Hearts of Fire (Empire Asunder Book 2)

by Michael Jason Brandt

  Kelsey spotted the flames first, when they were nothing but a pale red glow on the darkening horizon. She pointed them out to Yohan, her arm aiming due south, farther along the rudimentary road used by caravans and naught else.

  He nodded. “That’s fire, all right. At least one. We’ll see them more clearly after sunset.” Behind them, the sounds of camp prevented anyone from overhearing.

  “What should I do?”

  It seemed obvious. This was not their decision. “The corporal needs to know.”

  She shook her head in agreement, but made no move toward his tent.

  Yohan studied her. “You want me to tell him?”

  “Would you? I don’t much like…” Her voice trailed away.

  Yohan patted her shoulder. He took a step, then reconsidered, looking back at Kelsey. “Tell the harpa.” Then he made his way to their superior.

  “Corporal Mercer?”

  “What now?” came the reply.

  “Something you need to hear, Corporal.” Yohan waited.

  The irritated face stuck out of the tent, the cheek puffed full of tobacco. “Come in, Private.”

  Mercer took one of the two chairs. Yohan waited to be offered the other.

  “Private, don’t just stand there. Give me this report.”

  “Fires, Corporal. Due south, along the road. Perhaps five miles, perhaps closer.”

  Mercer leaned forward. “Shit.”

  “Aye, Corporal.”

  Mercer glared at him. Then clucked his tongue inside his cheek. “I suppose we should check them out. It might be just a few travelers.”

  “This is not a campfire, Corporal. The only people who use this road are caravans and bandits. If it’s a caravan, it’s burning. If it’s anyone else, there’s enough of them that they don’t mind calling attention to themselves.”

  “That’s enough, Private. This is not your decision, it’s mine.”

  “Nay, Corporal, it’s mine,” called a voice from outside. The flap pulled open, and Summer entered the tent. Behind her walked Malice, sniffing at the edge of the tent disapprovingly before following.

  “Sister,” Mercer said hurriedly, an obsequious tone replacing his former irritation. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Nay, thank you, Corporal.” She remained standing, scanning the surroundings.

  Yohan felt something against his leg, looked down, and watched Malice tap him a second time with her paw. He smiled, crouched, and scratched beneath her submissive neck while she panted. “I’m happy to see you, too, Malice.”

  He looked at the others and noticed Summer glaring at him with a curious expression—an unsettling alloy of puzzlement and annoyance. As their eyes met, he suddenly felt guilty, as if the dogs were harpa property and he a thief. He considered uttering a banal pleasantry about the affectionate mutt, then realized he did not even know what name the harpa had given her.

  “Sister, I believe we should investigate these fires,” Mercer began.

  Summer faced the man. “My people have learned to avoid fights wherever possible, Corporal.” The indignation had left her tone, but not the authority.

  “Aye, but I have an obligation to defend Vilnia.”

  “Must I remind you, Corporal, that your soldiers are here to protect my caravan until we reach Threefork. There you may ask to be released from your duty, if you wish. But not before.”

  Malice barked once, and both others turned to face Yohan.

  Summer frowned. “Soldier, do you have anything to add?”

  “Aye, do you…Soldier?” Mercer asked.

  Yohan cleared his throat. “Nay. That was the dog.”

  Slowly, Summer’s lips turned upward. Although Mercer continued to scowl, her frown became a grin, bringing an infusion of mirth to dispel much of the gloom in the air.

  She turned back. “Corporal, please tell your troops to pack up again. We’ll head west overnight. We can reach a secondary road by midday of the morrow. One delay is nothing compared to the safety of this caravan. Is that clear?”

  Summer brushed by Yohan on her way out. She leaned close to his ear for just a second, her whisper barely audible. “Her name is Lullaby.”

  Chapter Four

  Below

  THE LAST HOURS of wakefulness brought worry to Jak and his companions. The discovery of the skeleton and the dawning realizations that followed started a series of disappointments.

  Once again, fear served as a powerful motivator. Sheer exhaustion became frantic energy. They hurried to search for an exit, driven by fear and desperation, until hope was replaced by panic—then, at last, acceptance.

  Two tunnels led away from the grand cavern, but both were ultimately blocked by immense rockfalls. The first was a letdown, the second a revelation. If there really was an escape, grasping about in the semi-dark was not the way to find it. The cavern was simply too huge for random, directionless exploration. Jak clung to the notion that there was another, better way to look, all the while pushing back against the idea that really disturbed him—that the old legend was right, every way out was buried, and the five refugees trapped.

  He was the last to accept it. When the others begged for rest, Jak pushed them on, pretending not to feel the fatigue, hunger, and disappointment they did. But the combination of their pleas and his own sore muscles finally wore him down. He reluctantly acquiesced to a “rest” back within the lighted confines of the dead city’s haunting streets. Avoiding the words camp and sleep helped trick his tired mind into believing the stoppage was only temporary, a postponement rather than a cessation.

  But the decision to stop, even momentarily, was an undeniable defeat. Jak felt a profound sense of disaster befalling them in this place. His responsibility was to get them all out safely and as soon as possible, and every minute trapped below was an admission of failure, a tacit consent that the looming doom was preordained.

  And so with Calla’s head on his leg and his own on a rock, a young scared thrall went to sleep, worried they might never awaken. Yet they did, one by one, each face wearing a unique mask of turmoil highlighted in eerie blue. Each had lost loved ones, each bore their own individual griefs, and the list of horrors they faced continued to grow.

  Food became the new priority. Kluber and Riff wished to search the ancient city for some. Jak felt an inherent revulsion toward the buildings in general—and to one in particular—but allowed inspection of the smallest along the ruined perimeter. Kluber argued that the larger, intact structures closer to the city center were more likely to have useful supplies, but he argued alone, quietly, and in vain.

  While the others hunted, dispatched in different directions, Jak stayed alone in the street, staring at the distant monolith’s visible peak, thankful that he was unable to see the massive building beyond. Due to its size, probably a palace, a place where ghosts of dead kings ruled on, ordering the execution of any living soul that dared violate their sacrosanct realm. He was growing more and more certain that within was the source of the ominous dread afflicting his mind, draining his spirit.

  Each of the other four returned, empty-handed and long-faced, their efforts useless.

  “Let’s search the undamaged houses now,” suggested Riff. “Especially the big one in the middle.” He grinned as he pointed, looking forward to the opportunity to fulfill a desire he had felt from the first sighting. Clearly, the oppression of the underworld had less effect on the other thrall, for he still seemed to be enjoying the adventure. Neither hardship nor danger dampened the boy’s spirits.

  “Nay,” Jak directed. “Let’s check the lake. Perhaps something edible grows near the water.” Riff shrugged and led the way.

  The totality of the blackness that was the lake was disconcerting and disorienting, and only a quiet lapping assured them they were not walking directly into a sinister void. How strange then that this lightless abyss soon provided a form of salvation.

  The rockfire fungus thinned near the water’s edge, so the companions lit one of their few
remaining torches. Soon they would have another item to add to their tally of scarce commodities. As the tallest of the group, Kluber held the torch high to maximize the flickering glow. The stronger source literally made the rockfire pale in comparison, and their eyes quickly became dependent on the flame’s illumination. Similarly, its heat saturated and soothed their bodies with a warmth they had not known was missing until this restoration. Bodies and spirits were drawn to the precious beacon, however fleeting. Of the five, only Riff remained willing to wander out of its beneficent radiance.

  The young thrall was singing in a low hum, occasionally scooping up a loose stone to toss into the lake. As Riff’s silhouette faded into the darkness, Jak resisted the temptation to call the other boy back. Before today, Jak would have eagerly started a game to determine who could throw farthest, but now he thought only of danger and preservation—a shepherd tending to flock, or a father to vulnerable children. Yet Jak held his tongue. Better that one of them feel some slight amusement than his own dour mood spread to all.

  He tried not to think of the unfairness. Riff’s master was in the group, as was Jak’s. Yet the burden of care and supervision had fallen on just one of them. He had taken on this role the moment he punched Kluber in Calla’s home, and so the blame was Jak’s alone. But knowing that did not preclude him from envying the other thrall. How nice it would be to feel no responsibilities for the others, to worry about only oneself.

  That assessment was not entirely fair, he knew, for Riff had contributed more to their collective survival than all the rest put together. How many times would the group have died if not for their youngest member?

  They heard a splash, different from the sound of the stone tosses. Jak looked up, worried that Riff had somehow fallen in. But instead the youth was on his knee at the water’s edge, splashing the surface with one excited hand. “Everyone, come here!” he yelled.

  They obeyed, and Kluber held the torch out to get a better look at what Riff was doing. His hand wiped clear an area of the thin layer of algae that lay on top, causing cascading concentric circles to recede into the distance. Otherwise, Jak saw nothing.

  “What is it?” he asked at last.

  Riff stopped brushing long enough to look up. “I saw a fish.”

  They stared at him in skeptical silence. He felt the weight of their doubt and looked down. “Well, I heard a fish. It was a ‘plop’ sound, and when I looked there was a ripple.” He pointed a short distance from the shore, as if that would help.

  Kluber coughed. “Of course there are ripples now, Riff,” he said sternly. “You’re pounding the water like it’s wash day.”

  “Well, listen!” Riff pleaded. “Maybe we’ll hear it again.”

  “We’re not going to hear anything now,” Jak said coolly. “If there was a fish, all the noise we’re making scared it away.” He stared out at the water, wondering how seriously to take the other thrall’s claim.

  Plop.

  Jak closed his eyes, took a deep breath to steady his suddenly shaking body, and spoke quietly. “I just saw one, too.” Smaller than a man’s hand, it had reflected the light from the torch with a pale iridescence. Under normal circumstances, such a paltry catch would quickly be tossed back, but now Jak’s mouth salivated at the thought of a single bite.

  Nevertheless, he could not feel hopeful. There should have been exaltation, for this discovery meant their most immediate need might be satisfied. But his sense of gloom only intensified. Surely, something so dark and sinister as this lake could not yield anything but more death and despair.

  Kluber clapped Riff on the back. “Well done, you clod.” The youngster grinned, blushed, and turned away. He began walking again, this time away from the shoreline.

  “Where are you going?” Jak called abruptly.

  Riff turned back. “Looking around. Maybe one of these houses nearby has something we can use to catch—”

  But Jak was shaking his head. “We’ll figure something out with what we have.” He could discern Kluber frowning. “We should stay away from the intact buildings.”

  “You don’t think it’s worth searching them?”

  Jak grimaced. “I really think we should avoid the places that may be occupied. Whatever lives here, we don’t want them to know about us.”

  Kluber’s face morphed into a look of sympathy that was worse than the frown. “We have to put survival first, Jak.”

  He was right, of course, but still Jak hesitated. The decision hung in the air, already decided but for simple acknowledgment. Yet he could not bring himself to agree. Deep inside his heart, he knew that this path led to tragedy. But there was no logical vocalization he could give to his thoughts, and the weight of their stares bore him down heavily. He looked down and weakly nodded.

  Kluber put a hand on Jak’s shoulder. “Just these. We won’t go near the big ones close to the plaza, all right?” Then he turned to the others and began to direct them into action.

  Jak found himself lightheaded, perhaps from hunger, and found a place to sit. The reality of the situation was finally sinking in with the power of a thunderstorm. Jak had led this small band from one disaster to another, and the likelihood of survival was as bleak as a winter night. Their friends were dead, their families were dead, the world above a nightmare and the one below a living hell. If Kevik had been with them, perhaps they would have stood a chance. As it was, Jak gave his friends hope without substance. Why they followed a dimwitted, uneducated thrall at all was a mystery that he had purposefully put off pondering until now.

  Kluber would have been the better leader, but Jak had stolen that role. Clearly, now was the time to relinquish the responsibility.

  He lost track of time in these unwelcome thoughts, until Calla pulled him away with a warm smile.

  “Guess what Riff found,” she said.

  “A sea dragon in the middle of the lake?” The quip was an attempt at humor, but he immediately regretted saying it. He had no desire to contaminate the others with his own melancholy doubts.

  “No, Silly. A dock. And a boat. And in the boat, a fishing pole.”

  Jak nodded, feigning enthusiasm. “Great.” It’s just a matter of time, now.

  She stared at him a moment, her smile slipping a bit. “You aren’t pleased?”

  “I am. Just…tired.”

  “I’m going to look for something to use as kindling. Come with me?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I need to rest another minute.”

  Jak relived that expression of disappointment in his mind’s eye countless times in the days that followed.

  Kindling, more poles and line, a net, mysterious light-emitting lures—they discovered all this and more in one large structure near the dock. The others showed these things to Jak with hopeful smiles that he did his best to emulate. With some success, for the prospect of imminent food made his stomach jump and his misgivings recede.

  He walked in silent step beside Kleo. Ahead Riff led the way toward another unexplored structure—a low, wide edifice that reminded Jak of the library they had already discovered.

  “Is something wrong, Jak?” She spoke in a tentative voice, so unlike the harsh taskmaster he had grown up with. He wondered how she coped with the loss of her entire family. For that matter, he wondered whether she considered him family. In the absence of all others, she may have looked to him as a surrogate brother.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her, pondering how they might resume a hint of their former relationship. Before, he had never enjoyed being imperiously bossed around. Now the idea was downright comforting. “How is your back? Anything I can do?”

  “It feels a bit better now. I’m sure Kluber is happier about that than I. He must have scratched it for me a hundred times last night.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t mind. He clearly cares about you.”

  Kleo winced, then nodded. “I suppose so.”

  The discomfort was obvious, so Jak sought to put her mind at ease. “He does. He’s a goo
d man, Kleo. Smart. A reliable leader.” Realizing he may have been seeking to reassure himself, Jak turned the topic back to her. “He knows he’s lucky to have you.”

  The look she flashed him contained a hint of the old Kleo—quick to anger or annoyance. Then she began walking faster and reached the building ahead of Riff. She lit a torch and disappeared through the immense open portal.

  The exterior may have been intact, but the interior was in shambles. Fragments of hardwood and stone abounded, the decayed remnants of furniture and shelving. Scattered about were more skeletons, in greater numbers than seen previously. On the far side of a grand foyer, Kleo inspected the contents of several decomposed chests.

  “Find anything, Kleo?” Riff called.

  “I did!” she replied happily, if distractedly, her spirits already recovered from whatever irritation Jak had inflicted.

  The two young men approached the chest she was eagerly rummaging through. Jewelry.

  “At a time like this, Kleo?”

  The pique returned. “Hush, you.”

  No help at all, Riff joined her. Jak watched that boyish grin widen as he held up a whistle carved from alabaster and shaped like a snake. He blew on it once, creating an unpleasant shriek.

  Jak turned away. He wanted to stop them, to point out how trinkets were of little value now. But he was through giving orders. He headed back toward the entrance. Stopping once, he glanced back, hoping they had followed of their own volition. But both continued to poke through the useless ornaments, and neither so much as raised their heads to watch him leave.

  Returning to the makeshift camp, he saw Calla preparing a small cooking fire. Hopeful that he might get a few minutes to make up for his sour mood from earlier, he headed directly toward her. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked cheerfully.

  “Aye!” Kluber called out, just then returning from a moderately successful outing. His right hand carried the pole, his left a pair of small unidentifiable fish hooked by the mouth on his index and middle fingers. “You can clean these.”

  “With what?”

  Kluber smiled. Placing the fish near Calla’s fire, he drew out a miniature knife. “Found it with the poles and lures,” he said.