Voices of Blaze (Volume 5 of The Fireblade Array)

by H. O. Charles

  was her name again? Midora? Mindeya? And the boy? Artemi shook her head. Their names didn’t matter anymore, just that she had to get back to them. The door at the top of the stairs opened onto the coneshaped roof of her home, and from there she could imbibe the sights and smells of her city. It had once been Ravendasor’s house, of course, but he was long gone. Everyone died eventually. Artemi knew the memories

  of her old life were failing her, but the ones she had forged in this world had remained fresh these last thousand years. She still recalled the first time she had bedded Rav, and the guilt she had felt after it had happened. But he had been good to her, and his wings had been the shelter from the world that she had needed. As good a mraki as any woman could have hoped for.

  She collapsed onto her back and gazed up at the fog that

  swirled in the heights ofthe cavern. She should have grown some babies up there with Rav. He had wanted that much, and the injra he had found had been a sweet thing – more than capable of the task, but Artemi had told him no. She could not even remember why now.

  “Ho!” There was the sound of air moving beneath great wings, and of claws landing upon the stone rooftop. “Commander,” Jakdor said.

  “What is it?”

  “I challenge you. Your rule is piss on my feet. You are despised worse than pintrata shit, and the city starve because you make them eat nothing but rotten meat.”

  “Fine. As you will.” Artemi clambered to her feet. She could not help being stronger, better and undefeatable. It was their own fault for having such a stupid system. Artemi took a deep breath and readied herself for the punches, but instead Jakdor withdrew a long, shiny blade. It was a... what was the name for it? A sard?

  He threw it at her to catch, and withdrew one for himself. As Artemi turned it over in her hand, she realised she could not remember what to do with it. “I don’t underst- how am I to...?” She looked from the blade to the winged creature. “Who are you?”

  “I am who you need me to be,” he said, and Artemi began to

  weep.

  She awoke, shaking and cold and with her heart thumping hard against her ribs. Blazes! How much ofthat had been real? Her eyes immediately locked onto the possessions that lay piled up in the corner. There weren’t very many ofthem, and she could recall where each had been acquired. Only here afew months at most.

  Artemi’s shoulders relaxed. Her family would still be alive,

  and with any luck, Morghiad would not have forgotten her yet. She pulled the blankets more tightly across her mottled limbs and settled her head back into the hollow of the hammock so that she could rock herself to sleep. She had to return to the Darkworld somehow, but how? Not even taqqa had provided her with an answer, which reminded her, she was hungry for it again. She would have to make another visit to Rav.

  Her need was greater even than the comfort of her bed, and so she slid out of it to dress herself. Blazes, a thousand years in that dream! Even if she found a way back to The Crux and the Darkworld beyond, she could not expect the Law-keepers to allow her to pass unhindered. Worse still, their brief battle had revealed just how weak her powers were in comparison to theirs. It ought not to have been that way, not since she had

  combined Brindon’s energy with her own. How had he managed to put the three crones into manacles and kill the others? Blazes, it could be another ten-thousand years before she was permitted to return to the Darkworld! Would Morghiad remember her after all that time? Kalad and Medea would be longdead by then, forgotten even by the oldest of histories. Artemi scrubbed the thought from her mind immediately, though the

  memory of it still twisted in her gut like a poison dagger.

  As she tied her tabard across her chest, she felt it catch upon something on her elbow. Artemi lifted it to examine in the mirror, and saw a bony protrusion poking out of it. A thin flap of skin extended from it, all the way back to her chest. When she lifted it higher, she saw that the light from the windows shone through it. “Follocks!” Why now?! Wings meant maturity, and

  maturity meant fighting. Stupid, constant fighting!

  She would have to hide it. Artemi shrugged into the only sleeved jacket she owned, grimacing at the discomfort it brought her, and tied it up tightly at the front. Kid-coats, the mraki called these, since anything with wings could not wear them. Once ready, she spied a half-eaten pintrata bone on a plate on the floor. She was hungry, she thought, and picked it up to take

  a couple of bites. Nothing was able to sate her belly-hunger after taking taqqa as pintrata meat could. Nothing.

  With her stomach no longer gurgling, she hopped out of her chamber and jogged directly to Ravendasor’s house.

  “I need more,” she said when she reached his room.

  Rav peered at her through crumpled eyelids. “It’s early, Emmi. Really, very early.”

  “I need it.” She grabbed

  him by the collar and pushed him back into his room. If aggression was the only thing he understood, then aggression was what he would have. “Now.” She shoved him hard to emphasise her point, and he staggered back into his room. His eyes were open and glittering suddenly. “Emmi...” he said with a broad smile on his stained lips.

  But she rushed at him again before he had time to react, and succeeded in wrestling him to the floor. Rav regarded her in a manner that was unmistakable – a manner that reminded Artemi that she had been in much the same position with Morghiad in recent years. Blazes! That dream.

  She clambered off him rapidly and retreated to a corner.

  “Why did you stop?” Rav asked.

  “I... I just came for the taqqa.” And for the light and fire she missed so deeply.

  He shuffled toward her on

  his bonyjoints. “You are growing tough as the mountains above us, and hard as the stones below.” His unwebbed fingers traced the outline of her face. “Do not withdraw from me, strong one.”

  “I’m married.”

  Ravendasor appeared thoughtful for a moment, and then shook his head. “I see no husband to guard you.”

  “I do not need guarding!”

  A grin spread across his gnarled features. “No, no, you do

  not. I’ll get your taqqa for you, strong one.” He departed with graceful movements, and Artemi was left to consider her situation. She would never betray her Morghiad as the Artemi in her dream had done. This twisted creature was not worth her husband’s hurt, and she did not desire any sort of intimacy with such a beast besides. She had not lost herjudgement yet!

  “Are you ready?” he asked, carrying a new, highly polished

  box under his wing.

  “Of course.” Artemi rolled up her sleeve and lay back against the chill stone in preparation.

  There was a moment where no conversation passed between them as Ravendasor fiddled about with the apparatus. Eventually he lifted the cuff to wrap about her arm, but hesitated. “Is that-”

  Blazes!

  He looked intently at the protrusion on her elbow, and the

  thin membrane of skin that now extended from it. “You’re ready,” he said quietly.

  “No!”

  “If anyone had seen that challenge on me, Emmi...”

  “Well, no one did!” Artemi hissed.

  He exhaled through his nose as he tightened the cuff. “You should try for leadership. You could command this place.”

  No. She was not going to end up like that shadow ofa woman in

  her dream! “I can’t even fly with this!”

  Rav shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Learkin will beat me one day. I’d rather it was you.”

  “Then you are a fool.”

  He turned to look at her from the sides of his dark, pit-like eyes. “No more today after this, yes?”

  Artemi nodded, and willed him to press down on the lever as

  soon as possible. He did, and the

  temperature of the room plummeted. The light ofthe candles turned to blackness, and the dampness ofthe air frosted aro
und her nostrils. Oh, blazed light! Was this a bad batch? Or poison? Perhaps Rav had wanted to do away with her!

  She braced herself for pain and for death, but neither came. Instead, she could hear breathing close by.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s just me, Tem,”

  Artemi sought out the source ofthe voice. It had come from behind her, and it had sounded so familiar - like an old, beloved friend.

  “Ah! Bloody, follocking snow and its blazed melting... arse!” hissed the voice.

  “Silar?”

  “It’s all down the back of my breech-” He paused. “What?”

  Artemi sighed with relief. This was not a bad dose of taqqa, but another walk through a

  moment lost to time. She tried to place it in her memories... snow... darkness... Silar...

  Kemen!

  “We’re in the Kemeni mountains.”

  “Yeeess, Artemi.” His hand landed on her arm. “Keep it together. We’ll find him out here somewhere. I’ve seen it.”

  That was right; they were stuck on the western end of the mountains, searching for Morghiad and the rest ofthe

  army after that damnable ice floe had broken apart and separated them. She had been away from him for three full weeks, and blazes, did she miss his company! He was still there though: a winding river of emotion and desire that coursed through her mind - a river that flowed more forcefully the closer she drew to him.

  “He’s this way,” Artemi said, following the stream.

  “Tem, wait.” Silar’s grip

  tightened. “You do realise this is the last opportunity you will have to kiss me whilst we’re out here. No second chances.”

  She rolled her eyes in the darkness. There was no moon to light the snow on this night, and the clouds were so thick that even the stars were blinded. “No kisses. You must be able to see that they won’t happen, and you know Morghiad would be able to feel it through me. He’d have you buried upside-down in a block of

  ice before you knew it. And both your feet would be cut off.”

  “That is a Sunidaran punishment.”

  “He’s half-Sunidaran. Maybe he’d just take one of your feet.”

  “Suit yourself,” Silar said. “But I foresaw you agreeing to kiss me, so you might as well agree now and get it over with.”

  “No, you didn’t foresee anything.”

  “You used to be fun.”

  Artemi laughed aloud as

  she began battling through the drifts. There were three more men behind them, men who had also been separated from the rest ofthe army by the ice floe on that vast river. She would have been dead if it had not been for their bravery. Two had watched their arms turn black with frostbite as they sought to fish her out ofthe glacier melt on that day, and Artemi knew too well that any good soldier would have preferred to die for his queen

  than endure that torture.

  The third man had once been a Kemeni antiroyalist, but he had experienced a change of heart when he decided to release them all from prison. Artemi had to admit, if grudgingly, that she owed him her life too. He may have been persuaded to release them by Silar’s words, but she had been too badly injured by the cold to have survived another day in there, or indeed to have released them all herself.

  Artemi pelted up the mountainside as fast as she could, given the stickiness ofthe snow and the cumbersome nature of her boots, but soon she saw the warm glow of the camp hovering above them. Silar let go at that moment, and Artemi raced ahead with all her strength. She could feel Morghiad striding out of his tent to come and meet her. His walk was barely contained and his teeth clamped together; his calves burned and

  his thighs ached to break into a sprint toward her, but he could not afford to do so in front of a camp full of soldiers. If he had, Artemi knew, he would be followed by a dozen agitated guards and then everyone would be stirred into unnecessary frenzy.

  A king could not run here and there like a little boy when he led so many hearts.

  Artemi, however, had the freedom to tear about however

  she damn well pleased. She launched herself past the wide eyes ofthe perimeter guards, hopped over guy-ropes and dodged slumbering mercenaries. She was panting hard at the exertion, but hardly noticed it. All she could think of was her goal, her husband. And then she saw him, tall and fine and as strong as the spirewood of Sokiri, standing in the snow as if he commanded the skies above and the rock beneath. Artemi threw herself

  against him and inhaled every smell of leather and fur and soap that came from him. She clung to him as fiercely as her hands, feeble from the cold, would permit; and they kissed.

  How she had missed that fire! That perfect, pure heat!

  Morghiad’s arms tightened around her until she felt as if she could barely breathe, and he lifted her feet from the ground. It provided an excellent opportunity for her to wrap her

  legs about his waist, and burn anyone who thought it unqueenly of her!

  “Go in your blazed tent for that!” a soldier shouted from some distance away, and Artemi finally ceased her kisses. A grin was still plastered across her face.

  “I’ve missed you,” Morghiad said.

  “I’ve missed you,” Artemi replied. Tears were running down her cheeks now, mixing with the melted snowflakes that had

  settled and expired there. “Are the children here?”

  Her husband nodded. “Asleep. Come with me.” He glanced down at the point where their bodies met. “I would like to carry you all the way like this, but I fear it would be inappropriate.”

  Artemi was feeling playful enough to be entirely inappropriate everywhere, but decided to uphold her husband’s appearance of dignity this once. She slid from his hips onto the

  hard-packed snow, and soon he was leading her through the camp to its centre. Already the canvases and banners had become dirtied by the rigours of travel and weather, a sure sign that they had marched hard to battle and back. “How’s the revolution going for Valizia?” Artemi asked, though she knew the answer.

  “Battle’s won. Kemen has its queen, and now I have mine.”

  Artemi squeezed his hand.

  “She will be a useful friend in the years to come.”

  “I hope so.” Morghiad stopped at a small, unremarkable tent and ushered Artemi inside it. The first thing immediately visible was a huge mound of furs and blankets, but it moved with the rhythm of breathing. Danner lay curled up alongside it, nose beneath tail. He opened his eyes only briefly to acknowledge their presence, before returning to his deep slumber. Beyond him lay

  two children, neither of whom could have been older than five.

  “They’re so small,” Artemi whispered.

  “They had to come with us, my heart. It is our way.”

  Many times she had wished it was not, but all Calidellian soldiers travelled to battle with their families in tow. Royal blood offered no cause for exception. The children looked so innocent as they lay there, even ifthey had seen far more ofthe world than

  many others their age. And Tallyn... Oh, fires... Artemi’s hand reached out to touch him, but Morghiad caught it before she could.

  “Don’t wake him,” he whispered, “This night is for us.” They regarded one another for a moment, and then stole back to a tent oftheir own. Morghiad lost no time in tearing the cloak and coat from her body, and hurriedly set about unbuckling the straps that tied her swords to her back.

  He cut through her bodice, kissed her softly on her neck and chest, hauled off his own shirt and –

  “Sire.” A guard stepped through the tent flaps. “Oh, ah... There are soldiers on the northern slopes...”

  No! It was not fair! Why wasn’t she permitted more time with him? Just a little bit more time! Just an hour or two!

  She leapt at the guard to force him out, to push him away, but as she did, the glow inside

  the tent began to fade. Morghiad’s fine body dwindled to a shadow in the darkness, and he was gone.

  Come ba
ck! Please!

  “You certainly had some fun with that one,” Rav said with his curling smile and narrow eyes.

  “Send me back, send me back! I need more.” Artemi reached forward to the box to press down on the lever again, but Rav blocked it.

  “No more today. You

  agreed, and you’re spending too much time in the passive dream state. We need to work on your active state. You must learn to project images on others, like this.”

  The chamber suddenly dipped to perfect, pitch black, and then became filled with grey sky. Rolling, ireful clouds smouldered in it as if stuffed full of hot coals, and below them swayed a lifeless sea of drab waves and half-hearted ripples.

  Nothing could have lived in that ocean of melancholy. Artemi tried to walk toward it, but her foot hit something. It was a rock, cut into a perfect cube. Artemi picked it up to examine. “Who made this?”

  “Good question,” Rav said as he drew up beside her. “In the normal world it would be a thing of nature, but here I am the Father of Storms and the Winds of Chance. So I suppose you could say that I made it in this instance.”