Sword of Fire

by J. A. Culican

  "Okay... but will you just answer my question, at least? The last thing I remember, I had just realized I was hurt. It looked bad." She reached her hand out to move the sheet covering her so she could look at the wound, but something stopped her. Restraints?

  Jaekob smiled wanly as she pulled against glyph-charmed leather straps. He looked angelic, like he should be shining. Chiseled features, high cheekbones above a firm, angular jaw... She blinked as she realized she was staring.

  He said, "Sorry about having to bind you, but our security chief insisted, at least until we know more. Tell me, why were you there? And why at that exact time?"

  A chill ran down her spine. "But, I saved him,” she blurted. “How could you think I had something to do with the attack?"

  Jaekob let out a deep breath. "I don't think that. But then again, I could be wrong. You wouldn't be the first person to try to take Mikah out. Nor to try killing me, for that matter. If you were a part of it, well, it almost worked."

  Despite her precarious position, her irritation rose. She didn't have much, but she had her integrity and she wasn't going to let them take that from her so easily. "Like I said, I tried to save him. Does that sound like I was working with whoever attacked him?"

  "Nope. That's why you're here instead of doing what the security chief wanted. Trust me, dying would have been better than the questioning he'd have put you through."

  Bells shifted on the bed, trying to alleviate the pain a bit, and a fiery bolt of agony shot through her, making her groan out loud. Through clenched teeth, she asked, "Am I dying?"

  His winsome grin reappeared. "Hardly. What would people whisper about us if we let the First Councilor's rescuer die when we had the chance to save her? No, you're healing fast. One of our most trusted elven healers laid hands on you, and his spell is working on your wound even now." His smile faded as he added, "It'll take time, though."

  "Thank you. I'm just a fae. Such a service must have cost dearly." She watched intently for his reaction.

  Jaekob's expression gave nothing away, however, and he waved her off with one hand. "You don't have to worry about the cost," he said, and his mouth twitched upward at her relieved expression. "But I do need to ask why you're here, and why you showed up when you did. Be honest—Bells, right?—because I'll know if you lie to me."

  She pursed her lips but quickly forced her expression back to neutral. The last thing she needed was to offend the second most important person this side of the Veil, not after he said he believed her. "I came to see you, of course, but you figured that out, I'm sure. My cousin gave me your address and told me to be here right at a quarter to seven. He said that was the only time I could see you."

  Jaekob's eyes narrowed.

  She cocked her head, confused. "My cousin is a kind, generous man. I'm sure he's not involved."

  His reply came almost instantly. "You're a fae from a village miles from here, and Hawking has been here since the Pures took this city, since before the Dragons' Rising."

  How did he know her cousin's name? They must have checked her out somehow and found him that way. Family trees were kept by the elves, and they did a thorough job of it for less than charitable reasons. But that meant she'd been unconscious longer than she thought. "We have the same grandfather, but not the same grandmother. I had never met him, but blood is blood. We help our own; it's the fae way. He gave me a good deal on the metal I need to save my family, and found out your address for me—"

  "Wait." He leaned forward, and she could practically smell the suspicion emanating from him. "Your family is in danger and he helped you, in exchange for coming here at one exact time. I'm sorry, but that doesn't paint you out to be an innocent bystander. It sounds like his fee wasn't in trade goods, but in a favor."

  Bells felt her face twist, reflecting the indignation she felt. "Blood helps blood, and that's why he helped me. He didn't say I had to come, either. That was my idea, and half the reason I came to this city at all."

  "Okay, okay," Jaekob said, holding up both hands toward her. "Relax. I see in your eyes you aren't lying, and I trust my instincts. But you have to admit, it looks suspicious. And I'm sorry about your cousin."

  "Why sorry?" A knot formed in her stomach. Please don't let it mean what I think it means.

  "He was taken in by dragon security forces for questioning. The sort of questioning I'm glad you were spared. And before you ask, there's nothing I can do for him, nor would I even if I could. You don't know him at all, and there's—well, there's more going on in this city than you know."

  She nodded, fighting back tears. She'd brought that on her cousin, to her shame.

  Jaekob said, "Now, please. I've asked several times, and I want a straight answer this time. Why are you here to see me?"

  Sort of like she'd asked him three times before getting a straight answer. She frowned. Still blinking back tears, she said, "There’s... There is a troll who says my father owes him a mace. I didn’t know about those work orders. The troll will be back in a few days, and if we don't have his mace ready for him to take to the Inscribers, it will be the death of my family. And of me."

  "I see," he said, and he wrinkled his nose like he could smell a troll at that moment.

  She felt her anger rising as she spoke, a dam cracking under the pressure from everything that she'd seen and done the last few days and years of virtual enslavement. It made her reckless. "I remember you when you first Rose, only ten years ago—a blink, even for fae—and you were howling for blood and justice. But you haven't done anything since then, not that I can see. My village is still half-starved, and the elves and other Pures still use us almost like slaves. Where is my justice?"

  She knew it was foolish to speak to any Pure that way, much less the dragon heir himself, but she couldn't stop the words from coming.

  Jaekob didn't seem offended, though. He sat quietly and listened until she was done. Then, he reached his hand out and put it on hers. "I sympathize, but I'm not the one to help you. It's wrong, what is happening to your family, but—"

  "But what?" Bells cut him off, her voice steely. "You can't just sit by while the Pures rule this world into dust like the humans did. How is this any better? The elves tore the Veil to come save the Earth, but—"

  "Stop," Jaekob said, and though he hadn't raised his voice, something about his tone froze her in fear. He clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath through his nose. "My father is trying to create a new peace. He wants to end the war against humans and the war between the White King and the Black Court. He thinks we can be better than humans and live in peace."

  "You don't think so." Bells said it as a statement rather than a question. It was obvious how he felt about it.

  "The world doesn't deserve peace. The Pures die in droves fighting each other, humans are near extinction, and you fae are slaves. That's the world the Pure Council created."

  "It's not the world we deserve, Jaekob. The fae don't have a choice in all this. We're victims, and you can stop it."

  "Maybe, maybe not. But I'm not going to try. You say the fae have no choice, but that's not true. You could refuse. If you all refused to work, what could the other Pures do about it? Kill you all? Hardly."

  "You think we should all just commit suicide? You're wrong about what they'd do to us. All we want is to be left alone with our plants and forests. Thanks to the weres, we can't even commune with the forests anymore, not this time around."

  "Yes. Dying for your cause is a choice you could make, but you don't. This world and everyone in it... I think this world is getting exactly what it created. None of it deserves the peace my father is trying to create. It deserves what it's getting."

  "Even my family? Is that what you're saying? We deserve to be some troll's dinner over a lie he told?"

  Jaekob's steady gaze and iron silence answered her question well enough.

  She asked, "So why did you all Rise if dragons aren't going to do anything for anyone but yourselves?"

  She hope
d her tone made it clear she was questioning him as a person, too. All the dragons. She’d likely be flamed for questioning him. It would be a faster, less painful death than what the troll would deliver, at least.

  Jaekob shrugged instead of flaming her, though, and said, "The war made my kind Rise. It's always war when we awaken early. This war, however, exists because the Council is divided. The last time we awoke was a blink of an eye ago, maybe fifty or sixty years, when the human world was divided and killing itself yet again."

  "And you did something about it. Unlike now."

  "We helped the side of right to win that war against the Germans—again—but what did humans do with the opportunity they were given? They declared war on the Earth herself. They fought a hundred smaller wars instead of one big one. They mastered propaganda and the few dominated the many by turning everyone against each other. And frankly, that's no different than what the Pures are doing. I'll have no part of it. The world can tear itself apart just fine without my help."

  Bells sat dumbfounded. "Wait... Dragons Rise to fight for justice, and you were awoken this time by an unjust war, like every time. But because the oppressors are Pures, now you think the victims earned it? There's a word for that sort of attitude."

  "Logical?"

  "Hypocritical."

  Jaekob's eyes narrowed and Bells thought she saw a wisp of smoke rise from his nostrils. Oh Creation, she'd finally pushed her luck too far with this Pure. She braced herself but met his gaze.

  He didn't move his hand from hers, however, and the expression passed quickly. He looked away as he said, "You're free to stay here until you're healed. But you do not belong here, and as soon as you're able, I'm driving you back to your village. Your fate there is your problem, little fae. And I just hope that my father figures out his peace crusade is pointless. Then we can go back to slumber for another century or two."

  She opened her mouth to reply but he stood abruptly and walked out, leaving her to dwell on too many things. Like, why wouldn't he just fly her home? Or was carrying a fae beneath his pride? If so, why drive her back at all? The many questions swirling together were overwhelming, and her wounds had her weak and tired. Mind spinning pointlessly in a dozen directions, she fell into a restless sleep.

  Two days later, Bells felt healed enough to get out of bed for more than a minute or two. It had been a long, tedious two days, although being served by dragons was a story she'd be telling her grandkids... Oh wait, she was going to be devoured by a troll long before then. She pushed that thought aside, though. She wasn't dead yet, and it wasn't wrong to enjoy the irony of being served by the purest of the Pures.

  She swung her feet off the bed and stretched to one side, feeling the freshly-knit wound on her side as it pulled against her movement. It was incredible what power the elf healer had used to save her life. Even if she had survived on her own, without that magic her recovery would have taken months and she'd probably have been disabled for the rest of her life. When the healer had come in only an hour earlier to remove his healing spell and the charcoal-written glyph on her waist, he had said she would fully heal in just a few more days. Muscle and skin knitting together would be the last of her recovery. Her insides were already healed up nicely.

  She looked down at the sheepskin slippers on the floor awaiting her feet and smiled at the thought of Mikah's kindness. Being given a get-well gift by the most powerful man in this or any other world was quite a story to tell when she got home.

  Unfortunately, Mikah had only come in the one time, and she suspected that was only because she'd saved him from being injured or killed by assassins. He gave her about five minutes of his time, but judging by the dark circles under his eyes and his sunken cheeks, those five minutes were probably dearly bought. He had seemed kind, however. Kind, but hard. All dragons were—they were warriors to their core, protectors by nature.

  Well, today she was going home. She let out a sigh. Her father would only have three days to forge the mace, which probably wasn't enough time. Not to craft with the fae quality the troll would demand. And the whole family would probably go without sleep all three days, taking up Father's responsibilities around the farm in the hopes he would complete it in time to save them all. Three exhausting days, at the end of which she and her family were probably dead.

  At least she'd had these two days in the dragons' mansion. It was an experience enjoyed by no other fae she’d ever heard of. All told, she decided, hers had been a life of adventure by anyone's standards, especially the fae. A life well lived.

  Slippers on her feet, she pulled on a plush cotton robe they let her use and limped to the door, her side aching like dull fire with every step. She hoped that would heal better by the time she had to pick up some of her father's chores and resume her own.

  She made her way to the kitchen. Her room was quite near there, probably meant for the cooking servants. No doubt the room's usual occupant had no problem being forced to stay in another of the mansion's better rooms during her stay.

  She turned the corner and saw their kitchen for the first time. It was larger than her family's hut and full of the humans' cooking gizmos. The kitchen could have served an entire tavern, she decided. Or one of the human restaurants, even.

  An almost elderly-looking man wearing all white pants and some sort of white coat stood at one counter, hand-mixing something in a big metal bowl. "Good morning, sir."

  He looked over and smiled wanly. "Good morning, miss. Would you like me to make you something to eat? You look like you could use it."

  Bells grinned. She was hungry, but in truth, she just couldn't get over being spoken to kindly by Pures. "Please, I'd love something. Whatever is convenient, though—please don't go out of your way for the likes of me."

  He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. "The likes of you? Young lady, all I see is a lovely young woman with the courage to save a dragon's life."

  "You know who I am?" she asked, surprised and blinking.

  "Of course. You don't really think there are any secrets when the household staff knows about it, do you? We gossip worse than elves when we're by ourselves. Just call me Chef." His face lit into a grin, his eyes twinkling.

  Bells couldn't help but grin back. "I'm not used to being a center of attention, Chef."

  "I'm sure you aren't," he said, his smile fading. "But you can't imagine the chaos that would come if they'd killed Mikah. The shadow war would have turned into a real one and the streets would run with blood. If an old man could give you some advice?"

  She nodded, curious about this "shadow war" he'd mentioned.

  "The lowly are just as noble as the high-born. Often, more so. What you did took courage and no one can take that away from you, whatever your station in life."

  She didn't know how to respond. Getting such praise from a dragon—a dragon!—was intimidating. She looked away and grabbed her elbows. "Thanks."

  Chef chuckled and started moving around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients from the massive refrigerator and some cabinets. "How do strawberries-and-cream waffles sound? No, no, it's not a bother,” he said when she started to object. “You've earned a nice meal before you're kicked back out into the real world."

  She climbed up onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island's far side and rested her elbows on the countertop. "Do you like working here?" she asked, mostly because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

  "I do indeed," Chef replied as he cracked eggs into a bowl then grabbed a bag of flour. "Mikah is one of the best people I've had the privilege of serving. His vision would make the world a great place for all if only people weren't so short-sighted and greedy. Pures and humans alike, in this old man's opinion."

  That was practically heresy. Her jaw dropped.

  He continued, "Let them punish me. I'm old. I've watched human empires rise and fall, young lady, and I've seen whole new continents discovered and then exploited. In all those years, I haven't noticed much difference between the Pures and the
human animals. But they're just animals, following their instincts. We Pures are supposed to be elevated, with higher, nobler minds. I don't see much evidence for that belief, though."

  Okay, that really was heresy. She glanced around nervously but saw no one else nearby. She recalled what Jaekob had said about humans—they were Pures, too, who had simply lost their connection to the Great Creation. "If Pures are no different than humans, then why do we have our powers and they don't?"

  Chef clicked the stove on and set a frying pan on the burner. "Assuming they ever were Pures—and that's just an old fairy tale as far as I know—I couldn't tell you why they became un-Pure. I wouldn't be surprised if we all do eventually. Perhaps it's just because their generations pass by in the blink of an eye, so their sins compounded faster. Who knows?"

  They sat in a comfortable silence for a while as he finished cooking her pancakes, and when he set them in front of her, beautifully plated, her stomach growled loud enough for Chef to hear it and chuckle. While she ate, he went about cleaning up and working some more on whatever he'd been doing when she came in. It looked like some sort of pastry with bacon, little bite-sized morsels. She wouldn't have minded being here when those were finished.

  She ate all but a few bites of the massive pancake pile he'd given her, slid the plate away, and grinned. "Thank you so very much. When I die, I'm going to think back on this meal as my happy place."

  "Well, I doubt you'll remember it in five hundred years, but thanks."

  "No," she replied, smiling wistfully at him. "More like three days. But truly, thank you for the fantastic food and for treating me so well. I'm not used to that from the other Pures."

  "Three days? I'm so sorry. That seems a terrible fate for the one who saved the First Councilor's life. May I ask how you are to die?" he asked as casually as one might ask what was for dinner.

  "A troll says my family owes him a war mace but I never got that command. I came to the city for metal so we might try to make it in time. He's going to eat my family if we fail, but he probably will anyway. You know trolls."