Wilde's Fire

by Krystal Wade

“Some find us, others we find. Tristan came to us that way,” Arland says.

  “He told me his family was attacked, but your soldiers saved him before he was killed.”

  Arland nods. “Yes.”

  “So these mattresses are waiting for more people like Tristan to come along and occupy them?”

  “That is our hope; unfortunately, the soldiers have not found many people to rescue, not like they used to.”

  “But you found me and my brother, and we have not been here long.” Anna bats her lashes at him. “My mother told me you would become the greatest High Leader Encardia has ever seen. She said if anyone could end the war, it would be you.”

  Arland was chosen to be a High Leader? Why didn’t he tell me this? I look at his eyes to check for shock, anger, or some emotion indicating he’s upset with her, but he just stands still.

  I kneel beside Anna. “Are you from The Meadows, too?”

  “No, my brother and I are from the Gorm Mountains.”

  “Oh.” I shouldn’t have asked; I have no idea where or what the Gorm Mountains are. “How did your mother know about Arland?”

  “Everyone knows, but he has to be bound first—”

  “Anna,” Arland snaps.

  She sucks in a sharp breath and stares at her hands. “Sorry.”

  I don’t know how to react. Whatever Anna was about to say, Arland didn’t want me to hear. But he’s shared so much with me, why would he hide this?

  He lifts her chin with his finger and smiles. “We are on a tour … .”

  Anna nods, then walks to the far left corner of the sleeping quarters. Opening a door, she pulls me into their version of a laundry-bath combo. The room smells of sweet lilacs. Five washboards and tubs are built over the spring. Candles placed in wrought iron chandeliers burn brightly overhead.

  Marcus scrubs bed linens over his washboard. Anna runs to her place and adds linens to her tub, alongside her brother.

  Arland leans next to my ear. “I am sorry,” he whispers.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I keep my voice low, so the children don’t overhear.

  “I had planned to tell you when I took you on our ride.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I turn and face him. “You couldn’t give me a hint? And what does bound mean?”

  He straightens. “I promise to share everything with you, but not inside.”

  So many people have kept things from me; I don’t want Arland on that list. “Okay, but if you hold any—”

  “I will not keep anything from you.”

  Two little girls walk into the room, carrying more soiled things for Marcus and Anna to wash. I’ve seen these children before; they’re the ones Marcus and Anna are supposed to bring to the next training session.

  Arland kneels to speak with the girls. “Glenna, Keely, this is Kate. I know you have seen her around, but I would like you to introduce yourselves.”

  They dump their loads next to the washtubs, then offer their hands to me.

  “I am Glenna, this is Keely.” Glenna is the older of the two. She’s about a foot taller than Keely, and a foot shorter than I am.

  “Nice to meet you. What do you two have to do now that you have brought the dirty things in here to be washed?”

  “Make beds,” Keely says. She might be all of five years old; brown ringlets hang down to her waist.

  My mom carries a picture of my sister and me in her purse. The photograph was taken when we were around Keely’s age; she looks like she could be one of us.

  “All of them?”

  “Yes.” Glenna sounds agitated, probably from me slowing them down.

  Arland and I follow them out and watch as they make the beds. Experience has made them quite the experts; I’ve never seen anyone wrap sheets and blankets around a bed that fast.

  The door opens behind us while we’re watching the children. A woman, whom I’ve not met, steps in.

  “Good morning, Enid,” Arland says.

  His words bring Enid to a standstill. Her eyes widen, and she wobbles like she wants to take a step back out of the room, but composes herself.

  “Morning.” Avoiding our eyes, she rushes by and enters the laundry room.

  I give Arland what I hope to be a questioning look.

  “Ask Flanna,” he says. “Thank you, girls, for showing us how well you make beds. We are going to the gardens now.”

  “Okay.” Glenna gives Arland the same smile as Anna did earlier.

  “It seems you are good with children, too,” I whisper. He’s definitely better with them than I thought he was.

  “I have a soft spot for them,” he whispers.

  I wave goodbye to the girls as we head out of the room.

  Arland leads me through the dining area, down the hall, and pushes open the door that had been locked when I tried to get through, the other day.

  “Why do you keep this door locked?”

  “In the past, when our own turned against us, they always attacked the food supplies first. Kill the source of life; kill the people surviving off it.”

  We come into a huge underground garden. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Vegetables cannot grow without natural light, but, somehow, here they do. Everywhere I look, green, lush plants sprout from the ground. All the other children are in here, digging, watering, wheeling dirt around, and collecting food in bins.

  “How do the plants grow?” I ask.

  Arland clears his throat.

  The children look up.

  “Most of you know Kate by name, or have seen her around, but I would like you to show her how our garden grows. Will you all, please, give her a demonstration?”

  Stopping what they’re doing, the boys and girls sit on the ground, hold hands, and chant something. The air warms. The room feels so bright, it becomes difficult to look around, even though there’s no more light than before. I have the urge to avert my eyes, but there isn’t anything from which to avert them.

  The plants grow before my eyes, shooting up about an inch or two. “This is amazing!”

  “That is enough. Thank you.” Arland turns from the children to me. “The plants respond to our magic. We never farmed food like this, before Darkness came. It is another way we learned to adapt,” he says.

  “When our own attacked the food, why didn’t you just regrow the plants with magic?”

  “We need seeds to start a garden; those who turned against us left nothing.” Arland shakes his head. “I pray one day I understand their motivation.”

  “Why don’t you use magic against Darkness’ army?”

  “We do as much as we can, but our magic works with nature, not against it. Even if we could use it to kill, it would not be enough to fight against this kind of evil.” Arland whispers as the children work.

  “But you can fight with fire, that’s magic?”

  “Correct. Some magic can be manipulated into fighting. We can use magic to hide things, or open and close doors, make food grow, but—aside from fire—we cannot use our magic to kill.”

  “Will you help me learn to use magic?” I squeeze my fist and whisper Solas, but nothing happens.

  He chuckles. “Of course. Have you seen enough, or would you like to see more?”

  “We can keep going; I have definitely not seen enough.”

  Leading me from the garden, Arland explains how Flanna lights the candles throughout both buildings in the morning, and he snuffs them out at night.

  The next stop is the communications room. It’s the first time I’ve been able to peek in here. My expectations have not been met. Back home, if someone had said a military communications room would be full of nothing more than a few chairs, I would have laughed. But that’s pretty much all there is here—three chairs, and one long table with a small wooden box sitting on the corner, buzzing with static. The contraption appears to be an old radio, but there’s no electricity in Encardia.

  “What is that on the table?”

  “That is a chatter box. W
hen someone wishes to send a message, an announcement is made through the box. We connect to it mentally, but when the message is delivered, an apparition appears in the room.”

  “An apparition? Like a ghost?”

  “No, the person fully materializes, but cannot stay for long. Staying in the device takes a lot of energy and concentration. Aside from the box to communicate with other bases, we can also connect with people, which is why we have this quiet room back here.”

  “You don’t need the box for that?”

  “No.”

  I nod. It’s the best I can come up with. A telepathic army is like something from science-fiction movies, not from reality—certainly not my own.

  Arland closes the door and leads me up to the stables. “Mirain has missed you.”

  “I was acting very selfishly,” I say, guilt creeping into my thoughts once again.

  “You have handled yourself quite well. If it had been me leaving a happy world full of sunshine, I might have tried to escape this place to get back there, several times by now.”

  So he did think I’d try to escape. I knew he wasn’t worried about anything getting into the stables. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  Arland looks down at me and smiles. I know he would never leave his people, and neither will I. It wouldn’t be right, even if I have only recently discovered Draíochtans; they are my own and need help.

  Mirain sighs a few times when I walk into her stall.

  I rub her between her eyes. “Hey there, girl.”

  I use the wall to help me mount, but Arland stands in the stall with me. “Are you going to get on Bowen?”

  “I would like for you to ride with me.”

  I slide from Mirain. “Next time, girl.”

  She whinnies when I leave.

  Arland climbs onto Bowen, offers me his hand, then pulls me up. Wrapping my arms around Arland’s waist, I lean into his back.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the river.”

  Once clear of the stables, Bowen gallops at full speed, following the familiar path toward the perimeter. I’m not used to sitting on the rear of a horse, but I could get used to holding on to Arland this way. I lock my hands around him. His torso blocks the cold air from hitting me, and his muscles flex more strongly, the harder he rides. I enjoy the closeness of our bodies, how right I feel when we touch.

  Arland turns Bowen left off the path. Our pace is much slower through the trees. I try blocking the thoughts of daemons jumping onto me from the branches, but I can’t. Fear pricks up my arms. My hold on Arland tightens, and I look all around.

  He glances over his shoulder. “Kate, there is nothing to be afraid of. I had my men run a thorough check of the spell around the perimeter, before bringing you out here.”

  “But daemons can get through, though, right?”

  “They can pass through, but would not know you are here.”

  “Flanna told me the spells can fail.”

  Arland clasps one of his hands over mine. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  His touch calms me; I decide to trust him—not that I ever haven’t. I rest my head on his back again and allow him to ride Bowen without further distractions.

  The sounds of rushing water become louder, the farther along we ride. I cannot see anything, but we must be very close to the river. The trees here are greener than those closer to the main path; the grasses growing up around us still have life in them. Bowen’s hooves clop as he steps on small rocks lining the ground. Arland rides us forward for another five minutes, then stops at the edge of a cliff. The sound of the water is deafening.

  “We are here.”

  “Where?”

  “As close to home as we can get.”

  “The Meadows?”

  “Yes.” He climbs down Bowen, then offers me a hand.

  I take hold of Arland and slide from the horse. “Do you miss your home?”

  “I miss my mother, mostly.” His voice is quiet and full of sadness.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t old enough to understand the loss of my dad, but I wish I knew him,” I say, trying to empathize with Arland.

  He points across the dark space in front of us. “The Meadows is about thirty miles on the other side of this river.”

  I feel the emptiness around us, and hear the river flowing below, but I cannot see more than ten feet.

  Arland turns to me. “From time to time, I come out here by myself, so I can think. I feel close to my mother here, to the past, to hope for a better future. All the leaders from around the world lived there; it is where we will live when this is over.”

  Part of me wants to blurt the question together, but I don’t. He’s brought me to his special place, where he feels close to his mother, and where he comes to think when times are tough—I’m not going to take anything away from what this section of the forest means to him.

  “You asked who Perth is,” Arland says, his tone flat.

  Fear builds and rises in me. “Y-yes.”

  “Perth is a Ground Dweller. His people built the underground structures we now call home.”

  “Flanna told me. She also said there was a price that had to be paid.” My palms sweat. Something tells me this conversation is not going to end well. “Arland, what price had to be paid for their help?”

  Arland grips my hands in his. “You were the price.”

  Thankfully he’s holding me up, because I could fall over any second. “Excuse me?” I say, shivering.

  His words stole warmth from the air.

  “Perth’s father, Leader Dufaigh, was jealous of your father and the reverence so many people had for him. The Ground Dwellers knew from their own Seer, a war was coming, and they were aware you were going to be an important part of that war, but they did not know, fully, to what extent.”

  “What did my involvement in the war have to do with my father?”

  “Dufaigh, and our High Leader at the time, were threatened. Your father was already powerful; having a daughter who would play an important part in ending a war made him practically unconquerable.”

  “Unconquerable? What could conquer him?”

  “A quest for power. The Ground Dwellers wanted it—and still do—and the High Leader did not want to lose it. Your father had plans to restructure the way we govern our world. He wanted Leaders to be chosen, not appointed by blood.”

  “He wanted a democracy? Elections?”

  “Yes. He did not think it was fair to have High Leaders chosen years in advance, before knowing what their true personalities were like.”

  “But that’s fair. Why would they not want that?”

  “Your father would have won the initial elections without any problems. Dufaigh and the High Leader were selfish, and afraid of losing everything, so they made a deal for you to be bound to Perth by marriage.”

  I ball my fists, clench my teeth. “So bound means marriage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s it? My life is not my own. I already belong to Perth?”

  “No, not yet. Before a proper marriage takes place, your mother must cast a Binding spell over you and Perth. Even if she were here, I doubt she would willingly do so. However, if you are discovered, I am positive the Ground Dwellers would seek a way around your mother.”

  I draw in a deep breath. “And why would any of this hurt my father?”

  “They were sure your father would lose the election if he was connected to the Ground Dwellers.”

  “Were they right?”

  “The changes never took place. Shortly after the deal was made, your family disappeared.”

  “Because I was born, and my parents had to get me away?”

  “Yes, and Dufaigh could not have been more pleased by the disappearance.”

  “With my father out of the picture, why am I still promised to Perth?”

  “When the war began, news of your prophecy made it around to some of the other Leaders. Dufaigh thirsted for power, so he decided not to
rescind the marriage agreement. For fear of what the Ground Dwellers might try to do to me, my father kept quiet about my part in your future. But I imagine when they learn we have been sharing a bed, they will try to kill me,” Arland says, taking my hands and squeezing.

  My head feels like it will explode. I cannot believe someone would think it’s okay for my marriage rights to be taken away. As if I’m something that can be traded for favors.

  I want to yell at the world, tell off whoever it was who made this deal. “Arland, I am not the type to be told what I can and cannot do. I will decide who and when I will marry.”

  Arland doesn’t respond.

  There’s so much he’s been holding back, about me, about him, about everything. “What did your prophecy say about you?” I demand.

  “That I would be Keeper of Light,” Arland says, leaving out loads of detail, I’m sure.

  “What else?” I demand again.

  Arland kicks a pebble into a tree.

  “What else?” I ask, my voice a little weaker this time.

  He leads me to a boulder a few feet away, and we sit down. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Yes, I’m sick of not knowing as much as everyone else.”

  “Prophecies are not always definite—people and visions can change. Sometimes they do not make any sense to us, and sometimes they are clear.”

  “I get it.”

  “My prophecy said I would be Keeper of Light, forever, even after Darkness fades. It stated, as long as I held Light in my arms, she would be safe, powerful, and the world would be guarded from evil. Light’s happiness means Encardia’s Light. There is a lot of other information that does not make much, if any, sense.”

  He’s already given me enough to make my heart stop.

  We have to be together for Encardia to be safe, but how can Arland and I have a future when there are those who seek power, and know he stands in their way? “So, if Perth’s father was aware of this, he would kill you for it?”

  Arland stares at our fingers laced together. “If Perth, or any Ground Dweller, knew who you were, they would kill me. Never in our history has a Coimeádaí not fallen in love with the one he was protecting.”

  Is he trying to tell me something? The dreams I’ve had for years—of Arland holding me, us making love—they were all true. Maybe not entirely, but I was so happy in his arms, so at ease. The world was almost always bright and cheerful when we were together. It wasn’t until he died that the dreams became dark, except for the one of us in the cave behind the falls. “Can’t your father reverse the promise made to Leader Dufaigh?”