Firestorm

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘You can’t stop them.’ Wind found its way through cracks in the knotted canvas, stirred the cloak about his boots. ‘They’ll be here in weeks, maybe less.’

  ‘But the wyverns –’

  ‘The wyverns came from Acre. I doubt the Sartyans consider them an obstacle.’ He added more quietly, ‘They look to be ten thousand strong.’

  His mother’s face paled further. ‘They outnumber us two to one.’

  ‘And they are Sartyans,’ Gareth said, ‘experienced in battle. Their weapons are much more advanced than any you’ve encountered.’

  Ümvast narrowed her eyes. ‘But they must cross the forest and the forest is ours. We know the ground; they do not.’

  ‘Our only advantage.’

  ‘No,’ Kul’Das said suddenly. ‘We have you, Kul’Gareth.’

  He was silent, his mind turning over the possibilities. Whichever way he looked at it, many would die. His people had never been tested against a force like Sartya.

  ‘And you have me,’ Ümvast said harshly. Her fist curled around the axe in her belt. ‘If I die in the struggle, so be it. But I will take more than my share with me.’

  ‘This needs planning.’ Gareth began to stride up and down the mats that covered the pavilion floor. ‘If we fail to stop them, we must at least buy time for those who cannot fight to escape.’

  ‘Why not let us scout from the air?’ Argat offered. ‘I am aware of the danger, but I know how to fly my ship. I won’t give them a chance to use their weapons.’

  Gareth stopped, considering. ‘I can’t pretend an aerial view wouldn’t give us an advantage. But we will need ground scouts too, those who know the forest best. See if we can slow them down.’

  ‘I have the women for it.’ Ümvast clapped and a man poked his head through the tent flap. ‘Send for Freya, Sig and Derida. Tell them to bring whoever they consider their best trackers.’

  The man backed out with a silent nod.

  ‘There is a time for facing the enemy head-on and there is a time for subterfuge.’ Gareth smiled, struck with the glimmers of a plan. ‘The Sartyans won’t expect an attack by their own troops.’

  Ümvast frowned. ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Help me isolate a unit and I will show you.’ As he spoke, Gareth felt a flicker of unease. The plan in his head was like unformed clay. It would need moulding before it was ready to show his mother. Even as he frowned at the metaphor, he found himself speaking again. ‘But first we must find them, weaken them. Ten thousand men and women need to eat. As you say, we know the forest, they do not. They’ll find the widest path and stick to it. We can easily slip around them.’ Ümvast watched him intently. ‘We ambush their supply train at the rear, cut off their food and retreat. They’ll send a unit to investigate. That unit is mine.’

  Ümvast stared at him. ‘Your journey has changed you,’ she said. Her eyes flicked to the gauntlets. ‘You were a boy when you left here.’

  Gareth, too, looked at Hond’Myrkr and Hond’Lif. Their siren song was always on the edge of his mind. If he concentrated, he could hear them, light and dark, life and death, a melody to drive men mad. He smiled at his mother. It was time she and the world heard them too.

  24

  Kyndra

  ‘Medavle,’ she says. ‘You can’t do this. You mustn’t.’

  The Yadin stands on the glass peak, his newly lined face set in resolve. Behind him is a woman with hair like sunshine. One protective arm holds her back. ‘If you had the means to save your people,’ the Yadin says, ‘wouldn’t you use it?’

  She has just the one answer. ‘Better the death of five hundred Yadin than the death of the world.’

  Medavle’s eyes darken. ‘You cannot believe that.’

  ‘I must believe it. The stars cannot see beyond this point.’

  He wavers. ‘Meda,’ the woman behind him says, ‘if it is indeed a choice between us or the world, how can you hesitate? Even if you saved us, what would be the point if everything else was doomed?’

  ‘No!’ The word is a cry. He gathers her into his arms, holding her fiercely. ‘I will not let you die again.’

  ‘I never lived to begin with,’ Isla whispers.

  Kyndra jerked awake, the black dream leaving tendrils of image in her head, wisps of understanding. They mingled with memories of Kierik, of sparkling lights, of plummeting from a great height, of the eldest’s thwarted shriek as Medavle broke his hold on the past. She blinked, flailing after some semblance of reality.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  The voice was deep, more rumble than words. Char lay near her, curled like a cat, chin resting on his folded front legs. That’s right, Kyndra thought, I’m in Magtharda. And by some miracle she was alive. She sat up and felt a stab of pain in her left arm. The curse had progressed, climbing up to her shoulder. Her arm more closely resembled a skin-covered bone.

  ‘Ma said it might be worse.’ Char stretched a wing. ‘By travelling through time, you’re exposing yourself to the river – or something like that.’ He paused. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘It feels weak … and not mine. As if someone took my arm and replaced it with a false one.’ Kyndra plucked at a fold of skin over her wrist. ‘Funny – for some reason it makes me think of a hunter called Fin back in Brenwym who lost his leg to one of his own traps. He walked with a limb made of wood and metal.’ She and Jhren had been terrified of him as children. ‘He became a baker after that. Much safer.’

  Char cocked his head. ‘You sound different,’ he said. ‘What happened in the past?’

  ‘I need to talk to Ma.’ Kyndra climbed unsteadily to her feet. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Resting,’ Char rumbled, and she thought she detected reproof. ‘Ma said she had to snatch you out of mid-air. What did you think you were doing?’

  ‘I suspect we would all like to know the answer,’ came a voice. They both turned to find Ma standing in the entryway. Arvaka hovered at her side, ready to steady her if she fell, but the woman’s steps were sure, if a little heavy, as she crossed the dragon-sized chamber.

  ‘Ma,’ Kyndra said, going towards her, ‘are you well?’

  ‘I am fine, girl. Save your concern for yourself.’ Hands on hips, she nodded at Kyndra’s cursed arm. ‘The more you travel the river, the worse it will become.’

  ‘The eldest failed, Ma.’

  ‘So he will try again. And you must stop him again.’

  Kyndra shook her head. ‘I don’t know if I can. I managed to separate Medavle and the eldest – it worked as you thought.’ She swallowed back the memory of Veritan trying to prise open her mind. ‘But Kierik caught me. A few more moments and he’d have torn the truth from me. I can’t risk meeting him again. I don’t have any power in the past. The stars serve Kierik.’

  Char rose from his crouch. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Two Starborn cannot co-exist. I was stupid not to remember what it was like before, when Kierik was alive. I can’t speak to them – even my tattoos don’t show up. In the past, I’m just the girl from Brenwym.’ She blinked at the words as they emerged. Why had she said that?

  Char seemed equally surprised. ‘You mean you’re … you,’ he said, ‘in the past, I mean. You’re not a Starborn?’

  ‘I am and I’m not.’ Kyndra remembered that first awful moment crouched in the snow, unable to sense the stars. ‘I can feel again. Fear, horror … it’s dangerous. Emotions are a prison.’

  ‘You sound like Kierik.’ Realdon Shune sat in a dim corner, where Kyndra hadn’t noticed him. The old Wielder rose, one hand pressed to the small of his back. Hobbling into the light, he added, ‘I recall him saying much the same.’

  Ma was frowning. ‘Have you asked the stars why they did not warn you?’

  ‘I mean to.’ Kyndra sent her senses into the void. For one unreasoning moment, she thought to find the barrier there again, and was unable to suppress a sigh of relief when it wasn’t. Era, she called.

  Starborn, it replied immediately, sounding
almost guilty.

  I followed your advice. Trusted you. Revisited the past. Why did you not warn me about Kierik?

  Would you have agreed to go? Era said, confirming her first unpleasant suspicion that the star had done it for reasons of its own. As you are now – would you have agreed to give up the power you wield even temporarily?

  No. Kyndra ignored the little voice in the back of her mind. You are obligated to serve me, she told Era. That includes being honest. I could have died.

  We do serve you, Era replied. Which is why we hide certain truths until the time comes for you to hear them.

  Not this again. More claiming to act on my command? The command I’ve given but haven’t given yet?

  You begin to understand. Era sounded satisfied, as far as it could exhibit satisfaction.

  Oh no. I’m not going back again.

  You must. Other stars added their voices to Era’s hollow whisper, making the two words resonate unpleasantly in Kyndra’s head. She rubbed her temple. They’d never done that before. You must because you already have. You must because you have not yet.

  Before, she’d have screamed with frustration. Now she stood silently, turning over the words like a damp stone, searching for meaning hidden underneath.

  ‘Kyndra,’ Ma said, breaking her trance. ‘What do they say?’

  She’d been staring into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. Now Kyndra blinked and looked at Ma. ‘They say I must go back again.’ Her voice sounded as hollow as Era’s. ‘They can’t tell me more until the time is right. They claim I gave this command.’

  Ma studied one of the ouroboros on her palms. ‘It could be that you did,’ she said slowly. ‘And now we rush towards the moment you will give it.’

  ‘You’re as bad as they are,’ Kyndra muttered. ‘What if I refuse to go again?’

  The stars cannot see beyond this point. It wasn’t Era who spoke, but Kyndra’s own voice, echoing out to her from the heart of the black dream. She felt her eyes widen. ‘If even the stars are blind,’ she said aloud, ‘could it be that there is nothing left for them to see?’

  Listen to your dreams, Era whispered. They are there to guide you.

  ‘I don’t understand any of this.’ Char rose to his feet with a rustle and scrape of spines. ‘You’re saying that the stars believe the world itself could cease to exist?’

  Kyndra nodded, her mind racing.

  ‘What change could this eldest make that has the power to threaten the very world?’ Arvaka asked.

  Listen to your dreams. She’d had three of them now. Three visions she’d dismissed as the jumbled result of her worry over Medavle and the eldest. But what if they weren’t dreams? What if they were memories?

  She’d reached this conclusion before – back when she’d believed Kierik’s memories were no more than dreams. Kyndra felt a seismic shift in her blood. It’s all linked, she thought, everything from the moment the Relic broke in Brenwym to finding Kierik, to accepting my heritage. A vast tapestry of cause and effect had led her to this moment and would continue to lead her on to the very first thread … and the last.

  Now you see it, Era whispered.

  What change would threaten the world? The answer was there in the black dreams, in the memories – her memories, Kyndra realized. ‘Solinaris,’ she murmured. Then, glancing at Arvaka, she said, ‘What if the eldest stops Kierik from separating Rairam and Acre? Kierik will never be defeated. He’ll be alive to continue his fight against the empire. All of this –’ she swept out a hand as if it could encompass the very earth they stood on – ‘would be changed.’

  ‘Not just changed,’ Ma said. ‘To stop an event responsible for so many other events would cause unimaginable chaos. I’ve said it before: the threads of time unpicked. That is what the stars cannot see beyond.’

  Kyndra stilled. ‘That means I do have to go back again.’

  ‘Would the eldest really attempt something so dangerous?’ Char asked. ‘Can’t he simply return to the same time Kyndra already travelled to and try again?’

  Ma shook her head. ‘That loop is closed now. It would be impossible for him, anchor or no, to maintain a grip on it.’ She looked at Kyndra. ‘Do the stars say when this next attempt is going to happen?’

  You will know, Starborn. You cannot mistake the signs.

  Why won’t you just tell me? Kyndra didn’t expect an answer and she didn’t receive one. ‘They say I’ll know,’ she said darkly, vowing to have words with her future self – the one that had ordered the stars to be silent. ‘That there’ll be signs.’

  Char huffed out smoky blue. ‘That’s a big help.’

  Ma, however, looked thoughtful. ‘All Khronostian children are taught to read the signs in the world’s pattern. If there are signs, I can read them as well as the eldest.’

  Kyndra didn’t like this uncertainty, this guesswork. And she worried about finding herself once again defenceless in the past, no matter how much Era insisted it was necessary. ‘If this is so important, I can’t go alone.’ She felt her eyes drawn to the white serpents flashing through Ma’s skin. ‘Are you able to send someone with me?’

  ‘I can,’ Ma said, ‘though it will tire me much faster.’

  That’s something. Her Starborn self didn’t care for the idea of taking someone else along, but the memory of finding herself powerless was still too fresh.

  The beat of wings filled the room. Arvaka ducked as another silver-gold bird skimmed his horns and swooped down towards Kyndra. She held out her good wrist, where the bird promptly dissolved into a puddle of words.

  Kyndra raised her eyebrows. ‘Brégenne says they’ve taken Parakat, the aberration fortress.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They suffered casualties, but not enough to cripple them.’ Kyndra glanced up as the words faded. ‘It seems the Republic has a new base of operations, at least temporarily.’

  ‘Parakat? The stones of that place are mortared with blood.’ Shune shook his grey head. ‘The emperor’s treatment of aberrations was one of the reasons I turned against him. For all my status in court, I could do nothing to stop the slaughter without revealing myself as a Wielder. Had I done so, I’d have joined them.’

  ‘She says many aberrations died in the conflict,’ Kyndra told him. ‘Of those that remain, some may not recover from their imprisonment.’

  ‘Was it worth it, then?’ Shune asked bitterly.

  ‘It’s a poignant rallying point.’

  ‘And perhaps a chance to erase the crimes committed there,’ Char added. Kyndra didn’t understand the reproachful glance he sent her way.

  The Wielder scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘I’m too old for all of this,’ he grumbled.

  Kyndra studied him. ‘You played your part in the emperor’s death. I thought you wanted to see the end of Sartya.’

  Realdon Shune returned her stare with one of his own. ‘You, of all people, should understand: nothing lasts forever, but the certainty of change.’

  25

  Char

  Char’s desire to stretch his wings took him outside. The atmosphere had become stifling with the threat hanging over them all. And Kyndra … asleep she had looked so fragile, so vulnerable, the pulse in her throat a pale fluttering. Watching her, Char had thought she’d never seemed so human.

  And then her eyes had opened and he’d realized he was wrong. In those eyes, the deep navy of night sky, Char had seen a chill power, a power beyond his comprehension. Starborn. How callously she now referred to emotions, he thought, when she’d once been so terrified of losing them. That person was gone. So why could he not stop thinking of her?

  He launched himself into the air with a running leap, which he considered his most graceful yet until a voice called, ‘If a human strapped on wings and threw themselves from a mountaintop, they would look much as you do.’

  Char stopped clawing at the sky and let a gust turn him. Ekaar hovered nearby, her great dark wings keeping her effortlessly aloft. ‘Don’t be unkind,’
he said, attempting to hover as she was and utterly failing. ‘I’ve never had wings before.’

  ‘It shows,’ his mother said.

  ‘You don’t pull your punches, do you?’

  The other dragon bunched the ridges on her brow in an unmistakable frown. ‘Pull my … punches?’

  ‘Human phrase, I guess,’ he answered, trying out another hover. He thought he might be getting it when Ekaar suddenly called, ‘Catch me if you can,’ and swooped into a dive.

  Mountain wind in his ears, Char followed her, feeling the air rush across the surface of his scales. He drew his legs in closer, flattened the spines around his neck and angled himself like a ship tacking against the wind. He gasped at the increase in speed. Ekaar’s tail was just metres in front of him; he snapped at it playfully and she growled something over her shoulder.

  Magtharda was an animal beneath them, ambertrix running like veins through grey-skinned stone. Char laughed with sheer exhilaration at his speed. They circled and climbed, dived and sprinted. Ekaar led him on a wild dance which, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t quite match. She was laughing too.

  Eventually, she folded her wings and plummeted. Char copied her, slightly alarmed at their speed. The ground was coming up much faster than it had a right to; he almost closed his eyes and braced for impact before remembering what his mother had taught him. At the last moment, he snapped his wings open and turned his flight into a stumbling run.

  It wasn’t graceful, but on the upside, he wasn’t dead. Char considered it a definite victory.

  ‘We will make a Lleu-yelin of you yet,’ Ekaar said when he joined her. The wind caught in her ash-grey mane and it struck Char just how similar they were. Growing up the oddity among humans, mocked for his skin and his cat’s eyes, he felt suddenly warm. It was a different warmth to the heat of blood and raw ambertrix that flowed beneath his scales; it was a warmth of belonging, something he’d never really felt before.

  His mother’s next words doused it. ‘We must find you a suitable mate.’

  ‘What?’