Firebrand

by Kristen Britain

  Grandmother pulled out her great working. Not only had she allowed it to absorb the blood of Birch’s slave girl, but it seemed to have taken years from Grandmother, as well, just in its making. Her hair had grown whiter, her hips and hands more arthritic. She had slowed down perceptibly.

  But it was all worth it, she thought, as she began to weave strands of Karigan G’ladheon’s hair into the net that would trap her.

  GHOSTS

  She gazed at the high king’s tomb. Lamplight glowed on the marble features of the effigy of King Zachary carved on the lid of the sarcophagus. She stood in its companion, the queen’s sarcophagus. It had no lid.

  The sculptural effigy of the king was even more lifelike than she remembered, almost as though if she touched it, she would feel his skin and not cold marble. There was something about the king, something she knew, and though she wrestled with herself in an attempt to remember it, she could not. She was so tired.

  I just want to go to bed.

  “This is familiar,” a man said.

  She turned to find Siris Kiltyre leaning against a column. Shadows shrank and enlarged in an exaggerated dance against the walls and ceiling. It was familiar.

  “You acted as Westrion’s avatar for the first time in these tombs,” he said. “Reluctantly, of course, though I can’t say I blame you. You did come around and do a great service for the realm of the living.”

  She shook her head at memories that buzzed around it like flies. Salvistar appearing, she riding him, sending spirits of the dead to rest. How could the memories be real? They were . . . ridiculous.

  “Overwhelming, isn’t it? Your memory of it was put out of reach. It is not an easy concept for any living mortal to assimilate, but now it must be made more accessible to you.”

  She’d ridden Salvistar into a deep pit and, in its very depths, mended a seal that kept dark entities at bay. Had they escaped, the chaos would have destroyed the living world.

  “Yes,” Siris Kiltyre said, “in these tombs there is an access point to a realm beyond death, to the darkest realms of existence, and the iire, the seal, imprisons the dark entities. The Aeon Iire is now in danger. If it is broken, all hells will break loose, and this is no euphemism.”

  She wiped her hand across her brow. These dreams, they were so tiring. Something bad had happened to her in the waking world. When she was sick, her dreams became stranger than usual, more real somehow.

  Siris Kiltyre took a step toward her. “You are still unwell, I know, but this is no mere dream. You must remember. You must remember what I’ve said about the armor, and about how spirits will try to trick you.”

  It took everything she had to speak. “What if you are tricking me?”

  “Ah,” he said, brightening, “now you are thinking. That is good.”

  Then he vanished, and all fell into darkness.

  STUBBORN

  Estral had slept through to the next morning. Nari, she learned, had gone to soak in a nearby hot spring. Estral was eager to make use of it herself, to wash away the darkness of her captivity, but first, Enver wished to speak to her.

  “Is it Karigan?” she asked anxiously. “Is she worse?”

  A line of concern creased his brow. “Her cough has subsided, which is good, but she is not well. There may be some corruption of one or more of the wounds, but I am watching closely. Of course, I speak only of the physical wounds.”

  “Just the physical . . .” Estral murmured. She closed her eyes to steady herself. If what she had experienced in Nyssa’s workshop had so traumatized her, she could only guess how it would be for Karigan, who had been the object of the physical torture.

  “The wounds of her body, and those of the mind, will take time to heal, and both will leave scars.”

  “That does not sound good.”

  “No, it is not good, which is why I am reassessing how we should proceed.”

  “I thought you didn’t wish to move her.”

  “I do not plan to.” He gazed steadily at her. “I intend that you ride Mist to the encampment of Captain Treman and report to him what we know of the Lone Forest, and of our predicament, and what Nari told us about the king. It may be he can send some aid, maybe even the mender who may have different herb lore that will help the Galadheon.”

  “I won’t leave her,” Estral said. “I can’t. Even on Mist, that journey would take over a week.”

  “It is best that Captain Treman hears from one of his own people who is also held with esteem for her status in her realm. Nari and I will keep watch on the Galadheon. My healing skills are more developed than Nari’s, but I believe hers exceed yours.”

  Estral scowled. It was all very logical, but her feelings about the situation were not. “I—” she began; then they both glanced in the same direction at the same time. Karigan, wrapped in a blanket, was dragging herself out of Enver’s tent and across the ground.

  “Galadheon!” Enver cried.

  “Karigan!”

  Karigan ignored them and kept crawling. Enver was beside her before Estral could even react.

  “Galadheon,” he said, “you will reopen your wounds.”

  She kept crawling forward with single-minded intent until he grasped her shoulder.

  “Karigan,” Estral demanded, “what in the hells are you doing?”

  It was unclear whether Karigan was really aware of them. Her feverish gaze was focused straight ahead. “I need to . . .” she murmured.

  Estral and Enver exchanged glances.

  “Need to go back,” Karigan said.

  Estral knelt in front of her. “What are you talking about?”

  Sweat dripped down Karigan’s brow, and she looked up at Estral, registering recognition. “Back to the forest. I need to go back.”

  “Why?” Estral asked. “You need to rest.”

  Karigan tried to struggle out of Enver’s grasp and looked almost angry. “I need to get the king.”

  Estral glanced at Enver. “She’s clearly delirious.”

  “Galadheon, you must return to the tent, recuperate,” Enver said in his gentle voice.

  “No.” She struggled against the hold he had on her, then lay on her stomach, exhausted. “No, no, no. I am not delirious.” Her eye started to close. She blinked, fighting the exhaustion.

  Enver gathered her into his arms, handling her delicately as if she were very fragile.

  “No, no, no,” she murmured. She pounded on his chest, but it was more like a feeble pat. Then she cried out in pain as he shifted her.

  “I am sorry,” he said.

  Estral followed him into the tent and watched as he settled Karigan back onto her bedding. When she lay on her stomach once again, she fell limp as one dead. The helpless feeling washed over Estral again, and she wanted to weep.

  “I am not delirious,” Karigan insisted in a weak voice. “They have the king. I saw him, and Lord Fiori, too.”

  Stricken, Estral could only gape.

  “Must free the king,” Karigan murmured.

  “Galadheon, you must rest; then we can discuss it, yes?”

  With a surge of strength that defied rationality, Karigan pushed herself up. “Don’t placate me. Must get him out of there.” Then she collapsed into the blankets and whispered, “I can’t leave him, too.”

  Estral stumbled outside. Her father and the king in Second Empire’s hands? And Karigan injured and feverish, thinking she could crawl into the Lone Forest and rescue them. In her mind, she’d left Cade behind and she could not do it again. Estral slowly sat down by the fire. Mister Whiskers came over and rubbed against her elbow.

  Nari soon appeared, took one look at her, and asked, “What is wrong?”

  “Karigan says Second Empire has the king and my father.”

  Nari looked off into the distance and murmured, “He is no longer with Slee, then.”
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  Enver emerged from his tent. Estral twisted around to face him. “She wasn’t delirious, was she? She really saw my father. And the king.”

  “No, not delirious,” Enver said.

  She didn’t tell me they were there while we were being held, Estral thought, so Nyssa couldn’t get it out of me in case Second Empire was ignorant of who they had. She shuddered. “What are we going to do? We can’t just leave them there in the hands of Second Empire.”

  “I think not,” Enver agreed.

  Estral was relieved. As an Eletian, Enver had no allegiance to Sacoridia’s king. He could say it was not part of his mission, that he was not required to get involved. He could have abandoned Estral to do as she would, and continued on his journey to find the p’ehdrose.

  “Thank you,” she said, with a quaver in her voice.

  “I would not leave you and the Galadheon to face this alone,” he replied, “nor would my prince wish it of me.”

  “Nor my queen of me,” Nari said, “were she still of this Earth. She showed the Galadheon favor.”

  Laurelyn the Moondreamer, Estral thought with a thrill, despite the circumstances.

  “We must deliberate,” Enver said. “Make a plan.”

  “Not without me!” Karigan cried from the tent.

  Enver raised his eyebrows, said something in Eltish, then added in consternation, “She was asleep when I left her.”

  “It is Karigan,” Estral said. “Too stubborn for her own good.”

  “Yes. I see that very clearly.”

  “I’ll crawl back out there if I have to,” Karigan said.

  Deciding that it was better to accede to her demand rather than risk her reopening her wounds, Estral, Enver, and Nari filed into the tent, followed by Mister Whiskers and Midnight, so they could plan in Karigan’s presence. The tent seemed to expand to accommodate them all as they sat beside her.

  “The question is,” Estral said, “does Second Empire know who they’ve got? And if so, do they realize we know, too?”

  “When I saw them,” Karigan murmured tiredly, “they were not in immediate duress. Neither of them. If Second Empire had known who either of them were, they’d have been treating them much differently.”

  “But what if they do know?” Estral said. “They would expect a rescue attempt.”

  “We should err on the side of caution,” Enver said, “and assume they are expecting our return.”

  “Yes,” Karigan agreed, “on guard. Hunting us.”

  “Even if they do not expect us,” Enver continued, “they will not be pleased someone got through their defenses and successfully effected a rescue. They will have already bolstered their guard.”

  “So what do we do?” Estral asked. “Fly in on winged cats?” Mister Whiskers and Midnight gazed at her with big eyes. “I’m kidding,” she told them.

  “I go,” Karigan said.

  They all glanced at her.

  “What—?” Estral began.

  “My ability.”

  “Galadheon,” Enver said, “your condition.”

  “You have a better idea?” she demanded.

  “What is the Galadheon’s ability?” Nari asked.

  When Enver did not answer immediately, Karigan said, “I can fade out, sneak in there, in the dark.”

  “You cannot even walk,” Enver said.

  “Not today,” she conceded. “Tomorrow.”

  Enver once again raised his eyebrows.

  “Stubborn, remember?” Estral said.

  “Even if you can walk tomorrow,” Enver said, “your strength and stamina will be depleted from the fever alone. Your wounds could reopen. We must consider another way.”

  “The king is more important than me, than my . . . comfort,” Karigan replied. “What Second Empire would do to him if they found out who he was . . . ?” She shuddered.

  “It is not just your comfort,” Enver replied, “but your ability to do this thing.”

  “I will do what I have to. The king in Second Empire’s hands would be devastating to the realm. We need him. We could be defeated without him.”

  “I understand that, Galadheon, but I think you fail to understand your own importance.”

  “Not important.” Her voice sounded as though she was beginning to drift off.

  Estral gazed down at her friend, not at the raw wounds on her back, but at her flushed face, the one long tendril of hair trailing down her cheek. Karigan had spoken of what the king meant to the realm, but how much of it was what he meant to her? No, Estral was sure she would be thinking mostly of the realm, and in that regard, she was absolutely right. If Second Empire knew what it had, it would thoroughly capitalize on it to demoralize its enemy and further its chances of defeating Sacoridia. Estral, more than anything, wanted to rescue her father, but Karigan was in no condition to stand, much less go on such a mission.

  “Karigan,” she said, “under normal circumstances, when you are well, your ability drains you. I don’t mean to be cruel, but right now, you’d be a liability to any rescue attempt.”

  A ponderous silence fell over them once again. There was only the rustle of the tent walls as a breeze caressed them, and the anxious purr of Mister Whiskers. She thought, perhaps, Karigan had finally fallen asleep. When Karigan spoke, it startled her.

  “Then you had better come up with a way to help me recover. And fast.”

  Enver and Nari glanced at one another, and Midnight walked up to Karigan’s face and swatted her head.

  She cracked her eye open at the cat. “What was that for?”

  “I believe,” Enver said, “that Midnight has spoken for us all.”

  Karigan sighed. “Please, just help me.”

  “We are doing our best,” Enver said, “both Nari and me. Neither of us are what you would call a true healer like your Rider Ben, or even my father. The etherea does not work in that way for us.”

  “Please . . .” Karigan said softly, and this time she did seem to drift off for real, her breaths deepening, her muscles relaxing.

  Estral, Enver, and Nari retreated from the tent and stood by the campfire.

  “I knew the Galadheon was a determined person,” Enver said. “Lhean told me as much, but he may have understated it.”

  “Short of tying her down,” Estral said, “she won’t give up.” All of Karigan’s adventures, it seemed, had only conspired to make her more headstrong, rather than less.

  “Then we must do what we are able for her,” Nari said.

  “Or come up with a better plan in the meantime,” Enver said.

  SINGING THE HEALING

  Monsters, tombs, a Rider in ancient garb, torture, and Blackveil cycled through Karigan’s dreams. Her brief interludes of waking were no less nightmarish, her consciousness overlain by shadows and dominated by pain. In bouts of panic, she felt that she must get up, get up and—and do something. King Zachary. She had to get him away from Second Empire. Then she’d fall into a restless sleep again with dreams full of blood and disaster, Nyssa and her whip of vipers.

  Periodically, songs of peace would roll over her, and all the troubling visions, and even the pain, would dissipate for a time. She was quite certain the words were Eltish, and yet she seemed to understand, or perhaps she merely dreamed it all.

  From the bones of the earth beneath,

  Along the rivers that flow

  through root, branch, and leaf,

  Rising into the air of the sky,

  Into the cleansing fire of the stars . . .

  She imagined some power of the Earth rising through her, building as it rushed through her blood and continued onward into the heavens. It made her feel lighter, until Nyssa reappeared and the lash fell once again.

  • • •

  She cried out and jerked awake. As before, everything was a hazy veil around
her. The pain washed over her anew. What was the hour? The tent walls were bright enough that it was daytime. The same day as her earlier awakening? Or, a day later? The thought that it could be a day later brought on the panic and she tried to rise.

  “Easy, Galadheon,” Enver said. He was sitting beside her.

  “How much time have I lost? Since my last awakening?”

  “It has been only a few hours.”

  Could he be lying? Telling her that just to placate her?

  He placed his hand against her forehead, and then her cheek. His touch was cool and the tension went out of her muscles.

  “You should drink,” he said, “especially with the fever.”

  He helped her sip from his flask of cordial, which cooled her without chilling her; then he switched to water. It was not easy to drink, she just did not feel like it. He encouraged her with quiet words.

  “I need to go to the Lone Forest,” she said.

  “I know. Resupplying your body with fluids is important for you to be able to do so.”

  The urgency was building within her once again. “Yes, but—”

  “Galadheon, it has not even been two full turnings of the Earth.” He described how he’d been treating her with oils, herbs, and salves to fight corruption of the wounds, and to ease her pain. He said, “We have been singing the healing, even Lady Estral, whose voice has begun to deteriorate.”

  “Oh, no,” Karigan murmured.

  “You must come to an accord with the healing of your body. You will be weak for a time, and it may be that, due to the deep injuries to your back, you will find it difficult to do all you did before.”

  Her sword work. “Permanently?”

  “I do not know. You are young and in otherwise good health. It could be you will find new ways of completing old tasks.”

  He was being very careful in his wording, which made it all somehow worse. The darkness in her mind only grew deeper, and the only piece of sanity she could cling to, to keep herself from going under, was her need to return to the Lone Forest and retrieve both King Zachary and Lord Fiori. She would do it if it was the last thing she ever did.