Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

M arieke woke slowly, her mind reluctant to return to consciousness. Probably because of the steady pounding in her head. Who was knocking against her skull, and why?

She let out a soft groan, and heard rapid movement next to her in response.

"Mari!" Her father's familiar voice was laced with relief. "That's it, nice and slow. Don't push yourself."

"My head hurts," Marieke groaned, wincing as she sat up. She put a hand tentatively to her temple.

"I don't know anything about magical ailments." Her normally collected father sounded anxious. "What do you need? Is there something I should be doing?"

Marieke smiled in spite of her pounding head. There was something very endearing about her father's concern.

"It's not a magical ailment," she said. "I've just overextended myself."

"From using magic," her father insisted.

"Well, yes." Marieke gave a weak laugh. "But I'll be fine, once I've had a chance to rest and recover my energy. As for what you can do…" she winced again as her temples throbbed, "a drink of cold water wouldn't go amiss."

"There's a glass just here."

Marieke downed the liquid gladly, looking around her. The room was completely unfamiliar.

"Where is here , incidentally?" she asked.

Her father leaned back in his chair, his eyes on her face. "The farmhouse of the Mosleys."

"Who?"

"The family whose field was the first to catch fire."

"Oh." Marieke put the glass down, full memory of the incident rushing unpleasantly into her awareness. The fire. The fire fueled by angry, intentional magic. "Is the fire out now?"

Her father nodded. "They're still out there, using barrels of water to make sure the last of the embers are extinguished, but it's all contained."

"Well, that's a relief."

Her father raised an eyebrow at her. "You sound subdued for a heroic rescuer."

Marieke snorted. "A what?"

"A hero." Amusement glinted in her father's eyes. "If I'm not mistaken, the locals will be building a statue of you before the week is out."

Marieke shuddered dramatically. "Song and power! Let's get ourselves home before anyone can do anything so horrifying."

Her father laughed aloud at that. "Good plan." His gaze softened as it rested on her. "Jokes aside, Mari, what you did was incredible. You really were heroic. I'm proud of you."

Marieke felt her cheeks heat, and made a scoffing noise to hide her pleasure. "Don't you start, Father." She closed her eyes against the aching in her head, trying to marshal her thoughts. How much should she tell her father? She needed to tell someone what she'd felt. But he wouldn't know what to do about the information. "How long was I out?"

"At least half an hour," he said. "Maybe closer to an hour by now."

She nodded. So it was highly unlikely that whatever singer had fueled the fire with that angry-feeling enchantment was still within reach. Presumably they would have slipped away when their scheme was thwarted. Part of her was disheartened by this information, while the other—more cowardly—part was relieved a confrontation was unlikely to be possible.

"I've held you up," Marieke realized aloud, her eyes shifting to her father. "You were hoping to be home this afternoon with enough time to open the clinic."

He shook his head, his smile amused. "Obviously there won't be time for that now, but I don't think you can take the blame, Mari. Unless you lit the fire in an attempt to display your skills to an admiring crowd."

The words were spoken lightly, but Marieke felt her brow lower.

"It was a joke, Mari," her father said. "Obviously no one would suspect that, least of all me."

"I know it was a joke," she said quickly. "It's just…" She put a hand on her still-throbbing head. "Naturally I didn't start the fire. But I think someone did."

Her father's frown now matched her own. "You think it was arson? What makes you conclude that?"

"I felt…"

Marieke hesitated, reluctant even with her father to say what she'd felt. Some farmers felt strongly that magic shouldn't mix with generations-old farming traditions, and would rather singers stayed away from their fields altogether. She hated to reinforce any mistrust they might have by making allegations that magic was used to nearly destroy a farm .

But there was no help for it. She drew a breath.

"I felt magic. In the fire. Or fueling the fire, or something. I don't exactly know the form it took. It wasn't a familiar enchantment to me. But it was targeted magic of some kind, not just the magic of the land taking its natural course."

Alarm flashed across her father's face as he considered this information. "Are you sure?"

Marieke nodded. "When I first assessed the situation, I could feel this angry kind of magic that I didn't identify at first. But when I was using songcraft to change the direction of the wind, I felt it again. The wind was fighting my efforts, and eventually it gave way to the wind under the control of my magic, and then the angry magic disappeared altogether, like its grip had been broken by my opposing magic."

"You could change the direction of the wind with your song?" Her father's voice sounded strange as he latched on to the unimportant detail. "Just…anytime you want? You can control the wind?"

Marieke bit her lip, not liking his expression. She'd been pleased when he said her magic was incredible. But something about his reaction now—almost awed—didn't sit as comfortably.

"Not just whenever I want," she said. "There are limitations on what songcraft can do, and we have to be very careful that we don't create unintended consequences of messing with the weather." When he still said nothing, she forced a reproachful note into her voice. "I have tried to tell you about my studies in agricultural song before, Papa. Lots of times."

His face softened into a sheepish smile, dispelling the unfamiliar expression he'd worn. "I know, but I never took much in. It never felt real when you talked about it as something you'd learned in a classroom far away. Seeing it in action today…" He shook his head. "Well, it was different, that's all." He ran a hand ov er his chin. "This is concerning, though. If some singer is targeting farms, the situation is serious. We'll probably have to report it to the Council of Singers, I suppose."

Marieke didn't miss the reluctance in his tone, and she understood the reason for it. The Council of Singers ran the country effectively for the most part. But coming from a rural area where singers were scarce and the land's deterioration hit hardest, she knew as well as anyone that there were valid reasons to feel frustration toward the privileged leaders.

In fact, she knew better than most, given the events of the last few months.

But this wasn't about her, or about the fact that the council may still hold her in suspicion. It was much more important to find out who'd attacked the farm, threatening to destroy what little harvest the region had.

"Yes, I think we will," she agreed. "But it's probably worth finding out more first."

She didn't intend to tell her father everything she was thinking. But she suspected that once the council got involved, she would be pushed to the side, and it would become considerably harder to gain information. If she wanted to know what was going on, she'd be wise to find out as much as she could before telling the council anything.

And she did want to know what was going on. She felt personally invested. She could still feel in memory the pressure of her magic grappling with the other magic. It had been a raw and desperate struggle, and it was probably for the best that at the time she hadn't realized she was fighting another human rather than just the natural elements. She might have lost her nerve if she had.

"Let me speak to the Mosleys," she said abruptly, pushing herself to her feet.

"Whoa, steady there." Her father held out a stabilizing hand as she wobbled, but she waved him off. Her energy was still depleted, but not so much that she couldn't move.

She'd barely started toward the door, however, when it swung open, and a woman with a round face and a friendly air bustled in.

"You're awake, child!" she said, nodding from Marieke to her father. "Well, that's a mercy. I was getting worried." Before Marieke could reply, she surged forward and enveloped her in a hug. "We're indebted to you forever, my dear. From all I hear, you saved us, and we're grateful."

"I just—it was nothing," Marieke stammered, embarrassed, but strangely comforted by the embrace.

"Nonsense." The older woman drew back. "None of it is nothing." She sighed. "It's still a disaster, no doubt about it. But it could have been infinitely worse. Would have been, if you hadn't happened to be here! And that's something to celebrate."

"Here comes the statue."

The murmur from Marieke's father was so low that the farmer's wife didn't hear it. Hopefully.

Her lips twitching traitorously, Marieke turned away from her father in a pointed way, addressing her question to the woman she assumed was Mrs Mosley.

"I hope I won't seem impertinent, but can I ask you some questions?"

"Of course you can, dear." The older woman chivvied her back toward the bed. "Once you're resting, and I've brought you some food."

Marieke's protests fell on deaf ears. She had no choice but to sit meekly on the edge of the bed and wait until Mrs Mosley had returned with a tray full of enough food to feed a whole family. Marieke had thought herself too tense to be interested in food, but as soon as she saw the steam rising from the home-baked goods, her stomach grumbled eagerly. She'd forgotten how much the exertion of magical energy could deplete the body. She remembered being constantly hungry when preparing for practical examinations at the Academy of Song. And even in her final year, she'd never undertaken anything on as large a scale as what she'd just done. It was no wonder her body was crying out for sustenance.

She picked up a scone, downing it in three mouthfuls as her hostess watched on with a faint air of smugness.

"There, I knew you must be famished. Why are people always too polite to admit they're hungry? Myself, I love a good feed."

She lowered herself into a chair, her round cheeks warmed by a grin that Marieke couldn't help responding to in kind. The food was good, and it wasn't at any risk of going to waste, not with the way her father was also helping himself.

"Now what questions did you want to ask me?" Mrs Mosley pressed.

Marieke straightened where she sat, lowering the apple she'd just raised to her lips. She was no investigator. Her questions would probably be clumsy compared to someone trained by the council to look into incidents like this. She'd just have to do her best.

"Have you ever had any accidents or disasters like this before?"

"Nothing like this," Mrs Mosley said. "Of course we have our share of little accidents around the farm, and setbacks in our harvests. And we're suffering under this blight like everyone else. But we've never had any catastrophes on a scale that threatened the whole farm until now."

Marieke nodded slowly. "And…can you think of anyone who might wish to do you a mischief?" She saw the other wo man's brow crease, and hurried on. "Have you had any recent conflicts, I mean?"

"No, not to speak of," Mrs Mosley said slowly. "We get on with our neighbors in the general way."

Marieke fidgeted as she thought how to word her next question. "Do you know any singers? Have you ever had problems with magic of any kind?"

Mrs Mosley leaned forward. "Are you suggesting this was not only deliberate, but caused by magic?"

Marieke exchanged a look with her father, who'd also stopped eating now. "I don't know anything for certain," she said cautiously. "But I suspect it might have been."

Mrs Mosley looked genuinely astonished, her eyes wide with dismay. "Heavens preserve us! We can't fight against magical attack. Why would anyone use songcraft to set our farm on fire?"

"I don't know," said Marieke helplessly. "There's no benefit I can see. Which is why I wondered if someone did it purely out of spite."

"I can't think of a living soul who'd be so motivated to hurt us that they'd try to convince a singer to burn down our fields!" Mrs Mosley protested. "We don't have any quarrels like that with anyone, at least not that I'm aware of. And even if we did, why would a singer agree to attack us?"

Marieke shook her head slowly, fairly certain the woman wasn't hiding anything. "They wouldn't. The council regulates song-related services offered for hire. As you'd imagine, arson isn't on the approved list. Any singer who took part in something like that would be locked up."

"So I'd imagine," Mrs Mosley agreed.

"In any event," Marieke went on, "the fire should be reported to the Council of Singers." She couldn' t restrain a sigh as she added, "I suppose I ought to travel to the capital with the messenger and give my own report directly."

She caught the swift look her father threw her. He could obviously read her reluctance about the idea, and would surely have questions. After all, last she'd told him, she'd been hoping to be offered a position in the capital, and working for the Council of Singers had been her ideal option.

"Well, a messenger already went," Mrs Mosley said, smoothing her apron distractedly. "They won't report your suspicions, of course, but they'll tell the council about the fire." She must have seen her listeners' confusion because she added with a slight frown, "Every farmer I know is under instruction to report anything that threatens their crops. In case you hadn't noticed, our whole country is becoming more barren by the season."

"We had noticed," Marieke's father said heavily. "We'll be headed for a famine if something doesn't change."

"Well, we can't do anything to change it," Mrs Mosley said, her frown deepening. "That's the council's job. Singers are supposed to be the ones who can manipulate the land and keep things healthy." Her face softened a little as she nodded at Marieke. "It's possible, as this one's proved. It's just a matter of willingness."

Marieke sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, all her earlier discomfort returning. "The Council of Singers do want to resolve the blight on the land," she felt compelled to say. "It's not that they aren't willing. But they don't know what's causing Oleand to deteriorate, and they don't know how to magically fix a problem this pervasive."

"Don't you worry, dear, we're not going to march on your council or pull down your academy." There was a hint of indulgence in Mrs Mosley's voice as she stood. "I'll go and double check whether the messenger already left. "

Marieke watched the older woman bustle out of the room, aware that she placed no stock in Marieke's reassurances. Mrs Mosley would assume that Marieke spoke out of blind loyalty, duty-bound as a singer to defend their ruling council.

And she wasn't entirely wrong. After all, it wasn't as though Marieke was rushing to share all her thoughts. She believed she'd spoken the truth that the council didn't know how to fix the affliction on the land. But was it really true that they had no idea what was causing it, and would do all in their power to find out if they could?

Marieke turned the apple over in her hand, her eyes on its smooth red skin as her thoughts flew back over the months. Apples always made her think of Zev now. This one surely couldn't be as sweet or juicy as the ones she'd eaten at his farm. Was his beloved orchard continuing to thrive? No doubt it was, given Aeltas wasn't affected by whatever was eating Oleand away from the inside.

Marieke's unease grew as she remembered all she'd learned during her time with Zev—and all he'd continued to withhold. Most troubling was the ruined trade city of Port Taran, from which the deposed royals had supposedly fled to exile on the far-off continent of Providore. Even after generations, the marks left on the city seemed to support the version of history Zev had been taught—a version in which the royals weren't exiled but hunted, pursued as they fled to the port and massacred in cold blood.

Marieke put the apple back on the tray, her appetite gone as cold fear stole over her, just as it had done when Zev had first challenged what she'd been taught. Could Oleand be under a curse, caused by the slaughter of the royals so long ago? A slaughter carried out by singers—the predecessors of the current council.

If that was so, she wasn't certain that the council would truly wish to identify the cause of the blight, or be willing to do all in its power to resolve it. Not anymore. Not since she'd experienced the council's treatment of her for the crime of being exposed to information they might not wish her to have.

But she couldn't say all this to Mrs Mosley. She couldn't even say it to her father. What would they do with the information? With nothing certain, it would be not only a burden to them, but a dangerous one.

Marieke pulled her thoughts away from the spiral they'd been stuck in for the last month, the one where she battled with the uncomfortable realization that if the council couldn't be trusted to genuinely pursue the truth about what was happening to Oleand, someone else would have to.

And she seemed to be the only one who was asking the right questions, with the exception of a former student, Jade, whom she very much feared had been permanently silenced for her questions.

At least, she was the only one in Oleand. Inevitably, Marieke's thoughts flew back to Zev and his family, so unlike the other farmers she knew. They weren't exactly asking questions, but he'd certainly seemed to know a great deal she didn't.

Most of which he'd declined to tell her.

Scowling, Marieke once again tried to push him from her mind. However much her heart ached over his absence, he'd made it clear that whatever Oleand was suffering wasn't his fight. There was no use looking to him to help her figure things out. Which meant that she would have to pursue other means of helping her country. She couldn't do it alone, and whatever risks were involved in seeking out the council, everyone who could help her was in the capital.

"What will you do if the messenger has already left?" Her father's quiet voice broke into her reverie .

She looked up to find his eyes on her, his gaze unusually piercing.

"I think I'll need to travel to the capital anyway," she said.

He sighed, the sound resigned. "You're not coming home with me today, are you?"

She gave him a twisted smile of apology. "I don't think so. I won't leave for the capital until I've had a chance to have a proper look around here, though."

"Well, I don't doubt the Mosleys will be happy to house you," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "But I imagine our friends would also be willing."

"That's a good idea." Marieke brightened at this mention of the family whose horse her father had just treated. She had a feeling the Mosleys' gratitude could get stifling if she stayed where she was. "I'm not the expert you are, but I know enough about horses that I can probably be helpful in monitoring the mare's progress."

"True." Her father nodded. "You can send me a report in a day or two. I'll speak to them before I leave, if you like."

"I'll come with you." Marieke stood as well. "I won't be around more than a week, I'm sure."

With a final glance at the apple lying abandoned on the tray, she followed her father from the room.

As it happened, she was in Bull Creek for only half the predicted week before a group from the capital arrived. Marieke was surprised by the efficiency—the singers must have been dispatched the moment the report regarding the fire was received.

She had mixed emotions when news of the arrivals reached her. It would probably be safer for her to make her report to these envoys than to the council itself. But she'd been hoping for more time. She'd learned very little from her inexpert investigation. No natural cause for the fire had been identified, yet no one had seen or heard anything unusual. And she'd spoken to what felt like half the town.

Most people seemed to have concluded that the fire had a natural cause, but Marieke knew what she'd sensed. Magic had definitely been involved. And it had felt much stronger and more targeted than the magic she'd sensed when Gorgon had almost drowned her from a distance. She still had no explanation for how magic had been involved in the attack from the canyon-dwelling rebel—who definitely wasn't a singer. But the trace of the magic had been faint and confusing. By comparison, the magic in the fire had been familiar, at least in form. It was surely the targeted magic of an active song, which she'd experienced countless times when training with other students at the academy.

In any event, whoever was behind it must be smarter and more careful than Gorgon and his group had been, to leave no trace of their presence. If Marieke hadn't happened to be there and to have felt the magic herself, there would be no reason whatsoever to think a singer had been involved.

Marieke joined the group of curious locals trickling into the center of town to see the arrivals from the capital. She told herself that her nerves were unjustified. The council wouldn't have sent anyone senior or important in this little group. It wasn't as though she was about to see the Head Instructor. In fact, no one from the academy would be sent to investigate a fire.

The thought had barely crossed her mind when she emerged into the town square and caught sight of the delegation. She paused in surprise as she realized that the group did indeed include an instructor from the Academy of Song. But Instructor Oriana was one of the friendliest people Marieke knew, and her presence was no cause for anxiety.

Marieke started walking again, her eyes scanning the group and widening further as they landed on yet another familiar face. Thankfully, this one was even more welcome than Instructor Oriana. Marieke picked up her pace as she strode across the clearing, her hand raised in greeting.

"Solomon!"