Fire Heart

by Dan Avera

  That, said the Titan's voice in Clare's mind, be exactly what Davin and Talyn did the first time I brought them down here. Davin even ran into me just so.

  Clare snorted and covered her mouth with her hand, darting a quick glance at Will, who was grinning in both mirth and embarrassment. Borbos' laughter slowly faded as he righted himself. Now, he said after a moment, for transport.

  Transport? Will asked, looking around in confusion. Underwater?

  We can already swim faster than normal, Clare said. Witness the soaring tackle.

  But not as fast as the merfolk, Borbos replied, and as if to add credence to his words one of the mermaids darted past them so quickly that she was gone before Clare felt the turbulence from her passing. So we be using the water drakes.

  Water wha—?

  Will's mental question quickly turned into a physical shout of surprise as a monstrous creature rose from the depths beneath him. It was long, perhaps three times as long as a man was tall, and its body was shaped like a snake's, complete with dark blue scales. Ragged, vertical fins crested the length of its back end, and long spines extended back from the base of its skull in a frill. Its maw was a wicked, underbitten thing filled with long, sharp teeth. It looked almost like a nightmarish version of an eel.

  But its eyes—its eyes were what caught Clare's attention the most. Constantly roving as though searching for prey, they glowed an unnatural yellow, and the slit-pupils held a cunning, predatory intelligence in their depths. Clare shivered as they passed over her.

  Be calm, Will, Borbos' voice said in her head. The water drakes will not harm you so long as you be a friend of the sea.

  That, Clare decided, seemed to be the ultimate rule that governed each of the supernatural things they had encountered: do not anger the frightening monsters, and they will leave you alone. She was glad that such fearsome creatures had such noble inhibitions.

  The water drake swam in a tight circle around Will, who stayed completely still except for his eyes, which followed the creature's as it made its rounds. It stopped a moment later and floated calmly in the water, its gently undulating length extending out over Clare's shoulder. It stared at Will for a moment, and then moved in and nuzzled his face.

  The gesture was so akin to one of Grim's that Clare laughed. It seems you have a way with beasts, she thought, and Will smiled, slowly bringing his hand up to touch the drake's jaw. It darted away a moment later, and then slid between his legs so that he was riding it like a horse. It was more slender than one, however, and he had to hold on to the spines at its neck to keep from sliding off.

  Clare was about to make a joke about how he looked riding atop the beast, but something bumped into her from behind and she whirled around. Another water drake was floating a mere hand's breadth from her face, and she was afforded a perfect and uninterrupted view of its toothy maw. It was far more unsettling up close, and she found herself swallowing nervously at the thought of being on the wrong side of the creature's temper. Its mouth hung open slightly, and she could see the pale lump of its tongue and the dark void at the back of its throat. Its teeth seemed much larger up close, and she could see quite clearly the yellowed bases where they fit into the drake's bony mouth. She shivered involuntarily.

  It cocked its head and stared at her with one unblinking yellow eye, the pupil darting to and fro as it scanned her face. She felt as though she were being sized up for a meal. She remained motionless as it inspected her, its snakelike body waving gently like a flag in a breeze. And then, finally, it seemed satisfied. It darted away, and a moment later she felt it halt beneath her. She reached out tentatively to grasp the spines around its head. When it did not protest, she gripped them more firmly. They were cool and hard, and had the texture of a river-smoothed stone.

  The drake darted forward then, and she wrapped her legs around its body instinctively to avoid being thrown into the depths. Her heart raced at the unexpected acceleration, and she felt she would be hurled off. Strangely, though, the water seemed to part for her almost as easily as air. Just like I can move more easily down here, she thought. This must be what it feels like to be a fish.

  The drake turned sharply, nearly sending her careening out into the abyss, but she held on and a moment later the creature came to a halt. Her hair drifted forward, momentarily obscuring her vision before falling back down to reveal Borbos and Will. Borbos was laughing again; Will was careening off into the blue, his serpentine steed nowhere in sight. Clare heard him send a string of colorful curses shooting through her mind, and she chuckled. A moment later Will's drake darted out of the depths and coiled around him, gently nudging him back to an upright standstill. Then it swam back beneath him and, with exaggerated ease and care, carried him back to Borbos and Clare. There seemed to be an amused glint in the drake's eyes, but Clare could not be certain.

  Again, just like Davin and Talyn, Borbos chuckled. Don't worry, though—I'm sure you'll get used to it in no time.

  Clare was beginning to find the comparisons to “Davin and Talyn” somewhat wearing. Did Borbos have to keep rubbing salt in her wounds? She said nothing, though, and suffered in silence.

  What about you? Will asked. How are you going to keep up with us?

  I be the god of the sea, boy! Borbos laughed. I can swim faster than the fastest mermaid. But we are wasting time—the distraction above will only fool the Dark One's minions for so long. Quickly now, let us go and free our son.

  And with a kick of his feet he shot away into the distance, the sea soon swallowing his form completely. Clare and Will's drakes followed without a command; they knew, it seemed, what it was their master wanted. The soft, now-familiar tug of the sea on her body enveloped Clare once again as her mount hurtled through the water toward the towering City. We're going to the bottom of the sea... she thought, a strange mixture of fear and excitement fluttering through her.

  A chill ran through her body despite the ethereal warmth that enveloped her; she looked over at Will, whose face had taken on its familiar mask of grim stoicism. He was ready for battle; she wanted to draw strength from that, but the blackness below them and the thought of the horrors lurking there suddenly set her guts to twisting. If they did indeed have to fight, it would be completely different from any fight she had ever been in. She was out of her element here, out of her comfortable world.

  She turned her gaze back to the fore and, with a deep breath of sea water, tried to steady her anxious nerves.

  ~

  “Do you see those windows on the sides of the ships?” Serah asked quietly, pointing at one of the closer vessels. Feothon nodded. “They are cannon ports,” she said. “I had no idea Borbos was doing this.”

  “I do not understand,” Feothon said slowly. “Cannon ports?”

  Feothon had spent most of the last five hundred years secluded in the Dark Forest; he was, Serah remembered belatedly, somewhat out of touch with the times.

  “Windows for a weapon that uses firesand to hurl iron balls at the enemy,” she replied, indicating the square holes once more. “The sailors push the cannons out through those and fire them.”

  Feothon shook his head slowly. “What happened to ballistae? And flaming arrows? I have been gone for far too long.”

  Serah smiled sadly. “It happens to all of us,” she murmured. The sunlight glinted from her dark eyes as she stared out over the waves. “Borbos must have spent a considerable amount of time fitting his whole fleet with such firepower, no? And a great deal of these vessels are new—I see many ships that I have never seen before. I wonder if he was expecting something.”

  “We all were.”

  “Indeed,” Serah sighed. “I only wish it would have happened a little later, so that I could have had more time to train Will. Sometimes it seems the Void itself is working against us, no?”

  “It does,” Feothon replied softly, and said no more.

  As Serah looked at him, she realized suddenly how very tired her brother looked. His years, it seemed, had finally
caught up with him; it would have been almost unnoticeable to any but those closest to him, but she could see it as plainly as day. The way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, the way his smile lost its luster far too quickly, the way his eyes would simply go unfocused for long periods of time—he looked as tired and as old as Borost had.

  The thought of Borost sent a painful jolt through her, and she tried unsuccessfully to will it to the far reaches of her mind. For over five hundred years she had pushed him away, ever since that fateful night in Falcos, and now her chance was gone forever. She wondered if, had she taken an alternate course of action, things would have been different.

  Perhaps she could have been happier.

  I cannot dwell on that now, she thought. Her gaze roved back to Feothon, and after a moment she said softly, “Will needs you.”

  The Forest Lord turned toward her slightly and raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

  “I said Will needs you,” she repeated. Something flickered through his eyes—anger? Amusement? She could not tell.

  “I know,” he said simply.

  “It is not your time,” Serah continued. “I can see that you are ready to cross over, Feothon, but the world is not. Will is not.”

  “I know,” he repeated, more softly this time, and then he looked away and sighed. “'Tis becoming...difficult.” His words were almost a whisper, but the wind carried them obediently to her ears. “Sometimes I do not know where I am. No, that is wrong...sometimes I do not know when I am. I feel like I am slipping through time. Seventeen hundred years...'tis a long time, Serah. If I survive for five more I will be the oldest Titan to ever have lived, save Forod himself.”

  Had he told her that Falcos was under attack by all five surviving traitors, Serah would not have been more frightened. To hear from his own lips that her oldest, wisest brother was losing his grip on reality terrified her more than anything she had ever felt. More so even than the night terror that had slaughtered her tribe all those years ago.

  “How much longer do you have?” she asked quietly. “Has Leyra foreseen anything? Does...does Asper know?”

  Feothon smiled. “Leyra foresees everything. What she chooses to share with us is a different matter entirely. But no, she has told me nothing. And...I believe Asper suspects something. She has been different lately. Happier, though, since Clare arrived. She has taken an immense liking to her.”

  “That is good,” said Serah. “She needs some female companionship. She bears a heavy load, no?”

  Feothon nodded slowly and murmured, “That she does. This time, my son will not be a simple human.”

  They fell silent for a time, both lost in their thoughts. Serah's gaze drifted over to Leyra, who stood some distance away with her back to them. As always, the Lady of the Mountain was as solid and unmoving as a boulder, the sunlight gleaming from the blade of her axe. Her golden hair, untied from its usual braid, blew serenely in the wind, but Serah could almost feel the suppressed violence beneath her sister's careful veneer of calm, and it both frightened and exhilarated her. She went and stood next to her, her boots tapping softly along the Leviathan's armored plates.

  “What ails you, sister?” Leyra asked after a moment. She did not turn to look at Serah.

  “Do I require an ailment to speak with my family?”

  Now Leyra did turn her gaze down, and her pale blue eyes held such pain that Serah felt her heart grow instantly cold. Such a look could mean only one thing. She had seen it once before, so many years ago, on Renne.

  “Who is it?” Serah asked softly.

  Leyra opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again abruptly. “I will not say,” she finally replied a moment later, and her gaze turned back to the shifting sea once more.

  “Is it...Will?” Serah asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

  “No.”

  “Clare?”

  There was a short silence. Then, “...No.”

  Serah looked away, finding suddenly that she did not wish to know more. “How far into the future can you see?” she asked.

  When Leyra finally answered her, her beautiful voice had fallen into a hoarse whisper. “A long way.”

  “I am sorry.”

  The pale blue eyes found Serah's again, and the Lady of the Wind was surprised to find that they were wet. “I bear the curse gladly,” Leyra replied. “But I would never wish it on another.”

  “I am here for you, you know. We all are. You do not have to be so distant.”

  Leyra's head sank to her chest, and her eyes slid closed. “My apologies, Serah. I had not meant to be. It has been difficult of late. Sifting through the glimpses and choosing which ones to block out is exhausting. And lately, there are so many of them.” Her eyes opened and she looked down at Serah. “But that is no excuse.”

  Serah hugged her. It was all she could think to do. For a moment, Leyra's body tensed in surprise; but then she melted like wax to a flame, and one muscular arm wrapped around Serah's slender shoulders. “Thank you,” Leyra said softly. “Sometimes I forget that I am not alone in the world.”

  Their tender moment was shattered abruptly by the trumpet of a distant conch shell. Serah turned and scanned the horizon, and saw a ship near the front of the fleet raising a red flag—the signal for battle stations.

  “Make ready!” she heard one of the men aboard the Leviathan cry, and the clatter of weapons and armor filled the air.

  That sound is becoming all too familiar lately, she thought. She heard Leyra tighten her grip on the haft of her axe and turned to look at her. The earth Titan's masculine face had taken on a terrifying visage, and Serah found herself almost recoiling from the sight of her sister.

  “Do you know what it is like to be able to see the future, but have almost no power over it?” Leyra asked, her normally beautiful voice a soft growl. She reached into a pouch at her waist and took out a small, round piece of flint, which she began to toss absently into the air. It hit her hand with a soft, continuous smack.

  “I know what it is like to see my brother die,” Serah replied, “and to be so far away that the fastest winds could not carry me to his side in time.” Her eyes followed the flint up, down, up, down. Finally, Leyra caught it, her grip tightening around its small form so that it disappeared in her grasp and the tendons stood rigid along her hand.

  “There are two of them,” the Lady of the Mountain said after a moment's silence, and Serah looked at her in confusion. “Strife and Despair. They are here, down in the waves with their nightmares.” She lifted the stone to her forehead and pressed it into her skin, where it immediately began to twist and grow. It covered her face, and then crawled back to engulf her head completely.

  When she took her hand away, the small piece of flint had transformed into a full battle helm, and Leyra's pale blue eyes glared out from the narrow vision slits, daring the world to face her. Serah noticed that her sister's normally alabaster skin had taken on a grayer hue. When Leyra spoke again, her voice had a strange, filtered quality. “They will be stronger,” she snarled. “Pestilence's demise has empowered them further.”

  “Why do you never speak of these things before they happen?” Serah asked, her words hushed. Leyra turned her stony glare down on her.

  “Because when Renne tried that, it got her killed. I still have a part to play in this performance.” She shook her head in frustration.

  Serah could think of nothing to say, for Leyra was right; and though Serah knew Renne's intentions had been to save one of her siblings, her meddling with the future had come at a terrible cost. But...what if that had been her intention all along? she wondered. What if there are multiple futures, and she was guiding us along the path of the best one? What if...what if Leyra is doing the same thing?

  “I understand,” she said finally.

  Leyra nodded and turned away. Her next words were tinged with bitterness. “And because I was able to see them for only a moment,” she muttered. “I look for them along the timelines and I am met only w
ith shadows and whispers, just as it was when I looked for Clare in the Dark Forest. Nothing is certain. Why they allowed me this one glimpse, I do not know.”

  Serah was not surprised. It seemed the Fallen were invisible to the Titans, though by what means she could not fathom.

  The first staccato booms of the cannons began to sound in the distance, signaling an end to the weak illusion of peace that Serah's soul had been clinging to. She closed her eyes, and opened the eyes of Sorr.

  In an instant she became the wind; she could see two Eastlander nomads haggling over a waterskin in Falcos, and watched as a woman in Brightstone dropped a ripe melon from the basket atop her head. In the north, a blonde-haired raider stood at the bow of his longship and hurled a harpoon at the cresting back of a great black whale. And in the west, far out among the unending waves, the water began to boil and froth in a massive line at the front of the world's largest armada.

  All of this she saw at the same time, and all within the span of a deep breath. She concentrated on the sea, and watched as a horde of dark, nightmarish forms darted and twisted just beneath the water's surface. Those ships that had already come about fired their cannons, the reports deafeningly loud. Cannonballs streaked through the air, whistling softly as they went before colliding with the sea in great plumes of water. The iron missiles found their targets, and Serah saw the first casualties drift to the surface, their twisted bodies broken and torn asunder. The sea began to turn dark red, the creatures' blood clouding the water so that it frothed pink and each wave sent torrents of diluted crimson splashing into the air.

  Serah opened her eyes and the scene became distant once again. Far away, the booms of the ships' guns had become tinny. “They are tamyat,” she said quietly. “The black serpents.”