Fierian

by Ronie Kendig

  To his credit, Byrin did not argue, only set his mouth in a grim line and nodded. “What of the Mistress?”

  Aselan frowned. “What of her?”

  “Have ye seen her since returning?”

  Aselan glanced down.

  “See? There be the thing that worries me—ye not knowing the way of the gentlefolk. She’ll be none too happy ye’re here making war when she’s in yer cave worrying a crevasse into the floor. Ye should be thinking ’bout her—”

  “She’s in me thoughts every bleedin’ minute,” Aselan growled. “When Pharen took the arrow and stopped accepting my guidance, I feared I’d never see her again. That the Rekken would attack and I could do nothin’ to protect her.”

  “That may happen some day,” Byrin said. “But she’s there now, waiting and worrying. And what if she’s got yer child in her? And ye’re torturin’ her.”

  Aselan scowled at the insensitive topic.

  Byrin chuckled. Thumbed a hand over his shoulder. “Go see her.”

  “We have to make plans. The Legiera need to prepare to set out. We cannot stay here.”

  “Aye. Plans will be made. Go to her.”

  • • •

  “Mistress,” came a gnarly voice.

  Kaelyria stiffened to find Wegna in the doorway again. “How may I help you?”

  “Yer brother,” Wegna said.

  “I have no knowledge or awareness of anything related to my brother, save that he is apparently missing at this time.”

  “Aye,” Wegna said. “But ye do realize yer role in all this, aye?”

  Guilt hung like heavy chains around Kaelyria’s neck. She turned away, agitation squirming through her belly, roiling.

  Duamauri and Sikir rumbled a warning at the old woman.

  “If by my role you refer to the Transference—”

  “I do not.”

  The old woman’s firm pronouncement surprised Kaelyria. She turned, abandoning guilt and stepping into confusion. “Then . . . I beg your mercy, but I do not understand.”

  “ ‘For the sake of the sister, the Fierian offers his life.’ ”

  Kaelyria shook her head, a balmy sweat coating her face and chest. “No . . . I am here in the Heart, with Aselan. I am neither threat nor help to Haegan or any in the Nine.”

  “It is written,” Wegna said, her voice snarling, though there was no animosity in her expression or words, “ ‘From the mountains comes she who carries hope and healing within her, the heir to unite the realms.’ ”

  Kae scoffed. “I beg your mercy, Wegna,” she said, her heart thundering a little harder than it probably should. She’d seen the first spotting of her cycle just that morning, “but I am wanted by no realm—”

  “But it is ye,” Wegna insisted. “I read the books and the words from the Kinidd.”

  “I assure you, it is not me.”

  “But it must be!”

  “It is not!” Kaelyria snapped. “I carry no heir! And I beg you to leave off and torment me no longer for my all-too-apparent failure and disgrace.”

  A shape appeared in the doorway.

  Kaelyria’s heart tripped and her breath whooshed out. “Aselan.”

  Brow knotted, he looked to the old woman. “Good day, Wegna,” he said, shifting aside and pointing her out of their dwelling and down the passage.

  Kaelyria spun away, sick with regret and grief, and weak from . . . everything. She cupped a hand over her mouth and fought the tears.

  “Kae,” came his soft, whispered voice along her nape. His hand slipped to her waist. “I’m sorry she upset ye.” His arms closed around her, pulling her against his thick chest.

  Surrendering to his embrace should have been a relief, but it was only a reminder. Of things painful. Of a father’s hug she’d never feel again. Of the first time Aselan held her. Of the nights they’d been locked in an embrace. Of the reality that she still did not carry his child.

  “It will happen,” he muttered, his lips grazing the ticklish spot beneath her earlobe.

  She turned and hooked her arms around his neck, crushing herself to him. “I was so worried when you did not return.” Breathing deeply, she caught his scent and felt her worries fading.

  “I beg yer mercy,” he muttered. “I injured myself when we crashed at Nivar.”

  She pulled back and glanced at his leg. “What happened?”

  “A break, but ’tis mending.”

  Kaelyria eyed him, saw the burden in his blue eyes. “What is it? What did you find?”

  “The Rekken are on the Spine,” Aselan said quietly. “The Legiera will take to the skies on the raqine. The women and children will go deeper into the Heart.”

  “We are to hide?” She frowned, drawing closer. “And what, wait?”

  “’Tis safest. We must stop the Rekken, but if they breach the Heart . . . The women and children must reach safety.”

  “Where is safety?”

  “The ancient tunnels lead to Ybienn. I have been there, spoken with my father. He will shelter our refugees. We will return to the Heart when it is safe.”

  She felt something twist inside her. His words contained so much. He’d been to see his father, the man who had disowned him? She wanted to ask about it, but sensed the time was not right. “But the Heart has never been abandoned.”

  “Untrue. The original settlers abandoned it once during a collapse that flooded the passages.” Aselan lowered himself to the bed, the tightening around his eyes evidence of the pain in his leg. “But ye are right in that no other cacique has ordered an evacuation.”

  Kaelyria watched him, wary. Nauseated at the chaos and fear. She went and knelt before him, resting her hands on his knees. “You are wise to protect the children. The Heart is sacred, but it’s only a location.”

  “So I would tell myself. But if we have not the Heart, what have we?”

  “Each other.”

  “But ’tis our home. They have been here for centuries.”

  Realization dawned—he thought he had failed his people in making them leave their home. It was their identity, their existence. She knew she’d never understand fully because she had been here but a short while. Though she loved it and the people, it was not home, as much as she ached for it to be. As much as she ached to be all that Aselan needed. And even his moving away, his emphasis of home made her wonder if she belonged here. The thought rippled through her. She shook off the foolishness. She chose this. Chose him.

  Kaelyria stood. “This is not your fault, Aselan.”

  “But—”

  “You can no more control the enemy’s movements than you can steer the will of Abiassa.” She ran her fingers over his beard, smiling down at him. “You are the best man I’ve known, and your heart for these people—your people—tells me you have done everything possible.”

  “’Tis an easy answer I will not accept,” he said, his tone grieved. “It has been too easy to remain beneath the mountain and pretend the war did not exist.”

  “Aselan,” Kae said, softening her voice as she braced his shoulders. “Your heart wills that the Heart remain safe, but ye cannot control all the elements and movements of every realm or race in this world.”

  His hands came up to her hips, and he rested his chin against her belly so that his face tipped up. A smile twitched his beard. “Ye said ‘ye.’ ”

  Kae blinked. “Did I?” She smiled, sinking down beside him on the bed. “I guess you’re rubbing off on me, though if my mother were alive to hear such poor linguistic skills . . .”

  “Poor linguistic skills?”

  “Aye,” she said with a laugh. Then leaned against him. “All will be well, Aselan. We’ll come back to the Heart and life will go on.” Something in her squirmed at those words, some premonition that they were not wholly true. Surely Abiassa had not delivered Kae here to die. Or given her love only to rip it from her hands. A sudden and alarming dread spread through her, as she stared up into the bearded face of the man she’d come to love so
deeply in such a short time.

  He kissed her gently. “If ye believed what ye spoke, I might have hope.”

  • • •

  CASTLE KARITHIA, ITEVERIA

  Searing heat blasted the back of Haegan’s head. Knocked him forward. Another hit between his shoulders, shoving him face-first into the marble floor. Shards of pain exploded through his head and mouth. On all fours, he glanced toward the door, tasting blood.

  Three blurry shapes lurched. He whipped his hand in their direction, glaring white enveloping his vision. Something rammed into him. Punched him backward. His world went dark. Whether it had been seconds or minutes that passed, he came to as a blurry form hovered over him.

  Haegan moaned.

  Heat pressed against his temple and a weight fell into his palm. A hand came to his head.

  Pain erupted through his temple. “Augh!”

  Darkness again prevailed.

  • • •

  Haegan thrashed against the veil that blocked him. Kept him hostage. Strange. So strange. He was not unconscious. Trapped. Like being stuck in body-shaped box. He clawed his way out, seeking the coolness that trickled across his face.

  “Easy,” came a warning.

  Haegan stilled, confused. But then pushed again, desperate to be free. Light cracked at last. He struggled harder against the dizziness that swallowed him and burst free.

  He was abed. Alone. He could hear voices. There—at the door. He hoisted himself up, his hand slipping on something. When he glanced down, surprise hit him—the Kinidd. Thank Abiassa they had not discovered it when they put him in bed.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” came a stern voice. “Do not let him leave this room.”

  “You’re sure he won’t remember?”

  “I blocked it. He won’t remember him.”

  Remember who? It didn’t matter. He could remember later. Right now, he had no time left. He had to free himself. Now. But . . . how?

  And why? Was it so bad here?

  Groaning silently, he gripped his head. Yes! Yes, it was bad here.

  Hidden beneath cooling waters, where once he was freed.

  Cooling waters . . . The shower! He rolled from the bed, still holding his head. Willing himself not to listen to the inflaming that swarmed his mind. Anger roared through him. He was sick of this. Sick of being captive. Sick of being manipulated!

  He caught sight of the Kinidd and tucked it under his arm before hurrying into the bathroom. Shut the door. Turned the lock and pivoted—then swung back. He held his hand over the handle and wielded, melting the metal. He threw himself into the glass enclosure and spun the lever.

  Even as water splashed over him, Haegan remembered the sacred text. He’d ruin the pages! His heart thudded. The words would soon be gone. But he couldn’t leave the water or his thoughts would grow muddled.

  Abiassa, help!

  An idea took hold as he recalled the words from the Kinidd. He used his finger to trace his forearm, drawing on the Flames and searing the Verses into his flesh. Hissing against the horrid pain, he fought the nausea. The screaming plea of his body to stop the agony. He could not lose the words. Could not lose the hope. He needed a way to remember.

  He carved his arm, scream-moaning as the lettering bubbled his flesh. Tears streaming, water pouring, he seared the next line, heart tripping at the ink bleeding down the page. It was blurring too fast. Too fast! He’d lose it.

  “Stop him!” came Thomannon’s shrill shout from the other side of the door.

  There were two verses. Two. Two that were the answer. He ripped them from the book and held the first one over his arm, tracing them. Melting them into his flesh. Sweat beaded on his brow. His stomach churned at the agony. He kicked against the glass shower, but didn’t stop.

  The door rattled.

  Acrid, the smell of burning flesh—his flesh—stung his nostrils. He cared not.

  Aaesh told him to find a way. This was the way. She was the way—Her words, written to him.

  “Father and heir,” he muttered as he committed the second page of Verses to his other arm. His body rebelled, hurling his lunch onto the stone floor. Trembling, he fought the weakening. Pain was winning. Defeating him. Just like the Infantessa. Sobbing, he slumped down. Shielded the Kinidd.

  How? How did he free his father when he could not think outside the water? He could not stop. Could not yield. Finger shaking, he started again, the water strangely cooling, healing. Forearms. Abdomen. Wherever he could burn the words.

  The door splintered open as Haegan wrote the final script into the crook of his arm. Thomannon and a guard stood there, gazes dropping to his marred flesh. Mouths open in shock.

  Enough. He’d had enough. Haegan staggered upright, steam rising off his arms and body as he let the tunic fall to his hips once more. He lifted the Kinidd and tucked it beneath his leather belt at the small of his back. His long hair dripped into his face as he beheld the intruders. “Where is my father?”

  “B-below,” Thomannon stammered.

  “Not helpful.” Haegan drew back a clawed hand, wielding.

  Thomannon threw up his hands. “In the dungeon. But you can’t get down there.”

  “Even if you did,” snarled the guard, “Thane would kill you.”

  Something grew in Haegan, something strong, virulent. Furious. He placed a palm against the glass. “You—”

  Crack! Shhhhick!

  Beneath his fingers, the glass spiderwebbed into a thousand tiny pieces. Integrity compromised, glass rained down with a tinkling whoosh.

  Haegan sucked in a breath, and for a moment, all three were frozen, staring from his still-poised hand to the shards at his feet. The display emboldened Haegan. Infused him with reminders of who he was and what he possessed. It was a choice. Linger on the doubts and fear. Or seize the gift of Abiassa.

  The guard lunged at him.

  Instinct awakened. Light, bright as morning, flared through the room and seized the guard. And then he was . . . gone.

  Surprise rippled long enough for Haegan to realize he had ended the man’s life with wielding. He grieved the loss. But turned to Thomannon.

  The older man shook his graying head, tears rolling into his trimmed beard. “I beg your mercy. She made me—”

  “My father.” In his sodden clothes, Haegan stepped from the shower. “Take me to my father.”

  “I can’t. She’ll kill me.”

  “Your death is assured. But the choice is yours: by Nydelia’s wicked hand”—he rolled a flame around his fingers—“or by the swift justice of Abiassa, if you refuse me,” Haegan vowed, the visions and nightmares of these many weeks ringing horrifically in his ears and mind. All this time . . . all this time she held him.

  No more. “Now take me to him.”

  • • •

  EMATAHRI CAMP

  Clutching the wooden bars that formed a prison, Kiethiel rattled them. “Release me at once!” But her words, foreign to the Ematahri and annoying to the Sirdarians, blended into the crinkling warmth of the dense forest foliage.

  “It ain’t worked the last firty times,” Laertes said. “Don’ fink it will dis time either.”

  Palms to her forehead, Thiel twisted and slid down, the saplings scraping her spine. “Gwogh sent me here to get help, and I’ve . . .” She shook her head. “I’ve ruined it.”

  “T’weren’t nothin’ to ruin. Him what wears the blood didn’t give ya a chance. He frew us in here and locked the cage.” His dirty blond hair hung shaggily in his innocent blue-green eyes.

  “I should have gone with Praegur. Or at least sent ye. I will never forgive myself if something happens to ye.” Thiel groaned. “I can’t believe Cadeif is aligning with those desecrators,” she groused, staring at the encamped Sirdarians. “Are they every blazing place?”

  “Haegan’ll find out they have yeh here and get mad, and he’ll come whomp ’em into the ground,” Laertes promised in his youthful ignorance. He didn’t know Thiel and Haegan had argued when s
he’d challenged his petulance over being the Fierian.

  She pressed her head back and sighed, closing her eyes. “Do ye think he will ever accept what he is?”

  “He has to. He’s the Fierian. He’s got t’ burn the land for the rest t’ happen.”

  Though every muscle ached from the weakness of inactivity and the limited food afforded them, Thiel lifted her head. “The rest?”

  Laertes nodded. “Yeah, the Lakes of Fire will turn t’ water and the deserts’ll breathe bounty.”

  Thiel snorted.

  “It’s true,” Laertes snapped. “Me mam told me the story every night when I was li’il.” He scooted across the cage to her. Though ten years her junior, Laertes had grown a lot in the last year. “’Twas the only hope for Caori, the south, and the outlanders. It says deserts would bloom an’ there will be sheets of rain and clouds of moisture what hangs over the deserts, and flowers long dead come back, and the south would prosper again. A desert to a paradise.” His eyes were pleading, hopeful. “It has t’ happen—it’s the only chance to see me mam again.”

  Thiel struggled to hope his mother was alive, that the so-called prophecy could come true. “A desert into a paradise, eh?”

  He nodded eagerly.

  “Well,” she said with a sigh, cradling the boy beneath her arm as night pushed its coolness into their bones, “I never expected to see a Drigovudd . . .”

  They drew closer and snugged in to offer each other warmth and comfort. She also had not imagined spending weeks in a cage. And Chima! The great beast curled in the corner snoring—snoring!

  As if knowing the silent objection was lobbed at her, Chima chortled and adjusted, coiling in on herself. Her feathery wings haloed her furry body in a silent repose.

  “Beast,” Thiel hissed quietly. “Why aren’t ye breaking us out of here?”

  “I ain’t never seen her get mad enough t’ do something like that.”

  “If Haegan were here, she would,” Thiel grumbled.

  “Aye,” Laertes said around a yawn as he lay on the ground, arm bent beneath his head. Thiel arced around him and did the same.