Daughters of Fire & Sea

by Holly Karlsson

Suspicion narrowed Runa’s eyes. Had Laenadara lied? Why did she look so shaken? From the looks passing between the Ayanarans, they’d expected their Tree to speak.

  Dropping her hands, Laenadara stood, her face smoothing out, unreadable. “I apologize, but it seems the Mother has been called away.”

  Runa stood up. She glanced at Eleden, who was frowning and watching the trees.

  “The agreement was we’d speak with Aya,” Runa said.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Laenadara said. “I regret I cannot soothe all your worries, but we must continue. What I’ve told you is true, the dragons are the only way to save Erith before the Taint destroys Her. We cannot wait another year.”

  “No,” Runa said. “If you’ve lied about your Tree —”

  “I have not lied,” Laenadara snapped, her calm shattering. Anger filled her face, and her eyes blazed. “We will continue. I won’t let arrogant children decide if our world dies. Take them!”

  Whirling, Runa saw green-clad archers step out from the trees, bows drawn and pointed at her and Lyric.

  She raised her hand, sparks sizzling between her fingers, but Lyric caught her wrist. “No!” her sister gasped.

  Runa hissed, following Lyric’s gaze. Kell, Eleden, and the other Sireni were on their knees with arrows pointed at their heads. Laerdi, eyes furious, had a hand to his forehead, blood dripping between his fingers.

  “I thought you need our consent, freely given,” Lyric said, voice shaking.

  Laenadara looked composed again, confident, superior. “And you will give it,” she said, “or your companions will die.”

  Lyric’s eyes filled with panic and she looked at Kell.

  His face was stricken, his body leaning towards her as if he wanted to grab Lyric and run.

  “I don’t know if —” Theo began.

  Laenadara silenced him with a look, and Theo looked uncomfortably down at his hands.

  “I regret force is required,” Laenadara said. “We truly wished to be allies and thought you would see the importance of what we’re doing. I know how this seems, but the ritual is too important. It’s a harsh truth, but your lives mean nothing compared to the millions of souls the Taint will kill. It’s time.” She gestured at an opening in the trees.

  Runa looked at the other priests. There was no hesitation in their eyes. They didn’t care what Laenadara was doing or seem concerned about her murderous threat. Whatever surprise they’d felt when Aya had not spoken had been swallowed by utter devotion to their High Priestess.

  “What do we do,” Lyric whispered, clutching Runa’s hand.

  Runa was angry, angry enough to set the forest on fire, to burn that confident smile off Laenadara’s face, but what then? Was she lying about the Taint?

  “Do you think she’s lying?” Runa hissed. “Do you think the Taint has spread?”

  “I think it has,” Lyric whispered. “She believes what she’s told us. They all do.”

  Runa bared her teeth, glaring. As much as she hated the High Priestess, she couldn’t see another way to save their father, their world, or even Lyric beside her.

  “Then we continue,” Runa said. “Better that than dying here.”

  Watched closely by the bow-holding Ayanarans, Runa and Lyric followed Laenadara and her priests back into the thick forest. They walked for several minutes, climbing up until another large clearing opened ahead of them, exposed to the darkening sky. Lit torches created a circle several steps in from the field’s edge, and in the center, someone had raked a small circle of black sand. Around the sand sat four earthen bowls.

  Eleden, Kell, Laerdi, Sashala, and Teaeth were forced to stand in a line outside the torches, each watched by a green-clad archer. The rest of the archers fanned out to encircle the clearing, their bows ready and their eyes on Runa and Lyric.

  “Walk onto the circle of sand,” Laenadara said. She was no longer asking nicely, merely giving commands she expected them to obey.

  Runa’s fingers itched, and she had to swallow the desire to call fire, to fight, to flee. Instead, she walked with Lyric towards the black sand.

  Behind them, Laenadara and her priests stepped inside the ring of torches.

  “Are you sure about this?” Runa asked, her voice low. “We could still run. Figure something else out.”

  Lyric eyed the archers then looked at Kell.

  Runa followed her gaze and saw that Kell's face was a tormented mask. He stood at Eleden’s side, as tension-filled as a taut bowstring, and for a moment she thought he might dash across the clearing, priests, and archers be damned.

  “I don’t think that’s an option anymore,” Lyric said quietly. “I pray this isn’t a mistake. That I haven’t misread her.” She glowered at the High Priestess. “Not that we have another choice. We can’t fight it. For Erith’s sake, for Mother, for Father.”

  Gritting her teeth, Runa nodded. She eyed the bowls as they passed and saw that one held a collection of sticks and dried moss, another water, the third dirt, and in the fourth was a flute.

  When they stepped onto the sand, Runa glanced down in surprise. It felt silky beneath her feet. Gripping each others’ hands, Runa and Lyric faced each other as the priests formed a circle around them. The priests picked up the bowls, Laenadara choosing the one with sticks and moss.

  “Aya, Great Mother, we call upon your guidance,” Laenadara said, her voice loud and firm. “Walk with us this evening. Know our hearts are pure, our purpose true. I call upon fire.” Fire flared in the bowl in her hands, the sticks and moss catching alight. “Let it illuminate that which is hidden.”

  Runa’s skin tingled as she felt Laenadara’s magic permeate the air. She frowned. She hadn’t known she was a mage. How had Laenadara called fire without speaking a single rune word?

  “I call upon water,” the bearded priest said. The water hissed in his bowl, steam rising from its surface and flicking little drops of water into the air. “Let it cleanse that which is clouded.”

  The gray-haired woman raised her bowl of dirt. “I call upon earth,” she said. “For it is to which we shall all return.”

  “Is this the ritual Grandfather did?” Lyric whispered. “What does this have to do with the Old Ones?”

  “I call upon air,” the gray-eyed man said. He lifted the flute and played four short, haunting notes that lingered in the air. “May it fill our ears and dispel lies.”

  “I don’t know,” Runa said, watching as the priests set down their bowls. “The dragons are tied to the elements.”

  A light breeze had picked up, and it tugged on her hair. The torches flickered and sputtered. Runa glanced at Kell and the Sireni, clumped together outside the torch line.

  The priests raised their arms out to each side, fingers splayed and stretching towards each other. They began to speak in an unfamiliar language. It sounded similar to the dragon runes Elenora had taught her, but the dialect seemed smoother and oilier, less harsh and guttural and more seductive. Runa’s skin tingled, simultaneously feeling too hot and cold. Sweat trickled down the small of her back.

  The wind picked up speed, and Runa gasped as it became a solid, rushing thing that whipped around them in a circle, spinning and separating into visible threads of air. It distorted the faces of the chanting priests and Kell and the Sireni beyond.

  “Ru,” Lyric said, her voice shaky.

  Runa locked her fingers around Lyric’s, meeting her wide, scared eyes. “Something’s wrong,” she said, staring at her sister. Something terrible was going to happen. She could feel it.

  Icy cold bit her fingers and Runa yelped as Lyric tore away from her, hand slipping from her grasp. She gaped as her sister was lifted off the ground, caught in a column of churning water. Lyric thrashed, her hair floating around her head, mouth gaping. Her eyes were boring into Runa’s with unrestrained terror. She was going to drown.

  Screaming, Runa dashed forward, intending to grab her sister and pull her free from the water. She reached out, then screamed as
her arm caught fire. Pain exploded over her body, and Runa disappeared into a maelstrom of fire. She was burning, her body awash in searing flames. It crackled and roared. She couldn’t see anything but red-gold fire. Runa screamed again or tried to, but there was no air in her lungs. I’m going to die! she thought.

  Panicked, Runa flailed her arms, trying to run, but she couldn’t move. Was she still standing on the ground or caught in the air like Lyric?

  You’re not going to die, stupid girl! Elenora’s voice, spiteful, disapproving, thundered in her head, shoving aside the blinding pain. Did you think this would be easy? What an arrogant, foolish child! You are fire! Raendasharan! You’re descended from the Three! Take control of it now!

  I don’t know how! Runa screamed. Her skin was burning, peeling away, exposing her bones. Her blood was boiling. Soon she’d be nothing! Soon she’d be —

  It is part of you, or it is not! Elenora shifted, and it felt like she’d pressed her fingernails into Runa’s brain, the uncomfortable sensation momentarily displacing the pain consuming her. Maybe you will die, Elenora sneered. Maybe you’re weak, like your grandfather. Like your mother.

  Elenora’s presence pushed against her, her displeasure a solid, comforting thing, and Runa grabbed it, onto the feeling of her and her words. Runa would not die with Elenora watching her, waiting for her to fail. She would not give her that satisfaction!

  I am fire, Runa thought, trying to shove aside the panic, the pain. I am fire! The fire could not hurt her. She was fire. She had the blood of dragons inside her. She was Runa. She could not be burned. She would not be burned or die at the hands of Ayanaran priests. She would not let them kill Lyric.

  Lyric!

  Rage seared away the panic, building, and rising with familiar strength. Runa was furious with Laenadara, with herself for trusting her. She’d hurt them! She would —

  Runa realized she no longer felt pain. She could see again. Blinking, she stared at the flames covering her arm. They were not burning her skin but dancing across it like light upon paper.

  Runa willed the flames to go out, and they disappeared, winking from existence as if they’d never been. Her skin was smooth, unmarred, and she stared at her hand in wonder, flexing her fingers. She hadn’t imagined the pain, the burning, yet she was unharmed.

  Lyric.

  Runa jerked her head up, frantically searching for her sister. Had she drowned? Was Lyric dead?

  29

  Lyric

  Lyric gasped air into her lungs as the water released her, and she fell on the ground. She pressed her fingers into the damp sand, shuddering, and breathed in again. Her throat felt raw, her chest tight. The water dried off her skin as if something were sucking it away. She felt her hair dry, impossibly fast, and it floated around her head before settling down her back and shoulders.

  Shoving herself to her feet, Lyric swayed. Her sister, where was her sister? Looking straight ahead, she met Runa’s raging eyes; they were glowing, actually glowing, with red-orange light. And there, hovering behind her sister’s shoulder was a small, red dragon covered in scales and spikes.

  Lyric yelped, pointing a finger at the apparition, just as Runa, eyes flaring, pointed past her shoulder. “What is that!” they said at once.

  Lyric jerked her head to the side, looking back, and saw a small, blue dragon floating behind her. It was sleeker than the one by her sister, with leafy wings that looked like the seaweed from their first night on the beach. As it floated there, Lyric realized it wasn’t solid. There was a ghostly quality to it, its body shimmering, allowing her to see the ground and trees behind it. Its gold eyes were staring at her with disconcerting familiarity.

  Hello, a small, unfamiliar voice said in her head. Unlike Gandara, the voice was composed of images and sensations. When it spoke, she saw a massive wave rolling onto a shimmering, white sand beach, and another image of a large, scaled creature swimming through a pink cloud of hundreds of bell-shaped animals, their translucent bodies rippling like long sheets of fabric.

  Gandara? Lyric called uncertainly. She listened, but Gandara didn’t respond. Lyric didn’t feel any connection to her at all. Her mind felt clear and unburdened.

  What are you? she thought at the creature.

  I’m your guardian, the dragon said. It shifted in the air, wings rippling as if underwater. I’m a wyvern, or at least I’m taking the shape of one. You summoned me. It shifted again, turning its head to stare through the spinning threads of wind that still trapped Lyric and Runa on the sand.

  I summoned you? Lyric asked in confusion.

  Do you require protection? the wyvern asked, staring in the direction of the priests. Someone is casting.

  “Protection?” Lyric asked aloud. She thought back mere seconds ago to when she’d thought she was going to die and put a hand to her cheek. “No … no, I’m part of the ritual.” She looked at Runa, several paces away, who was staring at the red wyvern.

  Lyric squinted, staring at her sister. Runa looked different like there was light trapped beneath her skin. What had happened to her while Lyric drowned? Had Runa been caught in water too?

  Lowering her hand, Lyric stared at it and flexed her fingers. She felt stronger, more alive as if she’d been charged with energy. Had Laenadara known this would happen? Was this some effect of calling power through her and Runa to summon the Old Ones?

  But why had she nearly drowned? Why had the water come at all? Because Lyric was Sireni? What would have happened if she hadn’t accepted she could breathe water? That it couldn’t hurt her? Gandara had been yelling something at her, telling her to breathe and …

  Gandara? Lyric asked again.

  Who? the wyvern asked.

  Pain rippled across Lyric’s palm, as her skin split in a neat line, spilling blood onto the black sand. She yelped, pulling her hand against her chest.

  The wyvern roared inside her head, whirling towards the priests. Something shot away from the creature and shattered against the spinning strands of air, bits of ice and water spraying upward.

  An arrow of fire shot towards the same point from Runa’s direction, exploding right behind whatever Lyric’s wyvern had spat towards the priests.

  Lyric looked at her sister and saw Runa crouched, hand raised, as if unsure who to attack. Blood dripped from her palm onto the sand. She was enraged, her eyes glowing red. Her lips started moving, flames flickering across her fingers.

  “Ru!” Lyric screamed. “We can’t fight it! The ritual!”

  Runa’s eyes snapped towards her, and she faltered, the fire dying on her hand. The wyvern beside her spun and spat, shaking its head as if confused.

  “Stop,” Lyric said, turning back to the blue wyvern. “Don’t attack!”

  They hurt you! the wyvern said, sounding confused.

  Lyric could hear the priests now, the sound of their voices rising to a commanding yell. She couldn’t understand their words. She cradled her hand against her chest and tried to see through the spinning wind. Was that Leanadara, with her hand upraised? Did she have a knife?

  Pressure gathered in Lyric’s chest, and she gasped as power rushed through her. It felt like a damned river had been unleashed, sending a torrent of energy ripping through her body. She staggered, and the wyvern wheeled towards her, flapping its wings uncertainly as it stared at her face.

  Lyric’s skin felt thin, too thin, and she wondered if her body would rip apart from the strain of holding the magic inside. Water beaded across the tops of her feet, and the air around her rippled, distorting.

  She clutched her head, droplets of water spinning around her, growing larger, becoming ribbons. Wind ruffled the hem of her robe, pressing it against her ankles, then the air rushed up her body, lifting her hair around her head.

  Everything exploded. The pressure, the energy inside Lyric’s chest, blasted outward in a rush, filling the air with a thunderclap of sound. Water sprayed away from her, hissing as it dissipated and collided with intense heat from Runa’s direction. T
he sand was blown away beneath Lyric’s feet, and the spinning wind ripped apart, tossing the priests to the ground.

  As one, the torches snuffed out, plunging the clearing into darkness. The first line of trees exploded, filling the air with fragments of wood and torn leaves.

  Eyes wide, Lyric searched for Kell. Had he been hit? Where was he? Was that him, lying in the dirt?

  A light broke the darkness to her left, and Lyric turned her head. Runa’s wyvern was emitting a pale red glow as it hovered in the air over her sister’s shoulder.

  “Kell?” Lyric called, looking back towards where she’d last seen him with Eleden and the other Sireni.

  “What was that?” Runa asked, coming towards her. Her hand was shaking as she reached towards her face.

  “I don’t know,” Lyric said. She caught sight of Kell struggling to his feet. She took a step towards him, intending to rush into his arms.

  The ground shook, bucking violently. Lyric gasped and fell onto her knees. Runa crawled towards her, reaching out, and Lyric grabbed her sister’s hand. She could feel the tiny prick of claws as the blue wyvern grabbed her shoulder. The earth rumbled, and the ground split between them and the stunned priests, dirt cascading into the opened fissure.

  “Ly! Look!” Runa gasped, neck craned upwards.

  Lyric looked up. Color filled the night sky, rippling ribbons of purple, green, and red. The dazzling lights wavered, then the colors disappeared, and darkness returned. The sky looked wrong. Where were the stars? Something was blocking their light. Something huge. It was coming towards them.

  “Get up!” Laenadara yelled. “Face them on your feet!”

  Lyric whipped her head towards the priests and saw Laenadara standing and staring up into the sky. She was wounded, blood smeared across her cheek. She held a dagger.

  “Get up, Ly!” Runa said, hauling on her hand.

  Standing, Lyric stared upwards, her mouth falling open, as four massive dragons slowed above them. The dragons’ wings stirred the air into little eddies that tugged on her hair and robes. Her wyvern buzzed around her, its chest puffing like it was a smaller bird valiantly trying to scare off one much larger.