Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One)

by Dan Avera

  “I be Caleeta of the City in the Waves,” said the Islander. “My master be Borbos, the Lord of the Sea. I, too, be yours to command should you wish it.”

  Will covered his face with his hand and huffed a sigh. Then he looked at Feothon and Serah. “I'm going to have to get used to this kind of thing, aren't I?” They both nodded, amusement etched across their faces. “Alright. Is there some kind of special saying I'm supposed to know?” he asked, indicating the kneeling people.

  “You could start by thanking them, yes?” Serah said, and winked.

  “I—thank you, then,” Will said, directing his words at Vulf and Caleeta. He motioned with his hands for them to stand, and they did so, throwing slightly confused looks at each other.

  “Your ways are strange for a king,” said Vulf. “And for a god, as well.”

  “Yes, well, I think you're just going to have to get used to it,” Will grumbled. “I really am not king material.”

  “He is very stubborn,” said Serah fondly. “Feothon and I have been trying to groom him into his position for three days with limited success. But it is amusing, no?”

  “A humble king,” Caleeta said, looking at Will thoughtfully. “I like it.”

  “The Dragon King always is,” Feothon said softly.

  Both portals flashed then, their depths churning rapidly as more people made their arrival. The one the Northman had appeared from began to pulse, and as Clare watched seven more similarly-dressed men appeared one by one, each of them with their hands on their weapons and their hard blue eyes checking the area warily. Like Vulf, their hair was the signature blonde of the Northland kingdoms, and though their beards were not as long as his they were all braided just as intricately.

  A moment later an even larger group of men and women stepped from the other portal, all dressed similarly to Caleeta. Unlike the Northmen, these people seemed to be from nearly everywhere; Clare saw olive-skinned, dark-haired Lower Kingdomers like herself and Will, dark-skinned Islanders like Caleeta, desert folk from the Eastlands, and even a few Northmen, though their beards were cut short and decorated with beads and baubels. They all wore the garb of sailors, and were heavily armed with a motley assortment of weaponry that would not have been out of place in Castor's Ravens. They laughed and jeered at each other and the Northmen, pushing and shoving good naturedly like old friends in a tavern.

  And then the portals began to flash again, more insistently this time. The one on Clare's left changed color from yellow to bright, glaring white, and its edges seemed to crystallize and spread like winter frost. The one on her right took on the hue of the sea, and its blue-green depths adopted the appearance of storm-tossed waves. As before, two dark shapes appeared within their depths, slowly growing more corporeal with each passing tick. The doorways began to hum, a sound that to Clare was more of a sensation she felt deep in her bones. There was the now-familiar flash of light and the telltale sound of someone exiting the portal, and Clare shielded her eyes against the intense glare.

  “Will,” she heard Feothon say as the light subsided, “I would like you to meet the rest of your family.”

  ~

  The man's eyelids slowly slid open, revealing the milky, sightless orbs beneath. He lifted his head from his chest and craned his neck out, turning from side to side as though searching for something, each movement indicative of a man aged far past his prime.

  He blinked sluggishly in an attempt to clear the haze from his sleep-addled mind. He brought one thin hand up to his face and rubbed at his eyes, the papery skin of his fingers whispering softly where it touched the lids. He licked his trembling lips, and then his nostrils flared as though catching a scent.

  “They are here,” he said to no one, his voice ancient and soft. “They have all gathered together again.” How long had it been since the Titans had congregated in this place? Two, three hundred years? He could not remember—his mind was not what it used to be.

  “Milord,” said a low voice to his left, and he turned toward the sound with searching eyes.

  “What? Who is that?” The man's head quested back and forth, his pale eyes wide and his liver-spotted hands groping for a sword that was no longer there—that had not been there for many years.

  “Kell, milord,” said the voice. “Do you remember me?”

  He thought for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Yes—yes, I do, I think. You are Brodan's son?”

  There was a short and uncomfortable silence, and then the man beside him said, “Ah...no, milord. That was Fioch. He died a hundred years ago.”

  “Oh,” the man said quietly, sadness creeping across his withered face. “Yes, yes, I remember now.” He breathed a long, shaky sigh. “I apologize—my memory is an old, tired thing.”

  “There is no need to apologize.” The old man felt a reassuring hand lightly grasp his bony shoulder, and then his keeper said, “Milord, the Titans are here.”

  The man nodded slowly, not saying anything.

  “They have brought the new Dragon King.”

  At those words the man's face stretched into a smile. “He is here?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Davin? Davin is here at last? Has his campaign in Ainos ended? And Talyn—will she be with him? Quick—fetch my sword. I must look my best.”

  The other man, Kell, knew not what to say. His mouth opened and closed as though such a motion would inspire speech, but words eluded him. The man before him looked so hopeful, so radiant, and yet his happiness would be far too short-lived. “No,” Kell whispered finally. “Borost, they are not here. Davin...Davin and Talyn died. Five hundred years ago. Do...do you remember?”

  The Lord Commander of the Dragon Guard, once strong and proud, now looked more weak and ancient than ever. His black and crimson clothes and tabard, the same ancient garments he had worn for the last five centuries, had been meticulously cared for and kept in nearly the same condition as the day he had received them. And yet, with his mouth hanging slackly and the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, the raiment somehow showed its age. It looked old, beaten, battered.

  Defeated.

  “I...I see.” Borost whispered. “I am sorry, Kell. My mind slipped again.”

  The younger man, tears forming in his own eyes at the tragic form before him, gripped Borost's thin shoulder tightly. “It does not matter,” he said softly. “There is no need for you to apologize. Not ever.”

  The old man nodded slowly. When next he spoke, his voice sounded tinny and distant. “I suppose...it is time to go, then.” The young man nodded, though he knew Borost could not see him. “Thank the spirits,” Borost whispered. “An end to this torment at last. Help me up, my boy. We have a long way to go.”

  ~

  When the light finally faded, in its place stood a woman and a man.

  The woman was tall—nearly a giantess, and she dwarfed even Will, standing another head and a half higher than him. She was garbed similarly to the Northmen, though her armor was far more intricate and beautiful than theirs. Upon her breastplate was engraved in striking detail the savage image of a roaring bear. Northlandic runes encircled the etching and ran along the edges of the plate, eventually disappearing along with the rest of the armor beneath a massive fur cloak that reached all the way down to the woman's ankles. A large canine tooth, undoubtedly belonging to the fur cloak's original wearer, hung about her neck by a leather cord. In her right hand she held a bearded axe nearly as tall as she was, its handle etched and carved with designs so small that Clare could not make them out from where she stood.

  Perhaps the most striking feature of the woman, however, was her face; framed by a long mane of golden hair and inset with eyes as pale blue as the sky, her features were almost masculine. She was by no means a beautiful woman, and the hard edge to the glare she gave the world made Clare decidedly happy that she was on their side.

  The man, a sharp contrast to the grim figure the woman presented, was every bit the image of a Westland buccaneer. From beneath his tricorn hat tumbl
ed a wild mane of pitch-black hair. It framed a deeply tanned, ruggedly handsome face covered in a short beard and inset with dazzling blue-green eyes—eyes which, like the Island woman Caleeta's, held a mischievous spark within their depths.

  And like those who came before him, he sported unassuming sailor's garb that had seen more than its fair share of the sun. In addition, however, he wore a beautiful frock coat the color of the sea, its edges laced with gold filigree. The ornate and deceptively delicate-seeming handle of a sidesword protruded from beneath his coat, and his thick-fingered hand rested lightly on its pommel.

  Nobody spoke, which Clare found baffling—they were, after all, siblings according to Serah. Shouldn't they be rejoicing at their reunion? But the tall Northwoman simply glared at Will, and the buccaneer stroked his beard and sent an unreadable look Will's way.

  “So this is our long-lost brother,” the Northwoman said at last, her voice surprisingly beautiful, and Clare swore she saw Serah and Feothon breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Will,” said Feothon, indicating the Northwoman with his hand, “this is Leyra, the Lady of the Mountain.” He then pointed at the buccaneer. “And this is Borbos, Lord of the Sea.”

  Will half-raised his hand in greeting. “Er...hello.”

  Borbos darted toward him, covering the gap between them in three long strides, and seized Will in an embrace, patting him roughly on the back. “My, but it be good to have you back, lad,” he growled, his thickly-accented voice deep and gravelly. He held the bewildered Will at arm's length then and looked him up and down. “The Fire Heart, returned to us from the Void. I was beginning to lose hope.” His eyes roved over Will once more, as though committing his visage to memory, and then he boomed, “I thought he'd be taller!” He let out a raucous laugh that was echoed by his sailors, and Clare joined in the laughter as well—mainly because Borbos was, in fact, a full head shorter than Will.

  The ice seemed to break then, and Borbos gave Will another bear hug before stepping back to let the other buccaneers greet the new Dragon King. Some simply shook his hand, while others gave him a hearty slap on the back as though they were old friends. The air was suddenly filled with joviality as the sailors shouted jokes to one another, to Will, and to the Northmen who, stoic as they appeared, could not help but smiling at the gaiety of the Island folk. Soon it was their turn to greet Will, and like the others they seemed genuinely happy to see him, though they barely knew him.

  Clare smiled inwardly. How must it be, she wondered, to live under the shadow of death for five centuries, and then to have your savior suddenly thrust back upon you in your darkest moments? She watched the Titans' faces; Feothon seemed at peace, though from what Clare had gathered that was not an uncommon thing; Serah seemed ecstatic in her own subdued way, her dark eyes shining as they never strayed from Will; Borbos seemed Serah's opposite, rowdy and loud and full of jubilant laughter; but Leyra, unlike the others, looked...angry.

  Clare frowned. Why would the Northwoman—a fellow Titan—be unhappy about Will's arrival? It made no sense. Hadn't Serah said that Will was the only one who could stop the Fallen?

  “And this,” Feothon said suddenly, his voice breaking through the merriment and startling Clare from her thoughts, “is Will's companion Clare.” Everyone went silent, and Clare was made painfully aware of the many sets of eyes resting upon her. “She has saved his life several times.”

  “Ah,” Clare murmured, “hello.”

  The Titans and their soldiers stared at her.

  “What happened to your hand, child?” Borbos asked, his eyes narrowing. “That be a nasty mark you have there.”

  “Well, I...” Clare's eyes darted to Will's, and the pain there made her falter. She closed her mouth, not wishing to tarnish his reputation

  “It was my fault,” said Will, still holding her gaze. “I awakened and couldn't control it. She brought me back, but at the cost of her hand.”

  Leyra's eyes widened, and she whirled around to look at Will. “She brought you back...” she said softly, and then she turned to Feothon. The latter stared back at her impassively, his expression blank.

  “We are in your debt then, young one,” said Leyra, striding up to Clare. She covered the distance in two paces; it would have taken Clare three or four. The Titan held out one gauntleted hand, and Clare took it tentatively; Leyra's grasp was as rigid as iron, but, like her voice, surprisingly gentle. Clare stared into her frosty eyes, speechless. “You have done the world a favor. If there is ever anything you need, know that you are welcome to call upon the men and women of Horoth.”

  “Th-thank you,” Clare stammered.

  “No. Thank you.” And then the giantess released her and walked back to her men. “Feothon,” she said, “I believe it is high time we discussed certain matters of importance.” She put special emphasis on the last word, and the Forest Lord nodded.

  “Should I come?” asked Will.

  “Not this time,” said Feothon, and his eyes met Clare's. “Your friend is in need of recovery. I think 'twould be best if you helped her get settled in.” Will nodded, and he flashed Clare a quick smile. “As for you, Vulf and Caleeta, I believe there is food and drink ready for consumption over in the heart of the forest. There are also many Southlander refugees that would be most grateful for your assistance.”

  Vulf and Caleeta both nodded and turned to go, beckoning for their fellows to join them. Caleeta gave Will a somewhat mocking bow as she exited. Soon only Clare, Asper, and the Titans were left.

  “Asper,” Feothon murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers down his lover's hair, “would you take Will and Clare someplace quiet, please?” For an instant he met Clare's gaze, and once again the look in his eyes was mysteriously veiled. Then he turned back to Asper and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  “Of course, my love,” Asper said softly, and she smiled at him. She pulled away from his touch and moved off into the forest, motioning for Will and Clare to follow, which they did.

  ~

  Feothon waited for a long while after the others had gone, and his siblings in turn waited patiently for him to begin. The ethereal rays of sunlight played down softly from the blackness overhead; they were turning a beautiful shade of red and orange now, signaling the onset of twilight and bathing the forest in a slowly darkening glow. The Lord of the Forest breathed a small sigh and looked down at the ovular area of matted plants where Clare had healed. The plants were dying now, their purpose completed, and their stalks were beginning to brown and wither, their drying leaves curling inward at the edges. The spot would remain there forever; its life force had been used up completely, transferred to Clare during her days of healing. He knew that the plants were happy to have been of service, and yet Feothon could not help but feel the familiar pang of sadness at the unnecessary waste of life. So much death. When does it end?

  “Well,” he said at last, turning toward his brother and sisters with a smile. “What do you think?”

  “A fine specimen,” said Borbos immediately. “He has something of the old Davin in him.”

  “They always do,” said Feothon quietly. “Just as Davin had something of Kelim, and Kelim of Rash'tan. It happens to all of us.” He smiled sadly. “The world changes around us, but we never really do.”

  “I wish to take him to Falcos,” Serah said.

  “After Borost is finished, you may take him if he wishes it,” Feothon answered.

  Serah's eyes widened in surprise. “Borost...Borost is awake?” Her brother only nodded. “Ah,” she murmured, a strange look on her face. “I see.”

  “Is everything alright, Serah?” Feothon asked quietly, an odd glint in his eye, and at his words she seemed to shake herself.

  “It is nothing,” Serah replied, and her face settled into its familiar neutral expression once again. “Hopefully Borost will be finished soon. I do feel that Falcos is the best place for Will right now. There I can teach him to control Koutoum's power, and hopefully circumvent anymore mishaps li
ke the one that happened in Prado, no?”

  “That poor girl,” said Borbos quietly. “And did you see the way she looked at him?”

  “Did you see the way he looked at her?” Feothon replied.

  “Aye,” said the Sea Lord, stroking his chin absently, his eyes going distant. “Unfortunately, it can never be. She be a mortal. And when we find the Phoenix Empress, he will be compelled to leave Clare and go to her.”

  “We already have, I think,” Feothon said softly.

  Borbos looked at him. “Already have what?”

  “Brother, the drinks of men seem to have addled your brain. We found her.”

  “Then where is she?”

  Feothon motioned off in the direction that Asper, Clare, and Will had gone. “'Tis Clare. I am sure of it.”

  “What?” Borbos scoffed. “Impossible. I would have felt it.”

  “No,” said Serah, “you would not.”

  Feothon nodded. “I can only just barely feel her life force. 'Tis weak, inconsistent—like a shadow seen through mist. I must look from the corner of my eye to see it, and even then 'tis little more than a specter.”

  “Before, I could not see her with the winds,” said Serah. “And I am willing to wager that she met Will right as he, too, disappeared from my windsight. Now I can see brief, random flashes of her—sometimes her eyes, or her hand, or just her hair—but never the whole thing. And if I concentrate too hard, she disappears. There is no arguing that she has been hidden by otherworldly means.”

  “And she brought him back from awakening,” Borbos said, realization dawning on his face. “Name another human who has ever done such a thing.” He looked down at the ground thoughtfully. “And if she be, in fact, the Phoenix Empress, it would explain the way they look at each other.”

  “I do not believe Will has ever been with a woman,” said Serah. “I overheard a conversation he had some weeks ago with his man Castor, and I watched him at the Pradian festival. Davin told me once that he had been the same way before awakening. I would not be surprised to find out that Clare has never been with a man.”