Stormfire

by Jasmine Young

  The steep incline of stairs grappled with his lungs. Several times Jaime stumbled. Arrys didn’t let go. Rain pounded against his injured leg. But he held in the screams, gritting his teeth.

  One, two, three, four. Breathe, Jaime.

  A door opened up into the highest circuit. Jaime gave Arrys a nod and scaled the last steps on his own.

  Briefly, he glanced down at the arena. The Kings were mere flares of light from all the way up here. A fall would mean instant death.

  The Kingdom’s air currents snapped at him, no longer recognizing him as a friend. Jaime peered into the gaping mouth of the sky. His tiny body felt like a bite away from the churning void.

  He was staring at the heart of the banestorm.

  You cannot overcome this storm, the winds hissed, echoing Arrys. Cannot overcome. You cannot—

  “I am the storm,” Jaime declared.

  Carefully, he hoisted himself onto the inner balustrade. The weight of his injured leg almost made him stumble.

  His fear vanished.

  The air was so pure up here, so clear, like he was breathing in the element of Air itself. Something in his avai opened. Air swirled into his lungs, washing them clean of the sickness he carried with Jaypes for fifteen years. Gaps began to appear in the blanket of clouds. For a split second, he swore he saw all four corners of his Kingdom for the first time.

  Gusts wiped away the crusts on his eyes.

  Here was the island’s tallest mountain: the pinnacle of the Jaypan race, the greatest wonder on the island, the midpoint in all the Kingdom of Air.

  I made it, Mamá.

  A deep ache throbbed in his chest. Jaime closed his eyes, rehearsing Lairdos Ascaerii’s banestorm sequence.

  Low rumble rolling above him. As the rain hammered his hair flat and the gusts tore at his chiton, he willed his focus to sink deep into The Empyrean. He called out to Air’s spirit with his avai.

  An ancient current, nameless, unfocused, forgotten, stirred in the lowest layers of the spirit dimension.

  This was the same current he had awakened the night he first touched the medallion.

  Something roared inside the crashing layers of clouds. The gusts transformed into a raging hurricane. The tears he held in for years broke from his eyes, vanishing into the rain. Behind the curtain of his eyelids, his avai unified with Air’s.

  After an era of slumber, an ancient current woke. It reached out to him, wrapping itself around him.

  Ascaerii, it said.

  And Jaime understood its untold power, bowing before it. The wild current bowed in return, offering itself to him.

  Jaime spoke to it with his avai, urging it to calm.

  The winds passed harmlessly through his strings of hair. Above him, black clouds clashed against each other, crackling furiously, as the storm bent to his will.

  The Colosseum began to rock.

  The Western officials on the center stands grabbed hold of any firm object within reach.

  Eridene pointed to the uppermost circuit, where a faraway shape stood in the heavens, glowing bright as a morning star.

  “Over there! He’s over there!”

  Hundreds of old air currents gathered from the furthest reaches of Jaypes Kingdom, joining together into the point where Jamian Ascaerii stood, forming a single massive current that surged up into the heart of the storm.

  On the central plains, the mouths of the Jaypans who fled opened in awe as they watched the glowing shape on the balustrade, untouched by the storm.

  Some clenched their fists in hope.

  Others held each other, brother in arms, crying tears of relief.

  With everyone distracted, Reizo Kita hopped into the arena’s edge where the King was still chained. The Chief Strategos unwrapped the chains from the nail.

  Usheon nodded in thanks. Both of them switched their gazes to the upper circuit.

  The Jaypan King’s eyes thinned.

  Though he did not show it on his face, from deep within those eyes, a worn smile formed, his first since the declaration of the prophecy.

  Thunder crashed into the center of the Colosseum, splitting apart the belligerent currents of Water and Fire. The Kings of The West fell on their heels, torn out of their trances.

  As the great air current cleansed the Kingdom, the rage of Air slowly faded.

  Jaime let go of The Empyrean. The white rays glowing from his body remained for a second, before they, too, faded away.

  Life suddenly drained out of his avai.

  His knees folded. A breath escaped his lips, and he fell into the dark arena below.

  As Jaime closed his eyes, a blurry water serpent twisted up into the sky towards him.

  Part Four:

  Kingdom of Song

  Chapter Forty-One

  Distant cries of eagles, and the whispers of sea shores, stirred him. These were noises he had never woken to.

  His eyes watered from the touch of air.

  Flames kindled in a silver firepit, casting gems across a rug with geometric patterns. It had to be foreign; he’d never seen anything so elaborate. Groggily, Jaime pulled the covers aside. Bandages covered his leg burns. They ached like Empyrean hell.

  A blurry shape sat by his bedframe, staring at him. Jaime squinted as his vision refocused.

  “Commander?” he gasped.

  Julias Markus, oiled and scented, was in the white toga of a Senator. Without the ash and blood on his face, he was hardly recognizable.

  “Hello, Jamian Ascaerii.”

  A grin broke through his face. “Where am I?”

  “You are in the King’s royal chambers in the Palace of Ascaerii.”

  He collapsed against the bed, sucking in a breath. The air was so sweet and light. Misted with rosewater. No such luxury existed even in Florin Menander’s villa. Strongboxes with ornamental hinges populated the room—this was larger than his entire home on Mount Alairus. In place of wooden shutters were window panes, filled with glass. And in place of oil lamps were three-legged bronze candelabras, shaped like bearded, shaggy-maned elhornes.

  How many bushels of barley could I buy with all this?

  He goggled the ivory headboard, hand-carved with garlands of grape vines, olive trees, and windflowers.

  The Commander pointed at the rug. “That is a gift from the first High King of Larfour.”

  A short breath wheezed out of him. “Does this mean Mamá is alive? And the others on Mount Alairus?”

  Julias nodded. “Kassios Ottega helped us win that last battle. That was when we realized the truth about him, and you. I rode to the Capital first. Your mamá insisted on staying behind to help the wounded.”

  Jaime breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Not many first year Sages could have done what you did, Jaime. You are touched by Lord Jaypes.”

  “Could Lairdos have quelled that storm?”

  A pause.

  “Yes. I see his blood in you. I always did, but I was afraid to believe.”

  “What happened to him?” he whispered. “And Mother? Why did they tell no one about me?”

  “Your blood papá and mamá loved you very much, Jaime. But someone out there wished to obliterate the Ascaerii. That is why, on the night you were born, my sister fabricated a miscarriage. Before the entire matter of Ottega’s invasion, the airpriests were to raise you in the High Temple under Achuros’s oversight. They swore to your parents never to reveal who you were. It was the only way to keep you safe.”

  “From what?”

  Julias fixed his eyes on a fresco of a storm brewing over laurel trees.

  Jaime’s voice fell. “From the same things that made Lairdos walk off the cliffs, right?”

  “What—”

  “I know about the Darklings. I know everyone thinks they’re dead, but they’re secretly roam
ing Jaypes. Maybe even the other Kingdoms. Aren’t they?”

  Julias’s larynx bulged, but nothing came out of his throat.

  “Why, Uncle? Why did they kill him?”

  “You must promise . . . ” The Commander pinched the leather cuffs on his wrists. “Promise you will never repeat what I am about to tell you.”

  “I swear on Lord Jaypes.”

  “One month before your birth, your papá was summoned for an audience with the High King—”

  “Of Larfour?” Jaime gasped. “But . . . no one has seen a Larfene for a thousand years.”

  Except Eridene, Toran and me.

  “The Kings of Air, Water, Fire, and Earth assembled in an ancient city in the Far East. Our Kings received a vision . . . ” Julias looked away at the firepit.

  Jaime gripped his arm. “Uncle, I have to know.”

  “The Black Temple showed them how each would die. Unless they forfeited their sovereignty over the Four Kingdoms, the Darklings would extinguish Sage rule.”

  He couldn’t feel the fire’s warmth.

  It’s already happening. The Darklings have been tracking me. They must’ve thought I was an Ottega, like I did. And now that the whole world knows I’m an Ascaerii . . .

  “But why?”

  “Without the Sages, stability and order collapse. The institution of our monarchy, and the Four Kingdoms, crumbles. And the delicate Unity falls into back into supernatural disasters—it almost started in Jaypes. You are familiar with the Legend of the Four?”

  “Uncle, but why now? Why would anyone want those disasters to come back? It would destroy us and them—”

  “There are worse evils out there than banestorms and rainfire, Jaime.”

  “Like what?”

  Julias rose to his feet. “I’ve said too much. These are not nightmares I wish to burden you with.”

  “But—”

  A sudden rap on the door made them snap upright.

  Whoever was outside didn’t wait for an answer. The painted doors burst open, and a dark shape marched inside.

  “Great gods, is there a funeral happening in here? And I’d been told the Prince was alive!”

  The shape threw open the rich drapery. Daylight set the gypsum walls ablaze. Jaime shielded his eyes.

  “Achuros?” he shrieked.

  He leapt out of bed and threw himself into his mentor’s arms, but his leg gave way and he crashed on the rug.

  “Get back in bed, boy!” The airpriest bent over to lift him off the mosaic flooring, and puffed out when he realized his apprentice was now too heavy for him. He glanced at Julias for help, and with a sigh, the Commander plucked Jaime up with one arm and set him back on the gilt bedspread.

  Achuros set down a chalice of wine. “Ah, man, why must you be so morbid all the time? You’re making me want to crawl into a grave when this should be a happy scene.”

  The Commander grunted.

  Before Achuros had a chance to pull up a footstool, Jaime crawled over the mountain of his bed and threw his arms around him. Today, Achuros smelled of airstreams.

  His mentor chuckled. “Alright, alright. So I heard a certain Air Prince saved his Kingdom from a tyrant. Three tyrants, actually.”

  “Achuros, we have to talk about—”

  “You will meet the Western Kings later. I heard they were flabbergasted after that show in the Colosseum!”

  “Achuros—”

  “The people are singing your name in the city streets. Hoopla, hoopla! You’ve earned your right to rule.” The priest nudged Julias. “That boy is my apprentice, you know. The boy who defeated a Fire Sage? The one who harnessed thunder? Did you know he is my apprentice?” The Commander grumpily withdrew his arm. “Not a Fire Prince at all. The son and heir of Lairdos Ascaerii! Now that is a story we should discuss.”

  “I already pieced it together,” Jaime said. “My mother asked you to take me out of the Capital because—” He met eyes with Julias. “Because of my father’s death. His suicide—it frightened her. But something happened. You gave me up.”

  “Hold on, I did not give you up. I was intercepted by—” Achuros paused. “Well, I was intercepted on the thoroughfares. I thought you died in the attack.”

  You were intercepted by Darklings. And then? Hida found me by accident.

  Jaime lowered his voice. “We have to talk about Arcurea. When I left, you were dying . . . ”

  The airpriest rubbed his peeling hands together. “The Menanders were defeated.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “They are alive. Damasia kept them under arrest in an attempt to lure you to her. Still in Arcurea, I believe.”

  He let out a long breath.

  “And you? You’re alive. How is that possible?”

  Achuros looked away, hauling something over his neck in haste. “Oh. It almost slipped my mind. This is yours.”

  Jaime’s eyes shot open.

  His stone medallion.

  “After the second Duel, I took the Relic from Damasia. The Senate believes I threw it into the sea. I trust you understand now the danger of its powers if should the wrong hands wield it.”

  “Doesn’t this belong to the Temple?”

  “Julias and I agree the airpriests would have wanted you to safeguard it as your father did before you.”

  Jaime nodded and looped it around his neck. “The Temple—”

  “Something the three of us will discuss in due time.” Achuros cocked his head. “My ledger. Did you see—”

  But Julias cut in obliviously, shuffling around his pocket. “Ah. I had almost forgotten a gift of my own . . . ” It took a second before he fished up a bronze key. Jaime raised his brows.

  “What is it for?”

  “One of the strongboxes. You will know when you see it.” Julias took the wine and guzzled. “Now I must be going, and you also, priest.” Achuros glowered. “Before anything, I believe there is a judiciary that awaits to speak with you.”

  “About what happened in Arcurea?” Jaime interrupted. “I pardon him from all crimes.”

  “Yes, my Prince. The Archpriestess also gave a confession.”

  “What confession?”

  Achuros spoke up. “I gave her your whereabouts, yes. But it was a trick. When you came to Arcurea, the Relic was within my reach for the first time since Lairdos’s suicide. I thought I could lure her in. Kill her finally, with Air. But the timing had to be right. I waited for Sojin to return with more men because, well, I could use the buffer.”

  “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

  “As I remember, you did not want to talk about it.”

  Julias placed a hand on his beside. “Rest assured, Jaime, he will be exonerated.”

  He climbed out of bed despite Achuros’s scowl for him to stay put. “There’re people I have to see.” When they were in whispering range, Jaime squeezed the old priest’s arm. “Good luck with the trial.”

  “My ledger—did you happen to see it anywhere?”

  Jaime hesitated. “ . . . No.”

  Achuros’s forehead creased with worry, but he bowed his head. “Never mind. I will see you at dinner tonight, gods willing.”

  As they went their separate ways, Jaime asked a courtier for directions to Cassie’s room. The royal living quarters were on the upper floor, away from the palace’s official wing below. Still, these private corridors were crawling with his ministers. When he stood outside the Prince’s rooms, the royal physician bowed and left the room.

  He froze in place.

  Kassios Ottega sprawled like a corpse over his bed. The worst of his burns were wrapped in pads. Everywhere else was wet with blisters.

  But his face—

  A golden mask covered it, locked into an eerie U of a smile. Jaime’s fingers hovered over its edges. Just as he was about to li
ft it to see the face underneath, a croak stopped him.

  “Jaime, is that you?”

  The words were bumbled and slurred from a tongue that hadn’t spoken for several years.

  “How do I look?”

  Jaime opened his mouth, then closed it. “Good. It’s a cool mask.”

  Cassie sighed. “Everywhere hurts.”

  “We’re half-brothers.”

  “I know.”

  “What happened?”

  “At the Colosseum? The Western officials—”

  “I’m not talking about the Colosseum.”

  “I don’t really remember.”

  “Try to remember.”

  Cassie’s fingers twisted at the bedsheets. “Mamá told me that the night the airpriests showed up at the Capital with the prophecy, Father ordered to have me brought to him. I was only a day old. That was in 1982. August.” He shuddered. “Mamá feared he would kill me, so she rode away with me to the northeast. We were fugitives for years. I hated it.”

  Casse opened a rip in the sheets.

  “On my seventh birthday, I started showing my fire powers. Mamá tried to hide it, but I couldn’t control it. Some cuh-cuh-cocksuckers in our village saw the fire currents and reported me to the royal garrison.”

  “They were afraid,” Jaime observed.

  “And then . . . ” Cassie’s voice cracked. “They realized who Mother and I were.” He swallowed. “She hid me in Charis’s wagon and told me to never stop running. I—I saw what happened after. Before they ever had a chance to take her, she drew her knife—” Cassie shifted his masked head. “That’s why I . . . well, pre-pre-pre—”

  “Pretended?

  Cassie forced out the slurred word. “Pretended. No soldier would think a cripple could be the King’s son, even if I was of age. You would understand.”

  “I understand.”

  “The acting was hard at first, but with everything that happened, it started to become me.”

  Jaime didn’t offer a comment. His younger brother’s eyes popped open behind the mask.