The Fire Children
Page 7
It was almost enough to get her to inch back down to the bottom and flee home again, the wind be damned.
Almost.
I can be brave and careful. I have to be. She was nearly halfway up. Safer to keep going. Yulla patted her pockets, feeling the jerky and figs she’d eat for breakfast at the top. On her way to the tower, she’d ducked back into her house and snatched Abba’s old canteen from the kitchen. One of the horse troughs near the tower was still full of water, and she’d topped it off there. It sloshed at her waist when she moved.
Neither the food nor water would last her very long, but they’d do for a while. She’d have to descend to find more eventually, but decided to worry about that later, when she’d gained the top.
When she rounded the last corner and saw the scattering of stars overhead, Yulla let out a sob of laughter. She scrabbled up the last few steps, the grit digging into her palms. She didn’t bother climbing the last half dozen—when the platform that made up the tower’s top floor was waist-high, she hauled herself up onto it and flopped onto her back. She lay there, sprawled out and panting with relief, for a good quarter of an hour. The cool air tickled as it dried away the sheen of fear-sweat that had broken out on her skin.
Soon enough, the cold crept back in. She’d unwrapped Aunt Mouse’s quilt from around her shoulders for the climb—it wouldn’t do to trip over the ends and go tumbling down the stairs—but the exercise and the close quarters had kept her warm enough. Now she sat up, groping for the quilt and bundling up in it again. It was breezy up here, though it didn’t feel like the same wind that had haunted her down below. This seemed... regular, in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Just plain old wind, doing what wind was supposed to do regardless of what Yulla was up to.
She didn’t quite trust herself to stand up all the way yet. Though the parapets ringing the top of the tower were too high and thick for her to go tumbling past, and though she’d put distance between herself and the edge of the stairs, she felt too wobbly to risk much more than a crawl.
I’m tired, she thought. Her belly gave out a pitiful yowl. And hungry.
She’d planned on being home by now, either tucked back into her bed and sleeping off the adventure, or gobbling down a plate of honey-drenched figs while pretending she couldn’t feel Amma’s glare weighing down on her in the dark. Yulla leaned her side against the parapet and fished the last of the figs from her pocket.
Compared to the honeyed figs she’d been imagining, these ones were a poor substitute. They barely filled her palm—why hadn’t she taken more? She wolfed them down anyway, one by one. The first few, she bit in half to make them last longer, then she went to thirds. Quarters. Nibbles.
It only served to wake her stomach the rest of the way. She swallowed a few mouthfuls of stale water from Abba’s canteen, hoping it would trick her into feeling full. Tempted as she was to finish off the jerky, it was better to save it for later. Another swallow of water, and she set the canteen aside.
Let’s see what’s out there.
Yulla hoisted herself up to her knees and peered out across Kaladim. The city stretched out before her, unfolding like a desert flower. It was different than she’d imagined; from their own roof three stories up, she’d thought she could see everything. Up here she was nearly three times that high, and she might as well have been looking down on distant Darat, for all that what she saw resembled the city she knew.
After a few minutes, though, as she searched for landmarks—the market, Old Moll’s, the Worship Hall—familiarity returned. There was the stable, where the hay-tenders pitched spring grasses on top of the roof to dry out in the sun. Next to it was the farrier’s. On the street behind the stables, Yulla could see the row of houses where Old Moll lived surrounded by three generations of his family. She picked out her own rooftop, and traced the streets with her fingers, trying to find her friends’ homes from up high.
It felt, she realized, a little like looking down at Old Moll’s miniature, and that helped her get her bearings even more. She made a game of it, thinking of a landmark and seeking it out. Nowhere in her searching, though, did she see even a hint of light that might be one of the Fire Children.
Where are they?
Soon enough her knees began to ache. The breeze that had been so refreshing when she first came up grew cold again, and despite Mother Sun and Sister Moon rising higher in the sky, Yulla didn’t think the day would get much warmer. She sank back down, sheltered from most of the breeze by the parapet. Drawing her knees up to her chest, Yulla pulled the quilt around her tight as a caterpillar in its cocoon.
Maybe the Fire Children are asleep. She imagined them in one of the houses, curled up in the family’s abandoned beds. Though, she realized that was absurd—they’d burn them in a flash. Right now, she missed her own bed. She missed the lumpy pillows down below, and Kell’s snores tearing the air. She missed knowing her parents were nearby, hearing Abba humming along off-key in their bedroom as Amma plucked at her setar, thinking everyone else was asleep.
Yulla hummed one of those songs, her voice sounding small and thin up here atop the tower. Lonely. The wind didn’t even try to carry her song away.
Her head drooped until it rested on her knees. The humming grew slower, and slower, until Yulla fell asleep.
THE KESTRELS WERE screeching overhead. Yulla woke from a dream filled with honeyed figs and warm, chewy bread to an empty belly and a still-dark sky. She sat up, rubbing sleep-sand from her eyes, and reached for Abba’s canteen. Maybe a drink of water would quell her hunger a little longer. I can have the jerky when I figure out where to get more food.
Mother Sun and Aunt Moon were nearly straight overhead now. She couldn’t look at them directly, the same way you couldn’t look right at Mother Sun when her face was uncovered. She could squint, though, and catch them out of the corner of her eyes. How long did I sleep? Four hours? Five?
She felt as creaky as Old Moll as she stood to stretch out the aches that had settled into her muscles as she slept. She bent to touch her toes, then reached up as if she could touch the sky. Better. She took a slow turn around the platform’s edge, too, pausing on the desert side to look out over the sands.
It was strange not to see caravans wending their way along the road to Darat or Ednesine, or lone travellers leading horses and camels laden with goods to trade in Kaladim. Out on the horizon a thin band of sky was noticeably brighter. Not for the first time, she wondered if everyone in the world had gone beneath the ground to wait out the Scorching Days, or if her city was special.
Yulla frowned, pondering. Darat was two days away on horseback. Without food and water and a real bedroll, though, she knew she probably couldn’t make it there on foot in less than a week. By then, the Scorching Days might be over. If Mother Sun reappeared while she was out in the middle of the desert, she’d be in even bigger trouble. No, she’d be staying right here in Kaladim.
She returned to the spot where she’d fallen asleep and peered out across the city. Aside from the gloom lifting slightly, it was the same as it had been this morning. A few banners flapped in the breeze, but other than that, nothing else moved.
Wait. There.
She had a good view across town to the north—she could see past the jumble of covered stalls that made up the market, past the spires of the Worship Hall, and to the base of the watchtower opposite hers. Her fingers gripped the stone as she leaned over to get a better look.
Flickering gold light licked along the street, throwing shadows up the buildings’ walls to the north. She couldn’t see it yet, but the shadows were shrinking. Which meant one of the Fire Children was out exploring the other side of the city, getting closer to the open square in front of the Worship Hall.
Out in the desert, the wind began to wail. The kestrels overhead screamed to compete.
Yulla’s breath caught as the shadows dimmed and the light flared. She had to shield her eyes against the brightness of it, even all the way over here.
Then the Fire Child burst into view. She didn’t think this was the one she’d seen in the market—it was more willowy, and where the one from the market shone a molten gold, this one was paler, a blazing white-gold figure striding into the open.
No. Not striding.
Her eyes adjusted to the brightness, and Yulla realized the Fire Child wasn’t alone. Two shadows walked ahead of it, and though it was too far away for her to see any tethers, they were dragging the Fire Child along behind them. It strained backwards, trying to get away from them, but the figures held it fast. Yulla watched with growing horror as the Fire Child fell to its knees, and the figures—
it’s the witch-women, oh, Mother Sun save us, it’s the witch-women
—kept going, yanking the Fire Child along like a stubborn goat.
It gained its feet again as they approached the western side of the square. The figures disappeared among the maze of buildings, though Yulla was able to follow that stumbling, flickering light’s progress for quite a while. Fear kept her frozen in place. Then the light went out, and with it, the screams. The slam of a door carried all the way to Yulla atop her tower.
Her knees felt like jelly. She leaned against the parapet and fought to keep from vomiting up the water she’d had for breakfast. Was that why she hadn’t seen any of the others? Had the witch-women kidnapped all of them? What would they do to them? What would Mother Sun do to the world when her children didn’t come home?
Yulla didn’t want to be up above anymore, not with the desert wind howling-screaming-wailing over the sands, not with Mother Sun’s face hidden while the witch-women stole her children. Not with this nighttime-at-noon.
Noon.
Yulla squinted up at the sky. Mother Sun and Sister Moon were nearly at their apex.
“The Worship Hall,” she whispered.
Sister Moon might hide Mother Sun’s face, but they still travel across the sky, Amma had said. The priests ring bells to let the rest of us know where they are, what time it is.
And they did it by looking through the Sunglass.
If Yulla could make it to the Worship Hall in time, she could be there, peering down at the priests when they looked up to see Mother Sun. Someone would have to come up then, to help her, to help get the Fire Children away from the witch-women. It was a shaky plan, but it was the best one she had. She scooped up the canteen and Aunt Mouse’s quilt.
She descended the stairs much faster than she’d climbed them. The sense of urgency trumped her fear of falling, and she emerged out onto the street less than a minute later. She was catching her breath, getting ready to sprint through the city, when a soft voice called, “Wait.”
A stone storehouse lay beside the tower. It was where the voice had come from.
“Wh-who’s there?” Yulla planted her feet, steeling herself to run if one of the witch-women opened the door.
She almost ran anyway, when the gap between door and frame filled with light.
“Please, wait,” said the Fire Child. This was the one she’d seen in the market earlier. Close up, she was pretty certain it was a boy, from his broad shoulders to the squareness of his jaw. The rich tenor tone of his voice confirmed what her eyes suggested. He reached out a molten hand. “Please help us.”
HE SPEAKS OUR language. She didn’t know why it surprised her. If Mother Sun understood the people’s prayers, why shouldn’t her children, too? Still, it relieved Yulla to know they wouldn’t have to fumble through gestures and guesses to communicate.
“I won’t hurt you.” He withdrew his hand and took a step back into the storehouse. “See?”
While the structure itself was made from stone, the door was plain wood. Char-marks stretched along the pale surface as she watched, but it never caught fire, never even smoldered. “How come...” she shook her head. Later. A glance at the sky told her time was running short. “I’m trying to help you. Help us both, even. Do you know where the Worship Hall is?”
He nodded, red embers falling from the tips of his hair.
“If we can get there by noon, we can tell the priests below we’re here, and that there’s trouble. They’ll send help... what? What’s wrong?”
The Fire Child shook his head. “We can’t go there. They’re standing guard.”
Yulla’s mouth went dry. “The witch-women?”
Another shower of embers. “One of my sisters tried to go in there yesterday. They came out from where they were hiding and took her.”
Whatever hopes she’d had that she’d misunderstood what she’d just witnessed, that the witch-women were merely stealing offerings, not the Fire Children themselves, evaporated. “How many of you are there?”
“Six. I’m... I’m the last.”
“How many of them? Do you know?”
“I’m not sure. Four? Six? Ten?” He spread his hands helplessly. “It’s hard to tell if there are a lot of them, or if I keep seeing the same ones. They have their faces covered, I think so they can look at us no matter how bright we get.”
“You can get brighter?” Yulla had been looking right at him; it was no harder than peering into their own hearth when Abba lit a fire on a cold night.
“And hotter. But it didn’t help the others.”
“They’re witches,” said Yulla, as if it explained everything. “They probably have spells to keep them safe.” She glanced up at Mother Sun again, then sighed and sat down in the dirt. “I’m sorry. My whole plan was to go to the Worship Hall and get the priests’ attention. I don’t know how else to help you. Or me.” She shivered, this time not from the cold, but fear. What would Mother Sun do when she found out what the witch-women had done? Would she come down and destroy everyone for not protecting them? Drive them all out into the desert to die of thirst?
He came down the steps and crouched down near her—close enough that she could feel his warmth, but far enough away that it didn’t scorch. “You can’t get back down below, can you?”
She looked up into his brilliant blue eyes. “The wind won’t let me. I know it sounds silly, but—”
“It doesn’t. Not at all. The wind hates us, too.”
It made sense. The wind had been Father Sea’s mistress, and Mother Sun had boiled her lover away. Of course it would hate her children. “You tried following me home earlier. Did it chase you away while I was inside? Is that what happened?”
“I don’t think it wanted us to talk to each other. Not until your witch-women...” He winced and trailed off, the way Aunt Mouse did when she had bad news she didn’t want to deliver.
“What is it?”
“It’s probably better if I show you. Will you come with me?” He got to his feet and wavered, waiting for her.
As scared as she was the witch-women might find them, Yulla couldn’t say no to her own curiosity. She’d come up here to find out what Vedra and her sisters were up to, certainly, but deep down, she’d really wanted to see the Fire Children. Now here she was talking to one of them, close enough she could reach out and singe her fingers on his flames.
She wouldn’t pass it up even if they weren’t in danger, but she told herself there was safety in numbers, too. Going with him was the best plan. She stood. “All right. I’ll follow you.” He hadn’t gone more than a few feet before she called out, “Wait.”
She edged closer, suddenly shy. A question nibbled at her like a hungry mouse. “Do you have a name?”
He slowed his steps and swung around to look at her. She had no way to read whatever emotions might be written on his flickering face, but when he spoke, he sounded amused. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Ember,” he said, at the same time Yulla said, “I’m Yulla.”
They stared at each other, the moment stretching between them until the Fire Child’s soft chuckle broke the silence. Yulla laughed, too, keeping it quiet lest the witch-women or the wind were listening.
He laughed again, low and quiet. Yulla liked the sound of it. “It’s nice to meet you, Yulla.”
She hoped he didn’t see how she rolled her eyes at herself at that last.
“We should go.” She leaned out to peer past him, afraid the witch-women might have turned the corner while they’d stopped. Nothing moved at the other end of the street, though. So far, they were safe.
Ember turned away, scanning the windows and rooftops as well as the intersection. “You’re right. Come on.”
He didn’t lead her far, hugging the facades of the next two buildings before darting through an open door. Yulla paused just inside. One of Kell’s friends lived here, Sera, who had hosted them the day before. Her jeers rose to the top in Yulla’s memory, but she shook off the thought.
She followed Ember’s glow through the house. Only the two of them were here, but she still crept along like an intruder afraid of being caught. This house wasn’t so different from her own. They passed through the sitting room, and Yulla caught a glimpse of the family’s offerings—bead necklaces, a brightly painted game board, a stack of drawings from Kell’s friend’s younger brothers.
Ember didn’t stop to look at them. He continued into the kitchen, and waited by the cellar door. “Here,” he said, ignoring the plate of hard cheese and fruit left out for him and his siblings. Yulla’s stomach growled as she passed by the table, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I saw them all morning long, going from house to house. I thought they were searching for me, but now I don’t think so. Look.” He raised a hand up to the door—not touching it, but making it bright enough so Yulla could see the changes they’d wrought.
The original ward was still there, the symbols that kept the Fire Children from going down to the tunnels untouched. Below that, though, was a new sigil. She didn’t understand spellcraft, had no idea why this paint was crimson instead of white, or what the loops and whorls meant—were they even words?