Forgotten Embers

by Shauna E. Black

  I led Bridei to the road winding up to the castle’s southern gate and stopped.

  “I can get home from here,” I said.

  Bridei frowned at me. “Are you sure? You look exhausted.”

  I ran a hand down my face and sighed. “It’s been a long night. But I’m fine. You’d best return to Talorc.”

  Looking at the road behind us, she said wistfully, “He’s a stubborn old man, but he really does need your help. You’re the only person in this country that knows ash magic.”

  “Well, not the only person, if Talorc’s misgivings are true.” I grimaced. “I’d let Talorc rot in his grave if other people weren’t in danger.”

  Bridei’s head snapped around. I must have been more tired than I realized, to say a thing like that to her. “He’s still the high king, Alswyn, not to mention the hand of Ragnell. You should treat him with more respect. He did what was right and fair, at the time.”

  I heard something in her voice, something I didn’t expect, and there was a fire in her eyes I’d never seen there before. My mouth nearly dropped open. She couldn’t be in love with Talorc! Granted, he had been a widower for fifteen years, but he was easily twice her age. I wondered if Talorc knew how she felt about him.

  “I ... I’ll let you know if I find anything,” I stammered. “Meet me ... meet me at that tavern we passed back there for the evening meal tomorrow.”

  I was about to limp away, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me into a hug. It set off a riot of emotions inside me.

  “You be careful,” she whispered into my hair. “The last time you went hunting, I nearly lost you.” Then she sniffled loudly and pulled me back to arm’s length, her face splitting into a wide grin. “After all, I’m the king’s champion now. I can’t pull your scrawny rump out of the fire every time you step in it.”

  I caught her playful mood and pretended offense. “Who was it that sliced that laichman in two before it buried a dagger in my own sister’s back?”

  “I knew it was there the whole time. I was just getting ready to backhand it when you got in the way.”

  I scoffed. “You know that you’re only the king’s champion because I dropped out of the running, don’t you?”

  I let her cup my face in her hands and plant a kiss on my forehead. “Just be careful,” she repeated more seriously. Then she was gone with a wave of her hand.

  Once Bridei was out of sight, I worked my way down to where I estimated the wedding box had fallen. I found it sometime later, a good ten feet further east, when I remembered to account for the wind.

  The box was shattered, a long crack running through the tree carved on the lid and splitting it into three pieces. The dark paint was still warm to the touch. It would take more than removing it from the fire’s heat to quell the magic embedded in it.

  Grateful that no stray peasant had discovered the box, I gathered the pieces and hid them in the folds of my robe before hobbling back through the city streets to Elara’s Sanctuary on the southeast end of the canyon. I passed the unfinished canal, left desolate in the night while the workers slept, and heard the gurgles of the river running past the east side of the sanctuary as I let myself in under the high archway of the main entrance.

  “I enter in peace,” I whispered, and knelt to touch the succulents growing around the door in the ritual promise to Elara. Not that I thought she was listening. It had simply become habit.

  Most of the sanctuary was dark, but flickering candlelight in some of the windows opening on the inner courtyard attested to long nights some Elarans spent studying or praying. Koen’s cell on the second floor, however, was dark.

  My cell was on the main floor, past the central courtyard and its elaborate gardens. At night, the plants created intricate patterns of shadow. The delicate stone archways soaring above the second floor of the sanctuary blocked the light of the stars in some places. When I wasn’t watching the stars, I sometimes wandered through the gardens, basking in the cool quiet. But not tonight. Tonight I kept to the covered walkway around the perimeter of the courtyard and made a beeline for my cell.

  It took me a few minutes to fetch a small box from where I had hidden it under my mattress. The carving on the top of this box was similar to the one I’d crafted on the wedding box. In fact, it was where I’d gotten the idea. But this box was made of bone, stained a mottled orange and blue, with inlaid hinges that kept the box airtight and a lining of cedar bark for cleansing and protection.

  With the box in hand, I made my way back past the courtyard to the kitchen on the opposite side of the sanctuary.

  It was a large room, meant to feed the five hundred men and women living here. Herbs and other plants hung from the ceiling like decorations and gave the room an earthy fragrance. A pump and basin against the far wall had direct access to the sanctuary’s well. Although the water flow was reduced, it hadn’t run dry yet.

  An arched doorway to the right led to another courtyard and herb garden where I’d spent many unpleasant hours in the hot sun. It was the job of apprentices to pluck out weeds that seemed to magically grow to monstrous proportions overnight.

  The long work table in the center of the room had already been prepared for the breakfast meal. Clay jars covered in oiled cloth and large bowls stood ready for Matlal, the kitchen master.

  On a chair pulled up to the table, the fire boy was asleep among the bowls and pots. His head rested on his arms, dark hair splayed like cactus spikes around his head. He was charged with keeping the kitchen fire burning hot all night so that the ovens would be ready for baking in the early hours of the morning. Matlal had complained to me often of the boy’s unfortunate tendency to fall asleep on the job.

  Placing my crutch and wooden leg down carefully, I made my way around the room to the hearth. Various fire and cooking implements hung from a heavy beam above it. The wood was laid, ready for the next day’s cooking, but this fire wasn’t lit. To the right, glow and heat leaked out around the door of a bulky brick oven.

  Keeping one eye on the boy snoring gently at the table, I carefully untangled the pieces of the wedding box from my robes. The jagged edges caught at the fabric, but I patiently pulled them free and opened the oven door.

  The fire had dwindled, but there were still plenty of hot coals. After nearly two years, my skin had become sensitive to heat once again, so I slowly pulled a pair of tongs from a nail beside the fireplace. I grasped each piece of the wedding box and shoved it deep into the bed of coals, blowing gently until the wood caught fire. It snapped and popped, as if the paint protested its destruction, and I looked up at the kitchen boy with alarm. He slept on soundly.

  A jumble of emotions swept over me as I watched flames lick the wood. The strongest was sorrow. I had spent so much time making the wedding box, and it was hard to watch the destruction of my creation. Unfortunately, it was a familiar feeling, one I thought I’d left behind when I came south.

  The box burned quickly, as I knew it would. I had made it from cottonwood, an airy lumber that melted like butter under the carving knife. Still, it would take some time for the fire to completely consume the box and for the ashes to cool enough that I could collect them. I settled down to wait for the remainder of the night.

  I dozed off once or twice but woke before dawn. The kitchen boy still slept. By the feel of the night, I could tell that Matlal would arrive soon to begin the morning baking.

  In the absence of my attention, the fire had died down to a few small embers. I fetched a spade hanging from a hook near the window and scooped up the ashes, half filling my bone box with them.

  Using the box was probably an extreme measure. Theoretically, ash magic couldn’t work in an Elaran sanctuary, where Elara used her own magic to guard against her sisters’. But I wanted to make sure the magic died with the wedding box. If I shut the ashes away from heat and air, they would cool enough to lose their power. Then I would bury them near the roots of the sanctuary’s oak tree, just to be sure.

  I placed a few
logs on the fire to build it back up, gathered my crutch, and carefully limped from the room to my cell for a few hours of precious sleep.

  SEVEN

  When I woke, it was midmorning, judging by the light streaming through the curtains at my window. It was already hot, and I threw off the cotton blanket and rolled into a sitting position. I ached all over. My stump hurt the worst. I couldn’t feel the touch of my fingers on the skin as I massaged it, but I could feel the pressure and pain in my phantom foot. It was still a shock to look down and find it missing.

  I had hidden the ashes from the wedding box back under my bed to cool until I could safely dispose of them. My next course of action was to find out if there had been any delays or detours when the sanctuary’s delegation delivered the box to Serrin. But for now, I needed to clean up and get breakfast.

  Without bothering to strap on my wooden leg or grab the crutch, I hopped to a washstand under my window and its pitcher of tepid water. My cell was small, probably the smallest in the sanctuary, but I liked it that way. It was easy for me to maneuver between the bed, washstand, and dresser without my crutch.

  It took me some time to scrub the soot off my skin, don a clean robe, and brush out my hair to rebraid it into a tight weave. I didn’t want anyone guessing that I had spent the night digging through the fireplace.

  I strapped on my wooden leg and rolled some fabric for additional padding on the end of my crutch before making my way to the kitchen. I greeted the Elarans I passed along the way.

  The kitchen smelled like baking cornbread, and my stomach rumbled loudly. My first taste of cornbread had come in a tavern on the outskirts of the southern realm. It was dry and crumbly, and I’d listed it as yet another southern food I detested.

  That changed when I came to the sanctuary. Matlal baked a cornbread that was moist and sweet, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. I had a passion for it, and Matlal knew it. Koen said that the kitchen master served cornbread more often since I’d arrived at the sanctuary.

  But today, Matlal was reluctant to bring me the leftovers from breakfast. He set a cornbread muffin in front of me with an apologetic shrug. The outside was dark and scorched. When I bit into it, the inside was doughy.

  Matlal winced. “I’m so sorry, Siwa,” he said, using his pet name for me. “Someone—” he gave a significant look to the kitchen boy, who hunched his shoulders with his back to us as he scrubbed a huge mound of dishes, “—allowed the fire to cool last night, and my oven was not as hot as it should be.”

  I felt a stab of guilt for allowing the kitchen boy to sleep through his duties. Giving Matlal my brightest smile, I said, “It tastes wonderful, as usual!”

  The praise mollified him, but when he wasn’t looking, I crushed the rest of the muffin and tossed it into the fire.

  I poured myself a mug of yellow tea and headed back to my cell. The inner courtyard was a cheerful place in the daylight, full of plants, vines, and small trees. The delicate stone archways were like angels’ wings soaring above. It was a favorite place for studying, and many Elarans dressed in robes of various colors were seated on stone benches scattered around the courtyard.

  Most of the plants were grown for food as well as beauty. There was no evidence of the drought here beyond the occasional withered leaf. It certainly helped that the masters used Elara’s magic to keep the plants thriving. Because of this, we had our own steady stream of petitioners begging for food scarce outside these walls. While Elara’s plant magic could not extend to the entire valley, Matlal never turned anyone away empty handed.

  Before I got halfway across the courtyard, Koen’s voice caught my ear. At first I pretended not to hear, but thanks to my limp, he caught up to me all too quickly.

  “Master Haniah asked me to find you,” Koen said breathlessly. “You missed morning lectures, and you’re due in the vegetable patch in fifteen minutes.”

  “Any other cheery news?”

  A frown line appeared between his brows. “You could tell me what happened to you last night. I thought you were going to stay with Lady Serrin until I got back.”

  “Something came up.”

  Koen put a hand on my arm to stop me. The tea sloshed over the top of the mug and scalded my thumb. I popped the thumb into my mouth to soothe it. “Somebody said you were carried out of the castle by a barbarian.”

  I took a deep breath. “That was my sister.”

  Koen looked down at a vial of purple liquid he held. He turned it over and over. I was pretty sure he hadn’t known about my sister, but he wasn’t stupid. “King Talorc’s champion, I suppose. I thought there was a resemblance. What happened?”

  Seeing the sympathy in those big chocolate eyes brought tears to my own. I rapidly blinked them back. “She took me to see Talorc.”

  “And?”

  There was no way I could talk about ash magic with Koen. He thought I’d been wrongfully accused, an assumption I preferred he keep.

  I shrugged. “Talorc gave me a warning. Said he had his eye on me and if I stepped a toe out of line, he’d know it and clap me in irons.”

  Koen stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. I held out the tea to keep it from spilling and hugged him back with my free arm. It felt good and warm and safe.

  “I am so sorry I made you leave the sanctuary with me yesterday,” he said. “I should have realized what would happen.”

  I pulled out of his embrace and gave him a smile. “It’s fine, Koen. You needed my help.”

  “Not really.” His face turned red under the dark skin. “I mean, you didn’t notice anything unusual after all, did you?”

  “No.” The lies were coming easier to my tongue, and it frightened me.

  “I feel like a simpleton, talking about my foolish hunch.” The vial turned faster in his fingers. “‘Often, the simplest explanation is the right one.’ That’s what Master Shiye says.”

  I frowned down at the amber liquid in my mug. “You shouldn’t ignore your gut feeling, Koen. Sometimes it’s the only thing that saves you from a knife in the back.”

  “Is that another one of your mother’s sayings?”

  I nodded, then changed the subject. “Are you taking some of Mistress Izel’s vertigo remedy to Serrin?”

  He held up the vial, letting it catch the sunlight. “The castle was low on coriander, so I could only make one dose last night. She’ll need something for this afternoon. That reminds me. I saw the strangest decoration in the storerooms.”

  My tea was just getting cool enough to drink. I sipped it. Should we find an empty bench? Maybe Master Haniah would accept a lengthy discussion on medicine as an excuse for skipping my turn at weeding.

  “I had to go almost to the top of the slim tower,” Koen continued, “to a storeroom they hardly ever use. Except, someone was there recently and drew a big black circle on the floor. Speaking of gut instincts, that circle scared me so much I almost ran off without the coriander.” He laughed. “Seems silly now.”

  My stomach dropped all the way down to my toes. The mug slipped out of my hand. It fell to the walkway with a sharp crack and spilled tea across the toe of my boot.

  Koen cried out in dismay and bent to retrieve the shattered pieces of the mug. “Are you okay, Alswyn?”

  I could barely get words past a sudden tightness in my chest. “You didn’t touch it, did you?”

  He looked up at me with a puzzled expression. “The circle? No. The coriander was near the door. What’s wrong?”

  I needed to swallow, but couldn’t work up enough moisture. “Show me,” I croaked.

  “What? You want to go back to the castle after what happened yesterday?”

  I grabbed his arm and pulled him up to me. “Show me that circle. Now!”

  EIGHT

  I couldn’t believe I’d been so foolish. When Talorc told me about the prickly ash vase, I should have forgotten the wedding box and searched the castle thoroughly, right then and there.

  Prickly ash is found only in the
mountains of the north, and even there it’s rare. It’s a short, stubby bush covered in wicked spikes and pale green fronds tipped red. Alive, the plant is a scourge. Touching it will cause the skin to break out in horrible hives that itch and fester, and the berries are deadly poison.

  But the dry wood is even worse.

  We walked rapidly as my crutch would allow through the city to the castle’s southeast gate. As we went, I kept having flashbacks of my betrothed, Cynet.

  I once watched him fashion a golem from prickly ash, his hands sure and strong. Talorc had taught him well, and Cynet was a gifted carver. When he was finished, he held a wooden doll no bigger than his forearm, with bulging muscles and a face twisted into a frozen expression of rage. Cynet drew a perfect circle around it with prickly ash charcoal and placed a hot coal in the golem’s mouth. His magic summoned a demon from the Plains of Dera to inhabit the golem. It grew in size to monstrous proportions, and Cynet commanded it to destroy his father’s kingdom. It was then I knew that I had to stop Cynet, no matter the cost.

  It was hot and stifling in the kitchen—a dry heat that sucked all the moisture from my skin. Children turned spits over two of the four fires, roasting whole animals. A kitchen boy with legs and arms like twigs tended the fire in the bottom of a large domed oven in the far corner of the room. I wondered where Len was.

  The oafish man with the cotton puffs for hair was nowhere in sight, so we slipped through the chaos mercifully unnoticed this time and started up the stairs of the slim tower.

  I was so distracted that I hardly noticed the effort of the ascent as we wound our way up four flights of stone steps and passed several closed wooden doors. Finally, we reached the last door at the top.

  The hinges creaked as Koen pushed it open. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the ceiling. Shelves lining the circular walls were filled with clay jars and woven baskets of all shapes and sizes. There was a fine layer of dust on everything, disturbed on the floor by footsteps clustered around the entrance. It was completely swept away in the center of the room, where a perfectly symmetrical black circle stood out against the pale stone of the floor like a black scar on fair skin. There was only a pace or two between the circle and the storeroom shelves. Koen had been extremely lucky to find the coriander near the door, where he didn’t need to cross the circle.