Fire Dancer

by Catherine Jones Payne

  I reached for the butter and whispered, “Lasair.” A tiny flame surged to life in my hand, and I held it up to the butter to soften it.

  Breanna crossed her arms, concern shadowing her eyes. “It’s dangerous for you to be doing things like that in camp, you know.”

  I looked around the tent, my gaze resting on the bouquet of fresh wildflowers perched in a vase on the table. “Who’s going to see me? Even Darick isn’t here.”

  She shrugged, walked up alongside me, and watched as I finished softening the butter and dropped it into the mixture of flour and water and salt. She stirred the dough together, and I extinguished the flame.

  “I just don’t like seeing you take unnecessary risks,” she said softly. “I’m like Mama in some ways, I guess.”

  The dough was too wet, so I reached for the bag of flour and poured a little more into the bowl. “How are you feeling about everything now?”

  She sighed. “I’m happy, Kyla. I really am. My life is so very good, and I’m thankful.” But tears brimmed in her eyes. “I just still haven’t let go of it all.”

  I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh-cut flowers. Breanna’s tent always smelled like flowers. Then I rested my hand on her shoulder. “That’s okay. You still have a lot of days to figure it out.”

  She wiped at her eyes, leaving a streak of flour on her cheekbone. “I shouldn’t be ambivalent, right? I mean, I’m pregnant. I’ve always wanted to have children. It’s just . . . I always thought I’d be happier than this.”

  A pang of concern twinged in my chest. “Are you okay, Breanna?”

  She laughed, but it was dull and hollow. “Aye. I will be. I just want to feel like me again. And trading in dancing for nappies doesn’t feel like me. I’m sure I’ll feel differently when the baby comes.”

  Hot anger burned in my core, and I took a long, slow breath. I had to contain the rage so that I didn’t accidentally set something on fire with a burst of magecraft. There was no reason Breanna should have to give up dancing. For a few months, sure—right before and after the birth. But permanently?

  And suddenly I couldn’t reassure her that everything would be alright. Because I wasn’t sure that I believed it anymore. “It’s not fair that they’re asking you to,” I said. “You should be able to dance again after the baby is born.”

  She dug her hands into the dough and pounded it against the bowl. “Nay. It’s not fair. I hate this. I hate all of it.” The bowl came up off the table and slammed back down with the force of her momentum.

  She stared at it.

  Breanna never had outbursts.

  “Have you talked to Darick about how you feel?” I asked.

  She sniffled. “What good would that do? He can’t change the laws.”

  “He can’t.” I pulled out a chair and sank onto it. “But it could let him know that you’re feeling conflicted. That he should be more sensitive to all that’s changing for you.”

  She stopped kneading and picked up a towel to set over the bowl while the dough rose. Then she took a seat on the floor next to my chair and leaned her head against my knee.

  “I’ve thought about it,” she finally said. “But I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s still just so happy about it. He can hardly contain it.” Her voice caught. “I don’t want to make him feel like I don’t want this, or that there’s something wrong with me, or that I won’t love the baby—”

  “Nay.” I reached down and tilted her chin up. “You listen to me. It’s okay to not be sure how you feel about all of this yet. It’s really okay. And you’ll be a great mama to your little one. But don’t beat yourself up. It’s not fair that you have to give up everything you’ve worked toward.”

  She sighed, and tears brimmed in her eyes. “It never seemed to bother Mama. She didn’t even make Phoenix.”

  “Maybe it didn’t bother Mama,” I said, “but you and I have always been more like Papa. You don’t have to worry about measuring up to Mama. You’re different than she is. Your strengths are different. And that’s fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  I snorted. “Wouldn’t you rather be like Papa, anyway?”

  At that, she laughed. “I suppose so.” Then she exhaled a long, shuddering breath. “I just need more time, I guess.”

  “Well, that baby’s going to be in there a while.” I gestured toward her midsection. “Just . . . tell Darick. Please? He needs to know so he can be supportive. You know he will be. He adores you. More than anything.”

  She grabbed my wrist. “Promise me, Kyla.” Her eyes sought out my face and locked onto mine. “You won’t give up on your dreams. You won’t let the clan’s rules trap you.”

  I eased off the chair and sat cross-legged next to her. “I’m so sorry you feel trapped, Breanna.”

  But she didn’t release me from her intense stare. “Promise me.”

  “I . . . don’t know what I’m promising,” I said. “I’m going to work as hard as I can to become the Phoenix. And I’m still practicing magecraft.”

  “Good. That,” she said. “We’ll make you the Phoenix, and then we’ll figure out a way to make the council let you become a mage. The first female mage in Fintan history.”

  I held up my hand and pressed my palm against hers. “I thought you didn’t approve of me practicing magecraft in camp.”

  She sighed. “I was wrong to say that. I get nervous for you sometimes . . . but I shouldn’t. Because I don’t want to be like Mama. I want you to make your own choices.” Her eyes smoldered, but now it was with determination, not with anger. “And I want the council to know what the Brannan women are made of.”

  Chapter Ten

  When I arrived at the creek that afternoon, Nolan wasn’t there yet. Hopefully he’d get here soon. There was another show tonight, so I couldn’t stay long. I sat on the rock and stared into the rippling water, thinking over my conversation with Breanna.

  I was worried about her. For all my soothing words, what if she couldn’t accept her new reality? What if she resented Darick? Resented the baby? How would she cope with the long, inescapable years?

  I didn’t want to watch the light go out of her eyes, to see her waste away, become a shell of her former self. I’d seen that happen to women in the clan before.

  Nuala’s mama had killed herself when Nuala’s little brother was just two months old. She’d started withering away shortly after the birth and never recovered. Nuala had sworn since we were small that she’d never marry. My own aunt—Shayla’s mama—had died giving birth to a stillborn child when we were eleven.

  It wasn’t always that way, of course. I thought of Mama. And of Colleen, who found her joy and purpose in nurturing her children and grandchildren—and everyone else she encountered. Of Aislinn’s mama, who had been so desperate for a child that she’d made a sacred vow to the eternal flame, to worship it an hour out of every day if it granted her the child she longed for. A year later, Aislinn was born.

  But I wasn’t like Mama or Colleen or Aislinn’s mama.

  I swallowed. Promise me you won’t let the clan’s rules trap you.

  Shifting to my knees, I turned and stared at the bush that Nolan had set not-quite-ablaze a few days earlier. I tilted my head. Could I do it?

  The knowledge that it was foolish tugged at the back of my head. I’d only seen the element done once. But Breanna’s face burned in my mind. I wouldn’t let them trap me. I wouldn’t let them take my choices from me.

  I focused on the open air between the branches, going deep inside my mind and summoning the eternal flame. What word had Nolan said he used? It came to me all at once. “Moscaí.”

  When I opened my eyes, a tiny ball of fire hovered amid the branches, not touching any of the twigs or leaves. I stilled my mind, willing the fire to grow and spread, leaving the boughs untouched. It thickened and flowed, weaving its way around the foliage . . .

  And then the bush burst into blazing flame.

  I bolted to my feet and darted towa
rd the bush, calming my fluttering mind and reaching for the quelling magic. With one hand outstretched, I raised my other into the air and whispered, “Brú.”

  “Kyla!”

  The fire winked out of the bush, leaving half its branches blackened and smoking.

  I stared at the bush. I couldn’t turn to look at Nolan.

  “What were you thinking?” he demanded.

  “That I’m not going to be trapped,” I muttered.

  “What . . . are you talking about?”

  I huffed, even though I knew he didn’t have the context to understand. Embarrassment suffused my face. “It was a conversation with Breanna. She’s still sad and upset and confused. And she feels trapped. And she doesn’t want me to end up feeling that way.” My words came out rapid and clipped.

  He looked hurt. “Do I make you feel trapped?”

  My defensiveness melted away, and I whirled to face him. “Nay. Not at all.” I rushed to his side and grabbed his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think that. I just . . . it was humiliating to be caught like that.” I swallowed. “I needed to be thorny, or I was going to cry.”

  He relaxed a little. “Sit down.” He nodded at the rock, and we perched on it, arms linked.

  “What makes you feel trapped?” he asked.

  It should be an easy question to answer, but my mind raced. “The Fintan’s rules, I guess. The expectation that I’ll dance for a little while, because that’s the only way for girls to distinguish themselves, and that afterward I’ll settle down and give it all up.”

  “So, you don’t want to settle down?”

  His features were neutral, and gratitude swelled in my chest. He was trying to set his feelings aside to talk me through this. This sort of thing was why I loved him so much. Then my blush intensified. Love like a friend. Care for. I did think of him romantically. But it was confusing to think that I loved him that way. But I knew I loved him as my best friend.

  Batting my churning thoughts aside, I said, “I don’t want to give it all up.”

  “I see.” He quirked his lips. “And you were feeling angry about this years-distant future possibility.”

  I chuckled, but it came out almost like a yelp. “Aye. And . . . angry about what’s happening now to Breanna.”

  “And so you . . . set the bush on fire?”

  This time I released a real laugh, my shoulders relaxing. “I wasn’t trying to. I swear it. I was trying to weave the fire around the branches, like you showed me the other day.”

  He grumbled, “You know there’s a word for people who set things on fire because they’re upset.”

  “Toddlers?”

  His gaze turned more sober. “Arsonists.”

  He couldn’t be serious. “I told you it wasn’t on purpose.”

  He shook his head, and when I looked down at his arms, I could see goosebumps prickling on his skin. “I know it wasn’t,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m not really thinking about you. There’s been a lot going on in the last few months. Too many fires, like I said.”

  My mouth went dry. Was there an . . . arsonist in Orivesi? There hadn’t been an arsonist in my lifetime. “What are you—”

  He held up his hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put that on you. I’m wound too tightly about it. There was another fire yesterday—small, easily put out by the quellers. Even with the dry weather, it’s too many to be a coincidence. The quellers stopped by the farm to ask us questions about it. I’ve had suspicions for months, now, that something wasn’t right. That someone’s been starting blazes. But I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “The local people will blame the Fintan,” I said. The council took arson as seriously as murder, even if no one was injured. If the Fintan gained a reputation for using their magecraft carelessly, people would lose their appetite for our show.

  And our show was what kept us prosperous.

  Not to mention the lives that could be lost if there really was an arsonist on the loose.

  “And the Fintan will blame the defectors,” he said bitterly. “And I don’t know that they’d be wrong to do so. If there is an arsonist, it could well be someone capable of wielding the magic but who lacks the training and discipline of the Fintan fire mages.”

  “Which was why the quellers knocked on your door yesterday.”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “We know most all the defectors in Orivesi.”

  “This day just keeps getting better and better.” I buried my face in my hands.

  He gave a long, troubled sigh. Then his voice grew gentler. “I’d like to make it better.”

  “How?” I peeked at him through my fingers.

  A smile overtook his rumpled face, and he reached out and cupped my chin. “I want you to spend a day with my family next week. On my day off. If you can spare the time away from practice.”

  I dropped my hands and stared at him. “You want me to meet your family?” After all this time?

  He smiled. “Aye. And Papa wants you to come visit. I should have told them about you sooner. Brought you home to spend time with them. I always wanted you to meet them, it’s just . . .”

  I nestled into his shoulder. “I was the same way. You were worried about what they’d say.”

  “I don’t know why,” he said. “My papa doesn’t love the clan leaders, but he’s never forbidden me from having Fintan friends. And if he thought you and I were thinking about . . . well, he says he’s never regretted marrying my mama, even though that meant he had to leave the Fintan.”

  I tried to hide my smile as Nolan stumbled over his words.

  “I can’t wait to meet them,” I said. “And I promise I won’t even set any bushes on fire.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Aislinn!” I hissed, poking at the canvas tent. I knew she was in there. I could hear her snoring. She sounded like a giant boar.

  “Hmmph,” said a muffled voice.

  I bit back a smile. “Aislinn!” I whispered again, trying to keep quiet enough that I wouldn’t wake her parents. But I wasn’t too worried. They slept on the far side of the tent, to drown out Aislinn’s snores as best as they could.

  “Kyla?” She sounded groggy.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “Time for practice.”

  “The sun’s not even up yet. We had a show last night. I was out late.”

  With Liam? I smirked. “Gotta get in some extra practice and impress Deirdre.”

  There was a shuffling sound, and then she muttered, “Give me a minute.”

  It took her five minutes, but she joined me outside the tent, her dark blonde hair tied back with a ribbon and her eyes drooping.

  “Come on.” I nudged her in the ribs. “We got this. We’re going to smoke Shayla.”

  She yawned and started shuffling toward the festival grounds beside me. “If you say so. Oh. That reminds me. Last night, after you left the dressing tent, Shayla was over at your vanity. Looked like she was riffling through your stuff.”

  I rolled my eyes. Of course she was. It bothered me, but I shrugged it off outwardly. But I tucked the information away, determining to go through everything carefully today to make sure she hadn’t planted anything.

  The festival grounds were quiet again this morning, and excitement rose in my chest. Another day of practice. Another day to pursue my dreams. I wouldn’t fail. Even though everyone expected Shayla to be crowned Phoenix, I knew I stood a chance. I’d focus on my strengths.

  Shayla was already practicing when we arrived, and Aislinn and I both ignored her. I started stretching on the far side of the tent, while Aislinn dragged herself to the water barrel.

  When my muscles felt relaxed and limber, I picked up two fans and marched over to the lit torch to set them ablaze.

  It wouldn’t do for Shayla, of all people, to see me use magecraft to light the fans.

  Though I’d delight in the look on her face.

  Shayla and I ignored each other as we danced to Scarlet Moon, but I gave Aislinn
an encouraging nod now and then. We’d been at it an hour when Ciara glided into the tent and pulled up short, looking at us.

  “I see I’m not the only one with this idea,” she said wryly.

  But she and I smiled at each other. We’d never been close, but I liked her. I shifted a few paces backward to give her room to practice.

  I’d just launched into a triple turn when Deirdre walked in. I kept my attention on a single point in the corner of the tent, trying to keep my balance, willing myself to execute the move to perfection.

  When I completed my rotations and held my center, Deirdre nodded approvingly at me. I wanted to pump my fist in the air, but I settled for a triumphant smile.

  “Shayla. Ciara. Aislinn. Kyla,” Deirdre said, nodding at each of us. “Glad to see you here so intent on your work.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “Deirdre,” Ciara called, “could you help me with the second section?”

  Deirdre turned her attention to Ciara, and I set the fans down with the other props. I was done with that section. When I turned around, Shayla was beside me, handing me a two-headed wand.

  “Here,” she said. “Are you using this next?”

  “Uh. Aye. Thanks.” I took it from her, and she strode away again, her hips swaying, another two-headed wand grasped in her other hand.

  I narrowed my gaze at her. Why was she playing nice all of a sudden?

  But there was no point worrying about it. I could only focus as hard as I could on preparing for the audition.

  The tent flap opened, and two more troupe dancers came in. It was almost time for practice to start in earnest. I ran over to the torch and lit both ends of the wand. Hopefully, there was time for me to get just a little bit more work done before Deirdre called us to order.

  I threw out my hand to one side and extended my leg behind me, striking the opening arabesque. Five, six, seven, eight.

  I launched into the first step and swung the wand up above my head, tossing it into the air and twirling halfway around before I caught it. I curved my hand back and threw it high again. Just as it reached its zenith, one of the flaming heads exploded, sending tiny pieces of the wand flying across the tent.