Chosen by Fire

by Harriet Locksley

  She didn’t answer but, despite her doubts, she’d already decided to try and she wasn’t going to change her mind. She held out her arm in the guard’s direction and focussed on the power of Fire within her, feeling herself grow stronger, knowing that he was getting weaker. It felt good. Greedily, she drew more strength from him, and more, until an image came to her mind of a leech sucking a creature’s blood. She clenched her hand into a fist to stop it shaking. No. Enough, she told herself, biting her lip.

  When they got to the gate, she peered out. Raghnall was slumped on the floor. She waited until she saw the movement of his chest. Asleep. Thank Heaven he’s just asleep. After she eased the gate open, they supported Aedan through it and up the steps. Keeping one hand on Donnan and one on her father, she let them slip lightly into the concealment of Air magic. The reserve of strength she’d taken began to deplete. Maintaining invisibility for three people proved more draining and required more concentration than she’d expected.

  At the cliff edge, she watched as Tam shifted from rat to human-like form and descended the first few steps. Aedan’s hand jerked agitatedly in hers.

  It’s alright, Pa.

  “What the—?”

  Shh. Tam’s a Baukan. He can change form like that.

  Your voice. It’s in my head. She felt shock swirling through the flurry of questions beneath this thought.

  We can share thoughts when we’re linked like this.

  Like Morwena’s magic, he thought. She called to me on the night she died.

  Pa, you’re going to need to climb down like Tam. There’s a rope you can hold.

  Aedan hesitated.

  Now, she urged.

  Aedan looked over the side of the cliff. I haven’t the strength.

  Aye, Kaetha told him, desperately, aye you do. Here, I can secure you to the rope with a kind of harness.

  We need to hurry, Kit, thought Donnan. They’ll be looking for us soon.

  You go now then, Donnan. Pa will follow once I’ve secured him to the rope.

  When Donnan let go of her hand and scrambled over the cliff edge, the hum of his thoughts swiftly faded from her mind.

  Seeing no one in pursuit of them yet, she allowed herself to let go of her Air magic. It was too much to focus on that and make a harness with the Earth stone. Holding the rope she worked on manipulating the fibres. A tendril of rope grew from it, twining and thickening. She was about to loop it around Aedan’s middle when she froze. She’d assumed that the soft hum of the Earth stone was only due to her using it for the harness. What if she’d missed a warning?

  There it was again and then came the crunch of footsteps behind them. She couldn’t move.

  “There. Just as I said.” The man’s voice sent a chill through Kaetha. It resounded with an almost careless languor. He had no need to shout, no need to deepen his voice; it effortlessly carried the iron weight of authority. “Seize them.”

  THIRTY FIVE

  Loyal Traitor

  Metal scraped. Three guards approached, one bearing a torch which glinted on their swords. Then a snarl ripped through the air as Tam the wolf bounded before them. Kaetha didn’t know how he’d climbed up to them again so fast. Donnan would be a long way down by now, expecting them to follow. At least he’ll be safe, whatever happens to us, she thought.

  Her father’s hand found hers.

  “Destroy the beast,” said the man in charge.

  “Tam, get away,” shouted Kaetha. “Now!” Tam lunged at a guard, teeth sinking into the man’s leg before he retreated, dodging the strike of his sword. She edged back as the guards drew closer to her and Aedan. Then Tam leapt to their defence again and all she could see was tumbling fur and swooping steel.

  “Careful, Your Grace,” called Raghnall who stumbled towards them, half-dragging himself along the ground. Staggering to his feet, he pointed a shaking hand at Kaetha. “She’s a witch.”

  Your Grace? she thought. This man is Svelrik?

  She’d expected to see shock in the king’s face but, instead, there was a twitch of a smile and, as the torchlight cast menacing shadows across his features, she detected a steely hunger in his eyes.

  “Pa.” She gripped his hand tighter. There was much she wanted to say but no words or time to say them with.

  “It’s alright,” he whispered. “I’m with you. Let them do what they will. You’re my daughter and I love you and nothing they do to us can touch that, you hear me? That’s all that matters now.”

  She nodded, understanding that they had no way out, that she had failed. At least I got to see him again, she thought, squeezing his hand tightly. She turned to face Svelrik, determined to stand strong as her father had done now for days. But then a sick feeling gripped her stomach. The stones. It was all very well facing the end bravely but how could she stop the stones from getting into the wrong hands?

  The flow of her thoughts was stopped by a yelp of pain. Tam limped, disappearing into the shadows.

  “Got his paw at least,” said one of the guards, “and stabbed his belly.”

  “What’s that there?” said another. The guard picked something up from the ground. “Look, Your Grace.” He held it up and, when Kaetha saw it, she felt sick. A finger. Blood trickled from it, streaking the guard’s hand.

  “No,” said the first guard in disbelief. “I sliced off the end of that beast’s paw.”

  “Bowels of hell! How’s it now a human finger?”

  “Not human,” Svelrik corrected. “We already have witnesses to that lass being a witch.” Raghnall looked sickeningly smug. “Now we see that she has a familiar, a demon fae that takes on the form of a wolf. Even without the gaol-breaking, no more proof would be needed against her.”

  Her arms were jerked back, rope scratching her wrists. She knew there was no point in struggling. If she attacked them with Fire, others would come with their swords, axes and arrows. Even if they managed to get down the cliff, they would lead their attackers to Donnan and all three of them could be killed. She jolted forward as the guard tugged her arm, marching her back down into the familiar, miserable depths beneath the keep.

  But what to do about the stones? she thought, wishing that Tam had taken them away rather than wasting time trying to defend them. It doesn’t matter what happens to me. Not really, she told herself. What matters is that Meraud doesn’t get her hands on the stones. The idea of her being in possession of all four made her tremble.

  She used the Earth stone to flatten the copper bands which held the elemental stones. The cold metal snaked higher up her arm, twisting so that the stones hid under her arm.

  “What is she doing?” demanded Svelrik from behind her.

  The guard who held her stopped, turning to Svelrik with a puzzled expression.

  “Nothing, Your Grace,” he said. “Not so far as I can see.”

  “Just watch her,” said Svelrik. “Take her to Darrow’s cell. Baird can have his old one. And you,” Kaetha thought he spoke to Raghnall now, who seemed to have regained some strength, “fetch Brocair, tell him I wish to speak with him in my audience chamber.”

  “Aye, Your Grace.”

  Svelrik disappeared down a passageway, followed by Raghnall.

  “Pa,” she called when they got back to his cell. She reached for him but the guards pulled them apart.

  “Be strong, Kit – as I know you are,” Aedan said as they threw him in and locked the door. They hadn’t seen the body of the dead guard but surely it wouldn’t be long before they discovered it.

  “Pa!” she croaked. No more words came. Now might be her last chance to speak to him but words simply faded from her mind.

  “Move,” said the guard. The point of his dagger pressed into her back. He and the other guard took her through further twistings and turnings of the tunnel. She didn’t see the cell until they shoved her into it, her arms and legs smacking against the hard, cold floor. They’d long since taken her knife but now, despite her struggling, they roughly pulled off her boots and st
ripped her of cloak and gown so that she was down to only her red kirtle and white smock. Chains clinked and then cold metal clenched around one of her ankles. The door slammed, a key clicked and they left her there, curled up and shivering against the unforgiving stone.

  She lay there, motionless for a long while until something soft brushed against her shoulder. A pair of eyes gleamed in the darkness.

  “Tam!” She sat up, a current of air brushing against her as Tam shifted form. He made a pained sound and she thought it odd that his transformation took longer than usual.

  “Damn,” said Tam, looking around the cell as he knelt beside her.

  She reached out for his wrist. “Your hand.”

  “Never mind that. I can’t bleed to death.” He pressed the bloody stump of his finger into his clothing. The guard must have exaggerated the stab to his belly for there was no sign of any other wound.

  “But it could get infected,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Now, what do we do?” he asked. She was surprised at his trembling as he grasped her arm. “How do we get you out?”

  His questioning unnerved her. For one moment, she’d expected him to have a plan or at least something definite to say. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I think— I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

  “But there’s a chance you could make it, don’t you think? You’ve got the stones after all.”

  “Aye. But their power feels more distant from me now.”

  “Damned iron bars and rails go all the way around this cell. That’ll make their magic harder to use,” said Tam, “but surely not impossible with the kind of power you have.”

  “But there’s a chance that Svelrik or the guards could get hold of the stones or, worse, Meraud could. You said you saw her here.” She could almost see Meraud’s cold, satisfied smile. “Then she’d have all four. I can’t risk that happening. You must take them and get yourself far away from here.” A light was bobbing towards her cell. It was too late. “Hide, Tam. Hide!” she whispered and, with what looked like a painful effort, he became a mouse and scurried into the shadows.

  “Who were you talking to?” The cold tone of the voice sounded familiar. The man who spoke placed a torch in a wall bracket opposite and the light cast bars of shadow over her.

  “No one,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “Myself.” Looking up into his face, she flinched. She knew those black eyes, that crooked nose and narrow jaw. This was the man who, along with his assistant, had tortured her father. He unlocked the cell and Svelrik emerged from the shadows and strode in. The king towered over her, fixing her with his icy stare. He had long wiry blond hair and beard, pale blue eyes set deep beneath a protruding brow, broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms, his mother’s Hildervalder heritage declaring itself so strongly through his form and features, that surely his nobles, servants and soldiers would be constantly reminded that he was the son of the king’s mistress, not a trueborn heir like Rhona.

  “So, you’re Baird’s daughter. Kaetha, I’m told, is that right?” said the torturer. She didn’t plan on answering any of his questions. Svelrik said nothing but stared like a hawk hovering over its prey. The torturer tutted. “How impolite of me. I should have introduced myself. I am Sir Jarl Brocair, His Grace the King’s torturer. I’ve had the pleasure of offering my services to your father.”

  “I bet your mother had the pleasure of offering her services too,” she said, scowling at him. It was a stupid insult, she knew, but she hoped that if she seemed fearless and strong, it might lead to her actually being so.

  He held her gaze with his cold, reptilian eyes. “Witch and gaol-breaker. You will die, Kaetha, that much is certain, but how quickly you will die and how much pain you will suffer? Well, let’s just say, it’s in your best interests to be as helpful to your king, and to me, as you can. Oh . . . and your behaviour may affect the way we decide to treat your father. You should think about that.”

  Be strong, Kit, he had said. As I know you are.

  “Did you use witchcraft to attack royal guards with fire in a field south-west of Ciadrath, a year and three months ago?” said Sir Jarl.

  She was dumbstruck. She had been sure that he would ask her about her father’s escape. How could they suspect that she was the same person whom guards pursued on the night that Rhona fled? Surely no one knew that that had been her, except herself and her father?

  She said nothing.

  Sir Jarl walked behind her and soon she heard a wheel creaking and the rattling of chains. Dodging out of the way, she just avoided being hit by clinking metal which dropped from the ceiling. Chains ended in iron sleeves which were joined together. Sir Jarl fixed them onto her forearms, taking his time as he screwed them tighter, metal squeezing her flesh. Kaetha’s thoughts raced, her nerves making her tremble as she tried to work out what might be about to happen. Sir Jarl kept silent, not explaining what he was doing. Her arms dropped heavily when he let go of the iron sleeves, then he placed a wooden block before her.

  She heard someone else approaching. Assuming it was the torturer’s assistant, she half expected to see a glowing brand appear from the darkness. However, when she saw who it was, she lunged at the new visitor with a snarl, cursing her chains for holding her back.

  “So you do know each other?” said Svelrik.

  Murdo Macomrag stood outside the cell. He didn’t meet Kaetha’s eyes.

  Sir Jarl dragged her backwards. “Up,” he said, dragging her onto the wooden block.

  “Macomrag here heard talk of the commotion outside earlier and, fortuitously, decided to investigate,” said Svelrik. “Macomrag?” Murdo’s face grew pale. “You confirm that this is the one you spoke of?”

  With the barest of glances at Kaetha, Murdo nodded. “Her father is the traitor, Aedan Baird, whom I brought to you.”

  “You son of an arsewit, Macomrag!” growled Kaetha.

  “And, if you’ll remember,” continued Murdo, “it was the evidence I discovered which led to the uncovering of the three earls’ treachery and—”

  “My father is no traitor!” she interrupted. He wasn’t a traitor to the rightful sovereign; that much was true.

  “You lie.” There was a lazy tone to Svelrik’s voice and he leant against the far wall of the cell with his arms crossed over his chest as if he had little interest in what was transpiring. “This is what your lies will do.” The king nodded to Sir Jarl. When the torturer turned the wheel again, the chains secured to Kaetha’s arms rose. She braced herself, glaring at Murdo as she was jerked up with each turn of the wheel. Her arms were high above her head and she could only stand on the wooden block with the balls of her feet.

  Sir Jarl came back around to face her. “Was it you who used witchcraft to conjure fire the night the old king died?” he repeated.

  She spat in his face.

  He kicked the block from under her and she stifled a sound of pain as her body dropped and she hung there, suspended, barely scraping the floor with the tips of her toes. The discomfort was bearable at first and she found she could meet Sir Jarl’s eyes, silently challenging him to do his worst, but soon her stretched body hurt and it grew painful to breathe. Her lungs felt tight and shrunken within her and she closed her eyes to focus better on taking in each shallow breath.

  Soon pain flared through her whole body, as though she were being burned from the inside. The pressure of the hot blood trapped in her hands by her constraints was such that she thought it might leak from her fingers and it grew increasingly difficult to breathe.

  Svelrik’s cold gaze pierced through her like shards of ice. Why did he want to know if it was her who had conjured fire that night? What was this all about? A subtle nod from him, then the wheel cranked and she collapsed onto the floor.

  Svelrik stepped towards her and, with an effort, she pushed herself up from the hard stone, scrambling to her feet. She stood as tall as she could, even though her legs still trembled with pain.

  “Tell me, Kaetha,”
said Svelrik, his tone calm as if he were about to enquire about the weather. “Who is your father’s contact in Angaul?”

  “I don’t know of any contact,” she said.

  Svelrik glanced at Sir Jarl and then Kaetha’s arms were being raised up again.

  “No, please! It’s the truth,” she said.

  Svelrik held up a finger and Sir Jarl stopped the wheel. The king walked around the cell as if he were strolling in a garden. “I think I believe you. Now answer properly this time, was it you who used Fire magic a few miles from Ciadrath a year and three months ago?”

  He could already execute her for witchcraft. Why did he want to know this so badly? “I don’t have Fire magic,” she said.

  “That’s not true,” interrupted Murdo. “As I told you before, your Grace, I saw her conjure a great white fire back home in Braddon. She’s a witch and a liar.” A trembling in his hands and voice did not escape Kaetha’s notice. It was strange to think of the Murdo that tried to drown her. Here, amongst greater monsters, he seemed as vulnerable as a child. “I thought, Your Grace, that you wanted to discuss the earldom—?”

  “Leave.” Svelrik’s voice was a breath of ice.

  “You’re out of your depth here, Murdo,” said Kaetha. “Dangerously close to drowning.”

  There was a flicker of fear in Murdo’s eyes as he looked from her to Svelrik, then retreated into the shadows.

  Svelrik leant down so that his face was uncomfortably close to hers. “I dislike people trying to deceive me, though they invariably fail. Remember I am your king and you are nothing. Your magic, witch, is nothing to my power.”

  When the king signalled to Sir Jarl to hoist her up again, a gleam of gold inside his sleeve caught her eye. The fabric shifted, just for a moment, and then she saw it. The Water stone. The shock was like ice against her skin. It wasn’t Meraud who had the stone – it was Svelrik. She must have been in league with him but it was he who had killed all those people at Longmachlag Bay. He had never planned to let them live freely in another land.