Voices of Blaze (Volume 5 of The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  had grown significantly overnight.

  “Nine of your most dedicated - to me,” she said aloud when she had dismounted.

  The Watchers all looked between one another for a moment, but after some shuffling and murmuring, nine men and women stepped forward.

  “You have proven your loyalty to this city, and to this nation with your devotion,” Medea began, “I hold here a solution to the disease that has

  set itself deep into our fine walls, and I will trust no one else but you to use it. It is not a cure to the disease, and it will not rebuild what has already been lost. We must think ofthe blighted walls as limbs poisoned with pinh. They must be cut away where the flesh is still good. Each of you must cut through the walls where they are still strong. Take one of these knives each...” She handed them out as she spoke, and nodded to her soldiers to see that each Watcher was properly guarded. “Save as much as you can, but do not leave any trace of rot behind, lest it take root a second time. I shall take the tenth knife, and cut with you.”

  Medea approached the nearest section of afflicted wall – a piece that had once been the side ofa shop, hitched up her skirts and clambered onto a box that lay at the side of it. Then, she jammed the blade into the crystalline surface, and sawed

  down through it like it was a piece of bread. Softer than cheese, she remarked to herself. The knife turned to water beneath its cutting surface, but enough of it was left to slice through another ten yards of structure at least. The diseased part soon fell away, and when she turned around, there was a rapturous cry ofjoy from the people who watched. Applause rang out against the walls that had survived, and for the first

  time in her rule, Medea was glad to be queen.

  The sea was a calm mirror of turquoise for once, with barely a ripple moving through it. Though the sailors all thought it a terrible thing when there was no

  wind or disturbance to move them along, Morghiad thought it a blessed relief to be free ofthe rolling waves. Besides, the breeze would be ruffling everyone’s shirts and filling the sails again before this time tomorrow. He could feel its south-western whispers teasing a corner of his mind.

  Morghiad glanced across the deck to his son, and observed him taking a seat at a foldaway table to deal a set of gaming

  cards for himself. Kalad made no invitation for his father to play. It was strange, Morghiad thought, to see his youngest son with a beard that covered most of his face. It made him appear aged, wizened – as if he had walked the earth for thousands of years rather than a few tens. How odd to see this grown, weary man before him when the Kalad he had known the best had been just a baby.

  Then again, Morghiad had

  been a father at this boy’s age. All ofthat did seem like a very, very longtime ago.

  Morghiad went to join him, and found a convenient quarterdeck pillar to lean against while he struck up conversation. “You ever thought about having children, Kal?”

  “Is this about my-” He changed the tone of his voice as if to impersonate someone else’s. “overriding duty to my family – the next in line?”

  “Ah, no, actually – it wasn’t about that.” Morghiad tried to shake the image of having stepped into a great, steaming mound of cow manure. “I was trying to ask about what you wanted.”

  Kalad sighed. “It seems an unfair thing to do whenever I think about it. I never chose to be born. You just... brought me into this world and expected me to deal with it. ‘Here,’ you said, ‘I think I’m giving you a good start

  in life, but really, yourjob will be to sort out all the problems I’ve left behind.’ That is the real purpose of children, but tell me what you think. Tell me why - why did you have children? Selfishness? Because you just... wanted them to add something to your life? Perhaps your marriage had become boring by that point.”

  Not for the first time, Morghiad was glad there were few other passengers on this ship. A single crewman stalked past them some yards away, his feet thumping rhythmically upon the boards of the ship. Made from Sokirin hardwood, Morghiad noted. It had to be just about the finest timber in the world. “There are better ways of posing your questions to me, Kal, as you well know.” His son had clearly decided to prod at his boundaries like a teenager. Perhaps that was to be expected, since they had never enjoyed the opportunity of

  that particular interaction. “My marriage with your mother has never been boring. We did not need children to make it better– for a long time we thought it wouldn’t even be possible, and we were content to accept it. I never felt with her that anything was missing.”

  “So why did you have us at all?”

  “I knew, or at least, I thought that I would not live forever. I worried what would

  happen to her after I was gone. I wanted to leave her with an army of children to watch over her – something of me that would not die. It was not so much about heirs for Calidell or any of that – we could have nominated someone to be next in line if we had needed to. And we wanted you because we thought we would all be content and that you would have a good life. And the reality of family is just that – there is much happiness to be

  gained from it, but it does not come easily, or without a price. I’ve learned that much. Perhaps you’re right - perhaps that part of it is selfish. We wanted children because it would make us happy, and we protected you because your safety put us at ease. Love is a selfish thing, I think.”

  “You are happy to admit that, and you still continue to be with my mother?”

  Morghiad unfolded his arms and inhaled a deep breath ofthe

  hot, humid air that hung about them. It was very nearly warm enough to thaw his bones. “I don’t have a choice. It takes over everything. The Daisain told your mother that she was selfish for marrying me, and that the family we’d created interfered with her duties. He believed she was born for higher things than pleasing herself. But he did not see everything. She has proved she can do both.”

  “Has she?”

  “Of course.” Artemi would not be in The Crux forever. She would return, and he would be there to help her fix the problems ofthe world when she did.

  Kalad did not look convinced, which was really very unfair of him. “To answer your question: no children for me. It would be selfish of me to give them life, and then expect them to cope with all the horrors they would inherit from me.”

  A memory came to

  Morghiad then, of Kalad’s birth and the fearful time it had been for everyone. Artemi had been barely conscious at the moment she had delivered him, which was probably a good thing. It had been no easy task for Morghiad to snap the collarbone of his own son just to free the child’s shoulders. Not easy at all, and not something he would ever mention to anyone, ever. “You could take in an orphan. Your mother and I considered that-”

  “Not for me.” Kalad forced a thin smile.

  “I understand.”

  His son looked at him as if he was not convinced that Morghiad understood, but he did. There were many more ways to find joy in life than children. Morghiad hoped that his son would find at least one of those ways before it was too late.

  After his somewhat clumsy attempt to converse with his son, Morghiad challenged him to a

  game, and they played for an hour or two. Of course, Morghiad proved himself to bejust as blundering at cards, and lost each round spectacularly. He never had liked gambling.

  When he returned to his bunk in the evening, his thoughts rapidly focussed on the empty bed before him and the woman whose naked body should have filled it. He still could not detect any sign of her stream amidst the many thousands, and that

  concerned him deeply. She had been gone for three months now. During their marriage in this life, they had only been separated for a matter of days at a time, and in the life before, it had been a fortnight. In Morghiad’s first life, they had parted during the Kemeni Rebellion, and that had been three protracted weeks of painful longing for them both. But three months... three months was an eternity.
/>   The monsters stirred in the

  darkest reaches of his mind, kicking and stretchingjust as Tallyn had when he had been inside his mother. Morghiad had managed to control them for the most part, though he feared just how much longer he would be able to do that for. If he was tested as the Sokirin man had tested him...

  Seek the light.

  The light is cruel. It burns us just as it will burn everything.

  Morghiad shifted his

  thoughts to those of happier days, and drifted off with an image of his wife in his mind, her face smiling and her hair burning brightly in the Sunidaran sun.

  The next morning, he ventured to the hold to feed Tyshar and provide the horse with some company. Kalad was already there, having tended to his own animal, and was giving Tyshar a good nose rub.

  “How old is this thing, anyway?” he asked.

  “Shouldn’t speak of him like that. He gets rather sensitive,” Morghiad replied.

  Tyshar swept his great head away from Kalad’s touch and whickered as if to prove the point.

  “Well, he’ll be getting on for one hundred and twenty, I should think.” Morghiad opened Tyshar’s box and led the horse out so that he could begin clearing the old wood shavings. Given the calm oceans, Tyshar had been

  permitted to wander more than usual in the confined space, and had left more than his fair share of mess. “Still as strong as he was when I was just a boy – the first time around. He’ll be riding to war for centuries to come. You know, I have been thinking about what you said last night – about love and selfishness... and why you’re here. Kal, you were born from two parents who loved each other, and we treasured you surely that is better than being

  conceived for politics?” He paused in his stable-cleaning activities to measure his son’s reaction.

  “Politics might have meant my parents were less selfish.” Kalad grinned then, and began chuckling softly to himself.

  Morghiad’s return smile was weak.

  “Ah, I don’t know. Perhaps it was hard for me – the way it was, mother never stopped talking of you when I was little. I

  sometimes thought she would have given me up to have you back.”

  “She would never have done that.”

  “No? Hmm.” Kalad’s eyes dropped to the floor, but instead of saying more, he fetched a second fork to help Morghiad with the mucking out.

  “It was difficult for her,” Morghiad said. “She is practiced at fighting, yes, and managing countries. But raising a boy

  without his father there and ruling at the same time – well, no one would find that easy, or even get it all right. Not even Artemi Fireblade.”

  “When you have heroes for parents, everyone tells you how perfect they are all of the time.”

  “-and it’s not the reality,” Morghiad finished with a small smile. “Well, next time I see her, I shall reprimand your mother for speaking so well of me. How is that?”

  Kalad grinned back, and soon they were walking Tyshar about the small deck in order to give him some semblance of exercise.

  “You do know we’re not likely to go into battle while we’re on a boat in the middle ofthe ocean,” his son said, looking to the swords he wore at his back.

  Morghiad chuckled at that. Perhaps it did look ridiculous when they were so far from port and the seas so calm and empty.

  “The white blade was a gift from your sister and mother. It stays with me.” And in his experience, ships had a tendency to go down rapidly, leaving little time for rescuing things from cabins. As they walked, the ship began to rock regularly again, and he could sense that they were moving. They were free of the doldrums, and the breeze had returned. It was strange, Morghiad thought, that he had been able to sense when the winds would come.

  What was he, some sort of Silar, or had Artemi left him with this new power?

  He pulled his coat together to button it up the front, but paused when he noticed his son frowning at him.

  “It has to be one ofthe hottest days in one of the hottest parts ofthe world. Don’t you even sweat like a normal man?”

  “I experimented with Blaze too much in my youth. It’s left me cold.”

  “A form that means you never feel the heat? You can show me that when we next find a wielder.”

  Morghiad shook his head and all humour evaporated from his voice. “Definitely not. It’s no form, and the effects... I’m not sure I like the effects. I mean it, Kal. It was... wrong. Perhaps there are other things I can teach you.”

  But Kalad’s features had already been drawn into a look of disappointment.

  “There must be other forms-”

  “I remember what you did in the courtyard when I first met you. It’s that sort of destruction, isn’t it? Don’t worry. I’ve already tried it. I can’t do it.”

  Morghiad’s innards twitched. Kalad could have killed himself trying that! Don’t get angry about it. Morghiad managed not to get angry, though his dark creatures marched the edges of the shadows of his mind

  with heavy, clawed feet. “Try not to put yourself in such danger. Please. Your mother would never forgive me.”

  But Kalad’s expression twisted into one of further discomfort. “I need to return to my cabin.” He immediately departed the deck, and Morghiad came to realise what the problem was. He put Tyshar back in his box, secured the canvas sling underneath the animal and went to find Kalad.

  His son was already curled up in his bunk and had his head buried beneath a pile of pillows. “Leave me to suffer alone,” he said.

  “It is as you said to me many years ago: a good father does not desert his children. I’ll sit with you for a while.” Morghiad took his seat on a small, wobbly stool and picked up a book that had been lying on the floor nearby. It was bound in green fabric and was marked by

  the residues of sea water, but was otherwise legible. Pirates of the Maelstrom.

  While he read, Kalad shifted round to face him and murmured, “You think I deserve this.”

  “I think you’re old enough to know about the consequences of what you do, but no father wants to see his child in pain.” He turned over the first few pages, which seemed to describe the stormy nature ofthe Golden Seas. He did not need to read

  about rough conditions to know how they felt, and skipped ahead through the book. “Why do you do it?”

  Kalad shrugged and glanced downward. “This thing gives them pleasure.”

  Morghiad very nearly chuckled back. It wasn’t as if Artemi had ever complained about that particular aspect of her husband. He tried to scrub his mind clean of his thoughts of intimacy with her. That road only

  ever led to disappointment and longing. And besides, this was serious business that called for focus. “You would be giving them more pleasure if you stayed with them and let them enjoy... it for longer.”

  “You’ve never lain with anyone else, have you? Just mother.”

  Morghiad marked the page he had open with his finger and reached over to the lamp to open its air inlet. “There was Mirel, but I was not given much choice in that.”

  “No choice? How could a woman –I mean, it’s not the same as... ah...” He let the sentence hang without finishing it.

  “She tortured me, and then she presented me with something I found attractive. And she knew forms that could...” He decided not to finish that particular sentence. Kalad would understand. “When it came to it, I just wanted the pain to end. But you’re right. I felt like the weakest of men afterward – like a nothing, and when you feel as if you’re worthless, you start to treat other people as ifthey’re worthless too.”

  “So with you it was just mother, but she... ah, she always liked Silar. You must have felt that through your link to her.”

  Morghiad nodded slowly. “He’s a good-looking man.”

  “But you were never even

  attracted to other women?”

  “Your mother always owned my heart.”

  “That’s just... strange.”

&nb
sp; Morghiad chuckled. “It’s the truth. Perhaps you will understand it for yourself one day.” His eyebrows knotted as he sniffed at the air. “Blazes, was that you? It smells like death itself.” Fires of fires, how could a product of his and Artemi’s love bring forth the very airs of an underworld?

  Kalad smirked. “It was Danner.”

  The wolf looked at them both at the mention of his name, and the two ofthem began giggling like children.

  “Do your women put up with you doing that?” Morghiad said when his chuckles had subsided.

  “It’s the nalka. I’m a gentleman in every other situation.”

  Morghiad uttered a grunt of disbelief, and opened the book to read again. There had been three rogue ships in this area many years ago, and they had been led by a woman: a wielder with dark hair and bright blue eyes. A wielder who could not be sensed by kanaala. No... Mirel?