Stormfire

by Jasmine Young

  Accept it. You’ll never see home again.

  “Learning to control any elemental energy takes enormous discipline,” said the priest, “which I suppose you lack. The best Sages spend hard years training into adulthood—mighty Kings like Viro Tazuga of Kaippon. Gildas Brennte of Glaidde. Like your bloody father.” His hard eyes fell on Jaime’s. “In the pitifully dragged course of my life, I have never seen a Sage master his element in less than a year. It is impossible.”

  “I can do it.”

  “We’ll see.” The priest turned away. “Before we begin, I require, as sworn airpriest of the High Temple of Jaypes, that you make an oath.”

  “An oath?”

  “We of Temple Jaypes train Sages—”

  He raised his hand. “So we can learn how to fight—”

  “Precisely not to start fights.” The priest slid the fan open. “The gods gifted their bloodlines with the gift of the elements. Nothing,” his voice fell low, “nothing must compromise the unity of Air, Water, Fire and Earth. That is what the Sages and the four High Temples protect: the Unity.”

  Jaime blinked. “The Unity.”

  “Do you know The Legend of the Four?”

  That’s the same tome Hilaris gave me before he burned.

  The Legend was the origins story of the Four Kingdoms, chronicling how the four warrior-heroes, Jaypes, Glaidde, Kaippon and Larfour, became gods. It was through these gods that the first Sages were breathed to life.

  Jaime knew little of ancient history. After Usheon received Lord Jaypes’s prophecy, he burned every Jaypan library his lochoi could find. Then he forbade anyone from learning any history prior to November 24, 1981 E.T., the day he established New Jaypes.

  Of course, Hilaris was well-versed in Jaypan literature and philosophy. Lord Gaiyus kept a secret library somewhere under his villa. The nobility swore that books nowadays were more valuable than silver, but Jaime still preferred a himation or a filling bowl of stew. More utility.

  “No,” Jaime said. “Not really.”

  The priest pulled at his lower eyelids. “I hope you at least know the state of our world prior to the birth of our gods?”

  “I don’t. No one taught me.”

  “Well, I’ll teach you. Banestorms tore up the earth and drowned the valleys with rain. Tidal waves flooded the coastlands, fire fell from the sky, earthquakes swallowed up entire tribes.” The priest squeezed his fan between the soft flesh of his palms. “That is what will happen if one element falls out of balance—” He closed his hands together. The fan’s folds bowed and snapped under the pressure. “The Four Kingdoms as we know it will collapse into darkness and destruction.”

  So dramatic.

  Jaime glanced at the sky. “Isn’t it already happening? Lord Gaiyus said when I touched the medallion, it started a banestorm.”

  “Yes, boy. Sartorios is right.”

  “Will it pass?”

  “Not so long as a Fire Sage sits on our throne.”

  “But I’m a—”

  “Florin already told you, you are Lord Jaypes’s chosen.” Even as the priest spoke, hesitance drawled out his words. “All the Ascaeriis are dead. If our god did not want you on our throne, then this storm would have already consumed the Air Kingdom.”

  I don’t believe in gods. If the gods were real, Lord Jaypes wouldn’t have let Hilaris die.

  But Jaime bit his tongue and said instead, “What’s the oath you mentioned?”

  “Kneel,” the priest said. “We shall speak it in Ancient Empyrean, the language of our gods and ancestors. It has much power.”

  After a pause, Jaime obeyed.

  “Mì, Jamian Ottega, Zan Jefes—”

  He repeated and stammered over his surname.

  “Anyitta ìn hijal taksen n’quélaan—”

  Jaime held up his hands. “Wait. What are you saying?”

  Priest Achuros continued. Jaime sighed and repeated until they finished. Then the priest translated:

  “I, Jamian Ottega, Prince of Jaypes, swear by the Sacred Codex of my gods to uphold the Unity of Air, Water, Fire, and Earth, by serving as Warden of my element, and Peacekeeper of my Kingdom, wielding sword and shield to protect the people, until my last breath should fail me.”

  When Achuros finished, Jaime nodded quietly.

  Wow.

  Every Sage in history spoke that same oath, dating all the way back to the first Sage-Kings of the Four Kingdoms. The blood in his body coursed to life. Somehow, he felt bonded to these old Sages.

  Did Usheon take that oath too when he became King?

  Priest Achuros’s voice quieted. “Good. Now sit.”

  Jaime obeyed.

  “There are two steps to mastering any element. The second is known by everyone: mastering the mind techniques to manipulate your element. The first step is cared for by few.”

  His eyes shone. “What is it?”

  “Meditation.”

  His shoulders slumped. “What? Really?”

  “The success of this step distinguishes Sages from the masses of mediocrity. Countless royals were unable to discover their inner power because of impatience. Most, in fact.”

  “Okay, so what do I have to do? Just sit here and think about nothing? For how long?

  “Until you form a bond with your element. In other words, you find a way to tap into The Empyrean.”

  Jaime blinked.

  The priest slapped his head. “The spirit realm. Gods, boy, did they teach you nothing on that mountain of yours?”

  “Lord Gaiyus taught my brother, but I was selling my mother’s textiles in the marketplace every day,” Jaime snapped. “So no, I know nothing.”

  Priest Achuros clasped his flaking hands together, his temper cooling. “The Empyrean is where all elemental energy originates from. It’s made entirely of avai, the energy inside all living things. When man bonds his avai with The Empyrean, he awakens his greatest powers.” The priest glanced at the clouds passing the skies. “Mm, I cannot explain it, but you will know when it happens. The ancient scribes say the way you perceive the world will change forever.”

  “But . . . I never felt any bond when I drew Fire.”

  “Well, I am an airpriest, not a firepriest.”

  “Well, I thought only Sages can use the elements, not priests.”

  “Not if we hold this.” The priest held up the medallion with a sharp sigh. “Each High Temple has its own Relic. Air will never respond to me the way it did to Lairdos and his kin because I am not an Ascaerii. I can raise gusts; an Ascaerii can raise banestorms.”

  “I’m not an Ascaerii,” Jaime snapped.

  “No, you are an Ottega, unfortunately.”

  They exchanged venomous looks. Jaime crossed his legs the way the priest did, both feet balanced on his thighs. The medallion dropped tersely over his chest.

  “Clasp your hands in front of you.”

  Jaime stiffened when the fan rapped his back.

  “You are a Prince, not a Kaipponese rice-noodle. Sit up straight. You only need to break into The Empyrean once. After the first time, it will become easier to tap into its energy. Now, let’s see if there is truly a Sage in you.”

  If my father made the bond, I can too.

  He huffed out a breath. “Can you at least tell me what I’m supposed to look for?”

  “Clear your mind. Of your emotions, your senses, your thinking. Try to focus on your breaths.”

  “But that’s focusing on something.”

  No answer this time.

  Focus on breathing.

  Of all things, why breathing? The one thing he’d struggled with for a lifetime. It seemed that the more he tried to be Prince, the worse his asthma became.

  Breathe deeply, Jaime.

  His mother’s voice.

  Somewhere in the
distance, a dog barked. The hill turbines hummed against the gnashing winds. The brand mark on his wrist itched madly. Then came an eagle’s cry, the clanking of construction, coarse laughter—the city was waking. Gods. And something stank. The airpriest—he smelled of livestock and sour wine. How long had both of them sat out here already?

  His breathing turned ragged the more he focused on it.

  One, two, three, four . . .

  Counting like Hida told him to do whenever his asthma tried to squeeze his throat shut.

  Where was his mother? Was she still alive? Was she hurt? Was she worrying about him, or cursing him for the destruction of the Pappas family? Trading her blood-son for a monster’s spawn—did regret ever crossed her mind for saving him that day in the foothills of Mount Alairus?

  Jaime rubbed the melted flesh on his wrist.

  The morning after a royal official branded him, Hida took him to Jaypes’s Pantheon. Jaime was five at the time, maybe six. At the altar, she offered Lord Jaypes grain, a flask of olive oil, honey, and the silver pendant Hektor gave her on their marriage night. It was all she owned at the time. Hida had worn that pendant under her peplos every day for as long as Jaime could remember.

  She dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead in the grime where hundreds of feet had walked.

  “Protect him, Holy Lord,” she murmured. “Take the air in my lungs and give it to him. Heal him.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes like liquid glass. One by one, they stained the ground.

  As the memory faded, Jaime’s thumb circled the same brand his mother had prayed over. Jaime saw it now: so many sacrifices on his behalf, beginning the day she plucked him out of the freezing wilderness. Fourteen years of putting him first. Hida Pappas was the only reason he was alive.

  She was like air: steady and constant, imperceptible when she was there. But the second she was gone, he was suffocating.

  A hand gripped his shoulder.

  “Boy.”

  His eyes snapped open. Dampness was trickling down his cheeks. Jaime quickly turned and wiped them away.

  “Sorry. The winds are stinging my—”

  “We are done for the day.”

  “What?” Jaime planted his rear against the ground. “But it’s not even afternoon—”

  “Before both of us shrivel from your woolgathering. Gods, making a bond on the first day! Go get some bread, or cereal, try to come back tomorrow.”

  Priest Achuros’s blasé tone needled him in the chest.

  His lungs burned for his breather. But he refused to bow to panic and have an asthma attack in front of this stinking old man. So he picked himself up, started walking—and forced the air out of his throat.

  “I’ll try to come back tomorrow if you try to give more of a shit.”

  The airpriest went rigid.

  A twister of cedar leaves leapt up and gnashed at them with the colors of fire. For a second, it looked like the old man was going to apologize. But his iron gaze steeled. He peered up at the sphere of thunderclouds breathing whole mountains into shadow.

  “The days of the Sages are over,” the priest murmured. “And both of us are already dead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jaime barely made it to the base of Chikos Pagos Hill when someone tugged him aside.

  “Hey man, we gotta talk.”

  Toran’s face was barely visible in the falling dark. Jaime wrenched his arm away, unable to look at him. But Toran blocked him with his belly.

  “I saw what happened with the priest, man. Don’t listen to him. He’s a sour chunk of cheese.”

  Jaime sank his hands into his face, struggling to hold down the storm in his chest.

  “Why don’t you ever mind your own business, Toran? I need you to just leave me alone.”

  As soon as those words came out of Jaime’s mouth, he immediately regretted them.

  Toran’s face was unreadable, but he felt hurt flickering through his friend’s silence.

  “I’m sorry.” Jaime turned away. “I’m just—I need sleep.”

  “I bought us a surprise from the marketplace. It’s by the river. Wanna come with me to get it?”

  A weak laugh.

  “Toran, you wouldn’t be able to pay for a grape if your life depended on it.”

  “Wrong, man. I’ve been picking olives in the Mayor’s orchards and crushing them at the mill. They pay me nice.”

  Jaime raised a brow.

  Toran crossed his arms. “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing while you’ve been out? Lying around, gobbling up pomegranates and wine?”

  Jaime rubbed his chest. It still stung from Priest Achuros’s jab. Any second now, his knees would break. Hida could well be hamstrung above a fire pit while the King barraged her with interrogations and torture. Toran didn’t know how close he was to falling apart.

  But somehow, Toran, of all people, could feel this. In that moment, Jaime realized he needed a friend.

  “Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

  They cut around Chikos Pagos, avoiding the one-hundred-foot cliffs and their bordering fortifications. The streets thickened as they approached the agora. City guards shouted at muleteers, sweat pouring through their helmets as they attempted to direct the wagons. A few workmen, wearing knee-length singlets, lingered on the scaffolds of two-story apartments. Jaime kept his face hooded from all of them.

  The evening light waned. Indoor oil lamps and temple firepits flickered to life. As they drew nearer to the Estos River slithering under the northern gate, the city lights faded behind them.

  Toran sat down under a plane tree and pulled a sack out of a patch of shrubs. “Here.”

  Jaime peeked inside.

  Two folded sheets of paper, made of mulberry fibers, rubbed against his fingertips. But there was even more: a set of brushes, a stick of black ink, and an ink-stone rolled around the bottom.

  “What’s all this stuff for?”

  “Here, lemme show you.”

  Toran took the ink-stone and filled the square depression with a layer of water. Then he rubbed the ink-stick against the stone until the water turned black. Jaime watched in growing fascination. Toran set the papers side-by-side. Dipped the brush into ink. Several letters swam to life across one of the papers.

  After he finished, Toran unfolded it, a proud grin on his face. “A lantern. Kaipponese-style.”

  Jaime felt around his papery edges. “You found all this in the marketplace?”

  “Yeah, and I knew you needed one, too.” He fished out two candlesticks from the stack. “When I was a kid, before the war separated me from my family, my ba and ma would buy these on festival days. You’re supposed to write a single character on it, or draw a picture if you can’t write.” Toran pointed at his word. “That character’s supposed to represent a wish or prayer. My parents always said your lantern would find its way to the family’s guardian spirit. If you were in favor with it, it would make your prayer come true.”

  Jaime’s eyes brightened. “Cool.”

  “You got any family spirits?”

  “I guess we’ll find out. What’s your lantern say?”

  “‘Light.’ In Moderna. I don’t know how to write in Kaipponese characters.”

  Jaime studied the individual strokes of the letters. “What’s ‘light’ supposed to mean?”

  Toran pulled out a separate bag and offered him a round, fried pastry. “Honey nougat?”

  “What do we do with those?”

  “Eat it, stupid.” Toran shoved it into his mouth. “Write a prayer on your lantern.” Jaime began to protest that he didn’t know how to write Moderna, but Toran said, “It’s okay, just figure out what you wanna write, and I’ll show you how.”

  He stared at the blank canvass of his lantern, thinking.

  What do I want to write?
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  His mind flitted back to his memories with Hida—her deft fingers on the loom, the wrinkles on her face as she prayed to Lord Jaypes at the Air Pantheon, her smiles in the kitchen as toddler-Jaime jabbered away about the goats he’d chased with his best friend Peri Kreed.

  When Hida Pappas smiled, the house blazed to life. Not like the oil-lamps, or even the fires of the outdoor braziers where elders told stories of Old Jaypes—brighter. Something in her burned much, much brighter.

  “‘Sun,’” Jaime said.

  Toran cocked his thick brows.

  “My mamá told me about the sun a few times,” he explained. “Before Usheon became King. I want to see what it looks like. And bring it back for her.”

  His friend nodded. Jaime took hold of the brush. Toran gripped the upper tip, showing him how to dip it into the ink-stone. Together, they drew three letters onto the thin paper.

  “Sun,” Jaime whispered. He looked up. “What do we do with it now?”

  “Unfold it.” Toran expanded his into a spider-shaped oval. “Like this.”

  Jaime mirrored him. Toran helped him place candles inside. Lit them. The black letters on Jaime’s lantern flared to life.

  Toran knelt on the riverbank, lantern in hand. “Ready?”

  “Let’s release them on four,” Jaime said. He counted: one, two, three.

  And on four, they let go.

  Their lanterns bobbed away downstream, side-by-side. Little blossoms lighting a course through the night. Suddenly, the distance didn’t seem as vast and dark as before.

  “So,” Jaime tilted his gaze, “what’s ‘light’ mean?”

  A new pastry tumbled into Toran’s mouth.

  “I think you and I are alike, Juno. We’re both walking through the dark. I don’t know where I’m going, not really. I don’t know why I’m here.” Another pastry. “Some days, it feels like I’m deadwalking through the same things—wake up, try to get through the war for eighteen hours, sleep. Do it again. No purpose. No light along the way. Just one long night of forever.”

  Jaime fixed his eyes on Toran’s lantern, bobbing its way through the dark, winding path of the river.

  I don’t know anything about him.

  The realization hit him like a cold splash in the water.