Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One)

by Dan Avera

“Just one.”

  He shook his head, unable to accept the words he was hearing, and yet knowing all the same that they rang true. And then, to his utter shame, a single thought ran through his mind: At least it can't be Clare. She is only human, thank the spirits. Out loud he said, “There has to be a way to stop it!”

  “It is the will of fate,” Leyra said, her words as heavy as stone. “Or if it is not, it is the will of something much more powerful than I. Our deaths have never changed—not in five hundred years.”

  “Five hundred years...” Will whispered.

  “The visions first started when I was a little girl,” Leyra said quietly. “I was seven. My parents told me they were nightmares, these images of people I did not even know. Eventually, with Feothon's help, I learned to...block them, to an extent.” She breathed a heavy sigh, and her shoulders sagged from a weight far greater than her armor. “But they are still there, always at the back of my mind, taunting me. Mortals...they shift constantly. A man may one instant be destined to die by the sword, only for an untraceable chain of events to lead to his timely rescue. But not us.”

  Will felt sick, and it was not from the constant rocking of the ship. It was as though he had been hit repeatedly in the stomach, and he had the strong urge to fall to his knees and retch. How could one person live with such a curse and not be driven completely mad?

  “The odd thing,” Leyra said, pulling his attention back to her, “the thing that I do not understand in the slightest...” She turned her steely gaze down to his, and he felt a chill run through him despite the warm breeze. “Is that of all the things I can see, your death is not among them.”

  Twenty

  Back once more in the twilight of the Void, bound and shackled by the will of Koutoum, Keth could only watch helplessly as his siblings argued over his fate. It was Sorr who first proposed they forgive him of his crimes, and soon the other Titans began to see the wisdom in her words. Dinn, Beros—even Forod eventually found it in his heart to cast away his rage and accept his brother with open arms once more.

  But the Fire Hearts had not yet spoken. And when the others finally turned to them with expectant ears, their voices were cold as ice and hard as steel. “We forgave him long ago,” the halves of Koutoum said as one. “But for the nightmares he has unleashed upon Pallamar—nightmares that will remain forever—we cannot condone giving him his freedom.”

  “But Brother—” Sorr began, and the Fire Hearts silenced her with a burning glare.

  “The Dark One can never be allowed to roam free again,” said the Dragon King.

  “So we will craft a prison,” the Phoenix Empress finished. “One in which Keth and his 'Dark One' will remain until the end of time. That is our final judgment.”

  ~

  “Make ready! The enemy approaches!”

  The cry tore through the air in a chorus of voices as each ship's captain repeated it, and Will felt the familiar thrill of battle arc through him like lightning. His vision sharpened, his nostrils flared as they strove to catch every minute scent, and a shiver of ecstasy ran up from the base of his spine to the back of his skull. It had been far, far too long since his last real fight. And now he was back on solid footing—back where he had the advantage.

  But Leyra's words tumbled endlessly through his mind, rolling around again and again with his thoughts and dulling his bloodlust. “Of all the things I can see, your death is not among them.” The revelation was sobering, to say the least. Disturbing, as well. But most of all...exhilarating. Does this mean I have control over my destiny? he wondered. Am I the one whose fate Renne tried to change? Or is this some trick being played on us by the traitors? And then there was the matter of the Titan who would die...

  “Will,” said a voice to his left, and he felt slender fingers rest lightly on his hand. “Are you alright?” He turned to meet Clare's emerald eyes and nodded weakly.

  “I'm fine,” he said, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I'm fine.”

  The look she sent him gave him such a profound feeling of guilt that he actually shrank back the slightest bit. “Of all the people in the world,” she said, “I am the one that you should not have to lie to.”

  “The last time I was honest with you is not entirely a happy memory for me,” he blurted, but instantly regretted it. Her eyes fell and she pulled her fingers from his hand as though burned. The words had formed on his tongue before he had been able to thoroughly think them through, and he mentally slapped himself. “Clare, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

  “No,” she said, cutting him off. “No, I...I suppose I deserved that. You're right.” She brought her hand shamefully up to her face, half-concealing her eyes as though to shut out the image of him. “I have not exactly been the kindest person to you.”

  Will was silent for a moment, fearing that his next words would drive her away again—something he desperately did not want. “I...it's...it's fine, I mean...”

  She held up a hand and he fell silent. “I am sorry,” she began. “I realize that I have hurt you very badly over the past few days. I was...scared, and...I didn't know what to do.” She swallowed nervously. “So, again, I am sorry. And...as for what I had meant to tell you down on the sea floor—”

  Now it was Will's turn to hold up his hand, and hers to fall silent. “I understand,” he said. “Truly, I think I do. But now isn't exactly the best time to discuss...what I said. So after we get through this...I would love to sit down and talk to you...about...things.” The power of speech had suddenly left him, and his frustration rose as he could think of nothing else to say. Why did that always seem to happen when he had something important to tell her?

  She nodded and her lips curved into a tentative half-smile. “Things it is, then.” She gave him a searching look. “Now will you answer my question?”

  “About what's troubling me?” he asked, and she nodded. Will took a deep breath. “It's...Leyra. Just something she said to me.”

  Clare waited for him to continue, but when it became obvious that nothing more was forthcoming she cocked an eyebrow. “And...?”

  “She knows when we all die.” He looked away. “The Titans, I mean. She has always known. Except she can't see my death.”

  “Arm cannons!” a sailor cried, and the order rolled across the armada like thunder.

  Clare stared at him, ignoring the interruption. “And...that's a bad thing because...?”

  He laughed softly. “I didn't say it was bad. Just unnerving. And I feel bad for Leyra, too. To have to live with that knowledge for your entire life would...well, I don't think I could have made it this far.”

  Clare nodded her assent but said nothing. Will almost told her the other part of his conversation with Leyra—the part where one of the Titans would die very soon—but ultimately decided against it. There was no reason to worry her unnecessarily, especially with the battle looming so near.

  “Are you sure that's all?” she asked in the next instant, and he wondered at her powers of perception. Was he truly that easy to read?

  “I'm sure,” he answered, looking her in the eye and flashing her a quick smile. “If anything else comes up, you'll be the first to know.”

  His grin was obviously unconvincing, though, for she gave him a disbelieving look before nodding and walking away. Will huffed an annoyed sigh as he watched her leave. Should he have told her everything? No, no. No sense in worrying her. And if it spread to the others, morale would drop like a stone. Even so, he felt suddenly guilty for hiding the truth from her.

  And then his thoughts were interrupted by another cry of, “The enemy draws near! Ready yourselves!”

  He banished all thoughts of Clare from his mind then, banished everything except the bloodlust that would keep him alive. He felt something stir inside of him as he drew his sword—the Other, perhaps?—and the sensation made him shiver. He felt stronger somehow, more powerful than he had ever felt in a fight. He tensed his muscles, tightening his grip around the leather handle of
his blade so that it creaked in protest. Yes, something was different.

  “You have not fought since your awakening,” said a voice behind him, and he turned to see Leyra, the butt of her axe planted firmly on the wooden decking. “Beneath the waves, yes, but not on dry land. You will feel different. Ungainly. Stay close to me and I will help you through the first steps.”

  “What do you mean?” Will asked, and she grinned.

  “You are stronger now. Faster. It will be like fighting in another's body.” She winked, and Will noticed that the somber haze had left her features almost entirely. Now she looked...excited. “Stay close to me. It is a dance you already know quite well, I think. But I will guide you through the movements regardless.”

  Will grinned at her. “My thanks, Sister.”

  “Cannons, prepare to fire!” a sailor roared, and Will trotted to the edge of the ship and peered over the railing. Perhaps a league away the water seemed to be boiling; it frothed and splashed as a wave of nightmares rolled toward them, chittering and screeching madly as they closed in on the ships with frightening speed. Will caught fleeting glimpses of black talons and scaled heads as they broke the surface before diving back down beneath the waves.

  “Fire!”

  Never before had he heard such a noise, and he dropped his sword in surprise and clapped his hands over his ears. He did not even hear the clatter of metal as the blade hit the deck; its ring was drowned out completely by the roar of exploding firesand, and then Will could hear...nothing. A shrill ringing filled his ears, and he shook his head dazedly to clear them. Smoke billowed up from the mouths of forty spent cannons, clouding his vision and choking his lungs, and his eyes watered as he coughed. Through the haze he could see great splashes as the iron missiles found their marks, and much of the water that flew into the air was stained red.

  A hand, strong and rough, grasped his shoulder and whirled him around, and then Leyra's face loomed before him. She was shouting something at him, gesticulating with her battleaxe, but he could not understand her. He shook his head and blinked slowly—and then grunted in surprise as one of Leyra's hands collided heavily with the side of his face. He was becoming decidedly sick of being slapped.

  “—epare yourself!” she shouted as his ears faded slowly back into clarity. The sounds of battle bombarded him mercilessly, and for a moment he was disoriented—but the moment did not last long. The music of war was a tune he knew well. “They are scaling the side!” Leyra cried, and Will whirled back to the gunwale. Sure enough, the first of the demons lifted one taloned hand over the edge and gripped the railing. Its head soon followed, questing from side to side as it searched blindly for its prey.

  Will jammed the point of his sword down its gaping maw, and the wet crunch of blade on flesh was followed by a satisfying shriek of pain. He twisted his sword and then pulled away; the monster fell silently back to the sea, where it landed not with a splash but rather a wet smack of leathery skin; so thick was the swarm of nightmares that the slain never reached the waves.

  And then the battle began in earnest.

  They spilled over the rails like a flood of teeth and claws, ripping and tearing at whatever happened to be closest to them, be it friend or foe. As had happened back in the Southlands with the yaru, Will felt the familiar battle-calm settle over him. His heart pounded in his ears, giving him a beat to dance to as his blade flashed and flew and carved a bloody path through anything unfortunate enough to get in his way. All around him his friends and fellows followed his lead, and despite the overwhelming press of tamyat the enemy could not push the defenders back.

  Blood sprayed into the air and fell like fitful rain across the deck, leaving the wood treacherously slick, and Will swung his blade at a foe only to have his boot slide through the filth at the last moment. He lost his balance and fell to one knee, and the monster that should have died seized the opportunity to catch Will's blade in its steely claws. It twisted the weapon, wrenching Will's arm painfully to the side, and he grunted and lost his grip. The beast hissed triumphantly, its horrific maw agape as it prepared to lunge forward for the killing blow.

  My sword, Will thought, and white-hot rage surged through his body. Bastard took my sword! The beast shrieked a challenge, and then shrank back in surprise as he roared back at it. Will lashed out with his fist, and the blow connected solidly with the underside of the creature's chin; he had not expected much of a result, but against all reason the beast's head snapped backward with a muffled, wet crunch, and then it crumpled limply to the ground. Will stared at it in surprise, and his gaze roved from his fist to the dead creature and then back again.

  “Good!” Leyra cried, and he turned to see her dueling another monster. “But you need practice. Try it like this!” And then she lunged forward, driving her entire arm into her adversary's mouth so that her fist burst out the back of its head in a spray of blood and bone. She withdrew her hand and casually shook it; little droplets of crimson gore fell to the deck. Will gaped, but Leyra only grinned—and then turned just in time to behead another tamyat with a sweeping blow from her axe.

  Watching Leyra, something caught Will's eye—and then his heart skipped a beat. Just past the Titan he saw Clare, holding three beasts at bay but tiring visibly, her breath coming in heavy gasps and a grimace of exertion upon her face. Her maimed hand had left her with only the other to control her sword, and the prowess with which she usually fought was suffering for it. I told her to stay on shore! he thought desperately. She was holding her own for the moment, but with each parry she moved a little slower; with each block, her blade lagged farther behind. Will made to go to her, but suddenly he seemed unable to move fast enough; like a scene from a nightmare, his legs pumped as though through mud. Another creature loomed up before him, towering like a grim specter of death, talons outstretched in a welcoming embrace, and he cut it down, swinging his sword with such force that it tore the monster completely in half and its upper body began to fall away. It was still in his path, though, and before it had time to land he ran through it, checking it with his shoulder so that it flipped up and over him and hit the deck with a wet, heavy thud. He experienced the entire ordeal as though viewing it while half-asleep; it barely registered in his mind, so focused was he on Clare.

  And, just as he knew it would, it happened.

  She brought her sword up to block an overhead strike, but the force of the blow made her stumble and she fell to one knee. Will heard her grunt in pain and surprise; heard the clanking thud as her armored knee crashed to the deck; heard his own blood pounding deafeningly in his ears. The Other, awake inside of him but silent until that moment, writhed madly. He was still so far away, and now the death blow was coming toward her unprotected middle, tearing through the air in the form of a black, steely claw to rend her in half.

  Will would forever remain unsure of what exactly happened then. One moment he was too far away to save her, and in the next instant he felt heat bloom along his entire body. There was fire all around him, licking at the air with insatiable hunger, and then, to his surprise, the beasts were no longer in front of him. Nor, for that matter, was Clare, and when he came to a halt and looked around in confusion, he realized that they were behind him. The fire evaporated as quickly as it had come, and he turned around just in time to see all three of Clare's assailants fall to the deck. They had been torn in half, the wounds ragged and rough—certainly not the work of a sword. There was no blood, though; where there should have been raw, bleeding tissue was only charred, smoldering flesh. Clare, still with her sword held over her head, looked around in shock and slowly lowered her weapon.

  “Are you alright?” Will asked, dashing over to her with his sword held defensively out before him. He looked frantically around for any other would-be attackers but saw none. In fact, what few monsters were left on the deck seemed to be retreating. It was confusing, but at the moment his mind was preoccupied with other things. Everything else fell by the wayside.

  “I'm—I'm
fine,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, and he held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. “Unharmed, thanks to...well, I think it was you, anyway.” She gave him a strange look. “Was it you? I assumed from the burn wounds...”

  Will looked down at the charred corpses. “Erm...I'm not sure,” he said softly. Had he really done that? He supposed he must have; there were no other fire gods present aboard the ship. The knowledge that he was capable of such a thing was...unnerving. He shook his head, forcing himself back to the battle. “Come on—we shouldn't be dithering around.”

  “Why?” Clare asked, casting her gaze around the armada. “They're pulling back.”

  Will followed her eyes and saw that they were indeed; the tamyat had retreated from the smaller vessels as well as the capital ship. “Now that is odd,” Will said softly, and despite the roar of victory that echoed around the fleet a sense of unease entered his mind, gnawing at him like a starving rat. The Other seemed to agree, for it wriggled anxiously around as though nervous. “Something is wrong,” he said aloud. “Why are they pulling back? There must be thousands of them.”

  “Agreed,” Clare said, and then her eyes widened. “Oh, no. Will—what if the Fallen are—?”

  “Where is the Dragon King?”

  The voice was like thunder, impossibly loud. It echoed across the armada with deafening force, and the power behind it was so great that the ships rocked and tossed as though they rode upon stormy seas. Their was power in the voice, power so unfathomably strong that Will felt it as a physical blow. His body weakened at the words, and he felt his muscles simply give in to the temptation to crumple. His knees hit the deck with a hollow thud.

  “Fight it!” Leyra cried, and he turned toward her slowly, his mind blank. “You have to fight it, Will! It is part of his power!”

  “Give him to me, wretched creatures. I will not ask again.”

  The voice crackled like lightning, stirring the seas so that they churned and tossed fitfully. Will felt a cloud of despair settle over him, smothering him like a thick blanket so that it seemed hopeless—pointless—to continue fighting.