Firestorm

by Lucy Hounsom

  Mikael grinned. It seemed nothing much fazed him. ‘This one –’ he hefted the green – ‘releases a toxin that attacks the nervous system. This one –’ he hefted the red – ‘explodes.’ He leaned over conspiratorially, said in an audible whisper, ‘The red one’s my favourite.’

  ‘Mikael,’ Hagdon snapped from behind.

  ‘She asked a question, brother.’ The Alchemist stroked the red ball with a thumb before carefully placing it, with an air of disappointment, in a pouch at his waist. ‘You’re right, though,’ he said. ‘Firestorm won’t do for this situation.’

  ‘Neither will that toxin. We’re up against wraiths, Mikael. Bodiless spectres. I doubt they possess nervous systems.’

  ‘Holding it makes me feel better,’ the Alchemist said and, not for the first time, Brégenne wondered if he wasn’t a little bit mad.

  They moved deeper into the valley and conversation died. The pressure in the air increased. Irilin rode with her shoulders hunched, Brégenne saw, memories clear on her face. ‘It feels like last time,’ the young woman whispered. ‘Where are they?’

  Brégenne felt watched. Something was out there. ‘Just keep going,’ she said in a low voice.

  The only things that moved were the stars as they wheeled gracefully overhead. Even the wind ceased; silence reigned in the valley. ‘Perhaps whatever Kyndra did destroyed them,’ Irilin murmured, but she did not look convinced.

  As night dragged towards dawn and they began to near the far side, Nediah spoke up from behind. ‘They let us get this far before. Be ready.’

  Before he’d finished the last word, Irilin gave a yelp and burst into silver flame.

  ‘That’s quite enough of that,’ Brégenne said firmly. She leaned over and clamped a hand on Irilin’s wrist. The Lunar died immediately.

  ‘How are you doing that?’ the young woman asked, her eyes wide. ‘I can still feel them, but it’s as if you’ve raised a wall against them.’

  ‘You could do it too,’ Brégenne replied, scanning the darkened landscape. It wouldn’t be dark for much longer. Ahead of them, the sky was rapidly paling into morning. ‘It’s the same as imposing a block on another Wielder.’ As she spoke, she had a vision of Alandred slamming back against her door, her Lunar block dowsing the silver on his skin. She grinned to herself.

  Irilin stared at her. ‘Why are you smiling?’

  ‘No reason.’ But there was a reason: she was trying to distract herself, trying not to look at the lightening sky, knowing what she’d have to do if the wraiths continued their assault. Give it up, she thought silently at them. Don’t make me use it. But she felt the attack strengthen, as more of them scrabbled to tear control of the Lunar away from her and Irilin both.

  It was strange to be fighting things she couldn’t see. The wraiths’ attack was a silent one, and Brégenne felt sweat on her brow. They grew increasingly frantic as the land began to slope upwards to the lip of the valley. The sensation was one of scrabbling, as of fingers desperately seeking purchase on rock. Brégenne steeled herself – they would not reach the far side before the Lunar failed.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d become. ‘I’m here,’ Nediah said quietly. ‘Remember, Brégenne. You have to seize it.’

  The sun crested the ridge. She sensed the wraiths’ attention fall away from her, turning to Nediah and Kait. Brégenne let go of Irilin, reached her awareness out to the other Wielders instead. It was easier if she could touch them, but they might have to gallop out of here.

  It was as Nediah described. The Solar was like a horse of burning gold that flashed by her. Abandoning fear, Brégenne snatched at its mane.

  Instantly, the Solar caught her up; she raced through a realm of fire. But it didn’t burn her, not this time. She bent it to her will, just as she did the Lunar, and found it surprisingly pliable in her hands. Before the wraiths could tap power from Nediah and Kait, she blocked them both.

  Consternation. Shock. They were base emotions, unsophisticated, but tangible all the same. ‘Run,’ Brégenne said. The effort of maintaining the blocks and keeping her own connection open turned the word into a growl. She saw Mikael and Hagdon out of the corner of her eye, both scanning the empty slope, unaware of the invisible battle she waged.

  ‘I said run!’ she shouted, kicking her horse into a gallop. And then it was a confusion of hooves and shouts, as the message passed back through the ranks. ‘Get over the ridge,’ she shouted at Nediah. ‘Don’t give them a chance to steal energy.’ Nediah didn’t look happy about it, but he and Kait galloped up and out of the valley where the wraiths couldn’t follow.

  As soon as they were out of range, Brégenne let the blocks on them fade. Holding fast to her own, she wheeled her horse around to guard the rest of the army.

  Denied energy, the wraiths couldn’t take form. Whatever Kyndra had done to them seemed to have worked – Brégenne spotted a wispy coalescence that struggled vainly to hold a shape before falling to tatters. Still, she held her post until every last soldier had left the valley. Sweat trickled down her neck from the strain of shielding herself. The wraiths’ attack only let up once she had put the hoarlands behind her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Nediah came running over, helped her down from the horse.

  Brégenne sagged against him. ‘Yes. Just tired. Did you ever find out what those things were?’

  ‘Medavle believed they’re all that’s left of the Yadin,’ Nediah said soberly. He looked towards the valley. ‘If it’s true, they didn’t deserve such a fate.’

  Brégenne followed him back to the camp they’d set up on the barren rock that marked what she’d once thought the end of the world. To the north-west sprawled the crumbled mountains, Rairam’s new border. To the east were the Badlands with Murta the only town for leagues. And to the north …

  Brégenne turned to look at Naris. The twisted peak she called home. It was as black as ever, its skirts swallowed by the chasm, its summit lost in heavy cloud. She felt a peculiar thrill – of nerves, of excitement, she didn’t know. She found Nediah gazing at it too, a remoteness in his green eyes.

  ‘It seems different somehow,’ he murmured. ‘Smaller than I remember.’

  She knew what he meant. Naris had been the centre of her world; it had filled her world. But now she’d walked in Acre and had only the barest glimpse of its vastness. There was so much still to see. And this tiny corner of a continent, once so vital, now seemed tucked away, distant and removed.

  Yet it was home.

  ‘Janus still won’t talk to me,’ she said, wondering what the Wielders had planned for her. ‘He must be under guard, or being watched.’

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Nediah said. He took her hand, long fingers twining through hers. It was a small thing, but Brégenne shivered at his touch. It was still so new – this gentle openness, the absence of uncertainty. He raised a hand to her face, tilted her chin. ‘Nediah,’ she murmured, ‘everyone is looking.’

  ‘Then let them look,’ he said and Brégenne just had time to smile before he kissed her. The slow, insistent way he eased his lips over hers still made her knees weak, her heart pound. Nediah did not hurry; by the time he pulled away, she felt a little giddy. ‘Later,’ he promised with an intensity that made her blush. He let her go and she watched as he went to sort through his pack.

  Brégenne glanced around. Everyone suddenly seemed to have something vital to do. She caught Irilin staring at Hagdon, who met her eyes and swiftly looked away. Irilin watched him a moment more before she sighed and went to help Mercia.

  ‘You must think you’ve won,’ came a low voice from behind.

  She knew who it was without turning. They were in a little circle of calm – Nediah was out of earshot, Hagdon was speaking to Taske, Mikael walked among his fellow Alchemists, distributing something small from a pouch in his hand.

  ‘It’s never been about winning or losing,’ she said.

  Kait strode into her line of sight.
‘Taking the moral high ground, as usual.’

  Brégenne felt her stomach clench. ‘What do you want from me, Kait?’

  ‘You know what I want, Brégenne. The only thing I’ve ever wanted for myself.’ Her eyes burned; they had that ragged look Brégenne had come to recognize. ‘When I joined the Nerian, I gave up my freedom,’ Kait said. ‘I was selfless. I dedicated myself to a cause that wasn’t my own.’

  ‘Selfless – is that what you call it? So it was selflessness that made you rebel against the Council? Selflessness that drove you to murder innocent people? Selflessness that made you abandon Nediah—’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ Kait hissed in a low, venomous voice. ‘Don’t you dare say to me –’

  ‘What?’ Brégenne advanced on her. ‘Say what, Kait? The truth? That you left the man you loved? That the Nerian were more important to you?’

  The high spots of colour in Kait’s cheeks grew brighter. ‘I won’t—’

  ‘You have no idea,’ Brégenne heard herself say. ‘No idea.’ There were tears in her voice, but tears of anger. ‘For months, he barely spoke. And when he did, it was to say your name.’

  ‘But you were quick enough to step in,’ Kait snarled. ‘I thought mentors were supposed to guide and protect their charges, not sleep with them.’

  Brégenne flushed. ‘I never—’

  ‘No one else would have you. He was vulnerable. So you took your chance.’

  Her heart was pounding. ‘It wasn’t like that. I didn’t intend for this to happen.’ With renewed anger, she added, ‘And I don’t see why I should defend myself when I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Kait stepped close to her, so close that the ends of her long hair brushed Brégenne’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know why I ever helped you.’

  ‘I do. For Nediah’s sake. You could have let me die. But then, he’d have died too.’ She looked into Kait’s brown eyes. ‘You could have let me die,’ Brégenne repeated more softly, ‘but you didn’t. You held me when I was alone.’

  Kait’s step back was almost a stumble. Her eyes shone with tears or chagrin, or was it regret? ‘And you knew what you were doing,’ Brégenne said. ‘What it would mean if Nediah and I both lived.’ She’d thought she’d have to force the words out, but now they came freely, as if eager to escape. ‘So, though you may not forgive me for it, though you may hate me, I’m thanking you.’

  Kait’s expression splintered. With a wrenching cry, somewhere between rage and grief, she fled into the camp. Shaken, Brégenne watched her go. When she ran past Mercia, the woman abandoned her conversation with Irilin and started after her, calling her name.

  Brégenne wasn’t even aware of Nediah coming up beside her. ‘What was that about?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ She couldn’t look at him. ‘It was nothing.’

  Before they left for Naris, she changed into the robes.

  She’d found the material in Cymenza, where they’d briefly halted, the city now fully under the control of the Republic. ‘Wielders respond to spectacle,’ she’d explained, ‘as much as they respond to reasoned argument. We have to impress them.’

  ‘You’re bringing fifty or so aberrations,’ Hagdon had pointed out. ‘Isn’t that enough to convince them to listen to you?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Brégenne thought of Alandred, of Veeta, Gend and Hebrin. She remembered the arguments that had forced her to take matters into her own hands. No, she would need something more than a ragged rabble of potentials, even if they were from Acre.

  ‘I think you’ll certainly get their attention,’ Irilin told her now.

  Brégenne ran a hand down the silk. One half of the robes was silver, the other gold. ‘I hope so,’ she said fervently. ‘But I need more than attention. I need their agreement too.’

  ‘Are you ready?’ Nediah asked, leading her horse over.

  Brégenne took a breath. ‘Is Kait coming?’

  ‘I can’t find her.’ Nediah’s gaze strayed to the mountain. ‘Somehow I doubt she wants to see Naris again.’

  Brégenne felt strangely empty. ‘We had better get going, then.’ Slightly hampered by the robes, she climbed into her saddle.

  ‘I’m counting on you,’ Hagdon told her, standing at her stirrup. ‘If Rairam’s to keep its freedom, the Wielders need to fight.’

  ‘They will,’ she vowed. ‘I will see you in two weeks, where we agreed.’

  The dark-eyed commander simply nodded. He glanced at Irilin. ‘Are you sure you wish to stay?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said firmly, a hint of bite in her tone. Brégenne suspected Hagdon had asked the question more than once and received the same response.

  She took a last look at their gathered forces. What did they make of this strange, mythical country Hagdon had led them to? Some eyes met hers and she wondered what they saw when they looked at her.

  Nediah spoke to the erstwhile prisoners, Reuven at his shoulder. The inmates stared at them both, and for the first time, Brégenne saw true expression on their faces, the blankness washed like mud from their skin. Underneath, amongst the shadows of fear and uncertainty, were the first glimmers of hope.

  ‘No one will try to keep you here against your will,’ Nediah said. ‘Naris is not a prison. But we ask that you stay to learn the rudiments of control, just as we’ve been teaching you on your journey here. You wield a power that poses a threat to others, to innocent people. Like every Wielder, you have a duty of care to them. That is the price and the true meaning of power.’

  Brégenne smiled. She could not have put it better.

  She led the way out of the camp while Nediah walked beside Reuven and the inmates, holding his horse by the bridle. They kept a good distance from the chasm, which the former prisoners eyed fearfully. It was too much like Parakat, Brégenne thought, with a worried glance at their faces. But Reuven didn’t spare it a look and the others followed his lead. They arrived at the bridge in less than an hour. When she looked back, Hagdon and his army were hidden by the roll of the land.

  Brégenne gazed up at the mountain she called home. Was it really? The many faces of Naris returned her scrutiny with their own implacable judgement. Her actions would be judged, of that she was certain, but it could wait. The world could not.

  The new bridge wasn’t as impressive as the one that had crumbled into the abyss, but it was solid; Brégenne had helped build it. She led the way across. At the great double doors, she paused and Nediah gave her a reassuring smile. She had a sudden wish to be alone with him, to shut out the world and its war, but she squared her shoulders, lifted a hand and the huge doors swung inward.

  The hinges creaked, sending echoes down the long passageway beyond. Some of the inmates cried out, eyes fixed on the little fires floating in the air. ‘They won’t hurt you,’ Nediah said, sweeping his hand through one to show them. They didn’t seem particularly reassured.

  The sound of the doors opening had drawn a gaggle of novices. Brégenne saw recognition in their faces, but they hung back, fearful, it seemed, of her ragged group. When they reached the arch of the atrium, the way ahead was barred by a dozen silken-robed figures.

  ‘Let me through.’ Elbowing accompanied the voice as a man pushed his way to the front of the group.

  ‘Hello, Alandred,’ Brégenne said with some resignation.

  The Wielder stared at her, his gaze flicking from her silver-gold robes to her face, framed by her shorter hair. ‘Brégenne. You came back.’ Joy seemed at war with dread in his voice.

  ‘Evidently.’ She couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of her reply. ‘And I haven’t come alone.’

  Alandred blinked. He took in the large group that shifted nervously behind her. ‘Who are—?’

  ‘Master Brégenne is under arrest,’ came a new voice and the crowded novices parted before a tall man. It was Magnus, one of the Wielders sent to capture her. The same one Gareth had struck with the gauntlet.

  Perhaps he divined the memory in her face. ‘Where is the novice?’ Magnus a
sked darkly. His jaw wasn’t quite as it had been, she noticed now. His skin was stretched tightly over the bone, pallid where it had once been olive.

  ‘Gareth is with his people,’ she said shortly.

  Magnus narrowed his eyes. ‘He will be retrieved.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Flippancy does you no credit, Brégenne. Who are these people? What do you mean by bringing them here? Answer me.’ The final words were an order.

  ‘Don’t speak to her like that.’ Nediah stepped forward and she put a warning hand on his arm.

  ‘Master Nediah,’ Magnus said with a raise of his eyebrows. ‘The Council long assumed you had met your end in Acre.’

  ‘I hate to disappoint you, then.’

  For the first time, Brégenne spotted the red slashes in Magnus’s robes. ‘As you see,’ he said, noticing her look. ‘I was elected to take your place.’

  Great. Of all the possible choices … ‘I want to speak to Veeta and Gend,’ she said. ‘And then to all of Naris, masters and novices alike.’

  ‘You are in no position to issue demands, Brégenne. As of now, any status you had is revoked. You will be confined until the Council has met to discuss your fate.’

  Brégenne sighed. ‘I won’t ask again, Magnus.’

  The other Wielder’s look turned ugly. ‘You are also in no position to resist.’ He raised a hand and a golden chain dangled from his fingers. With a flick of his wrist, it flew at her, binding her hands before her, snapping her ankles together. A collective gasp came from the assembled novices.

  Brégenne regarded him calmly. ‘Take these off, please. I have no wish to fight you in front of the novices.’

  Magnus just stared at her. And then he began to laugh, the sound echoing hollowly in the vaulted passage. No one joined him. Brégenne felt the combined gaze of the inmates on her back, waiting for her response.

  ‘You astonish me, Brégenne,’ Magnus said, humour finally fading. ‘Even when we had you cornered in Market Primus, utterly defenceless, you persisted in thinking the rules didn’t apply to you. Nothing has changed, it seems.’