Kindling Ashes: Firesouls Book I

by Laura Harris

  /Tasty./

  What?! Rolls of shock and outrage rolled through Corran but Frang just burst into laughter. It belongs to someone!

  /Calm down, Corran, it was a joke! We can’t eat people’s donkeys, we’re stuck with wild animals. And you’re one to talk, you’re stealing it!/

  Why would you joke about that? Are you trying to make me hate you more?

  /Oh please, you hate me fine on your own. I just need a joke every once in a while and this is the first chance I’ve had in days. What else have I got to keep me amused?/

  More than ‘once in a while’, Corran grumbled as he reached for the gate and swung it open.

  The donkey turned into a dog, hackles rising at the intrusion. Corran froze, letting the donkey glare at him for a good five minutes until it got bored and went back to its hay. This might be more difficult than he had expected.

  He crept closer, but it was difficult to move smoothly and not jar his shoulder and arm. He paused to steady himself and reached one hand up to push the lid off the side of a food box, digging in to get a handful of nuts. He held them out to the donkey, not convinced it wouldn’t bite his hand in an attempt to get them.

  The donkey rose to its feet so quickly Corran fell backwards, the nuts scattering on the floor as he grabbed the wall to keep himself upright. The donkey ignored them and went straight for the food box, knocking the now–loose lid to the floor and digging its nose inside. The sound of crunching filled the stall.

  He reached out one hand and placed it on the donkey’s shoulder. It didn’t even twitch; it carried on eating the nuts. He took his hand away and looked around, finding a stool and dragging that over. Holding onto the side of the shed, he stepped up onto it. He placed his good hand on the donkey’s side for several long seconds, expecting it to snap at him or shuffle away – but it didn’t move at all. Apparently food was the way to this donkey’s heart. He lifted his leg, being careful not to pull at his shoulder as he moved, and slid onto the donkey’s back. He could have been a fly, for all the donkey noticed.

  “Hey… hey donkey. Come on, we need to go,” he whispered to the animal, patting at its shoulder. It didn’t move. He reached for the rope that served as reins and after a little jostling with the donkey that did not want to part with its food, pulled it up over the donkey’s head. He tugged on the rope, digging in his heels. It still didn’t move.

  /Maybe wait till it’s done eating?/

  Corran sighed, fidgeting to try and get into a more comfortable position. He felt exposed, sitting on the donkey and clearly visible above the walls of the stall. He just had to hope Frang’s memory of a main road near here that would lead to Droighair was correct.

  The donkey crunched at the nuts for another ten minutes before pausing, withdrawing its head from the box and harrumphing. Corran tried once more, pulling on the rope to get its head away from the box and digging his feet in – and this time, it moved. It was slow – so slow Corran could have walked faster, if he’d had the energy. But he didn’t, so he slouched on the donkey’s back and let it lead him out of the village and into the forest night.

  CHAPTER 21

  The moment Garth died, this race for the eggs had turned into a sprint. A long, hard, miserable, cold sprint.

  Conversation was scarce as they made their way up into the mountains. The path they had taken was not too steep at first but it was narrow, forcing them to walk single–file. No one complained. Henry’s blackened eye had faded but it was still evidence to remind everyone that at the end of this journey was probably a trap.

  The first night was the worst. Giselle still had a fairly clear idea of which direction to go in, but it was just a matter of following the road climbing higher and higher. With nowhere else to go they slept on that same path, exposed to the strong winds. The oncoming summer had all but disappeared and the drizzle from Cridhal continued to spatter down on them. If she had still been in her old dress with just the shawl she wasn’t sure she’d have even made it through the first night. Baltair blew out heat to keep her warm but that didn’t get rid of the rain. When Sarra and Gerard stirred them the next morning no one had slept much. The lustre of the mountains she had always imagined washed away as they continued to trudge upwards.

  The second day, the path split. A waterfall in the distance prompted a new wave of memories and Baltair directed them left, further into the mountains. It was more sheltered than before and everyone was grateful for a break from the relentless wind that shoved them harder the higher they went. After three days the rain ceased as well.

  With her thoughts about Simon less volatile it was easier to slip back into old routines with Baltair. They talked as everyone else was silent. The path was wider now but she stayed alone at the front apart from Sarra a few paces behind. Sometimes Sarra would catch up and explain more dragon lore, everything she’d need to be a Flier. It made more sense now, why she’d been taught all of this back in Cridhal. Baltair gave her knowledge as well from his memories. In the evenings she sat apart from the others, just as she had when she’d been travelling with them through Auland, and talked with Baltair.

  They didn’t discuss what lay at the end of this road. Instead they remembered life back in Tyrun. It wasn’t precisely fond memories when so much of it had been scraping to survive, but it had been stressful in a different way. She had known and understood her lot there and there had been good times too. Like the start of her first try in the temple as an initiate, when she’d made friends with a girl who had exactly the same colour hair. The time she’d stolen a jewel ring thinking it was just a trinket and had feasted for a week. The time–

  “Giselle?”

  She opened her eyes. It was the fifth day of travelling in the mountains and the first time anyone had disturbed her in the evenings. Henry stood over her, his eyes wide and anxious.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  She bent her head once and he dropped to sit cross–legged. He was pale, his dark blonde hair matted and straggling around his face. She’d never had a real conversation with Henry before but everyone knew him. He was the cheerful one, the person who kept everyone’s spirits up. Now it looked like a struggle for him to smile at her.

  “What happened to Garth?” he whispered. “Gerard and Sarra won’t tell me, but Maria said you were there too.”

  The memory of the old man going up in flames sent a shudder through Giselle. She wasn’t as ill as he had been yet, but the heat Baltair sent her at nights now made her uneasy.

  She glanced over at the others. Both leaders were talking with some of the Firesouls who’d grown up in the mountains, not paying any attention to them. But why shouldn’t she tell Henry? He deserved to know. He’d been coughing too.

  “He burnt.”

  “What?”

  Giselle frowned as the gruesome memory was brought to the forefront of her mind. “He was sweating all over, too hot, and then he just… went up in flames. His body was burnt away.”

  Henry’s expression turned panicked. “He went up in flames?”

  One of the other Firesouls glanced over and she motioned at him to be quiet. Maybe this was why he hadn’t been told.

  “But… Giselle… I… what if that happens to me? I… I can’t breathe properly, I’m too hot all the time, sometimes everything turns black and I can’t see–”

  “Hey, calm down,” she whispered, catching his arm that gestured wildly. He bit the corner of his lip and stared at her, waiting for reassurance. She thought quickly. “Garth looked way worse than you do before that happened, he couldn’t walk remember? You look great compared to that.”

  “Well that’s ‘cause I’ve been trying to hide it, no cart here to carry anyone. And I thought it’d bring people’s spirits down if they saw, especially after everything that happened with Corran–” He spat out the name, scowling. “I told everyone we could trust him! At the start, I said it wasn’t his fault he was grumpy and didn’t do anything, I told people how his girl’s father had taken her away an
d he was sad about that. So when you said he was a Dunslade everyone stood up for him and I did too, I… I didn’t think he was like them.”

  Why had Henry come to her? She was no good at reassuring people, she’d never had to before!

  /Just say what you think is best./

  Why don’t you help?

  She felt his reluctance and guilt. /I won’t be able to soon./

  “Corran fooled everyone, Gerard and Sarra too. It’s not your fault,” she whispered, beating away the sadness that came with Baltair’s words. It sounded terrible even to her – she’d never trusted him, not with Baltair’s memories of his father in her head – but Henry nodded.

  “Are we close to the eggs?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  /Giselle!/

  “What? What do you mean you don’t know? You’re taking us there!”

  Heads turned their way and Giselle froze.

  “You don’t know where we’re going?” someone asked.

  “How can she not know? She’s got Baltair!”

  “I thought that was why she got the uniform early!”

  “No, I do know mostly,” Giselle said, but the hubbub would not settle. Questions and demands flew around her until Sarra jumped up.

  “Quiet!”

  Astonishingly it worked. Sarra frowned down at the Firesouls but it was with uncertainty. She glanced over but Giselle shrank back against the tree.

  /Just tell them./

  They won’t listen to me!

  /They will. Henry did./

  She shook her head.

  With a sigh, Sarra looked away from her and spoke to the rest of the group. “Baltair’s memories were damaged when his soul left his body.” She spoke in a calm tone, but gasps circulated the group. “They have been coming back as Baltair finds familiar places and at every turning so far he has been able to direct us. We might not know how long this journey is going to take, but we trust Baltair. He will find the eggs.”

  Murmurs of uncertainty then agreement rolled through the Firesouls. Sarra sat back down, and talk began again.

  “It’ll be okay. You’ll find them,” Henry murmured with an attempt at his old cheery smile.

  He kept watching her and she huddled deeper into her cloak, not replying. She could not decide if she wanted this trip over as soon as possible or if she would rather Baltair’s memories never found the eggs.

  *

  She faced that question again the next day, when for the first time they came to a fork in the path that Baltair did not recognise.

  We can’t let them know we’re lost!

  /We’re not lost, we’re just… we’re not lost!/

  She bit her tongue hard to stop herself retorting, fighting away his anger. She could feel the fear beneath it and that overtook, sending her heart racing. Just yesterday she’d been thinking of how it wouldn’t be so bad if they couldn’t find the eggs because then she’d have longer before Baltair left – but what if they really couldn’t find them? The sickness would take over, all the Firesouls would die. There’d be no more dragons. Corran and the other Dunslades would win.

  “Where to?” Sarra asked.

  One path rose higher into the mountains, narrowing before winding around a corner out of sight. The other dropped down into a valley with a river running through it, littered with pine trees. Neither prompted any memories.

  “…Giselle?”

  “We’re thinking!” Giselle snapped. She stared at the valley then up the side of the mountain, willing images of Baltair’s past life to wash over them both. He growled in frustration as Giselle heard other Firesouls stop behind them.

  “What is it?”

  “Can’t she remember?”

  Their whispers engulfed her and she strode forward, down the path into the valley. She heard Sarra sigh in relief as everyone followed.

  /Is this a good idea?/

  All the other memories have come straight away, haven’t they? If we just keep walking we might find something you recognise.

  Baltair didn’t agree. He didn’t object either.

  They descended rapidly and the old mountain path faded into a field dotted with trees. It was a relief to walk on soft grass rather than rock and loose stones but the worry that Baltair wouldn’t recognise anything didn’t allow her to enjoy it for long. She stared in every direction as they walked through the valley, hoping the others wouldn’t realise what she was doing.

  Do you remember flying over a river?

  /There’s rivers everywhere in these mountains!/

  Don’t yell!

  A distracted apology was sent her way at the same time as Henry bounded up next to her, back to his normal grinning self.

  “Isn’t this place great?”

  “This… valley?” Giselle didn’t understand how Henry was so boundlessly optimistic.

  “Yeah! It’s–”

  His words broke off, transforming into vicious coughs that had him hanging onto her arm for support. She did her best to keep him up but he was tall and much heavier. They were both on their knees by the time the coughing fit released him. His shoulders trembled as he stared down at bloody hands before he wiped them on the grass.

  “Shh,” he pleaded with her, a second before Gerard dropped down next to them.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes darting between both of them.

  “Yeah, I just tripped and knocked Giselle over,” Henry said with a weak smile. Blood tainted his lips and when he tried to stand his legs collapsed under him.

  “Hey now careful, stay lying down. It’s okay, we’ll take a break,” Gerard said, pressing a gentle hand to his shoulder.

  Henry sighed but didn’t try and move again. His eyes turned back to Giselle, still trying to smile.

  “Does Baltair remember flying around here when he was a hatchling?”

  “What?”

  /A hatchling? Here?/

  “My dragon Aoife looked after all of them. It’s amazing. All those tiny dragons, learning to fly. They fell in the river and screamed about it but Aoife just told them to try again and keep trying.”

  His smile was more genuine now and as Giselle gazed around the valley again, a flash of memory came back. A wing hitting the branch of a tree and tumbling down onto the grass.

  /Every hatching born nearby came here to learn to fly,/ Baltair said with wonder. /I… I know where we are. I think I know where to go. Get up! Try and find somewhere to see the end of the river!/

  “I’ll be back,” she said, rising to her feet and rushing towards one of the trees. She felt bad leaving Henry like that but what if this slipped away from Baltair? She jumped, catching a branch of a tall tree and hauling herself up onto it. The rough bark and branches worked as handholds just as well as bricks and wooden rafters did. Sarra called up to ask what she was doing but she didn’t bother to reply.

  When the branches got too spindly to support her weight she paused, leaning to one side and peering through the needles. The river wound its way through the valley and out through a small gap behind another mountain.

  /That’s it. That’s the way we need to go!/

  You remember? Normally she saw when the new memories came back.

  /Not passing through here with the eggs. But I would have had to go straight north, following the river. It’s the only way humans would be able to get through to get the eggs back. The other path is a dead end, it’s used by goats. And it can’t be too far – much further in the mountains it’s impassable./

  She glimpsed a golden dragon dropping a goat in front of her and dived in to feast.

  Giselle slid down the tree and hurried back over to where Henry was now sitting up, looking less like he might throw up at any moment but still with an uncanny similarity to Garth’s pallor while they’d been travelling. The other Firesouls were scattered about nearby. She knelt down next to Henry and squeezed his shoulder.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re… welcome?” he mumbled, looking daz
ed.

  She shrugged with a grin, turning to stare off towards the edge of the valley. The eggs were near.

  The smile dropped off her face. Soon it would be time to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER 22

  It had been months since he’d been this close to Tilda. With Droighair in front of him, she was within his reach once more. But this time it was his turn to walk away.

  Droighair was small in comparison to Dunslade Town, but it looked huge compared to every other place Corran had visited recently. A picket fence wrapped around the mix of stone and wooden buildings, but the few guards he could see were leaning back against it and chatting. The gates were wide open and no one challenged those who entered or exited.

  He nudged the donkey’s ribs, yanking on the other side of the rope–reins to make sure it went in the right direction, and left the forest to join the road. Merchants with long carts carrying pine wood passed in the opposite direction, and although he got a few glances no one paid attention to him. He was just another traveller, albeit a dirty blood–stained one.

  He entered the gates and paused to consider what to do next. Tilda’s father was a tutor, so he would be near wherever the local lord lived. He leaned down to tap on the shoulder of a woman and ask where the Lord of Droighair was. Despite her doubtful glance up and down him, she directed him further into the town.

  /Human cities are strange./

  This isn’t a city, it’s a town. And a small one.

  Frang shrugged. /They are all the same to us./

  Well what’s wrong with this place? It’s cold, but it’s better than that tiny hamlet. It didn’t even have a well.

  /But I do not understand how you can live so cramped together. I know you are small, but so many people in one place – how can you breathe?/

  The same as you do, Corran replied with a roll of his eyes. That’s not even a valid reason. And don’t you live in groups anyway? Those flocks?

  /But even in flocks we are spread out over the mountains./