Girl of Fire

by Gabrielle Mathieu

  “Shandon must go. He is Master of the Scrolls,” Soa said.

  “Naturally Shandon must go. I meant who goes with him?” Tovalen said. “Do we send a company?”

  “If the Chosen find Mannites on unprotected ground, we lose too many,” Umritz cautioned. “If we only send two to the Elementals’ prison, they can move quietly and secretively.”

  “Couldn’t we try sending a messenger to the Priest-King?” Olane suggested tentatively. “Maybe he’ll accept an apology. He knows how bad things could get with the Demon loose. Last time thousands died.”

  Soa shook his head grimly. “My brother made a sending this morning. The old Green who lives near his castle was arrested and dragged away. He’s always been open about being a Mannite. The villagers love him. It did not help him now.”

  “What did happen with that Intercessor?” Umritz asked Shandon. “Their people won’t talk about it, but it seems they couldn’t hold even an open burial, with the customary farewell to the body.”

  Shandon shuddered. “He was fine when we left. At least physically. He’d been threatening us with hellfire all day.”

  “We were talking about the Elementals,” Tovalen reminded everyone. “So we send Shandon and one other.”

  “Only two?” Kendall said. “Isn’t there some middle ground between sending a military force and two people?”

  “The Water Demon can’t kill anyone,” Tovalen sniffed. “Shandon has been through rigorous training. He should be able to withstand her tricks.”

  “The Elementals can kill, though. And they’ve proven they will,” Soa said. “Remember the tales that led to the Great War. Drownings. Incinerations. Suffocation by quicksand.”

  “Good point,” Soa agreed. “We’ll use our last two beaters. Our men should be able to outride the Elementals, if they’ve already escaped.”

  “So who do we send with Shandon?” Tovalen asked.

  None of the Council members had a chance to answer. Hirschi rose to his feet. “I’m going.”

  There was a short pause at this breach of protocol. Then Soa said, “We need you here. The Council made a plan yesterday, as soon as we heard of Luca’s message. We’re recalling all the Robes to Yassin for intensive training and fortification of the building.”

  “Everyone will want to be trained by our Sidewinder,” Umritz said, using Hirschi’s nickname. “You’re renowned for your skill in hand-to-hand combat.”

  “I don’t care what they want.” Hirschi enunciated every word. “Kendall is more than my equal. She can deal with them. I’m going with Shandon.”

  “I won’t allow it,” Tovalen shouted, nettled.

  Hirschi shrugged, his icy calm undisturbed. “Then I’ll resign my post and accompany Shandon as his closest friend.”

  Shandon felt the start of a headache. It would be a long meeting.

  * * *

  It was the night before Shandon’s departure, and most of the Mannites slumbered. Shandon waited in his sanctuary for his secret visitor. The pleasant scent of beeswax filled the air. The papyrus scrolls, vellum parchments, various maps, and detailed botanical drawings were all in their proper places. The cunning little curio cabinets from the Vendrisi Islands were freshly dusted. Shandon smiled in greeting at the small bronze statue of the Goddess Amur, with her protruding belly and heavy breasts. He had always liked this particular statue because of her serene smile, though he did not agree with the religion.

  A quiet knock. Oberin was nothing if not discreet. He had a long pleasant face, observant green eyes, which looked blue in certain light, and a self-assured manner. Like Shandon, he was from a noble house. His father had returned to take up the rule of the Southern Province. His uncle was Soa, the Mouthpiece of Krossos Mannine, who sat on the Council.

  “Are you sure I do not overtire you, Master?”

  “This must be said.”

  Oberin gave him an inquisitive look. “Am I not here to practice reading Eldering?”

  “Not tonight. How are your studies progressing?”

  Oberin smiled ruefully. “I wish that rascal Georsi was here to teach me.”

  “The Council likes to keep him out of the way. I’m not sure he can be trusted.”

  Oberin adjusted his Yellow Robe self-consciously before speaking. “I know the Council meetings are secret. Soa might have confided a thing or two, though.”

  It was no secret that Oberin would rise high in the organization, and not just because of his uncle’s favor. Shandon liked the pensive young man himself.

  “You know there’s a traitor.”

  Oberin nodded.

  “And I think the whole compound knows Hirschi and I leave on a dangerous mission tomorrow, though it was supposed to be a secret. I wish I had better spells. I neglected the Cabinet, and she shows her displeasure.”

  “And I wish we had the Elders to guide us,” Oberin said. “Do you have no clue what happened six hundred years ago? Soa won’t tell me.”

  Shandon shrugged. “Georsi knows, but they have put a spell on him to silence his tongue. It seems we disappointed our former allies.”

  “Now would be the time to put old grievances aside. The Demon is as angry with them as she is with us. We must make common cause. Even the Prime of Vendrisi offers his support.”

  Shandon nodded. “We have to know what we’re facing first. I hope I can strengthen the walls of the Elementals’ prison with the new spells. Hirschi will help.” He hesitated. “I don’t know if I’ll return. I fear what awaits.”

  Oberin had strong metal affinity. Shandon had never known him to shy from hard truths. Now he said, “You wish to instruct me in case you die?”

  “I have agreed that you would be named Master of the Scrolls.” Shandon took a deep breath and gestured over to the Cabinet of Mysteries. She contained the vast knowledge of the Elders, which had once been available to all Yellow Robes. Kijari craftsmen originally built her; five hundred years ago she was moved to this room when an earlier Priest-King gifted Yassin to the Mannites, in recognition of their service during the Great War. Though she sat in a dark corner of the room, her white birch wood glowed. The height of a short man, and the breadth of Shandon’s outspread arms, her front panel was composed of a bewildering number of drawers in different sizes and colors. Some drawers had intricate knobs decorated with the faces of demons or animals, while others looked permanently sealed, with no visible means of opening them.

  “There she is, Oberin. You are unlikely to encounter a more temperamental creature at Yassin. Let me introduce you properly. If you hope to get information from her, you will have to learn to coax her.”

  “They say she is a long dead Elder Queen.”

  Shandon laughed. “When the Elders pass on, they pass on for good. It is the consequence of being nearly immortal. I don’t know what she is. The Cabinet was not always alive. As the knowledge of the Elders gestated in her, the spark of awareness began.” He held up his hand to show the fresh slice of a wound. “If she feels you neglect her, she will demand a tribute. I’ve found blood works well.”

  Oberin paled. “Does the Council know you have to do that?”

  “Only Hirschi knows. There’s one other thing I’d ask of you. The young woman involved in the incident with the Intercessor. Her name is Berona. I’ve asked Kendall to fetch her. I want you to go along and make sure nothing happens to her. She’s precious to me.”

  Oberin looked intrigued. “She must be very unusual to have caught your attention.”

  “You mean that I am a man who seeks my solitude and cares for no one?”

  “You put it more harshly than I would have. In any case, I will go to her as you ask.

  * * *

  The morning after the farewell feast, Hirschi led the beaters out, and Shandon fastened the saddle bags. A cluster of fireflies winked off and on in the gray of dawn, and a cricket chirped. Shandon pulled the cowl of his plain woolen garment up. Might as well get used to going without his Robe. With the Chosen looking for him, h
e had to be careful.

  Only Kendall came to say goodbye, though Shandon felt eyes watching him from the many windows.

  “Fetch Berona as soon as you can,” Shandon reminded her.

  “I will. Or I’ll send Cousin Biruac. One way or another, we’ll sneak her past the Chosen and get her here.” Kendall’s eyes twinkled. “You seem quite taken with her. She’s a bit young for you, though, isn’t she?”

  “She’s got her heart set on being a warrior. She was disappointed I left her at the farm,” Shandon said, ignoring the teasing.

  “Don’t worry about your girl. I assume she’s nicer than that vixen Delphine?”

  “She has integrity,” Shandon said.

  Kendall nodded. Then she kissed Hirschi goodbye. It was a passionate kiss. After a few moments, Shandon cleared his throat. Hirschi gave Kendall a slight shove.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve neglected you,” Kendall said. Her kiss was moist, but thankfully short. She pulled back from Shandon, suddenly serious. “Hirschi and I hoped your frequent absences were due to a secret tryst. We don’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life.”

  Shandon shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint you. But then I’ve always been shy.” It was only half a lie.

  Kendall raised her hand in a salute. “Well, then. Be safe. Return home quickly and come with good news.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Berona

  The Mannites at the farm were craftsmen and laborers. The people my age were friendly, but not overly so. They had been born there and I was an outsider, an unknown quantity. The older ones—the Green Robe woman, who was the weaver, and the only Red Robe, the smith—set me tasks to keep me busy until Shandon’s return.

  The weaver put me to work on the fall calendula harvest, which supplied the bright yellow of the Robes, while the smith wanted my help with keeping the forge fed. I tried my best to please them both. I was fed well for my efforts and slept on a pillow of soft down, made by the wife of Kea’s new master. The exhausting work kept the thoughts of the Demon away.

  At least during the day. At night, despite my exhaustion, I lay awake wondering about her. Was she lurking in the farm’s pond, watching me as I went about my business? Had she gone to the fountains of the Priest-King’s temples, to whisper in his ears that he should deal with those Mannites once and for all? Had she hunted down my family in their new town?

  I wished I had asked Shandon for his knife before he left. I’d found a notched and dull sword in the forge—sent to us for repair—and hid it under some rags in case I needed a weapon.

  I tried to be patient. Then came the night of the rainstorm.

  * * *

  I’d just learned that two Purple Robes and their entourage were expected the next day, and I hoped that rescue was at hand. I’d been languishing at the farm three weeks already, without learning anything more useful than how to dye cloth.

  After I served the long table that evening, I stuffed dinner into my mouth. The cook was preparing a tray for Popyrin and I waved aside the millet being heaped on his plate. “I’ve made him some of the carrot soup he likes, in that pot back there. I’ll bring it to him as soon as I’m done eating.” I gulped the last bite. “Which is now.”

  Popyrin often ate with us, but tonight he was too busy. The sixth of every week was market day, and two of our Browns sold wool and flax cloth at a stand. The village folk knew that the goods came from a Mannite farm, but as long as they didn’t have to hear the heretical teachings of our founder, or witness any magic, they flocked to our stall.

  I found Popyrin seated in his study, next to the storeroom. His Yellow Robe was tucked in around his stout neck, the color making his face more choleric in contrast. His large pink hands daintily counted coins into little bags. He filled one more before he looked up, and then he didn’t offer me a chair. I knew the Mannites would be taking much of the farm’s remaining cloth and coin back to Yassin. That could account for his surly disposition.

  Kea said I had a pretty smile. I used it now. “Look, Popyrin, I made your favorite soup.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Is Shandon coming tomorrow with the Purples?”

  “Not that I heard. He’s gone away.”

  I gave him a pleading look, waiting for more. Popyrin, deliberate like most metal types, hated being interrupted. He set his lips. “The Council won’t want matters discussed until they get news. You’ll be told of Shandon’s whereabouts, all in good time.”

  “Why are the Purple Robes from Yassin coming?” I asked. Our aged Council members rarely traveled. Most of our visitors were Yellow or Red Robes, straggling in one by one, their tunics shabby from wear, their stomachs empty, and their mouths parched for good barley beer. Goods were given to any Mannite free of charge, though not without complaint.

  “The twins agreed to witness the Ceremony of our two new Browns. A great honor.”

  “Then surely Kendall is coming too?”

  “No. She’s gone to the armory where our bladesmiths work. Her cousin Biruac will be here, though.”

  “Will he be taking me back with him?”

  “I haven’t been informed. Wear your new tight tunic. He’ll be happy to help you then.”

  I flushed. Was it better to be whored out than to be ignored? I left before I said something unwise.

  * * *

  After I worked off my frustration scrubbing the kitchen, I went to the smithy to check that the sword I’d hidden was still in place. It was the Month of Grapes, usually a sweet month of mild sunshine and light rain, but tonight a cold wind had risen. It howled like a pack of wolves. The sky brimmed with shredded dark clouds, speeding across the black bowl of the heavens. Thunder roared, close by.

  The night broke open and spit down icy drops, which stung like needles. I broke into a run. Though I had only a short way to go from the smithy to my small chamber, the pelting rain drenched my clothes, spreading across my skin in a slithering sheet. My hair blew into my eyes, blinding me, and I stumbled hard over a tree root, falling on my knees. Before I could get back up, a branch broke off from a nearby tree and spun through the air, knocking me hard on my skull. Everything went black.

  * * *

  I opened my eyes. A thick fog filled the air. Panicked, I noted I had no body. Was I dreaming?

  “You wondered what I am doing,” the Demon hissed. “I will show you.”

  She crouched on all fours, still thin and long, wings draped over her bony bare back. Greenish water puddled around her and mud undulated between the cattails. I recognized the wink of the stars between the swaths of murky clouds. We were somewhere in the Heartland.

  I could not talk. I could not move. All I could do was watch.

  Five bulky dark shapes lurked nearby, wordless and alert. The fog concealed their features, but they stood taller than any man. I felt their hatred as clearly as if they had screamed out curses. There was a pent-up brooding quality to their stance; like me, they were here to witness the Demon’s magic.

  Her gaze was self-absorbed now and her strained face spoke of great concentration. As she chanted, small hills grew up from the fetid slime, sprouting slender white knobby trunks which stretched skyward.

  Trunks? Those were limbs of skeletons, elongating, the fingers and feet on the ends growing into branches. They drank the brackish water as they grew, until only a small pond around the Demon remained.

  She spoke to me. “Behold my forest. For the trees you felled with your iron, for the meadows you ripped and tore with your ploughs, for the sacred waters you defiled, I give you this.”

  The bone trees grew together, shutting off all but glimpses of the sky.

  “And now,” she said, “the poison fruit made from the fallen star.” She bent over, coughing. She disgorged dull and cratered stones. I hoped she’d taken ill. Then I saw she took pleasure in what she did. She gloated over the growing heap. The slime of the swamp swept over each one, making them rounded shapes.

  Now the watching creatures
came forward. They were great, shambling manlike forms, with hairless dun-colored hides. Their faces were rough, like they were hewn from stone, but their menacing expressions, when they looked toward me, were unmistakable. They picked up the globes, now smoothed by their greenish coating, and offered them to the bone trees. The things floated upward, nestling into the branches, sprouting roots that tethered them to the trees.

  They appeared alive. I’d never seen anything like them before.

  “My soul snares,” the Demon said. “There’s one here waiting for your new friend. The noble Yellow Robe. His essence will nourish them for weeks. They will increase and multiply.” Her tone became vicious. “Just like your kind.”

  Then, like a rock from my slingshot, I was thrown out into the sky. I tumbled weightless and without an anchor, until blackness overtook me again.

  * * *

  I came to, shivering, my teeth chattering so hard that my jaw hurt. I had the sense that I’d received a condensed vision; that the skeleton forest had taken days to grow and her soul snares weeks to ready. How did she know about Shandon? Was her spy at Yassin sending her information?

  At least my family no longer interested her. When I thought of Shandon in her clutches, a pain seized my heart. I remembered his hands on my shoulders, the deliberate action he took, despite his discomfort. He wanted me to know he cared. And his punishment for caring about me was death. Or perhaps something worse.

  It was cold, and I was wet to the bone, far from Shandon. I did not know how to warn him. A desolate sob shook me. I could do nothing but wait for the Council to arrive tomorrow and hope it would not be too late.

  CHAPTER 14

  Shandon

  A week of hard riding, and Shandon and Hirschi reached the Ash Mountain range. Six hundred years ago the Fire Elementals woke the highest peak, named Aldredi in the old tongue, and buried twenty-three Elders in hot lava. Their action had monumental consequences. The Elders, till then disinterested in the catastrophes visited on the humans and Kijari, focused their magic on defeating the Demon and her horde.