Voices of Blaze

by H. O. Charles

  “No!” Artemi shouted from behind him, “Please!”

  “You don’t understand, Tem. We have to stop this now, before it gets any worse.”

  She stood, clutching the child close to her, the fire burning fiercely in her eyes and the gold-red light of her hair rousing about her head. “He is my husband. If you wish to kill him, you must fight me first.”

  Silar felt himself lower his sword slowly. He had not intended to do that, and yet it was happening. But he could not hurt his queen… and the infant… “Temi – you have to let me do this-”

  She shook her head. “I will not.”

  “You must. The implications of it – the consequences of it!”

  “He will never have a target, Silar. He will harm no one. He is no danger while I rule him.”

  Didn’t she understand that she could not rule him? Blazes, but Silar could almost feel her heart breaking inside of his own chest. “He has to die. It would be unfair to let him live like this. And you know he’ll come back. I’ll make it quick – he won’t even know-”

  “No.” The illumination from the trees about her warped suddenly, and she and the child vanished.

  “Artemi? Tem!” Silar knew that he was at a disadvantage in this place, but he could not afford to allow her to escape. The fate of far too much depended upon his actions now. He sprinted forward into the dead forest, and focussed his thoughts entirely upon finding them. Ahead, a figure clutching something in her arms appeared before him, and Silar ran at full pelt toward it.

  His steps were interrupted however, when he came close enough to recognise that the figure was carved from stone. Had she tricked him? Could she do that here? Focus, Silar.

  Something moved to his right, and he leapt to it with the longest strides he could manage. “Tem!” His voice was absorbed completely by the soft trees about him. Did she not realise how stupid she was being? “Tem!” he called again.

  A shadow moved across his vision, and Silar slashed wildly at it. In an instant, the dimness was gone, and he was alone once more. Had he made contact with it? Was it dead? He had to be sure. Silar loped forward through the luminescent trees again, and poured every memory he had of Morghiad into his mind’s eye. He remembered the green eyes, occasional scowls and implacable features of the friend he had once known. He recalled the swordfights they had waged against one another as children, and the mischiefs that they had enjoyed amongst those ancient, withered stones of Cadra.

  Abruptly, the ground before him became dark, and the air grew icy with the movement of something. Silar swung his sword again, but made contact with nothing. “Tem!” he shouted, “I need your help!” As the last word departed his mouth, something solid thrust firmly into his chest, and he fell backward into the leaves that did not move. He was winded, but still lucid enough to see the figures ahead of him. Artemi was there, still clutching her new daughter, and she was standing before a door.

  “Don’t-!” Silar yelled, but it was too late. In a moment, she had stepped through to the darkness beyond, and that hideous wraith full of shadows of claws – that creature of nightmares – crept out after her.

  Artemi was content to discover that the gate she had exited was most certainly not on an island, and most definitely not near any underground prisons. Instead, it looked very much like the Wilrean foothills, and that meant Gialdin could be no more than a few weeks’ travel by horse. That was assuming, of course, that she could find some suitable animals, and with a baby…

  She looked down at the child, though truly it made her stomach ache to do it. The girl looked back at her with its bright blue eyes, quite as if nothing were amiss. Blazes, why did it have to be her?! Artemi felt a mountain of guilt for thinking it, but it was not right! It was not fair!

  The skies beyond the cave rumbled, and the daylight dwindled rapidly. There was the sound of rain splashing upon the nearby rocks, but Artemi knew she could not remain in here for long. Silar could well still follow her to this very cave, and she did not like the sound of what he had in mind one bit. If Morghiad were to die, then he would do so at her hand, and at a time that was right. She huddled the baby close, and beckoned her eisiel to follow her into the rain beyond.

  The noise of the downpour was almost deafening outside, but Artemi was glad to feel the rain on her skin after spending so long in dead and dry underground worlds. She shielded the baby from the worst of it, and jogged toward the cover of the trees with earth and rock slipping about beneath her feet. Along the way, she paused when she noticed something was out of place. To her right, a great, hulking grey shape stood motionless as a rock, but it was made of no kind of stone.

  Artemi approached it carefully, and it soon became apparent that it posed no threat to her. It was a huge beast, covered in thick, leathery skin and bearing yellowed horns upon its muzzle. Its feet were as wide as ten men’s and its toes squat like a pig’s. Only its tiny black eyes could blink at her, and it was evident that the creature had not eaten in some time. “Poor thing,” Artemi said to it, and with a free hand, she stroked the end of its nose gently.

  Guardians of the gate were needed; guardians were necessary. After spending so much time with monsters, Artemi had a great deal more sympathy for them. This one should have been free, not trapped in this mournful state! “Morghiad?”

  The only indication of his approach was the sound of his laboured breathing; everything else was masked by the hiss of the rain on the leaves above. Strangely, the weather had not washed him clean of his pinh. Instead, it beaded in tiny, perfect droplets upon the surface of his skin.

  “Do you think you could release this creature for me?”

  He blinked at it with his unseeing eyes, and a low grumble came from his throat. There was a crack, and a roar, and the huge grey creature swung its head free of its invisible restraints. Artemi stepped back as there was another snap, and the guardian lifted a leg free. Within seconds, all of the bonds had been undone, and the gate’s guardian was free to rampage just as it wished. A trail of broken branches and crushed undergrowth lay behind it as it stamped its way back to its duty.

  “I did not know eisiels still had the same powers as kanaala,” Artemi said.

  Morghiad did not reply, and instead crouched at the base of a tree for shelter. For a while he seemed to pick at the oil beneath his claws, but then his milk-white eyes settled upon her. “You must return to Gialdin,” he rasped.

  “Then let’s go,” she replied, trying to urge him to his feet.

  “Call Tyshar to you. He will make it faster.”

  “Tyshar?” Artemi asked, feeling her eyebrows rise along with the pitch of her voice.

  “Call him,” Morghiad said in a ragged hiss. Did it hurt for him to talk? It did sound that way when it was preceded by such deep breaths and followed by more ragged breathing.

  She sighed as she thought of how ridiculous it would look for her to be calling for a horse that was almost certainly thousands of miles away, but then, who would be looking? “Tyshar,” she said firmly.

  “Louder, and whistle,” Morghiad insisted.

  This time Artemi frowned at him, but cleared her throat, pursed her lips, whistled and called “Tyshaaarr!” loudly enough to scare the nearby birds from their nesting places.

  Beneath the sizzle of the rain and rumbles of distant thunder, she caught a regular, thud, thud, thud. It was approaching at an alarming rate. Artemi turned to it, and gasped at what she saw. That jet-skinned, musclebound mount could be no other horse but Tyshar, but what had happened to him?

  The animal halted before her, his mane smoking and his mouth fully aflame. Blazes, he even smelled of charcoal fires!

  Morghiad sprang onto the creature’s back, and held his hand out for Artemi to join them. Together, the pair looked like a horrible nightmare – like bringers of death or endless pain and suffering. No, Artemi thought, this is my beloved husband whom I injured, and this is… this was Tyshar – the most loyal of horses she had ever known. Blazes, the same better not
have happened to Valina!

  Artemi touched Tyshar’s flank gingerly. It hissed a little against her fingertips, but felt warm rather than searing hot. With some shuffling of babies and clambering on old branches, Artemi was able to mount the horse before her husband, and soon they were on their way.

  After a few hours, Artemi stopped at a small town to obtain, or rather steal, some provisions for herself and her child. She found several pairs of breeches and clean shirts, some food and blankets, and even a saddle to prevent her bottom from becoming too hot upon Tyshar’s back. The horse seemed content to eat pieces of tree rather than oats or hay, and anything that did come into contact with his mouth was instantly charred and vaporised.

  When evening fell, and the rains subsided, they stopped beneath an ancient oak to rest. As soon as Artemi planted her backside upon the soft earth, the child began to cry. Oh fires, She was hungry! It was not right that Artemi should be the one feeding her; it was not! And though she had loved each of her children deeply, this had never been a part of motherhood that she had enjoyed. She had observed other mothers doing it as if it were as easy as filleting a very slow and blind opponent, but to her it was testing. It was a stupid way of feeding children, anyway! What fool had come up with it?!

  But her baby could not be left to starve for the sake of her comfort. Artemi lifted the child to her bare breast, and gritted her teeth together tightly.

  The next morning, she awoke next to her daughter – that blue-eyed daughter she loved and yet should not love as a daughter, and then she looked to her husband – a creature of dread and horrors, whose entire being seemed little more than a mass of claws and teeth. “We are an unconventional family, are we not?” she asked him.

  Morghiad did not reply, choosing instead to study her from amongst his shadows.

  “I made you,” Artemi said. “I wanted you to love only me, and you did. And now I have made a monster.” How selfish. How cruel.

  Morghiad regarded her a moment, and then said, “Kill me.”

  “I cannot.” But she knew it was the right thing to do and that it had been from the moment she had made him this way. She had given her word that she would do it once they were free. She knew that he was in pain, and that keeping him alive would only prolong his suffering. What sort of acceptance could he ever gain from the world when he was like this? Artemi grabbed hold of his white sword, withdrew it from its scabbard and held it at his throat. She pressed at there for a moment, and looked into what was left of his eyes.

  “I cannot,” she repeated, and removed the sword. She could not. Even when her husband was a blazed eisiel, she loved him. She loved his jagged, pointed teeth, and she loved his long, clawed fingers. She loved the speed with which he moved, and she loved the deadliness he had displayed in that cave. Her time with the mraki had changed her, she was sure of it.

  They recommenced their journey shortly after Artemi re-sheathed his sword, and within a fortnight, they arrived at Calidell’s capital. Artemi instructed Morghiad to wait out of sight while she visited the people she needed to visit, took the blue-eyed babe in her arms, and strode on foot toward the city gate.

  And so she was here, in this perfect city of fantasy and crystallised fire, a place that could make all that had happened to her seem like a nightmare dreamt in a previous life. She pulled her hood down just a little more so that she would not be recognised, and forged through the throng of people who had chosen, apparently en masse, to walk in the opposite direction. She found some relief from the crush amongst the alleyways and winding runs that led between the houses, though in addition to breathable air, it did add time to her journey. In years past, Artemi had always appreciated the buzz and chatter of a busy city, but with a fractious child to consider, it was a different situation entirely.

  When she finally reached the door she sought, it took a moment before she had the courage to knock upon it. A willowy, slender woman with tanned skin opened it.

  “Temi!” Sindra smiled broadly at her, and her eyes widened when they fell upon the bundle in her arms. She placed a hand at Artemi’s elbow instead of the usual embrace.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course, of course! Your father is here – Toryn!” Sindra ushered her into the hallway whilst calling for him. Her eyes soon returned to the wrapped form Artemi held. “What do you have there?” Of course she knew. She had to know, and it was betrayed by the lines in her face.

  “I knew you’d come!” her father exclaimed when he stomped into the hallway to join them. His smile faltered, however, when he noticed the child. “Is that… am I a grandfather again?”

  Artemi began moving the blanket away from her daughter’s face. “No - a father.” She handed the baby to Sindra, and she was sure she felt something snap inside of her the moment the child left her hands. Warriors were not meant to have children. They were meant to march to battle, to kill and to protect the innocent. They were not meant to create more innocents.

  Sindra’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Is this… this – by the heat of the fires, I’d know her anywhere. It’s Talia.”

  Artemi nodded. She held her body upright, though all she truly desired was to lean against the wall and be sick.

  “How did this – I mean – where did you find her? Is she like you now?” her father asked, his face suddenly filled with smiles and unbridled emotion.

  “Silar found her,” Artemi said. It was near enough the truth. “I don’t know if she’s like me. But you are very fortunate; there are some deaths we must simply… accept.”

  Her father’s smile turned down a little at the sides, but already tears were forming in his eyes. He nodded briefly, and his gaze soon returned to his reborn daughter. It was time to go.

  “Wait,” he said as she made to leave, “- won’t you stay and tell us about your adventures?”

  “Another time. This moment is precious for you.” Artemi forced her best broad grin, and stepped through the door to the noise outside. As the door shut behind her, she took a long, deep breath, and forcibly shifted her concentration onto the environment around her. She could smell the wares that the merchants were selling in the nearby district, and she could hear the tones of voices of the people who milled about the square that lay between the houses. There were some furtive voices, some excited but none angry. No threats here. It was a genteel part of Gialdin, populated with larger houses, clean roads, cleaner people and swirls of verdant garden. It was not the quiet sanctuary it had once been however, and its communal areas now thronged with bodies, beasts and their burdens.

  She exhaled slowly, and felt some of the tempest that blustered through her lessen in its ferocity. It was time to see her daughter; her true daughter.

  There were some blinking eyes and worn smiles when Artemi arrived at the gates of the palace, but she was conveyed to Medea with a blessed lack of delay. Mercifully, not one of the soldiers she passed or the man who accompanied her asked about Morghiad’s absence. Artemi had never been a good liar, and covering up the truth would almost certainly have revealed it to them. Their journey through the halls was brief, peppered with the nostalgia of fond memories and fresher airs, and shortly Artemi found her daughter poring over a heap of documents in the cloisters of the palace gardens.

  A small breeze had been roused by the descent of new rain through the air, and it teased the strands of Medea’s ebony hair while her brow furrowed from concentration. Jade’an hair, Artemi lamented. There was so much of the old Morghiad in this daughter, where there could have been none in Talia. It should not have been possible!

  Artemi approached Medea with quiet feet and seated herself upon the soft grass that grew even in this sheltered area. For a little while she watched in admiration, and when Medea finally looked up from her work, Artemi almost leapt across the parchments to embrace her. She held on for quite some time, and perhaps more tightly than might have been comfortable, but it felt entirely necessary. Her eyes began to tear up before she could stop them, and she found hers
elf crumbling into a full-blown cry.

  She was a mess of sentimentality when she finally let her daughter go, and blazes did it hurt to do so! The cool air seemed to fill her arms, but Artemi shoved aside all thoughts of the warm bodies that ought to be there instead.

  Medea’s emerald-green eyes had grown noticeably older in recent years, though they still shone the brilliant hue of her line. Her responsibilities had aged her inside, but they had also moulded her into something much more resilient. Her shoulders were back and her chin high. There could be no doubt that Medea was Queen of Calidell.

  “Are you alright? You’re quenched! Jarynd told me the moment you got back – did the Law-keepers….?”

  Artemi shook her head. “They would do nothing for Tallyn. I tried – I’m sorry...” Why Talia? They had to have planned it somehow, but for what possible reason? Punishment?

  “Did father get you – is he with you?”

  “Ah… he had to… he had other business that has called him away. But yes, he… rescued me from some difficulty. He sends his love.” Morghiad was good at rescuing her when it was needed. Even as a half-dead eisiel he had rescued her from an impossible situation.

  Medea nodded slowly. “He is back in this world then.”

  “We found the Gialdin gate shut, Medi. Why was that?”

  “To keep dangerous people out of it,” her daughter said. “I’m sorry if it inconvenienced you, but it was for the best. Father did an incredible piece of work with the peace treaty. Did he tell you about it? And Kalad’s married! I never thought I’d see that day.”

  “He did mention it was a success.” Except for the horrid affair with that bitch-queen Dorinna! Burn the peace! Incinerate it all and bring back a good excuse to fight! Artemi was an assassin and a wife, and she would have dearly loved to have made the woman pay for all that she had done. How had she dared lay her hands on Morghiad?! Her anger had roused enough to subsume the pain she had, and Artemi almost felt relief at having the blood boil in her veins. She channelled her fury elsewhere before she said, “I cannot wait to meet this wife of Kalad’s. Is she… nice?”