Down a Lost Road

chapter 25 – The Gift of Fire

“Where is Akhmar?”

The question drifted, faint, into my turbid thoughts. Yatol, speaking somewhere beyond me in the blank smothering darkness.

“Akhmar travels with you?” Ingaea’s voice, bright and clear. He sounded surprised, or awed. “It’s been many years since I have seen him.”

I let out a shuddering breath. I found myself sitting up, wrapped in a blanket of some coarse woolly fiber. Somewhere nearby there must have been candles or torches. The warm flickering light danced against my eyelids. When I forced my eyes open I found that the flames came from a small fire, but Yatol knelt between it and me and mostly blocked it from view. Ingaea was farther away, stooped over a chest of some sort.

“He left just before you found us. He must have stopped here because this place was so close.”

“Aye.” Ingaea stood, hoisting Yatol’s leather pack. “This should be enough to keep you for a while. It’s all we have left here, but it’s just as well. No one will ever be coming to this place again.”

I leaned my head on my knees, glad to be unnoticed, and gazed around the tiny hut. It reminded me of Enhyla’s, only smaller, with pallets all along the wall and racks of tarnished weapons in the corners. It wasn’t made of living wood like Enhyla’s, but clay or mud with dried brush for a roof. The floor was bare earth. Past Yatol I glimpsed a wooden platform, a dead-still figure lying enshrouded upon it. The plain white cloths hid the corpse, but I knew it was Royin. I didn’t fear him anymore, hidden under the shroud. The thought of him dead made me strangely sad. I wondered what Yatol thought of him, now. I wondered what he thought of himself.

“We can’t afford to stay any longer. What weapons can I take?”

“Whatever you can carry. I have mine already. Not that they will do me or you or anyone much good, especially if it is the Lord of K’hama who hounds you. If I had a weapon that could destroy them I would give it to you with all my heart, but I know of no such object.”

Yatol drew the small knife from his belt and held it out. The firelight slithered over the blade, casting it in vermilion hues.

“This blade,” he said simply. “The only one I know that can be borne by human hands, though not without a cost.”

“The Blade of Heaven!” Ingaea cried. “Then Akhmar is not the only one of the Brethren whom you know.”

“No.”

He stood and turned to me, holding out the blade. I broke from my thoughts to take it from him. The hilt felt warm, heavier than I remembered it, and I smiled a little.

“Merelin carries it now.” To me he said, “Are you ready? We should go soon.”

“Before he comes,” I said. I could tell Yatol had been thinking the same thing. “I’m ready.”

I must not have looked ready, though, because Yatol hesitated. I stared at the bier, and then at Ingaea standing beside it, singing or chanting something in low tones. Yatol’s gaze followed mine.

“To peace, Royin,” he said softly. “We give our days seeking it, but it is only in death that we find it.”

I closed my eyes, echoing his words in my mind. Yatol laid his hand on my shoulder, and the three of us left the hut in silence. Once outside Ingaea stopped and glanced back.

“You know what they do to the bodies of our fallen, Yatol.”

Yatol turned, his eyes gleaming with that white fire. “Aye.”

“We cannot leave him to be desecrated,” said Ingaea, almost pleadingly.

I wondered if the light in Yatol’s eyes startled him.

Yatol said nothing. He gazed down at his hand, the palm filled with radiance like I had seen after the Brethren came. Slowly he closed his fingers over the light, and it erupted in flame. He drew his hand back, spreading his fingers to the night. For a moment nothing happened, then suddenly the hut burst into swirling fire. Somehow it didn’t surprise me, but Ingaea ducked away from Yatol, wide-eyed. The rush and crack of burning thatch filled the air, and the burnished light flared on our faces.

Ingaea inched back toward Yatol and took his hand, and the radiance danced over Ingaea’s fingers.

“What are you?” he murmured.

But Yatol didn’t answer. He kept watching the hut, the thick black smoke curling into the sky. Waves of heat washed over us, thick with a mossy smell that singed my lungs and drew tears from my stinging eyes. Then, mixed with the earthy smell, the nauseating stench of burning flesh. My stomach churned, and I wrenched away to survey the forest behind us. I couldn’t feel the Ungulion’s presence now, and I wondered if Royin might have said something to mislead them. All was quiet but the dull roar of flames.

When Akhmar appeared beside me suddenly, I only put my hand out to his massive shoulder and met his gaze. I couldn’t speak, but I knew he didn’t need to hear my voice. He fixed me with a solemn gaze, then turned to Yatol and Ingaea.

“The gift of fire, Farseer,” he said. “I knew one day you would use it.”

Yatol bowed his head. “I didn’t think I would.”

“Every gift is given for a purpose.” He turned to Ingaea. “Rune-singer, well met!”

Ingaea’s face lit with joy but he only bowed, mute.

“Akhmar,” I said. “Have you seen him? The Lord of K’hama is tracking us.”

“Aye, he and his horde flounder in the dark maze of the forest, but it will not be long before his scouts get their bearings. We should go.”

“I wish I could follow you, Yatol,” said Ingaea. “But I know it is not my task. Akhmar, keep them safe! If safety even exists in that realm.” He clasped Yatol’s arms in farewell, then came to me. “I am sorry you had to see what happened to Royin. But I am sorrier that you are going into the very heart of the evil that destroyed him. Farewell, sister.”

“Goodbye, Ingaea,” I said. “If you find your way to the army’s camp, will you look for my brother and my friend? Tyhlaur will likely be with them.”

He nodded, and I turned away feeling strangely sad. Yatol was already on Akhmar’s back, and he gave me his arm to pull me up. He lifted his hand in farewell, and I watched over my shoulder until Ingaea and the burning hut were lost to view. I kept seeing Royin’s broken form, heard his last words tumbling in my thoughts: Forgive me. Forgive him for what?

“Yatol,” I said finally. “What happened when my father came through the portal? I need to know.”

I saw him sigh, and bow his head.

“I wish you didn’t,” he murmured. For a while we rode in silence, and I wondered if he would refuse to answer. Then he said, “He was so weak when he came through. It was his tenth passage through the portal, and it nearly claimed his life. I was the only portal guardian at the time. I watched alone except for Royin, who was a healer. But he and Davhur had quarreled the last time Davhur was here. Royin said Davhur risked too much by his voyages, that he was putting our people in danger. When Davhur returned that day, he wouldn’t go to his aid.”

I watched the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his shoulders.

“I left the portal. Just as Royin said. I abandoned my duty. I called to Royin but he wouldn’t move. I went to Davhur. He could barely lift his head. But he looked at me, and then past me, and said, ‘The portal, Yatol.’ I turned, and saw three Ungulion…they had just forced their way through.” He stopped abruptly, and then went on, fierce, “One of them I banished. Royin fled. The other two seized me, then left me for dead. When I woke, Davhur was gone.”

He turned his head to glance at me, the wan light shining off the thin twisting scar that marred his cheek.

“Was that when you got that scar?”

He put his fingers to the old wound, probing it as though it still pained him. “Yes. Shan healed me. Royin was his guardian master, but Shan severed his oath to him after what happened.” He let out a sharp breath, shallow laughter. “We were both barely fourteen. Neither of us should have been burdened with the duties we had.”

“You were only fourteen? And you banished an Ungulion?”

“If I’d been older or stronger, maybe I could have defeated them all,” he said bitterly.

I swallowed. “Then what?”

“I went looking for Davhur. I figured they had taken him to the Gorhiem Bolstoed, so that’s where I went. I used the conduit to get in, began searching the fortress. Do you really want to hear this?” I nodded, mute. “I found him…they were torturing him. I heard their questions, he wouldn’t answer. They asked about Pyelthan, about the portal. They even asked about your family, and about me. The more they tried to make him talk, the stronger he grew.”

His words hit me like a blow to the chest. I gasped hollowly, and my vision swam – grey from pain, blurred from tears. I didn’t think of Azik, or what had happened to us. I only saw Royin’s broken body. I tried to bar the image from my mind, but it slowly took on my father’s likeness. It blistered in my thoughts. I pressed my palms to my forehead to drive it away, but it wouldn’t fade.

“It wasn’t Azik,” Yatol said. “If that’s any comfort to you.”

I couldn’t answer. He reached back and took my hand, his grip firm and steady. I covered my face with my other hand and tried to collect myself.

“What did you do?” I managed.

“I tried to find a way to save him. They found me and imprisoned me. They didn’t know who I was, but Davhur heard that I had been caught. His cell was next to mine. When he was awake, he spoke to me through the wall. He had taught me so much already, but now he told me about you. Your gift. His hope that you would follow him here. They didn’t torture him often. They didn’t want to kill him. At first they interrogated me too, and… Well, they had no such qualms about me. I feigned ignorance. After a month they decided to execute me – they had no reason to think me important.”

I was staring at his arms, the faded bruises and scabbed wounds, old gashes scarred white. I remembered how his arms looked when I’d first seen them in the Gorhiem Bolstoed and I felt nauseous. Fourteen. He had been just fourteen.

Yatol sat silent, head bowed and shoulders tense. Then he let out his breath, thinly, and resumed his story.

“Davhur told me to escape. I did. I returned to save him. I nearly succeeded, but they discovered me. They knew me by now, and would have killed me at once. But I evaded them and got free. Again I slipped in. By then I knew those halls better than some regions of the Branhau. Davhur wasn’t there. I spent a week hiding, searching everywhere for him. I had no reason to think he’d been killed. I spied on the Ungulion, hoping to learn something from them. Finally a messenger arrived. He reported to the Ungulion captains that Davhur had arrived, and that they now waited. I didn’t stay to see if I could learn anything else. I got out of the fortress, then I too waited.”

He lifted his hands a little, palms up.

“And now the waiting is over.”