Flametouched

by Brian K. Fuller

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Was it raining somewhere? After casting off the rest of her clothing, she turned her gaze back to the Eternal Flame and sat cross-legged before it as instructed, extending her palms toward the worn cooking pot that was its home.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  She waited. A few moments passed before the tongues of flame seem to bend forward for a moment as if to smell her, but almost as quickly they retracted, burning naturally as they had before.

  It wasn’t going to choose her.

  While she had prepared herself for this rejection, her heart sank with disappointment. If nothing else, being Flametouched would have helped the skeptical nobles in her kingdom to accept her as their queen, though, she admitted, it also would have helped her be less skeptical of herself.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Where was it coming from?

  She stood and pulled her undergarments and shift back on. How she would have liked to have the same discerning gift as Queen Filippa! It would come to little use, she reminded herself. They would probably all be dead in a few days, if not tomorrow.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  One of the sisters screamed.

  Chapter 49

  Arianne spun toward the door, clutching her dress to her bosom. Someone, someone immense, stood in the shadowy room with her, blocking the door. Both of the Aua’Catan sisters lay unmoving at his feet. With a massive arm the brute lifted a plank of wood and barred the door. Arianne backed away as a man she had never seen before in her life strode up the ramp toward her.

  He was big, bigger than any man should have been. His woolen shirt and pants threatened to rip with every stride forward. Even more disconcerting, his wide face was unnaturally puffy, almost to the point of seeming swollen. Cold, gray eyes held a deep malice and confidence, and Arianne shivered.

  She backed away, leg brushing the cook pot where the Eternal Flame burned, the light of the lantern behind her casting her shadow over the brute bearing down upon her. With a quick push, she tripped the lever and the Eternal Flame ascended slowly toward the ceiling. The beastly man watched it go up for a moment and then turned his lusty eyes on her. With a swipe of his massive hand, he tore the dress out of her arms, leaving her in her shift.

  “It really is a shame to waste such a beautiful woman,” he said, looking her over. The accent was Creetisian, the manner educated and controlled. “The women back home are all broomsticks and bitterness, but here in Bellshire they are like ripe fruit, plump and sweet.”

  Someone was pounding on the outer door, filling the room with a deafening ruckus. Arianne continued to retreat backwards across the dais.

  “I should hurry,” the Creetisian said. “I was to kill you just after Queen Filippa, but there was a slight delay.”

  His arm dissolved into a tentacle of water. It whipped at her and she turned her back to it. It struck with the force of a metal rod. Pain shot through her limbs and she lurched forward. Flailing, she slammed into the wall on the far side of the circular dais and crumpled to the floor, head spinning. Black blotches swam in her vision, pain pinching her chest.

  The lever to lower the Eternal Flame whined, and the pulley wheel squeaked as it descended toward the floor. Arianne squirmed, every movement eliciting a stabbing pain from the center of her back. Carefully she rolled over, facing the dais. The pot landed in the center, and the flames reflected in the sober eyes of her attacker.

  The man’s cocksure countenance of moments ago had gone, replaced by one of contemplation and even struggle. His lip quivered, face scrunching as if in torment. The pounding at the door escalated. Something firmer than fists beat against the thick wood. They were coming for her.

  The man knelt. His entire body shook now as if he fought to contain something that wanted to burst out of it. With an unsure expression he leaned forward, face directly over the Eternal Flame, mouth widening in an involuntary convulsion.

  A quartz-tipped spear sank into his lower back and he arched, his yell of agony joining with the incessant banging at the door.

  “Open the door!” Arianne yelled, not sure if it was Ki or Ta that had thrown the spear.

  In horror, Arianne watched as the brute pulled the spear out his body, no worse for the wound. He bounded back down the ramp toward the door, spear in hand. Clenching her teeth, Arianne staggered to her feet, trying to reach the lever. A wave of dizziness struck her, and she fell to stones on the dais, well short of the Eternal Flame. One of the sisters screamed and was silent. Arianne rolled onto her side, trying to settle her head.

  And the Eternal Flame was there.

  Somehow it had escaped its pot and ambled toward her on legs of fire. Two tendrils shot out and struck her palms. Pain shot up her arms and into her chest, but light bloomed within her, a magnification of the peace and calm she had felt when she had first regarded the Eternal Flame. Locked in a sweet bliss, she was insensate of anything for several moments.

  When consciousness returned, she was whole, her back as fit as if she had never been struck. She came to a crouch. The Eternal Flame had returned to its pot, but so had the brute, kneeling in front of it has he had before. His eyes were fixed on the flames, the war she had seen in his face before fought anew. He didn’t even see her, oblivious even to the pounding against the door, though the booming sounds held a hint of cracking and splintering now.

  The man’s mouth opened again as if to vomit, a trickle of water pouring off his tongue and into the pot. That’s what happened to the Eternal Flame! she reasoned. Baron Olivanne Longford had drowned it before coming to attack the Queen Filippa. Davon’s carvings had returned it to life.

  There were no carvings, now.

  She had to stop the brute, keep him occupied until help came. She darted forward and laid her slender shoulder into his with all the force that she could muster. Hitting him was little different from slamming into the wall she had just encountered, but the impact threw him sideways, his mouth snapping shut.

  She fell on her back, head banging on the stones. As she bent to push herself up, the man straddled her, pinning her arms down. His slavering, angry face regarded hers. There was something familiar about this bloated Creetisian, but she couldn’t place it.

  “It appears I didn’t strike you hard enough last time,” he seethed, eyes wild.

  A warmth built within her, a heat that started in her heart, ran down her arms, and centered on the new scars on her palms. It crescendoed, building until it was uncomfortable. She grunted, trying to free herself from his trapping embrace. With a leering gaze he released one of her arms and raised his meaty fist above him, a fist she knew would collapse her head like a hammer would an egg.

  With a yell she pushed up, driving her free hand around his wide throat. The heat pulsed out of her, her palm searing hot. The brute’s eyes shot wide, his mouth stretching open in a gurgling scream. His muscles clenched, body as rigid as a statue. A cloud of steam shot from his mouth as if water boiled inside him, billowing out of him in clouds that rose into the darkness of the ceiling.

  Inch by inch his body deflated and weakened. Still the heat pulsed from her, still he screamed as if he couldn’t stop. But as the steam lessened and his shrinking body started to slack, something—an angular shadow—stepped out of him and stood by the cook pot, arm raised as if to shield itself from the light. It had the form of a man, but no detail. It was slender and sharp, blurry around the edges and only as tall as the Eternal Flame.

  A horror gripped Arianne’s heart, the kind of emotion she felt when she feared a loved one lost. The same terror she felt when she had been trapped in a cage to be lowered in the water. The heat inside her went out. The man’s eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed on top of her. She recognized him now. This was Ambassador Clout’s attaché, Melchor Raines. He lay unmoving on top of her, face pale. With effort she pushed him to the floor and got to her feet, running for the door and away from the dreadful shape of the shadow.

  A section of the door gave
way, the tip of a halberd poking through as she arrived, wood splintering over two bodies on the floor. One of the sisters was dead, spear driven through her heart. Arianne knelt by the other. Her arm and head were bruised, but her chest rose and fell in an even motion. She was alive, but thinking of one sister without the other tore at Arianne’s heart.

  “Your Highness!” someone yelled. “We’ll be through in a moment.”

  “I’ll open it!” Arianne yelled to the face pressed against the hole in the door.

  She hefted the plank out, and the Ember Guard poured in, followed by Mr. Goodwin, Karina, and Elaine.

  “Remove the man on the dais,” she yelled to the Guard. “Remove him before the Primal Water can find him. Mr. Goodwin, get Elaine back to her apartments. Karina, this Aua’Catan woman is hurt but not dead. Take her to Doctor Otis. The dead woman is her sister. Convey her body to the morgue until we know what should be done with it.”

  Arianne strode back up the ramp, passing four of the Ember Guard as they hauled a limp Melchor Raines from the room. “Do not give him water,” she commanded, remembering something Davon had told her. “Put him in the driest place you can find.”

  She reached the top of the walkway and stopped. The shadow was still on the dais, prowling around the Eternal Flame as if trying to find some way to get to it and to strangle it. Malice poured from it, a hatred as palpable as the cobblestones at her bare feet. Three of the soldiers had leveled their guns at it, faces pale and sweating. They feel it, too. She wondered if Davon as Lord Ember could do something to kill it or banish it.

  She raised her hands, thinking that perhaps the flame and light she had used to drive the dark form out of Melchor Raines might be used to drive it out of the room or kill it. But at her approach, the shadow fled into the dark recesses of the room and vanished from sight.

  She flicked the lever and the Eternal Flame ascended back to the safety of the rafters while soldiers searched the recesses of the room with shaking guns. But it had gone—she no longer felt its smothering presence trying to drown every good feeling.

  The cloud of steam that had been the Primal Water had also fled. Would the shadow find it, or had it gone in search of Melchor Raines?

  Once her commands were obeyed, she carried the lantern out of the room and shut what was left of the door behind her. She couldn’t be sure if the strange shadow would move on, and she wondered where the Primal Water would go. But there were more important matters to attend to, not the least of which was to put her dress on. The people in the halls were staring.

  “Stand guard outside this door,” she ordered the soldiers. “If anything sounds amiss, get help and let me know immediately.”

  Where is Davon?

  Arianne and sleep kept poor company that night. Her ordeal in the Flame Cathedral had exhausted her, pushing her eyelids down, while her terror for Bellshire rudely propped them back up. What resulted was not a night of sleep, but rather a night where she couldn’t remember some parts as well as others. When she awoke—if that’s indeed what it was—she immediately asked for a report from Undersheriff Higgins, General Marsden, and Karina from the House of Light. Melchor was restrained and confined; the Creetisians were nearly upon them; and there was no sign of the odd shadow or the Primal Water.

  The last report she wanted she would collect herself: it was Ki that had survived Melchor’s attach, and she had been taken to the infirmary. Arianne wanted to see how she fared and offer what words of comfort she could. Not having the Spear Sisters with her felt odd after days of their constant presence, and Arianne could only imagine how odd it would be for Ki not to have her twin, her Spear Sister, by her side. It would be like looking in a mirror and seeing nothing reflected back.

  Missa entered the room with dress and brush in hand, and while Arianne wanted nothing more than to get out the door, Missa reminded her that she was a Queen now and that she had to look the part. By the time she had collected all her reports and escaped her Lady’s Maid, it was mid-morning. At least four guards trailed her has she worked her way down to the infirmary, and she found herself feeling awkward about the constant bowing and the “Your Highness” honorific thrown at her at every turn.

  When she arrived at her intended destination, she found Dr. Otis hunched over the desk near the door, scribbling something on a parchment. He dropped his pen and bowed as she entered. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he said. “What can I do for you this morning?”

  “I wished to see how Ki was faring,” she replied, “the Aua’Catan woman who was injured last night.”

  “Ah,” he said, frowning. “An interesting one, that. About as good as Baron Carver at obeying her doctor’s instructions. She sustained a severe bruise to the arm and head. She’s been awake since early this morning, but in a low state. I was going to release her after the mid-day meal. Do you wish to see her?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Follow me, Highness.”

  Unlike her previous visits to see the Queen and Davon, the infirmary’s beds were now filled with those injured during the darkness of the Eternal Flame’s extinguishing and other nobles who, Arianne suspected, were letting their nerves get the better of them. If there was much more toil and trouble, Arianne thought she might be joining the mumbling, moaning crowd herself.

  Dr. Otis led her to the partition at the end of the room and then excused himself to oversee preparations for the impending battle. Ki lay on her stomach, head resting on her arms and eyes staring blankly at the wall. A bruise, mottled black and purple, ran across her upper left arm. Her white hair covered whatever injury she had sustained to her head. Her quartz-tipped spear leaned against the wall nearby.

  Arianne walked around the bed and crouched beside her, trying to catch her pale blue eyes. Ki spoke before she could.

  “There is nothing you can say, Arianne.”

  “I know,” Arianne replied, moving a strand of hair away from the Aua’Catan’s face. “I just wanted you to know that I am here for you. I owe Ta my life, and I know that she would have wanted me to make sure you are cared for.”

  Ki stirred and turned over, scooting up to lean against the headboard, wincing at the movement. Arianne sat at the foot of the bed, saddened by the pale face and haunted eyes from a young woman that had always seemed so lively and self-possessed.

  “I thank you for your concern,” Ki said. “I will always mourn for my Spear Sister, but these attacks against the Primal Flame also cause me to fear. What happened last night? I’ve only heard whispers and rumors.”

  Ki’s face gradually regained some color as Arianne laid before her the tale of Melchor Raines, the Primal Water, and the strange shadowy figure that came out of the man as she burned him.

  “Do your people have any lore that could help?” Arianne asked. “It is clear that we in Bittermarch know less than we should about the Primal Forces.”

  Ki bit her lip for a moment. “That is true, but even to our people much lore has been lost. Creetis and his descendants saw to that. My people don’t speak of a dark primal force. Still, there is the legend of the Hahka.”

  “Hahka?” Arianne asked

  “Just as the Khodo was a child of Earth, Air, Water, and Fire, the Hahka was a child of Earth, Air, Water, and Shadow. It, too, manifests itself as a beast, a great Black Bear in the stories. But they were just stories.”

  Arianne thought for a moment. “So could the shadow I saw be Primal Darkness, or is it the Hahka’s chosen, like Davon is the chosen of the Khodo?”

  Ki shrugged. “In the stories, the Hahka could have no servant, as there was no heart so dark that it would ever serve it. Again, these are stories. There is no Primal Darkness in our lore.” And then her eyes widened with some realization and she swung her feet over the side of the bed. “Has the Brown Man returned?”

  “No,” Arianne said. “What is it?”

  Ki covered her mouth with a hand for a moment. “The carvings! The legend says that the Hahka was imprisoned by Jho Jhimm, Tamal u’K
han of the Primal Flame, someone like your Lord Ember. She carved five torches that burned with the light of the Primal Flame. She surrounded the Hahka with these torches. The beast could not come near the lights and was trapped eternally while the Primal Fire burned.”

  Arianne swallowed. “And if the Eternal Flame went out?”

  Ki reached for her boots. “Then the Hahka could escape. It is just a tale, but ever since the first attack on the Primal Flame I have wondered why anyone would wish to drown it. We need more wisdom from the elders of my people.”

  Arianne stood and grabbed Ki’s spear from the wall, glad to see the life of purpose flowing back into the woman. “Do you mean to go back to Jun’Kal, then?”

  “Yes,” Ki said. “And you are coming with me.”

  “I most certainly cannot,” Arianne objected. “I am a Queen now and must stay with the people. Surely you understand this.”

  Ki shrugged. “Maybe, but the Brown Man told me to bring you out of the city if you were in danger, and from all the whispers I have heard this morning, your Bellshire is about to be overrun by people that want you dead and who are from a nation that I hate. You are not a general, and you can do no good here. Come with me now.”

  Arianne handed Ki her spear. “No, Ki. I am the symbol of Bittermarch, and there is good yet that I can do. You go to your people. Find out what you can.”

  Ki measured her up with a glance as if testing her resolve, and Arianne marveled at the determination of her gaze. The Aua’Catan were a tough people.

  “You mean to disobey the Brown Man, then?” Ki asked.

  Arianne smiled. “I do owe him a disobedience or two, but if circumstances appear dire, then I will go with you.”

  Ki nodded. “Very well. Then I will stay, and when the time comes, you will come with me to Jun’Kal.”

  Chapter 50

  The first thunderous report of cannon fire erupted at dawn the next day, startling Arianne in her hiding place. While the sound seemed distant, it still felt too close. She hadn’t slept again. For her safety, General Marsden had decided to secrete her—barricade her, really—inside a room at the very top of the Flame Cathedral. It was accessible only through a trap door and a ladder from an anteroom to the top tier of seats in the chapel. Small, square cutouts in the wall allowed a view of the Eternal Flame raised into the rafters.