by T. K. Kiser
“Liar,” David spat. He strode away stiffly.
Heat flushed through Carine’s body. She gripped her hair at her forehead and leaned over her knees. Just like that, one of her two friends walked out of her life. Giles would too, as soon as he found out that David had the gullon blood again.
“We’re nearing Wyre,” Giles said that night at the fire. No one else spoke. They’d been climbing mountains ever since they left Verdiford five days previous; after thirteen days of travel, of course they were approaching Wyre.
David huffed off to bed early, and Carine seized her opportunity.
She plopped the bag of wishstones beside Giles. “Teach me. What do these mean?”
He raised an eyebrow, as if to say: You expect a favor after you gave the blood back to David?
“I know you’re mad about that, and I am too. Please, Giles.”
He tossed a stick into the campfire. “I have my own projects to think about.”
“Please.”
Giles clicked his tongue and sighed. “You should be grateful that I, a prince, am giving lessons to a shoemaker.”
She grinned, spilling the wishstones onto the blanket.
Giles wiped his eyes and pointed to each. “Friendship, protection, health, long life, joy, love, loyalty, and peace—they’re the same words in most wishstone sets.” The words seemed to swim as they reflected the flickering firelight.
“Okay, so this one is…”
“Friendship,” Giles said.
She repeated the word, memorizing the slopes and valleys of the engraving. “And this one?”
“Protection.”
Carine examined the stone, mulling over its possibilities as the wind changed and blew the thick smoke into their eyes.
Giles coughed, and when the smoke subsided, said, “Perhaps letting David have the blood isn’t the disappointment I thought it was. His attempts to heal Kavariel might be rather convenient.”
She eyed Giles suspiciously, still holding the edges of the protection stone with careful fingers. “What do you mean?”
Giles grinned. “Why is the dragon terrifying? He’s unpredictable. What if we could defend ourselves without needing Kavariel at all?”
“What are you getting at?” A pit gnawed into her stomach. Carine didn’t have a good feeling about this.
“While David distracts Kavariel, I will harvest some of the dragon’s blood. Just like the scholar Firebrand.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Why would I joke? If anyone would know what to do with power like that, it’s me.”
“Bad idea, Giles; Ansa said the power was addictive and poisonous. You’re not supposed to use it.”
Giles raised an eyebrow. “Firebrand didn’t know what he was in for. I do. Believe me, Carine, I have excellent self-control.”
Carine sighed as Giles separated the coals with a stick and stood. Now she had to stop them both.
41 Power for a Price
As Giles snored lightly, Carine passed her hand over the hot smoke. Her head rested on her knees at her chest as she watched the firelight glow on the golden Manakor words.
It was odd sitting this close to a flame and this close to Manakor. She thought about what Ansa had said and the notion that maybe Carine’s family had more secrets than they let on. If by any chance Granddad was Firebrand’s apprentice and Didda had inherited his Gift of Calling through blood, then Carine would have inherited it too.
The wishstones were scattered around her. An experiment was the only way to know for sure.
Carine eyed the protection stone. If she placed her hand in the coal fire while holding the stone, the flames would burn her or the stone would protect her the same way that the word order protected Firebrand’s apprentice.
She exhaled slowly and stared at flames. Even though she could warm herself at fires now, Carine still wasn’t ready to touch a hot coal, Gift of Calling or not.
Suddenly, a purple sprout emerged from the earth at her pinkie toe. As the firelight flickered, the tiny sprout expanded, blooming into a single azalea. Carine scrambled away from it. Azaleas grew on bushes, and like other plants, took time to develop. This sudden flourishing was unnatural, the work of magic, and it set her teeth on edge.
She looked around and shivered, but David and Giles slept soundly, and the trees and night were still.
With a shiver, she remembered that Didda knew how much she loved azaleas. If the leather glove on her mouth had been his, if Jon the apprentice was the same man as Jon of the Mast, if Didda was the heir of Firebrand, then he could be present, causing azaleas to bloom where they didn’t belong.
The idea was not comforting. Carine hurriedly picked up the wishstones, doing her best to avoid touching Manakor in the process. Accidentally, she grazed one of the words. Pain zapped through her finger, but as soon as she dropped the stone in the bag, the hurt faded.
Carine panted, frozen where she knelt by the campfire. The stone that burned her lay in the dirt, and her finger, which a second ago carried pulsing pain, showed no sign of a burn.
Looking around again into the empty night, she picked up the stone more carefully.
Carine tucked under her surcoat between the two armed princes, but sleep didn’t come.
42 The Burnt Forest
Wyrian plains lay black on the horizon, speckled with tall, scorched trees. Rain bolted down in heavy drops. Carine’s cloak did her little good against the persistent downpour, which soaked her hair and dribbled off her hands.
They proceeded over the hills and slowed out of a hushed respect when they crossed into a burnt forest that now grew eerily green at the base of the trees. The trees scraped the air like black claws. What had happened to this kingdom that had once been so great? Power and its pursuit cared nothing for its wake.
“This is why we need the dragon back,” David whispered. “So Navafort doesn’t…”
He trailed off as they climbed a hill, but Carine understood and even agreed. Kavariel did need to return, but she couldn’t let David die for it. She watched his slightly disproportionate features and felt a sigh in her heart. She had never felt friendship like this before, one where when she talked with David she felt at home, a friendship where she thought he could feel at home with her too.
Even Giles, with his arrogance and bluntness, meant something to her too. She couldn’t let him destroy himself by drinking Kavariel’s blood.
“Wait,” Carine said as she watched Giles’ clenched jaw. David and Giles turned, but their attention clearly lay ahead. “I know you both want to approach the dragon. But that beast will burn us all to ash, do you understand? We came here to capture the flame to save Navafort, remember? We get that flame as soon as we have the opportunity, and then we turn around. Okay?”
David frowned. “Who do you think you are, Carine?”
She should have expected that. She was nothing to them in terms of status, and neither of the boys were happy with her at the moment. Furthermore, capturing the flame was only a short-term solution. Still, buying time was a worthy goal in itself. She gritted her teeth and spat, “I care about you.”
David rolled his eyes.
“Giles,” she pleaded, “you understand, don’t you? The smartest thing is to get the flame and go.”
“Sure,” he said, with the tone of a parent tolerating their chatty child.
“Wait a minute.” She reached over for David’s reigns and pulled both horses to a stop. Rainwater dribbled down the edges of her hood and showered her face. “We’re not taking another step until you both agree—honestly—to do the smart thing.” She glowered at David. His hair flattened over his forehead, but wearing his oversized helmet, the rain clinked against him. He met her gaze with anger. “David, I need you to promise me.”
Giles peered over the crest of the hill, where orange light glowed. “I think you should see this.”
David and Carine scrambled from the horses and looked.
It was a wide valle
y and deep. The terrain leveled for what seemed like a hundred miles, mostly covered in forest. A few trees with leaves remained in the distance, but most were petrified, charred by the dragon’s flame.
Within the forest was a clearing. It ebbed with activity as nearly a hundred folk—mostly humans, but a few fauns and centaurs too—stood at varying distances from the one they had all come to see: Kavariel. At this distance, they were small and still like chess pieces. The low murmur of Manakor rumbled through the trees. The sound raised goose bumps on her arms, but that wasn’t even the worst of it.
As a girl, Carine had seen Kavariel bolt toward Esten as she played on the beach with Louise. He began as a growing black dot, hurtling around and around until he whipped out his wings. The wind from his wings sent Carine to the ground. The ships slammed together and bells rang. Waves slapped the sand and the sides of the boats. Some capsized. Swimming family members called for each other. People screamed.
The underbelly swooped overhead like a gray-yellow comet. The beast was so large that as it sailed over the Grunge, its tail shattered outer walls of the Bastion. That year it landed in South Esten. There it ate, enchanted, and burned.
Today, Kavariel looked twice as frightening and twice as sympathetic. His armor-like scales had been ripped from the right side of his body. White flesh showed underneath, stained brown and red with blood. He sank into the healing pools, which were more like five or six lakes. Steam rose from the pools around him. Everything looked scratched and broken about him: his face, his wing, and his spirit. He watched the Heartless Ones with a tired black eye.
“Look there,” said Giles, pointing. Three centaur figures, hidden behind distant trees, darted toward the dragon with a bag in one hand. They tossed the bag into the pile and retreated again. Unlike the Heartless Ones, these centaurs behaved just like the daring participants of Festival’s wish pile procedure. They hoped to get that bag enchanted. That explained all the gold, weapons, and clothes. Perhaps the centaurs hoped their gold would multiply. “Wyrians are getting a taste of the enchantment that we get every year.”
The dragon’s body inflated as he inhaled. He exhaled, sighing. A stream of white-hot fire blasted two Heartless Ones in front of him.
Carine stepped back.
“The Heartless Ones are attacking him,” David said grimly. “Luzhiv must have commanded them to finish him off.”
Giles deadpanned, “Luzhiv likes to delegate his dirty work, doesn’t he?”
The Heartless Ones’ attack was slow but effective. A few Heartless Ones mumbled together as the gold lifted and swirled, creating a sparkling cloud around the dying beast. At intervals the cloud pulsed, pelting the dragon’s tender wounds.
Kavariel groaned as he watched with wise eyes.
Another Heartless One lifted an ink-black tree from its roots. He slammed it toward Kavariel’s wound, but the dragon’s magic forced it away, and it exploded into black dust.
“Why isn’t the healing pool healing him?” Carine asked.
“Dragons aren’t primarily physical creatures,” Giles explained. “It will take time to heal Kavariel—lots of it.”
David felt his throat constrict. “The Heartless Ones are wearing him down. They’re killing him.”
Carine gave them a look. “He’s not the only one they’ll kill. Do you hear me?”
David’s eyes were sorrowful. “If we don’t heal Kavariel now, we won’t get a second chance. The Heartless Ones will finish him off before the healing pools can do their job.”
She dared to touch his arm. “Please, David. You know you won’t make it. They’ll get you before you can heal it.”
“Him,” David said, “not it.”
She met his gaze, pleading, watching as his sorrow toggled between determination and submission. “We don’t know what’s happened in Esten. For all we know, you are the last remaining heirs, Navafort’s only chance to survive this crisis. Now I’m going down there to capture a flame because that’s what we came here for. For your kingdom, I need you to promise me you’ll stay here. Promise me.”
David looked out over the glowing scene, filled with magic and danger. “Just get the stupid flame.”
“Giles?” Carine watched the youngest prince now: the smartest, the most talented. She knew his temptation. But drinking the blood of a dragon wouldn’t be possible if he were dead. Giles simply raised an eyebrow.
“Of course,” he said. “Priorities.”
43 Torchlight
Bearing the torch from Verdiford, Carine passed through the trees alone. Most of the forest smoldered or burned. Tendrils of black smoke looped up from bare poles that had once been trees. Others still burned with Kavariel’s fire. The scorched earth crunched beneath her feet. Gold coins clinked as she moved among the offerings.
She’d left the horses at the top of the hill with the princes. Most likely, the horses would bolt getting this close to the fearsome beast, and going on foot would make it easier to sneak around the Heartless Ones. She clung to papery tree trunks at each sound. Sneaking was her only defense; her little awl would hardly save her.
The glow of the dragon’s fire mesmerized Carine to an uncomfortable degree. She averted her eyes from Kavariel, lest he meet her gaze through the trees. The Manakor mispronunciation of the Heartless Ones grew to a slight roar.
Suddenly, three centaurs loped up a nearby hill. Carine ducked behind a tree, not daring to breathe as they galloped past. Blades, strapped to their backs and flanks, shimmered in the daylight.
Carine shivered, realizing this was the first time she’d been alone since leaving her parents. But this act, drawing Kavariel’s flame onto the torch, was what they had come here for, was what could protect her family and her home.
Thirty feet ahead, a tree burned with the dragon’s fire. Its leaves charred and curled, dropping crispy and black to the earth. A branch fell and its flame extinguished, leaving the skinny trunk the only remaining source. The orange fire licked up the bark, transforming it slowly to ash.
The shoes that Didda had made and she had carved planted slowly over the gray earth. The coins here meant nothing to her; only that flame, that fire, meant life and everything she’d waited for.
She half-expected a Heartless One to come mumbling out of the bushes and to attack. Sweat bubbled on her forehead and palms, but Carine gripped the torch even tighter, extending the tip toward the burning tree, toward the same dragon’s fire that killed Louise so many years ago.
Like a dancer, the light jumped seamlessly from the tree to the torch, and the fire sparked and burned. The flame that had consumed Louise greeted Carine like an old friend.
This was it. This is what they’d come here for.
The rain seemed to be letting up, and though it perturbed the tongue of fire, it did not extinguish it.
At the base of the hill to return to David and Giles, a voice stopped Carine in her tracks. She turned.
This Heartless One was a female faun with mangy hair. Her eyes lolled as though she were bored, but she slithered out a Manakor word that immediately cracked the nearest tree in half.
It sighed and bowed as Carine dodged the crashing trunk. The branches, however, beat upon her. Carine tumbled, and the torch rolled onto the wet, ashy ground. Its flame dimmed.
Carine’s head pounded as she pushed up through a maze of gnarled branches that leapt to life at the Heartless faun’s spoken word. They curled around Carine’s neck. Brittle branches stuck her arms and side. The Heartless One’s lip twitched, reflecting the tiniest flutter of satisfaction. Carine coughed, searching for breath as the branch closed her airways.
A warm tear dripped down her cheek as Carine reached out, her fingertips rolling across the base of the torch. Kavariel’s flame could extinguish the Heartless One, but at the moment, the Heartless One did not intersect the line between the dragon and the torch.
The Heartless One hoofed closer as though to watch. Carine’s face felt hot, but the closing branch around her neck numbed
the pain she should have felt from the brittle branches. Her fingers rolled against the torch’s base, but reaching for it made her choking worse.
The torch rolled slightly, just enough for Carine to grasp it in her fingertips. She extended her arm, putting the Heartless One between her torch and the fire of the clearing.
The Heartless One did not gasp or widen her eyes. She simply thudded down like a person already dead, as though her body had been on a hanger for years and finally fell off.
Carine gasped for air as the branches froze tight around her neck. She clawed with her free hand until a thin branch broke by her trachea.
Coughing, bleeding, and bruised, she freed herself from the branches and climbed the hill, clutching the torch of saving fire, grateful for the mysterious flame that would deliver her. Holding back the tears of her weariness, she forced as much of a smile as she could manage so David and Giles would feel a sense of achievement.
At the top of the hill, her smile evaporated as a huge centaur turned. Flanked in a brown coat, face framed in tatty dark hair, his biceps flexed under the weight of a curved, sharp ax in his arms. The blade of another ax gleamed over his shoulder. A smile curled out from his lips. “Well, look-y here, three for the price of two.”
44 Blade or Fire
The ax-man approached. “Let me tell you how this works. We’re going to keep as many alive as possible. In exchange, you won’t struggle when Rickshaw removes your heart.”
Rickshaw, a smaller white-spotted version of the ax-man, advanced with an ax in one hand and a skinning knife in the other. The curling blade rested naturally in his fist. How many people had they already killed?
Carine and the princes stood with their backs together, next to the horses. “What do you want with our hearts?” David asked.
Rickshaw shrugged. “Wyrians pay generously for hearts to appease the Heartless Ones. You look royal.” Rickshaw grinned. “Perhaps I’ll charge extra.”
Carine shivered. These raiders weren’t Heartless Ones, which meant the flame could not save them.