Light My Fire

by G. A. Aiken

  “Elina’s not weak. She’s amazingly strong.”

  “Strong of mind. Strong of spirit. Strong of intellect. But when it comes right down to it . . . she hates to kill unless for food or in defense. Glebovicha saw that as weakness not to be overcome. Or overlooked.”

  “So then she just kills her?”

  “As I said, a Steppes mother cannot just kill her child.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Glebovicha was not going to let her see the Anne Atli, but my sister had made commitment to that Annwyl the Bloody. She was determined to see it through. And that is exactly what she told Glebovicha. But Glebovicha, she runs our tribe.”

  “Which means Elina was going against a direct order from her leader.”

  “Exactly. You Southlanders, you beat those who disobey orders. Maybe put them in your dungeons. We are Daughters of the Steppes. We have no dungeons. And beatings are reserved for when horses and livestock are not protected during battle or stealing gold from raids for yourself. But disobeying orders . . . how that is dealt with is up to tribe leaders.”

  The dragon took in a quick breath and suddenly asked, “You can’t go back . . . can you, Kachka? Back to your people?”

  Kachka shook her head. “No. Neither of us can.”

  The dragon rubbed his hands against his face, like he was desperately trying to rub off dirt.

  “Kachka, I’m so sorry.”

  “Horses of Ramsfor,” she laughed, “you sound like Elina. What do you apologize for? You did not swing the knife. You did not cut her throat. You could have flown away, left us both to die. You did not do those things. You stayed and fought. You saved my sister. Do you think I can ever repay you for that? You saved all I have left. So stop crying like child—”

  “Well, I’m not actually cry—”

  “—because my sister will need strong male now by her side. Even if it is unholy scaled monster from netherworld.”

  “Actually, dragons aren’t—”

  “You talk much. Is that normal? How did she put up with you for such a long trip?”

  “I actually haven’t said that—”

  “Och!” Kachka said, swiping her hand near his face. “Talk, talk, talk, that is all you do. Shut up!”

  The dragon stared at her, his mouth slightly open. But at least he was quiet.

  “Celyn?” They both looked to the alcove opening. One of the Kyvich witches stood there. “The wall’s down. In case you want to see your barbarian female.”

  Celyn stood and rushed out of the alcove. Kachka followed, but stopped by the witch and warned, “Watch who you call barbarian, Kyvich.”

  The witch leaned in and said, “I’m not Kyvich, Rider.” She smiled and it was a frightening thing to be forced to look at. “I’m much worse.”

  Then she turned and walked off.

  The brown witch in the wool dress and fur cape rushed by, her arms filled with herbs and clean bandages. She shook her head at Kachka. “My cousin is actually not that bad. She’s just misunderstood.”

  But Kachka was sure she hadn’t misunderstood a damn thing.

  Celyn walked into the alcove where they had placed Elina. The Kyvich brushed past him on her way out, but Brigida was still washing her hands.

  The alcove had been outfitted with human furniture, including a bed, table, chairs, and a small desk. Not surprising. Most dragons had space for human company. Sometimes they had friends, sometimes they had lovers, and humans didn’t seem to enjoy lying on top of piles of riches the way dragons did.

  Elina was on the bed, her shirt removed so that they could get to the wounds on her face and neck. She was covered in bandages now and was—thankfully—breathing normally. But she was still unconscious, and that worried him.

  He lifted the bandage that covered the left side of her neck and face where she’d been slashed. The scars were already fading, but he froze when he saw Elina’s left eye. It had been sewn shut.

  Celyn knew from what he’d heard about Brigida the Foul that she was a Dragonwitch with much power. Something he could easily believe . . . what with her still being alive and all. So healing Elina’s damaged eye should be no problem for someone of Brigida’s experience and skill.

  “Why did you sew up her eye?” he demanded.

  “You don’t want dirt gettin’ in there, do ya?” Brigida asked calmly as she shook out her wet human hands before grabbing a cloth to dry them. “That’s how you get infection. That’s hard to fix.”

  “But how long before she can see out of that eye again?”

  Brigida faced him and simply asked, “What eye?”

  “Her left eye. Oh, gods.” Celyn leaned away from her. “You didn’t take her eye, did you? To use for some . . . ritual?”

  She let out a harsh, abrasive sound that grated on Celyn’s exhausted nerves, even though he knew deep down that was her laugh. “Don’t need no worthless human’s eyes, boy, to bring me power. I make me own power.” She walked to the bed, looking down at Elina. “But she ain’t had no eye when you brought her here. If ya want me to guess . . . it’s probably around the neck of the one who done this to her. Like a trophy.”

  Horrified, Celyn stared down at Elina. How could he tell her this when she woke up? How could he tell her what had happened to her?

  “But you’re powerful. Can’t you do . . . something?”

  “If the eye was still there, yeah. I could probably fix it. At least make it look like mine. But ain’t no eye there to fix, is there?” She patted his arm. “But look. I helped with the scars she was gonna have, didn’t I? She had slashes from her neck to over her right eye. Skin hanging off and all. But I fixed that up real nice. You probably won’t even be able to tell . . . much . . . after a while.”

  “I don’t care about her scars.”

  “Well, humans do. They get real upset about that sort of thing.”

  “But her eye . . .”

  “What do you want me to say? Can’t create it out of air, can I?”

  “But what do I tell her?”

  “What do you tell her? How about she’s lucky to be alive?”

  Celyn faced his kin—although he really thought of her as his ancestor—and said, “Her mother did this. Her mother. How does a mother do that to her offspring?”

  Brigida, unmoved, shrugged. “Don’t know. Me mother was known for being pure evil . . . but she liked me. We got along real well. But this girl . . . her mother aimed for the arteries. I think she only missed because your human moved. Tell me this, did the attack stop after this cut or did you have to step in?”

  “I stepped in. So did her sister.”

  “Then what you tell this girl is that she’s lucky to be alive.”

  Assuming he had no choice in the matter, Celyn sat down on the edge of the bed.

  Brigida stared at him for a bit before asking, “How old are you?”

  “One hundred and fifty-eight.”

  She snorted. “Then you’re too old for this.”

  “Too old for what?”

  She waved at him, her face contorting as if she were searching for the right word. “For all this . . . concern.” And she said that last word with utter disgust.

  Celyn rolled his eyes. “Really?”

  “It’s a weakness.”

  “It is not a we—”

  “And your mother’s fault.”

  “How is my mother to bl—”

  “Like all the females of me line, they baby their boys. Make them weak. Make them think that the world is filled with sweets and roses.”

  “Ghleanna the Decimator did not baby me. She babied none of her hatchlings.”

  “Hard on her females, I bet she was. But cuddling and showing affection to her males.”

  “That’s not true. My mother was hard on us all and loving to us all. In equal measure. And I’d ask you not to speak ill of my mother.”

  “Fine. Your father’s fault then.”

  “What’s wrong with my father?”

  “No
thing, actually. He’s not much with strength, but he’s smart. We need more of that in our line. Too many of the Cadwaladr males are big and dumb . . . like oxen.”

  “That’s me and my kin you’re speaking of.”

  “No. You take after your father a bit, I think.”

  “My poor father wishes. But none of us are like our da.”

  “You are, more than you realize. I remember him, you know, as a whelp. He couldn’t stop staring at your mum, but like most Cadwaladr females, it took her forever to realize it.”

  Elina stirred beside him, grimacing in her sleep, her fingers reaching for her wounded face.

  Celyn took her hand in his and gently held it. With his other hand, he pushed her hair off her face.

  The move seemed to calm her and she settled back into deep sleep.

  When Celyn suddenly remembered he wasn’t alone in the room with Elina, he looked up to find the old witch watching him. And gods, she was so very old, but she still had her mind. Something told Celyn that would be the last of her to go.

  “It’s not your fault, boy,” she abruptly told him, with something akin to kindness in her voice.

  “I was supposed to protect her.”

  “She’s alive, ain’t she? If it hadn’t been for you, I can promise you . . . she wouldn’t be.”

  “Aye, but—”

  “Her mother wanted her dead. Long before your little Rider even knew your name.”

  He knew the witch was right, but still . . .

  Brigida shook her head. “Aye. Your father’s child, you are. All thoughtful and caring, feeling everything deep.” She let out a sound of disgust and turned away from him.

  “It’s not considered a flaw among our clan to be thoughtful and caring,” Celyn argued. “As long as you’re good with a sword or hammer, you’re bloody golden among the Cadwaladrs.”

  “So you’re telling me my entire line’s gone weak?” She made her slow way across the alcove. “You know who’s fault that is, don’t’ cha?”

  “Don’t say my father again.”

  “No. It started long before him.” She turned and, tightly gripping the arms, slowly placed her human body into a high-back wood chair. “Your grandfather. It was his love of the humans that brought this curse down on all our heads. I’d give up all hope if it weren’t for that lot out there.”

  The old She-dragon grinned, and it would have been the most disturbing thing he’d seen in his life if he hadn’t recently witnessed a mother cut out the eye of her own child. “Now that there, boy . . . that’s power. The three apart are to be reckoned with, but together . . .” Her grin grew, and Celyn suddenly understood where the lizard comparison came from.

  With Elina resting near him and knowing they were safe from the Riders, at least for the moment, Celyn let his natural curiosity take over.

  “What are you doing here, Brigida?”

  “Doing here?”

  “In the Outerplains? Why aren’t you in the Southlands? Why aren’t you part of Rhiannon’s court?”

  “Rhiannon’s court,” she scoffed. “I remember her, too, when she was no more than a hatchling, hanging onto her daddy’s tail. Now that,” the old witch said, “was a mother and daughter who had true hate for each other.”

  “Rhiannon doesn’t hate Keita. Her daughter just irritates her.”

  “No. No. Rhiannon and her mother. Adienna. Now that Adienna I liked.”

  “Because you could easily control someone so insipid and worthless?”

  “Aye,” she replied eagerly, startling Celyn. “That’s exactly why! That Rhiannon is a useless girl, too. But we do have something in common.”

  “You’re both White Dragonwitches that terrorize all those around you?”

  “You’d think so, but no.” She gestured outside the alcove. “It’s them three. So much power and they don’t even know it yet.”

  “They know it.” Celyn sighed, his fingers stroking Elina’s arm. He’d like to think he was doing it for her benefit, but it was really more for his. “And don’t pretend for a second they don’t.”

  That disturbing milky eye in Brigida’s head that seemed to have a life of its own locked on him.

  “You close to them?” she asked.

  “Not particularly. We’re cousins, Cadwaladrs, and I’d protect them with me life. But if you’re asking if I know all their secrets, I don’t even know a one.”

  “Too bad.” She tried to push herself up, but stopped after a second or two. “Over here, boy. Give me a hand.”

  Celyn did as ordered and went to his ancestor. He gripped her arms and helped her to her feet. Once she was standing, he forced himself to be brave and look down into that horrifying face. “What do you want from them, Brigida? What do you want from Rhian and the twins?”

  “What do you think, boy?” She patted his chest and began to move slowly around him. “Everything.”

  She held out her hand. “Give me my staff.”

  Celyn saw it resting against the wall and retrieved it. But just touching the damn thing made his skin crawl as nothing ever had before. He couldn’t hand it over to the witch fast enough.

  She leaned heavily on it and began walking again. “Unfortunately,” she went on, “it looks like they’re Cadwaladr stubborn. So I’ll need to find a different way in, won’t I?”

  She abruptly stopped and looked back at Celyn. “What can you tell me about their mothers?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Elina had no idea if it was day or night when she awoke. Nor did she know where she was. The light from a nearby pit fire and torches on the wall lit the room so that she could see. But her head, face, and neck pained her beyond anything she could remember. She tried to go back to sleep, but her body wouldn’t allow it.

  She thought maybe some water would help, so she slowly—very slowly—sat up. Even that, though, had her feeling dizzy and off-balance, though she hadn’t even put her feet on the floor yet. She instinctively put her hand to her head, and that’s when she felt the bandages.

  Everything rushed back to her then. Every horrible thing.

  Determined to face this all head-on, Elina put her feet on the floor. With care, she pushed herself to a standing position and waited until she felt confident she wouldn’t fall over or throw up . . . or both at the same time.

  Silently and still very slowly, she made her way to the standing mirror she spied in the corner of the room. As she walked, she glanced around at the walls and ceiling. It reminded her of the Dragon Queen’s home, making her think she was in another cave. Although this one had a bed and table and chairs and a standing mirror sized for a human.

  She stopped walking. Do dragons have mirrors sized for them? How big would that be? Does anyone make mirrors that big?

  Realizing she was thinking what Glebovicha always called her “stupid thoughts,” Elina continued walking. She was near the mirror, but she must have been off a bit, because she ended up walking into the nearby table. She stared down at it, wondering how it had moved.

  Elina sidled over a few feet and continued on. After a few seconds, she reached the mirror but ended up walking into it. Now annoyed, she took a step back, then another, before lifting her head. A large bandage covered the entire left side of her face and the right part of her head, which explained why she kept walking into things.

  Determined to see the damage, Elina untied the material holding the bandage in place. That removed, the bandage fell away and Elina just . . . stared.

  The skin had healed. Quite well, in fact. Better than she could have hoped.

  But her eye . . .

  She brought the fingers of her left hand up and felt the eyelid that had been sewn shut. There was nothing behind it. Nothing behind the skin.

  “Elina?”

  She looked over at Celyn, who’d been sleeping in a chair beside the bed, but was now wide-awake.

  “Hello, dragon.” She turned back around, continued to stare at her face in the mirror. “I warned you, did I not? Gle
bovicha hates me.”

  “Elina, I’m so sorry.”

  She waved off his words. “There is nothing to be sorry about. At least now I know where I stand among my people. Where I will always stand. Because no one except Kachka stood up for me. No one.”

  He moved behind her, gently placing his large hands on her shoulders. “I can’t believe your mother did this to you.”

  Elina let out a deep, long sigh. “Well . . . it could be worse.”

  Confused, Celyn studied Elina in the mirror. “It could be worse?”

  “She could have taken both eyes. At least she only had time to take one. Thank you for that. For your help.”

  She stepped away from him, replacing the bandage over her damaged eye and tying the material around it that held it in place.

  He shook his head. “You don’t want—”

  “Food?” she asked. “I am a bit hungry.”

  “No. You don’t want revenge? Are you at least angry? Sad? Devastated?”

  Elina faced him. “Over what?”

  “Elina, she took your eye.”

  “I am aware. It was my eye she took.”

  “But you’re . . . you’re . . .”

  “I am what?”

  “Not angry. How can you not be angry?”

  “What would anger bring? It will not give me back my eye.” Her words were simple, her voice calm but sad. Yet that was all. How could that be all?

  “It will not make my mother care that she took it,” Elina flatly went on. “To be quite honest with you, I am glad to breathe. I am glad to wake up in bed and find you beside it. Because I knew if you were at my side, I was safe.”

  Kachka’s voice cut in. “Sister?”

  Elina turned from him. “Kachka, I am—”

  “Do not.”

  “Do not what?”

  “Do not say what you are about to say. What we both know you are about to say. I have no regrets. And neither should you.”

  Elina took in a large breath and let it out. She nodded.

  “Good. Now . . . there is food. Cooked food. Would you like some?”

  “I would. I am very hungry.”