Ember and Ash

by Pamela Freeman

  The blade of the dagger melted; heat struck up the tang and hit her hand like a spear. She recoiled, dropping the knife in the pool where it spread like silver gauze across the surface as it melted and then disappeared. Her hand throbbed with pain.

  She scrambled backward as Ash came toward her and pulled her further, toward the passageway. But she wouldn’t sprawl on the floor in front of Him. She struggled to her feet, nursing her hand.

  “Damn you to the cold hells!” she shouted at the pool, at the walls, at Him. “You never meant us to succeed! You’re a shagging baby throwing a tantrum, taking revenge on a whole people because one of them displeased you!”

  Fire sprang out of the pool in a surge of flame, a towering blaze that roared up. And the bastard was laughing.

  “You have succeeded!” He said. He looked from her to Ash with great satisfaction. “You are both here.”

  The roar quietened—now the sound was no more than the safe crackle of a hearth fire, a kitchen fire. Tame.

  “Both?” Ash said, moving in front of her.

  “Both,” He confirmed, still laughing. Ember’s anger mounted. Not Ash, too. He’d made puppets of all of them, and now Ash? No.

  “What do you want him for?” she said, feeling dangerous. It was ridiculous, to feel as though she could do Him damage, but when it came to Ash she was dangerous; she would do whatever it took to protect him.

  “She wants him,” Fire said, with an air of complacency, the beautiful sulky face looking for the first time satisfied. “Air.”

  It astonished both of them. They stood like dumb cattle, staring at Him. Finally, Ash said, “Air? Air, like you’re Fire?”

  He laughed, the roar returning, and threw up his hands so that the whole cave was bright with golden light. Happy light.

  “The first man in a thousand years to reject Water in favor of Air,” He said. “My first ally.”

  “What?” Ember asked, but Ash stood very still for a moment, and then turned to her, his eyes troubled.

  “The Prowman offered me allegiance to Water,” he said slowly, “but the shape of my soul is not in Her care.”

  Fire nodded. “You are a creature of Air, and had the sense to know it. And you,” He added to Ember, “are a creature of Fire. Together…”

  “What?” Ember snapped, not sure she liked the idea of Ash owing allegiance to anyone but her. “Together, what?”

  “Together, you may lure Her back from the Ice King.” This time, His mutable voice was solemn, serious, and the light He gave off was red as blood. “A thousand years She has played with Him. He tempted Her with a land’s worth of ice to carve, and She accepted. A thousand years She has kept the Ice flowing south, so that She may make beauty out of it.”

  He seemed to stare outward, past the rock walls, to the ice beyond. “Did you not see? She has made great beauty… but She forgot me; and there has been no worshipper to draw her back for a thousand years… until now.” He looked directly at Ash. “She loves you, boy. She has saved you over and over again—and finally you forced her to act against His agents. Now She must choose.”

  From a dry throat, Ember asked, “But why me? What do you want from me?”

  “In the cold, she has forgotten Love,” Fire said. His voice was like the low horns of Ari’s people, soft and troubling, throbbing with pain. “Together, you may remind Her of the glory which comes when Fire joins with Air.”

  “Joins?” Ash said. His voice was furious and Ember looked at him, astonished at the anger on his face. Ash never got angry, not like this.

  “You want to pimp her!” he shouted. “You brought her all this way to turn her into a whore!”

  Fire smiled strangely.

  “I tried. But she would not be turned,” He said. “She rejected every lick of desire for you I sent Her way.”

  A stillness came over Ash and Ember saw his face harden. It was wrong. Wrong for Fire to taunt him so. Wrong for her to let him. She couldn’t let Ash’s face lose its sweetness, to turn hard, like Ari’s and Nyr’s. Even if it meant baring her soul before this bastard of a god.

  She put her hand on his arm, and felt, deep within his muscles, a fine trembling.

  “He sent desire that was false,” she said softly. As though against his will, Ash looked down at her, fear in his eyes at what she might say. “I rejected it, because it came from outside me. True desire comes from within—” oh, this was so hard to say! A warlord’s daughter did not talk to a man of her own desire. Never. In this cave, though, she must be Martine’s daughter, not Arvid’s. “… as mine for you does. And—and my love.”

  She gulped air. So hard to say. Ash’s eyes were alight again, and warm as they had never been, even when they had kissed. His hand covered hers on his arm and she felt his heartbeat running, fast and light. The feeling was too strong to allow her to smile at him, but she could feel joy coursing through them both.

  “Love!” Fire said. “Better even than I could have hoped. Love will lure Her back for certain. And then We will destroy the ice, and my mountain will be free again.”

  That caught her attention.

  “You planned this?” she demanded.

  He laughed again, the column of fire shooting up to the roof and coming down again.

  “Not the love, child. Love breaks all fates. I planned desire.” He smiled at her but it was a baring of teeth, and she shivered. “You resisted me. The women of your family resist me too often.”

  “Is that why You chose me? To punish my mother?”

  “She deserved punishment,” He said. “But that was not why.” He looked at Ash and smiled with the commiserating smile men give to each other over women. “He wanted you. He wouldn’t let himself know it, but he wanted you. And he wanted you because you are fire to your core—all anger and passion and heat. The butterflies proved that.”

  “And now You need us,” she said. Ash made a movement with one hand, as if to warn her, stop her—but then he pulled the hand back and stood at her shoulder, where the lord’s second-in-command stood in a place that was dangerous. She felt herself grow larger; Ash trusted her to handle this, to let her negotiate for them both, for all of them. For all the world. That wasn’t just love, it was a respect she’d never expected to get. She felt as though she could do anything, with Ash at her back.

  “You,” she said to the ancient Power, “will give fire back to my people right now, or we will not even have this discussion.”

  Fire shrank down until He could look her right in the eyes. If fire could be cold, those eyes were freezing.

  “I could burn you where you stand until not even a flake of either of you remained,” He said softly.

  “And wait another thousand years?” she asked sweetly. Oh, this was heady stuff! Negotiating with Ari had taught her a great deal, but she had learned more at her father’s knee, and the one thing he had taught her above all was that the one who was most in need was the weak one in the bargaining. She waited a beat, until she saw the color of His eyes change from white hot to red. “Give them back their fire, my lord,” she said. “You only took it from them to bring us here, and here we are. Why should they suffer further?” And the second lesson was: give them a way of saving face, so they can look like they have capitulated to reason, not superior strength.

  “That’s true,” He said magnanimously. “And they have fought the Ice King well in your absence, much more strongly than the cave people ever did. They deserve reward.” He waved a hand. “There. It is done. The fires blaze again.”

  There was no way to prove or disprove it, but she suspected that He would not deign to lie. They had succeeded. No matter what happened, she doubted He would repeat Himself and steal the flames again, so her people were safe. Relief made her knees shake, but she stood firm. Now it was time to play for larger stakes.

  Ember took a breath and reached back to squeeze Ash’s hand in warning. He gripped her hand warmly and she welcomed even the sharpness as the scrapes and cuts on her palms stung. Tha
t was human; prone to hurts, but able to recover, given the chance.

  “I thank you, my lord,” she said. Thanks cost nothing. “Now. We must discuss the terms of our next agreement.” Her chin came up and she stared him in the eyes. Of course, she and Ash wanted to get rid of Ice, too, if for no other reason than that it would stop Ari’s attacks on the Domains. But it was Fire who needed to break free.

  “Agreement?” He hissed, like water drops landing on flame. “You should be thanking me. Where else but here could you two come together?”

  The truth of that hit her and she could see it register with Ash, too. He was right. Outside this cave, the barriers between them were huge. She could defy her father, and would, if all that was at stake was her own happiness. For just a moment she indulged herself in that dream again: she and Ash, living on one of her father’s estates, raising a family, happy together. In the flash of a moment she imagined it all, and it was a good, good life.

  Every decision she had ever made, she thought, had been selfish. To choose to marry Osfrid, which would have taken her so far south her parents—and her people—would rarely have seen her, just because he was handsome and she hated the cold. That had been selfish. She had fancied herself in love as a girl dressed in her mother’s jewelry imagines herself to be grown up. She had barely known Osfrid; it had been a wisp of cloud compared to the thunderstorm of her love for Ash.

  To defy Fire, back at the fort—that had been selfish, concerned only with her own dignity, not with the safety of her people.

  It was time she let go of selfishness and did what was necessary instead, even if it broke her heart.

  “Untrue,” she said to Fire. She felt Ash look at her in surprise. “If we wished, we could defy the world. My father did.” She couldn’t let Ash think she meant to do it, though. That would be cruel. “But that is not what will happen.” He took that like a kick in the stomach. She felt the shock go through him; his hand tightened on hers painfully. “When I leave here, my lord, I intend to marry Nyr, heir to the Hárugur King, and unite our peoples in peace.”

  That was a shock to both of them. Ash jerked back, but she kept tight hold of his hand, keeping her eyes on the hard, flaring eyes of the Power.

  “And I do not intend to watch my second husband die in the wedding fire.”

  “You are mine,” He said.

  “No.”

  It wasn’t smart. She knew it might break the negotiations—but this one thing she couldn’t flatter or mislead about. She would not say that anyone owned her. This was the center of her soul, and that was that. But she could challenge.

  “I belong to myself,” she said. “And if you kill me to disprove that, then you do no more than any thug or rapist.”

  It stopped Him. It stopped Ash, who was turning to caution her. And around them, a breeze sprang up, twisting dust into the air, fanning the flames around His feet. The twisting, changing face lit up.

  “She is here!” He said, as excited as a young boy. Press the advantage, Ember thought.

  “And She agrees with me.”

  He glared at her, but He wasn’t prepared to argue the point.

  “What do you want?” He asked and she felt her heart leap. Now. Now was the time to change the world.

  “My father is of Acton’s people. Ash’s father is of Acton’s people,” she stated. Ash nodded, next to her, understanding where she was heading.

  “Yes,” he said. “If you accept us, you must accept them.”

  The air stilled around them and Fire seemed to freeze in place, even the small flames around His feet not moving.

  “The Prowman says the time has come,” Ash added.

  “Water agrees?”

  Ember looked up to see Ash smile strangely. “She will.”

  “You’ve already shown yourself to Acton’s people, my lord,” Ember said, trying to seem calm although her heart was suffocating her, it was so big in her chest. “Unless you accept them, the old blood will suffer further in revenge.”

  He hadn’t thought that through, of course. That was Fire—oh, she knew Him because He was right, she was fire through and through, and she wanted what she wanted at the very minute, now, and would take it, if she could, and damn the consequences. She’d fought herself all her life because a warlord’s daughter could not, must not, act on impulse. Ember had learned to watch what she said, and control what she did, and deny herself what she wanted, as this Fire never had.

  “We have equality under the law now,” Ash said, his deep voice serious, his hand holding hers less tightly now they were talking about impersonal matters. “But unless we have equality before the Powers we will never be one people.”

  “Why should you be?” He said, the sulky boy back in full.

  “Because there are more like us, half and half, every day, and it is our future, our country.”

  “Watering down the old blood until it disappears!” He flashed.

  “Enriching it,” Ash said. “Bringing more to acknowledge their deepest allegiance, whether that is to Fire, or Water—or Air.”

  In response, the breeze became a positive wind, swirling around them, around Ash, caressing him. Ember didn’t like that at all, but she ignored it.

  “She agrees,” Ember said, straight to Fire.

  “The old blood must have control over who meets us,” He said, but it was the last hurdle, a feeble attempt to pretend control over the negotiation.

  “Agreed,” Ember said.

  The world was changed.

  “Your part of the bargain must be kept,” He said. Almost pleaded.

  “Not with you here!” Ash exclaimed.

  He laughed, the flames shooting up, heat expanding to fill the cave. He held out His hand, but not to them.

  “No. We dance above. Come, Beloved, and remember the glory of Fire and Air together.”

  The fire reached to the roof, a column too bright to look at. They turned away, huddling together against the far wall, and then darkness fell.

  Palisade Fort, the Last Domain

  Elva was conscious, now, and seemed unharmed, so they left her to rest in her own room and went to Martine’s parlor.

  Sigurd sat in her chair by the window, rocking back and forth, staring avidly at the wedding fire. Her hands were clenched tight, her mouth turned down and in, her eyes too bright. Arvid doubted that she would ever be sane again. Merroc sat in a chair by the empty hearth, watching her, looking like a man beset by too many troubles, who sees no way out; a worse grief than death, Arvid thought.

  Martine stood next to him as he hesitated, trying to find the right words to say to Merroc. Perhaps it would be better if he sat down.

  The hearth flared up in roaring flames.

  Arvid sat down in surprise, and Martine went with him, ending up in his lap. Ridiculously, he felt a surge of desire.

  Everywhere, in every room, people were calling out, Fire! Fire! But instead of an alarm call it was a paean of triumph.

  Martine drew in a sharp breath.

  “He is here, He is here!” she exclaimed. “Quick, bring her to the fire!”

  She sprang from Arvid’s lap and went to Sigurd, drawing her to her feet and bringing her over to the flames.

  “Come, my lady, come,” she said.

  Dazed, not even recognizing Martine, Sigurd came to the hearth and stared uncomprehendingly at the fire.

  Martine bowed to the hearth.

  “My lord, my lord, be generous. You have stolen this woman’s son and her reason with him. My lord, heal her, we pray you!”

  “What are you doing?” Merroc snarled, and Arvid, for a moment, wanted to drag Martine away from the hearth, to shake her and berate her and even smash her to the ground for turning to Him.

  But then Sigurd’s eyes filled with tears and she reached out her hands to the flames.

  “Osfrid!” she said. Astonished, Arvid saw Osfrid’s form in the flames. It was clear. Unmistakable. Not the ghost they would have vaguely sensed at a quickening, but the m
an himself, carved from golden light. Even more handsome than he had been in life.

  “Mother,” he said.

  “I knew you would come back.” Her face showed a kind of idolatry, Arvid thought, and wondered if he had ever looked at Ember that way. He hoped not.

  “I love you. Do not grieve for me. I am happy.”

  Sigurd was sobbing. “Osfrid, Osfrid,” but they were the clean tears of grief, untainted by madness.

  “Goodbye until we meet again, Mother.”

  He faded into red and vanished.

  Sigurd turned to Merroc, her face alight with joy and grief.

  “He came! I told you he would come!”

  “Yes, Sigi,” Merroc said gently. “He came.”

  “I’m very tired,” Sigurd said in surprise. Her eyes were clear, with no sign of madness.

  One of her women came up and took her by the arm.

  “Come, my lady, come and rest.” She went with them willingly, Merroc staring after her in wonder. He turned to Martine.

  “Was that my son?” he demanded.

  She hesitated. “In truth, I do not know. Perhaps Fire has the power to draw a spirit back from the darkness beyond death. Perhaps not. Does it matter?”

  “Yes!” he exclaimed.

  She bent her head and studied the floor. Arvid thought she was choosing her words very carefully.

  “My lord, I asked Fire to heal her. He did so. He understands need, and how to answer it. Perhaps we should accept the end and not question the means.”

  Merroc searched her face, which showed only its usual public calm.

  “It was generous of you,” he said slowly, “to—to do what you did.”

  Her expression changed and she became the Martine Arvid knew behind closed doors, compassionate and wise and bearing many wounds from a difficult life.

  “My lord, I weep with her, and with you,” was all she said, but Merroc’s face crumpled and his eyes filled with tears. He turned aside to hide them, and stood for a moment, pretending to cough, harrumphing them away. When he turned back, he looked at Arvid.

  “That promise I made,” he said. “I think I may not keep it.” Running a hand through his graying red hair, he sighed. “I’m tired, too. I may sleep a little, now.”