Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I

by Laura Harris

  Giselle let out a thunderous roar, turning her body and nosediving down. A great breath of fire erupted from within her and fried the humans hacking at Horas – but it was too late, Horas was gone, her wings destroyed and her soul disappeared. She tried reaching out, tried shouting to make her hear, but there was no soul to call out to.

  /Horas!/

  “Stop messing about kid, you’re in real trouble now don’t make it worse!”

  Giselle’s eyes flashed open. Two faces peered down at her, one scowling and one bored. The scowling one reached for her arm and tried to tug her up.

  “Get off!” she screamed, jumping up with claws bared to rip at his face. Humans, human miners, they killed the dragons, tore them apart–

  /Took our home, took our family–/

  “Killed our hatchlings, broke our Flier–”

  Giselle darted away from the scowling man and threw herself at the bored man instead, pressing her nails deep into his cheek to tear at the skin, blood filling her fingernails. His fist hit the side of her face and threw her sideways to land on the rough rocky floor. It came back to her in a flash that she was a girl who didn’t know how to fight lying on the floor of a quarry – with two men she had attacked advancing on her, one wiping a smear of blood away from his cheek. She leapt to her feet and ran.

  If only she had wings like she’d felt a few moments ago she could soar away from them easily – but running was futile. They were grown men and with every one of her steps she could hear their heavy footfalls get louder. Something pushed her shoulder and she fell face first onto the ground, one arm scraping against a rock. What felt like a foot pounded into her side and she curled up, wrapping her hands around her head as the next blow came.

  /Sorry… I’m sorry, this is all my fault…/

  Voice’s guilt somehow filtered through the fury and deep sorrow still filling him. She wished she could argue, but a fresh boot to her ribs stole her ability to talk.

  A hand tangled in her cloak and yanked her up so fast she almost threw up. The angry man – furious now – held her up and shook her.

  “Crazy bitch!”

  She was too dazed to answer. There was movement and she realised they were pulling her back in the direction of the town. She stumbled, trying to walk with them.

  /Giselle?/

  Voice seemed dazed. The thoughts he tried to send to her were a muddle of incoherency.

  “Mm?”

  The man glared down and shook her again.

  Voice’s words came together. /I know who I am./ The confusion shifted to certainty. /I am Baltair. I am the alpha dragon./

  CHAPTER 8

  Giselle slouched against the cold wall, staring out through the bars of her cell to watch as Sarra argued with the jailmaster.

  “She’s just a child–”

  “She attacked my guards!”

  “She didn’t mean any harm–”

  “Have you seen Dewi’s face?” the man exploded, his face bright red. He gesticulated with both arms. “She was wild! And she was creeping around the mines – for all we know she’s part of a smuggling gang! They recruit young, y’know.”

  Sarra’s expression twisted for a moment as she decided how to reply to the awkwardly–phrased accusation. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “She’s my cousin. We’re going home from Tyrun. She’s just a bit…”

  “Crazy? I’ve heard her talking to herself! Demons, that could be! A wild demon smuggler!”

  Several painful hours had passed since her attempt to see what was in the mines and the sun peeped in through the high window. It had not taken long for Sarra to find her at the jail and for the past hour she and the jailmaster had been repeating cycles of the same argument over and over. Sarra wanted her free. The jailmaster wanted her in court. At the moment, she wasn’t sure who would win. The thought of being in court didn’t daunt her much; she was sure she could escape. Even if that failed she could talk to herself and convince them she was crazy.

  /I’m sorry./

  It was at least the tenth time today that Voice – Baltair – had apologised. It was hard to remember that he was now Baltair and not Voice, but the knowledge kept rolling through her as he marvelled at it.

  “It’s not your fault,” Giselle repeated.

  /I let my memories take over./

  “I don’t think you were in much control of it.”

  Sarra and the jailmaster paused their argument to glance her way. She stared back, and they soon realised she wasn’t talking to either of them and returned to their shouting.

  Baltair hummed in reluctant agreement, disquiet rumbling around him as both their thoughts went back to the horrific scenes they had witnessed last night. Even with her limited knowledge of dragon history (although that was growing every day she spent with Sarra), Giselle had heard of the Battle of Orvale Mine. It had come near the end of the war – the only time the King’s soldiers had joined in, to drive the dragons away from the valley.

  /We used to live here together. Humans in the town, dragons in their caves. We let them mine, they let us hunt./

  His memories were still patchy, but throughout the night more of it had come back to him and he had shared it with Giselle. At first he had tried to keep it to himself, but she had insisted he not bear the burden alone. Mostly it was the battle, but the odd memory that didn’t fit floated up occasionally. Flying over a mountain covered in pine trees. Hunting a deer. A giant egg, smashed over a rock with the remnants of what had almost lived poking out from one end. That last one she tried not to think about. She was still struggling with the knowledge that he had fought in that battle and seen his flock die. Part of her wished he did have a physical form just so she could hug him.

  /I’m not a dog. You don’t hug dragons./

  “I don’t care. I would. You wouldn’t stop me, would you?”

  /No. Not you./

  Giselle smiled. It was strange to think that the only friend she’d ever had was the deadliest, most powerful dragon of the age.

  “You must have been to the capital before,” she mused. “Bal–” She stopped herself. The jailmaster might dismiss her ramblings as simple craziness so long as she didn’t start mentioning long–dead dragon leaders who used to live across the valley. “You used to visit it – before.”

  /Before the war,/ he rumbled, understanding what she could not say. /I must have, to meet with the King. With… my Flier./ She could feel him rooting through his slowly returning memories, but the only knowledge of that person was that he had been badly injured. /I think he was old. I… I am old! I’m ancient!/

  Giselle laughed aloud at the shock that revelation brought. Before, his age had just been a matter of speculation. “Of course you’re old,” she teased. An adult dragon in her child’s mind had always seemed like someone very grown up to her.

  “Giselle.”

  She looked up to find Sarra in the open doorway of the cell. The beaming jailmaster strolled back into his office, but Sarra’s mouth was fixed in a stern, uncompromising line.

  She scrambled off the floor, taking a moment to wince as the injuries from last night made themselves known, but Sarra was already marching off. She hurried after her.

  “How’d you get me out?”

  “Gold.” Anger emanated from her and Giselle shrank back. Before now Sarra had been strict, but never angry like this. She followed from a distance, realising now that they weren’t heading back to the inn but to the edge of the town, where the path up to the hills started. The sun shone down from the middle of the sky, so it must be midday. At the reminder that she had missed breakfast, Giselle’s stomach grumbled. She had perhaps got a little too used to being fed if she was this hungry after one missed meal. She pushed the thought away and continued to follow, lagging further behind with every step and staring at the ground to avoid Sarra’s angry glares.

  She walked straight into the woman stood in her way. She was tall and hefty, wearing a floury apron and dress that didn’t quite fit with he
r appearance. Her hair was grey and wispy, framing a fierce scowl.

  “You’re the girl who tore up Dewi’s face!”

  Giselle froze, not sure how to react. In some ways last night was as clear as a painting in her head, but in other ways – the confrontation with the guards in particular – it was hazy and overshadowed by feelings she hadn’t understood or been able to control.

  “Not saying my son’s ever had the prettiest face, but you’ve left a scar on him he’ll never be rid of!”

  His mother. Giselle gulped. She was not used to confrontations like this. Scrappy fighting with fists and knives, being bellowed at as she cowered in a corner – that she understood. Facing an angry mother demanding answers was not something she knew how to deal with.

  “Do you have nothing to say?” she snapped, clenching her fists and stepping closer.

  Giselle stumbled back, ready for a blow and eyes swivelling to find a way out. Sarra appeared at the woman’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what’s got into her.”

  The mother rounded on Sarra and waved her hands around in the air. “She won’t even say sorry!”

  “Giselle!”

  Giselle stared back with wide eyes but was met with simultaneous glares. Sorry? That was all they wanted?

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  The mother rolled her eyes and Sarra gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

  “I hope your son gets better soon.”

  Sarra motioned one hand at Giselle and she hurried to her side, this time following like a limpet as they continued out of the town.

  “Why didn’t you apologise?” Sarra snapped, shortly after they had reached the edge of Orvale and started back up the path.

  “What? But… why? I didn’t know she only wanted sorry,” Giselle mumbled, still not quite able to believe they had been let go so easily. She glanced back in case the woman was following for a sneak attack.

  /I don’t think she’ll follow,/ Baltair said, but she could tell he was still distracted by last night. She did her best to leave him alone as she concentrated on this conversation with Sarra.

  “What else did you think she wanted? It’s simple manners, Giselle!”

  Sarra huffed and now they were out of the town Giselle allowed herself to shrink away. She scolded herself. She was being soft, letting Sarra affect her like this. She’d never cared about anyone’s opinion before – well, except for her guard. Look how that had turned out.

  “What possessed you to go to those mines? The jailmaster could have had you on trial for smuggling if he hadn’t just thought your head wasn’t right and you’d gone wandering! I couldn’t have helped you then!”

  “I’d have got myself out.”

  “Don’t avoid the question! Why did you go there?”

  Never had she been so incessantly questioned before. Never had anyone cared so much where she was and why.

  She shrugged, scraping her feet against the ground. “I don’t know. I had a feeling. Baltair had it too.”

  “A feeling? You–” Sarra froze, and Giselle had to stop and turn around to see her. Her face had gone white, and her eyes were wider than she had ever seen them. “What did you say?” It was barely a whisper.

  “Uh… I had a feeling?”

  /What’s the matter with her?/

  “I don’t know. What’s the matter?” Giselle asked, taking a tentative step closer to Sarra.

  “You said… Baltair?”

  “Oh, yes. Found out last night.” When Sarra continued to stare, she tried again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Baltair… the alpha? Not a different Baltair?”

  “No. The alpha. I think it’s why there was that… feeling.” She said the word cautiously, waiting for another snappy response – but Sarra said nothing, so she continued. “There was a battle and he was there. We remembered it.”

  “How much does he remember?” Sarra asked, snapping out of her daze and stepping closer so she towered over Giselle.

  “Uh – not much,” Giselle stuttered. “The battle. And other bits.”

  “Can you tell me where the eggs are?”

  “What?”

  “Baltair! Don’t you recognise me? Where are the eggs?”

  /The eggs?/

  Giselle could sense that he was as confused as she was. “He doesn’t know what you mean. What eggs?”

  Sarra stared back but all of the anger and shock had faded, leaving simple distress.

  “He… he doesn’t know?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “The eggs! Think, Baltair, please!”

  /I don’t know what she’s talking about!/

  “What eggs?”

  “Giselle!”

  “Well how are we meant to answer when you won’t explain what you’re going on about?” Giselle shouted, finally growing tired of how this conversation kept jumping about. “You keep changing whether you’re angry or upset and you keep yelling and I don’t know why! You said we had to come with you, you can just say if you’ve changed your mind!”

  “No! You can’t. You can’t go back now.”

  “Then tell me what’s going on!”

  They stood face to face on the path that looked down on the Orvale. Sarra turned abruptly and gestured at Giselle to follow her further up the hill. Giselle did so only because it seemed like she might be about to get answers. They walked to the brow of the hill and started down the other side on a smaller path. Sarra began to talk.

  “We know we need to get the dragon souls into their own bodies with the eggs, but we don’t know where they are. We’ve searched but they’re nowhere to be found – the mountains are huge, they could be anywhere. None of the other dragons know. They only remember Baltair leaving to hide them somewhere. He knows where the dragon eggs are. Once we have those, we can get the dragon souls into them so they can hatch again.”

  Silence. Giselle reached inside to try and find some response from Baltair. He had been listening intently.

  /I know nothing of that,/ he whispered.

  Giselle shook her head to communicate it back to Sarra.

  “So what now?” Giselle asked.

  “Now?” Sarra sighed. “We do what we planned from the start. We’ll meet the other Firesouls in a few days. We hoped one of them might know more about the eggs, or know what had happened to Baltair. But we can do everything possible to help him remember. Orvale prompted memories of the battle – there will be more.” Her voice gained strength. “We have found Baltair, after years of thinking we never would – it’s a sign. The dragons will fly again.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Breathe in the smoke. Let the dragons approach you, give them space. They have been hibernating for a long time.”

  Corran held his breath as the wind sent a thick plume of smoke in his direction, pushing his dragon down. Damn Gerard and his damn lessons about the damn dragons. He hadn’t let up since the first time he’d used that golden dust. At least now he wasn’t being secretive about it. It hadn’t taken long for the others to start making contact with their dragons, but Corran had managed to avoid hearing any further sarcastic comments.

  For his part, Gerard was quite frustrated by the fact that the Firesoul who had first made contact with his dragon seemed to have got stuck at that point. Every night he sat down next to Corran and tried to help – and he did, in his own way, by telling Corran exactly what not to do.

  /Oh, aren’t you clever?/

  Corran jumped violently and in a second Gerard had knelt next to him.

  “Did it happen again? Did you hear it?”

  Knowing that denying it would be pointless, Corran nodded.

  “Focus! Call it near – find out its name.”

  Corran did everything possible to focus on something other than the dragon. It was difficult with Gerard staring so intently at him. “I think it’s faded,” he said after a short time, hoping it was long enough to convince the man. And maybe it had go
ne after all–

  /Liar./

  Corran cursed internally, but somehow managed to keep his face schooled in a neutral expression. A headache started pulsing against his skull.

  /That is not fit language for a boy your age./

  I’m eighteen and what language I use is nothing to do with you! Now leave me alone! Corran thought as fiercely as he could, but it seemed to lend strength to the dragon.

  /Oh, he speaks. Wouldn’t Gerard be proud. What a shame, he doesn’t know who his prodigy is./

  Corran stood, intending to walk away from the golden smoke, but he had only taken one step when Gerard called out to him with an encouraging smile.

  “Don’t give up so easily, Corden! It will come to you, don’t worry.”

  He sighed and sat back down, managing to at least be grateful that he was a step further away from those toxic flames. Looking around he found most of the others’ faces twisted in concentration – although the old man Garth and the younger woman Maria both had expressions of delight. They were murmuring to themselves, pausing now and then to see what their dragon said.

  “Aoife!”

  Corran turned in alarm to check on Henry, who had leapt to his feet and wore such an expression of joy that Corran’s heart dropped.

  “Her name is Aoife!” he cried out, sitting back down and grinning when Gerard gestured at him to be quieter. The others had all been stirred from their focus and several congratulated Henry. Over the past few days the event of someone first contacting their dragon had become an event for all to celebrate. It sickened Corran but there was little he could do except join in if he didn’t want to expose himself – especially when Henry turned to him in particular.

  “I can feel her, Corden! You have to keep trying – don’t give up!”

  /Frang. Frang. Frang. Go on – tell them my name. They’ll be so excited./

  Corran forced a grin, but inside he could only wonder what Henry was so excited about. There was a murderous beast within him, and he was happy about it!