a shrug. “She’ll lose her voice eventually.”
“I have trained for my entire life,” Pia said. “It will be some time before my voice runs out. I can last all night if I must.”
Korbyn sighed and then stilled. Watching him, Liyana saw the moment that he entered a magician’s trance. Only a second later, Pia crumpled.
“Pia!” Fennik cried. Lunging forward, he caught her. Her body draped gracefully over his arms.
“Shh,” Korbyn said. “She’s asleep.”
“You did this?” Fennik asked. Liyana thought she heard a tendril of fear in his voice.
Korbyn smiled cheerfully at him and then turned to Liyana. “I want you to imagine a lake in a valley. Once you picture it correctly”—he tapped her heart—“you will feel it here.”
As Fennik carried Pia into the tent, Liyana concentrated.
After four more days of travel, Liyana had pictured her lake in the valley so many times that she could see it in perfect detail. Her lake was framed by sheer, granite cliffs, and it opened onto a valley that was filled with a lush spread of green grasses, thick groves of trees, and cascades of wildflowers. The lake itself was a perfect oval, and its clear, blue water reflected the cloudless sky above. It lapped at a pebble shore. Each pebble was a different shade of quartz that sparkled in the sun like a precious jewel.
So far, though, she had yet to draw out any magic from the lake. She hadn’t caused a single plant to bloom or a drop of water to surface through the rocky ground.
Liyana was not impressed with herself.
On the plus side, though, Pia had quit objecting to the lessons, thanks to Liyana’s lack of success. And Fennik had added a dollop of much needed humor when he had claimed he had enjoyed the evening quiet while Liyana practiced because it helped him calm his thoughts. In unison, Liyana and Korbyn had commented, “I didn’t realize you had thoughts.” They’d burst into laughter, while Fennik fumed for the next hour.
But that was the only time she’d laughed.
Liyana felt the passage of time as if her heartbeat were counting away her chances to reach Bayla. She couldn’t explain why she felt such urgency, but it pulsed through her veins. She was acutely aware that once they collected two more vessels, the demands of that many mouths would slow them even further, and she didn’t know how far they had left to ride after that. So she continued to try—and continued to fail.
Once they entered the hills, she had to quit practicing as they rode. Thousands of loose rocks were scattered over the terrain, and riding required everyone’s full concentration. No one wanted a hoof to slip on a rock, even if Korbyn could heal a lame horse.
By late morning, the sun beat down on the rocks, and they had to stop. Korbyn caused a trickle of water to well up in a dry streambed. Liyana and Fennik soaked cloths in the water and then squeezed it into their waterskins. The horses licked the wet rocks.
In the shadows of the rocks, Liyana resumed her practice while the others rested until the horses were ready to proceed. As she moved to mount, Fennik stopped her. “The terrain is worsening. We must walk the horses.”
Leading Gray Luck, Liyana walked beside Korbyn. The pace, as they picked their way over the rocks, felt far, far too slow. She chafed at their new speed.
“Can you tell if they’ve had their ceremony?” Liyana asked.
“I could tell if they’d succeeded,” Korbyn said. “You could too, once you learn. Once you can draw magic from the lake, you will be able to feel every rock, bird, and soul around you. Divine souls feel . . .”
“Divine?” she supplied.
“I was going to go with ‘glorious’ or ‘amazing,’ but ‘divine’ will do.”
“So either they haven’t tried yet . . . or we’re late.”
Korbyn halted and held up his hand. Behind him, Liyana patted Gray Luck’s neck and slowed the horse to a standstill. Holding the reins of the other horses, Fennik stopped them as well. He put his other hand on Pia’s shoulder to signal to her to stop.
“What is it?” Pia asked, her crystal clear voice ringing over the stones. “Have we found the Scorpion Clan?”
An arrow thudded into the ground at Korbyn’s horse’s hooves.
“Yes, we have,” Korbyn said calmly.
Shouts echoed on all sides as warriors sprang from behind rocks. The horses reared and shied, and Liyana fought to control Gray Luck. Fennik pulled down hard on Pia’s horse’s reins as she clung to her horse’s neck. Snorting and huffing, Gray Luck walked backward in a circle, and Liyana saw an array of arrows and spears trained on them. Attempting to keep her voice light, she said, “I’ve already been stabbed. Fennik was tied to a stake. I think it’s someone else’s turn. Pia, would you like to volunteer?”
“I beg your pardon,” Pia said.
Fennik shielded Pia by guiding his horse in front of her. “Do not even joke about her being injured.” Eyes on the warriors, he leaned to reach for one of his bows.
All around them, the warriors tensed. Some crouched, spears ready. Liyana saw bowstrings drawn. “Fennik,” Korbyn said. Listening for once, Fennik halted.
For an instant, no one moved. No one even breathed.
And then Pia began to sing. Raising her chin, she let the notes pour out of her mouth. Her melody cascaded over the rocks and echoed through the hills.
“Is that her answer to everything?” Liyana asked under her breath.
“You have to admit it’s effective,” Korbyn said. Around them, the warriors lowered their weapons. Pia continued to sing. Wordless, the song was a soothing melody that was at once as sad as a farewell and as uplifting as a child’s laugh.
“You know, I think I like her,” Korbyn said.
“You’re just happy you don’t have to heal anyone,” Liyana said.
“True.” Raising his voice to be heard over Pia’s song, Korbyn called to the warriors, “I am Korbyn of the Raven Clan! These are my companions! We bring word of your goddess! We must speak with your vessel!”
One of the men laughed. “Good luck with that.”
Liyana felt as though her innards had curdled.
“It is vital!” Fennik said. “We must speak with her immediately!”
“You can try,” said the man who had laughed. “Pretty sure she’s still drunk.”
Soiled clothes and empty jugs were strewn over the camp. Tents were pitched askew on boulders. Liyana picked her way through the debris. Behind her, Fennik had chosen the expedient solution of scooping Pia into his arms and carrying her. Left on the outskirts of camp, the horses grazed on the scant, tough grasses—they could not navigate through the rubble.
“There are no bodies. No blood. I don’t understand this,” Fennik said. “It looks as if they were attacked, but I don’t see any wounded.”
Korbyn marched in front of them with zero regard for where he stepped. As Liyana hopped over another shattered pot only to land on a soggy shirt that reeked of urine, she thought that he might have the right approach.
Pia clung to Fennik’s neck. “Are we in danger?”
“We are late,” Korbyn said.
Liyana felt her stomach clench. Men and women perched and sprawled on the rocks. Some looked listless. Others celebrated. And others clutched jugs and waterskins as if they held all the liquid that remained in the world. Perhaps, for this clan, they did.
