The fire continued to stream from Annev’s hand, searching for more to consume.
Annev roared, unable to rein it back in. The flames passed over the fallen corpses and struck the houses on the opposite side of the square, melting stone and slate. Annev flinched at the senseless destruction and turned his hand aside, but the fire followed the path of his arm, slamming into the backs of Ancients Jerik, Peodar and Maiken as they fled for the imagined safety of the Academy’s walls. The men burst into flame and the fire blasted onward, slamming into the Academy’s grey stone foundations, melting rock and mortar.
Startled, Annev jerked his hand upward and the blast tore through the Academy. Gouts of fire shot into the sky then arced downward, falling on the buildings at the edge of the village. Annev tried to force it away, jerking his hand sideways, back towards the ground, and the movement further destabilised the Academy’s enormous structure, dropping flying buttresses, blasting through support columns, and crumbling the building’s foundation.
With nowhere safe to direct the blaze, Annev turned again and focused the terrible beam of fire on the remnants of the well. Flames raged from his palm, crashed through the melted stone, and bored into the earth, causing a fountain of steam to erupt into the air.
Annev held his hand in place and closed his eyes. Instead of fighting the flames, he sought out the veil in his mind and tried to close himself off from the magic. He fought his sense of rage and betrayal, fought the image of a man in blue robes standing over him with a silver staff, and started to mend the gap that had opened in his mind. But every time he came close to sealing it, he heard the cry of a woman in agony.
Annev opened his eyes to see Myjun kneeling in front of her father’s remains, keening, the right side of her face burned and bloodied.
Without thought, Annev turned his blazing hand in her direction then watched in horror as the magic flames ripped into the earth, throwing up rock and soil as they carved a rift in the ground that stretched towards Myjun.
He forced his hand to stop, the rift a few yards in front of her. The ground shook as a chasm opened up in the earth, its depth increasing as Annev kept his hand in place. The edge of the rift spread, spiderwebbing towards Myjun’s feet, and a seam opened up in the ground beneath her.
Myjun fell silent and stared at Annev, terror in her eyes.
He roared, seizing the power within him and forcing it deep down, closing it off from his conscious mind. The flames jetting from his hand sputtered, eased, and finally went out as Annev dropped to his knees, relieved.
The crack beneath Myjun’s feet yawned open. She was balancing at the edge of the precipice, staring down into the pit, when the earth gave a final heave, trembling in the aftershock of the destruction, throwing Myjun forward into the abyss.
‘Annev!’
Annev stared deep into the hole he had carved, hearing the echoes of her scream in the chasm’s dark depths until there was only silence. He shuddered at what he had seen, what he had done, and stayed on the ground, vaguely aware of people moving around him, of Sraon pulling him to his feet, urging him to walk. He moved clumsily, as if in a daze, and let himself be dragged away from the broken Academy and burning buildings.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Annev sat brooding in his red Master Avatar robes on one of the uncharred benches in the roofless hall of Sodar’s burned-out chapel. He studied the black scorch-marks staining the walls and wooden dais and shook his head.
It was a curious thing: Annev and Sodar’s rooms were unscathed, but the kitchen, training shed and meeting hall had been gutted. A similar tale could be told of every home in Chaenbalu; the feurog had set fire to anything that would burn, demolished whatever lay closest to hand, then moved on.
Annev looked up at the sky filling the open roof of the chapel meeting hall, watching the sun creep lower as evening approached.
Titus and Sraon sat opposite Annev on the raised dais, the smaller boy’s feet dangling off the edge of the blackened platform; they remained like that for a long time, the distance between them immeasurable. After a while, Fyn and Therin walked through the broken chapel doors, bulging burlap sacks on their backs.
‘Hey, Titus,’ Therin said, setting his sack on one of the benches. ‘Is the phoenix still sulking?’ Sraon cleared his throat and Therin turned to discover Annev in the corner of the room.
Fyn shook his head and snapped ‘Idiot’, which made Sraon chuckle and Therin blush. Fyn strode across the meeting hall, climbed over a fallen rafter, and circumvented an overturned bench to set his sack down next to Sraon. The blacksmith peered at it.
‘Anything good?’
Fyn shrugged. ‘Not really. Most of the winter storage is gone, and the fields haven’t been planted yet.’
‘What about the store rooms inside the Academy?’
Fyn shook his head. ‘They aren’t accessible. There’s some flour, but the rest is seed – planting was supposed to start this week. None of it is stuff we can use on the road. We found a few root cellars, though.’ He patted the bag. ‘Nothing too appetising – hard turnips, mouldy potatoes, some garlic and onions – but it’s better than wild roots and brambles.’
Sraon nodded. ‘We’ll do fine. It’s less than two days to Luqura, and I know a bit about living rough.’ He rubbed his bristly black beard, his fingers idly stroking the scar that peeked out from under his left eyepatch. ‘When I was younger, I used to travel the trade routes in Northern Quiri. I even made some treks into Western Ilumea. Lots of jungle there.’ He smiled. ‘The roads here are better, though. We’ll travel quick. We could probably fast for the entire journey and still be fine.’
Annev drew his feet up onto the bench and pulled his knees close to him. ‘What’s in Luqura?’ he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
Sraon looked at Annev over Fyn’s shoulder. ‘Nothing now, but a man named Reeve will be meeting us there in a few days. He’s from Sodar’s order, so he’ll know how to help us.’
Annev’s headache surged and he clutched his temple, shaking his head. ‘Why would I go to Luqura?’ he asked, his voice still soft.
‘I just said. Reeve. He’ll be waiting for—’
‘Why would I go to Luqura?’ Annev said again, louder. He shut his eyes and rubbed both temples then jerked his left hand back when the cold yellow metal touched his skin. He swore, stood up, and shook the golden prosthetic, flailing his arm as though an animal had seized on it. The others stayed in the far corner of the room, shifting so they were not sitting or standing wherever Annev pointed his hand.