Firestorm

by Lucy Hounsom

  Hagdon heard a growling rumble and stepped back, pulling Irilin with him. But the force that emerged from the dragon’s mouth was a carefully controlled stream of blue, which enveloped the sword. The weapon glowed brightly before the light sank into the metal, leaving just a trace of azure behind. When Hagdon tentatively took it back, it felt alive in his hand. ‘It hasn’t been charged for years,’ he said wonderingly. ‘My thanks.’

  ‘May it serve well,’ was all Sesh said.

  ‘Where is Kyndra?’ Irilin asked. Her eyes were still rather wide, Hagdon noticed, and they flickered between Sesh and the blue dragon as if unsure where to settle. ‘And the others?’

  ‘We’re here,’ came a voice and Hagdon saw Brégenne walking towards them, Nediah beside her. Other robed figures were dismounting: Wielders, perhaps fifty of them, he estimated. He felt a heady rush of relief and found himself grinning at Irilin. She slipped a hand into his.

  ‘I am very glad to see you,’ Hagdon said to Brégenne. ‘Kul’Gareth isn’t here yet and I must admit I was growing nervous.’

  ‘I’ve brought as many Wielders as are able to fight,’ she replied, her eyes alighting briefly on his and Irilin’s linked hands.

  ‘Where’s Kyndra?’ Irilin repeated.

  ‘Doing what she can to save us,’ said a new voice and Hagdon looked round to see a young man, golden-haired, with a strange scar across one half of his face. It was shaped like the pinions of a vast bird, feather-marks branded into his skin. He favoured the same side, as if the scar covered the whole half of his body too.

  ‘Janus is right,’ Brégenne said with a nod to him. ‘The eldest attacked Naris and then he and Medavle escaped. Kyndra and Char followed, but I’m worried about her. The eldest’s curse is taking its toll. She doesn’t have long to find him.’

  Irilin’s shoulders slumped. ‘Then, even if we win here, it could all be for nothing.’

  ‘We must trust in her,’ Hagdon said, giving Irilin’s hand a squeeze. He was unwilling to think of the consequences of failure on the eve of battle. ‘As she must trust in us to ensure she has a world to return to which is free of the Fist.’

  39

  Char

  The straw-haired man gave Kyndra a strange look. He seemed on edge, as if his darting eyes expected someone to turn up at any moment. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.

  Char saw Kyndra swallow. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But I know of you.’ She hesitated. ‘You’re Anohin. The Yadin who serves Kierik.’

  A series of emotions passed like wind-spurred clouds across Anohin’s face. He straightened. ‘That is correct. You appear well-informed, mistress.’

  Kyndra gave a slight shake of her head. ‘Why do you serve him?’

  ‘Because he is worthy of service. More so than any Wielder.’

  ‘He doesn’t care about you.’

  Anohin’s expression hardened, a dangerous light coming into his eyes. ‘You presume to know a Starborn’s mind?’

  Kyndra’s answering smile was grim. ‘I spend every day trying to.’

  Anohin trembled; Char could sense the anger in him, boiling just below the surface. ‘You speak of things you cannot possibly understand.’

  Kyndra stared at Anohin closely; the Yadin stared back. It might have gone on interminably if she hadn’t said, quite suddenly, ‘You love him.’

  Anohin blanched. Without a word, he turned and strode away, boots echoing hollowly on the glass floor.

  Kyndra seemed sad. ‘He’s not worth it, you know,’ she called after him. ‘Staying with him will destroy you.’

  Anohin’s shoulders hunched briefly, but he kept on walking.

  ‘That was the Yadin you spoke of,’ Char said, ‘the one who looked after Kierik?’

  She nodded and bit her lip. ‘I shouldn’t have said any of that. It was stupid.’

  ‘I don’t think you made any difference. He seems blind when it comes to the Starborn.’ Char found himself flinching under the weight of his own words. He looked away, finding it easier to stare at the glass walls than at Kyndra.

  ‘Come on. If Anohin’s here, Kierik won’t be far behind. We should keep an eye on him.’

  They started after him, careful to leave a safe distance. Anohin led them on a winding journey through the citadel. He stopped off at several places, collecting items. Kyndra and Char hid each time he came out of a door, or doubled back.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Char nodded at the pouches around the Yadin’s waist that held the fruits of his journey.

  ‘Perhaps gathering artefacts Kierik wants to save.’ Kyndra frowned. ‘But he can’t know that Solinaris will be completely destroyed. It was the force of Kierik’s mind breaking that tore the citadel apart.’

  All at once she stumbled, clutching her head. ‘Kyndra,’ Char caught and steadied her as she wavered on her feet, ‘what is it?’

  She raised a hand to her temple. ‘The black dreams. I – I saw something. Just a flash.’

  ‘Black dreams?’ Char let her go. They couldn’t afford to lose Anohin.

  ‘I should call them memories. Didn’t I explain in Magtharda?’

  Char smiled somewhat bitterly. ‘No. You were a Starborn then. All you said was that the stars couldn’t see beyond a certain point.’

  Kyndra’s face paled at the memory. ‘They started on the way to Magtharda,’ she said. ‘They’re important, but they only show me snatches of things.’ She looked at him. ‘I think they’re memories from the time I was here before.’

  ‘That makes no sense.’

  ‘I know.’ Her expression turned bitter. ‘Era wouldn’t tell me the truth. It’s scared of creating a paradox I can’t escape.’ She paused. ‘It’s scared that the stars won’t have a Starborn to wield them.’

  Char frowned. ‘I thought the stars were emotionless.’

  ‘Perhaps scared is the wrong word. Concerned?’ She picked up her damaged arm, held it close to her. ‘Without a Starborn, the stars are powerless. Without a world, there are no Starborn.’

  After a moment, Char said, ‘These dreams – memories. What do they show you?’

  ‘Medavle,’ Kyndra said immediately. ‘The eldest. A tower top. A winding crystal stair.’

  ‘Sounds like Solinaris.’

  ‘It is,’ she said shortly. ‘Do you understand? I was here before. I must have had a hand in the way things turned out. But I’m working blind. I can’t remember what I did last time.’ She hissed in frustration. ‘And Era claims I commanded the stars not to tell me. How can they be sure I’ll make the same decisions?’

  The passages were becoming wider, more crowded. The vaulted glass ceiling reflected the hurried steps of novices, the purposeful strides of masters, trailed more often than not by other Yadin. Char noticed the looks they gave Anohin as they passed him: bewilderment, pity, even barely concealed disgust. He was a pariah to his own people.

  The growing flood of Wielders swept them through a final archway into a huge open space. It reminded Char of the hall in Naris, but to compare the two –

  ‘The atrium,’ Kyndra whispered.

  Char drank in the sights of the great chamber. It didn’t appear to match the outward dimensions of the citadel, its floor sloping gently into the distance. Their footfalls stirred a fine mist about their ankles, which settled as dew on the leaves of crystal trees.

  He blinked. Trees. A river.

  The water swirled within its glassy banks. Gleaming swans sailed upon it, their feathers white-gold. Songbirds nested in the branches of willows that caressed the surface of the river; he could see their tiny claws anchoring them while they slept. ‘Lunar birds,’ Kyndra said with a nod to them. ‘They’ll wake at twilight.’

  Other creatures prowled or scampered among the shining groves. Char saw a lynx playfully stalking a squirrel, while its fellows chirruped down at it, safe in the topmost branches. Blushing roses twined about trunks, a drop of dew on each petal. There was even a gentle breeze; Char felt it tugging at his hair, heard it rustling through the lea
ves, setting them a-chime.

  It was glass. It was all glass.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Kyndra murmured, ‘and horrible.’

  Char agreed. There was something horrible about the glade in its utter perfection, in its artificial, changeless nature. True nature was change. Seasons moved, leaves fell, animals killed and were killed in turn. This vision, so outwardly beautiful, was ugly in its falseness.

  ‘It’s wrong,’ he said. ‘How can they not see it?’

  ‘Because they are slaves to it,’ came a voice.

  Kyndra and Char spun round. The speaker wore white robes. A flute hung at his waist. ‘Medavle,’ Kyndra exclaimed. ‘You’re here!’

  He frowned. ‘How do you know my name, novice?’

  Kyndra plainly realized her mistake. Her eyes alighted on the flute, which Char knew she herself had destroyed during their confrontation in Samaya. ‘I … must have overheard it,’ she stammered.

  Medavle regarded her, his dark gaze suspicious. ‘We haven’t spoken before. I am surprised a novice would take note of a Yadin’s name.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘One day you will see differently.’ This past Medavle seemed on edge. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides, fingers straying, perhaps unconsciously, to the flute. ‘You will be taught not to see us as people.’

  ‘Like the Starborn?’ Kyndra said quietly.

  Char took a step back at the deep anger that rose in Medavle’s face. He knew at once that Kyndra had gone too far. ‘Who are you?’ the Yadin demanded. ‘None of your words sound like an ordinary novice’s.’

  Thunder spared Kyndra from answering. Char barely kept his feet. Shadow filled the hall and flame; when it lifted, he saw a scorchmark on the western wall. It was huge, easily the height of three men lying head to toe. The stink of smoke in his nose, he heard cries of alarm, cries of impossibility. People began to run, some deeper into the citadel, others to the crystal wall, where a crack busily spidered its way across the glass. Solar power shored it up, but another missile came, once more filling the hall with its thunder.

  Medavle’s face paled. ‘Isla,’ he whispered and the next minute he was lost in the maddening crowd.

  ‘It’s started.’ Kyndra grabbed Char. ‘Where is he? Where is the eldest?’

  Char shook his head. ‘We need to find Kierik.’

  ‘If he sees me, he’ll recognize me from last time,’ Kyndra said, dread in her eyes at the thought. ‘He won’t let me escape again.’

  ‘But that’s where we’ll find the eldest. You heard him – one word to Kierik and the Starborn will abandon his plan.’

  ’Kierik might be harder to dissuade than the eldest realizes,’ Kyndra said. ‘He prepared this for years. The eldest will have to reveal everything to him, explain everything – and that will take time.’

  ‘He has du-alakat with him, remember? They’ll stand out.’ Char scanned the panicked hall. ‘Perhaps they were waiting for this. Now the attack’s begun, they can hide in the confusion.’ He had a moment to see her eyes widen before Kyndra yanked them both behind the trunk of a great glass oak. It was too distorted to see through, so they peered around its sides.

  Kierik had appeared: calm in the midst of chaos. Two things struck Char. First, the sheer presence of the Starborn, seeming to bend the world around him. Second, how much he looked like Kyndra.

  She was staring at him too. He’d known that Kierik, implausible as it sounded, had fathered her. But it wasn’t until this moment, glancing from one to the other, that he really accepted it as indisputable. Though Kyndra’s hair was redder, it had the same curl; their faces shared the same slim shape, their hands long and slender-fingered. But most similar of all were their eyes: the chill blue of midnight.

  ‘Gods,’ he said, ‘you look just like him.’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder,’ she replied drily.

  ‘How could he not have seen it?’

  ‘Because he wasn’t looking for it.’ Kyndra blushed. ‘The whole idea of children, of making children –’ she blushed harder – ‘is alien to the stars. They don’t understand affection, love.’ She looked from him to Kierik. ‘Even if I told him outright, he’d struggle to accept it.’

  They ducked back behind the tree as Kierik turned on the spot, scanning the hall. ‘He’s looking for Anohin,’ Kyndra muttered. ‘He won’t begin until he arrives. I can’t believe we lost sight of him.’ They watched the Starborn sigh and set off for a glittering archway. He cut a path through the citadel’s frightened citizens, some of whom stopped to speak to him. Char couldn’t be sure from this distance but it looked as though they were pleading. Kierik gave them all the same response: a sharp shake of his head.

  Unnoticed amidst the screams and the roar of flame, the Lunar birds twitched and woke; began to pipe their sweet song to the distant ceiling.

  Beside him, Kyndra stiffened. ‘There he is.’ She pointed. Flanked by five du-alakat, the eldest made no attempt to conceal himself. But few spared him a glance anyway, Char saw, too caught up in defending the citadel. There was no sign of Medavle – the Medavle of their time.

  They watched the eldest hobble towards the archway Kierik had taken, leaning heavily on his staff. ‘He’s weakened,’ Char said, noting how often the eldest paused to catch his breath. ‘This last journey must have been too much.’

  ‘For him and me both,’ Kyndra murmured. Although perspiration beaded her forehead, when Char took her hand, she felt cold to the touch. She made to pull away, but he tightened his hold.

  ‘Wait.’ His heart had begun to thump painfully. ‘Before we go …’ Now that he needed to say them, the words stuck in his throat.

  ‘We don’t have time,’ Kyndra said, frowning at her captured hand. ‘Can’t it wait?’

  ‘No.’

  She blinked at the fierce word. ‘What’s wrong, Char?’

  ‘If we survive this –’

  ‘We will.’ But she didn’t sound so certain.

  ‘Let me finish.’ Char drew a breath. ‘If we survive this, we’ll go back and everything will be like before. I’ll lose this form. You –’ He briefly closed his eyes at the pain the thought caused. ‘You’ll be the Starborn again. You won’t care any more.’

  Kyndra stopped trying to free her arm. Her face was very serious. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I wish I didn’t have to be.’

  ‘It sounds crazy, but –’ he looked her straight in the eyes – ‘the eldest isn’t going back. We don’t need to go back either. We can kill him, make sure history plays out as it should. But then we could stay.’

  Kyndra just stared at him.

  ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s—’

  ‘I’ve thought about it too,’ she said, and Char stopped in surprise. ‘Every time I find myself … myself.’ Kyndra swallowed, but the catch was still in her voice. ‘Every time I remember the things I said to you, to Brégenne, to the people I care for. Every harsh or unfeeling word – they all come back to me, to show me how much I have lost. How much I will lose.’

  ‘Then don’t.’ He tightened his hold on her hand. ‘Don’t go back. Here, you have a chance to stay as you.’

  ‘And what about you, Char?’ she said with a glance at their linked hands. ‘Why would you want to stay? Would you abandon your family when you’ve only just found them?’

  He thought of Ekaar and Arvaka, remembering the warm promise of belonging. But Ma’s face pushed them both aside and the pain at never seeing her again was a shard of ice in his chest.

  ‘I’d miss them,’ he said honestly. ‘I’d miss Ma more than I can say. But –’ he raised his other hand to her face – ‘we’d be together.’

  He heard her intake of breath. ‘You would stay for me?’ she whispered.

  ‘I thought you knew that.’

  They gazed at each other. Kyndra’s lips trembled, but she didn’t speak. Without her tattoos, without the chill reflection of the stars in her face, he could pretend she was who she seemed: a young woman with hair the c
olour of desert sand at sunset, someone he had come, despite everything that had happened, no matter how foolish, to love.

  Kyndra closed her eyes. When she opened them, he knew she’d made her choice.

  40

  Hagdon

  Dawn came all too soon. And with it, a dreadful blast Hagdon knew well. The horn of Sartya, too large for any man to carry, bellowed its challenge across the last intervening leagues. The dragons confirmed it: thirty thousand marched behind Iresonté. If they couldn’t remove her quickly, the carnage would be unimaginable.

  Still, Hagdon had that spark in his belly, heightening his senses, setting his nerves singing. The sword itched in his hand; he could feel the ambertrix crackling like a caged storm. It longed for release. The sun rose bloody, a herald of what was to come.

  Irilin stood beside him. Hagdon could sense the tension in her. His hand lifted to find hers and she took it, holding it tightly. Her eyes were fixed, as were his, on their enemy.

  The Fist glittered in the sunrise. An army had its own beauty, he thought, watching the light catch on sword and lance. Even knowing what kind of work those sharpened bits of steel were made for did not lessen their splendour. He swallowed, imagining the bloody marsh this valley would become.

  ‘Are we ready?’ The voice interrupted his trance and Hagdon turned to see Kait. She wore the armour of the Republic and had tied her hair up out of the way. At her side hung two ordinary scimitars. She saw him looking and said with a shrug, ‘For when the sun goes down.’

  The words chilled him. By the time the sun went down, this battle would all too likely be over.

  ‘Hagdon.’ Mercia nodded at him. ‘Seems this is it.’

  ‘Seems it is,’ he replied, only half in the moment. The rest of him was already ahead, planning their route through the valley to the hill where a figure sat atop a horse, framed against the dawn. He tore his eyes away, looked back at the group surrounding him. ‘The Fist’s strength is also its weakness. It is trained to follow high command, unquestioningly. If Iresonté and her captains fall, the Fist will falter. She is the driving force. Our combined armies’ job is to buy us time to reach her.’ Hagdon looked at Mikael; the Alchemists’ traditional silver mask hid his brother’s face. He assumed it also protected Mikael from whatever was in those phials of his. ‘Iresonté trusts the stealth force to guard her. It’s your job to keep them distracted.’