Light My Fire

by G. A. Aiken

  “Shh,” the one-eyed female said loudly. “I think she can hear you!”

  “She’s old. She cannot hear anything. Can you, old hag?” Kachka screamed. “You cannot hear me!”

  Brigida thought about removing the Rider’s mouth, but what was the point? Brigida was no longer a vicious hatchling, known for tormenting those who even looked at her wrong. She was Brigida the Foul, and she had more important works ahead of her.

  Much more important.

  But, there was still a small part of that hatchling in Brigida’s soul. It would never go away. So she made her long, painful way to the box that held the remaining drink and pulled out four more bottles. She handed two to each female.

  “We travel tomorrow,” she told them. “So drink hearty, Riders. Drink as much as you want. So you’ll be bright and ready to face the day as soon as the crows rise.”

  The sisters looked at each other and back at Brigida. They each held up their already open bottles. “To friendship between our tribes!” they cheered, then finished off the bottles in several hearty gulps.

  As they reached for the others, their drunken grins wide, Brigida turned from them and headed toward her sleeping chamber.

  Aye, tomorrow would be interesting. At least for her. For the rest of them?

  Nothing but pain.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was the heaving that woke up Elina first.

  A sound she didn’t hear often among her tribesmen. She was asleep on the dining table, bottles surrounding her. Horse gods of hell, had she drunk all this by herself?

  Sitting up, she looked around the alcove. Celyn was asleep in a chair, his head resting on the table. Two of the Kyvich, Fia and Gisa, were sitting on the floor, their backs against the wall, their heads in their hands. They were barely holding on by a thread.

  The one heaving into a bucket was the monk, Brother Magnus. Poor thing. He sounded as if he were dying. Or, at the very least, as if he wanted to, what with all the quiet sobbing in between loud heaves.

  The girl twin, Talwyn, seemed well enough, able to move around without vomiting. But even in this cave, lit only by torches against the wall, she still squinted as if she’d stumbled from complete darkness to the bright morning suns shining down on her in the middle of summer.

  The boy twin walked over to Elina and held out a plate of freshly made meats.

  “Hungry?” he asked, his voice booming, his grin wide, which was why Elina slapped the plate of food from his hands and then, after reaching back as far as she could manage, slapped his face as hard as her weakened state would allow her.

  The boy’s head snapped to one side and, startled, he stepped back and then started laughing. His good humor did nothing but make her want to beat him until he stopped smiling.

  “Leave her be, Talwyn,” Celyn said from the other end of the table, his head now raised but his eyes still closed.

  “I’m Talan, cousin. The male.”

  “I don’t care which one of you it is. . . . Just piss off.”

  Still chuckling, Talan walked off and went to help his still-heaving friend.

  Celyn pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. “I feel like dried dog shit,” he grumbled. “I haven’t felt like this since I went drinking with my uncle Addolgar.”

  He pointed a warning finger at Elina. “Don’t go drinking with my uncle Addolgar or Brannie.” He thought a moment, then added, “Or me mum. Never with me mum.”

  “Here,” someone said next to her. “Drink this.”

  Elina looked up into those odd-colored eyes and the beautiful, softly smiling face of Rhianwen. “What is it?”

  “Tea that will help your pain and soothe your stomach,” Rhianwen said.

  “All right, but I can do without the yelling.”

  “I’m not yelling.”

  “It sounds like yelling!” Elina yelled, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She closed her remaining eye and let out a groan.

  “Here. Drink.”

  Elina looked down at the tea before her. She could easily see herself bringing all that tea right back up, but if this could help, she would try anything.

  She took a sip, wasn’t completely repulsed by the taste, so she finished the rest in several gulps.

  When she placed the cup down Rhianwen asked, “Can I look?”

  Elina shrugged. “As you like, as long as you stop yelling.”

  Rhianwen gently removed the bandages covering half her face before lifting Elina’s chin and carefully turning her head one way, then another.

  “Good. Excellent. No infection.”

  “You seem more like a healer than the hag,” Elina noted.

  “Sadly, it’s not in my skills. I can clean wounds and such. But I lack the magicks required to help the healing.”

  “And that bothers you.”

  Rhianwen shrugged. “It could always be worse.”

  That made Elina smirk. “Exactly.”

  Kachka walked into the alcove. If the drink had bothered her, it didn’t show. She sat down beside Elina and patted her on the back.

  “Here,” she said, handing her a piece of bark from one of the Steppes trees. “Chew this.”

  Elina placed the bark in her mouth, nodded. “Thank you, sister. That helps.”

  “Tree bark helps?” Celyn asked.

  “The trees of the Steppes, yes. If used in poultice, it can help healing. If chewed, it will help with pain in head.”

  Celyn held out his hand. “Give me.”

  Smirking, Kachka stretched across the length of the table to drop a piece of bark into Celyn’s outstretched hand.

  “Thank you.”

  Kachka glanced around the cave. “Do all Southlanders live in caves?” she asked Elina in their own language.

  “No. Only the dragons. The humans live in grand homes. Made of stone. You can’t move them anywhere.”

  “So they live in the same place . . . forever?”

  “Yes.”

  The sisters looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “You know,” Kachka said after some time, “that dragon is worried about you.”

  “I don’t know why. He’s not doing any better than I am after last night’s drinking.”

  “Not your drinking. He’s worried about you. What happened to you with Glebovicha.”

  “It’s just pity.”

  “Perhaps. I don’t understand these Southlanders so I wouldn’t know.” She yawned, scratched the side of her neck. “So have you been fucking him long?”

  Elina shook her head. “Not long.”

  “While he’s dragon?”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  She glanced over at Celyn. “When human, he’s very pretty.”

  “He is. But that’s over now, isn’t it?”

  “Why do you say that? He was ready to sacrifice himself for you during the battle. You shouldn’t hold against him what happened to you.”

  “I don’t. I never would.”

  “Then what?”

  She shrugged. “Why would he want me now? Look at my face.”

  Kachka’s chin dropped. “Your face? How long have you been in the Southlands, sister, that you think so much of how pretty you are rather than who you are?”

  “I can live with this. But a Southlander?”

  “But remember old Tevkel. Her six husbands loved her even after she lost her arm and part of her hip in that battle. They loved her until she was gored by that bull during the spring rains. Love and desire do not fade away because of a few scars. Even for the Southlanders.”

  “Tevkel was a mighty warrior who never disgraced herself in battle. Of course her husbands loved her. How could they not?”

  “Even with your eye gone and your face and body covered in blood, you fought to live. You fought Glebovicha.”

  “Not very well.”

  “You fought Glebovicha,” Kachka said again. “No one thought you’d even try. But you did. So, there’s no shame in your scars.”


  “Yes, but—”

  “Why do you argue with me?” Kachka bellowed.

  “Do not bark so when my head throbs from pain!”

  “Then do not question me!”

  “I will question you if I have need to!”

  “Which is why Glebovicha took your eye!”

  “That is enough!” Celyn bellowed, then he quickly buried his face in his hands, the piece of bark he’d been chewing falling to the table. “Gods, the pain. Even this bark isn’t helping.”

  “You have not chewed long enough,” Kachka told him.

  “Look,” he said after a moment, his eyes closed, “I don’t know what you two are arguing about, but don’t.”

  “Because we are sisters and love each other?” Kachka taunted him. Elina grinned around her piece of bark at the insult meant only for Southlanders.

  “No. But because I am dying and I’d like to do it in silence!”

  Celyn didn’t appreciate the sisterly giggling he heard after his explosion, but he was too close to death to bother taking it any further.

  Of course, he still wasn’t as bad off as Talan’s friend, Magnus. For such a big, hearty fellow, he seemed to handle his drink worst of all. And Rhian handled it best . . . because she’d been smart enough not to have any. He clearly remembered the way her little nose had crinkled when she’d sniffed the bottle, then handed it back to him with a tightlipped shake of her head. She was a rarity among the Cadwaladrs, and normally Celyn would assume she simply took after her mother, the lovely Talaith. But he’d seen Talaith at a few family feasts when the abilities to do basic math and modulate her voice had vanished after a few ales.

  “Good!” Brigida boomed as she entered the alcove. “You’re all awake.”

  Celyn wanted to snatch that damn walking stick from the old She-dragon and burn it to ash.

  Once she made her impossibly slow way to the middle of the alcove, she pointed at Celyn. “You, boy—”

  “I have a name.”

  “—get ready to travel. You, too, Riders. We’ll be heading back to Garbhán Isle and that human queen.”

  Celyn shook his head. “No.”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “I’m not taking Elina back to Annwyl until I’ve had time to—”

  “No,” Elina cut in. “I must go and face Queen Annwyl. Let her know how I failed her and Queen Rhiannon.” She glanced at her sister. “She may take my head. I heard she likes to take heads.”

  “Does she hack at the neck or—?” Kachka began.

  “No, no. She is quite quick. One swipe of her blade and it is over.”

  “Well . . . as long as it is quick. Your failure was not so great that you should suffer.”

  “You are so good to me, sister.”

  Celyn slammed his hands against the table and stood, knocking his chair over. “What bizarre conversation are you two having?”

  “I thought we were speaking in your language . . . were we not?”

  “That’s not what I mean. I don’t understand how you two can sit here and discuss this so casually?”

  “I failed. What else is there to say? Now, let us go to face the justifiable wrath of Annwyl the Bloody.” Elina slipped off the table, but her legs nearly gave out, so her sister had to stop her from crumpling to the floor. “I am fine,” she lied. “I am fine.”

  “You never could handle your drink, sister.”

  “I kept up with you.”

  “It is not what you do while drinking. It is what you do after.”

  “Get your things and meet me outside the cave entrance,” Brigida ordered.

  “You’re coming with us?” Celyn asked the old She-dragon, the idea of the journey growing more and more horrible.

  “I long to see my kin again, Celyn the . . . Celyn the . . . what name have you earned, boy?”

  “Celyn the Charming.”

  The old She-dragon cackled. “Really?”

  “I’m growing to loathe you. And I don’t usually say that to anyone.”

  “And it’s just beginning,” Brigida promised. “Now outside. And you lot,” she said, pointing at the others with her stick. “You’ve got work to do.”

  “What work?” Celyn demanded.

  “Don’t like dragons who ask me too many questions,” Brigida announced, walking away.

  When Celyn felt Brigida was far enough away, he caught Rhianwen around the waist and moved her off to a corner.

  “What’s going on between you lot and Brigida?”

  “Nothing you have to worry about it.”

  “And yet I’m worried.”

  “Don’t be. We’re fine.”

  “It’s not really you and the twins I’m worried about. It’s more the world.”

  Rhianwen stepped back from him, and Celyn immediately regretted hurting her feelings. He really shouldn’t have sensitive conversations with relatives when he was still a little drunk.

  “I . . . we . . . have no intention of destroying the world. No matter what our enemies say.”

  “But, Rhianwen—”

  She held up her hand, turned her face away, her back ramrod straight. “No, no. I think there’s nothing else to be said. You’ve made your feelings about us quite clear.”

  “Tell me, cousin,” Celyn asked, his head pounding too hard to even think of playing this game, “did you get that little performance from Keita or your mother?”

  “Neither,” she quipped back, lifting her skirt to flounce off. “Uncle Gwenvael.”

  Celyn stepped aside to let her get by, then tossed after her, “That’s nothing to be proud of, you know.”

  With her travel pack, bow and quiver on her back, Elina followed Celyn to where he’d left the horses. As soon as she entered the chamber, the Steppes horse trotted over to greet her.

  “You have made a bond, sister,” Kachka said from behind her, smiling.

  “We have been through much, he and I.”

  Saddling up their mounts, the trio took the long walk to the entrance.

  Once outside, Elina took in a deep breath. She was already beginning to feel much better.

  Brigida waited for them in her human form, a fur cape covering her from head to feet.

  “Do we ride or fly?” Celyn asked her. “And I’m really hoping you say fly, because galloping will not be my friend right now.”

  “Like your mother, your vision is small.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I am too old and too impatient to take bloody days to travel to Garbhán Isle.”

  “Which means . . . what? Exactly.”

  Staring at Celyn, Brigida raised the hand holding her walking stick. The clouds overhead darkened, lightning suddenly danced across the mountains, and a mighty wind seemed to rise from the ground up.

  Kachka gasped as the air in front of them darkened and began to swirl.

  With her free hand, Brigida motioned to the swirling air before them. “Go,” she said calmly.

  Kachka shrugged and said, “All right.” Leading her horse, she walked until she disappeared.

  Elina started to follow, but Celyn held his arm out, blocking her way.

  “We’re not getting in that,” he yelped, his normally low voice hitting an abrupt high.

  “Always a mummy’s boy, you are,” Brigida mocked.

  “I am—ahhhhhhhhhh!” Celyn screamed as Brigida grabbed the scruff of his chain-mail shirt with her free hand and tossed him into the void after Kachka.

  It seemed the old hag was not nearly as weak as she liked to pretend.

  “You, too, horse.”

  At first, Elina thought Brigida was talking to her, but then she realized that she was talking to Celyn’s travel-cow, which was quietly trying to back away.

  Disgusted, Elina grabbed the travel-cow’s reins and headed toward the void. The Steppes horse followed without hesitation . . . because that’s how it should be.

  She stopped right in front of the void, took a big breath, and gripped the travel-cow’s reins.
Hoping for the best, she stepped in—and then screamed her damn head off.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dagmar rushed into what had unofficially become her study. Bram would be bringing her son back this afternoon, but he’d also have Gaius Domitus. And even though the Rebel King was relatively easygoing, she wanted to be prepared. Next to the Northlanders, Gaius was their most important ally.

  But Gaius Domitus really wasn’t the problem. It was his sister, Agrippina. She, not surprisingly after what she’d been through, trusted no one. And she especially didn’t trust Annwyl. Again, not surprising, considering every time she saw the Southlander queen, Annwyl was acting . . . odd.

  Dagmar found the scroll that Bram had sent her. She lifted her spectacles so they rested against her forehead and quickly scanned the material. Once she’d digested it all, she tossed the scroll back onto her desk and turned toward the door.

  She stopped, let out a sigh.

  “I thought I told you lot not to play in here.”

  Dagmar returned her spectacles to her nose and faced the back of her study. Two of her youngest daughters peeked over the chairs she had there, but the other three . . . they just sort of appeared. As if they’d been part of the bookcase that covered the entire back wall.

  The first time that had happened, Dagmar had screamed as if she’d uncovered a dead body. But by now, she was used to the . . . uniqueness of her youngest daughters. It was similar to a gift their father had. He was a chameleon, a dragon able to blend into any area he was in so that it would seem he’d disappeared.

  “Mum,” Seva, the eldest of The Five, asked, “will we have to leave, too? Like Var?”

  “Var hasn’t left. He’s just visiting your uncle Bram for the night.”

  “Do you want us to leave?”

  Shocked, Dagmar stared at her daughter for a long moment. “Of course not. Why would you even ask that?”

  “Arlais says—”

  “First off,” Dagmar immediately cut in, “you know better than to listen to Arlais about anything. She lives to torment all of you.”

  “But we scare you, don’t we?”

  Dagmar let out a sigh, and walked to the back of the room. She leaned down, placing her hands on her knees so that she could look all her daughters in the eyes.