On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  “Dance,” she whispered. “We are the Dancers. We’re the Guardians.” She sat down hard on the ground, unable to stand any longer even in this fantastical place that she knew existed only in her mind. “Twice won, twice lost…this is our last chance.”

  “It is the last chance for everyone,” came a voice that sheknew beside her, a voice she had thought she would never hear again. Uttering a soft cry, she turned to behold Jashemi sitting in the Dragon’s place. His eyes shone and his full lips were parted in a smile.

  A wave of joy and gratitude washed over her. “You’ve been with me, too,” she said thickly. “Haven’t you?”

  He nodded. “Every time. The last time…I was too late.” Sorrow furrowed his brow, and Kevla had a dim, fear-laced memory of a man attacking from the shadows. “I am your Lorekeeper. My task, and that of the others—and Kevla, there are many of us—is to seek you out and give you back your memories.”

  “Your dreams,” Kevla said. “They weren’t dreams, or even visions—they were memories!”

  He nodded. “Memories of all the times before. Memories only the Lorekeepers had. We find the Dancers, help them discover—”

  “Who they are,” Kevla said, her voice breaking. My love, you are Fire! “You died so that I could know who I was…what I was born to do.”

  He reached to touch her cheek and she closed her eyes, trembling at the contact.

  “I gladly died, this time and before this time, for you. For this world. Do you remember what is at stake, Kevla, my lover, my sister, my friend, my soul?”

  She reached for the knowledge, and it appeared:

  “Everything,” she whispered.

  “Everything,” he confirmed. “I do not understand it all yet myself, but I know this: Our world, and the other four that have come before, are not real. They were created, crafted, as a potter crafts a pitcher. Civilizations appear, whole and complete. Some know about the Dancers and their task; others, like Arukan, are utterlyignorant. After each world has existed for five thousand years, the Dancers are born, and each world faces a crisis. If the Dancers can unite and use their powers to defeat this evil, their world is permitted to continue. If not, then it is—”

  “Gone,” Kevla finished softly, tearing her gaze away from her Lorekeeper’s face to look upon the water again. Its surface was now cloudy and gray, and fear closed her throat.

  She knew she beheld the Shadow, the dreadful agent of destruction that would slowly cover every facet of her world and simply erase it as if it had never been.

  “I have seen the Shadow,” the Lorekeeper said. He now looked to her like a little boy in poor clothes, his eyes preternaturally wise, his face smudged and dirty. “You have seen it too. If you fail, all will be lost—not just this world, but all the others that have won a temporary victory against obliteration.”

  Kevla’s gaze was still locked on the Shadow in the water. She sagged. The responsibility was too much. All those worlds, all those people, and everything she knew in this world were in jeopardy.

  “I can’t do it,” she whispered.

  “Yes, you can,” the Lorekeeper insisted. His voice sounded different, and when she looked at him, the being who had been born as Jashemi looked like a woman her own age, with short brown hair and green eyes.

  “You know who you are. You are more powerful even than you can understand right now. You have remembered your Companion, and soon you will join with the other Dancers. You were never meant to be alone, Flame Dancer. You were always meant to have allies. Find them.”

  Kevla was confused and suddenly angry. She stared at theLorekeeper, not wanting to see what this entity had been to her in the past, wanting to see Jashemi, whom she loved desperately. The Lorekeeper’s face changed yet again, into the visage of an old man with a grizzled beard.

  “I want you back, Jashemi!” she cried. “I can’t do this without you!”

  The Lorekeeper cocked his head, and the old man’s face bled into that of another woman.

  “I am no longer Jashemi. I am all these people you once loved, and none….”

  “Please,” she begged. “Please come back. Let me say goodbye to you.”

  With a visible effort, the Lorekeeper resumed the form of her brother and lover. She sobbed as she beheld the dear face.

  “Our love is beyond the physical, Flame Dancer,” Jashemi whispered. “Death cannot stop it. It hasn’t before and it won’t now. But if you wish to have the Lorekeeper with you, you must learn to let go of the form I took when I was flesh. The form that loved Kevla Bai-sha is dead. Only I exist now.”

  “Do you even remember?” she cried. “Do you even….” She couldn’t speak anymore.

  His hands shot out to seize her wrists and when she looked into the Lorekeeper’s eyes, she saw, truly saw, Jashemi.

  “Of course I remember!” he said, his voice hoarse with intensity. “But our love was not meant to be that of a man and woman. Not this time. I was born to be your brother and friend, to be close to you and love and support you in that fashion. We became lovers because we had to. Because our people stamped out anything else that we could have used to discover the truth. Think of a tree planted among stones, Kevla. Think how its roots twist andturn, seeking sustenance any way it can. You needed to learn your true nature, and I needed to help you do that. In a country where my dreams and your powers condemned us to death, we connected with each other the only way we could.”

  He touched her cheek, and it was Jashemi’s touch. “Our love was right, Kevla. How it expressed itself was not. Do you understand?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” Even as she held his hand, he began to fade. “No…! Jashemi, don’t leave me, don’t go—”

  “I must,” he said regretfully. “I ever existed to love and serve you, Flame Dancer. And even though I am no longer flesh…I still do.”

  Kevla opened her eyes and air filled her lungs. Jashemi and the scrying pool were gone. She was awake and still held in the arms of the Dragon. He bent his head and regarded her, concern plain on his reptilian face.

  She found the strength to meet his gaze and nod. He cradled her closer, and her head fell back against his strong, protective forepaws as the Flame Dancer fell into sweet unconsciousness.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kevla awoke feeling rested and famished. For a moment, she kept her eyes closed, unwilling to open them and see what was reality and what was surely a dream. Beneath her, she felt hard stone, yet she knew she had slept as well as if she had been in a khashim’s bed. A scent wafted to her nostrils…cooking meat?

  She opened her eyes and sat up, realizing with a strange mixture of joy and dismay that her “dreams” had not been dreams at all. She was still inside Mount Bari, the only light coming from the leaping flames and the lava pool. The Dragon had moved her to a safer place away from the pool. As she moved, she observed that the rhia she had worn in her vision was real as well. She touched the soft, scarlet fabric.

  She sniffed again. She was not imagining it; somewhere close by someone was roasting meat. She rose, stiff and sore, and stretched, following the scent around a corner where a small fire burned quietly. On a spit, the proper distance from the flame, was a whole roasting fowl. On plates around it were bread, fruits, nuts, and wine and water skins.

  Kevla’s stomach growled and she fell ravenously upon the food. She ate and drank with an intensity that surprised her, reaching into the fire and pulling off chunks of meat with her bare hands. There was no pain from the heat. Finally, sighing with contentment, she rubbed her full belly and leaned back against the stone walls.

  Her hunger sated, she turned her attention to all that she had so recently discovered. There was so much in her mind that she felt overwhelmed. Her own identity and purpose, Jashemi’s true Self, the Dragon—it was hard to sort it all out.

  “Flame Dancer?” The deep voice rumbled and echoed. Kevla wondered how she could ever have found that voice frightening. Now, it caressed her ears and warmed her heart. />
  “Yes, Dragon,” she called. “I am here.”

  He rounded the corner, enormous and red, his long tail snaking behind him. His wings were folded against his sloping mountain of a back, and his eyes were bright.

  “I thought you were going to sleep the century away, but I did not want to wake you.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Two days and two nights.”

  “No wonder I was so hungry.”

  “Mmmm,” said the Dragon, surveying what little remained of the meal. “Perhaps you would like an entire sandcow for dinner?”

  Kevla’s tentative smile broadened into a grin, and impulsively she ran and threw her arms around his long neck.

  “How did I ever get along without you?” she asked, squeezing him one final time and then letting go.

  He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “I was wondering,” he said mildly, with a twinkle of humor in his golden eyes.

  Kevla’s smile faded. The trio was not complete, would never again be complete. Jashemi, the Lorekeeper, had passed from flesh. Still, she could have sworn she felt his presence, gentle as a kiss, in her mind before she awoke.

  Her somberness did not escape her friend’s notice. He knew what she was thinking.

  “I regret,” rumbled the Dragon, “that things unfolded as they did. I wish the people of Arukan had been wiser.”

  His words reminded Kevla of something Jashemi had said, something he had thought was important.

  “Jashemi believed that our powers were manifesting now for a reason,” she said. “He thinks—thought—that it had something to do with the Emperor who is attacking our people.”

  The Dragon nodded. “Jashemi was correct. Your destiny and that of all the worlds are entwined with the Emperor.”

  She rubbed her temples. “I’m not ready to face that yet. I am still so…Dragon, tell me of our past. I remember much, but so much more is lost to me.”

  The Dragon brightened. “I love a good tale,” he mused, “and this is a marvelous one, for it is all true.”

  He settled back on his haunches, exposing his lighter-hued orange-yellow belly. Like a child seeking comfort from a loved parent, Kevla crawled over and nestled against him. His scales were smooth, like glazed pots, and so warm. She felt the tentative pat of a mammoth claw and relaxed even further. Safe, she felt so safe with this new, old friend.

  “You found me first when I was still in the egg,” the Dragon began.

  Each day, he told her of a different life they had lived. She listened attentively, hoping to glean information that would be of use in this life, this final Dance that she and the others, as of yet unknown to her, would perform. Some things she remembered, others felt more like stories than memories.

  Food mysteriously continued to appear when she slept, and she ate and drank without questioning. Finally, on the fifth day, she knew it was time to turn her attention to the present.

  “Jashemi spoke of other Lorekeepers, here in Arukan,” she told the Dragon. Her chest ached as she spoke. It still hurt so much to speak of him, to think of him, but she continued. “Like him, they probably are afraid to speak of their dreams. It could condemn them to death.”

  The Dragon nodded and made a sour face. To one who did not know him, it would be terrifying to behold. Kevla recalled the expression from a life before, and to her it was amusing and endearing.

  “It would indeed. Foolish Arukani,” he muttered.

  “So how do I find them? How do I let them know what Jashemi knew—what we know?”

  He looked at her intently. “How do you find out anything, Flame Dancer?”

  Of course. She should have thought of it sooner. Easily, without even thinking, she conjured fire and asked it, “Show me the Lorekeepers of Arukan.”

  The fire suddenly flamed up, almost as tall as the Dragon. Several faces were in its heart, flickering and shifting. Jashemi had been right; there were indeed many others.

  “Well,” said the Dragon. “It seems you have an embarrassment of riches. And these are only the ones who happen to be near fires right now. Perhaps you’d best narrow it down.”

  “I agree,” said Kevla. “Show me…show me the Lorekeepers in the Clan of Four Waters.”

  The fire subsided, and two faces appeared. One was unknown to Kevla, but the second was familiar indeed. It was her old adversary, Tiah.

  “If we had only known,” Kevla said softly, thinking of the time they had both wasted in their confrontations. Who cared about petty household politics when their entire world was at stake? Tiah was carrying a candle. She looked older than Kevla remembered her, and unhappy, and Kevla found it in her to pity the woman.

  One by one, Kevla went through every one of the Arukani clans. The Dragon explained that not all of the Lorekeepers would be as close to her as Jashemi had been, but each carried a piece of the puzzle. She thought with a stab of anguish that no one could have been closer than Jashemi, but said nothing. Her grief was hers alone; it belonged to Kevla Bai-sha, not the Flame Dancer. She would not strain the Dragon’s sympathy by continuing to focus on her personal loss.

  As she sat and gazed into the fire, memorizing faces and listening to conversations, Kevla was startled to realize that the young sa’abah-tender who had stolen food and water for her was among them. Then she recalled the girl’s words: I do not know you, or your errand. But somehow I feel as if I needed to do this for you. Perhaps one day, we will both understand why.

  It made perfect sense. The Lorekeepers were born to help the Dancers. Even when neither she nor Kevla understood their link, both had sensed their connection.

  She observed and listened. Most of the Lorekeepers were of the lower or middle castes, but there were two Seconds, one in the Sa’abah Clan and one in the Horserider Clan, and the khashim of the Star Clan was a Lorekeeper as well.

  Some of them did not speak of their dreams; others did. No one understood them, and all were frightened by them. They felt alone, isolated. Kevla was moved. If only they knew that there were many others like them, that they were special and to be honored, not feared.

  For the first time since she had made love with Jashemi, she felt hope rise in her. Jashemi’s dream had been to unite the clans so that they could stand against this Emperor from over the mountains. It had seemed like a fool’s errand when he spoke of it, but now Kevla thought it possible. Every clan had at least one Lorekeeper. Every Lorekeeper would have been having strange dreams. Once they were made to understand the truth about their dreams, to realize that they could no longer stand separately and continue their petty quarrels, perhaps they would see the wisdom in union.

  She spoke of this to the Great Dragon. “I hope you are right,” he said. “It will be difficult for them to listen to a Bai-sha, though. You understand that.”

  She grinned at him. “It will be easier for them if the Bai-sha is riding the Great Dragon of Mount Bari.”

  “Hmph,” was all the Dragon had to say, but he looked pleased.

  She looked down at the handful of dates she was munching. “Dragon,” she said, “I was wondering…how did you get this food?”

  “I?” He seemed surprised. “I have not been bringing you food.”

  “Then who has?”

  “The kulis,” the Dragon replied.

  Kevla almost choked. “What?” She stared in horror at the innocent-looking dates. She had been eating the food that demons had brought her for days!

  Repulsed, she threw the handful of uneaten dates as far from her as she could, wiping her hands on her red rhia. Her stomach roiled.

  “Now you’re just being stupid,” the Dragon said mildly.

  “Stupid?” she spat. “Stupid, to not eat the food demons have been bringing me?”

  He sighed and shook his head sadly, as if she were nothing more than a petulant child having a tantrum. “The kulis saved your life. It is they who have been bringing you food and water, when you would have died alone in the desert on your pilgrimage. Your c
ontempt is poor thanks. They’re not demons, Kevla. They’re not evil. I thought you were intelligent enough to learn that on your own, but apparently twenty-one years of living in this country has addled your Fire-given wits.” He perused her thoughtfully, then said, “Perhaps it is time you met them.”

  Her anger at him shifted into fear. He was going to give her to the kulis….

  “Dragon,” she said, her voice shaking. “Dragon, no, don’t do this….”

  “You’re afraid,” he said gently. “You’re afraid of something you don’t understand. You are the element of Fire, Kevla. If you are to succeed, there is much you will need to face…and learn not to fear.”

  His head was close to her level, as it always was when they conversed. Now he lifted it and extended his neck. Closing his great eyes, he opened his mouth and let out a long, crooning noise.

  Kevla leaped to her feet and pressed back against the solid comfort of the stone walls. Her mouth was dry. She had learned so much, seen so much, but this—

  She bit back a cry as long, distorted shadows moved along the walls.

  And the kulis came.

  Kayle, Captain of the Emperor’s Guardsmen and overseer of the conscription of the Arukani prisoners, had literally been born into this life.

  The son of a camp follower and a soldier, he had been left outside the nearest fort on the day of his birth. The soldiers had brought the infant in and given him to one of their wives to raise along with her own offspring. Kayle’s earliest memory was that of wanting to play with the gleaming weapons lining the walls of the room he shared with four other children.

  As soon as he could lift a sword, the woman who had raised him gave him back to the guards. He slept with other boys who did nothing but eat, sleep, train, and assist the older men. He hadkilled his first man when he was eleven, and had lost count of how many had fallen beneath his blade since then.

  Kayle knew nothing of love, or politics, or literature, or art. He knew war, and tactics, and how to kill efficiently both on the field and by stealth in the depths of night. He was strong, tall and powerful, and the scars that crisscrossed his body and face were myriad, but old. No enemy’s sword had touched Kayle’s body for the last ten years.