A Trail of Embers

by C A Kinnee

  “We must travel by the caves, not the seaside. The Mage awaits us.”

  “The Mage!” she muttered. The giant, the pretty man, and now the Mage. Could it get any worse?

  “Yes.” The egg was listening. “When my mother wakes and finds me gone, she’ll level the forests.”

  It was Meara’s turn to be silent. She didn’t want to think about the sleeping dragon.

  “Orlan says our spies in Laurana find no trace of the Mage, but signs point to the fact that he is hunting the egg. The trail ended at the walled town. Do you remember the elder in the inn—the man dressed in black?”

  “Of course,” Meara said impatiently. “What of him?”

  “I think that he was the Mage. I think he touched you with his magic.”

  Meara shivered. It was hard to forget the creeping lethargy curling over her, binding her to the chair.

  “If that is so, then I guess I owe you thanks again for your clumsy accident.”

  “But did he know you had the egg?” Kieran said.

  Meara’s blood turned to icy sludge. “No, when I met the pretty man and the giant, they didn’t know about the egg.”

  Kieran frowned. “What did he want from you?”

  Meara tossed up her hands blankly. “My name. He said, ‘Where are you from? You do not belong in this town.’” A chill passed over her.

  Kieran looked as confused as she felt. He shook his head helplessly. “To add to the boiling of the pot, Orlan says the dragon is stirring.”

  “See?” The egg said smugly.

  Kieran shifted the weight of his pack. “We must reach the caves by nightfall.”

  “What caves?” she asked, ignoring the egg.

  “To the west. The caves lie between the dragon’s lair and here. The trail is not easy but we must hurry. Already the wind rises.”

  Meara stared at him. He was leaving something out. She could tell.

  “And . . .” She waited.

  Chapter 26

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Kieran didn’t meet her eyes, instead, he stared past her as if the swirling mist was a party to their conversation. His jaw clenched and his brow furrowed in worry. “We have to go,” he said.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  He rubbed his chin and sighed. “It’s the land we have to pass through . . .” he began reluctantly and stopped.

  Meara’s heart sank. Something was wrong. Kieran may be stubborn and pigheaded, but he wasn’t afraid of anything. In the old quarter when the beasts attacked, he had met their strike head on.

  “You have to tell me what it is we face,” she said. “I have to be ready for whatever it is.”

  He exhaled heavily. “All right,” he began, “This is another part of our history, a part not spoken of, but still a part. Before the first battle and the war that shattered the world, a great city stood on the plain we must pass over. The city was called Confluence. It was a coming together of learned men and women. The people . . . the people of Confluence wouldn’t give up. Instead, they fought to the last soul, fought until their city was razed to the ground. It is said that even the Mage avoids this place. Even his evil can’t match that which lingers.”

  “Evil? Sadness, maybe, but evil?” This wasn’t so bad, she wasn’t afraid of a few ghosts.

  “Evil,” Kieran repeated. He stared stonily at her. “In the final days of the war, men created things to aid in their battles, things that no one should have brought to life.”

  “Things like what?” Meara’s stomach burned.

  Kieran prowled a few restless steps along the trail and then turned back. The wind swirled his cloak around his legs.

  “The things they built were formed from human life. In the end, even their creators couldn’t control them. The clonons—wild spirits with a taste for human flesh—turned on their makers. They were trained to slip through cracks and assassinate a target chosen by the generals. When Darone carried out the final attack on the city, he couldn’t defeat the monsters man had built. Some say that those things are still here. No one comes near the ruins of Confluence.”

  “So, we will do the same?”

  He avoided her eyes and his hand tightened on his bow. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

  “We will do the same,” she said again, urgently. Alarm gave her words a jerky cadence. “Kieran, we must go around. When Orlan called, I heard whispering, not your brother, something else.” She shivered. “I have no special senses, but even I can tell this place crawls with magic, dark magic. It’s too dangerous. Merdon,” she muttered. “Once the egg is back with its mother, I will never go near anything like magic again.”

  “You must follow the path that is set.”

  The egg’s words caught her by surprise.

  “What path?” she demanded.

  For a moment, she thought the egg wouldn’t answer.

  “Many years ago, events were set in motion that guide what comes to pass. You must be patient. Take your actions from what fate unrolls.” The egg’s words were dreamy and ethereal, as if spoken from a great distance.

  “How do you know this?” she demanded.

  “I am an egg. I know only that we must follow the path that has been set, only then will all be well.”

  Meara didn’t understand. One minute the egg was a petulant child, the next, an ancient prophet. Was that what Kieran meant about dragons and their stories of great deeds? Great riddles were more like it.

  “We have to keep moving. The Nexus ends here and the plains begin. Listen to me and follow my steps,” Kieran said.

  Slowly, grudgingly, Meara fell in behind him. As the land flattened, the trees grew sparser. A heavy weight slid over her, slowing her steps and damping her spirits. She tried to close her ears to the sound of the wind, concentrating instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

  She looked up and realized that Kieran had stopped. “What is it? What’s out there?” she demanded.

  “Look at the trees!” Kieran whispered.

  Reluctantly, she turned in the direction of his outstretched hand. Broken stunted trees stretched to the edge of a heavy fog bank. Their bark was roughened and split—what was left resembled wizened faces with twisted mouths crying out in pain. The fog was feeding on the life of the broken trees—growing and changing—gaining strength from their agony.

  “The fog is alive,” Meara whispered.

  Kieran nodded and grabbed her hand pulling her forward. The ground was rocky underfoot. Shattered boulders rose up around them in places stretching high above their heads. Giant piles of rubble were all that was left of the great city. Beside them the fog kept pace with them, reaching with cold fingers, trying to catch them in its grasp. The wind crept closer filling Meara’s ears with whispers.

  Kieran towed her behind him, pulling her past a severed stone. He bent and murmured in her ear. “In the years before the final battles, this was a thriving place where scholars and wizards worked to better the lives of their people. With the wars, they turned their efforts from good to the creation of weapons.”

  “If these are the remains of the great city, that means it was blasted to the ground. What weapon could do that?” Meara asked, afraid that by speaking louder than a whisper she would wake whatever evil remained. She risked a furtive look around. What could level a city so completely?

  “Ask us,” a faraway voice called.

  “Call us . . .” sighed a distant voice.

  “We will tell you . . .” whispered another.

  “Our arms await you. Come to us. It has been so long . . .”

  A curl of fog drifted past her hood. It touched her cheek with icy fingers as breathy laughter sounded in her ear. The voices called her, asking . . . Meara shuddered and stumbled, falling to her hands and knees amidst the broken rock.

  Kieran hauled her up.

  “Meara,
keep moving. Don’t listen. We have to push through. Some of what lurks here serves the Mage, most even he can’t command.”

  Her legs were leaden weights. Her knees refused to bend. Stiff-legged she staggered behind Kieran. She could feel the egg shaking and tried to call it. It refused to answer.

  Furtively, they scrambled over the trail, skirting soaring piles of sharp, broken stone. The wind blew mist in her face. The chill bit into her bones as the gray closed over them, shutting off the distant blue sky of the Nexus.

  Meara stumbled against Kieran.

  “I can feel the spirits,” she said in horror. The hatred of the ghosts was a living entity, clinging to the battered trees and broken rocks, reaching for her with feathered fingers.

  Kieran didn’t answer. That made her fear worse. His dull cloak made him blend with the mist. One step and he would be gobbled up, leaving her alone with the ghosts. The egg whispered a soft reassurance that faded to nothing as they stepped further into the void.

  She curled her fingers into the back of Kieran’s cloak, needing to know that he was there, that she wasn’t alone. She could feel the heat of his body. Her other hand touched her amulet.

  “No, Meara. Don’t do it!” he said sharply.

  “I . . . what?” She blundered into him.

  “Magic. Something will corrupt it. You can’t risk it. We have to pass without waking the old ones.”

  Meara stared. “You think I can conjure magic? I am not a wizard.”

  “I tried, you know.”

  His voice was so soft she almost missed it. “I tried to build a ball of fire like the one in the cave. Something happened. The flame exploded in my hand.” He held out one hard brown hand. The skin on the back was still red and bumpy from the hot flash of the burn.

  Meara touched the damaged skin and her eyes moved to his face. Heat burned her fingertips. Kieran’s eyes widened. He pulled his hand back, rubbing unmarked skin. She dropped the amulet afraid of the sudden warmth that had rushed through her fingertips. She clenched her hand in a fist to hide the reddened tips and buried it in her cloak. What had just happened? She shuddered.

  The wind moaned through the rubble, swirling the mist in a violent eddy. It blew through the twisted wreck of the city raining droplets of water down on them. The voices called her by name, whispering taunts, finding her fears and bringing them to life. Meara wanted to curl up in a tiny ball and hide in her cloak. The egg shuddered.

  “Don’t listen. The dead call from beyond the fog.” Kieran reached for her hand, linking his fingers through hers and pulling her close.

  The air hummed with a wild twisting energy. Bits of Kieran’s hair had broken free of the tie he’d used to club it back. Defying the wet, the strands floated through the opening of his hood and stood in a bristly mane. Meara’s own curls danced in front of her face. The hairs on her arms prickled.

  “The two-faced man comes.” The egg’s anxiety reached above the moaning of the ghosts. “The other man stirs the evil with his magic.”

  “Kieran, did you hear?”

  “I heard,” Kieran said through gritted teeth. His tone indicated he wished he hadn’t heard the egg.

  He stopped and turned back. “This is the worst place to face an ambush. There is no telling how the old magic will react to the evil of the mage’s men.”

  “We need your power, Protector. Keep us safe.”

  “What good are the skills of a scout against what lurks here?” Kieran said as if to himself.

  Meara didn’t answer. He would work it out. Somehow, he would figure a way to get them through. He had passed through the city before and come out safe on the other side.

  “We have to keep going. We must meet Orlan and the First,” he said.

  Lightning flashed. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Silver light lit the mist-drenched landscape and crawled towards them over the broken ground.

  Meara held tight to Kieran’s hand.

  “Did you see?” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  The wind growled and pushed the mist aside. For a moment, the way in front of them was clear. The broken branches of the ruined trees reached for them. Razor sharp coils of rusting metal rested in the pulverized rock carpeting the trail. Massive slabs of stone, fallen from high above, blocked their path. Again, and again, they were forced to turn back and try another way.

  “When I came through here before, the mist retreated from me. I could see where I was going. Now the mist is alive. It’s trying to stop us.” Kieran stopped again. His face creased in frustration as he gestured helplessly at the wreathing vapor.

  Meara barely heard him over the moan of the wind.

  “I wish I could do magic,” she muttered. “If I could do magic, I could wish the fog away.”

  Her words stirred the wind. Howling with laughter, it sent a wall of white swirling down on them. The mist tried to drown them, buffeting them back two steps for each one they took forward.

  “It’s no use,” Kieran called out. “I can’t see.”

  Meara looked at him. Water ran in rivers down his cheeks. She grabbed his hand again, holding on so tightly he winced. If she lost him . . .

  “Leave him. Come to us. We will help you do magic,” coaxed a far-off voice.

  The ghosts sensed she was weakening. The mist rolled towards her, greedily gobbling up the ground under her feet.

  “Trust yourself. You have great ability,” the egg murmured.

  The egg sent the words to Kieran but Meara heard them clearly.

  “If I send us in the wrong direction, I might drag us in circles, or worse, take us to Laurana.”

  “Maybe you were wrong about magic. Maybe your . . .” Meara began.

  “My divining?”

  “Yes, maybe that’s the only chance we have. Maybe it’s the way to get us through this place.”

  He stared at her weighing her words. Finally, he breathed in a slow deep breath and closed his eyes. His face smoothed to an expressionless mask as he spread his hands wide and lifted his face to the sky. The wind died. The mist hung before them in crystalline drops. For a brief moment, everything stopped. The way was clear.

  The wind slammed into them, roaring past, whipping their cloaks. The force rocked Meara up against Kieran.

  “What did you do?” she called, clutching his arm as she regained her balance.

  “This way,” he said, bending to force his way through the storm.

  The wind grew stronger, pummeling them with hammer blows, trying to trap them in its grasp.

  Meara fell in behind Kieran, clutching the egg with one hand and his cloak with the other. They were walking in a world of white. One wrong step, and they would plunge off an unseen cliff and fall for eternity. The voices were howling, begging. They stormed and cajoled. She wanted to scream and cover her ears against their taunts. Grimly, she followed Kieran, placing one foot in front of the other.

  Chapter 27

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Meara ducked to avoid a rod of iron protruding at eye level from a pile of broken stone. At least, this time she had seen the hazard before she blundered into it. Kieran’s gift of divining had pushed the mist back, damming it up behind an invisible wall. That barrier let her see an arm’s length in front of her They moved faster and covered more ground, but it didn’t shut out the voices. Those howled their rage at banishment. Their anger boiled through the mist shading it in dark hues of gray and blue.

  Meara blinked her rain-spotted lashes and peered into the mist. Had something moved on the other side of the wall of white, something more substantial than the angry seething of the ghosts? Was it another faceless statue or something more ominous? She stopped and stared into the vapor, slowly turning her head from left to right as she searched the blankness.

  “Meara.” Kieran touched her arm.

  S
he jumped, turning so quickly that the egg squeaked in surprise.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What did you see?”

  “I think . . . nothing. A statue?” She shrugged helplessly. “Something . . . This place makes me jump at shadows!” Goosebumps prickled up her arms. She rubbed them away.

  Wordlessly, Kieran nodded, moving past her to take the lead once more. She fell back into step, watching the mist.

  She had thought she had seen figures in the fog before, but each time it was the headless statue of some fallen hero or a tumbled corner of wall. The great city of Confluence had many statues and many walls. Kieran said that after the fall of the city, the armies of Darone had lined the survivors up to witness the beheading of the statues. She didn’t ask about the fate of the survivors.

  There—that shadow moved. She stopped.

  “Trust yourself,” murmured the egg.

  “And look foolish?” she sent back. “Kieran never looks foolish. He picks his way through the stones and roots, seeing paths where I see only the fog eating up my steps.”

  “His mind doesn’t fly in as many directions as yours either,” the egg said. “It makes my head spin!”

  “Then stop listening,” Meara grumbled.

  “Hmph!” The egg went quiet.

  For the most part, they travelled in silence, afraid to stir the ghosts. After Kieran had used his gift of divining, the ghosts’ rage had built to a massive storm. Jagged strikes of lightning and claps of thunder boiled around them as the ghosts searched for a way past the barrier, a way to reach them.

  “So, young master.” The gravelly voice emerged from the fog. “You truly are a scout. Not much of a wizard, but a fair trails man. Someone taught you well.” The mocking tone needed no further identification, the deep bass timbre was enough.