The creature was still screaming down below when Caymus was finally hoisted to the rampart where friendly hands pulled him up and onto the roof. Rill was busy untying the knot while the larger boys who had been pulling the rope, about a dozen of them, gathered around both their classmate and this stranger who had saved him.
Rill was shaking his head, looking over Caymus's injuries. “Gonna make it?” he said.
Caymus nodded, closing his eyes. “I think so.” He was just starting to really catch his breath.
“Good,” said Rill. “Not exactly what I had in mind when you said, 'Cover for me'.” Caymus looked up and Rill smiled back, obviously more relieved than upset. “Gotta get this bleeding stopped,” he said, regarding the slash on his chest. He ripped some fabric from his own shirt and started tying it into a makeshift field dressing, then looked at Milo, who was taking off Caymus's shoe. “Who's this?” he asked, pointedly.
“A friend,” said Caymus. He closed his eyes again. The screams of the creature had subsided. All he could hear now was the repeated slamming of huge, armored bodies into the oak of the sanctuary door downstairs. “He saved my life twice tonight.”
“That's right,” said Milo. Then, he met Rill's look and smiled. “And you've only saved it once, so it looks like I'm winning, so far.”
Rill laughed, sounding both surprised and relieved. “Yeah, okay,” he said.
Milo had removed the shoe and was looking at the injury, a giant gash in the fleshy part of the outside of Caymus's heel. “Nearly cut a chunk right off,” he said. “No wonder it hurts.” He pulled at the wound a little, and a large flap of skin and flesh dislodged, attached by only a small piece of skin. “This will need stitches, but for now,” he looked at Rill again. “Since yours is ruined already...”
Rill shrugged and tore another strip off his shirt. Milo took it from him and wrapped the heel. “What happened here? Where did the big insects come from?” he said as he tied it off.
“Don't know,” said Rill. “By the time I knew what was going on, one of them was already inside and somebody had put down the bars.” He and Milo both helped Caymus up to his feet. Caymus gingerly put some weight on the injured heel, which rewarded him with another throb. Rill continued, “It couldn't get through the corridor that leads up here, so we're safe for now, but a lot of people are still inside.”
Just then, a pair of students was pushed aside as Be'Var came barging through. He pointed a thick finger at Caymus and shouted, “Boy, where have you been!”
Caymus didn't know how to explain things quickly. “Master, I was—”
Be'Var raised a silencing hand. “Never mind. You can tell me later. Come!”
Caymus thought to ask Be'Var what was happening, but it didn't matter. The old master wasn't listening to him. Instead, he was grabbing him by the arm and hauling him away towards the center of the building and the Conduit. Now that the press of people no longer surrounded him, he could see that a few of the masters were standing around the pillar of fire, spaced equidistantly, each facing inward, toward the blaze. There was Master Fentis, Master Ekka, Master Ket, and Master Valerek. There must have been others he couldn't see on the opposite side. Caymus was momentarily struck by the way the Conduit continued to burn, shooting into the heavens as it always had, heedless of the chaos surrounding the building.
Be'Var spoke. “I know at least three of the masters are dead. Another seven are unaccounted for and are probably trying not to be hacked to pieces downstairs. Knives, axes, nothing anybody's tried has been able to get through their armor, so those of us that are left are going to burn these things to cinders through the Conduit, but we need all the help we can muster. These things don't burn easily.”
Caymus started. “You mean you want me to help?”
Be’Var turned on his student and looked as if he was about to yell, but then his face softened and he put a reassuring hand on the young man’s shoulder. “You can do it, Caymus. I know you can. Besides,” he looked around the rooftop at the chaotic frenzy of panicked faces, “of all the students here, you're the only one who knows the slightest thing about how.”
There was a sudden, loud crashing sound and the roof seemed to shake under Caymus's feet. “They've broken through!” yelled one of the students from the edge of the building.
“Time's up,” said Be'Var. “Come on, boy.” They had reached the Conduit now. Be'Var stood a few feet from the pillar's edge and motioned Caymus to his side. “Just like I showed you before, Caymus.”
“But Master Be'Var, I—”
“Caymus,” Be'Var interrupted, his face one of absolute seriousness. “Just like I showed you.” He then turned toward the Conduit and closed his eyes, expecting no further argument. “And, Caymus,” he added, after a moment.
“Yes, Master?”
Be'Var smiled, but there was no mirth in it. The shadows that the Conduit’s light painted on him made his wrinkled face look positively devilish. “This time, make it as hot as you like.”
Caymus nodded and closed his eyes. Once again, he opened his mind to feel for a conduit to the Conflagration, feeling for the heat of it, for the majesty, for the absolute power. When it came, it came with such abruptness, such force, that he nearly recoiled and lost the connection. It wasn't just a conduit he was searching for; it was the most powerful conduit known to exist. The size, the strength of it was overwhelming, and he had to concentrate hard to keep his focus. Also present was another source of power and energy, like a band of white light streaming through the gateway to the Conflagration. As though by instinct, he understood that this was the combined consciousnesses of the masters already present, and he slowed his breathing and gently tried to allow his mind to join, to become part of the collective. In the next moment, he was with them, having become one piece of a whole, part of a thread that connected the realm of eternal fire to the creatures now running rampant throughout the building below him.
How he was able to locate the monstrous forms, to perceive them through the stone of the Temple without being able to see them, he didn't know, but he could feel them now, and he shrank away from the sensation. Fire was there, for certain, as were the water, air, and earth that were the primordial building blocks for all life. But there was something else there too: not an element at all, but something different, something alien. It felt dark, sticky, and unclean. If not for the combined wills of the masters, he probably would have released his grip and shied away from the feeling.
Still, he persisted, starting the process of spreading his own consciousness along the Conduit, strengthening it, adding his own will to that of the group. As he did so, still uncomfortable with this new process, he felt a sense of belonging, of acceptance and fellowship, and also of monumental strength. Suddenly, he was able to understand what Be'Var had wanted him to do earlier that day. He could feel the group pulling the power through the Conduit, could feel the raw energy flowing through them and into the creatures below. With effort, he added his strength, or tried to, but even though he understood what his fellows in this consciousness were doing, as much as he wanted to help, he still couldn't grasp whatever it was that they were pulling on, still couldn't make the power flow through the stream any faster.
Hotter. Hotter. He could hear the thought in his mind, though he didn't recognize the voice. He didn't know if it came from Be'Var or from the masters as a collective, but he obeyed, trying to pull the force of the Conflagration through, making his best effort at igniting the creatures. He felt his pulse throbbing as the power rushed through the group, felt the desperation of the masters' effort, but he could also feel that what they were doing wasn't working. The fire element inside each of the monsters seemed constantly on the verge of catching, but then that strangeness, that unfamiliar substance, quickly quenched any hope of ignition. Still, he wasn't helping. Still, his efforts were useless. The thought made him sick: his might be that small amount of added power which could finally destroy the attackers.
Caymus, it must be
hotter. Only you can do this. This time, there was no mistaking Be'Var's voice. Caymus strained and pulled, but it was useless. Whatever talent it was that the masters had for drawing the flames through the Conduit, it was lost to him.
There was no use. He'd simply have to do it his way, have to find a way to help without simply adding his own brute force. With a massive effort of will, he pulled himself away from the collective's conduit so that he was, once again, watching as an outsider. He considered simply making his own separate stream and adding heat that way, but he couldn't see his targets, and didn't know how the others were connected with them. Instead, he treated the Conduit and the collective filament of the priests as one and the same, and managed to get a grip on both. Then, he squeezed the stream, just as he had done twice before, narrowing the Conduit and, in turn, the minds of the masters themselves.
The roar of the fire as it rushed through the Conduit toward the creatures was incredible. He could feel himself tensing, felt his back arching with the severity of it. His breathing was rapid and his heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. As he fought unconsciousness, he realized what a foolish thing he had done. This was the Conduit, the strongest link to the Conflagration in existence, and he had the audacity to try to manipulate it?
Still, barely moments passed before his efforts took shape. The latent flame inside the creatures came to life. He could hear the screeching of the monsters again, but this time it was a sound of panic and fear. They were burning, dying. He could hear the pop and sizzle of their carapace, could feel them cooking in their own shells. Caymus was vaguely aware that he was screaming too, that his eyes were actually bulging out from their sockets. Still, he held the connection, narrowed the stream until the very last of the alien substance was burned away from the things' bodies. Then, with a vicious snap, he finally lost his grip on the Conduit and was catapulted back into his physical body. He found himself lying motionless on the roof, racked with pain, his back arched so that only his feet and shoulders were touching the stone.
He could still hear the cheers of his fellows and the roar of the Conduit as, slowly, peacefully, he drifted into darkness.
CHAPTER 3
Caymus woke with a start. As soon as his eyes were open, he lifted his head and looked around. Were there any more of the creatures? Was there still danger?
No. He was in a room, some sort of infirmary, lying on a straw mat on the floor. The immediate gloom of the place was oppressive. The few dim torches on the stone walls didn’t so much shed light as punctuate the darkness. Through the small, square windows though, the stars were shining. All around the large chamber were cots and mats arranged in neat, organized rows. Most were empty. Some contained sleeping forms. Others, though, held young men who quietly moaned, writhing in pain.
Then, the smell of the place hit him, and he nearly retched. Mixed into a blanket of decay and rot were the pungent odors of ointments and creams, not to mention the metallic smell of blood. There was also a slight undercurrent of vinegar, and Caymus recognized where he was: one of the storerooms had been converted into a place to care for the injured. He glanced at the cot to his left; it held one of the other students. Caymus didn't know the boy well, but he thought his name was Heron. He slept quietly in his makeshift bed despite the fact that he was missing one of his legs, absent just below the knee. Caymus turned away, suddenly thinking to look himself over. Was he alright? Had he suffered any great atrocity that shock had made him unaware of?
A quick glance down told him he was fine, though he could still feel a dull ache in his heel, which was now wrapped in a cloth bandage. A dressing also covered a large portion of his bare chest.
“Caymus?” a voice said.
He turned and saw Gwenna standing behind him, a bucket in her hands. In the darkness he hadn’t even seen her. He gasped. Her clothes, worn and tattered, were covered in blood.
“Gwenna!" he said, staring at it, “are you okay?”
“Never mind me,” she knelt down next to him and set the bucket on the floor, “it’s not my blood. How are you feeling?” She inspected his bandage, running her hand along its edges to check the tightness.
“Fine, fine,” he said, relieved, then tried getting up. As he did, pain erupted in his chest. A faint cry escaped his lips and he collapsed back to the ground.
“Idiot!” said Gwenna as she laid him back down and began unwrapping his bandages. “If you tore it open again…” Her tone was rebuking, but her worried expression revealed that she was more concerned for his health than with any actual reprimand. She got the bandage off. Caymus regarded his scar as she ran a finger along the raised flesh. It had healed nicely and didn't appear to be bleeding, nor was there any pain at her touch.
Gwenna appeared satisfied that her patient hadn't caused any major damage. She looked him in the eye briefly before re-wrapping the bandage. "You'll be fine," she said. "Just go easy for a couple of days. Master Be'Var said the burning would fix the wound, but that it still needed a day or two before it would be fully healed."
Of course: Master Be'Var. Though the master knew several Aspects of flame, his true talent was as a healer. Caymus had seen the old man use his abilities to close an open wound before, but the healing time that had followed had certainly been more than mere hours. A concern began to form in his mind.
Gwenna was continuing. "It's a wonder you didn't tear it. You boys are all so eager to get yourselves hurt that—"
"Gwenna?" said Caymus, interrupting her. She looked him in face, startled, seeming to have just realized that she'd been talking. "How long has it been?" he asked.
She looked down and shut her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I forgot, you've been unconscious all this time." She looked up and around the room at the prone figures around them. "After it happened, we all stayed to help, took turns taking care of the injured down here. So many didn't wake up. So many just died in their sleep."
"Gwenna?" he said again, trying to be comforting.
She looked back at him, and her eyes were shimmering. "I'm sorry," she said again, a slight catch in her voice. She suddenly sounded very tired. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and seemed to regain her composure. "Three days," she said. "You've been sleeping for three days."
Caymus felt he should have been shocked at the news. Somehow, though, he wasn't at all surprised. "Sleeping?" he said.
"That's what Be'Var said," she replied. "He said your body was tired because of something you'd done to fight off the insects and it needed to sleep. He…he never admitted it, but I think he wasn't sure you'd wake up." She met his gaze again and managed a slight smile. "I'm glad you did, though."
Caymus took a deep breath. "So am I," he said, rising to a sitting position, a bit more gingerly this time. He looked around at the other forms, scattered about the room. "What happened, Gwenna? The last thing I remember is being up on the roof. I remember burning those...things, but that's all."
Gwenna's face hardened slightly, as though she didn't want to remember. She swallowed, and her eyes took on a faraway look. "Bridgette and I were just getting to sleep when we heard the commotion. That monster was already inside, killing people, by the time we were out of our rooms. We tried to get out, but there were more of them outside and the other one started chasing us." Her voice was getting louder, sharper, more frightened. "We hid in the kitchen, in one of the pantries." Suddenly, she broke out of her trance, and looked around. "We just hid," she said. "We could hear people screaming, dying, in the halls outside, and we just cowered in that room."
Caymus tried to think of something encouraging to say, something that would make her feel better. As a Conflagrationist, cowardice was one of the worst things imaginable. He didn't blame her though. The memories of his own feelings of helplessness that night were still fresh in his mind. He could still hear the screams of the monsters as they’d burned. He started to say so when she held up her hand. "Don't..." she said. "Don't try to make me feel better about it? You won't." She was obviously ups
et, but she managed a slight smile, as if to say that, while she had no wish to be comforted, she appreciated his concern.
Heron was starting to moan, as though in pain. Gwenna shook herself out of her unpleasant thoughts and, seemingly without conscious thought, set back to work, wetting a cloth in the nearby bucket, then turning toward the boy and placing it to his forehead. "His fever's not going away," she said, her voice barely loud enough for Caymus to hear. He stood up as she continued. "After you did...whatever it was you did, you were out cold. Those of us that could still walk brought the injured down here. Be'Var fixed up the ones he could, but a lot of them didn't make it. So many of them were dead already…" She turned her head slightly to look at Caymus out of the corner of her eye, then turned back to her patient. "Your friend,” she said, “Ramone? He and Monette...we found them together, outside, by the wagon where we left them." She let out a long, staggered breath. "I've known Monette most of my life and I could barely recognize her."
Caymus shuddered. He thought again about the massive jaws of those monsters, thought about their dagger-sharp claws. He didn't want to imagine what his friend had looked like once they had done their grisly work. The thought triggered something in him, and he asked quickly, "Sannet? Rill?"
"They're fine," she said. "And that air priest friend of yours..."
"Milo."
"He's still around somewhere. Said he didn't want to go until you came around. Odd fellow, that one."
Caymus smiled. "Yes, but a good friend."
Heron was getting louder, his moans gaining in both intensity and frequency. Gwenna moved to examine his leg and Caymus, mindful of his own wounds, moved to stand beside her. "Can I help?"
"The wound's bleeding again," she said. She handed him the cloth and, taking his hands in hers, placed them on the wrapping that covered what was left of the leg. "Just try to keep blood from going everywhere while I fetch Master Be'Var," she said. She looked at him seriously. "Can you handle that?"
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