Girl of Fire

by Gabrielle Mathieu

  Shandon shrugged slightly, as if caught out in a white lie. “One for me, one for my brother. Their families were compensated.” His smile grew forced as the Rasper still did not move.

  “A lovely mantle you’ve got there,” he said. “May I feel the fabric, Lord?”

  A fine line of tension marred Shandon’s brow. “I really must be going.”

  “Check under the mantle,” the Rasper told one of the Cherry Tops.

  “Yes, Intercessor.”

  Was Shandon just going to sit there? He had a pained expression on his face. Rheyna was watering his back with her tears.

  The Cherry Top flipped the mantle, and the bright yellow came into view. A collective gasp rose from the Chosen. I had never seen a man executed before; my throat burned with bile. Would they kill us as well, consider us contaminated?

  The Rasper prayed, and my mouth fell open. The words were the same as the rhymes we used in our children’s games:

  Red Robe, Red Robe, run him through with the sword.

  He came and took our precious hoard.

  Green Robe, Green Robe, drown her in the water,

  She has stolen your treasured daughter.

  Yellow Robe, Yellow Robe, hang him from the gibbets.

  He has trafficked with magic; he has no deliverance.

  The men were on Shandon now, pulling him roughly out of the saddle. His face was like a wooden doll, his blue eyes almost blank. Rheyna had her fists balled against her mouth, her eyes wide.

  My thoughts flew ahead to what awaited us. Beatings. At a minimum. Maybe the Priest House? What would happen to my family once I was identified? They hadn’t reported me missing, which made their compliance clear.

  My breath came short. I started to pant. The urge to do something—anything—built as my pulse pounded. I had to move before I exploded.

  I hurled myself at the nearest man, the tall sneering one, and head-butted him in the stomach, yelling at the top of my lungs.

  The man dropped his shield in surprise and made a noise like a cow giving birth. As he realized a girl had attacked him, his face registered surprise. He yelled and tried to straighten himself.

  I hadn’t meant to hit him, but now I had to deal with it, before he pulled his sword. I swung at his head with a branch I snatched from the ground. The red-tipped helmet rang, and the branch broke. It was wood, the helmet metal. Idiot.

  The man wasn’t looking at me anymore. He watched Shandon, his mouth hanging open. The Mannite had drawn both his swords. His hands seemed to operate independently of each other, parrying and feinting, circling in to draw blood. His two assailants stepped back, one dripping blood, but the third Cherry Top headed toward him. Wasn’t Shandon going to do any magic?

  Maybe he was too busy for that. Rheyna still wept, marooned on the sturdy beater. The Rasper stood off to the side. He had no weapon, but that didn’t seem to bother him. His mouth wasn’t open like that of the Cherry Top next to me. His lips curled into a confident smile. It was only a matter of time before Shandon went down.

  The tall Cherry Top had already forgotten I existed. His sword dangled from his hand. This was free entertainment, even better than a hanging or the public shaming of a wench.

  I didn’t plan to be that wench. For one thing, if I was brought back to my village, the Demon might be waiting. That was worse than the Priest House.

  I bit his bare arm. The sword fell as he cursed in surprise.

  I dove for it. I held it awkwardly, though my arms were strong from farm work. But I didn’t plan to hold it long. I skipped up to the Rasper and did what I’d watched the bandit do in the only play I’d ever seen. I held it up to his throat.

  He stared at me, eyes bulging. He swallowed. I swallowed too. I barely had spit left in my mouth; my legs were about to give way. A drop trickled down my thigh. I was going to piss myself; I was that scared. Shandon took a cut on his forearm, spinning out of reach before serious damage could be done.

  My voice was scarcely above a whisper. “Call off your men. Tell them to go away.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Then I’ll kill you.”

  “You’re just a girl.”

  I’d been ready to fight that demon. This was just a man.

  “Call them off,” I growled. I moved the sword closer. It broke the skin, and his eyes popped open in alarm.

  He yelled, “Halt, stop.” Everyone turned around to look. It was all I could do to hold my water. Four armed men. Then I caught Shandon’s look. Something came from him, something that buoyed me. He gave me a slight nod. Then he addressed the Cherry Tops.

  “You will all stay here. The Intercessor will ride with us. Once we are safe, we will leave him unharmed near the road.”

  No one spoke. The Cherry Tops seemed to be astonished at their misfortune, mouths gaping and shoulders sagging. Shandon turned to Rheyna. “Pull yourself together. I need you to collect their weapons.”

  She kept sniffling, but she clambered off the beater and went to the first Cherry Top. His forearms bunched, but he handed her his sword. After she took the second soldier’s sword she said, “I can’t carry more. What do I do?”

  “We’ll wait while you dispose of the swords. The river would be a good place,” Shandon suggested.

  I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, struggling to hold my sword in place against my captive. The sword shifted, and the Rasper leaned back. He was doing something horrible with his eyes, trying to make me scared, but I could feel Shandon looking at me again. Shandon’s eyes were like the sky right after the sun rises, blue and lit with promise.

  Rheyna came back, stumbling a little, and took the other two swords as well, staggering back down from the road to the rushing river. It was icy cold and danced with current. No one would be in a hurry to retrieve their weapons.

  Shandon had been watching, never taking his eyes off me. When my hands started shaking, he covered the ground between us in six long strides, and I let him take the hilt. It felt so good to let go.

  “Berona. I need you to…”

  I was moving before he even finished his sentence. The horses had to be dispersed. “All of them?” I asked, as I slapped the first one on its rump hard. It kicked up its heels, barely missing me, and ran off into the fields to our left.

  “All of them. They bear the trappings of the Chosen. The Intercessor will have to ride with me for a while. After I tie his arms. You and Rheyna will take the mare.”

  We could barely stay on our mounts, but now we had to. That’s what we got for leaving our village, our families—or, in Rheyna’s case, her mother. I chased off the rest of the horses, clapping my hands. We were on one of the few paved roads, and luckily no tradesmen or other travelers had come during our fight. Any moment someone might show up.

  Then it hit me. Shandon still had one of the swords from the Chosen. The words came tumbling out of my mouth. “Can I have it? Please? The last sword?”

  Shandon didn’t look surprised. “You don’t want this one,” he said, shortly. “Their evil deeds taint their weapons.”

  “They can’t be evil. They’re only men.” Amur’s Chosen might not be as good as they pretended, but they weren’t evil. Not like the Demon.

  Shandon gave me a sidelong glance. “We’ll talk once we’ve put some distance between ourselves and our pursuers. You’ll have to settle the mare so Rheyna can ride behind you.”

  The mare flared her nostrils as I sighed and pulled myself up to the saddle.

  “Hold her still,” Rheyna moaned, as she tried to climb up. The mare was jittery, swaying her hindquarters.

  “I’m trying.”

  The four soldiers whispered among themselves, eyeing us.

  “Shut up if you want your leader alive,” I said, alarmed that they planned to rush us.

  Meanwhile Shandon helped our captive onto his horse, remaining standing himself. The beater stayed motionless under the new burden. Shandon asked the Rasper to extend his hands.

  “If I
do not?”

  “Then I shall be forced to make you lose consciousness. You will slump, perhaps fall. I prefer you not be hurt.”

  The Rasper held his hands out, his terrible eyes glowing dark. “Can’t say I feel the same concern about you. You must be Shandon, from the province of Angur. The former Lord. That’s why you have the ring. You should have given it to your brother when you left.”

  “You’re my captive. I am not inclined to answer your questions.”

  The tall Cherry Top took a step forward, and I glowered at him. “Shandon?”

  Shandon sighed, and took out his hunting knife, holding it close to his captive. “Down the embankment with you lot, if you don’t want his throat cut open.”

  The Rasper made a shooing motion with his hand, and the men sulked away, glaring.

  “Would you give me a hand?” Rheyna reminded me.

  “Sorry.” I got her settled, finally, and we jounced off after Shandon and his captive. I had a feeling Rheyna and I would be too sore to sit tonight.

  * * *

  The sun was setting, an orange ball of fire, and I was grateful. Today had been the hottest day of the year. The dry air shimmered from dust. Thunder rolled in the distance. A cluster of lightning bugs appeared out of nowhere and flew back and forth over our heads, winking on and off. In the heavy dusk they were like little lightning bolts, piercing the promising rest of the shadows. Shandon waved them away in irritation, but they reformed, seemingly drawn to us.

  “So many,” Rheyna said, wonder in her voice.

  The drone of the Intercessor’s prayers drowned out any reply. I sighed. Not again. The man never shut up. He’d been summoning destruction all afternoon, threatening us with everlasting hellfire.

  Shandon rubbed his temples, his eyes slitted against the light. “We can leave him here. As good a place as any other.”

  We unloaded our surly captive and dragged him off the road, down to the river bank. Shandon tied up the Rasper’s hands again, after giving him a draught of fresh water.

  “You’re just leaving me here?” the Rasper said.

  I sniffed smoke in the air. “Someone must be close. I smell a cooking fire.”

  “You’ll find someone to help you soon. You do belong to the culturally approved orthodoxy,” Shandon told the man.

  “I know the Mannite castle is hidden in the northwest of our country, in the province of Nuya. I’ll be asking that Intercessor to pay you a visit,” the Rasper threatened.

  “I hope the Intercessor enjoys strenuous climbing,” Shandon said. I was beginning to recognize that tone. He used it when he meant nothing of the sort. I had heard my mother speak of irony once or twice, and now I thought I understood what it meant. I guessed it was something people learned with advanced schooling. I liked it.

  “What’s orthodoxy?” I asked. “And what’s culture?”

  “Berona, we really must leave the Intercessor and make ourselves scarce. You ask a great many questions.”

  As Shandon helped Rheyna mount the beater, so she could ride in front of him, I took one last look at the Rasper.

  He was looking at me too. “You’re the one who started all this. You’re unnatural.”

  It wasn’t the first time someone had said that. I was unimpressed—until he said the next thing. “My men will find out who you are. You will not be safe anywhere.”

  I flinched. It reminded me of the Water Demon’s words. I hoped she was not lurking in the river nearby, filling the Intercessor’s head with evil thoughts.

  He tried to point his finger at me, though the ropes prevented all but a small motion. “Do not think you can hide from us.”

  I had fled a demon, and now, because of that, the wrath of the Chosen was focused on me. This was surely another example of irony. And why had he not said anything to Shandon? Was it so much worse because a young woman had bested him?

  “Must we let this horrible man go?” I asked Shandon.

  “I gave my word. If I break it, the next Mannite will pay for my lie. Under the Priest-King’s law, we can be exterminated.”

  “Well, then do your…” I made a swirling motion with my hand.

  Shandon looked puzzled.

  “You’re a Yellow Robe, a magician. Turn him into a toad. Make him sleep a thousand years.”

  “Spells such as those are children’s tales.”

  “You made a butterfly appear on your hand.”

  “I can create illusion, for those who are eager to see it, for those who have dreamy heads and open hearts. The Intercessor has neither.”

  “Then make him forget he saw us.”

  He sighed. “You know so little of the world. That is not in my power.”

  I felt cold despite the heat. “If you can’t even do magic, why do they hate Mannites?”

  “The power of our ideas frightens them.”

  I looked at the Intercessor. The swarm of fireflies made a halo around his head. As if he was marked somehow.

  Shandon followed my glance. “We have set off a chain of events, one I hoped to avoid, with our capture of the Intercessor.”

  “Shall we drag him out of sight into the bramble bushes down there?” I asked.

  “We don’t have time,” Shandon pointed out. “We need to go. Now.” He lowered his voice so the Rasper wouldn’t hear. “Rheyna is weak and can’t ride much farther. I hope to reach the Green Robe’s house tonight. I will plead with him to accept Rheyna as an apprentice.”

  “You promised me safe conduct,” the Rasper screeched.

  “We will not kill you. Be grateful for that. You are an intransigent fanatic who reflects badly on Amur’s Chosen,” Shandon said, his expression severe. I helped him fashion a gag out of strips of cloth, and we quieted the furious man before pushing him out of the way behind a tree.

  * * *

  The next morning, Rheyna came to the door of the simple hut to see us off. The Green Robe, an old man with kind eyes, stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. A dried linden blossom clung to his robe. They had been up early that morning, making their selections for the morning tea.

  “Just you and me now, Lord Shandon,” I said, as I clambered clumsily on the mare. “I hope I don’t fall off if we ride fast.”

  He shook his head. “The mare will be careful. I had a good talk with her.”

  If that wasn’t magic, what was it?

  * * *

  The terrain changed when we reached the end of the Priest-King’s Road. It brought us to the last village, at the foot of the great mountain range that separated our southern lands from the rest of Trea. My mare followed Shandon’s beater daintily, picking her way up through the tumble of granite rocks and fields of late summer snow. The intense purple of gentians sparked in the grass; marmots popped up and gave their shrill warning whistles before they disappeared down their holes.

  In my head, the scene from yesterday played over and over. Shandon dismounting, a numb and compliant expression on his face. My mad dash for the Intercessor. My sword at his throat. Could I have killed that man?

  I could have. What kind of creature was I, that I could draw a sword across the throat of a holy man? Perhaps I was some kind of demon too? Was that why she had come for me?

  Women suckled infants, fed and clothed their children, stood fast at the side of their husbands, accepted chastisement when it was due. All this my mother did, and yet I had refused that life. I was heading into the unknown with a stranger, an outlawed heretic whose motives I did not understand.

  The feelings chased themselves around in me, like a cat chasing its own tail, until I felt I might burst. I looked inside, maybe for the first time in my life. Who was I, now that my mother and father were not here to tell me? Who was I, who had met an apparition one morning, when the water in the stream flowed the wrong way, and the sky was sodden with fog and the color of a bruise?

  Who am I?

  CHAPTER 8

  Shandon

  Shandon had a bad feeling about the Intercessor as soo
n as he laid eyes on the fellow. The shadow of the priest’s impending death lurked near him. That was why Shandon hoped to avoid any prolonged contact that might entangle Berona in the man’s fate. But then she’d acted, and the only way out he’d seen was to take the Intercessor hostage.

  He couldn’t fault her. It was her nature.

  He had sought out five girls already, since discovering the prophecy. He’d told Bolin he was looking for a seventeen-year-old girl who was fiery and adventurous, who loved the mountains and had a good character. But Bolin had only the reports of birds to go on, and birds didn’t understand motivation. They merely noted girls who sought out the wilderness. Those images were transmitted to Bolin, who had once traveled the length and breadth of Trea. In turn, Bolin would consult his maps, and write down the names of likely villages and towns for Shandon. It was an excruciating process, requiring patience and attention to detail, and it hadn’t yielded much. Till now.

  The first girl Shandon found was being molested by her brother. That explained why she spent as much time away from her holding as she could. Another one turned out to be spending time in the mountains because of her secret trysts with an older married man. Out of decency, Shandon tried to give her advice on her future, which she rejected. The third girl, a promising candidate, simply refused to have anything to do with a Mannite. He hoped she hadn’t been the chosen one. And the fourth one, Delphine—what a problem she’d turned out to be! She was a good fighter, true, and she did have a fire nature. But she fell in and out of love at least twice a month, driving the warriors mad with jealousy. Kendall couldn’t stand her.

  Berona was fire as well. She’d been born in the Month of the River Crossings, at noon. There was something about the child that bothered him, though. She was open, friendly, and enthusiastic, in keeping with her nature. But there was a shadow underneath, a certain wariness. That had not dissipated. She seemed to be constantly sizing him up, more like someone with a metal nature. What did she want from him? He’d been foolishly generous with his gold, but that didn’t seem to be enough. He had the feeling she found him inadequate.