Child of the Flames (The Seven Signs Book 1)

by D. W. Hawkins

  “I think that might not be a bad idea, actually.” D’Jenn nodded. “I wouldn’t go at full speed, so to speak, but you’re right. If you don’t work it, you’ll stiffen up around it.”

  “Aye.” Dormael smiled. “It might be fun, facing a Blademaster. If you’re too injured to win the match, I can go around telling everyone that I once defeated a Marked Blademaster in combat.”

  A smile split Shawna’s face, the arguments she had prepared leaving with a sigh. “Good. I’ll let you know when I’m ready. It will only be a few minutes.”

  She rose and returned to her belongings, rustling around until she located her waterskin. She took a long drink and tossed the skin back where she found it. Shawna needed to clear her mind, so she walked a small distance into the trees to prepare for the fight.

  Her side still throbbed—there was no denying it. Every day since she had awakened, a nagging part of her mind had whispered that she may never fully recover from this injury. Shawna had never taken a hurt like this before, and she had no idea how things would end up. In every contest she had fought since earning her Mark, she had never taken more than a bruise or shallow cut.

  What if her body was never the same after this? What if she could never move the same, could never dance the blades the way she did before? What if the wound haunted her, and she had to worry about it for the rest of her days?

  Shawna stood as tall as she could, ignoring the twinge from her side as her midsection adjusted, and started to breathe. She stepped back into a lunge and slowly moved her body through the various poses of the exercise her master had taught her—the Siyane. Shawna had long ago mastered the toughest forms, but she stuck to the beginner’s poses. Her wound wouldn’t allow her to stand on her hands, or to put too much of a demand on her abdomen. Pain still shot through her as she moved through the various poses, but the more she moved, the better she felt.

  Once she was satisfied, she met Dormael and D’Jenn out in the snow. Dormael wore a lopsided grin, leaning on his quarterstaff, while D’Jenn ran his hands over his wicked morningstar. Morningstars were weapons from an older time—at least, in her opinion. Braining your opponent to death was simply barbaric when compared to the elegant dance of a sword fight.

  Sevenlanders cared little for elegance in her experience.

  “How do you want to do this?” Dormael tapped his staff on the ground. “D’Jenn first, then once he wears you out, and you defeat him, I’ll come in.”

  D’Jenn laughed, but Shawna spoke up before he could reply.

  “Both of you against me.”

  Dormael and D’Jenn shared an incredulous look.

  “At the same time?” D’Jenn said.

  “You may as well.” Shawna shrugged. “You can get the disappointment of defeat out of the way, salve each other’s wounded pride. Just come whenever you’re ready.” Shawna rolled her shoulders and put her hands to her swords. Her left side sent tiny shocks of pain in time with her heartbeat, but she took a deep breath and ignored the sensation.

  D’Jenn moved into a crouch and shuffled to her right. Dormael stepped in the opposite direction in a clumsy attempt to flank her. Shawna moved backward, forcing the two of them to chase her as they tried to close the net. As Dormael feinted toward her leg with his staff, she whipped her swords from their scabbards and stepped toward him.

  He was good with his staff, which made him a difficult opponent to beat. Quarterstaffs, and some types of spears, were devastating weapons in the right hands. They were easy to obtain, deadly in the right hands, and could strike twice for every blow from a sword. Spears were one of the most common weapons for a reason.

  Dormael’s true weaknesses betrayed themselves in his footwork. Shawna’s master had long ago instilled in her a simple truth—the basis of any fight was where one moved, and why. Footwork was the bedrock for the most damaging techniques. Dormael moved with grace, and he had good instincts, but his missteps were like beacons to Shawna. She slapped his attacks aside and moved into his path, keeping him off balance.

  Quickening footsteps crunched through the snow behind her. Shawna had expected D’Jenn sooner, but he was the more cautious of the two Sevenlanders. Perhaps he had thought a bit before deciding to attack a Marked Blademaster from behind.

  He hadn’t thought long enough.

  She slipped from his path like an eel, ducking his mace and tripping him with a kick to his ankle. D’Jenn lost his balance and bowled into Dormael. They went down in the snow, landing in a tangle of beards and weapons.

  “Oh, the run-up-and-hit-her-from-behind strategy.” Shawna sighed, tapping the side of her blade on her boot. “I hadn’t expected that one. Really, boys—I had an arrow through me, and that’s the best you can do? I’m starting to think I should go it on my own.”

  Dormael laughed, but D’Jenn only pushed himself to his feet with a grunt.

  “Maybe we were going easy on you.” Dormael smiled.

  “Maybe that was a terrible mistake.” Shawna smiled back, gesturing at the two of them with her sword. “Tell me that’s not all. I’m not even warm yet.”

  The rest of the sparring match went much like the first part. She put Dormael down with two slices to the throat, a thrust through the ribs, and stopped counting the number of times she tripped him. D’Jenn was especially vulnerable to thrusts. The morningstar was not a weapon that lent itself to dancing back and forth with parry and riposte, and Shawna lured D’Jenn into that trap again and again. By the end of the match, everyone was winded, but laughing.

  “Your magic is impressive,” Shawna took a waterskin from Dormael, “but you boys really need to work on your weapons. It’s a bit like fighting children.”

  “It’s not all that bad.” D’Jenn took the waterskin from Shawna, rolling his eyes. “You’re Marked. The best of the best. We have our own strengths.”

  “Do you?” Shawna grinned. “I couldn’t tell.”

  Bethany appeared with a pair of sticks and attacked Dormael and D’Jenn with gusto. It took them a few moments to get her calmed down enough to eat something. She carried the sticks around for the rest of the day.

  For some reason, it put a huge smile on Shawna’s face.

  ***

  The snow continued for days.

  Dormael shrugged deep into his cloak every day, allowing Bethany to snuggle close for heat. Once they had ridden through the tiny village, the forest thinned out. The wind took up its ceaseless blowing, and there was no way to keep the icy snow from billowing into the hood of his cloak.

  The wind smelled more and more like the sea as they moved north, though the snow brought their progress to a crawl each day. Shawna assured them the road was clear all the way to Borders, which left it exposed to the elements. Every morning the road was covered with more snow, and their pace slowed.

  D’Jenn bristled at the weather. The deeper the snow in their path, the darker the scowl on his face. Dormael silently echoed D’Jenn’s concern—if they missed their departure window from Borders, they’d be forced to stay in Alderak and go into hiding. It would be an entire season until ships would sail east to west over the Stormy Sea again.

  On the fourth day trudging through the snow, D’Jenn grew frustrated enough to use magic. He plowed the snow from their path, and they picked up the pace. Dormael would have protested leaving a giant trail behind them, but there had been no signs of pursuit from the Red Swords.

  At camp, they ate a rabbit D’Jenn had caught earlier in the day, and Dormael took Bethany through her letters. Rabbits were slim pickings at best, and Dormael never enjoyed them. He taught another lesson to Bethany and Shawna on the Hunter’s Tongue and shared a pipe with his cousin before lying down for the night.

  His ears itched as he closed his eyes, but he was asleep in moments.

  ***

  Dormael stood on an endless expanse of waving, brown grass.

  Rolling hills surrounded him on all sides, and in the distance was a forbidding range of mountains. Clouds hung overhead,
roiling in an unnatural storm. Wind blew steadily from the west, coaxing a constant whisper from the waist-high grass.

  It was neither warm, nor cool. There was no humidity on his skin, and no smells came to his nose. Around the edges of his vision, things twisted into his periphery and distorted. Anything in front of him, though, was vivid enough to punch into his eyes.

  A strange wave rippled through the ether and rushed through him. An immediate feeling of nausea overcame him, and he buckled to his knees in the high grass. He heaved a few times, though nothing came out, and rose to his feet, blinking his eyes against the startling visuals.

  A blot stood on the distant horizon—a building of some sort on a wide, high hill. It had the look of a monument, or perhaps some kind of temple. A strange feeling vibrated Dormael’s bones when he looked at the distant monument. It pulled at him, urged him closer.

  What is this place? I’ve never been to—

  Another nauseating wave rippled through the grasslands, once again bringing Dormael to his knees. He clutched the ground in shaking hands and allowed the vertigo to pass, sucking deep breaths of the odorless air. The breeze tickled his hair and made his body shiver.

  When Dormael stood, he was in the shadow of the monument.

  Eight stone pillars stood in a circle, supporting a circular slab of gray, pitted rock. The pillars were carved with square-faced representations of the gods. Neesa, with flowing hair, stood beside Aastinor, who held a massive sword. Even Saarnok, the Lord of Bones, was depicted amongst the pillars—a skinny man with a pile of skulls at his feet.

  The church hasn’t depicted Saarnok for generations. What is this place?

  The pillars stood around a tiled floor littered with dead blades of grass and scattered dirt. In the center was an altar supporting a massive stone bowl. It was full to the brim of clear water. Dormael blew over the water’s edge, but the surface didn’t ripple under his breath.

  A sprig of ivy with bright green leaves and black berries rested under the water. It looked to have been cut from somewhere and left as an offering. The water was as still as glass, and the ivy seemed to be frozen under the surface.

  “I knew you would come,” said a voice behind him. “It told me you would come.”

  Dormael spun, reaching instinctively for his magic, only to draw up short. Bethany stood behind him, hugging close to a pillar carved to represent Devla, the Goddess of Nature. Her expression was fearful, her eyes darting to the windblown horizon.

  “Bethany?” Dormael took a tentative step toward her. “Is that really you?”

  “I’ve been here for a long time.” She looked at the ground. “It told me you would be here, but it left me here alone, and—”

  “It’s alright.” Dormael tousled the girl’s hair steadied her with a hand to the shoulder. “What told you I would be here?”

  “The fiega,” Bethany said. “It brought me here. Didn’t it bring you here, too?”

  Dormael’s blood went cold with alarm.

  Lightning burst from the boiling storm and struck the bowl. Searing energy flashed around the columns, crawling over the stone with electric fingers. Dormael pushed Bethany behind him, wiping his eyes against the afterimage of the lightning.

  Silver tendrils reached over the edge of the bowl in slithering, mindless hunger. The armlet—transformed to a liquid spider supporting the glowing red eye of its gem—crawled out of the bowl and raised itself on quicksilver legs. The noise of rushing flames filled Dormael ears, and the sky turned a deep orange.

  The tendrils whipped toward them, and Bethany screamed.

  ***

  Dormael came awake like he’d been hibernating for years.

  The smell of Sweetpenny wafted to his nose, and he rubbed his eyes as he sat up. The dream came rushing back to him all at once, and he searched around the camp in fear. Bethany was still rolled up in her blankets, mouth agape in slumber. D’Jenn and Shawna were awake, huddled in close conversation near the fire. The pot of tea steamed on a spit in front of them.

  Dormael sighed and rose from his blankets. He sat down beside Shawna and rubbed his hands near the fire. D’Jenn offered him a cup of tea, and he accepted it with a nod.

  “I think I know what’s happening now—between Bethany and the armlet, I mean.”

  “What do you mean?” D’Jenn asked.

  Dormael took a deep breath. “Shawna’s been carrying the armlet around for awhile. She lived with it for her entire life, and never a peep out of the thing.”

  “Well, it did give me an odd feeling, but no dreams or weird tricks with the fire.”

  Dormael nodded. “But I can hear it every time it sings. D’Jenn hears it, though without the same effect, and now, Bethany.”

  D’Jenn narrowed his eyes. “I think I see where you’re going with this. It would explain a few things.”

  “What would explain a few things?” Shawna said.

  “Bethany.” Dormael smiled. “She’s got the spark. She’s Blessed.”

  The color drained from Shawna’s face. “How can you know?”

  “She could feel the magic, back at the cabin we found.” D’Jenn nodded, favoring the sleeping girl with a considering glance. “She said something that perked my ears up, but I dismissed it at the time.”

  “And the armlet only seems to reach out to wizards,” Dormael pointed out. “Also, there are the dreams.” Dormael told D’Jenn and Shawna about his encounter with Bethany on the windswept plain, and the appearance of the armlet.

  D’Jenn nodded in thought once the tale was done. “If she has the gift, but has an untrained mind, her defenses against the armlet’s intrusion would be practically nonexistent. It could reach out to her whenever it wanted.”

  The three of them shared a grim look.

  “What do we do?” Shawna glanced at Bethany. “We can’t let anything happen to her.”

  “We’ll have to test her and verify she’s Blessed. After that, we’ll have to start training her.” D’Jenn shrugged. “It’s the only thing to do.”

  Dormael nodded and let out a deep breath. “Let’s not tell her until we make camp tonight. We’ll need silence to conduct the test.”

  “How do you test her?” Shawna said.

  D’Jenn took a sip from his cup. “You’ll see.”

  Shawna shot knowing glances at Bethany throughout the day. Dormael almost told her to avoid the girl for the rest of the day, but he didn’t want to further add to the confusion. Bethany caught Shawna staring in the morning and watched her with suspicious eyes for the rest of the day.

  They were lucky enough to find another copse of trees before the sun went down, though the growth along the highland hills was getting sparser as they traveled north. The trees did nothing to hide their fire and little to break the wind, but it was better than being out in the wind. Once they had eaten and finished with lessons, Dormael wrapped Bethany in her blanket and took a seat on the ground across from her.

  “Now,” he said as D’Jenn and Shawna settled down nearby, “we’re going to do one more thing before bedtime tonight.”

  “More lessons?” Bethany’s expression was dubious. “I’m getting tired.”

  “A game.” Dormael smiled. “One that D’Jenn and I used to play when we were children.”

  “Alright.” Bethany smiled back. “What are the rules?”

  “First, you have to close your eyes,” D’Jenn said.

  Bethany humored him, the ghost of a smile flickering over her mouth. “Alright.”

  “Now, I want you to silence your mind,” Dormael said, taking on a quiet tone.

  “How do I do that?”

  “Just listen to all the things going on in your head,” D’Jenn said. “Chase them down one by one and tell them to be quiet. It might take some time, but you can do it.”

  “If you say so,” Bethany muttered. Her face made a few scrunching movements as she sat there, but D’Jenn began to tap out a rhythm on the stump next to him, and soon the girl was swaying in time
with the beat. Dormael let the silence stretch before speaking again.

  “I want you to imagine a pool,” he intoned. “A pool deep inside your chest. Can you picture that for me?”

  “I think so.” Bethany sighed.

  “Good. The pool has clear, still water inside. The water is warm, it’s deep, and it’s comforting. Just sink into the pool very slowly until the water is covering your face,” Dormael said.

  “Alright.” Bethany sighed again. D’Jenn’s tapping continued, and Bethany swayed with it.

  “Now, deep in the water, you can’t hear anything.” Dormael kept his tone soothing. “All the sounds from your ears just fade away, one by one, until you hear nothing. Just let them go, Bethany. Sink down until the water is the only thing you can hear.”

  Bethany did not reply.

  “You’re deep in the pool, now. Way down deep where nothing can touch you. Nothing can hurt you. You can’t see anything, you can’t hear anything, right?”

  “Right,” Bethany whispered.

  “Are you sure, dear? Listen harder. Listen deeper than you ever have before.”

  Bethany was silent, swaying in time with D’Jenn’s tapping. A long moment stretched, and Dormael grew impatient. Failure was common the first few times a Blessed tried to open their Kai. Coaxing out a wizard’s magic could be difficult, and most children learned an instinctive way of reaching their power before being walked through the Conclave’s method. Just as Dormael was about to bring her out of the trance, Bethany spoke.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “Wait.”

  “What is it?”

  “I think I hear something.” Her brows drew together in a frown, and she tilted her head as if listening to a distant sound. “I can almost reach it.”

  “Just let it come to you, Bethany. Listen to it, and let it—”

  Bethany gasped, and Dormael’s body tingled like a thousand insects were crawling over his skin. He resisted the urge to scratch as he shot a surprised glance to D’Jenn. Shawna glanced between the two Sevenlanders, eyes raised at their amazed expressions.