Firestorm

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘It is not my choice alone,’ the man said finally. ‘Those still capable of it are grateful for the service you have done us, but we are tired. An ideal may not be enough.’

  ‘How about vengeance, then?’ Kait said. She threw down the lace.

  It was one of her usual ill-timed and inflammatory statements, but Reuven laughed. And though it was an ugly laugh, devoid of humour, it crinkled the lines about his eyes. ‘Vengeance,’ he said, staring at Kait. ‘Yes. That we might fight for.’

  The fortress was large, but so was the task of quartering twelve hundred soldiers. Brégenne left it to Hagdon and Mercia and accompanied Reuven back to the chambers given over to Parakat’s former inmates. They couldn’t keep referring to them as aberrations, she thought, and they weren’t yet Wielders. She wasn’t sure if they were ready to learn. One woman watched her from the floor, where she sat huddled, arms locked about her knees. No longer dirty and rag-clad, she was still thin, stony-faced. She must wish herself anywhere but here, Brégenne thought. Even if their homes were gone, being forced to remain in Parakat must be a torment. I will take them to Naris, she vowed, as soon as I know they’re ready. And as soon as I think of a good enough argument to present to Veeta and Gend.

  ‘It’s just a question of practice,’ Nediah was saying to Cowie. The fair-haired young man had his head tipped on one side, as if listening attentively, but his eyes were distant. ‘Once you’ve learned how to touch the Solar or Lunar, you can make the connection far more easily.’

  ‘And is it the same feeling?’ a woman asked. ‘Touching the Solar and Lunar?’ Her name was Margery, Brégenne remembered. Of all the aberrations, including Reuven and Cowie, she seemed the strongest, the least cowed. It made sense; she’d only been in Parakat for a month.

  Nediah frowned and looked at Brégenne. ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever compared notes. Is there a difference between touching the Solar and Lunar?’

  ‘I can only describe what it’s like to touch the Lunar,’ Brégenne told Margery with a shrug. ‘I struggled with it at first. I kept lunging at it, mentally scrabbling. My mentor taught me to be silent, to wait. Touching the Lunar is like –’ she paused, searching for a suitable comparison – ‘coaxing a bird into your hand. You need to be patient, inviting.’ She could feel Nediah’s gaze on her cheek. ‘Inviting is difficult for me.’

  ‘What good is a power you have to wait for?’ Margery asked with mild disgust.

  ‘Once you’ve mastered the technique, everything I described happens in a heartbeat,’ Brégenne said.

  ‘The Solar isn’t like that at all.’

  They looked at Nediah. It wasn’t just Margery listening now, Brégenne noticed. Others had raised their heads too.

  ‘How would you describe touching the Solar?’ Nediah asked Kait. The tall woman was leaning against a wall, arms folded, her expression of boredom quite convincing.

  ‘You’re better with words,’ she said shortly.

  Nediah sighed. ‘Well, it’s not inviting. It’s more like seizing the mane of a wild horse and holding on for dear life.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Brégenne couldn’t believe they’d never had this discussion. ‘A wild horse?’

  ‘If we’re sticking with animal metaphors, then yes.’ Nediah shook a golden flame to life in his hand. Some of the prisoners drew back, others leaned in closer to see. Cowie was one. He moved to peer over the Wielder’s shoulder, the fire dancing in his eyes. ‘If you waited for the Solar, you’d be waiting forever.’ Nediah closed his hand. ‘You have to take it.’ The flames licked around his fist.

  When the silver point emerged from his chest, Brégenne took it to be a trick of the light. But the silver was red and the red spread in a widening circle, which grew when Cowie slid the dagger out as gently as he’d slid it in. The weapon fell from his hands to clatter on the stone floor, and the sound of its fall shattered the spell that had held them all frozen.

  Brégenne heard a scream. It was high and terrible and she clapped her hands over her ears until she realized the sound came from her own throat. Nediah looked faintly bemused as his knees buckled. ‘Take it,’ Cowie said. He was gazing at his bloodstained hands, as if he somehow expected them to burst into flames.

  Kait flashed across the room in three strides. She was howling wordlessly, bright swords unsheathed.

  ‘No!’

  Reuven’s shout went unheeded. Kait plunged one of her blades into Cowie’s chest and tore down. The burning sword sliced through flesh and bone; with the other, she took the man’s head from his shoulders. Cowie’s body fell in pieces and Kait kicked it away. Her face was starkly bloodless against the red splashed across her front.

  Nediah touched his chest; fingers dipped in his own blood. Brégenne caught him as he toppled sideways, lowered him to the floor. She was aware of words pouring out of her, but she couldn’t make sense of them. Her hands were on his chest, trying vainly to keep the blood inside.

  Kait collapsed next to her. ‘Heal yourself,’ she shouted into Nediah’s face. ‘Come on, Ned. You’ve healed worse.’

  Nediah’s breath was coming in gasps, his green eyes clouding. ‘Please,’ Brégenne said, not knowing to whom she spoke. This couldn’t be happening, couldn’t happen. She seized Kait, shook her. ‘Do something!’

  ‘I can’t.’ It emerged as a sob. ‘I can’t heal, Brégenne. I can’t.’

  ‘You must be able to –’ her hand was still around Kait’s arm – ‘to keep him alive until nightfall. Then I can heal him. Just until nightfall, Kait.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Kait said again and to Brégenne’s horror, she ripped her arm free and stood up, backing away. ‘I don’t know how. I don’t know.’

  ‘Someone.’ When Brégenne looked back at Nediah, his eyes were closed. ‘No, no.’ Brégenne tore off her shirt, pressed it to his chest. The blood came seeping up, drenching the cloth in seconds. She couldn’t seem to get her breath. She reached for the Lunar, fruitlessly, knowing hours stood between her and the night. Nediah had minutes. She couldn’t wait that long.

  ‘Kyndra,’ she murmured suddenly, ‘Kyndra can help us.’

  ‘There’s no time to send an envoi,’ Kait snarled. She had her back flattened against the wall, almost as far from Nediah as she could get. Brégenne was aware of the prisoners and of Reuven backing away; she ignored them, instead shutting her eyes, trying to clear a space where she didn’t see Nediah’s pale face. He lay half in her lap, heavy, slipping away. One hand still pressing the material to his chest, she held him closer and she called. She didn’t use the Lunar; she couldn’t. It didn’t occur to her that she was yelling into the silence of her own mind. She called Kyndra. Again and again, she called for the Starborn.

  Brégenne?

  The relief was so overpowering, Brégenne almost lost her concentration. But she held on to the sense of Kyndra with everything she had. Come, she thought wildly, please come.

  Calm down, Brégenne. Where are you?

  Parakat, she thought back. It’s Nediah. You have to help him. He’s … he’s dying.

  She thought she detected a faint sense of resignation before Kyndra said, Very well.

  Hurry!

  But there was no response. Brégenne opened her eyes. She could see a pulse in Nediah’s neck, but it was slow, barely moving the skin above it. ‘Kyndra,’ she heard herself moan. ‘Please hurry.’

  ‘She can’t hear you,’ Kait said in a choked voice. Brégenne didn’t spare her a look; she couldn’t take her eyes from Nediah’s face.

  ‘Hold on,’ she told him. ‘Just a little longer. Please, Nediah.’

  It was impossible to tell how much time passed. Brégenne could only measure it by the slowing of Nediah’s pulse, by the increasing pallor of his face. She held him and she wept, occasionally clawing at the Lunar, trying to break through the dazzling cage that kept her power from her.

  And then a hand touched her shoulder.

  Brégenne tore her eyes from Nediah to look. Amazingly, unbelieva
bly, Kyndra stood there. She was solid and real and Brégenne found herself gasping in relief. She’d thought about this moment for weeks, meeting Kyndra again after so much had changed between them. She’d thought about what she would say, how Kyndra would reply, even about what she’d look like. Now her appearance barely registered. Brégenne looked beyond her tattoos to the person beneath. Kyndra had saved Nediah’s life once before, catching him as the bridge to Naris collapsed. ‘You have to heal him,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t heal, Brégenne.’

  Her ears registered the words, but her mind refused to process them. She lifted her arms slightly, Nediah still cradled in them. ‘Kyndra. Heal him.’

  Kyndra shook her head. She looked at Nediah with vague regret. ‘It’s a shame,’ she said. ‘How did this happen?’

  Brégenne just stared at her. For the first time she focused on the tattoos engraved in Kyndra’s skin, on her still face, her dark and distant eyes. ‘You …’ she breathed. ‘How can you say that? He’s your friend, Kyndra.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she replied with infuriating calm. ‘But I’ve told you, I can’t heal. The stars don’t possess an understanding of mortal bodies. And even if they did, I’m not sure I could comprehend it without practice. Remember, Nediah studied his craft for years.’

  Brégenne shook her head, a dam inside her threatening to burst. ‘No. I can’t believe this. You’re Starborn. You can do anything.’

  Kyndra pursed her lips. She regarded Nediah steadily, though her gaze seemed introspective. ‘Isa says there might be a way,’ she said after a moment. ‘But it’s dangerous. I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘What way?’ Brégenne shouted. Every second they wasted talking –

  ‘Can you heal him?’

  ‘You know I—’

  ‘If your power was available to you, could you heal him?’

  ‘Enough to save his life,’ Brégenne said, ‘but he won’t survive until nightfall.’

  Kyndra put her head on one side, dark eyes surveying her. Even amidst the turmoil within, Brégenne felt that it was not a look you gave a person. ‘I can strip away the barrier between you and your power.’

  Brégenne frowned. ‘You’d make it night?’

  ‘I’m not a Khronostian,’ Kyndra said with a definitive shake of her head. ‘I can’t fast-forward time. But Lunar is merely reflected Solar and you already wield it.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s quite simple. I can open you up to the Solar. You will be able to wield both – it’s the same energy, after all.’ Kyndra folded her arms. ‘But it will probably kill you.’

  Brégenne’s heart raced. ‘Kill me –?’

  ‘The shock,’ Kyndra explained. ‘They might be the same energy, but the Solar form is very different. You have never encountered the energy in its primary state. If you don’t harness it immediately, it will burn you up.’

  ‘Do it,’ Brégenne said.

  Kyndra bit her lip; for the first time she looked perturbed. ‘Brégenne, it’s a waste. You’re a talented Wielder. We need you. Why throw your life away?’

  ‘Because it’s mine. Do it, Kyndra.’

  Kyndra looked away from her, her gaze travelling around the chamber, noting, it seemed for the first time, Reuven and the aberrations. They cowered from her, fearful eyes fixed on her face, on the tattoos burned into her skin. Kyndra didn’t seem to notice their discomfort.

  ‘Kyndra,’ Brégenne cried. ‘Please.’

  The Starborn sighed. ‘If it’s what you want.’ Brégenne couldn’t tell whether her air of sadness was genuine. In the next moment, it was gone and Kyndra’s tone became business-like. ‘Opening you up to the Solar will be stripping away a layer of protection you’ve had your entire life, one you probably didn’t notice was there.’ She clenched a fist and Brégenne noticed there was something wrong with her other hand – the whole arm hung strangely. But there was no room in her to ask the question. Her thoughts ran as swiftly as the blood in her veins. She looked back at Nediah’s pallid face.

  ‘I can do it,’ she heard herself say, but inside she was far from sure. She thought about the dazzling cage, how it blinded and burned her when she tried to break out of it. If that was the Solar, how could anyone harness it? But Nediah could turn that inferno to gentler purposes. And everyone knew the Solar was naturally suited to healing, more so than the Lunar.

  ‘Brégenne,’ Kyndra said seriously, snapping her out of her thoughts, ‘once I strip that barrier away, you’re on your own. I can’t help you master the Solar. And I won’t be able to stop it from tearing you apart.’ She knelt on the other side of Nediah’s body so that they stared across him into each other’s eyes. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ Brégenne whispered.

  Kyndra reached over. She placed her star-scarred hand on Brégenne’s forehead and the world burst into flame.

  27

  Brégenne

  Light.

  Heat.

  But what she felt most was the agony. Searing, flesh-melting pain; she wished for death to end it. She was only dimly aware of the flames. Her clothes were gone, burned up in an instant. Her skin blistered before her eyes. Her hands held her head, bare now of hair. She screamed and with each scream, she inhaled more of the fire so that the breath boiled in her lungs.

  Shapes loomed around her, indistinct through the flames. Everything was golden, a terrible hungry golden desperate to consume her and escape. It would burn the world to ash.

  ‘Master it, Brégenne. Now.’

  The words meant nothing. She wished for darkness; she wished for silver and silence. They had carried her for as long as she could remember. They were her life.

  But they were gone and the fire was everything.

  ‘Brégenne,’ said the voice and it was her name. ‘Seize it. Or it will destroy you.’

  She gasped and cried, hugged herself more tightly, knowing it was futile. The fire was already inside her. Seize it? Seizing it would be throwing herself into an inferno. Seizing it meant death.

  Wasn’t that what she wanted?

  Although the voice spoke again, the words could not reach her through the fire. It crackled and jumped inside her body, a searing violation. Help me, she cried silently, help me please. Her plea fed the fire; it roared up, obscuring everything, leaving her alone in a prison of agony.

  No, not alone. Somebody else was there – not the cold voice that issued its impossible commands, but someone closer, warmer, someone who knelt behind her, whose arms reached around her burning body. Brégenne looked down. The arms did not burn, clothes untouched by the fire.

  ‘Like this,’ Kait’s voice said and the flames calmed a little. She took Brégenne’s hands in hers. ‘You have to accept it. Recognize it.’

  She did, Brégenne thought. She had seen this fire before, fought it, been healed by it. ‘The heart of the sun, Brégenne,’ Kait whispered, still holding on to her. ‘You just know it by another name.’

  With her mouth blistered and baked, she had no moisture left to shape the word, so Brégenne said it silently, in the furnace that was her head. Solar.

  The fire had been inside her – now she was inside the fire. Her body shrieked at her, raw and red, but no longer burning. Lithe forms were all around her; they took on shapes when she looked at them. A horse ran before a Solar wind, eagles flew in its slipstream. Grass grew around her shins, a forest with golden leaves and golden fruit, hanging ripe and heavy from golden boughs. She blinked. A river splashed through the trees, molten gold. It was almost overwhelming … almost.

  Brégenne’s burned feet walked her through it. Her fingers stroked the backs of nameless creatures. She let them guide her among the trees, following their whoops and calls, treading in their prints, until the forest ended and she stood upon the edge of a vast plain. The sun beat down overhead and, despite its brightness, she found herself staring into it, letting it wipe out every other sight.

  ‘… Brégenne.’


  There was no forest, no plain. Her eyes had been closed. When she opened them, after-images of the great sun stained the scene. She was somewhere dark, knees against a stone floor. A body lay at her feet.

  Nediah.

  She realized she was in agony. Her heart beat fretfully, fighting the shock of her burns. She might not have long. Kait let go of her hands and Brégenne placed them on Nediah’s chest. They glowed brightly, almost brightly enough to obscure how the Solar had stripped off most of her skin. When she sank her awareness into Nediah’s body, she found the barest flicker of life. He’d lost so much blood.

  Brégenne had healed a chest wound before. Kyndra’s stepfather. It had been night; she had knelt on a wooden floor, a floor that had soon after succumbed to fire. A strange echo. The Solar was finally pliant in her hands. It pulsed as if it too possessed a heart. She followed the path of the knife through Nediah’s body and, just as she’d done with Jarand, encouraged the flesh to knit. The sense of her own body faded as she worked, taking her sense of time with it. All that mattered was linking vessel to vessel, patching torn cartilage, retrieving fragments of bone which the blade had sheared off in its violent passage. Her skill was clumsy, but it was all she had. She wept while she worked, and the Solar sang to her, a little like the Lunar, but wilder, windier; several times, it almost escaped her grasp. Brégenne gripped it firmly, knowing she didn’t have the strength to reach out again.

  When she was satisfied she’d healed most of the damage, she pulled her awareness back and opened her eyes. Nediah’s face was still pale and she placed her burned palm against his cheek. She felt a presence behind her. Kait had stayed; the back of Brégenne’s neck was damp with her tears.

  Numbness began to seep through her, taking away the pain, but everything else too. Brégenne leaned forward until their foreheads touched. ‘I’ve done all I can,’ she whispered, or maybe she didn’t – maybe the words were only in her mind. ‘Now it’s your turn.’ The numbness grew to cover her mouth; she couldn’t draw breath. Her head spun and her hand slipped from Nediah’s cheek. When the floor rose to meet her, she welcomed it.