The Fire King

by Marjorie Liu

  Soria could not imagine his loss. “Others of your kind could still exist. A new generation. It is a big world.”

  “Never big enough,” he whispered. “When I died … there were not many of us, but there were enough. We had only each other. But they are dead now. Even if time has not passed as you said, my friends must be dead.”

  Whoever his people were, whatever he had meant when he called them the mistaken children of the shape-shifters, he was right: everyone he knew was dead. His world was gone. And the enormity of that—imagining herself in his situation, waking from death into a world wholly unfamiliar, alone—was enough to make her ill in an entirely different way.

  Karr turned in a slow circle, surveying the roof, and yet more of the city, finally tilting his head to watch the stars. “We had a homeland in the north, a place that was ours. I want to go there and see what I find. Even if it is nothing but dust, I want to see. Perhaps I will be surprised.

  “But,” he added, finally looking at her. “If I go with you to the south, I am afraid that I will never know for certain what was lost—or what might still be found. And yet, if I do not go with you, and discover nothing … I will have lost my only anchor in this new world.”

  Soria went very still. Light trickled from Karr’s eyes, washing his face in gold, as though he wore a mask made of the sun. But his silence was strong and thoughtful, and she knew he was waiting for her, because she was an anchor, because words always were and she was the only one in this world who could speak to him. Words could humanize or brutalize. She had already seen what resulted from not being able to communicate with Karr.

  If you convince him to travel south, what will you expose him to? More of Serena and her cage? Or something worse? What can you live with?

  Soria had been asking herself that question for the past year, and she still had no answer. “And if I go with you?”

  “You have no reason to.”

  “Does that matter?”

  He was silent a long time. Winds buffeted them. The cold night. Soria remembered other windy nights, standing on rooftops, with Roland and others from the agency, drinking beer and eating pizza, listening to the mixed tapes that people always brought, where ribbing about the song choices was as much part of the entertainment as the music itself. All of them shrugging off the strangeness of their lives, and just being themselves: human, shape-shifter, gargoyle; male, female. Friends.

  Magical times. Perfect, floating nights. Soria missed that. She missed that more than she missed Roland, who had always kept himself slightly apart. Craving distance because it felt safe to him. Big, powerful man—too frightened of his own mind and strength to do more than live behind glass windows, a cage he had put himself in. Just like Soria had. Until now.

  Crazy woman. You’re asking for trouble. You might die.

  And she might leave this man and always wonder what happened.

  What can you live with? Soria asked herself again.

  Karr tilted his head, glancing sharply to his left. His eyes flared with light and more scales rippled across his skin. He twisted slightly, bending over as bones popped down his spine and across his shoulders, but the actual emergence of his wings was obscured by the glow that preceded them, spreading outward like tendrils of smoke. His arms and legs cracked new joints, his torso lengthening until he reminded her of some alien creature from the movies, caught between shifts; not human, not animal. It scared Soria, but she could not look away.

  Until, finally, it was done. The golden light collapsed around him, revealing a sun-kissed creature that bore a closer resemblance to a sphinx than a dragon. His face remained vaguely human—leonine, rather than reptilian—while his limbs and the bulk of his body were covered in a variegated mix of scales and fur. Wings, folded along his back, were webbed and leathery like a bat. His shape-shifting was not consistent, she realized. Never the same body.

  “Hurry,” he said, holding out his arms.

  She hesitated, memories crashing through her: that split-second choice on the mountain highway, stopping the car to help an old man she should have recognized. Trusting that she would be safe, because she always had been, in every war zone, in every city of the world, in the company of dictators and criminals. Never a scratch. Always able to handle herself.

  Her stump throbbed. Soria stared deeply into Karr’s eyes, wondering if she could trust herself this time, even after coming so far.

  You could have walked away at the airport, but you didn’t. So now you’re here. Make it worth something.

  She picked up the bloodstained sheet and pants, her movements slow and aching, and stepped into his embrace. His arms were stiff, as though it had occurred to him again that this might be a bad idea; but just before she could change her mind and bolt, he drew her close against his warm chest. Her fingers touched soft scales and fur, so very alien, and difficult to reconcile with his human body. She might know shape-shifters, but Karr was right: something was different about him, as though every time he shifted, his body was torn in three different directions.

  And yet, she felt safe in his arms. Ridiculously so. It made no sense.

  Karr hooked his arm under her legs, the other around her back. He lifted her easily, looking down for one brief moment. His eyes were the same, no matter what his body looked like.

  “Strange woman,” he murmured. And then, without warning, he took a running leap off the building.

  Soria cried out, clutching at him as they dropped into freefall. Windows passed them in a blur, lights and concrete spinning, and just before they hit the ground, his wings snapped open. Winds howled around them, cutting through her clothing. Looking down made her breathless, but she tried anyway—watching the city in brief, dizzying patches of light. It was beautiful, unearthly.

  “We are being followed,” Karr said, his voice nearly swept away by the wind.

  A shape-shifter. She was certain that was what he meant. It made her think of Roland, and his secrets: his alliance with the organization that Serena worked for, his reluctance to talk about Long Nu. Little details that she picked over ruthlessly. All of it was bound together because of Karr.

  Whoever hired those men wanted him alive for a reason. Same reason they needed me, in order to translate. Which means they think he knows something or can be useful. Which means I won’t be safe until he is.

  Soria closed her eyes, trying to make sense of it all. A man—an inhuman man—resurrected after thousands of years. What could he possibly know that was worth killing for?

  Lots of things, she decided. Ask how he came back to life. Find that out, and you might have all the answers you need.

  Easier said than done.

  Chapter Nine

  There was a lake in the desert. Very small and isolated, though the waters smelled fresh, spring-fed. Karr also scented humans, goats, sheep, horses. Other creatures. None were there at the moment. He dipped his fingers into the lake, licked them, and found the taste cold and heavy with minerals.

  Soria gave him a dubious look. “I will get sick. Maybe you can drink water from the wild, but my stomach is more sensitive.”

  “Then how do you survive?” Karr raised his brow. “You do drink water, do you not?”

  “Purified. Boiled.”

  He shook his head. “We are in a desert. Drink this, or else nothing at all.”

  She frowned, but scuttled down the shore and knelt. Her frayed braids dipped into the water. Karr stood behind her, surveying the land.

  He had flown for an hour before needing to stop, rested and then begun again—until he had seen this place in the distance. Human fires burned several ridges over, but the air was still and quiet. No sign of the shape-shifter who had followed them from the city. A body with wings, that much was certain. Karr had no doubt he or she was close enough to track them but not so close as to be detected.

  He hoped the land and sky conspired to bring the shape-shifter discomfort. This was a cold desert, and not just because of the night. He could fee
l the elevation in his bones: the dry air, a bite in the wind that nipped at his human skin. Fur would be more comfortable, but Soria did not have the luxury. He did not want to be unfair.

  Thick, scrubby grass grew around the water, but not a stone’s throw away the landscape hardened into a rocky plain. He had flown over some areas of sand, but not many. Which was good. It was much harder to find prey among dunes. Not that he was planning on going very far.

  Soria sat up, rubbing her mouth. “Do we stay or leave?”

  “Stay. We both need rest.” Karr walked away, claws surging through his fingernails. “Be mindful until I return.”

  “What?”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I smell goats.”

  She stared, until something passed through her gaze and a faint, wry smile touched her mouth. “For petting?”

  It was such an unexpected thing to say—but so clearly in jest, he found himself smiling back. “I think not.”

  “Well,” she said. “Good luck. I hear they are dangerous creatures.”

  “Ferocious,” he replied, backing away. “But not nearly as intimidating as your knee.”

  She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as though the sound startled her. It surprised him as well, though for a different reason. He liked her laughter.

  Karr turned quickly away, breaking into a run. Golden light flowed over his skin, and he begged his body for a lion’s touch, thinking briefly of his father. He desired speed as well, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the woman. He had been unnerved before by females, had suffered every emotion from lust to anger. But what she did, in the simplest terms, was make him feel things that were utterly unexpected.

  Stop, whispered a small voice. Stop now. There are weaknesses you cannot afford. And even if he could, she was not the one to feel them with. She was not safe. He was not safe.

  No sign of madness, he reassured himself. You are fine. You will be fine. Long enough to see this through.

  To what end, he had no idea. He was a fool if he let himself imagine this adventure would have a happy end. All he was searching for were ghosts and chance, the faintest possibility of life. And Soria’s motives were utterly a mystery.

  Human scents grew stronger. Karr kept low to the ground. It was only hours before dawn. Most would be asleep, unless there was a guard watching over the livestock. A child, probably. Or dogs. He listened carefully as he approached the settlement, but heard nothing except the occasional soft bleat and the low, content sounds of horses. He was safely downwind.

  He crept over the ridge, discovering a desert patchwork of rock and grassland, an immense plain that swallowed the small round tents arrayed less than half a mile in front of him. Tiny fires burned. He saw goats inside a loose pen made of rope tied around stakes in the ground. Horses grazed freely.

  A tricky business, stealing from humans. Karr preferred a wild hunt, but there was no time—and he had been without meat since waking in the tomb. No wonder he was weak. He was starving.

  He was careful to stay downwind, creeping close to the ground as he neared the settlement. The goats were very near. One strike was all he needed, and then speed would do the rest.

  His scar tingled. Karr froze, listening to his body. Nothing more happened—no pain, no more sensation—but the warning was there. Whatever had brought him back from the dead was still running its course.

  Magic. Blood arts. Someone had done this to him. He thought of Soria and her shape-shifter ally, but dismissed them both within moments. Soria had been too shaken.

  And the leopardess would have preferred to find his corpse in the tomb—of that he was quite certain.

  And yet, she had unearthed him. Or had been directed to. And she had just so happened to know someone who could speak his language, however Soria managed that feat. Her explanation sounded like magic to him.

  Goats, he told himself sternly, realizing that he had been crouched in the same place for too long. The winds were shifting.

  He followed them carefully, focusing on the hunt. One thing at a time. Magic could wait.

  He ran back to the lake as a man, carrying the warm body of the dead goat on his shoulders, its broken neck flopping wildly. Stars glittered. At the top of the final ridge he stopped, searching for Soria. He found her kneeling by the water’s edge. Her hair was free of its braids, hanging loose and wild down her back, nearly obscuring the pale line of naked flesh on her right side.

  She had pulled up her shirt, the hem held between her teeth. Karr watched her scoop water into her hand, shake the drops loose, and then press her cold, damp palm over the stump jutting from her shoulder. Her arm ended well above where her elbow should be.

  Such an odd, painful thing to see her disfigurement. He supposed, in a way, that she was lucky to be human and confined only to one body. For a chimera to lose a limb, especially those whose skins gave them wings, was a loss that could murder the second soul. He had counseled many who had lost parts of themselves in battle; limbs or otherwise. Some had recovered their minds. Others … not.

  Karr tore his gaze away, and slowly, carefully, walked back down the ridge, just out of sight. He could hear water splashing, listened to the occasional hiss of her breath, as if she was in pain. He suddenly felt weary to the bone, and set down the goat, crouching beside its dead body. The scent of its flesh made him hollow with hunger, but he swallowed the ache and closed his eyes. Listening. Listening to her.

  When finally the sounds of splashing water faded, he stood again, hefted the goat, and as loudly as he could, walked up to the top of the ridge. Soria still knelt by the water’s edge, but her shirt was down, and she was awkwardly braiding her hair.

  She gave him a little smile as he approached, and the weary ease of her regard made his breath catch. “Did it put up a fight?”

  “She was old, and would have died soon on her own.” Karr dropped the goat, claws emerging from his fingertips. “Would you like a piece of the heart?”

  Soria hesitated. “Would you know how to start a fire?”

  Karr stared. “Not at the moment, no.”

  She stared at the goat as though it might bite her. Or make her sick. He considered her water concerns, but there was little to be done about the matter. Fetid water could make anyone ill, but that was a risk one took—and rather unavoidable if the goal was to keep on living.

  Karr knelt beside the dead animal, using his claws to cut open its belly. Guts spilled out, and the smell of fresh meat was so tantalizing he almost forgot himself and started eating. Instead, he gritted his teeth, reminded himself that he was in mixed company, and reached deep into the body. He pulled the heart free.

  Still warm. He began to hand it to Soria, took one look at her face and used his claw to slice off a small piece. His stomach roared.

  “Here,” he said, almost sick with hunger. “Take it.”

  She looked quite pale, and not at all enthused. But she took the meat from his hand and without a word, shoved it into her mouth. Chewed hard, and swallowed. Karr had another piece ready. She did the same, making a face—holding very still for a moment like she would be sick. But she swallowed again, and nodded her head when he offered her more. Karr took a large bite out of the organ, closing his eyes to savor the bursting wild flavor. If anything, his stomach ached even more.

  They ate in silence. Karr cut Soria small pieces of the goat, moving next to the liver. She stopped partaking at the eyes, and walked a short distance away when he started skinning the creature and pulled off its leg. He found himself shifting shape as he ate—in subtle ways, becoming more of a lion again. He could not help himself, nor did he want to; it was a pleasure to be free of the cage, free under the starry sky, free and alive. No matter his original reason for dying.

  Soria busied herself with the bloodstained cloth, spreading it on the ground. He asked, “Why did you insist on bringing that?”

  “I know it seems strange,” she replied, glancing at him. “But my people have ways of
… checking blood. Reading signs from it. Yours would tell them very different things. You do not want that.”

  “Would they make magic upon me?”

  “No. But they would become aware that someone like you exists. There would be proof.”

  Karr set down the leg he had been chewing. “You say that as if no one already knows.”

  “Few do. I told you that.”

  “What you told me is that if my people were alive, almost no one remembers them.”

  Soria sat down, rubbing her face. “No one remembers. Almost no one knows. Or imagines. If they did, you and anyone like you—shape-shifters included—would become a spectacle. Your life would no longer be your own.”

  “We would be hunted?”

  “In more ways than one.” Soria gave him a deeply weary look. “So would I, for what I can do. What saves me—and others who are different—is that no one expects us to do the things we do. And what no one expects, no one sees. No one asks the crazy question: is it magic?”

  Karr no longer felt hungry. “Has the world changed so much? What you are suggesting seems …”

  “Impossible?”

  “Impossible,” he agreed. “And sad. That time can erase so many lives, until even the possibility of them becomes reduced to … nothing. What, then, is left?”

  Soria opened her mouth, hesitated, and shook her head. She tapped the stained cloth. “We need to burn or bury this.”

  “If you bury it, animals will smell the blood and dig it up.”

  “So we wait for fire.” She looked unhappy, and began rubbing her shoulder. A shiver raced through her. Karr set his jaw, glancing down at the goat carcass. He stood and walked to Soria.

  “We should move away from the water before we rest,” he said quietly. “Not far.”

  She nodded silently, and began gathering up the cloth and soft pants she had tried to give him earlier. The idea of clothing made his skin crawl. Too much like confinement.