“I’m not sure that either side makes me comfortable,” Fes said.
“And it shouldn’t. What you’ve been told means that everything that you have known, everything that you have been a part of, is in jeopardy.” She glanced over at the people standing by the doorway. “They once questioned,” she said. “They came here, they asked the questions that you are asking, and they still question.”
Fes looked over at them. They ignored him, almost as if the priest had instructed them to do so, and quietly stood blocking the door. “If they still question, when will answers come?”
“Answers come to each person at their own pace,” she said.
Fes shook his head at her. “It seems like all you want to offer me are riddles.”
“Not riddles. Truths.”
“What are truths to you are riddles to me,” he said.
The priest smiled at him. “Isn’t that always the way it is? Why do you think everyone needs to search in their own way? My truths are not going to be your truths. My riddles will not be your riddles. As I’ve said, each of us needs to find our own way, and when we do, only then can we begin to know what it is that we can be. Only then can we understand who we are meant to be.”
Fes watched her for a moment before turning his attention back to his mug. “I find truth in this ale,” he said.
“Many men find truth in the ale, at least some semblance of it. Whether they find real truths or only what they want to find is a very different matter.”
Fes grunted again, taking a last swig of the ale, finishing it. When it was gone, he leaned back, shifting so that the sword didn’t jab into his back. He stared at the fire. Somehow, he still needed to find a way to rescue Jayell, but these priests wouldn’t be the key. From what he could tell, the priests weren’t even the same ones she had intended him to find.
“She wasn’t with you at all, was she?”
“That would be one truth,” the priest said.
“Who are you?” He turned his attention to her, meeting her gaze. “You aren’t Priests of the Flame at all, are you?”
She smiled. “You assumed that we were priests, and there is no harm in that.”
“I assumed you were priests because of the way you spoke. I assumed that you were priests because of—”
“Because that was what you expected. You place your own expectations on what you saw. Because of that, you interpreted what you found in this way. Am I a priestess? Perhaps to you, but to them, I am only their leader.”
“And who are they?”
“They are the last of the Deshazl,” she said softly.
Fes’s heart suddenly lurched, and he looked at the woman with a different expression. He had wondered whether she was Deshazl, and given the way she had spoken, the knowledge she had, he had wondered if perhaps it were possible, maybe even probable, but hadn’t expected it to be the case. How could it, when as far as he knew, there were few Deshazl remaining.
Other questions came to mind. “And the boy?”
“Griffin was with us. He was taken from us.”
Fes frowned. “Did Jayell take him from you?”
“Jayell?” She frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“She’s a follower of the flame who had been a fire mage who has been traveling with me.”
“That would make for an interesting person,” the woman said.
“She is… conflicted,” Fes said. He wouldn’t share with her that Jayell was conflicted because of what he had asked of her. She had agreed to help, and she had agreed to use her fire magic because of him, though he knew she hadn’t wanted to. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t have continued to use it. She had wanted to abandon that path, wanting to preserve the dragon relics, to follow the priests of the flame. “How many of the priests know what you’ve told me?”
The woman smiled. “Another good question.”
“I’m glad it pleases you. Do you intend to answer?”
“Most who follow the Path of the Flame believe that they are serving the dragons. They believe themselves to be following a noble purpose, and in following the needs of the dragons, truly following and not simply paying lip service to it, they do serve them. There are those who do not, and they are the ones who I suspect know the truth.”
“So these priests, the ones who you think know the truth, will be the ones who know about these others you speak of?”
The woman nodded.
“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”
“What better way to undermine the power of an undefeatable empire than to create a rebellion? What better way than to exalt the very creatures who could then be used against this empire? What better way than to seek the return of these creatures so that they could then be captured and controlled, once more subjugated?”
Fes had a hard time thinking the rebellion was anything more than what he’d seen. “You keep talking about this as if it really is possible for the dragons to return.”
She tipped her head in a nod. “It is possible for the dragons to return.”
“Let’s assume that it is,” he said. “Let’s assume that there is some way that we can bring about the rebirth of the dragons and that they can once more fly overhead.” The mere idea of it bothered him, more so now that he had seen the dragon remains in the dragon plains. If those creatures were able to return to the world, what did it mean for everyone else? How could they withstand something like that? “What makes you think that these others would be able to control them?”
“Dragons weren’t the only thing that they were able to control. It was part of their power, and perhaps the most impressive. Because of that ability, they nearly overpowered the nascent empire. It was only because of the power within the dragon bones, power the dragons themselves gifted to those who could use it, that these others were defeated.”
“If what you’re saying is true, then they weren’t defeated at all.”
“Now you see another truth,” she said.
“Would you stop?”
“You would have me stop sharing truths with you?”
“I would have you tell me what I need to know.”
“And what is that, Fezarn?” She asked, leaning toward him. “What would you like me to tell you that you don’t already know about yourself? You are Deshazl, and you feel that power, that gift that you shared with the dragons, and yet you have used it to bring death and destruction.”
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t remember giving her his name, and certainly not his full name. It was one that he rarely liked to share, and the fact that she knew it, and spoke it so knowingly, made him incredibly uncomfortable.
“Who are you?” he asked again.
“I am someone you should never have forgotten.”
“Forgotten? I’ve only just met you.”
“You should have known me your entire life,” she said.
“Is that some sort of mystical statement? Do you think that because I am descended from the Deshazl that I should somehow know you? And I should never have forgotten you? If that’s the case, then you are mistaken.”
The woman smiled at him. “Nothing mystical, other than what you would make of it. No. This is simply the fact that you have known me. Perhaps not recently, but I was there when you were born. If only I had been there when you were attacked, when you were taken from us, your people, brought away from us where you would not—and could not—know us. So as I say, Fezarn. I know you.”
Fes reached for one of his daggers, squeezing it. It was the only thing that he had left from his parents, no memory of them other than defending them, feeling that rage flow through when he had been attacked. They had died when he was young, but not so young as to not remember them. And then his brother had been taken after that.
Their deaths had driven him, defining him. Fes wasn’t too dense to know that much about himself. He understood that losing his family had changed him. How could it not? How could he not be so diffe
rent after losing those who cared most about him?
And now this woman would claim that she had known him as a child?
Was it another truth or was this some lie that she told to try to manipulate him? He didn’t know anything about her, certainly not enough to know whether she was telling him the truth or not, and didn’t know whether or not he should trust her. He didn’t know whether he could trust her. And yet, there didn’t seem to be any intent to try to manipulate him, though he had felt the same about others and had been wrong.
“You have your father’s eyes. And his chin.”
Fes grunted, sitting stiffly in the chair. “I suppose next you will say that you’re my long lost grandmother?”
The woman frowned at him. “Would that be so bad?”
Fes shook his head. “Not so bad, but not believable, either.”
“No. Perhaps not. And I am not your long lost grandmother. I do not have that honor.”
“Yet you knew my parents?”
“They should have been with us. If they had, perhaps they would have been better protected.”
Fes tried to remember what had happened back then, trying to recall what his family had been doing before they were lost, but he couldn’t come up with it. Whatever it was must have been significant; hadn’t it been?
They had been traveling. He remembered the wide, hard-packed road. The hot sun blazing on them. He remembered rolling hills, though different than the ones he had passed over to reach this place. He remembered thirst and hunger, barely enough water to make it between streams.
And he remembered the attack.
That was the first time that Fes had ever allowed himself to go to his anger. It was the first time he had ever released what he now understood was his connection to the Deshazl. It had flowed within him, filling him, rage and anger seething up, boiling over so that he had lost control. The men who had attacked them, little more than common thieves, had thought that he and his brother weren’t much of a danger.
The daggers he had sunk into their backs had been dangerous enough.
He pushed away those thoughts. They did nothing other than make him miss his family. As he did, he realized that one hand gripped the dagger on his left hip. He forced himself to release the hold on it.
“It was nothing but thieves,” Fes whispered. “They came across us when we were traveling. We had just passed through a village, and I could tell that my mother and my father were starting to relax. It meant that we were nearing our destination.”
Both had begun to sing, something they hadn’t done in quite some time. Having stopped in the village had refreshed all of them, and they weren’t hungry or thirsty and had been better rested than they had been in some time. The trip had been arduous, mostly because of how long it had been, not because of the difficulty of the terrain or anything else like that.
“One of the men had a sword. He cut my father down first and turned to my mother. My brother and I…”
Fes swallowed, unable to say the next words. Even after all of these years, it was still hard to talk about it. It was hard to even think about what had befallen his parents. He glanced up to see the woman watching him, and she said nothing, which only prompted Fes to continue. He didn’t feel compelled, not the way he had when he had first arrived at the village, but there was something within him that needed to get this out.
“We screamed. Our screams did nothing, and no one came to help.” He hadn’t expected it. They were alone on the road and hadn’t passed anyone for quite some time.
Fes fell silent, realizing that a tear streamed down his face. Could he really be crying after all this time? He had tried to forget, pushing those memories away. Before losing his parents, his life had been simple but happy. He had known song and laughter, and he had known warmth. After losing them, everything had changed. Life had become harder. He adapted; his brother did not.
“What happened after that?” the woman asked.
“I attacked them. I killed them.”
“How old were you?” Her voice was soft, barely more than the crackling of the flames.
“Almost ten. My brother was eight.”
“A ten-year-old boy killed two grown men?”
Fes looked up, his jaw clenching and the emotion fading. “All my life, my parents wanted me to avoid allowing myself to become overwhelmed by emotion. They had asked me to hold it in, to refrain from letting it sweep through me. After that happened, I didn’t fight it.”
There had been blood—so much blood. He had stabbed, catching one man in the back and cutting down his fury. The other man had turned to him, and Fes raced after him as the man had turned and run. Fes was faster and caught up quickly. It hadn’t been difficult. When his dagger went into that man’s back, knocking him to the ground, he had stabbed, over and again until his screams died out.
When he returned to his brother, Fes remembered all too well the look on his face. It was a mixture of horror and sadness and resignation.
“You embraced the Deshazl part of yourself.”
“I embraced what needed to be embraced so that I could avenge my parents.”
“And you fear it.”
“I did.”
The woman watched him for a long time. “You still do. I can see it in your eyes. You fear the way it makes you feel. You fear the loss of control when you allow yourself to succumb to it. And yet, I can tell that you have embraced it, though you must hate yourself for it.”
“I’ve embraced it because I’ve needed to to survive.”
“There are other ways of embracing the power of the Deshazl. There are other ways for you to reach that power that courses within you that don’t require losing yourself to it.”
“And I suppose you would teach me?”
“I would, yes. You are Fezarn, son of Garran and Dinah. You are descended from the same power of the dragons.”
Heat rose in her words, and mixed with it came a sense of urgency. Almost as if she tried to compel him but abandoned it. He was thankful that she didn’t push him on this. Thankful that she didn’t continue to try to compel him. He wasn’t sure how he would react. It was doubtful that he would be able to reach her if he tried to attack. Her connection to whatever power flowed within her—possibly Deshazl or maybe not—was greater than what Fes could overcome. She was something other than a fire mage.
“I’m Fes. Only Fes.”
She watched him for a while. “You could be so much more.”
Fes stared at her, shaking his head. “The Deshazl have died. I might have once claimed that I could be something more, but can I really? What are the Deshazl but scavengers?”
“Even the scavengers were once exalted,” she said. “Those scavengers built the empire.”
“Maybe,” Fes said, “but I don’t intend to build an empire. For that matter, I don’t intend to tear it down, either. I came here looking for help for a friend. That’s all I want.”
“You might believe that you can get away with remaining small, but you will be drawn in, Fezarn. With the man you are, the power you have, you will have no choice but to take a side.”
“I have taken a side. My side.”
He turned away from her and stared at the glowing coals in the fire. He had come for help and had been given nothing but more questions.
What now? What should he do?
Those questions filled him, and there weren’t any answers.
Chapter Eight
“Do you intend to hold me here?” he asked Arudis. It was the second night since he’d come to the village, the second night since he had learned that they weren’t priests at all, but descendants of Deshazl hiding in plain sight. The second night since he had denied the old woman her request for his help.
“You aren’t a prisoner, Fezarn.”
He glanced over at her. “And yet, when I tried to leave, you prevented me.”
“Did I?”
He stood at the edge of the village, staring out into the growing darkness. Hills swe
pt around him, undulating in the distance. Maybe it was only his imagination, but it seemed as if he could feel surges of heat flowing toward him, the sense of fire magic being used. If he could feel it, and if the woman was Deshazl, then it was likely she felt it too. If she did, she made no mention of it.
“Every day you hold me here, it’s another day that my friend suffers.” He had begun to imagine what might be done to Jayell. Captured by fire mages, Jaken involved in her capture, it wasn’t a large leap to think that she didn’t have much time. How long would it be before they killed her? She had traveled with him, breaking into the fire mage temple, and had attacked other fire mages. It wouldn’t be long. He was sure of that.
“If what you’ve said is true, then she is in no danger.”
“No danger? They captured her.”
“To reach you. As they don’t have you, and they likely believe they can find you, they have no reason to harm her.”
“Yet,” Fes said.
“Yet,” Arudis agreed.
“If you would let me leave, I can—”
The woman turned to him, her wrinkled eyes glaring at him. “You could what? Do you believe that one man, even armed as you are with these weapons, could overpower as many fire mages as you claim are there? Do you believe that you could overpower the Dragon Guard?”
“I’m willing to try.”
“Is this woman your lover? I see it in your eyes. You care about her.”
Fes turned away. “We have fought together.”
“It’s more than that.”
It was, but it also left him feeling conflicted. Jayell meant something to him, but he hadn’t given much thought about what she meant. They traveled together, trying to stay safe. More than that… Fes wasn’t sure that she was more than that yet.
It was nothing like Alison, who plagued him for very different reasons. Alison had played him, using him to help with the rebellion, and if what this woman told him was accurate, then he had done more harm than good by leaving them with the dragon heart.
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