The Embers of Light

by Tammy Farrell

  Tristan stepped in, appearing surprised to see Malcolm in one piece. He gazed over Bram’s body with a nod of approval. “Did you down him before he touched you?” he asked his sister.

  Seren shot Malcolm a quick glance. “Yes,” she said, handing Tristan a clean tunic. “Malcolm attacked at just the right time. He’s kept his word.”

  Tristan eyed Malcolm, but then he gave a grateful nod. “My thanks,” he said, and offered Malcolm his hand.

  Tucking the dagger in his belt, Malcolm accepted the thanks, feeling a semblance of worth return to him. Without him, these two would be trapped—Seren a barbarian’s bride, and Tristan, a village idiot.

  Tristan put on the clean tunic while Seren stuffed the blood-soaked clothes in a sack. “We have to go now,” she said, heading for the door.

  Malcolm moved to follow, but stilled.

  “What’s the matter?” Seren asked.

  For a moment, Malcolm didn’t know why he thought what he did, until he found himself saying, “We have to get Wynn.”

  Seren’s nostrils flared. “We don’t have time for that. It won’t be long before someone comes looking for Bram. We must get as far away as possible, and now, or we’re all dead.” She opened the door and waited for Malcolm to move, but he stood still. “No. I promised him I’d take him with me.”

  “He is ill. There is no way we can carry a sick child with us,” Tristan said with exasperation.

  Malcolm frowned. “Ill?”

  Seren nodded and closed the door so no one noticed them. She softened her expression. “He has come down with the sickness, Malcolm. Chances are he won’t survive it. None of the children do.” Her tone was strong, but sincere. She put her hand back on the door. “We are fond of Wynn, as well. But we can’t save him. He isn’t one of us. We must go.”

  Malcolm reluctantly followed her and Tristan into the night sky. The little village was still dancing and singing near the immense fire. Malcolm was livid. How could these people rejoice while a child of their village lay dying?

  “This way,” Seren whispered with a wave of her hand, moving along the palisades towards the gate.

  Malcolm stopped again, feeling something like remorse rise up in him. He looked around the hamlet. “I can’t leave Wynn here like this. And if he won’t survive, at the very least I must say goodbye,” he said.

  Tristan grunted but didn’t put up much of a fight. Even he, Malcolm realized, had the ability for compassion. “Very well. Follow me,” Tristan said, shouldering past Malcolm.

  They crept up to a small hut with smoke seeping from the holes in the roof. Tristan looked from side to side, ensuring the way was clear, and opened the door. In the darkness, with only a dying fire giving off light, Wynn lay on a straw pallet.

  Even with mortal eyes Malcolm could see that the essence of death hovered above the boy, its stench so thick in the air it was suffocating. Malcolm inched closer and saw the sheath of sweat on Wynn’s skin, and how the boy shivered despite the warmth in the room.

  A lump welled in Malcolm’s throat and a stab of sorrow struck him. He’d faulted Wynn for sending him blindly into the devil’s lair. But Wynn was just a boy, an unwanted child trying to find his way. Like he, himself, had once been.

  Malcolm knelt beside the bed.

  “You care for him, don’t you?” Seren asked from the doorway.

  Malcolm’s brows came together as he looked at Wynn. “I know his troubles,” he said. “I know them well.”

  With Wynn’s father dead, the boy would be free to do as he wished, travel the realm, and make his place in the world. But now he was dying, his dreams torn from him, ready to join his father on the other side.

  Malcolm touched the boy’s head, the skin so warm if felt as though it might catch on fire. Wynn stirred and opened the slits of his eyes. He looked so weak, that Malcolm wondered if Wynn could even see him at all.

  “You got out,” Wynn whispered with a frail smile.

  Malcolm nodded. “And I’m here to take you with me.”

  “No,” Tristan said, taking a step forward. “He is too sick. We are not heathens, Malcolm. We wouldn’t leave him here if we had a choice. I can hear his heart, it won’t hold for much longer.”

  The fist of sorrow clenched around Malcolm’s heart and he put his head to the boy’s chest, trying to hear the heartbeat for himself. But he heard nothing.

  “I promised I would bring him with me,” Malcolm said.

  Wynn’s lips curled in a smile. “I told you I knew what sort of man you are. You kept your word.”

  “Not yet,” Malcolm said. He went to lift Wynn out of the bed when a mad fit of coughing consumed the boy until droplets of blood appeared on his lips.

  “I’m tired, Malcolm,” Wynn whispered. “I just want to sleep.”

  Malcolm gripped him by the shoulder with his good hand. “But your father is dead now. You are free to go.”

  Wynn coughed again. “I will be free soon enough either way, Malcolm. I am on my way to meet the gods.”

  With a strong shake of his head, Malcolm felt his heart begin to race. “No, you’ll be fine. Look at me.” He turned Wynn’s face to him. “I survived it. If I can beat the pestilence, so can you.”

  Wynn smiled. “That’s because you’re a prince, aren’t you? Princes are strong.”

  Malcolm laughed sadly. “I once was a prince, yes.”

  “I knew it,” Wynn whispered.

  Seren moved towards the door. “Malcolm, we don’t have time for this. We must go now.”

  Wynn exhaled weakly, his heavy eyelids threatening to close. “I am not as strong as you are, Malcolm.”

  “Malcolm!” Tristan urged. “Come this moment or we will have to leave you to be ripped apart by the villagers.”

  “I can’t just leave him here,” Malcolm said, looking back on the boy. For the first time in his life Malcolm was able to see innocence in another. This boy was pure, whole, just as he had once been.

  Saving Wynn meant he could save himself.

  “Go, Malcolm,” Wynn whispered. “If the gods don’t want me, I’ll wait for you.”

  Malcolm turned to Seren and Tristan, the looks on their faces giving away the boy’s fate. There was nothing left to be done. He leaned in closer to Wynn just as the boy’s eyes closed. He tapped on Wynn’s cheek to rouse him.

  “I will come back for you. Do you understand me?”

  Wynn’s eyelids dropped and he smiled. “I would like that very much. Very much indeed.”

  Pushing himself up from his knees, Malcolm took one last mournful look at Wynn, the child who could offer him nothing, but won Malcolm’s affections anyway. Suppressing a sob, Malcolm followed Seren and Tristan to the door. “I will come back for you,” he whispered. “And if the gods do take you, I know someone who can bring you back.”

  Wynn’s eyes closed and his little hand fell over the side of the bed just before Malcolm closed the door behind him.

  The mountain was alive beneath the night sky. Corbin heard every sound rising up from the valley below—the rippling water of the lakes, the hum of insects, and the rustling leaves amidst the trees. It didn’t matter what part of the sidhe Corbin was in, he could always hear the mountain speaking to him.

  There was excitement amongst the new Dia of Ayrith, and for the past several weeks, their training had continued. It was exciting to witness the power of those who had been created rather than those who had been born. The strength of Light Mara had given them was apparent, and even Annora, who was not yet twenty years of age, was exhibiting the abilities of a mature Dia.

  Drake had been in lighter spirits since the new Dia were born, his worries proven tenuous amidst the success of their creation.

  The only one who seemed to be worrying now was Corbin. In the days that followed the ceremony, Mara had become quiet and withdrawn. She’d assured him it was merely a result of the energy she gave up to make the others, that she needed time to recover. Corbin wanted to believe her, but something trouble
d him, and like a nail scratching on a door, he found it difficult to ignore.

  It took many days before she looked like herself again, the vibrant color returning to her eyes, the rosy flush in her cheeks, and her smile trying to wash away his doubts.

  He took one last breath of night air and walked into the great hall where Mara, Drake, and the others were seated on the steps that led up to the dais. The abandoned throne of Dia royalty stood witness to the immense room, and this night it was filled with laughter as new Dia drew together in peace.

  Mara handed Corbin a goblet of wine when he sat down beside her. Isa joined them. The little one had no memory of dying back at Valenia, and any recollection she’d had from the Otherworld was long faded. Now she was simply theirs, and happy as ever.

  Barrett stood in front of the steps as if performing a play, the smiling eyes of a jester bright as he told stories to the others. “And then the monk says, have ye seen me horse! Not whores!’” Barrett slapped his leg with a chuckle. “Never in me life have I seen a man run out of a brothel so fast!” He continued to boom with laughter as he sat down.

  Isa turned her head up to Corbin, flicking his chin with her brown curls. “What’s so funny about a horse?” she asked.

  Mara suppressed a laugh. “Nothing, Isa. Barrett is just being silly.”

  Drake shook his head. “Inappropriate, as always, Barrett.”

  With a chuckle, Gareth poured Barrett another mug of ale. “Here, friend, have another.”

  Annora handed a lemon cake to Gareth and Isa, and stood. “There’s something I want to show you,” she said to the group. “I know I’m not meant to have full control of my Light for a while yet, but I’ve been practicing.” She smiled coyly and her gaze moved to her outstretched hands, turned palms up, and her brow furrowed with concentration.

  Corbin felt her energy in the air, rising up like a fire.

  Annora’s eyes remained fixed on her hands when something began to form in them, growing ever so slowly in to a sphere that glistened like a group of sapphire stars. She giggled and looked up. “It’s becoming easier.” She dropped one hand and held the ball of Light with ease, its strength never waning. “And I can do this,” she said, tossing the sphere to Ailwen.

  He caught it like a ball of snow without hesitation, and got to his feet. “Excellent trick, my love, but can you do this?” He began to form the Light into a larger globe, only as it grew, Corbin noted the change in its color.

  A Dia’s power always showed in their eyes. But what Corbin saw was like nothing he’d ever seen before. As Ailwen held the magic in his hand, it did not mirror the deep blue of Ailwen’s eyes, but rather, transformed into a sizzling ball of black fire encircled by a soft white light.

  Mara stared at Ailwen dead on. Drake also seemed captivated, if not disturbed, by the sight, and when Ailwen finally extinguished the black fire with a clap of his hands, the room was unnervingly silent.

  “I’ve…” Corbin began, trying to break the curious tension. “I’ve never seen a Light like that.”

  Drake nodded slowly. “It is remarkable, isn’t it?”

  Mara gave no reply.

  “How did you learn it?” Corbin asked.

  Ailwen shrugged. “How does one learn to breathe? They simply do,” he said with a spirited grin. “Does it intimidate you, my brother?”

  Corbin felt the shock of Ailwen’s revelation evaporate at the hint of a challenge. “Intimidate? Ha!” he replied with a smirk. “You may be older in years, my friend, but you are just a child when it comes to being a Dia.” Corbin got to his feet.

  A laugh bolted from Ailwen as he widened his stance.

  Corbin called upon his Light, causing his palms to warm and his eyes to light up with power. It took more concentration on Ailwen’s part, but soon he did the same, and unlike his black fire, his eyes became a blaze of dark blue. They locked eyes on one another, each waiting to see who would make the first move, and with a swift strike, Corbin sent a quick shot of energy at Ailwen.

  Ailwen grunted and leapt out of its way.

  Barrett laughed. “Watch out there, boy, you’re looking more like a dancer than a fighter.”

  Ailwen steadied himself and pressed his lips together, preparing once more. This time, it was Ailwen who made the first move. Before Corbin saw it coming, Ailwen had formed an orb of black fire. But he didn’t toss it at Corbin. Instead, the light seemed to stretch out in a rope, still connected to Ailwen’s hand. Like a whip, it moved toward Corbin.

  Corbin managed to spin away from it just before it encircled him.

  Ailwen grinned at the look of shock on Corbin’s face, and pulled back the rope of fire.

  Annora got to her feet. “I think that’s enough for now.”

  Corbin didn’t acknowledge her, his attention still fixed on Ailwen. The look on his friend’s face was even, collected. It unnerved Corbin. He hadn’t expected his friend to display such strength.

  Composing himself, Corbin brought his feet together, stood tall, and in a movement so quick no mortal eye could see it, he pitched a strong burst of Light. He expected Ailwen to duck, but he didn’t so much as flinch. And in the breath of time it took for the orb to cross the room, Ailwen caught it in his hands as though it were made of feathers.

  Ailwen studied the Light and once again, the orb turned black, crackling like fire and then went out.

  Corbin was stunned. Ailwen grinned as he closed the gap to shake his opponent’s hand.

  “Well done, brother,” Ailwen said. “I guess I’m not such a child after all.”

  “I suppose not,” Corbin responded cautiously. He inspected Ailwen closely, seeing no hint of change in him. “You’ll have to teach me that trick with the rope of Light,” Corbin said.

  Ailwen snorted. “I’m not sure how I do it myself.”

  Before Corbin had a chance to respond, Annora took Ailwen’s arm, a proud look on her face. “Come on now, show off. You can battle some more tomorrow.”

  Ailwen and Annora said their farewells and left.

  “It’s time for you to be getting to bed, as well,” Mara said to Isa, her eyes avoiding Corbin. “Barrett, will you take her? I need to speak with Corbin and Drake.”

  Barrett got to his feet with a groan, a mortal habit he’d not yet let go of. “Come, little one. Gareth and I will tell you some bedtime stories.”

  Corbin hugged Isa goodnight. “Make sure they aren’t your usual stories, Barrett.”

  Barrett nodded with a smirk.

  When Corbin, Mara, and Drake were alone, Corbin sat next to Mara. “Did you see that?”

  She nodded. “It is strange.” She put her hand to her lips in thought. “Drake, have you ever seen black fire before?”

  Drake was lost in his own thoughts, his gaze a million miles away. “Perhaps this is what happens when new Dia are created. Who knows how strong they are, or what they are capable of?”

  Corbin visualized Ailwen and the black fire. It was strange. While all Dia could create Light, Mara was the only Dia he knew who could make pure fire.

  Mara leaned on Corbin and put a gentle hand on his forearm. “Maybe there’s something in the texts that might tell us what it is.” She turned her head up to him. “Has he said anything to you that might explain it?”

  Corbin shook his head. “In all the days we’ve trained, I didn’t even know he was that strong. His Light has never been black either.”

  Mara glanced at Drake, who remained quiet. “Well, it’s nice to know they’re strong,” she said.

  Corbin heard the defiance in her voice, a tone that said, “You were wrong.”

  Drake took a deep breath. “It is.” He turned to the door. “I will see you two in the morning. We’ll look through the texts then to see what we can find.” He gave them a parting nod and left the room.

  “Do you think he’s still angry with me?” Mara asked.

  “No,” Corbin said. “I think he was just being protective.” Corbin didn’t want to tell her about Dr
ake’s suspicions of darkness. What good would it do but cause her more worry when there was nothing to tell, no answers to give.

  “How are you feeling?” Corbin asked, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

  Mara paused and looked away. “Perfectly fine,” she said. “But there’s one thing that’s been troubling me.”

  “What is it, my darling?” he asked affectionately, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I want to go to Moorthrop,” she said bluntly.

  Corbin’s smile faded, remembering the horrible memories that waited there. “Why would you want to return to Moorthrop?” He searched her face, puzzled as to why she’d want to go back to the place of her mother’s murder.

  Mara closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at him. “It’s not Moorthrop I wish to see. But Helen is there, and I must see her. I must tell her I’m alive. All this time she’s thought me dead or worse. I can’t go another day knowing she’s suffering with worry.”

  The first time Corbin had set foot in Moorthop was the day of Mara’s mother’s execution. He knew little of Rowan’s plans then. He was only following orders to retrieve Rowan’s niece from the village. How could he have known there would be a burning that day, or that the condemned woman would be an ancient Dia, and her daughter, the next Keeper?

  Mara had been witness to the flames that consumed her mother, and hadn’t set foot near that village since her escape. Corbin had been the only one to return there, seeking revenge for Isa’s murder.

  Now, the village of Moorthrop was free from the evil men that had ruled it, but the thought of Mara returning to that place gave Corbin pause.

  Then, in an attempt to dissuade her and spare her the painful memories, he said, “I will go to Moorthrop and speak with Helen. Ailwen can go with me. She knows us both from our last visit there.”

  Mara shook her head, her eyes fixed steadily on his. “I will go. I need to speak to Helen myself and visit Moorthrop one last time.”

  There was something she wasn’t telling him. Corbin could feel it under his skin down to his soul. But how could he force her to confess whatever secret she held? He sighed, relenting to her stare as always. “Very well,” he said, still fearful of the wounds a visit to Moorthrop might open.