Haliden's Fire

by Chris Sendrowski

  And that’s when Haliden released.

  The arrow went wide as a gust of wind carried it off course. But then, as if guided by some magic, it curved back on its target, puncturing the boy’s heart and spine and pinning him to the burning ram.

  What have I done? Haliden thought.

  A scream rose from below, followed by a woman’s desperate pleas.

  Haliden looked down. A firewalker was struggling with a teenage girl on Rinker’s Band, his dagger already halfway buried in her chest.

  Haliden felt his hand reach for an arrow. As he nocked it to the string and drew back, the scope whirred into focus. At forty times magnification, he could see the firewalker clearly: a middle-aged man, possibly a farmer or smithy, his mottled gray hair and wrinkled, sunburnt flesh whispering of turns spent laboring beneath the sun.

  Haliden released.

  In the blink of an eye, the arrow slammed into the man’s head, passing clean through his skull just above his left eye. Haliden’s stomach lurched as the firewalker collapsed beside the dying girl, blood spurting from his wound.

  Haliden nocked another arrow and drew back.

  A young man was running toward the gate, a rusty sickle in hand.

  Without hesitating, Haliden pinned his head to a nearby pine. Moments later, another man made a run for the western side of the wall, a cobbled-together ladder in hand. Haliden quickly dispatched him with a shot to his right eye.

  When it was done, Haliden slumped down behind the wall, his arms and legs trembling. He glanced at the quiver; only eight of the original dozen arrows remained.

  What have I done? he thought.

  On the far side of Rinker’s Band, a single wagon stacked with unmarked barrels rolled down a ramp toward the tower’s base. Haliden raised the scope and watched as two men labored behind it.

  By the gods! he thought.

  It was Evetner and Proust.

  A shout rang out from below, followed by a hailstorm of flaming arrows. Haliden ducked into the stairwell as several clattered across the rooftop. When it was over, he ran back to the crenulations and looked down.

  Hundreds of firewalkers were rushing the wall with ladders and grappling hooks. The Moss Town men frantically tossed them back, but there were too many to repel and within seconds the firewalkers began pouring over the wall.

  Panicked cries rang out as makeshift clubs and swords smashed into flesh and bone. The scene was surreal, smoke and flame twisting about as men grappled and smashed one another into bloody pulps.

  Haliden picked up several spent arrows and took aim into the fray.

  “On the tower! Kill him!” a woman screamed. She stood just outside the gate, a haggard thing covered in mud and blood. Haliden drew back and fired, grazing her left cheek. After that, she quickly vanished behind cover.

  “Haliden!” a familiar voice cried.

  Haliden turned toward Rinker’s Band.

  Ember was crouched behind a crenulation, an arrow jutting from her bloody left shoulder. And to his horror, several men slowly approached her from the left.

  “Ember!” he cried. “Get inside the tower!”

  She scrambled onto her feet, dodging arrows as they exploded all around her.

  Haliden drew back and took down the closest of the two men. After that, the other scrambled for cover, giving Ember enough time to duck into the tower.

  When she finally emerged at the top of the stairs, her shirt was soaked in blood and her skin was pale as milk.

  “They’ve overrun the wall,” she gasped.

  Haliden dropped the bow and took her in his arms. She pressed hard against his chest, the smell of blood and sweat mingling with the smoky air.

  “So what now?” he asked.

  “Now we drown the bastards.” She turned and knelt before the seal. “Come and help me.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Just lift and see for yourself.”

  They took hold of the seal’s handles and pulled. Air escaped around the edges with a gentle hiss, stinking of stagnant water and metal.

  “We sit atop an aquifer,” she said. “An entire ocean yearning to be set free.”

  Haliden peered into the shaft. It cut straight down the tower, cobwebs and dirt choking its three footfall wide throat.

  “By the gods!” he breathed.

  Ember nodded. “Give me your bow.”

  Haliden handed her the weapon. Without a word she pulled a silver arrow from the quiver and knocked it to the bowstring.

  “That’s a Tritan arrow!” he warned her.

  “I know what it is. Just wait until you see what the others have planned.”

  Ember tensed as the bow took hold of her arms. “This tower… it’s like a great spigot designed to flood Moss Town.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, woman. Why in the hells would anyone want that?”

  She pointed at the burning horizon. ”To protect the town from that!”

  “And what of everyone below?” he asked. “They’re supposed to just drown like rats?”

  “Our lives belong to the fire now. It’s what we’ve prepared for our entire lives.” The scope clicked into place over her eye.

  “You’re truly mad, woman!”

  “The world is mad now,” she said, releasing.

  The arrow whistled down the shaft, vanishing into the dark with a

  gentle click.

  Haliden leaned over the hole. A sound echoed somewhere far below, bubbling and hissing.

  “What is tha—?”

  A pillar of water erupted into the sky, knocking him back.

  “Run!” Ember cried.

  Haliden slung the Tritan bow over his shoulder and scrambled into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time as cold water rushed behind him.

  “Faster!” Ember shouted from a few footfalls ahead.

  The water was already outrunning them, pouring over the rotten mortar and stirring it into a muddy deluge.

  “Move your ass, Hal!” Ember cried. “The wagon is almost in place!”

  Haliden stumbled but caught his balance. “What in the hells is it for?”

  “It’s going to blow the entire tower!”

  “What?” Just then his foot slipped on a loose brick. He tried grabbing the wall, but it was no use; the current was too strong and it knocked him off balance.

  “Haliden!” Ember cried as he tumbled down the stairs.

  I’m dead, Haliden thought as ice cold water rushed into his nose and throat. The world spun wildly as he fell, the Tritan bow banging against his neck and back even as he spilled out into open air.

  When he finally stopped, he rolled over and coughed up a lungful of water.

  “Ember!” he gasped.

  But there was no reply.

  He clutched his ears as the water spilled down from the tower. The sound was deafening, like a thousand waterfalls flowing together as one.

  What in the hells did we do?

  Dazed, he pulled himself onto a small ledge beside Lover’s Block and coughed up a lungful of water. When he was done, he rolled over and stared across the basin.

  Not more than fifty footfalls away, men and women were running cross Rinker’s Band, slashing at firewalkers with rusty swords and axes as others raced to extinguish fires.

  Haliden watched it all as if it were a dream. But when an arrow shattered beside him, he snapped back to reality.

  “Runner!” a man cried atop Rinker’s Band.

  Haliden turned. It was Florin.

  “What in the hells are you doing?” the old coot shouted. “Get below! The cart is ready!”

  A hand grabbed Haliden’s arm. When he turned, he found Evetner staring at him. The boy’s cheek was a ruin; an enormous gash stretched from lip to ear, blood streaming down his throat.

  “But Ember!” Haliden cried. “She’s still up there!”

  “You’re the runner, artist! Run to your charge before you get yourself killed. I’ll worry about her.”r />
  Haliden glanced up at the tower. Great rivulets of water continued spilling over the side, splashing down into the cistern. I can’t abandon her, he thought. Not again.

  “I’m not going,” he shouted.

  Evetner grabbed him by the collar. “I’m abandoning my home to protect you, artist! It won’t be for nothing!”

  “But I can’t leave her!”

  Evetner shook his head. “You’re the runner! Do you realize what that means?”

  “I still won’t leave without her.”

  Evetner shook his head. “You’re a damn fool, artist.” He looked up at the tower and sighed. “You love her that much.”

  “I do.”

  The boy lowered the sword. “Ah, fuck me to the hells, where was she last?”

  “The stairwell,” Haliden replied. “She was right behind me.”

  “For the sake of the gods.” Evetner pushed him aside and waded to the tower entrance. But water exploded around his waist and swept him back when he grabbed the rusted gate.

  Haliden dived into the water and grabbed the boy’s flailing arms.

  “We’re not getting up there, artist,” Evetner coughed as Haliden dragged him up a staircase onto Rinker’s Band. “Pressure is too strong.”

  The rusted gate broke from the wall and washed down into the cistern.

  “We have to reach the tunnels… and blow the wagon,” Evetner shouted. “I’m sorry.”

  Haliden stared at the tower. He was about to jump back into the water to search for Ember, when Evetner grabbed his arm.

  “This is what she wanted, artist. Just let her go.”

  Haliden scanned the churning water.

  “Am!” But there was still no reply.

  I’m so sorry, Ember.

  “Where’s my horse?”

  “Down in the chamber,” Evetner replied. “With the venermin.”

  Haliden stood and sloshed toward the prison entrance.

  “Wait!” Evetner shouted.

  Haliden froze. “What?”

  “I have to ignite the wagon.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “It’s the only way to drown the bastards,” Evetner replied.

  Haliden glanced at the wagon. It was a hundred footfalls from their position.

  “How do you plan to do it?” Haliden asked.

  “Just stay close and follow me.”

  Proust stood covered in blood. The bodies of three firewalkers lay at his feet.

  “There’s just too many,” he gasped.

  Haliden and Evetner stared at him. They had been sneaking toward the wagon when they stumbled upon the knight dispatching the last of the three men with a chipped, bloody club.

  Evetner eyed his father cautiously. The man looked insane, covered head to toe in blood and viscera. The stink of fecal matter and urine hung heavy in the air and it was all Evetner could do to keep his eyes from the chunks of brain matter splashed across one of the walls.

  “They’re everywhere now,” Haliden said, looking outside.

  “We could cut our way through them,” said Evetner. “I just need to get past Greg’s forges and I’ll have a clear shot.”

  “You go out there now and you’ll die within sight of that shot,” Proust said. “Is that what you want?”

  “What else should we do? Sit here and watch them burn the town to the ground?”

  “Our job is to get the venermin and it’s runner to the Block. The rest is in the gods’ hands now.”

  “What of the women and children?” Haliden asked as a Moss Town man disemboweled a young firewalker a few footfalls from the hovel.

  “They were to go down to the chamber if the wall fell.”

  “And those left on the wall?”

  Proust shook his head. “They die at their posts… as guards of Moss Town should.”

  Haliden’s heart sank. It was going to be a massacre; the firewalkers outnumbered them three to one. Such madness, he thought. Moss Town would have Gifted anyway. Every man, woman, and child here. Why couldn’t these freaks just let them be?

  “These fire fools say they’re protectors of the Gift,” Haliden said. “Yet they rape and steal even as the Breath bears down on them.”

  “None of that matters anymore.” Proust unslung his quiver and handed it to Evetner. “It’s time, son.”

  Evetner looked down at the red and green fletching and shook his head. “It shouldn’t be this way.”

  “Well it is! And there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” He turned to Haliden. “The town is lost. Let’s not let the bastards enjoy it.”

  Haliden watched as firewalkers spread out across the bands, burning homes and corpses as they went.

  “We need to get to the stables,” Evetner said. “It’s the only place I’ll have a clear shot from.”

  Proust handed Haliden his bloody club. “This is killing time, artist. No mercy or hesitation. Can you handle it?”

  Haliden looked at the chipped and bloody weapon. Using it would be a far cry from lobbing arrows atop the tower. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

  “Indeed you will.” And with that, Proust turned and led them into the fray.

  12

  Haliden had never seen a man’s brain before. Aside from the common scrape or cut, he had little experience with blood all together.

  But no longer.

  Proust stood over the man’s twisted corpse, his gnarled, bloody club in hand. They’d stumbled upon the firewalker in front of Felway Inn, just another maddened fanatic with a newfound taste for blood. No words had been spoken, no threats or taunts. Proust simply walked up behind him and crushed his skull in.

  “There’s more coming,” Proust shouted as several shadows materialized in the distance. “Can you make the shot?”

  Evetner scrambled atop a moss-covered hovel and raised his bow. “I think so.”

  Three firewalkers spotted them. One rushed at Proust, the other two at Haliden.

  “Take the shot, damn it!” Proust cried as the third man jumped onto the hovel, blade in hand.

  Evetner dropped the bow and drew his father’s sword

  “Come on, you little pissant!” the man cried as he scrambled onto the roof and swung his sword.

  Evetner dodged the clumsy attack and drove his father’s blade deep into the man’s chest.

  “The shot, Evetner! Take it!” Proust cried as he tossed one of the firewalkers into the flooded cistern.

  Haliden ducked as his attacker swung a short sword at his head. The lout was fat and clumsy, his eyes bulging and bloodshot from too much adreena weed. But his blade was sharp, and Haliden doubted his wooden club would be much of a match.

  The firewalker recovered from the miss and took a slice at Haliden’s chest. But Haliden sidestepped the attack and slammed his club into the man’s head.

  “Why are you doing this?” Haliden shouted. “We’re all dead men anyway!”

  “You know nothing, you old shit,” the man gasped as blood oozed from his mouth. “To run is to deny the righteous path. You and yours are just a bunch of fucking heretics!” With that said, he rushed forward.

  Haliden jumped aside and landed another blow across the man’s nose. As the firewalker staggered backward, Haliden picked up a pitchfork leaning against the hovel and thrust it into his chest.

  “Down, artist!” someone cried as the firewalker slumped over dead.

  Haliden looked up.

  Evetner stood atop the roof, a flaming arrow at full draw. When he released, the arrow whipped across the basin, leaving a smoky trail in its wake.

  Haliden ducked as a blinding white flash enveloped the tower. Chunks of brick and pulverized mortar rained down around them, crushing several fighters trapped in the open.

  When the din finally subsided, Proust scrambled onto his feet and cried: “Evetner?”

  “I’m here!” the boy replied. He was lying behind the hovel atop a stack of hay.

  Proust ran to his side and quickly helped him onto his feet. �
��The tunnel!” he shouted. “Now!”

  A loud crack echoed across the basin, followed by the sound of grinding stone.

  Gods be good! Haliden thought as he looked up.

  It was the tower. And it was tipping onto them.

  “It’s coming down!” he cried.

  Proust and Evetner scrambled for the prison entrance, stumbling over pieces of brick and mortar.

  “Faster!” Haliden cried.

  They were within footfalls of the doorway when a surge of water rushed against their backs, thrusting all three men into the black tunnel.

  Seconds later, a deafening roar filled the air.

  And then all was silent.

  The water picked up speed, pushing them deeper into the black, limestone tunnels.

  Haliden clawed at the smooth walls, but the current was too strong.

  “Runner! Give me your hand!”

  Desperate, Haliden reached up into the darkness. The water was pulling him under, its icy fingers locked around his numb body. He was just about to surrender to it when a hand clasped his wrist and dragged him up onto a rock outcropping.

  “Got him,” a familiar voice said.

  Haliden rolled over onto mossy stone and vomited a mouthful of water.

  “That’s it. Get it all up.” It was the boy and he was crouched beside him, a single torch in hand. “Almost got away from me, artist.”

  Haliden shook his head. “Thanks friend.”

  Proust emerged from the shadows, soaked and shivering. “You think you’re ready to run now, artist?”

  Haliden coughed up more water. “Run… hide… anything is better than staying here.”

  The three men waded silently through the flooded tunnels.

  Evetner led the way, his torch lapping at the ceiling. Haliden watched it longingly. The icy water had numbed him from the waist down and it was all he could do just to press on.

  “How much farther?” he asked.

  Evetner twisted from side to side as he waded through the black water. “Almost there.”

  Smoke rushed down the tunnel, acrid and hot.

  The fire is close, Haliden thought. Maybe a league if we’re lucky.