by Laura Harris
Callused hands cupped his and he looked up. Tilda took the branches gently from him and began to roll them between both hands. He focused on her, aware of the donkey jittering on its hooves behind him. Sparks jumped up.
/Gold! It needs gold!/
Corran stared numbly down at the egg. Gold. How were they going to get gold? Why hadn’t Frang told him they’d need it before?
A howl of what sounded like dragon obscenities echoed through his head. /Idiot, Corran, you’re wearing it!/
He reached down to grip the golden–hilted sword. Frang’s half–hearted protests when he’d taken it suddenly made sense. He’d been led straight to that cave. He didn’t pause before unstrapping it, throwing it blade–first into the growing flames. Tilda stared at him in disbelief. When he didn’t explain she continued to build the fire.
A cry of triumph echoed through the forest and Tilda dropped the firewood she’d been carrying closer, grabbing Corran’s arm instead and pulling him to his feet.
“We have to run!”
“Soon, soon, it’s almost ready,” Corran mumbled, staring down at the fire and willing it to grow. He didn’t know if they were his own or Frang’s words. He didn’t care. He wanted his head back, Frang wanted his body back and they were too close to give up now.
“Corran, come on!” Tilda shouted, attempting to drag him with all her might. He twisted his arm away and turned his attention back to her for a second.
“You go, I’ll catch up–”
“No, I won’t leave you again!”
The donkey bolted into the forest as something slammed between Corran and Tilda, pushing them both to the floor. The Ikjorian woman dived for the egg, shouting words he didn’t understand as she scooped it out. She dropped it straight away – but it didn’t crack, it just rolled away.
/Corran, get it! Touch it!/
He shoved past the woman who was leaning over a blistered hand. She knocked into him anyway and he tripped, flying towards the ground. He reached out both hands, his fingers scraping against the shell–
A weight lifted that he’d never known was there. He was free. He was light. He could fly if he wanted, his head was so clear. The headache was gone, the fear was gone.
A foot stamped down on his outstretched hand and he yelled, scrambling up as the second Ikjorian reached the egg. She lifted it, her sword thrust out towards them as her partner stood, still cradling her hand. His own fingers were burning too, but he barely felt it. His own soul was alight with newly found freedom. Nothing had felt so easy before. He wouldn’t get the dragon sickness, he wouldn’t go through every day with Frang’s sarcasm in his ear.
The egg cracked and all four of them jumped. The two scouts faced Corran and Tilda, Ikjorian against Aulander for the first time in years, and no one cared. Every pair of eyes was on the egg. Another crack snaked down one side and the woman gripped it tighter.
A black scaled head pushed up into the world. It turned, looking dazed as it struggled to break free of the rest of the shell. The Ikjorian reached out to grab his neck and shouted when razor teeth bit through her hand.
The egg fell, crashing and freeing Frang. He tried to roar but only a bark came out. One of the women reached down and Corran crashed into action, flinging himself at her. They tumbled together to the ground, a muddle of punches and kicks. A fist hit his jaw and he thumped back until a screech filled the trees. He froze with the Ikjorian to see Tilda backing away from Frang as he beat his wings, baring his claws and attempting to fly. He screeched again at her, a tiny breath of flame coming from his mouth.
What are you doing? Leave her alone!
The dragon didn’t reply. Tilda’s eyes met his but she was helpless, forced to back away from them all.
The other Ikjorian crept up behind Frang, a net in her hands.
Frang!
The woman dropped to the ground to avoid the flames that came streaming her way, but her sword swung out at Frang and he had to jump into the air to avoid it. He couldn’t stay up for long, falling down a few feet away, and the woman advanced on him again. He sent a burst of fire at her and Corran’s heart sank as a blade touched his throat. The Ikjorian behind him muttered foreign words as she pulled his hands behind his back, tying them with rope and the knife never leaving his neck.
Frang’s wings puffed out and he rose on his hind legs, making him look double his size as he drew in his deepest breath yet. The advancing Ikjorian backed up and Frang released a steady stream of fire, jumping up to fly for a few more seconds. Corran stumbled back as the woman yanked at his collar. Frang raked his claws into a tree trunk to stay there and attempted to scramble higher. Tilda was nowhere to be seen and he kept getting dragged away from them both.
Frang! he tried shouting, staring up at the tree. Fear rose as the second woman snarled at him, grabbing his other shoulder. He struggled but they were too strong and his hands were tied. Help me!
The dragon slipped down the tree trunk but managed to reattach himself, watching as the Ikjorians dragged Corran away.
/Sorry./
Corran stared up as he sent out another burst of flame, hurrying the Ikjorians even more. After everything he’d done for Frang, coming into Ikjor to get his egg, he got nothing back. Frang was going to let him be captured.
Dragons were exactly what he’d always thought they were. But now he knew that humans were no better; his own brothers had tried to kill him. He’d been abandoned by everyone. As the Ikjorians dragged him through the forest, he supposed it was a fitting end. He had betrayed the Firesouls and he had betrayed his family. It was no wonder no one would help him now.
Sorry, he whispered back, unsure if Frang could even hear him. Maybe somehow Tilda would hear too. At least she was free.
He was no longer a Dunslade and he was no longer a Firesoul. Whatever he faced in Ikjor, for the first time in his life he would do so on his own terms.
CHAPTER 28
Smoke still filled the area, even more now that rain had started to fall. The flames had hissed out and Giselle wandered through the fallen debris, looking for both Huw and the egg. Baltair’s stomach was in her throat in terror that they would find it smashed, or not find it at all.
She had no idea where the others were – Firesouls or the other Dunslades and raiders – but that wasn’t her priority right now. The egg was all she could focus on.
She reached the end of the fallen tree, or what was left of it. The bottom of the trunk was a burnt out stump and the rest of it lay hollow across the floor, a few flames still dancing around it. Some of the branches were still attached but most were scattered on the ground or burnt into nonexistence. Huw was nowhere to be seen and she hurried down the remains of the tree trunk. It was about halfway up she had left the egg so she paused there, pushing the tree with the sole of her foot to try and move it to see inside better. It didn’t budge. She knelt, aware of how exposed she was if anyone did come across her, and peered underneath so she could look inside. It was dark and she couldn’t see the egg anywhere.
/No! Keep looking! It must be here somewhere!/
“It might have fallen out,” she muttered. She tried reaching into the still warm tree trunk but her fingernails scraped at charcoal. She shuffled closer. Her whole arm was inside now, but she found nothing.
/Well where else would it be?/ Baltair cried out, panic rising.
She pulled away from the tree trunk and stumbled around in a circle. A group of branches were nearby and she ran over to them. The blackened twigs crumbled into ashes under her touch – but there was the egg, covered in soot and wedged upside down between two branches.
She lifted it carefully as Baltair let out a cry of relief, unwedging it from the branches. She cradled it in both arms, staring down in disbelief. It had survived… somehow, those fragile branches had caught and saved it.
/Giselle?/
She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling at the request. If she let go of the egg now, let it smash to the floor, he could never leave her.
/It’s time./
“I know,” she whispered.
She had been ready before, back in the cave, but now she had to do it all over again. It seemed cruel that she had to make this decision twice. Long seconds ticked past and Baltair didn’t shift. He waited, patient. The only emotion she could feel from him was a steady beat of reassurance. It would be okay. He’d stay with her. She’d be a Flier. She’d be with him even if he wasn’t in her head.
She bit her lip until it hurt, then opened her mouth to whisper once more.
“Goodbye.”
It hit her so suddenly she fell to her knees, almost dropping the egg.
He was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
She felt hollow. Part of her was missing. The feeling of Baltair’s presence had accompanied her for her whole life but now it had disappeared as suddenly as blowing out a candle. A sob escaped her lips, then tears wracked through her as the pain and discomfort hit. This was what she had feared all along and she had been right to fear it – it felt so bad she wasn’t sure she could bear it.
The egg shook in her arms and she released it, letting it fall to the floor and trying to get her head around the idea that whatever was in the egg now was Baltair. A crack appeared and she crawled away. Another crack, this one larger, and more stemmed from it. She longed for Baltair’s voice to reassure her that it was okay, but she would never have that again. He might not be dead but she couldn’t help but grieve.
One of the cracks in the egg wobbled, then popped open. She leaned forward, curious despite the feeling of loss she couldn’t contain, and watched as a patch of leathery skin appeared in the gap. It was brown, covered in a thin layer of slime. She coughed as a waft of goldsmoke came her way, but it fuelled the baby dragon – Baltair – and he pushed his way further out of the egg, stretching his wings. They were thinner than she had imagined, almost see–through – although all of him was thinner and spindlier than she’d thought. He kicked his leg and got free of the egg, then turned to cock his head in her direction.
/It’s still me./
His voice was different. It was distant, like a person talking to her rather than the comforting closeness and understanding they had always shared before. Fresh tears fell from her eyes and the baby Baltair hopped forward to press a claw to her foot. He was the size of a dog and the slime had slid off him. Now he was out of the egg she could see how the brown was lighter around his tummy and under his tail. Tiny, delicate scales shone in the diminishing daylight. She sat and pressed two fingers to his claw. It was smooth rubber – she couldn’t even feel the scales – and it hit her as she did so that in front of her was the first dragon hatched in twenty years.
“Giselle! Where are you?”
She recognised Sarra’s desperate tone and shouted back.
“Here!” She heard how her voice choked, but did nothing about it. The tear tracks were fresh on her cheeks when Sarra appeared by her side, freezing when she saw Baltair.
“Baltair…” she murmured, dropping to one knee so she was closer. Giselle heard more footsteps and turned to see the other Firesouls approaching, bloody and exhausted. Not all of them – the group was definitely smaller than it had been that morning – but Henry was there, and Gerard. Several of them were cradling eggs.
“There’s goldsmoke in the air,” Giselle whispered to Sarra. “Your dragons can get out – just put the eggs in the fire where it’s left.”
The instructions were issued again in a more authoritative voice and Giselle watched, never taking her fingers off Baltair’s claw. This was as close as she could get to him now. It pained her more than she could tell in words, but she kept watching as one of the eggs cracked just like Baltair’s had. They had done it. Despite everything, after sixteen years dragons had returned to Auland.
/We rise again./
FANNING FLAMES
FIRESOULS BOOK II
Coming soon…
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
If I thanked every person who has in some way contributed to my writing over the years these acknowledgements would be a whole extra chapter, so for brevity’s sake I will stick to those who have made a direct contribution.
First, the team at Lulu who made this all possible – if not for them this book would still be a first draft left to gather dust. Similarly, thanks to everyone at NaNoWriMo because without your motivation I wouldn’t even have got to the first draft stage.
Thank you to the other Wrimo Accelerator winners for the support through this whole experience, and to Jodie and Kat for being wonderful beta readers.
More thanks are due to Lise for the fantastic map and chapter headings – you put up with many hours of “can you move that island just a bit more south?”
Finally, to every person who is reading this book. You have given my story a chance and I can never thank you enough. If you wish to contact me about this book or anything else I would be more than happy to hear from you – just email [email protected].
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Laura Harris discovered her talent for writing aged six, when a school exercise about the Great Fire of London got a little out of hand and ended up taller than her. Around the same time she discovered she could write stories and never paused to reconsider. That interest has culminated in tens of notebooks (and a hefty portion of her computer hard drive) being filled with characters, plots and settings in varying states of completion. Attempting National Novel Writing Month for the first time in 2009 allowed her to get past the problem of reaching the end of a story and Kindling Ashes is her first venture into the world of publishing.
Outside of writing she adores musicals of any kind, has ambitions to visit every continent (yes, Antarctica included) and is an enthusiastic, if often distracted, reader of fantasy books. She lives in Gloucestershire, England and works as a software tester.