Fire & Chasm

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  My shoulder itches where he’s touching it. I hate that he used my name, like he knows me. He doesn’t. No matter what Father Moors has told him, he doesn’t know the first thing about me. “You’re wrong. The Fire didn’t grant me a power—so I guess we don’t have anything in common.”

  “Father Moors told me you’ll be sitting out at the ceremony next week. That you think the Fire has ignored you. But I think the reason it hasn’t granted you a power is because you already have one. One it must have given you in your past, in the years you can’t remember.”

  I shrug him off and scratch my shoulder. Father Moors told me pretty much the same thing. He believes my ability to control obsidian means the Fire favors me, giving me the power to bring order to the Chasm’s chaos. Maybe there’s something to that, but . . . I’ve never been convinced before, and I’m not convinced now. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “You and I both have powers that link us directly with the Fire. It chose us. The ability to wield obsidian without hurting yourself or others is a rare and special gift not to be taken lightly.”

  I rub my left arm self-consciously, reminding myself that there’s no way he could know about my injury.

  “You might not remember how you got this ability, but there’s only one place it could have come from, and that means the Fire has far from ignored you. In short, we share a common bond. And I want to help you.”

  “Help me?”

  “I can help you with your memory. I can help you get it back.”

  I bite my lip. He’s lying. He has to be. “What makes you think I want it?”

  “You’re missing over a dozen years of your life. You want it back. The Fire obviously favors you, and you can’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious about how that happened.”

  “Maybe the Fire made me forget. Maybe it’s for my own good.” The image of the chair flashes through my head.

  “I can get your memories back, Azeril. With your cooperation.”

  I hate that he used my name again. And I can’t help it—I take the bait. “How?”

  “With the Fire’s help, of course.” Flame comes to life in his palm, light flickering over his face. His green eyes shine feverishly bright. “The flames can reach the innermost corners of your mind, if you’ll let them. If you’ll let me. It won’t be easy.”

  He smiles as he says that last part. It’s a smile that says whatever he’s got in mind is going to hurt, and he’s going to enjoy every second of it. Maybe he saves this smile just for me, or maybe it’s something no one else would notice. But I notice. One monster recognizes another.

  “Why?” I ask. My throat feels dry, and my voice comes out a croak. “You don’t really know me. Why would you want to . . .” I pause, trying to come up with the right word. I was going to say “Why would you want to help me?” but that’s not right. I don’t believe that he intends to do anything to help. I clear my throat and look him in the eyes, daring him to tell me the truth. Wondering, just for a moment, what it would be like to have my memories back and who it would make me. “Why would you want to do this for me?”

  “I know what you’re thinking. You already owe me everything—if not for me, you’d be out on the streets, or in prison, if not dead—so how could I possibly have more to give?”

  I swallow. That’s not what I was thinking at all.

  “Even now I could snap my fingers and order you out.” He shrugs, as if it would be no big deal.

  But it would be a big deal. Of course it would. “There was something in it for you then, just like there must be now.”

  He touches his fingertips together one by one, pleased with my assessment. “Smart boy. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying to know what’s inside your head. We could benefit each other. We’re both chosen by the Fire, destined for great things, and believe me when I say no one will ever understand you the way I do. But there are more practical reasons. If you’re to be my apprentice—”

  “I’m not looking for an apprenticeship.”

  He gestures at the chapel walls surrounding us. “Oh? And what do you think you’re doing here?”

  “I’m cleaning out the fireplace.”

  High Priest Endeil moves closer and leans in, keeping his voice low, though there’s no one else around to hear. “You’re better than this. You could be doing so much more than lowly chores that don’t even belong to you. You shouldn’t be here, covered in soot. I know what you’ve done in the fight against the wizards. All the secret victories you’ve accomplished, the body count as you pick off our enemies one by one. You’re waging battles, and I’m talking about winning a war. The two of us together could be unstoppable. That’s why you should be in Newhaven, with me, taking advantage of the gift the Fire has bestowed upon you to its full potential. Something I believe can only be achieved by restoring your memories.”

  “That’s great that you think that, but—”

  “You could change the world.”

  “I don’t want to change the world.” Just myself.

  His eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen. “That choice isn’t up to you. Not when you have such a powerful gift. One that could prove very useful for my plans.”

  I could have the knife in my hand and at his throat before he’d have time to react. He’d smell his own skin burning before he’d even know what had happened. I could show him firsthand how useful I am.

  And I think about it. About killing the High Priest. My fingers twitch, and something in my gut tells me the world would be a much better place without him in it.

  But I grip the broom handle tighter and don’t reach for my obsidian. Because if I killed him, it’s not like it would stay a secret. Leora would find out what I’d done. And Rathe, who thinks my worst crime is staying out all night, and Tol, who always looks up at me with such wide, innocent eyes. They would all know who I really am then, and that would change the world way too much for me.

  High Priest Endeil studies my face. “There’s no point in thinking it over. You have no choice.”

  For a moment, I think he can read my thoughts. He’s actually telling me to kill him, before it’s too late.

  “When I said you’d be my apprentice, I wasn’t asking. Because you really do owe me everything. And I’m not afraid to collect.”

  “You’re threatening the wrong altar boy.”

  “The wrong murderer, you mean? You and I may see your actions as justified, but I wonder if anyone else would see it that way. Your friends must think they know you so well. And that girl Father Moors says you’re always with—”

  “You leave Leora out of this.” My hand shakes with the effort of keeping my fingers off the knife. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you.”

  “And somehow I think my death wouldn’t go unnoticed in the eyes of the Church. You’d be caught. Tell me, do you think she’d still care about you if she knew the truth? Do you think she could ever love you?”

  “I don’t have anything you want. I can use obsidian and that’s it. I’m no chosen one.”

  “There’s only one way to find out, now, isn’t there? You have twenty-four hours to make your choice. I suggest you make the right one, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “You can’t bully me into being your apprentice.”

  “Well.” A grin lights up his face. “There’s only one way to find that out, too.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Leora sits next to me at the edge of the pond and studies her reflection. The pond is on the far side of the church, meaning it’s well away from the school, where we’re supposed to be right now, learning about how wizard magic is unholy and evil. In case any students were thinking about defecting, now that the High Guild ranks above the Church.

  But it’s not like either me or Leora needs reminding how awful wizards are. Skipping one class won’t hurt. And the pond is secluded enough, hidden by a willow tree, that we’re not likely to get caught.

  Leora smirks and sticks her tongue out, watchi
ng her reflection do the same.

  I look at myself in the water. A dark-haired boy in red robes with green eyes. I stick my tongue out, too, copying Leora, but my heart’s not in it. I can’t stop thinking about what the High Priest said to me last night. “You know, Leora, if . . . if something happens to me . . . I mean, if something ever happened and I had to . . . I want you to know how important you’ve been to me. Are, I mean.”

  She picks a blade of grass and tears it into strips. “Where did that come from? By the Fire, you make it sound like you’re about to keel over.”

  “You know, you invoke the Fire an awful lot for someone going to a school run by the Church.”

  “Chasm take you, you can’t just confess something like that and then change the subject!”

  “So now you’re calling on the Chasm? And it wasn’t meant to be a confession. I mean, you should know that I . . .” My ears are starting to burn, and I wish she’d stop staring at me, making this more difficult than it already is. “It’s always been me and you, since I first got here. Nobody else would even talk to me back then, but you came right up to me and told me we were going to be friends. I don’t know who I’d be without you.” Except I do. Because without her I wouldn’t have the version of me that she sees. I wouldn’t even know that person exists. Then I’d only be the murderer, the wizard killer, the Church’s secret attack dog.

  “Az.” Leora grabs my hands, digging her thumbs hard into my palms. “Is this about yesterday? About what happened in the basement? Because I know something bad must have happened to you, before I met you. I mean, there are all those scars, and then . . . But all of that’s in the past, whatever it was. You don’t even remember, so don’t talk about it like it’s not over, like something else is going to happen.”

  “But if it did. I wouldn’t want to go without telling you how much I—”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “Nowhere. I just meant—”

  “If you’re not going anywhere, then why does this sound like a good-bye? Are you dying? Because you’re making it sound as if . . . Damn it, Az! There can’t be something wrong with you. You can’t be dying. Because if you are, I’ll kill you.”

  “I’m not dying! I swear.”

  “Good. But something’s up. Otherwise you wouldn’t have said that. Come on, spill it. You can tell me.”

  “I was just thinking about when I first came here. How easily I could have ended up on the street and never met you. I could still end up there, if the Church decided to kick me out. And now the High Priest wants me to be his apprentice. He wants me to go back to Newhaven with him.”

  “Wow.” Leora blinks. Her mouth slips open, and she just stares at me. “That’s . . . great.” Her shoulders slump, and she tears up some more grass, any remnants of her good mood going sour. “So you are leaving.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Who am I supposed to talk to when you’re gone?”

  “I’m not going. And anyway, it’s not like you don’t have other friends.”

  “Not like you. Not that I can talk to. Everyone knows my father’s a wizard. It was bad enough before, but now that the High Guild has free rein . . . I’ve seen the way everyone looks at me, like I don’t belong here. And I get it—I really do. My father’s a wizard, but I go to school here, of all places, and he pays for it? Because we both want to be as distanced from each other as possible? It’s not your average situation. And it’s obvious he hates me—”

  “Leora—”

  “—and I hate him. But it still hurts when he doesn’t write.”

  “He can’t hate you. He doesn’t have to pay for you to be here. He could have said no.”

  “So maybe he felt guilty for abandoning me with my mother. For not even coming to her funeral. But that isn’t the same as caring about me.” She pauses. “I had friends before, you know. Lina and Mel. Years ago, when I first started going here, but we were close. Then they found out about my father. Things got weird after that. They didn’t trust me anymore—they didn’t get me. But you do, Az. You know what he is and where I come from. You hate wizards more than anyone I know, but you didn’t hesitate to become my friend. And you get how I can hate him and still worry about him. Everybody leaves—my dad, my mom, my friends, and now you—but it doesn’t mean I stop caring about them.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Leora. I promise.”

  She shakes her head. “The High Priest wants you to be his apprentice. That’s huge. You can’t turn that down.”

  “I don’t want to be his apprentice.” But I don’t want to be out on the streets, either, and the High Priest could make that happen if I don’t do what he says.

  “But you’re talking like you’re not going to be around anymore. So you’re considering it.” She gets to her feet, like she’s heard enough.

  I get up, too, not wanting her to go. “Maybe, but not because I want to. Only because—” I want to tell her this wasn’t my idea, that it’s the last thing I want to do. That the High Priest creeps me out and I’d rather be an altar boy for the rest of my life than ever sign up with him. But telling her that might lead to more questions. And I don’t want Leora thinking I’d ever choose to leave her, but letting her believe that is better than telling her the truth.

  Maybe Endeil is right. Maybe she could never love me. How could she? You have to know someone to love them, and she can never find out who I really am.

  “You can admit it,” she says. “If you want to go. I’ll understand.” But the way her mouth turns down and the way she kicks a rock into the pond say otherwise.

  I should lie and tell her I want to go, that this is some wonderful opportunity for me. I should, but I can’t. “I don’t want to go, Leora. I don’t want to leave you, and— I might have to, anyway. I’m a ward of the Church, so it’s their call.” Not a lie exactly. It’s the truth. I just left out all the interesting parts. “But it’s my life. They can’t make me go.”

  “And what? You’re going to give up everything and get kicked out over this? I’d never see you either way. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, Az.”

  “You won’t. Maybe everyone else left, but not me.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid. I’d rather you moved to the capital than see you end up on the streets.”

  “I won’t let him take me away from you. I won’t let his stupid offer tear us apart.”

  She moves in close, studying my face. There’s a heat between us that I know I’m not imagining. Her lips part just a little, and I think we’re going to kiss. I tilt my head, slowly closing the gap between us. My insides squirm with anticipation and fear and everything in between. I don’t know how long I’ve waited for this. I don’t know how long there’s been this hollow ache in my chest whenever we’re apart, and now—

  Now Leora shoves me, and I stumble backward. There’s a confused moment where I don’t know what’s happening. And then there’s the splash and the overwhelming shock of cold as I hit the water. I break the surface and sputter, flailing my arms and kicking my legs.

  “What was that for?!”

  The heaviness of our conversation still hangs in the air, but now she has a playful smile on her lips. “That’s for thinking anything could ever tear us apart.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I consider not going to the Silver Hound that night. I change out of my red robes—I’d never even get through the door dressed as an altar boy, never mind make it home again—and into plain black clothes and a long, dark leather jacket that hides the obsidian at my waist. Even then, I have to take a deep breath and steel myself. For the thousandth time, I think about not going. There’s no guarantee I’ll find any answers tonight. And maybe answers are overrated. But a wizard knows my name. He knows who I am, and I have to find out why.

  Even if it means going alone into wizard territory. I can’t take anyone with me, and I can’t even tell anyone I’m going. Not even Father Moors. What would he say if he knew I was meeting a wizard tonigh
t? One who knows who I am, or at least who I was? Father Moors would get that line between his eyebrows, the one that means he disapproves, and then I’d remember all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

  The Silver Hound is across town, and Rathe is right—it’s not somewhere anyone decent would ever go. I’m not exactly what most people would call a decent person. But still, I don’t make a habit of visiting seedy taverns crawling with wizards, and even now, after coming all this way, I hesitate before going in. The windows are steamed, and the light is dim, giving the place an eerie glow. But even through the haze, I can make out the blurry shapes of blue robes everywhere. From the looks of it, there’s hardly room for one more person to squeeze through the door.

  Not for the first time, I consider that this might be a trap. I have no idea what I’m walking into.

  A tall iron gas lamp lights the cobbled street, and I instinctively step out of the circle of light and into the darkness. My palms start to sweat, and my fingers twitch, already slipping inside my coat, reaching for my knife. But I stop myself. I need a clear head for this. And if I’m going to panic this early in the game, I might as well turn around and go home.

  The stink of wizards hits me as I open the door—dried herbs and sour sweat. I force myself not to gag.

  Several wizards turn to look at me, their gazes scrutinizing. I remind myself they don’t know who or what I am—they can’t—other than that it’s obvious I don’t belong.

  Some of them sneer and go back to their drinks, and some continue to stare as I make my way through the packed room, scanning for the wizard who called me here. I worry for a second that I won’t be able to recognize him. They all look the same, all wearing the same shade of medium blue. The same blue that would stick out like a sore thumb in the church, and here there’s a sea of it. But then I spot him—balding, with short reddish-brown hair and a well-trimmed beard—at a little round table in the corner, in the shadows, and I realize there’s no way I wouldn’t have known him. The image of him mouthing my name, with recognition sparking in his eyes, is burned into my memory.