Voices of Blaze

by H. O. Charles

  As Morghiad drew the negotiations to a close for the day, Kalad, who had done nothing but nod or shake his head at the requests made by other countries, stood. “Every one of you has failed your subjects today.”

  The Hall fell to silence.

  “Not one person here has admitted the truth – the truth that we are facing crisis. Harvests may have been rich over the last century, but all of that is changing. The land is failing everywhere. I know it; you know it, even if none of you are brave enough to admit it here. I have seen it in each of your countries, and have heard the whispers of your people. I have seen the spirewood trees of Sokiri begin to shrivel, and have witnessed the oceans growing calm at Fury Point. If we do not agree to share food and knowledge now, it will not be one country starving, but all countries. Our wars will not be over ports or mines or pots of gold. Our wars will be driven by hunger; men will march only to feed their children, and they will march against their own compatriots to get that food. And which of their compatriots do you think they will turn on first? The answer is you. The hungry will tear down the homes of their lords and sack the palaces of their kings long before they attack a country thousands of miles away. We need the Sunidarans and Tegrans to teach us how to manage the land when it turns to desert, and we need the Jurinians, the Fordans, the Northmen and the Kemenis to show us how to survive in the snow. And they all need us - the countries rich in food: Hirrah, Wilrea and Calidell – to feed them in times of need.”

  The King of Orta folded his arms and huffed loudly when he realised he was not going to be mentioned.

  “So you must each forget this business of borders. They are as they lie now. The land is dying, the weather is changing, and each of you must admit it if you want to survive.”

  The Grand Hall remained in silence. Light of the fires, Morghiad thought. He had gambled a valuable secret, but he was right. Every silk-slippered man and woman amongst them knew it.

  A hunter cannot hunt its prey without shadows, the creatures whispered. This world need not be so bright.

  Morghiad hushed them into silence, and said, “You all have much to think about. Talks begin again one hour after sunrise. Let’s get some sleep, if we can.”

  With the meeting finished, they each departed to find their rooms and some food. Queen Irannya had laid on a feast for the evening, though Morghiad imagined that it would now be a somewhat more sombre event than she had envisioned. And indeed, when they arrived at the banquet, they found a dozen other nobles with grim faces and full wine cups.

  Kalad drew a chair beside his father, and waited for his goblet to be filled by one of the servants. They took their time about it, but then they were Hirrahans tending to a Calidellian. “Hirrah will want a guarantee that they are giving up a fair share of their food to other nations,” Kalad said. “They will want to know that Calidell is not letting them carry the burden.”

  “You gambled in there, Kal,” Morghiad said, pouring a goblet for himself. “They could very well not have admitted anything was wrong with their nation’s lands. They are royal and arrogant with it, after all.”

  Kalad shook his head. “Dorlunh has proof. He has spent the last ten years sneaking into their palaces and stealing it. If they all turn up tomorrow and deny that this is happening, I will have copies of that proof sent to each of them in turn.”

  “When did he tell you that?”

  “Dorlunh? Oh, he mentioned it while you left to deal with your own private business. Made today much easier for me, I can tell you.”

  A frown propagated across Morghiad’s forehead. He had only visited the city briefly to speak to a ropemaker about the cord Ulena had used. Local stuff, the man had said, which had been of very little use to Morghiad. “Why did he not trust me with this knowledge?”

  Kalad arched an eyebrow as he said, “I don’t know. Maybe he thinks your head is full of monsters.”

  Eventually, a sizzling plate of food was plonked before them, loaded with glazed meat and roasted tubers and golden bread. Morghiad’s stomach rumbled at the sight of it, and evidently so did Kalad’s. His son reached out to grab some of the meat, but Morghiad caught his hand. “You let me eat that first. If I die, the talks will still continue.”

  Kalad looked somewhat annoyed, but allowed his hand to drop anyway, and Morghiad took a bite out of the nearest piece of chicken. “Tell me,” he said between mouthfuls, “Does the Shade ever bother you?”

  “I don’t have it in me, father. Never have. Maybe the pinh mother got in her blood stopped it growing in me. I don’t know. It’s not there, in any case.”

  “Really, not at all?”

  Kalad shook his head. “Can I eat some blazed meat now? I have a famine to prepare for, after all.”

  Morghiad examined the clean bone thoughtfully. It tasted just as chicken ought to.

  Feed us fire.

  Morghiad nodded that it was safe to eat, and they both settled into the task of stuffing their maws with as much food as possible.

  The banquet hall soon filled with more royals, nobles and priestesses who brought enough chatter with them to make it seem a happier occasion. A string band played, and the queen had laid on entertainments to occupy burdened minds with lighter thoughts. Kalad was particularly in awe of the fire dancers, who were not wielders or kanaala, but seemed quite capable of handling the sort of flame that needed fuel to burn.

  “That is the traditional Hirrahan dance of light, is it not?” Kalad asked.

  Morghiad chuckled. “It may have its basis in something old and Hirrahan, but it’s principally for tourists. Quite modern, I assure you.”

  Raised voices broke out over the music then.

  “Achellon is the home of the fire gods and the righteous!” Parfal growled with exasperation, “There is no question.”

  Another woman in white silks, whom Morghiad could sense was a grade nine wielder, said angrily, “Nonsense! Achellon is here, in us! It is not a place, and the fire gods are in us. We are the gods – wielders!”

  Morghiad looked to Kalad, and Kalad raised his eyebrows.

  “I wonder what they’d think if they knew truth about your mother,” Morghiad said quietly to him. “Perhaps it is time to leave.”

  But before they could, a heavy hand slapped on Morghiad’s shoulder. “Dog Slayer,” said its owner.

  Morghiad shot from his seat and spun to meet the man. “Romarr!” he exclaimed as he took the man’s meaty hand and shook it emphatically.

  Romarr nodded with a smile. “These are better circumstances than we enjoyed last time we saw one another. Fires, I always forget how green those eyes of yours are. And Kal-” The two men embraced. “That’s a fine beard you’ve grown. Very fine indeed!”

  “Keeps the sun off my delicate neck, Rom,” Kalad chuckled.

  Selieni and Anadea glided around Romarr’s bulk then, but strangely, they were holding hands. Morghiad puzzled at it, and decided it was probably best not to ask.

  “Those braids!” Selieni gasped when she saw Morghiad. “You know, they do rather suit you.” She regarded Kalad. “And my, you have grown into that body very nicely indeed.”

  Kalad shrugged as if such compliments were commonplace, and embraced Selieni and Anadea in turn.

  Morghiad decided that a polite nod was probably a more acceptable greeting for a married man to offer the women on his part, though did not wish to seem unfriendly. “Where have you been these last few decades?” he asked.

  “Searching for more gateways,” Romarr said in a low voice. “And we found three.” He paused. “What happened to Artemi?”

  Morghiad sighed. “She went into The Crux. For Tallyn. I search every day for her stream, but… she will return soon. I am sure of it.” Artemi was not dead.

  We must trap her so she cannot leave us again – trap her like a rabbit in a snare.

  “Anyway,” Morghiad continued, pushing the monsters back into the shadows, “tell me about these gateways.”

  Romarr drew the group away to a room wher
e they could talk in secret, and began describing the terrible monsters he, Selieni and Anadea had fought. By the last tale, involving a great snow-bear they’d battled in the farthest reaches of the Polar Regions, Morghiad could barely keep his eyes open. It was high time to bid them all good night and find his bed. Morghiad asked Romarr to escort Kalad safely to his chambers when they had finished their catching up, and then departed the room on his own.

  His mind was too tired to focus on much of consequence as he trod the heavy pile carpets that lined the corridors. He could feel the monsters swirling about and scurrying in the back of his thoughts, no doubt up to some mischief or other while he was unable to police them, but he hardly cared what they were up to. He longed to have Artemi at his side, or waiting for him between the soft sheets of a warm bed. Blazes, that embrace could have heated the soul of a thousand men like him!

  Artemi… gone. A thought occurred to him then. What if Ulena had not been acting under the auspices of anyone in particular, but had made the journey herself? What if she had heard Artemi was dead, and that he had murdered her? But if that were true, why had she approached Kalad with her sword hand readied? They looked alike as they slept, certainly, but Ulena would have known it was not him… wouldn’t she?

  “The night is advanced, and yet you are still… erect,” a silky voice said from behind him.

  Morghiad spun round, and found himself looking upon the Queen of Sunidara. Her dark blue dress pooled about her on the floor, but that was all that surrounded her. Dorinna was unaccompanied by either guards or attendants.

  “I thought you said you were busy, and yet here you are, wandering the corridors as if you had nothing better to do than call to doves.”

  “I am on my way to bed,” Morghiad said firmly.

  Dorinna nodded, ravenwood curls bouncing around her delicate features. “And would you like to take me there with you?”

  He blinked at her, unable to register what she had said to him.

  “Am I that repugnant to you, King Morghiad?”

  King and emperor! the creatures chanted. And you, our Queen of the Night and Shadow!

  “I am no king,” he said quietly. “You are not repugnant; I am married.”

  Dorinna looked about the corridors. “I do not see your… outspoken wife here.”

  Morghiad made to leave, but the queen caught him by his arm. “Perhaps I have given you the impression that you have a greater degree of choice in this than you truly have. Here is what I have: control of a school you are very fond of, control of an army your father once served in and that your friends serve in now. I can make and break trade links with your father. My husband may rule in name, but we both know he is incapable of lifting food to his own mouth, never mind forming a cogent sentence. I can refuse to sign your peace treaty.”

  “Do those things, and Sunidara will be left isolated and weak. Your people will suffer for it, and you will be ousted.”

  She laughed musically. “You seem to be under the impression that I care, sweet king. After two-hundred years married to that man, bearing his children, lying beneath his sweating body, you think a rebellion and starvation would be any worse than the torture I have endured? It would be a blazed relief to be torn from him and executed! All I ask is to be loved for one night. Show me what it is to be needed, and cared for by a man whose face does not make my insides wither in disgust. Give me what so many other women enjoy – what your wife enjoys, and I shall sign your treaty. Do this thing… for the people of Sunidara.”

  “No… I-” Morghiad began shaking his head.

  “Think on it, Green Eyes,” she said, running her finger down the button seams on his doublet. “Think what your loyalty to her will cost. Everything you have worked for, gone in an instant! And think also of the truth that you need not lose your wife over this. It can be our secret.” Dorinna stroked the side of his face with affection, and then withdrew gracefully away amongst a rustle of heavy satin skirts.

  Light of the fires… she could not have meant that! Artemi came first, before any country or treaty or war. That was how it had always been. The world could burn, he thought defiantly.

  The world will burn, the monsters replied.

  The lines on her back were wavy like the oceans she had once bathed in, and a purple spear flower floated above them. Three flames beneath it represented the children she had borne, and a black panther with green eyes leapt over them. Artemi had collected few tattoos in her previous lives, but this one was necessary. She could feel her grip on her memories loosening, and she needed a way to remember. This tattoo would remind her of all that was important for as long as she walked and flew in this body.

  Artemi laced a tabard over the top of it, and departed from her mirror to make her way to the city’s bar. The rooftops were quiet in the aftermath of the battle, with many of the mraki remaining inside to lick their wounds or tape their wings. But Artemi had come out of battle almost entirely unscathed, and now people were beginning to recognise her for it.

  She drifted on the air above the soft light of the houses below for a while, listening to the screeches and grunts that rose from the fights going on down there. The efforts to establish one’s places in the hierarchy never ceased, it seemed. Artemi had already been forced to engage in two bouts since the battle, and she had not enjoyed them one bit. Not in the slightest. No.

  The roof of the bar was another conical affair – like a sea shell that had been upturned and shoved into the ground. A perfectly spiral pathway led down the side of it and toward the entrance.

  “Hello, mother,” said a voice behind her. That was definitely Tallyn’s voice.

  Artemi spun to look at him. And there he was. Alive, if a little pale and washed-out. “You’re here?”

  He shrugged.

  Was the Nightworld that sort of place? Did the dead walk here? And more importantly, could she bring him back? Artemi reached out to touch her son’s hair, but her hand reached nothing. “A ghost?”

  “Hmm. It looks like it,” he replied.

  “I miss you. And so does your father.”

  His lips formed a sad smile. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Artemi spun around again. She did not believe in ghosts. The last time she had thought she had seen dead people talking to her was when she had been half mad from starvation and dehydration. She had eaten recently, and had slept through the taqqa visions already. They did not come when a person was awake, did they? Or perhaps this meant she needed more. “Are you still there?” she asked, not looking at him.

  “Yes, mother.”

  “Right.” Artemi checked the peripheries of her vision for any more unexpected spectres. “Is my Sunidaran father with you?” The guilt of not asking the Law-keepers for his life still dug at her.

  She heard him pause to look about himself. “No. Just me.”

  Artemi resumed walking toward the tavern door, brows beginning to knot. “How is it that you are here, my son?”

  “I don’t know. There I was, burning happily away in the fires that bind the worlds, and then there was a pop, and I was here.”

  “But you’re not here. Not properly.”

  “Sorry, mother.”

  “Oh, don’t apologise! Why apologise? You were always so quick to take the blame upon yourself! How is this even remotely your fault?”

  “Well, I suppose I did choose to die.”

  Artemi broke her stride only briefly. It wasn’t that she wanted him to go, rather that his presence signified something was very wrong with her head. “Silar told me you had to do it.” She opened the door silently, and stepped into the dim illumination of the bar. Few drinkers were there at this time of day, but a quiet, placid tavern was just what she had hoped for.

  “That’s not how time works, mother. It had already happened decades ago. I had already made the choice. It was will have going to have happened, anyway.”

  “What?!” she hissed, hoping no one had noticed that she was speaking to herself. Unless…
could they see him? Would they think him a pintrata man?

  “Never mind. Have you noticed that man is looking at you strangely?” Ghost Tallyn nodded toward a burly figure that stood closest to the walkers’ exit. “That one is a man here, isn’t he?”

  “He’s probably looking at me strangely because I am talking to the air behind me.”

  “You think I’m just air?”

  “No -” she began, but was cut short.

  “I was never going to live forever anyway. You knew that.”

  “I-”

  “And you also knew that I had a good life while it lasted.”

  Artemi turned to regard his pale face. “If I could have prevented the loss of your father, it would have been far better.”

  Tallyn’s mouth thinned. He resembled Morghiad when he did that. “All living things that can understand suffering will suffer at some point. It is the nature of existence. Perfect and uninterrupted contentment is impossible, and would mean nothing without suffering. You knew that too.”

  “I did know that.” Blazes, but philosophy from a ghost! “I would just have preferred for your… sufferings to have been more… minor.”

  His features bore a wry smile. “Sometimes I think we feel the minor irritations cutting as deeply as a surgeon’s knife, when there are no other wounds to distract us. Isn’t it strange, how the most impoverished and hungry man can still muster a smile when he trips over his own feet, while a rich man will scowl and curse when the same accident befalls him?”

  “Enough of that, Tal.”